Chapter Text
Dorian Havilliard slipped out of his room and closed the door behind him, turning the knob slowly. The aged wood floor creaked a little under his foot but he made sure to leave the inn as quietly as possible.
Not that he should be worried about waking up Chaol or Yrene. Both were exhausted enough to sleep through the rest of the day and night but he'd prefer to spare Chaol the worry —No matter how Dorian and his magic could protect the three of them better than any sword.
Once he said his farewells to their host, and left indications in case his friends asked, he headed over to the village's southern outskirts. On his way he found many citizens eager to offer an invitation to eat dinner with them tonight. He greeted all and answered, “It'd be an honour but I’m afraid we have plans already.” refusing the invitations politely.
It was a small village but everyone had been nice and glad to receive the king of Adarlan and his companions.
Turning down the next corner, he could hear the morning chatter from the local market. He’ll stocked his bags with supplies on the way back. They should start getting ready for their trip through Oakwald.
Once they’d arrived in a different town, Dorian and Chaol began by assembling with the people in charge; and after hearing them and how things were currently, he started proposing ideas and changes. He remembered most of the names from his lessons and council meetings and when not, the representatives were glad he at least knew the town and complimented anything that characterised it, at least.
Without his father's court and most lords that command these small areas, choosing another lord to take its place that could leave the same villages as unattended as they have been was not what he wanted. Dorian already had an idea in mind to try but their arrival to Rifthold had been delayed a little once Yrene and Dorian decided to help as many people on their way back as possible.
Chaol hadn't complained, helping with the debris and rebuilding before Yrene's magic wore out. Assuming his role as hand of the king, hearing everyone’s suggestions by Dorian’s side, when restrained to his wheelchair.
Dorian helped mainly with his magic by moving heavy debris off the roads, holding heavy materials to build, and enjoying working side by side with their people. And he couldn't avoid thinking this was how he wanted his reign to be. To send the right message from the start, that their king would be close to his subjects and ready to make things better for all of them.
It wasn't that he hadn't sent instructions to Rifthold but once there, he had the feeling he'd be consumed in work immediately so he wanted to know the needs the rest of Adarlan have before that unavoidable day came.
Dorian pressed further south.
He was glad to find people with magic still around despite the murders that started one decade ago and then their recent hunt from the valgs.
It was a miracle they decided to stay in Adarlan.
Some were proud —as the kid across the street, bragging about moving leaves around his friends— some others were getting used to it, still adjusting. Dorian liked to think he belonged to the first group. “You’re supposed to practice daily,” Dorian had told him, then he tried not to wince as he asked, "Is someone around to teach you?”
That's how he had introduced himself to the kid back when they first met, and he was almost ready to take him back to Rifthold with them if he said his parents were dead but the kid had answered “My dad is the baker and he is like me too,” and it made Dorian glad to find a little mercy after the storm.
He was excited to see what the world would turn now that it was free from evil and all in it thrived with magic.
It looked more alive.
There were small hints here and there that it could become the old world of fantasy he had read in books. It made him fall in love with the idea of such a world reborn.
He kept walking through the streets, greeting the citizens he passed by.
He was no longer afraid.
Not after all the horrors he already endured.
Even though the responsibility of taking care of an entire kingdom and his people fell over his shoulders now, he was no longer afraid. For more than a decade his kingdom had been the cauldron of the worst evil ever seen. And he had witnessed it all first hand when the Valg inside the collar his —also possessed— father had put on him, controlled him in body and mind till his friends freed him.
When this journey started, he had been a prince inside a glass castle. Too wary to stand for his opinions and better fit to diplomatic talks and balls than war.
But he was no longer who he had been.
Neither was Chaol.
Nonetheless, all the previous knowledge stayed with them —hopefully— to guide the kingdom in a better direction.
Now they finally won and his kingdom was left as broken as their king once was. But he noticed, as he made his way back to Rifthold, they all were in the path of healing. Stronger than they had first believed they were.
It was hard to miss the signs in every town they visited.
It was even harder to hide who they were.
He, a man with sapphire blue eyes, Chaol, a man with auburn hair with a cane over his black horse, and Yrene, the healer from Fenharrow who had played one —if not the most crucial parts to save them all— they were easily recognised as part of the heroes who free their world. The three had been the last from Adarlan to leave Terrasen, the very few valg possessed Adarlanians that Yrene had been able to bring back, having gone back weeks before. Eager to go back home to their families.
At every town they arrived at, they were surrounded by people greeting them full of awe and worlds of gratitude. All offering a roof to sleep and food for the heroes of Erilea.
Sometimes they had to stay for a day or two after Yrene started healing as many people as she could and ended up so tired she couldn’t get out of bed for days. Chaol's legs would momentarily stop working too, because of their life's bond.
In those days, as today, Dorian had enough time to wander around as himself or as a common person.
His shapeshifting helped like that.
For the first time, he was able to walk inside his kingdom without an escort or guards around. Or worrying about a big threat.
He could talk with his people and hear their concerns. To truly meet them and the marvelous lands.
And Chaol couldn't fuss about something he had no idea was happening at the moment.
Some days, back on the road, he traveled as any kind of bird, to scoop their surroundings first or —his favorites— he ran around as a dog or horse. Chaol got nervous any time he went away for too long but Yrene and her own adventures in the woods searching for specific plants that grew in the area, dragged his attention back to her.
“You worry too much.” both had told Chaol numerous times.
Chaol was sort of right though.
Everyone knew of his fire and ice magic and the rumors said the king could wield any kind of magic because he was one of the most powerful magic users alive. And he decided to keep his shapeshifting a secret, as an advantage, to have a different view now and then.
People acted differently around a ruling figure and he wanted to make a change for good with the whole picture at hand.
He wanted desperately to make things right after so many years of not doing enough for them, but mostly he yearned to have what Chaol and Yrene had found in each other.
A happy marriage. Love.
To look at someone with the same devotion Chaol had for Yrene. To wake up by the side of your true love.
And he wanted to try it with her.
Only with her.
His main problem was the object of his affections was currently leading her people back to her own kingdom.
The wind howled and his gaze landed on many birds scattered in the sky. He thought the far away silhouettes could easily be wyverns. No one could be sure from this distance.
He wondered where Manon was at the moment. If she had arrived without complications and was already rebuilding her ancient kingdom. Or would she find even more difficulties on her way? Would she be thinking of him as much as he thought of her?
Probably not.
He could still feel her lithe body trembling in his arms as she cried.
She needed time to heal and grief the lives that were taken from her during battle.
He was not sure yet if it was love, but what else could it be if not. He clung to that thought, thinking of her actions, her words.
He sighed loudly.
It will hurt if things between them end badly. Dorian shook the thought from his mind. If Manon hadn't outright banished their possibilities of a future together, then he shouldn’t either.
Dorian, in his large list of love conquests, never had felt as deep like this. Yrene had guessed right. As he walked by, he noticed more destruction unattended. His focus came back to what else he could do for his people.
He wanted to be a man who deserved to wear a crown and be called king.