Chapter Text
Mare
She knew that this was a long time coming, that this decision was right around the corner, yet she scorned it all the same. Fiddling with the letter in her pocket - a reminder of it from her mother.
Queenstrial date: 19 August.
Your dress will be finished by the 17th.
With love, Her Majesty Queen Ruth Barrow.
It was the duty of every princess in any Kingdom that ever was or ever will be: finding someone suitable to marry. To continue bloodlines through children, to strengthen the political bond between Kingdoms. Because that was all that princesses were really ever useful for: chips of a poker game to be traded away for even the slightest bit of power. It was a life that every girl born into power knew like the back of her own hand. A life they all knew they'd be subjected to sooner or later. A life that some never want to accept.
And Mare was one of those girls.
She spent most of her time watching her brothers train in the large indoor training yard - the huge glass dome above them exuding a warmth that felt nice with the recent autumn weather. The midday sun shone through the glass panes, painting the room in a warm, almost comforting light. There was nothing that Mare liked more than the scent of a well-used training room. The way the smell of leather, metal and sweat seemed to cling to everything. A smell that was certainly odd for a princess of her calibre to find as comforting as she does.
She sat on the bleachers, keeping her eyes glued to the soldiers in the north-western corner of the room. Watching their movements as they move through the familiar lines of attacks. Her eyes occasionally flit over to her brothers as they do their own training seperate from the soldiers to the west side of the room - throwing the occasional punch in one of their many daily sparring matches. Making the occasional mental note of their stances and the way they held themselves so she could practice it herself later.
Mare itched to find her way onto the training yard - to dig her leather boots into the soft sand-dirt mixture and throw her own punches until the dummies fell one by one, but she knew better than that. The electrical hum of cameras in all corners of the room reminded her that her mother and father would hardly be very pleased if she decided to start training in her new silk dress.
She'd done it before, and they were hardly very pleased then. And Mare knew that they probably wouldn't appreciate a second attempt.
So she restrained herself, instead sitting quietly on the bleachers and thinking about what she wanted to practice the next moment she got an opening in her schedule to escape from her princess duties and sneak away. Or perhaps the next time she saw Kilorn.
Her heart swelled momentarily at the thought of him. Even though they constantly bickered about everything they ever did together and enjoyed throwing hits at the worst possible times, he was one of the only people that Mare could say with confidence was a real friend. Mare can still remember when they first connected like puzzle pieces all those years ago - when Kilorn's mother and father died in this horrid freak accident, leaving him orphaned. Her mother and father felt sorry for him and decided to take him in under their wings and help him thrive. Ever since then he's been really eager to train. Eager to learn anything to make them proud of him. Eager to become a real soldier, perhaps even a General one day.
Mare hasn't seen him in two weeks, yet she's received the occasional letter. He went with a big legion and her brother Bree to go check over one of their outposts nearing the border of the Lakelands. Mare had wanted to go with, but with all the important political events mainly taking place in Norta, she had a duty as the eldest princess to be there, to shake hands, smile and curtsy. She hated saying goodbye to Bree and Kilorn. Hated giving them that final silent look before turning away and letting them board their vehicles and leave the safety of Archeon. Perhaps she was just paranoid, but seeing Kilorn suit up in that armour, watching him set off… the entire thing just didn't feel right.
"Dreaming again?"
Gisa sits down beside Mare, folding her gloved hands in her lap. She looks like the picture-perfect princess. Demure, prim and proper with not a single hair out of place. But Gisa has always been perfect. Perfect flaming orange hair tied into a perfect bun. A perfect daughter. A perfect princess.
Mare wasn't anything like her. They were polar opposites, in so many ways. But above that, they were sisters. Her presence was more of a comfort than sitting here alone, baking under the sun.
"More like wishing I was wearing something else." she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest, wrapping her coat tighter around herself subconsciously. It's been slowly getting colder with each day that passes, and Mare can feel the beginnings of winter crawl up her spine every time she wore less than two layers.
Gisa shrugs, her eyes looking through the crowd of soldiers as they slowly begin to disperse, ending their training session. Shade and Tramy decided to step back from their training too, approaching where they were seated on the bleachers. Climbing up the bleachers towards them, Shade reaches out and runs his fingers through Gisa's perfect hair - messing it up with a grin. Gisa quickly swats his hand away, trying to fix her hair back into it's neat state.
The two brothers sat down beside them, greedily chugging from their water bottles. Mare smiles to herself watching her sister fuss over her now ruined hair.
"Sitting and watching us train instead of studying?" Shade hums, elbowing Mare in the side - to which she quickly retaliates with a punch to the arm that makes Shade wince. "Ma and pa wouldn't be very pleased to see you daydreaming instead of preparing lovely little vows and dance moves for your future hubby."
Shade leans forward, making teasing kissy-faces with his hands clasped against his cheek. Gisa laughs softly at the words, but Mare found it anything but amusing. It felt more like a foreboding reminder of her future than a joke. She forces a smile, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes.
Tramy does not laugh, however. Not like he usually would've - instead staring out at the soldiers as they talked amongst themselves around them, a faraway look in his eyes. He looked concerned, almost - with his brows furrowed as he absent-mindedly pulled a coat over himself. His mood doesn't go unnoticed for long, of course.
"Are you alright?" Gisa asks quietly, leaning forward. "You're very quiet."
Tramy seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in, turning on his side and grinning that usual light-hearted smile of his. "Nah. Just tired after another long day. Not as long as yours was, huh Mare?"
Gisa seems to relax slightly as Tramy returns to his usually spiffy self, but Mare doesn't accept it as easily.
"Don't change the subject," Mare retorts immediately.
"You missed basically every punch you threw at me," Shade interjects, supporting Mare's argument. "You usually knock me on my ass every few minutes, but today, I manage to knock you on yours. So unless I suddenly had a burst of strength from the breakfast I ate this morning, something is up with you. Something you are keeping from the rest of us. That's not very Tramy."
Tramy simply rolls his eyes, standing up and stretching before shoving his hands in his pockets. Taking another look at the area before answering.
"Nothing's up - like I said, just busy. There's a lot of work we have to do, you know? Can't always be jolly."
Mare, Gisa and Shade watch in silence as Tramy stalks off, leaving behind a quiet, uncomfortable silence. Tramy has always been a very light-hearted guy - always making them feel better, helping eleviate the stress of daily life. Him leaving mid-conversation without revealing anything wasn't like him.
"… I'll talk to him later," Shade mutters. "He's probably in a bad mood because he missed breakfast this morning."
As Gisa and Shade delve back into conversation about her history classes, Mare found herself drifting off. Not really listening to anything they were talk about. Because she knew that, if Tramy was worried about something, it meant that it was important. Something to really be concerned about herself.
Maven
Sleeping in late was something Maven tried to avoid. Sleeping late doesn't only mean getting in trouble with his mother but also potentially missing out on something important. And god forbid he get left out of another plan, another outing, another… well, anything.
But you can't always choose when you sleep in or when you don't.
So when he finally opened his eyes, he knew he was in for a treat of a day. The light of the midday sun painting the plain walls of his room in that familiar bright light - his windows already opened wide, allowing a gentle gust to pour in.
Shit.
Sitting upright suddenly, he checks the time on his clock. Quarter past twelve.
Twelve. Twelve.
Scrambling out of bed, he digs around his closet for a minute or two before settling on a plain white button-down tunic with short sleeves, a thick woolen jacket to shield against the autumn, and a pair of worn jeans that he can't remember the origin of. He fixes his hair in the mirror before trailing out of his room, pulling his boots up as he walks.
The place is busy as it always is - Silvers bustling up and down carrying papers, ammo and supplies. A sight that Maven has long since accustomed to seeing regardless of the time of day. Though he could tell by a shift in the air that something was up.
"Where have you been?"
Maven fights off the thought of cursing as soon as it popped into his mind, knowing his mother would react sourly - instead regarding her with a practiced confidence.
Elara was wrapped in her usual modest dressing - soft fabric wrapped around her body in thick folds. Intricate and beyond his comprehension, as always - Elara always did have a love for anything eye-catching. The reasons to that preference of hers was beyond him, however. And even though they struggle with funds, leaving most of the soldiers to roam about the camp in old, ugly clothing, his mother still manages to look every inch like a Red noble. It would be impressive, if it wasn't, well… his mother.
"In my room, reading the books father has provided me on military movements," he lies easily, his finger absent-mindedly playing with the buttons on his shirt. "I wanted to revise my knowledge. Provide an educated opinion."
Elara steps forward, her fingers deft as they fixed his collar. The movement felt familiar, almost domestic. He found himself letting his shoulders sag slightly as his mother doted over his appearance. Straightening his collar, fixing his buttons, pulling his coat over his shoulder. Making him look presentable. She always made him look presentable.
Perhaps she thinks she's hiding it easily. Acting like a doting mother as she picks around in his brain, trying to find anything new, anything to use or to change. He's long since learnt how to place her presence in his mind. Long since knew what her goal would be with every kind touch.
"You know there's no point to lying to me, boy, and yet you still do. I can't tell whether you're being intentionally stupid or if you don't realise I can tell."
"I do realise."
She says nothing more, stepping back to look him over. To ensure he looked less like he just woke up and more like he's been up for a while now.
"Sleep so late again, and I will make you wake up much earlier than eight," she says sharply, straightening herself and brushing her fingers off as if she touched something dirty. "Perhaps five. Even four in the morning, so that you may really spend your morning reading. Perhaps I must get you a book about how important it is not to lie to your mother."
He simply remains quiet, watching his mother closely as she mutters to herself - rambling about how disrespectful children are these days, or something akin to that. When she finally turns and stalks back down the hall - no doubt looking for his father - he released a breath he didn't realise he was holding.
This place reeks of ocean water. It's fucking disgusting.
He was very opposed to making house in an outpost so close to the sea. But his mother had insisted that it was their best course of action - seeing as neither Norta nor the Lakelands bother with this area despite it being slapped right in the middle of the two lands by the coast. It was the best place to hide out, to plan their next steps. To lead the best way they could.
Because the Silver people needed leaders. Leaders they could actually depend on - leaders they could trust. That just so happened to be his family. A very long time ago, the Calores were chosen to lead the Silver masses - acting as a beacon of hope, of sorts. A mini monarchy beneath a bigger, more powerful, more… scary monarchy. In the Red capitals and cities, any Silvers that get discovered get executed behind the scenes. He couldn't count on two fingers how many times he's seen Silvers return to their camps dead, with a clean bullet wound through the head. Most Reds don't even know Silvers exist - at least, the 'regular' folk.
And that's for the better. The less Reds that know that they exist, the more they can get away with. The more they can do for themselves.
As he steps out of the building and into the great outdoors, he spots his brother amongst a small group of soldiers - his usual steady, commanding voice easily overpowering the noise of the crowd. He was done up in his usual ragged outfit - fitted with protective lightweight armour and hair that he rarely combs back. Looking every inch like some noble, fantasy knight from one of Maven's stories. The light caught him well, complimenting his features. Maven wouldn't be surprised if there was a Shadow hidden somewhere, tweaking his appearance to look more… leader-y.
Quickly, Maven made a sharp turn in an attempt to avoid his brother - to no avail, of course. Cal quickly spotted him, hurrying over to his side and shaking off the crowd as he did so.
Forcing a smile, Maven comes to a halt.
"I've got some good news, for once." Cal grins, digging in his pocket.
After a few moments, he finally pulls his hand from his pocket - revealing a bracelet similar to the one he wore on his own wrist. Maven didn't waste a second, eagerly taking the device from Cal and turning it over in his hands, studying it closely.
"New and improved." he hums, clearly very proud of himself for managing to tinker with such a small device. "Added a bunch of new features. And I gave it a name: Flamemaker bracelets."
"That's stupid."
"No, it's not."
"Stick to tinkering and leave the naming up to somebody else." Maven retorts, fastening the bracelet over his wrist. His previous bracelet had been a piece of shit - time having rusted it's abilities to the point that it'd barely give him a single spark to work with, let alone enough to sustain him in an actual battle. It lead to him having to be on the bench for most things… he pretended to complain, pretended to be upset - while happily enjoying staying at the outpost and reading whatever he got his hands on.
While he was glad that he finally had a sense of protection about him again, he irked at the idea of thanking his brother for anything.
His bracelet had a new look to it too. It was spotless - basically glittering in the afternoon sun. Parts of it painted gingerly in a deep crimson paint. Cal had put effort into this device - meaning it to be a gift, no doubt. But Maven knew what it was really for.
"So where are we going?"
Cal sighs, running a glove hand through his hair as he turned to look out at the expanse of land surrounding them.
"Father has another outing set up," Cal finally announces, turning to face Maven again. "This time we are expected to battle."
Maven purses his lips. While he isn't weak, he doesn't particularly enjoy running about and setting every Red soldier on fire that he can find. That's much rather his brothers thing. Because of course it was.
"Another of so many risks he makes us take." Maven mutters under his breath.
He goes rigid when his brother slaps his hand on his shoulder, giving him a firm shake. Maven shrugs him off, and reluctantly, Cal releases him - not bothering with trying again.
"You'll be fine, Mavey." he says quietly. His words were meant to be comforting, but they only manage to irritate him further.
"Yes." he grinds out. "Just fine."
"We're going out to a new camp the royal family established a few hours away. The Crown Prince is there, along with a legion of soldiers to deal with some democratic business. Best case scenario, we can send a message. Really knock it into them that we aren't going to take it anymore."
"… we're going to kill the Crown Prince?"
"No! God, no, Mavey, that's not gonna do anything but make our lives harder. We're just going to… let him know to send a message back to the rest of the Red nobles with a little bit of violence."
"Right."
I wonder if he knows how much of a horrible idea this is.
Maven knew his brother well, however - and while his brother is a strong, capable fighter and leader (of sorts), he's never been the type to shy away from a fight, regardless of whether the tide was in his favour or not. Anything for honour. It was something uniquely and irritatingly Cal.
"I have to go talk to father about the details," Cal says suddenly, fixing his sleeves. "Don't be nervous, okay? Everything is gonna work out, like it usually does."
As Cal stalked off, called back to work like a moth to a flame, Maven stood still, watching after him. Something didn't feel right about this entire situation. Whether it was about what they were about to do and what it was going to change or about the fact that he'd be stuck in a wagon with his brother for hours, he wasn't sure.
He just knew he wasn't excited at all.