Chapter Text
Viren watched as Soren closed the door behind him, the wood rattling as it jostled into place.
“I’ve given thought to what you said,” he addressed King Harrow on the other side of the room. Viren stood at a respectable distance, knowing full well the weight this evening had on the king. One he wished to dispel, if he’d let him be closer.
He would stand by him through anything.
Harrow stood from his bed and walked to the room’s only chair, “Oh, have you?” He sat down slowly, upholding the formality of a meeting. He picked up his sword and laid it across his lap. It presented a barrier between him and Viren. A wall, no… a mere edge that separated them. Viren couldn’t help but be reminded of how they’d left off after their last meeting.
The King began sharpening the edge of the sword with a whetstone, drawing attention to the wall between them, “Then why have you returned with that abomination?”
“Yes, I’ve brought the soulfang,” Viren admitted hesitantly. Harrow flexed his arm and harshly grinded the stone against the blade’s edge, the sword shuddering in his hands as bits of metal were shaved away. It was defensive, but also… Perhaps I can bring the wall down, get through to him. “I have a proposal. Let me explain.”
The King’s face remained unchanged. Moments drew out into minutes as Viren awaited a thread to grasp at. He desperately wished to save his friend.
If I could just… reach him. See him eye to eye.
“Go on,” Harrow lifted the sword, then plunged it into the stone to stay it.
Viren’s chest lightened. The wall had been removed, set aside and finally allowing them to connect again. He crossed the room and closed the distance between himself and his friend. He sat down on the foot of Harrow’s bed, reaching eye level and imploring him to hear him out.
“You are my king… but you are also my friend,” he opened up and hoped it would encourage him to do the same.
Viren looked him over. His armor had been polished, and so too had his stubble. Clean shaven, just as he always insisted before meetings… and battle. He’d washed his hands and taken the time to brush his teeth. He’s… prepared himself. You’ve done it too soon, my friend.
“Your friend?” Harrow turned his head. He leaned towards him as he did so, and Viren’s hope spiked.
“Yes,” he smiled, relieved to feel himself heard, accepted, and leaned closer to implore him deeper, “Right now, I do not come to you as my king. I think of you… as my brother.”
Viren could feel it. He was getting through. They’d been distanced ever since Sarai’s death, never feeling as close as they were when he was crowned, but now Harrow was so close. His friend.
His brother.
He smiled at how relaxed Harrow looked in his chair. It reminded him of when they’d have a drink after late meetings, discussing ridiculous policies and cracking jokes at foreign ambassadors. He could almost reach his hand out and lay it on Harrow’s shoulder, touched by the tender moment they were sharing. Viren thought to himself while smiling, I will stand by you through anyth--
Harrow tilted his head back, creating a canyon between them. “I see the problem now,” his face contorted in a mockery of Viren’s sentiments, “It’s that you believe you are special, better than everyone else, above the laws of this kingdom.”
Viren leaned forwards, desperately trying to re-engage the closeness they had just been sharing, “That’s not what I was trying to say. Please, listen.” Harrow’s chest plate gleamed, and Viren could see his reflection in it. But it was hazy from the tint and obscured out of focus.
Harrow jerked his head forwards, jabbing at their bond and making a mockery of his attempt to retain their closeness, “Assassins are coming to murder me tonight, and you’re wasting what precious time I have left!”
Viren’s eyes grew as wide as his shock, “No, Harrow, I—”
Harrow grew ill with him out of nowhere, “Stop. How about, ‘No, Your Highness.’ In fact, let’s try, ‘Yes, Your Highness’ for a change.”
Viren’s eyebrows rose, and he reared his head back. Harrow was his brother, he’d always held him highly.
He wished he’d fall from that height.
“Oh, are you sure you wouldn’t prefer ‘Your Royal Highness’? ‘Your Esteemed Inimitable Majesty,’ perhaps?”
Harrow stood abruptly by rocking out of his seat and slamming his heels into the ground, elevating himself onto a level separate from Viren, “I have tolerated your arrogance for too long, maybe even encouraged it.” His body was so tense that his arms lifted from his sides. Harrow craned his neck upwards, like a dragon rising just before its dive, and towered over him to impose his power, “But if today is my last day as king, you will know your place.”
Viren jutted forwards, rising to challenge his arrogance. But Harrow stood as a giant above him, rising far above his head at an unobtainable height. No matter what Viren would say now, Harrow would never listen. He was so far away that he could no longer hear the help his friend had intended to offer.
Ignorant, unwilling to listen to reason or practicality! Viren yelled at him in his mind. “And where exactly is that place?!” Viren mocked him with his eyes, rising himself even closer to mock his elevated status.
Harrow pointed down at the ground in front of him, his finger stabbing down from the heavens and impaling Viren to the dirty stone floor, “Right here. On… your… knees.”
Viren set his jaw and turned his head. Of all the things to swallow, this had to be the sickest and vilest of them all. His king - no, his brother - humiliating him and ruining what was meant to be a loving gesture.
Setting the soulfang onto the bed, he eyed him with resentment as he sunk down to the level of the floor.
“You are a servant of the kingdom of Katolis,” Harrow decreed from his high horse, standing the distance away from a king’s egocentrism. “You are a servant.”
Viren looked down at the floor and the king’s feet, then clenched his eyes shut out of humiliation.
Is this where he stood? Eye level with his king’s foot? To be stepped on and treated like he’d never worked tirelessly for him? To be belittled as if he’d never sacrificed for him? He’d wept with him, for him, but the impudence he showed him now was far removed from the Harrow he knew.
He felt like an ant before a mountain.
Small.
Weak.
Insignificant.