Chapter 28 - The Trial of Kings

They had their time to rest. Several days to heal and recover. Aven was the first to wake in the morning, roused by several servants who swept efficiently through the room. Their clothes for the tournament were being lain out on the bed - beautiful, light weight armour that bore the crest of Lucian’s banner. They set food upon their tables while pulling back the curtains. The dim light of dawn cast through the room. Aven adjusted to the glow of the sun as he soaked in the smells of the delicious breakfast they’d been presented. “Lucian,” he murmured, giving the Prince a soft nudge. “Food is here.”

“Feed me.”

Aven slipped from the bed to take in the assortment of foods on the platter. “What first? Pancakes or strawberries?"

"Strawberries.” Lucian stretched out, shirtless and adorned only in white, linen trousers.

“Good choice.” Aven wheeled himself onto the bed, having mastered the art of balancing food without a single waver. Lucian reached out for the strawberry, only for Aven to retract his hand out of reach. Lucian’s expression turned confused - until Aven took the fruit by the leafed end between his teeth and held the rest out to the Prince.

The edge of Lucian’s mouth lifted into a smirk. “So coy.” An elegant neck leaned forward, white teeth snipping off the end of the strawberry with poise. “Delicious."

“Glad you think so.”

Quietly, they ate their breakfasts as they took in the morning. The birds that trilled outside. The voices of guards and nobles and servants outside their door. Lucian had his knees pulled into his chest, eyes turned towards the window before glancing back towards Aven. "I have a question."

Aven shoveled food in his mouth. "What question?” He said around a mouthful of pancakes.

“What is your opinion on slavery in Aeliorn, Aven?"

For a moment, Aven thought it a joke, until he saw the dead serious look on the Prince’s face. "My opinion…?” he said. Then frowned. “It’s wrong."

"I suppose it’s typical for a former slave to think so…. everything you’ve done as a slave up until now, would you have done so willingly as a free man?"

"Do you refer to being with you?"

Lucian shrugged. "Perhaps."

Aven considered the question, rolling a strawberry between his fingers. "I think…. if I had been asked or simply given the option to fight monsters and get paid, I would have done so easily. If I had been given the option to serve you… maybe I wouldn’t have hated you. Maybe I could have seen your charm, and done so willingly. But… I was never given that choice. And choice is not something that should be deprived of a man. It should be a right all people have."

Lucian pushed up from the bed and started to change. "I am considering,” he said. “Revoking slavery when I return to the throne."

Aven’s tongue was fastened into a knot for a moment. "What got you thinking that?” He finally said, after stunned silence.

“Marcello. It made me bitter that Halruaa is so prosperous, even without slavery."

"You’d be surprised how hard working people are when it’s of their own will."

"Yes, I’m seeing that now. And of course…” Lucian shrugged into his shirt and glanced over towards Aven. “You. You’re not….” He exhaled and pushed blonde hair behind his ear. “Slaves are thought to be mindless. At the very least, incapable of thinking on their own. But you’re not. You’re… surprisingly intelligent, actually. I think you could be a fine leader, if given the opportunity. A captain, even. You don’t deserve the life of a slave. And it made me wonder… how many others are like you. Talents and skills squandered by forced labor, smothered in servitude to those too incapable of doing simple tasks for themselves."

Aven bit down on his lip. ”…I’ve always thought that slaves hold the most potential. Nobles, and those who’ve lived in comfortable society - what’s the word… privileged? They’ve never had to fight for survival. Maybe I can’t read, and maybe when you first acquired me I had the people skills of a rabid hound, but… nobody could teach me to fight the way I do. That’s earned through raw survival.“

"Will you help me with them?"

"Of course. I’d help you with anything. Even impressing your stuck up enemies if needed.”

“Aven, I just mean my lacings.” Lucian presented his back, lacings hung limp at his waist and Aven flushed.

“Ah. Of course.”

Aven drew up off the bed and slowly laced up the back of Lucian’s shirt. A process that was once so long and tiresome was now as easy to Aven as breathing. “You’re tense,” Aven murmured as he lowered to kiss Lucian’s shoulder as he worked.

“Just this tournament."

"I look forward to seeing you kicking Marcello’s ass even more than I look forward to besting someone myself."

Lucian sighed. "He’s much stronger than I am."

Aven rolled his shoulder as his fingers worked up Lucian’s spine. "Most enemies I face are stronger than me. It’s not about strength. He may know more than you, and have more resources, but you’ve got the survival experience. You think on your feet. Use his confidence to your advantage. If it’s a duel… hit him quick and fast. You’ll run out of mana before he does, and when that happens, make sure you’re hastened and turn to your rapier. You have more martial skill than he does."

Lucian was stunned into silence. Then, he grinned and glanced backwards. "Well, well,” he purred. “Look at that. Your beast brain can learn tactics. I thought you only knew how to run up and smack people with an axe.”

“Well that is my specialty,” Aven snorted. “Nobody expects me to hit as hard as I do. The way I fight… I use power, and I use fear. You… you need to play to your strengths. Charisma. Intelligence. And if you lose, lose with style. Go down with a bang."

Aven could feel the emotion that swelled in Lucian’s chest. Not his typical affection. Something new. Lucian turned around as Aven finished his lacing and threw his arms around Aven’s neck. They were close. Their noses touched together. Lucian’s hand rested on Aven’s bare chest. "Aven,” he said. His voice was almost… timid.

Aven’s breath caught. “Yes…?"

Lucian swallowed. ”…I-“ He was interrupted by a rapping on the door. Lucian grimaced and sighed, resting his head to Aven’s chest. "Leave us,” he commanded.

“Ah… my lord,” said a voice from the hallway. “You may want to visit the courtyard."

"Why?"

"Your…” He paused. “Men have arrived."

Aven immediately lit up as he detangled from Lucian. ”Finally!“

Lucian rolled his eyes. "Well, Aven,” he said as he threw the man his clothes. “You best get down there before your friends get us promptly escorted from Marcello’s home. I didn’t inform him he’d be receiving an army of mangy animals at his doorstep.”

Aven didn’t need to be told twice. Lucian wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Aven dress so fast as he hopped around the room shoving his trousers on. He squirmed into his shirt, tore on his jacket - the buttons unaligned - and raced into the hallway, voice echoing down the halls. "KION IS HERE!"

———————————————–

When they reached the courtyard, the gardens had dissolved into utter chaos. Fifty guards were at the ready, the whole of them made up of mages with staffs and wands in hand. They stood about warily as the Mindulgulph marched in. They could have easily appeared as bandits, with little order to their armour, wielding an assortment of weapons and carrying themselves with very little discipline. They laughed, they snapped their jaws at nobles who got too close.

And yet… there was someone new among them.

Marching at the head of the Mindulgulph, right beside Morra was a woman. Tall, towering nearly to Aven’s height with pale white skin and a lighter shade of hair. The Mindulgulph followed her as though it were second nature. Yellow eyes locked immediately onto Aven as he and Lucian reached them. "So this must be the famous Beast Tamer I’ve heard so much about,” she said. Her gaze was appraising.

“You know me?"

"I do. How could I not? You’ve dragged my company halfway across Faerun.” She stuck out her hand. Calloused. Rough. The hands of a warrior. “My name is Gayrlana. Leader of the Mindulgulph."

So this was Garylana. Aven took the hand. "They told me about you. Granted, not enough. You’re not a…."

"Not a beast?” She smirked. “One might say otherwise. I do hope we can catch up. Apparently my people are now at war with Aeliorn.” She glanced over towards Morra, whom Aven could have sworn was blushing beneath her tusks. “It seems much has happened while I was away."

“A lot’s happened,” Aven agreed.

"Lady Gayrlana.” Lucian squeezed between the two and put out his hand. “My name is Prince Lucian."

"I know who you are.” The warmth of Gayrlana’s expression had hardened into knives. It was immediately apparent she was not fond of nobility.

She crushed his hand in her grasp, but he gave no indication as he simply gave a smile. “We’re fortunate to have your aide.”

A roar shattered the awkward silence. The guards fumbled for their staffs and wands while the Mindulgulph simply grinned, ranks cutting in half as a massive lion bounded between them, heading straight for Aven. “Kion!” Aven threw his arms out, submitting himself to being tackled to the ground. “Hey, bud,” he said with a great smile past rough kitty kisses against his face. “Ya miss me? You look like you got a bath…"

“What in the absolute Hells is this?” Marcello stood at the top of a curved set of stairs leading to a balcony overlooking the courtyard. He was half gawking and half scowling at the scene he’d been met with.

"This,” Lucian said proudly, sweeping his arms out. “Is my army."

Marcello’s gaze swept over the two hundred anthropomorphic bandits and seventy mages. His eye twitched. "Lower your weapons!” He called to his guards as he descended the steps. “Lucian. I did not expect three hundred… guests."

"Trust me, neither did I."

Marcello dragged his fingers down his face. ”…I can see why you asked for an alliance. Three hundred won’t begin to cover an army to stand against King Darrien.“

A horn sounded in the distance. The mark of a tournament about to begin. Marcello’s exasperation expelled in an exhale as he moved to Gayrlana. "Sorry for my shock,” he said, holding his hand out. “We don’t often get visiting armies at our doors. Especially not in the midst of war. You and your men will be accommodated as needed."

"We heard there’s a tournament,” Gayrlana said as she took his hand and crushed it in a firm shake. “I do hope we wild beasts are permitted to join."

"Your participation would be welcomed.” “Well boys!” Her voice snapped out like a whip as she turned on the Mindulgulph, hands on her hips. “We ready to play?!” She received a chorus of roars and howls that echoed through the courtyard. Gayrlana glanced back with a smirk. “I’d say they’re ready. Let’s see how the people of Halruaa contend with the Mindulgulph."

————————————————-

The games took place in the sweeping fields outside the capital’s walls. The Halruaans spared no expense in making it an ostentatious affair - especially with Marcello himself at the head of decorating. Having taken all day to prepare, every arena and game had been set up swiftly and efficiently.

The area was covered in purple tents for donning armour and sharpening blades and great pavilions were erected for the spectators. Many of the city’s inhabitants had come to watch, murmuring to one another excitedly as both Lucian’s Mindulgulph and rescued mages and Marcello’s soldiers and castle wizards prepared.

Within one of the tents, Lucian stood tall, gazing into a mirror as a squire loaned from Marcello’s army tended to him.

Aven soaked in everything. The tents. The horses. The spectators. "Lucian,” he said while plucking a grape from a nearby bowl and pushing it into his mouth distractedly. “This is so awesome."

"This is nothing,” Lucian snorted, waving away the squire. “There’s a tournament in Aeliorn where Aelorian nobles compete against one another in arcane and martial prowess. My father always won the martial combat."

"Did he?” Aven looked up in surprise. “I didn’t know King Aimeric was a warrior.”

“One of the best.” Lucian drew his sword and stepped up onto a chair, placing his right foot then on the table. He pointed his sword outwards in the pose of a mighty hero. “He bested every tournament he was faced, even when age slowed him. No man ever got the better of him."

Aven’s look of wonder dissolved into a frown. He stared at his hands. "I think I remember being at an event, once,” he murmured. “My father… he was a knight, he participated. I must have been six or so. I was sitting in a crowd of people… and my sister."

Lucian frowned. He stepped carefully down from the table and slid his rapier back into its sheath. "You mentioned her earlier. Have you ever considered trying to find her?"

"No.” Aven’s voice was flat. “She’s not family. She ran and left us behind. I have not a single tie to her, and wouldn’t dream of giving her the chance of meeting who I am now.”

"So you mean to tell me you resent her for having a better life than you?“

"No.” Aven leaned against one of the tent’s mighty supports. “I don’t want to meet her because she didn’t bother staying at our worst. Why would she deserve me at my best."

"That’s a fair assessment,” Lucian said idly. “Attach my cloak."

Aven’s muscles were still stiff with tension as he took Lucian’s starry blue cloak and fastened it around his armour. Lucian glanced backwards and smirked. "The armour looks good on you."

"You think so?” Aven’s lips touched Lucian’s ear. “I wonder who fitted the red for me."

"It actually wasn’t me, this time. Marcello has a great eye for fashion.” A horn sounded. “Well,” Lucian said. He hooked his rapier to his hip. “I believe that’s our cue. Let’s kick some Halruaan ass."

Outside, the stands flooded a large, sanded valley, with a full crowd cheering on as opposing teams lined up their horses one by one. The first challenge, to be trial by horse, was explained to Aven as a test of accuracy and control. Each member of an opposing team of eight would charge down a long pressed sand path towards a rack of projectile spears to then sink into a hanging target only a rounded turn away.

Horses’ hooves pounded into the ground, kicking up rubble beneath their feet. The announcer’s voice faded into the cheers of a crowd, and the first canon exploded in a blinding flare that popped into colorful showers in the sky.

On the opposing side to Aven and Lucian, Marcello and his sleek white Dambrathian purebred charged forward down the path first. He came up on the spear and swung effortlessly down to latch gloved hands upon the metal before adjusting it in grasp. Upon rounding the corner, he peered around his eyepatch, and launched his spear.

It struck just shy of a bullseye and the crowd cheered him on.

Lucian thundered out next, seeming to meld into the element of a tournament performance. He effortlessly struck his mark around the bend, granting the go of all other participants.

Aven charged with a gnoll barking behind, the two setting up to strike one after another. He wasn’t much a competitor in this setting, his lumbering body not used to the swift reactions and calculation. The first round, his fingers swiped past a spear, missing his chance to hit entirely.

Again and again, horses lined up, spears flew. A stray splinter found itself buried in Lucian’s padded shoulder.

Aven, atop of a newly deemed Jorak, began to fall in sync. The second time around, he hurled a spear nearly clean through his target, the next, a bullseye.

Everyone in the spirit of the event seemed to have genuine fun. Even with a trickle of red spotted at Lucian’s outfit, a smile wore upon his features, hair swept from his braid and floating around his face.

By the end, Lucian’s team had pulled ahead by a single point, marking the very end of the first event with a twelve to eleven. With horses being led away and back to the stables, Marcello found himself approaching Lucian.

His own hair windswept and blown, he seemed if not a tad lighter in shaking Lucian’s hand. At least until the Prince had shot a sly remark about his faulty eye, earning a look that could kill.

Aven left them both to their passive aggressive conversation, already feeling an oncoming headache from the grow in tension. Being around those two in general made him nervous. At a moment’s notice they could ask for his opinion to settle their scores.

He shuddered at the thought as he walked, fingers already deftly unhooking the straps holding his armor paddings in place at the shoulder. In passing, he crossed paths with several Mindulgulph who chattered away with approvals and clapped him on the back.

For a moment, he’d even caught sight of Roxsha, tempted to call out before deciding better when Zathmat came around roping an arm at her shoulder.

They’d gotten close since Jorak’s passing.

Aven snorted to himself, finally making it to his tent and shouldered beyond the soft blue flaps that marked those of Lucian’s participants. Quickly, more of his armor was tossed upon the ground and tables set up within. Pads and straps fell around him until he was finally in nothing but a linen shirt.

The next challenge was direct combat. He would be donning heavier armor for the occasion, as would Lucian.

A clatter came from behind like glass striking metal.

Aven stopped mid reach for a pitcher of water to spin on a heel towards the far corner of the tent. Where two suits of armor rested, one large and stained red, the other small and of silvers and blue, a figure ducked behind.

Without hesitation, Aven reached to grasp his blade up from a table and brandished it out. “Who are you.”

It sounded less of a question and more of an accusation of someone who didn’t belong.

The figure flinched, withdrawing his hand with an emptied vial out into sight.

“Don’t hurt me,” a voice came nervously.

“Don’t make me. The hell do you think you’re doing?”

Aven lurched a swift step forward, his free hand clamping down on the intruder’s wrist and wrenching him out by it.

Immediately a gaze fell upon a young boy no older than sixteen. Dressed in a squire’s garb, his patch boasted the Silvercrest symbol, as he sank beneath the hold.

“I-I just thought to help the lord!” the boy stammers, flicking a meek gaze back towards the armor stands.

Where the straps held fast to plated silver pieces of Lucian’s armor, a corrosive liquid had begun to eat through.

“Dammit.” Aven let his hold on the squire go, and the same hand immediately pushed up into curls. “This isn’t helping your lord. It’s cheating and making both of you look bad. You could be arrested for this.”

A paleness took the young boy’s features. “It was stupid, I’m sorry… I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause harm.”

“It was stupid. But it’d be even more so if you were cruelly punished for a mistake.”

“Then… what..?”

“Just go on. I’ll handle all of this, you just can’t ever do anything like this again. Your life is worth a hell of a lot more than this. Serve your Netyarch best by becoming a knight after you finish your training.”

The boy nodded to Aven and swept his head in a bow. “Yes sir, I promise!”

Aven’s nose visibly wrinkled at the gesture and he lofted a hand, waving in surrender. “None of that kid, you’re welcome, now go.”

A rushed ‘thank you’ left the squire’s lips before he fled the tent. Once more, Aven was left alone in silence, a brown gaze sweeping up the damaged armor with a sigh. There was no way he could hide it from Lucian. He simply had to convince him to let it go.

Turning back towards the platter of refreshments, he instead found a bottle of wine, filling a glass to the brim.

Several gulps passed his lips and he took a seat.

It wasn’t long before Lucian joined him. He was caught up in his own head, already muttering to himself upon entry. He paid Aven little mind, but had to have noticed him sitting. His mutters turned to full on ranting.

“Did you see him trying to shake my hand and play things off? Always like him to be so diplomatic in front of his adoring fans. I can’t believe you left me there, he kept going on about how some things just never change. As if he knows me.”

“Lucian.”

Aven had made it to the end of his glass when the prince finally rounded on him, locking an icy gaze to the man.

“What?”

“Is there someone here that can handle last minute armor repairs? The metal and straps on yours got messed up.”

“Messed up? How so, that’s not possible.” Lucian approached his armor stand and scrubbed a sleeve against a smudge on the breastplate. “It looks fi-” He went silent. Fingers prodded the corroded metal clasp that burned into his armor. “Aven what the fuck is this.”

Aven grimaced and set his empty glass aside, feeling comforted by the alcohol. “Your messed up armor.”

“How.”

“I caught someone trying to tamper with it. It looked like one of those acid flasks.”

“And where are they now?”

“…I let them go.”

Lucian closed his eyes with his back turned from the idiot behind him. A sigh exhaled from his nose, lips pressed thin. He reached to massage his temple. “Why would you do that, Aven.”

Aven could feel the cold fury lingering behind the otherwise deadpan tone.

“It was just a boy Lucian.” He swiftly stood to cross towards the Prince, second guessing his own safety in the situation. A hand brushed his arm to which it was quickly thrown off.

“This could have been fatal to me on any other occasion, Aven. You’re supposed to defend me!” Lucian ripped around to point a finger right in the other’s face. “That is the job that keeps you at my side. Next time, you are to apprehend any threat to my life no matter what circumstance you are in.”

Aven had gone silent as he watched Lucian like a kicked puppy. “I’m sorry.”

“Good. You may be a free man now, but you are not in the business of conducting the law. Are we clear?”

“…We are.”

“Good. Then take my armor to be fixed. This is Halruaa, any transmuter on staff can fix it.”

Aven bit back any argument, the taste of metal heavy on his tongue as teeth shredded his cheek. In some cases, it wasn’t worth arguing. Lucian and he simply wouldn’t see eye to eye on some things when it came to politics and law.

He gathered the armored chestpiece from its stand and swept out of the tent without a word.

——————————————————-

It didn’t take long for Aven to find someone. In no time, Lucian’s armor was fixed and everyone was prepped at the next event. The same stadium seating that had been used prior had been briefly reworked during intermission. To cater to a more domed style, the entire center was filled with dirt and mud, all seats branching up around in a circle to view from all angles.

A herald proudly announced the second event over the roars of the crowd. A trial by combat, several different teams of three would take on manufactured monsters to earn points for survival and flair.

As he spoke, a small flying ship lowered a hulking figure into the arena overhead.

It sank immediately to its waist in a puddle of mud, the goopy substance melding in with its body as it grew. By the time it stepped free, all had gone quiet beneath the way it stood twice the tallest man’s height.

A golem.

Marcello had quipped it in a taunt before the second canon fired, signaling the beginning of battle. Creatures fabricated by people and immune to magic. They were mindless, loyal to their purpose.

It was no easy battle. With the two nobles and Aven fighting side by side, an unspoken plan formed. Both mages began to buff the barbarian as he challenged the beast head on. Aven hit harder, faster. Without magic, he thrived against his foes.

Lucian held his own determination. Mid battle, he took the shape of a rhinoceros, charging in to land several blinding blows at Aven’s side. He took returning blows of his own before falling, leaving Marcello and Aven.

Together, Marcello’s magic swept the man, enlarging him to the size of the golem itself. The transmutation ensured a swift, hard won victory afterwards, much to the delight of both Lucian’s army and Halruaans.

By the time the banquet rolled around, Lucian was exhausted.

The grounds, upon which they’d been fighting on only several hours prior, were lit with activity. A number of arcane games had been erected to entertain the masses. Civilians rode in great bubbles that bobbed about. Soldiers hurled spears at balloons that burst into confetti. Magicians and soothsayers performed beneath flickering dancing lights that lit the banquet grounds.

And of course, the food. It smelled divine, resting on tables that were scattered throughout the grass filled to the brim with delectable, vibrant fruits and steaming meats.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying their time. Camlen was in awe as he watched a magician pull an entire sword from the bowels of his throat. Aven was wrestling a Mindulgulph, who was quite literally a bear, into the ground as a ring of people cheered them on. Roxsha and Zathmat were participating in an archery contest, firing at illusory mannequins produced by mages.

The trials seemed to be the perfect event to ease tensions between the Halruaans and Lucian’s small army. He spotted even several members of Marcello’s illustrious council enjoying themselves. The healer that had tended to him, Armell Heron and his son, Trystan bowed to him as he passed by. “Prince Lucian,” Armell greeted, lifting a goblet. “You’re looking well.”

“All thanks to your handiwork, Armell,” Lucian nodded back as he passed on by.

Everyone was finally at ease… all save for Lucian.

Everything felt tense. His hands, from being curved into fists all day. His legs. Every muscle was sore from being held so stiffly. He turned down a corner of tents and festivities and came to a halt. Irritation surged.

Marcello and the Castellan stood side by side in the midst of a crowd, speaking to the Halruaan nobility. Aven described them as wearing marshmallows on their heads. They were adorned in wigs and perukes that were lifted up several feet above their heads, some silver white and others dyed in flashy colours. Pinks, lime greens, bright blues, each to match their ostentatiously extravagant outfits.

One of the women, dressed more modestly than her friends, approached Marcello. “Come, Netyarch,” she hummed. “You would dare leave us without giving us a show?”

Marcello’s cheeks were stained a light red from his drinks. “My dear Lady Hollowind,” he purred. “You know very well a show is precisely what follows this banquet.”

“So surely you can give us an insight into what we should expect?”

The surrounding nobles nodded in agreement. Marcello was never one to turn a challenge aside. He threw his gloved hand upwards and a shower of sparks exploded in the air, bursting into colour and the crowd cheered.

So effortless. So flawless. Lucian grit his teeth and turned in the other direction, snatching a glass of wine off a platter right before a haughty Halruaan could. He downed it and tossed the glass into the swaying grass.

Marcello. He always had to show him up. In everything they did. Ever since they were little. Surely it was on purpose. Arrogant. Pompous. He was utterly-

“Lucian!”

He turned.

Kendyll sat on a small brick wall - the outskirts of a ruin to which the festival grounds were closely built. Two others flanked her, female friends her age. One held blonde hair done up in an elegant bun with a gown much too revealing for someone her age with bright green eyes. The other was a modest young woman, with a fine fitting blue dress that matched the cerulean of her eyes, and mousy brown hair that lay around her waist.

Lucian approached. “Kendyll.”

“You don’t look like you’re having a lot of fun. Are you still brooding over my brother?”

“Of course not. Simply plotting how I’m going to bring him down in the next event.”

“Oh, aren’t you confident!” Kendyll smiled and leaned back. These are my friends. Laine Umbral and Margeaux Hollowind.”

The blonde one, Laine, slipped off of the brick wall to lower down in a courtesy. “My lord,” she purred, straightening to hold out her delicate hand to be kissed.

Margeaux giggled. “Laine!” She smiled. “You’re already promised.”

“I know I am! What does it matter. He doesn’t even like talking to me anyways. How else am I going to get a kiss.”

Lucian took the hand and brought it delicately to his lips. “A pleasure,” he said.

Laine squealed and suddenly swung her arms around Kendyll’s neck. “I thought you said he’s grumpy!”

“He is!” Kendyll laughed. “I think he’s just trying to be proper. Where’s Aven?”

Lucian sighed. “The last I saw him, he was rolling about in the dirt with a bear.”

“Oh, I think I saw him!” Margeaux said, legs swinging. “One of the Ursine, yes? Of the Mindulgulph?”

Laine scoffed. “Why are you always so smart.”

“Because I actually pay attention,” she ducked a swat from Laine. “Isn’t that Alphonse!” She pointed to a red haired young man amongst a group of nobles and Laine flushed.

“Gods, get me out of here. Goodbye, Prince Lucian!”

Margeaux nodded to Lucian to follow after her friend. Kendyll hesitated and looked towards Lucian. “Do you want to come with us?”

Lucian waved his hand. “No, thank you. Enjoy the festival.”

“Okay. I can’t wait to see you compete against Marcello!”

She followed after her friends, leaving Lucian hanging in the street and he breathed out a sigh to trudge over to the edge of the festival grounds. “You and everyone else,” he muttered under his breath.

He found himself a small little wall on the outskirts of the festival and sat. Sat and brooded and drank and thought, until he drowned in it. He was broken from it when a voice shattered through the chorus of sounds.

“Lucian!”

Aven approached with a broad grin, carrying a slim wood. “I won something! It’s a wand. It was at a wrestling contest.”

Lucian’s back tensed. Their previous argument still rang in his head like bells. “Oh?” He said, voice dull. “Give it here.” Aven passed it over and Lucian turned it over in his fingers. “This is a wand of Burning Hands. Careful you don’t set anything on fire.”

“I won’t. It doesn’t respond to me, anyways, even if I do say the incantation. What are you doing out here?”

“Nothing.”

Aven frowned. “Are you all right?”

Lucian sighed and drew a knee up to his chest, letting his other leg swing. “…Just Marcello.”

Aven grimaced. Slowly, he lowered down onto the wall. His nice tunic was now stained with dirt and covered in bear fur. “…why do you and Marcello hate each other so much?”

“He’s an arrogant cunt and he’s jealous of my hair.”

“Come on,” Aven prodded. “There must be more than that.”

“Don’t be so intrusive,” Lucian snapped.

Aven scowled. “… yes, your majesty,” he murmured, pushing to his feet.

Watching him go… Lucian’s heart suddenly twisted. Despite his better judgement, his hand lashed out to catch Aven’s. “No, I…” he grit his teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed.”

“Then what is it…?”

Lucian’s fingers dragged down his face. “…when we were kids. Young… I was barely into my teens and he’d just been leaving them. Marcello and I never got along. Kendyll and I were always much more friendly, and Marcello’s brother, Theseus. But we never… hated each other.”

“So when did it turn to hate?”

Lucian sighed. “Every so often, Aeliorn royalty would compete with the children of our allied nations. And that year, Halruaa came to visit. I was the only child of Aimeric and Estelle Arceneaux, so other youth from the castle participated in place of my siblings. And it just happened to fall on my birthday.”

“I think I remember those events,” Aven commented. “We never bothered to watch… something about watching noble brats in wannabe fights when I was fighting for my life never really appealed.”

“Oh trust me, it was as bad as you think it was. Marcello beat me at virtually everything. After one of the events… we got heated. We spat some nasty words at each other and… I threw an iceball at his head."

“And that’s why you hate each other?” Aven snorted. “Because you were jealous and threw an iceball at his head?”

“No. It was simply… the precursor.” He sighed. “He… said something to me. Something regarding a traumatic experience I was going through. And I attacked the Netyarch’s son.”

“With more than an iceball, I imagine.”

“Magic missile, to be precise. He defended himself, redirecting it back at me. Struck me… and that’s when my uncle, and his father found us. Netyarch Murdock was furious. He was always pandering to my uncle, trying to get on his good side. So when his son attacked me… I’ve never seen Marcello look so frightened.” Lucian was quiet for a moment. “My uncle wanted to take me away to assess my injuries. I didn’t want to go with him. I always ended up hurt when I was with him.”

“He beat you?”

“Something like that. Marcello had noticed. It was the comment he made that started the fight.”

Aven scoffed. “Typical of Darrien,” he muttered. “To beat on a child.”

“Either way… I wanted to be sent to the infirmary. At least then, I didn’t have to go with him. I lied. I said he struck first. That he hurt me… that I was in pain. Murdock took Marcello away while I was brought to the infirmary. I was safe. Little did I know, Marcello was receiving his own beating.”

“…his eye.”

“His eye. Murdock used his magic to claw Marcello’s eye right from his skull before they even got on their skyship to return home. He lost his eye because I lied. Because I was too much of a coward to face your uncle.”

“So that’s why he hates you,” Aven whispered as he leaned back. “Lucian… it’s not your fault. You were young. You were scared. You had no idea Murdock would do something like that.”

“No. I didn’t. Either way, I never saw him, Kendyll or Theseus again. Until now, that is.” He looked up to Aven. “I have to fix this. If Marcello is to be an ally…. I can’t have him hating me. We need to be..” Lucian’s face morphed into all manners of pained expressions. “…friends.”

A horn sounded in the distance. A horn that marked the third and final trial. “Well,” Aven murmured. “Nothing better than friendly competition to make people respect you.”

“Competition with Marcello Silvercrest is anything but friendly.”

“Lucian.” Aven gripped his shoulder. “…it wasn’t your fault. In time, he’ll see that. Just… be courteous. Have fun. And trust in your abilities.”

“..will you cheer for me?”

“Of course I will. Come on. You have a wizard duel to tend to.”

—————————————————-

The final event of the night was between only two. It was set out on an ivory and quartz stage backed up against a rocky ledge with rippling purple curtains setting the backdrop that flowed in the delicate breeze. Marcello and Lucian sat in a throne on either side of each other before a podium where the herald stood proud.

A silver circlet wound atop Marcello’s head, a gold on Lucian’s.

The crowd seated in an arc around the stage, white clothed chairs lined in rows while nobles boxes floated overhead with prime view. Aven sat at the very front with Camlen and a few mindulgulph on one side, Kendyll and her friends on the other. Behind them, the rows started several seats back.

Under the stars and in front row view of royalty, Aven couldn’t help but compare to the last event he’d attended with his father. He’d been in the back then, unable to see a thing. Now he was practically a VIP.

Lucian’s VIP.

The herald turned to the crowd. "We come to our final event!” He announces, teal blue robes lashing about in the wind as he produces his staff. “Our most prestigious mages, Prince Lucian of Aeliorn and Netyarch Marcello will perform for you feats of magical ability demonstrating three themes! The mage with the most impressive performance of arcane magic will win! The first theme…. stars! Netyarch Marcello will be the first to dazzle us!"

“You’re kidding,” Aven snorted, voice low. “It’s… what, a sparkle show?”

Marcello swept forward. A single sweep of his hand mustered a roar of applause from the audience. As always, he was dressed to impress. A black coat fell to his ankles, the collar hooded around his neck with silver and dark lavender accented across the midnight fabric. Magic poured from Marcello’s hands in a glittering array of blues and purples before the colours began to take form.

Aven recognized it. The colours, the buildings, the shrubbery. It was the Ivory Palace in Exthellion."

"I do believe Netyarch Marclelo is starting off with Major Image!” The herald announced.

Marcello then threw his hand up into the air, and the image of Aeliorn shot into the sky in an explosion of stars and rippling colour that lashed across the night. The aurora borealis, painted across the black expanse of space. “And that combined with Mirror Image… unbelievable! Gorgeous!"

"To make our guest of honor feel more at home,” Marcello purred, letting the spell fade with a magnificent bow.

Aven could feel the irritation that charged through his lover.

He was careful to keep the anger from showing on his features as he pushed to his feet and replaced Marcello on center stage. His eyes automatically swam across the audience and when they fell on Aven, he could feel the relief flood through him. Then, he was focused. Lucian threw out his hands.

A sigil formed beneath him, burning a bright, icy blue. His eyes gleamed silver. And as he focused - creatures began to arise from the summoning circle. They gleamed and glittered, like tiny stars brought down to earth itself.

“Prince Lucian has summoned will-o-wisps! How beautiful!” The herald cried out. The wisps danced around Lucian, circling him like a tornado that rose, higher and higher into the sky until they fanned out like stars.

He couldn’t keep it up for long. So many summoned creatures drained Lucian and the strength in his arms gave. They lowered and the wisps vanished, and the display was accompanied by a round of applause. After several judges spoke with one another, the herald cried out, “The first round goes to…. Netyarch Marcello!"

"Oh, come on!” Aven hissed under his breath. “Lucian had that one, for sure! This has to be rigged."

Roxsha chuckled from behind Aven and leaned forward to place her paw on his shoulder. “He could have painted his shit gold, thrown it up into the sky and you still would have thought he’d won.”

The next theme was Dragons. Lucian was to go first. Aven leaned forward. His fingers dug into his trousers. Anxious. Nervous. Why did he feel so frightened. No… it wasn’t him. It was Lucian.

Lucian. He let his mind reach out. You’ll do just fine.

Lucian didn’t meet his eye. He threw out his hands. Magic danced along his fingers. He could see glimpses of Lucian’s thoughts, dancing across his mind. He’d turn invisible. Disappear in a cloud of smoke… and then suddenly fly over the crowd in the form of a mighty dragon.

The Prince snapped his fingers. The first part of his plan was executed perfectly. The Prince all but disappeared. The crowd gasped and pointed, whispering. Now the second… no.

Aven felt the wild magic. He couldn’t see it… but he knew that sensation. Something went wrong. Panic surged as he pushed to his feet, much to the grumbles of those behind him. Lucian? He couldn’t see him. He didn’t reappear. Nobles were chuckling and the herald, too was quite at a loss as he cleared his throat. “Then… Netyarch Marcello! Please demonstrate to us your performance!”

Aven could scarcely focus on Marcello. All he could feel were the knots of grief and embarrassment twisting in his chest.

Marcello bowed over. His features twisted, eyes burning red. His teeth elongated into wicked fangs. Scales grew over pale skin, and horns curled back behind his head. A flurry of red wings cloaked a draconic body until they snapped out and Marcello lifted his head, breathing a cone of fire. But rather than the standard red flames of red dragons… it was a twisting inferno of a kaleidoscope of colors that hurled into the sky.

"A Polymorph, combined with a Rainbow Ray… beautiful! Absolutely beautiful!"

Lucian remerged in the distraction. His face was plain. Emotionless. And bone white. Marcello leaned over.

"Competition has soured our people,” he murmured. “Do this final round with me?"

Lucian glanced over with a frown. "What do you mean."

"Let us intertwine our performances. As one."

Lucian’s jaw twitched. Like he had half a mind to say no, out of pure pride…. then, his fists relaxed at his sides and he nodded. ”….tell me your idea.“

Marcello pulled his lips from Lucian’s ear just as the Herald returned his attention to the pair. "And the last theme!” He called out. “Nature! Please, show us your performances, Netyarch Marcello!"

Marcello sent a wink towards Lucian and swept forward.

With every step he took, grass bloomed where his boots touched the marble. He put out a hand. Vines crawled up his arms. His eyes glowed a verdant green. And much to the amazement of the crowd - trees began to grow from the ground beside them, blooming with blossoms. The grass grew taller.

Upon the stage, braided trees burst from the ground, their branches twining together like rope as countless flowers exploded from their tips. The crowd pushed to their feet with cheers. Arcane mages had no power over nature - that primal power was reserved for the druids. But there was nothing an illusion couldn’t perform.

The limit was only your very imagination.

Lucian suddenly stepped beside Marcello. In the midst of his performance. He raised his hand, and was met with a resounding cheer as his eyes burned a silvery white. His palms were faced outwards, right at the aisle between the separated audiences. Focus. He could feel Aven’s presence brushing against his mind, calming him.

From the aisle - a glowing green portal erupted. From within the portal…. A forest could be seen. An otherworldly forest. Blooming with verdant greenery and flowers rich with colour, trees that were taller than any castle. The Feywild itself. And stepping from the portal - were unicorns. Four of them, marching nobly, gracefully down the aisle.

The crowd screamed with adoration as they leapt to their feet clapping and cheering. Flocks of birds that shot forth from the portal, circling around the audience and soon, Lucian and Marcello were joined by their summoned Feywild performers. “Absolutely marvelous!” The herald shouted. “How can we select a winner when both performances are so divine?! Ladies and gentleman, I give you the masters of the arcane, Prince Lucian and Netyarch Marcello!”

“Lucian,” Marcello whispered. “Take my hand.”

Lucian grimaced. But did so. He grasped Marcello’s hand and Marcello lofted it above their heads. The onlookers roared, their cheers echoing into the night.

“Quite a performance,” Marcello smiled as they were escorted off the stage. “You did…” He turned. Lucian was gone. Marcello looked, and where the boy had only just been before was nothing. He had no time to wonder where he’d gone off to. Nobles swarmed onto the stage, pushing and shoving him towards the banquet that awaited him.

Within minutes, he found his way to the head of the banquet table where the most prestige freely dined. Surrounding were a multitude of other tables built for more common day citizens. Guards stood point everywhere.

Marcello engaged in conversation with several others. Lord Vernan Hollowind, Lady Nadeen Ravenstride, Servitor Armell… He had little time to rest during a day of festivity, and his wine disappeared by the glassful.

He’d quickly achieved a dull buzz in the back of his skull when Aven approached. Lucian’s servant looked every bit awkward as he stiffly bowed before everyone.

“Netyarch Marcello, I’m sorry to interrupt… have you seen Prince Lucian at all?”

Marcello’s gaze found Aven and he waved to the other nobles to chatter among themselves to give them privacy. “I have not.”

“I think it would be nice if you could find him.”

“Why is that?”

“Well… we spoke earlier. He told me what happened between the two of you and I think-” He paused as he caught the warning look from the Netyarch. A sigh pushed from his lips. “Life is too short to worry about who did what all the time. He’s had his whole world turned around and he needs good people.”

“You think of me as good people?”

“I don’t think you are bad, at least. And Lady Kendyll is good. If I turned away everyone who hurt me in some way, I’d be dead in a ditch already. He’s good people too.”

Marcello rubbed his temple and set his glass aside before pushing up from his seat. “Very well. I will find him, now go. Our business is none of yours from henceforth, Aven.”

Without another word, the Netyarch disappeared in a flurry.

————————————

It wasn’t hard to find the Prince. He simply had to follow the flashing lights that sporadically lit up the ruins beyond the festival grounds.

Once a fortress outside Halarah, it was now simply a skeleton of what it used to be, the courtyard a ring of crumbling stone, the main building having sunk into the earth long ago.

Marcello edged around a tall wall of old brick to see a flash of ice being blasted at what little remained of the ancient Halruaan ruin, blasting it into rubble. Marcello winced. "Dearest Lucian,” he called out as he approached. “If you’re done destroying Halruaan history, I beg a moment of your time.” He dodged as a bit of stone went flying.

Rays, magic missiles, orbs. They blasted apart and burst through rubble. Lucian didn’t seem to have heard him. Sweat beaded at his temple, casting a final spell - before a burst of wild magic sent him flying onto his back. His rapier grew wings, and began to fly away. “Shit!"

Lucian leapt up to catch it, holding fast to keep the rapier from flying away.

The wings disappeared with a single wave of Marcello’s hand. "You’re missing an amazing feast."

"Come to gloat?” Lucian muttered, shoving the sword back into its scabbard.

“No. I’ve come to tell you to end this childish pouting.” He drew a handkerchief from his pocket. “Clean your face up, you’re drenched."

Lucian took it and leaned against the stone wall, dabbing at his face. "Thank you."

"Don’t thank me. I obliterated you on that stage.” Marcello pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is there something wrong with your magic? Or is it your head that fails to meet its mark."

"My head is fine. It’s simply… difficult to control."

"Because you lack discipline."

"Because I’m distracted by stuck up Netyarch pricks."

Marcello grit his teeth. “I’m here on behalf of your servant. He asked that I speak with you.”

“Oh did he? How very obtuse of him.”

“You told him.”

Lucian flinched. He glanced over towards Marcello and sighed. “I did.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to be in each other’s lives,” he said. “Regardless of whether or not we particularly want to be. I’m going to help you in your war against Dambrath. In return, you will help me take back my throne. We will be fighting by each other’s side quite a bit. And I think, in order for us to work well, our relationship needs to mend. At least to a point where we can stand being in the same room as the other.”

“You make it quite difficult.”

“Yes, I could say the same. Either way… we need to have trust in one another.”

Marcello watched Lucian for a long while before he folded his arms. "Have you thought of using a staff to focus your magic? Or perhaps that warrior of yours. Your magic in him is potent and unused. Have you not taught him to use it?"

Lucian shook his head. "He was born without mana of his own. Any of it."

Marcello clicked his tongue. "Impossible. The arcane runs through every being to walk this earth. Even if it’s the tiniest of drops."

"Not impossible. The only mana that runs through his blood is mine… it’s what was used to bring him back to life… the rest of his family is the same."

"Back to life you say?” Marcello said thoughtfully. “…it must have been taken from him, somehow. A curse, likely.” He paused. “While you’re here, would you like to attempt magic through another source? Perhaps Aven himself. He is essentially your familiar, is he not? While he can’t cast spells of his own, you can cast them through him. As I can cast through Acheron.” He snapped his fingers and Acheron materialized above them, lounging on the peak of a ruined wall as the white blink dog gazed down at them.

"I’d be willing to help. I don’t particularly enjoy slaughtering you on stage. That was no fun."

"Why not? It was a competition. You did well."

"Because it’s not a fair game when your magic betrays you."

Lucian pushed his fingers through his gold locks. It seems, even as an adult, he still toyed with his hair when he was stressed. "Why would you help me?"

"I thought you wanted to be friends."

"I think we have a long way to go before we can call one another friend."

"You’re right. But it can at the very least be a start."

”…very well.“ Lucian peeled off the wall. "What do you propose, then?"

"Train with me. And we’ll see if we can’t reign in how wild your magic is."