Chapter Text
Scott Springwell had not realized how much his life could change in such a short time.
Three weeks ago, he'd been happy, living with his father on the outskirts of Barrowhill and tending to the garden his mother loved so much. He'd been slowly learning more about his magic, abilities that no one outside of his family knew he had. Everything had been so simple, so comfortable.
But then, his father fell ill, quickly and mysteriously. Scott went looking for answers, but even the best healers in Barrowhill could only attribute this sickness to plague, which was apparently troubling the entire Kingdom. None of their remedies seemed to do anything, nor did Scott's own magic. But he kept trying, again and again, for a week before his father finally passed.
And that was when Scott quickly found out several truths he'd never been told. First, the home he'd lived in for his entire life didn't belong to his father or mother. It had been a loan, a gift from his father's brother. When the news of his father's passing spread, he was abruptly told that he had mere days to move out before the land was sold.
Second, he learned that his father's brother, an uncle he'd heard next to nothing about, was in fact the Lord of Barrowhill.
Thus, Scott suddenly found himself packing his entire life into a trunk and boarding a cart to his uncle's castle. He didn't have much of a choice. His father had left him very little money, and he didn't have much experience with hard labor, so it'd be difficult to get a job. He could always try to sell his spells, but being known as a mage was dangerous in these parts. Scott's family had learned that the hard way.
There were knights by his side the entire way, steering the cart and then escorting him into the grand hall. They all wore full suits of iron armor, faceless and intense. But Scott kept himself neutral, unwilling to show any weakness. He just hoped they didn't notice how tightly he was clutching his mother's pale blue cloak, pinned around him with his father's gold brooch.
Sitting on the throne, the Lord of Barrowhill was an intimidating presence, dressed in greens and silvers with a sword sheathed at his waist. He looked nothing like Scott, with deep brown hair streaked grey and a sharp brow furrowed over dark eyes. Scott was like his mother in every regard, blonde hair and green eyes with the gracefulness of elvish features (hell, he even had her last name). But the resemblance between his uncle and his father was uncanny, so much so that it almost hurt to look at him.
When the knights on either side of him stopped, he stopped. When they bowed, he bowed. Then, carefully, Scott spoke.
"Hello, uncle," he said. "You called for me?"
The Lord of Barrowhill looked him up and down, fingers drumming on the hilt of his sword. It was several minutes before he finally spoke.
"My condolences for the death of your father."
"Thank you," Scott replied, blinking a few times to discourage any tears. "Mine as well, for your brother."
His uncle nodded. "You look like her. Darius did tell me you were like Allura. I never realized just how accurate he was."
For a second, Scott was frozen. The sound of his parents' names, spoken so casually, was as abrupt as being slapped. "I-"
"You are like your mother, aren't you?" The Lord of Barrowhill continued.
"I'm- well, I'm only half elvish-"
"Not that. You're a mage," the man replied, clear as day, so that every knight in the hall could hear. "You have the gift?"
Scott's chest was suddenly very heavy, and his blood ran cold. His uncle knew. And that meant his father had told him. This not only filled him with dread, but also a newer feeling, more unfamiliar. Something like anger mixed with frustration.
This was bad. And he hated the emotions coursing through him. Such negativity was the last thing he wanted to feel about his late father.
"I'll take your silence as a yes," his uncle continued after a moment. "That's incredibly powerful. I assume you weren't trained by a more experienced spellsmith, given your... rural upbringing, but even a novice caster is an asset. Mages are very rare, after all."
"And what of it, uncle?" Scott replied, voice tight. "If you're looking for a healer or a war caster, I won't be much help."
"Oh, none of that," the Lord of Barrowhill said, raising his eyebrows. "I don't expect you to fight on my behalf. You're my blood, after all. Royalty, in technicality."
As quietly as possible, Scott breathed a sigh of relief. "...My apologies for my forwardness. I did not mean to come across as disrespectful."
Rising from his throne, his uncle stepped toward him, footsteps echoing through the high-ceilinged room. "Your father likely didn't tell you much about me. I only ever saw you as a tiny baby, after all. He was a humble man, happy to be spared of the splendor of lordship and the complexities of kingdom politics. I was perfectly willing to finance his lovely home and quiet any rumors about the absence of my dear brother. But I must admit, I always wondered what kind of man my nephew would grow into."
They were face-to-face now, and Scott didn't know how to respond. He got the feeling that his uncle wouldn't want to be interrupted, regardless. This felt like it was building to a point.
"Darius contacted me on his deathbed. One last letter, telling me of his sickness and asking for my help if anything happened to him. I'd written a response, but I received news of his passing before I could ever send it," the Lord of Barrowhill continued. "Initially, I'd planned to invite you to live here with me. I have a daughter your age, and my wife was happy to welcome you into our home."
Several emotions flashed through Scott quickly - sadness, confusion, then panic. "Initially?"
His uncle nodded. "Three days ago, however, I received a royal decree from the Kingdom of Bannerfall. Their recently-crowned King is intending to marry, and any noble families were invited to submit their children as potential suitors."
Scott couldn't breath. "You-"
"I provided information about my daughter and yourself. I described you as your father did: compassionate, intelligent, and dedicated. I also mentioned that you were a half-elven mage, which I suspect is what convinced them, because just this morning I received their summons."
"No-"
The Lord of Barrowhill cut him off. "This is an incredible honor. Bannerfall is a very powerful Kingdom with much influence. Sure, their urgency is likely because of their many feuds, not to mention that the Princess quite publicly fled her position several months ago, but this works in our favor regardless. They'll be sending a travelling party for you in the morning."
Scott could barely put together words. "The Princess- what-"
"The King's sister. Rumors say she's a bit of a loose cannon. And, of course, there's the whole mess with their Red Rebellion and the disputes with the Creaking Kingdom... but I already arranged for a tutor to put together some educational materials for you, so that you can go in prepared. It's a lot of responsibility, but I'm hoping that my brother described you truthfully," his uncle continued. "And that you don't have the desire to flee the public eye like he did, of course."
"Uncle, I-" it was difficult to speak, but Scott forced himself to go on. "I appreciate your faith in me, but I simply cannot-"
"I'm not asking you, nephew." The Lord of Barrowhill interrupted him once again, brow creasing. "This is not a request we can deny. Your cooperation will secure prosperity for the entire Kingdom of Barrowhill. An alliance with Bannerfall will help us fortify our lands and gain new connections. And the dowry is immense, of course. Money that I will use to find a cure for this plague that we're fighting."
"But I'm not-"
"You are of royal blood, nephew. Our lives are all about compromise," his uncle stated, turning back to the throne. "As I said, their travelling party will arrive tomorrow morning. There's a room prepared for you now, alongside a trunk of finer clothing and several books on Bannerfall's politics and complications. Learn as much as you can before tomorrow. And please, do not disappoint me."
There was nothing else Scott could say. He could have cried, or screamed, or collapsed, but instead he stood there, shellshocked and still, unable to fathom the incredible weight that had just been dropped onto his shoulders.
There was no way to escape this. The only thing he could do was accept it, but at the moment, that felt completely impossible.
"I'm sorry we never got the chance to connect, nephew," his uncle said softly, though he did not sound particularly remorseful. "But I'll see you again at your wedding. I know you can do this. Make our Kingdom proud."