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December 307 NE
The first snowfall at Whitefire came with frosted windows and the soft whistling of the wind. Cal had woken up earlier than he normally did. It was still dark out when he rolled out of bed. The stars were gone from the sky, leaving only the moonlight to linger.
He didn't bother waiting for the servants to come and help him get ready for the day. No one ever came to his room before the sun rose and the sun was taking too long. Cal was a full seven-years-old, the future king of Norta, he was more than capable of pulling on a coat and a pair of boots. His hair was sticking up in all directions, so he ran his hands through it a couple of times, smoothed it down some, and decided that was good enough.
There were servants and sentinels out in the halls already. They moved around quickly and silently, shivering from the cold which Cal himself didn't feel as much as they did. He said a good morning to every person he passed, making his way down the hall. A few of them wished him a good morning in return. Most of them though only dipped their heads and hurried off to continue carrying out their tasks.
He didn't take it as much of an offense. His father might still be asleep at this hour. It was hard to say. The queen however would be awake and prowling the halls. Last anyone wanted was for her to see them and assume that they were idling.
Cal pressed his ear to his brother's door. It was quiet. In all his excitement, he might've forgotten just how early it was. He was about to go back to his room to wait for the sun to come up. Then faint footsteps and a muffled voice told him that someone was awake in his brother's room, so he lightly knocked on the door.
A Red man who'd been working at Whitefire longer than Cal could even remember answered the door. He looked down both ends of the hall before lowering his gaze.
"Good morning Holland," Cal said, giving the red man a small wave.
"Your Royal Highness," Holland murmured, bowing his head. "Your brother still sleeps."
"It's okay." Cal slipped into the room. He tried to keep his footsteps light and soft.
Maven was a small lump in the middle of a large bed, barely taking up any space. Dark curls tumbled onto soft pillows. The blankets were pulled all the way up and over his nose, hiding nearly his entire face.
The curtains were drawn up tight and Cal could feel the cold a bit more in here than he could out in the hall. There wasn't much in his brother's room. A couple of books on a shelf, a music box with a small figurine that Maven had bought the last time they went to the Hexaprin Theater, and that was about it.
Maybe he should bring some of his stuff from his room and leave them with his brother. That way this room wouldn't so empty and Mavey wouldn't be so alone if he had nightmares. Even if his brother thought he was too old to run to his big brother every time something in the night scared him, it didn't mean that Cal couldn't still be there for his brother in a way.
Cal carefully sat down on the bed, and went still when Maven seemed to stir. His brother had always been a light sleeper. Cal didn't dare to breath to loudly as Maven rolled over, burrowing himself into his brother's side, and fell back to sleep with a soft breath. No matter how old his brother got, there were some things he wouldn't outgrow.
"Holland?" Cal asked as softly as he could.
"Sir?" Holland looked up from where he was laying Maven's clothes out on the bed.
"Can you go to the place Mavey likes? You know, the one with the good cake?"
"Of course sir."
"Thank you Holland." Cal scrunched his nose up. He always thought it was silly when people called him sir. That word made him sound so grown up like his father, and he hadn't grown up that much yet.
The red man continued to move about the room without making a sound. Another shadow that followed the walls, laying out haircare supplies on the vanity and setting a small bowl of assorted fruits on the bedside table. Cal wondered if Maven learned how to be so quiet by spending so much time around Holland. It wouldn't be the first habit his brother picked up from his valet.
Cal tipped his head from side to side in time with the ticking of clock hands that filled in the silence. Gently raking his fingers through his brother's hair, the curls were not yet tamed by brushes and haircare products.
"Good morning your highness," Holland said without prompting.
Which at first had Cal squinting at the Red man in confusion, because they'd already said good morning. Did he think Cal had said it again? Was he just hearing things? Cal hoped Holland was starting to hear things. That wouldn't be good. Not good at all.
Holland walked over to the curtains still firmly drawn over the window, and glanced over his shoulder at the lump on the bed. Not hearing things then, Cal was relieved. The valet was just very aware of his brother who wasn't breathing so deeply anymore. "Rise and shine dear prince," Holland threw the curtains open. "Your brother's here."
Maven let out a soft grumble, scrubbing his eye with a small fist. As the morning light flooded the room, Maven curled up a little more into himself for a moment, his brows pinched together, then he stretched himself out like a cat.
"Cal," his brother said, now scrubbing his other eye. "It's morning."
"Hi Mavey." he said, grabbing the bowl of fruits. "The sun's up so you have to get up." He helped his brother sit up. "Eat, we have stuff to do."
"I don't want to go to training." Maven glumly bit into a strawberry.
"No training," Cal said. He forgot about training. Someone was probably waiting for them to begin training, but they could wait a little longer. This was more important, they'd understand. "It's snowing!"
With a little hm? and the large bowl held somewhat awkwardly in his hands, he shuffled across the bed to press his nose right up against the window. "Oh." Maven tipped his head to the side. "Holland it's snowing."
"I just said that," Cal looked to Holland. "Didn't I just say that?"
"Yes your highness," Holland shook his head with an amused huff.
"Holland," Maven said again, still pressing his face against the window.
"Finish eating your fruits, little prince." The valet lifted Maven up from underneath his shoulders, setting him down next to Cal once again. "Then you can go off with your brother."
"Mother?" Maven asked around the blueberries he was munching on.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Cal lightly scolded at the same time as Holland did. That made the older man laugh. Cal didn't understand what was so funny. He could see all the chewed up blueberries in Maven's mouth. It was disgusting.
Maven put his hands over his mouth and asked Holland again, "my mother?"
"You don't have to see your mother until after your lessons." Holland cleaned a pair of flamemakers, making sure they were all polished before fastening them around Maven's wrist. "Your hair's getting long. Your mother will have us cut it soon."
"Not today," Maven said.
"Not today," Holland agreed. "Come on, let's get you dressed and tame those curls."
"I can help," Cal said, hopping off the bed.
It wouldn't take long to get Maven ready for the day. Between the two of them though it would even less time, and the less time the better. So while Holland helped Maven into a pair of boots, a set of gloves, and a bright red cloak. Cal brushed his brother's hair. Although Holland did have to help him with the creams and the oils that kept his brother's curls tight and put together. Cal thought he did a much better job with his brother's hair than his father did.
Holland then sent them off, but not without first waving down some Sentinels to accompany them. Even though Cal told him that they didn't need any guards, because they weren't going very far, just down to Caesar's Square. There were always people in Caesar's Square, they weren't going to be alone. And Cal knew how to take care of his little brother. Nothing bad was going to happen to them, he wouldn't let it. But the Red man did not relent, he said that the Sentinels would accompany them until he could, and that was that. Cal didn't want to waste any more time arguing. So with a little huff, he took Maven's gloved hand and ventured down to Caesar's Square with the Sentinels in tow.
There were thin layers of ice on the rooftops of Whitefire Palace, also the treasury and the courts, that were getting heavier and heavier. Cal walked across the square, the ice crunching beneath his boot. Maven waddled along beside him, more interested in that he could see his own breath than actually walking properly. It didn't take long for Maven to slip.
"Uh oh," Cal said, his hold on his brother's hand kept Maven from completely tumbling to the floor. "Are you okay?"
"I want wings," Maven said, letting himself dangle in Cal's hold. "Can we make wings?"
"You don't have to ask." Cal gently set his brother down in the snow before laying down next to him. Soon enough the back of his coat became damp, but he didn't mind all that much.
A few sweeps of their arms, up and down over their heads, had Maven giggling and lightly kicking his legs. He started to tell Cal about the last play he saw. A play that Cal had gone to see with him and their father, but he didn't say to his brother. He listened to Maven happily recount the story of a girl bringing a nutcracker doll to life and an evil king. Occasionally Cal would make a small comment, or he'd let out a gasp as if he didn't already know that the twist of story was that the whole was a dream.
Snowflakes continued to fall from the sky, dusting their clothes. Cal stuck out his tongue, managing to catch one. It melted almost instantly. Another snowflake fell on his nose. That one took a little longer to melt. He turned his head to show Maven.
THWACK!
Cal blinked against the snow that had hit him cold and hard and square in the face. His nose began to throb with a dull ache. It took way too long for his brain to make sense of what happened.
With a tiny smile, Maven applauded himself and then started to ball up more snow. Absolutely not. Cal popped up onto his feet and lightly knocked Maven over, giving himself a head start. High pitched laughter echoed across the square as his brother chased him. Cal tried not to run to fast for Maven's little legs to keep up.
Another snowball hit his side. It was poorly made and had almost completely fallen apart before it even hit him. Still Cal stumbled as if Maven dealt him a great blow. When a second snowball—slightly better made than the first—hit his shoulder, he let out a dramatic wounded sound and fell to his knees. His brother jumped on his back, wrapped his arms around his neck so that he wouldn't slide off. This, Cal imagined, was the same as having a cat hang of his shoulders.
"I'm freezing!" Cal cried, falling backwards on top of Maven. Careful not to drop his full weight and completely squish his brother into the snow. "I'm turning to ice!"
"You're crushing me!" Maven shouted.
"I'm not crushing you," Cal said. "You threw snow at me, and now I'm frozen. I can't move. Ice is heavy, Mavey.”
”Ice is not heavy, your butt is squishing me!”
“I’m just a heavy cube of ice.”
"No you're not!" Maven said, pushing at Cal's back. "You're stupid."
"Me?" Cal asked, over exaggerating his tone, and pointing to himself
"Yes you!" Maven said, wiggled out from underneath him. "Stupid brother."
"That's me!" Cal said with great big grin, pulling Maven into a bone-crushing hug. "Your stupid big brother!"
Maven squirmed in his arms, but his fight quickly lost steam. There was no escaping his fate. He dropped his head against his brother's shoulder without letting out a single huff. Victory, Cal grinned, resting his chin on Maven's head.
The soft breaking of snow announced Holland before he came to stand in front of them. He was wrapped up tight against the cold with a coat and a scarf and everything, Still he was slightly shivering as he brought them under a small garden tent. Where there was a spread of pastries arranged on the blankets and a fireplace. Cal made sure to thank the Red man for each and every pastry in their winter picnic.
Maven peered into the fireplace, staring at the unlit wood, all polite with is hands clasped behind his back. Then he very slowly looked at Cal with big round eyes and a tilted head.
"Go on," Cal said, plopping down on the pillows. "Be careful though, you want to don't burn your eyebrows off."
With a small amount of horror, Maven touched his brow and shook his head to himself. Now determined to light the fireplace without damaging his brows, he stuck his arms out as far out as he could. Sparks jumped from his flamemakers as they came together. His tongue poked out in deep concentration. No it wasn't Cal, he'd say when Cal brought it up later. A twitch of his fingers and the wood caught alight, the flame arching upwards. Maven scrambled backwards, plunking down next to his brother.
"Wow, that's a strong flame," Cal said, patting his brother on the head. "Did you see how high it went? I swear it was blue for a second."
Maven didn't say anything, curling around a hot mug of cocoa. He broke a couple of cookies apart and dipped them in the sweet cocoa. Whatever slight panic he just caused himself was gone. Something else had his attention now. His were darting across the blankets and the pillows, following something that Cal couldn't see. Slowly chewing on a cookie, Maven set his plate aside, freeing up his hands so that he could lift the corner of one of the blankets and scoop up some snow.
"Cal," Maven tapped on his shoulder to get his attention, even though Cal was already looking at him.
"Hm?" Cal propped his chin up in his palm and squinted at his brother's hands. "What did you find?"
Maven held up a ball of snow with a large slumbering spider inside; it's fuzzy legs twitched and stretched towards' Cal's face. It took everything in him not to move away when his brother brought the spider closer to his nose. "Do you think he eats muffins?"
"I don't know," Cal said with a slightly nervous laugh. "Let's ask him."
Spiders did not in fact eat muffins. Spiders also didn't eat scones or cookies, so Maven suggested they try feeding it cake. Spiders did not eat cake either.
December 322 NE
The first snowfall came with piled up snowdrifts and black ice. Cal walked up the paved road towards a short red-bricked building with a warm box of pastries in his hands. He stared down at his feet, overly cautious about where he stepped. Though he had yet to actually fall face-first, he'd slipped more times than he cared to admit and he had no plan to eat dirt or ice anytime soon. Especially not in front of the cameras that were pointed down the road.
Approaching the doors, Cal straightened his coat and worked a charming smile onto his face. He really needed to sell his case in order to be permitted entrance to the building. And for the last couple of hours he'd been preparing himself to do just that. That didn't make this any less stressful. Cal steeled himself, his breath clouding in the cold, and pressed the door buzzer. He'd fought harder battles than this, negotiated with people far more unwilling to compromise. It was just one person he had to get through.
The intercom crackled. "Officer Calore."
"Good morning, Mrs. Hettie." Cal gave the camera a small wave.
"Visitation is on Sundays." He could imagine Mrs. Hettie sat behind her desk with an unimpressed look on her face. "It's Friday."
"I know, but given the situation I figured just this once couldn't hurt, could it?"
"The situation?"
"It's snowing." Cal stepped aside to gesture the landscape behind him. "It would be of great benefit to him to get out for some fresh air," Cal went on to say. He'd practiced this pitch in the mirror several times before he came to the facility. In his ears it still sounded to stiff, but he hoped that to Mrs. Hattie it sounded a bit more professional. "We have good memories with the snow, it would be a positive reinforcement of those."
Silence followed, and Cal tried not to let his smile waver. Mrs. Hattie's means to detect bullshit was a more powerful weapon than any Silver or Newblood ability known to date. Even though what he'd said wasn't entirely a lie, rather a less than honest representation of the motivation behind his visit. If Cal showed a hint of doubt that she wouldn't believe him, she would send him back down the road with his baked goods and his head hung low. So he held the camera's stare as if it were Mrs. Hattie's own and gave the box of pastries a light shake. It never hurt to try a little subtle bribery for things like this.
As the silence stretched on, Cal started to think that Mrs. Hattie had left him standing there like an idiot, waiting for her response that would never come. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done so.
Eventually though the doors buzzed and slid open, Cal ducked inside without giving Mrs. Hattie the chance to change her mind.
The residential facility was old and possessed a false joyfulness. Faded colored tiles and light yellow walls that were supposed to brighten the atrium, were instead attempting to distract you from the sharp tang of cleaners and the robotic voice calling out codes and directions over the intercom. While medics made their rounds through the rooms and security personnel with nothing much to do other than stand at their posts, gossiped quietly among themselves.
Mrs. Hattie sat behind large desk, eyes heavy with boredom, drumming her fingers against a clipboard.
"Is that a new uniform?" Cal asked, holding his arms out. He was patted down, his person was searched for flamemakers that he knew better than to wear, and anything else that could be used as a weapon. "It really brings out the color of your eyes."
"Enough flattery. I already let you in," the Red woman said, handing him the clipboard and Cal wasted no time signing his name on the visitor's log. "A small heads up, they're trying out something new today." she poked around the pastry box, nabbing a pair of scones for herself. "He might be a little out of it."
Cal nodded, taking the pastry box back with a small smile. "Thanks Mrs. Hattie."
The Red woman made a noncommittal sound before she sent him off with his visitor's badge and a keycard.
Protocol said that Mrs. Hattie was supposed to escort him, but by now he'd earned himself a bit of leniency with the facility staff. This place didn't see many visitors. It didn't house all that many people, and so high up in the Montfort mountains—everything was to far away. A majority of the visitors it did see came sparsely throughout the year; except for Cal. He tried to visit at least three Sundays a month, and had become well acquainted with the facility staff. After about half a year, they'd come to respectful unspoken agreement. Cal would be permitted a bit more liberty within the facility walls with the understanding that if he did anything that inhibited their work he would be thrown out. As if he would ever do such a thing.
Cal lightly rapped his knuckles against the stark white door of his brother's room, then pressed his ear against it. Silence, pure silence. He swiped the keycard and nudged the door open. Maven was curled up on a narrow cot that was pushed up against the wall, wrapped up tight in thin ivory blankets, softly snoring.
This room was more cluttered than his room back at Whitefire. Cal tried not to think of his former home, but it was hard when all he could do was compare it to this place. His brother's old bedroom which should've been a safe place for him, a mosaic of every passion and interest he was made up of, had been more empty and hollow than his current room. There were so many books here. Stacks of restored texts and newer works of writing alike, with worn spines, and all heavily annotated with scraps of multicolored paper poking out the fore-edge. The walls were covered with drawings, some were decent, while others were clumsy doodles. And on the nightstand there were dried flowers scattered around a small box that held nothing more than a few buttons and some scraps of burnt uniform. (Which Cal had found while he was cleaning out Maven's bedroom at Whitefire, tucked underneath the pillow his brother used to lay his head on).
Cal set the pastry box down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. Surprised that his brother didn't seem to stir when he surely would've felt the mattress dip. Cal watched Maven's chest rise and fall with steady breaths, carding his fingers through his hair. It was longer now, nearly brushing his shoulders. The curls were softer, healthier, they were left to be wild and loose. It suited him.
"You're not supposed to be here," Maven mumbled without opening his eyes. So he had woken up when Cal sat down after all, but he didn't move from where he was practically tucked under his older brother's arm. If Cal were to bring it up, Maven would surely say it was because the cot was too narrow and there wasn't more space on the bed for him to move. Maybe that was true. At the same time it could also be true, that no matter what some things just didn't change. "It's not Sunday."
"Special circumstances," Cal said, pulling open one of Maven's eyelids. "It's snowing, Mavey, and I brought pastries."
His brother swatted his hand away. "Aren't we too old for this?"
Too old, too wounded.
"Absolutely not." Cal gently nudged him into a sitting position. "Come on, get up lazybones."
Maven's movements were sluggish. The Silent Stone around his wrists seemed to weigh down his arms as he reached under the bed to pull out a pair of slippers. Whatever they were trying out today had his eyes hazed and unfocused.
A part of him ached, seeing his brother like this. Maven whose gaze had once been so sharp, whose movements had once been so meticulous and refined, now mellowed out to the point that he was bordering on drowsing. The shadows under his eyes had lightened though. His cheeks weren't as sunken as before, he'd gained some weight since he'd been here. His nails were broken and irritated from being picked at, but they weren't bleeding anymore. That was something, wasn't it?
"I started a new book," Maven mumbled, pulling Cal from his thoughts. "It's a mystery, I've almost solved it." He pulled on sweater and pulled the hood over his head, concealing his ruffled hair. "The protagonist can't see what's right in front of their face, but I can. It's either the cook or the mistress."
"Do you want bring it?" Cal asked. He half expected his brother to start presenting his evidence as to why he thought the cook or the mistress guilty.
With a nod, Maven grabbed the book and went to knock on the door to alert the officer posted on the other side. Who then escorted them into an elevator and then up a flight of stairs to the garden that was on the roof.
Sunbeams slipped through the gaps in the clouds, gleaming off the snow-covered beds of soil and flora. Maven tugged Cal along to the tall tree that stood in the center of the garden, casting a large shadow. He sat down heavily on one of its large roots, resting his back against the dark, furrowed trunk.
"You don't want to sit out in the sun?" Cal asked, joining his brother underneath the tree. "It might be a bit warmer."
"I think I like the cold," Maven said, opening his book. He set a finger on the page as if to mark his place, but he wasn't reading anything yet. His eyes drifted to the frozen leaves that were scattered around them. "We don't get to feel it often. I never really paid much attention to it before."
A few of the leaves found themselves placed between the pages of his book. Later, Cal imagined, they would join the dried flowers on the nightstand.
If one dead leaf found its way into Cal's coat pocket by Maven's hand, well neither of them said anything about that.
Maven stretched his arm out, reaching for the horizon. As the tree shook snowflakes onto his hood. "Also I think if I spend too long in the sun, I might melt."
Cal snorted, laying out the pastries. "A while ago, I read a story where that happened to a boy."
Maven tipped his head to the side. "What story?"
"It was from the old era I think. A boy with wings who flew to close to the sun. I could bring you the book next time."
Maven hummed—which Cal took as a yes—and picked up a small piece of chocolate cake, turning it over in his fingers. Quietly, he asked, "are these the ones from Archeon?"
"No," Cal mumbled, watching his brother cautiously bite into the cake."It's…it's not the same."
You're not the same.
"It's okay." Maven took another bite of the cake, drawing up his knees up. His eyes fell back down to his book.
"Yeah," Cal agreed. "It's okay."
Because you're still here.