Chapter Text
“Don’t slouch so much Silas you’ll make us look weak.” Silas instantly straightens at his mother’s command. He wasn’t even aware he had been slouching, mind drifting off to other things. He curses himself for his inattentiveness, his mother spent so much time putting this together and he goes and ruins it with his wandering thoughts.
His mother had the idea to host an event between the Dengdamors’ and Trost’s. A friendly competition she called it. The Dengdamors would put up their best swordsmen and the Trost’s would put up theirs. Not a real fight to the death of course but Silas knows his mother has less than wholesome reasons for why she wanted to put the event together.
She wants to test their strength.
While Silas doesn’t like his mother’s true intentions he does want to see who the Trost’s pick as their champion. He’s heard it’s going to be their only son, a man who is around his age.
Silas knows they’ll never be able to be friends but it’s rare he gets to meet someone his own age, he’s usually surrounded by older men and women. Tutors his mother insists he needs if he’s to ever have any hope of taking her place one day.
It’s there, across the stage that’s been set up that he sees him. He’s tall with the usual pink hair the Trost’s are known for. He’s walking with a woman who resembles him, a sister he assumes. He smiles at something she says and oh.
Oh.
Silas has never really thought of romance before. He knows that one day he will have an arranged marriage set up by his mother and he was ok with that. That was his duty after all. Silas has known from a young age that he’s never had an interest in women but he could pretend, to appease his mom and perform, but here and now looking at Panto Trost he thinks he knows what love is.
What a terrible day to discover that fact.
Panto enters the arena fully, he is introduced but Silas can not hear because he’s distracted by the easy confidence Panto has. Confidence that Silas knows he himself lacks. Their champion enters, Wygar. Despite Wygar’s age he is still known as the best swordsman in Wendimoor and so far has remained undefeated.
But Panto doesn’t seem intimidated in the slightest, he smirks at Wygar in a way that Silas knows Wygar is going to hate.
Silas finds it stupidly attractive.
The first round has begun and Silas watches transfixed as they start. Wygar is a force to be reckoned with but the way Panto moves, there’s a grace to it that Wygar lacks. It’s elegant and beautiful in a way he’s never seen before.
To his shock and his mother’s anger, based on the way her jaw tightens, Panto wins the first round.
Wygar is not going to be happy and Silas winces, already thinking about how poor his mood will be later. The trost’s cheer loudly and unrestrained while the Dengdamors’ try, and in Silas’ opinion, fail to show the same level of enthusiasm.
Panto wins the next two rounds.
Oh Wygar is going to be absolutely livid tonight. Silas makes a mental note to avoid him for the rest of the day.
Panto, on the other hand, smiles cockily. His eyes scan the crowd and they land on Silas. Silas isn’t sure what expression he’s making but he feels his face warm when Panto winks at him.
“That Trost boy needs to learn respect. Figures the Trost’s would produce such an uncouth mongrel.” His mother says next to him and Silas knows his duty is to agree but he can’t stop looking at Panto, he’s turned away from him but Silas can still feel the weight of his gaze.
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To top off the event, his mom put together a party which is really more of her excuse to supply the Trost’s with copious amounts of alcohol and watch them make fools of themselves. His mother is nothing if not petty.
Silas is sick of it which is why he’s currently hiding out on the balcony. The night sky is nice. Silas has always found it calming, when he was a kid he would sneak out of his room and climb as high as he could just so he could somehow be closer to the vastness.
He did some of his best poetry writing that way.
“Ah my apologies, I didn’t think anybody else would be out here.”
Silas turns towards the voice and sees Panto Trost standing in the doorway, more like leaning against it.
“No it’s ok. By all means join me.” Silas finds himself saying. He’s not quite sure where the sudden confidence has come from but he’ll take it.
Panto comes up next to him and Silas is at a loss. What do they even talk about? He’s never really talked to someone his own age before and so far the only thing they have in common is their families and discussing politics at a party feels boring.
But Panto beats him to it.
“Not one for parties?”
Silas relaxes slightly, polite small talk. He can do that.
“Not really. I’m not really one for large crowds.”
“Neither am I to be honest.” Panto says next to him. Silas finds that a little hard to believe with how he was showboating earlier. His disbelief must show on his face because Panto chuckles.
“Just because I know how to play to a crowd doesn’t mean I actually like it. No, the quiet stillness of the night sky is much more enjoyable.”
“I’ve written some of my best work under a night like this.” Silas doesn’t know why he said that. He’s never shared his writing with anybody. It’s too intimate and raw.
But Panto feels safe. It’s a weird feeling to have about somebody he just met but he does.
“Writing?” Panto asks, turning towards Silas. Up close, his handsomeness is very apparent.
Silas feels his face warm, he looks away to hide it. “Nothing special. Just words.”
“Still, I’d like to read these ‘just words’ someday.” He sounds sincere enough but Silas is used to disappointment. A part of him can’t help but take the validity of Panto’s words with a grain of salt.
Always better safe than sorry with a Trost. His mother’s words ring out in his head.
Because he is a Trost even if for just one night there is a tentative truce between their families. They will never see each other again and Silas will go back to his horribly lonely existence.
As it should be.
But maybe for tonight he can pretend. “Would you truly?”
“Of course. I bet it’s all excellent.”
Silas turns away to hide his blush.
A few minutes pass in silence. Silas knows he should probably go back inside soon, his mother will be disappointed if he doesn't perform his duties properly after all, but he wants to remain here in this quiet space. It feels comforting in a way that he’s not used to.
The sounds from the party drift towards them, the only thing interrupting their quiet bubble. Silas' eyes drift towards Panto's profile. He's looking up at the sky, a slight smile on his face. The wind rustles his hair slightly.
He really does cut the perfect image of a prince.
Panto must sense he's being watched because he glances over at Silas who looks away in embarrassment.
“Your champion seemed rather upset that I beat him.”
Silas winces slightly. Wygar was in a mood when he saw him. Storming around the castle. Silas isn’t sure where he is now, he didn’t see him at the party after all, no doubt he’s sulking in his room. “Wygar? I think you did bruise his ego a bit, yes.”
“Wygar? The greatest swordsman in all of Wendimoor?” He chuckles to himself before shooting Silas a cocky grin. “Guess that makes me the greatest swordsman now, doesn’t it?”
Duty says Silas should bristle at that. Should fight and demand how dare he say such things.
Instead, he finds himself smiling back.
The easy confidence looks good on Panto. Natural.
“Yes. I - I guess it does, doesn’t it?” Wygar is going to be so mad. More than he already is.
“Then can the ‘greatest swordsman’ make a request?”
“I guess you may.”
“Tomorrow, we meet again. But this time just the two of us. Under the moon and stars in the forests bordering both of our lands.”
Silas should say no. He should turn around and go back to the party.
But when has anybody outside of Wygar ever shown interest in him?
“I - I might consider it.”
Panto grins. “Consideration is all I ask for. If you do decide to show up, bring your writing. I’d love to read it.”
Silas flushes and looks away, a smile breaks out on his face that he tries to hide but can’t.
He dares to hope.
🌸🌸🌸
Panto didn’t state a time but Silas waits with bated breath for the sounds of the castle to die down. He knows the hour his mother goes to bed, Farson usually stays up late but more often than not he ignores his older brother these days. Wygar is still sulking and ignoring everyone, choosing to stay in his room or training.
Still, Silas wants to be safe. The event was a special occasion but the truce is done for now. Especially after Panto beat Wygar.
He ends up sneaking out around midnight, that seems like the appropriate time. The treeline between their lands is luckily small and not likely to get lost in. Especially since it’s a little difficult to specify exactly where to meet when everything more or less looks the same.
He brought his notebook, where he keeps all his writings. Carefully hidden from his mother because it’s too much like his dad. Too soft.
He enters the treeline, half expecting this to be a joke of some kind when he sees him, casually leaning against a tree. He brightens when he notices Silas.
“You came.” He says, that same dazzling smile in place.
“I did.” Silas smiles at him, his heart beats wildly in his chest. Whether it’s from Panto’s presence or the fact that he’s actively defying his mother’s wishes, something he’s never done before, he’s not sure.
“Well, let's see these writings of yours shall we?” He gestures to Silas’ notebook and Silas hands it over a little cautiously.
Panto takes it like it’s something precious, he reads it with a furrowed brow. He takes his time, perusing over each entry with rapt attention. Silas fiddles his hands more than a little nervously.
“Silas this is…incredible. You truly have a way with words.”
“R - really? You like it?”
“I do.” Panto smiles at him then and Silas knows he would do anything to have that smile directed at him always.
He feels a tickle in the back of his throat and he coughs to clear it. “Sorry, I just - haven’t had anybody read anything I’ve written before. It’s a little…nerve wrecking.”
“Understandable. It can be hard to share something so personal with others.”
He hands the notebook back and they talk for what feels like hours afterwards. About everything and nothing. Panto, Silas finds, is easy to talk to. He puts him at ease.
“Can we meet again? Weekly? I - I just want to see you again.” Silas asks, feeling bold. The sun threatens to disturb their easy peace here and he wants to make this, whatever ‘this’ is, last.
Panto smiles wide and beautiful. “Of course.”
They leave each other then and Silas feels that same tickle in the back of his throat. He coughs once more to clear it. Maybe he’s coming down with something after all? He’ll ask one of the servants for medicine in the morning.