Chapter 4 - The Little Merman

It was to be a month before the Prince and his party departed for Amn. In that time, Aven became familiar with his new surroundings and his routine. The Prince it seemed, followed a very strict schedule. He woke in the morning before dawn and bathed. He was typically gone by the time Aven was awake.

While Aven had free reign of the castle, Lucian would attend his lessons and prepare for the voyage. Horseback riding, swordsmanship, his arcane tutelage under Caesar. Sometimes he would even ask Aven to join him, in which case he simply became a glorified servant.

Slave, bring me that pitcher.

Slave, stand to the side.

Slave, another grape.

At the end of the day, he and Aven had dinner together in their private dining hall - an affair that was typically dead silent. Aven learned early on that opening his mouth to engage in conversation typically elicited annoyed glares from the Prince and stayed quiet.

That was all right with Aven. The less time he had with His Royal Haughtiness, the better. He kept himself busy, be it spending time with Icarus or Kion, or roaming the halls and exploring how far his freedom within the castle was tested. He quickly came to know the staff. Evette, the Mistress of the Wardrobe who loved to use Aven’s figure to test a number of apparel. Carth, the young stablehand who taught Aven how to settle a wild horse. He even traded brief conversation with Nikodemus, the castle Seneschal.

But there was one man who Aven hadn’t seen yet.

In the twilight of the second week, Aven laid out on the bed as he watched Lucian work. He was pouring over textbooks, perhaps the same ones from yesterday. Aven couldn’t tell the difference. They all looked the same to him.

“Why haven’t we seen your uncle?” Aven dared to ask. “Does he keep himself holed up in his room all day?”

He could see the twitch of annoyance in Lucian’s jaw as the Prince dipped his quill into the inkwell. “No,” he said. “My uncle typically oversees matters of the kingdom. It’s his job, as he was appointed Regency until I have come of age to take the crown.”

The Regent. Darrien Arceneaux. Aven had heard rumors of him, from passing servants in the hall. Rumors that he was a mage of unrivaled power. “Is that not something you should be involved in?” Aven asked.

“I learn all that I must in my studies.” Lucian flipped the page. “House banners. Politics. Economy. Trades and foreign policies and-”

“That doesn’t sound like learning how to rule.” Aven swung his legs over the side of the bed. “That sounds like a load of horse shit.”

Lucian’s head snapped over furiously. “What would you know?” He hissed. “I doubt you’ve ever received a single day of education in your life.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Aven was standing now, hands shoved in his pockets as he meandered over. “I’ve had lots of lessons.”

Lucian’s features broke in surprise. “Oh?”

“Sure. I got a lesson here,” he pulled his shirt up to reveal a scar on his stomach. “And I got a lesson here,” he drew aside his shoulder to reveal a burn mark. “And a lesson down-” he moved aside the hem of his pants and Lucian twisted away swiftly, his features red.

“Those aren’t lessons,” he uttered. “Those are scars.”

“Aye. Scars from poor decisions on my part. You won’t learn a damn thing if you’re not out there making mistakes.”

“But they’re nothing alike.” Lucian folds his arms. “A political battlefield is miles different from some brawl in the gutters. It takes tactics. It takes strategy. It takes-”

“You really think I survived that long in the arena without tactics and strategy?” Aven shot back. “I learned how to survive from experience. From learning what worked and what was going to get me killed. Your Highness. If you want to be a good ruler, you need to be hands on. You can’t learn everything from scrib- words on a piece of paper.”

“I didn’t buy you for you to educate me.”

“No. You bought me to fuck me.” Aven leaned back on the Prince’s desk. “And yet, I’ve yet to be fucked. In fact, all that it seems I’ve done is wander about, follow you a pup and keep you warm at night.”

“Maybe it just occurred to me how appalling it would be to sleep with slave scum.”

“Or maybe you’re simply lonely at night.”

He went too far. Lucian slammed his hand down on the table, face now inches from Aven. “You have your freedoms,” he said, voice low. “You have yourfancy new clothes, your fine dining. But do not forget your place. You are nothing.”

Something caught his eye.

A flash of light in Lucian’s clenched palm. Ice dripping down his fingers.

Ah. So the Prince throws tantrums, as well.

“What are you going to do?” Aven said, the edge of his lip pulling upwards. “Are you going to challenge me to a wizard’s duel?”

“I wouldn’t dare waste my time.”

“So will we continue to battle with blades of wit instead?”

“I wouldn’t consider this a battle.”

“You’re right.” Aven grinned. “It’s a slaughter.”

Lucian scoffed and pushed past Aven. “I wasn’t aware that I’d be purchasing the most annoying slave the arena had to offer.”

“No,” Aven agreed. He watched the back of Lucian’s head. “You wanted the one that would challenge you.” He decided to stop pressing his luck as he moved forward swiftly. He grabbed a pitcher of wine, the only sound being the slow pour and voices echoing through the castle. He then began to light the candles, one by one when a voice echoed from behind him.

“Attend me.”

His fingers that held the match stilled, glancing over his shoulder. Lucian stood before the balcony looking out over the still waters of the sea, his back a line of tension.

“…yes, your highness.”

Aven made his way over. He looked down the line of Aeolian knots running down the length of Lucian’s spine and clumsily, Aven began to unravel them one by one. Slow. Careful. He was unsure why nobility always insisted on tying themselves up in a hundred different knots.

“Do you want me to fuck you.”

Aven’s fingers stilled halfway down Lucian’s spine. He looked up in shock. “…you want my opinion?”

“Yes.”

Aven didn’t answer. Not until he unfastened the last knot, and drew Lucian’s jacket off his slim shoulders, leaving him in nothing but a white tunic.

“No.”

“Some might find that insulting.” Lucian glanced over his shoulder. “Nobles. Servants. Slaves. I’ve had foreign kings trying to get into my bed. And yet, the one person who is supposed to has yet to even attempt.”

“No offense, your highness,” Aven said. “But I’ve fucked enough nobles to last me a life time.”

“…that’s right. Your master sold you out at nights.” He hesitated a moment, then drew away from Aven. He pulled on the twine of his braid, hair free falling around his shoulders and changed into his pajamas. “Get into bed. I’ll put out the lights.”

He waved his hand. Aven had seen the spell many times before. Unseen servants would be summoned at a snap of Lucian’s fingers, putting out the flames.

But this time - there was no such effect. This time - there was a spark of magic that had Lucian reeling back in shock. Aven shot up. “Your Highness?”

“Damned- I have it,” he hisses out, throwing out his hand again, eyes narrowed in focus. Another spark.

Aven grimaced. “Is something wrong? Is it like before in the training room?”

“No. I mean… yes. It simply… it simply goes wrong, sometimes.”

Goes wrong. That doesn’t sound good. Aven frowned and moved forward. “Maybe you should give it a rest,” he eased, a hand lowering down on Lucian’s shoulder and the Prince spun about with a snarl.

“Don’t touch me,” he shouted, casting a spell.

Aven felt it. The burst of wild magic that rushed through him, like a wave of fire through his blood. Suddenly, his face was being blasted by cold winds. He hung in midair - a hundred feet above the sea, half a mile outside the castle with Lucian free falling beside him.

Panic surge. “LUCIAN!” he shouted. His fingers twisted into Lucian’s robes as they fell. “What did you do?! Make it stop!”

“I can’t!” Lucian cried back, eyes wide as the sea rapidly approached. Falling. They’d be hitting the ground in seconds. Lucian threw out his hand, light gathering at his fingertips and Aven felt a surge of relief. Good. He’s casting a spell to save us both.

The spell went off. Lucian’s descent slowed to that of a fluttering feather.

Aven simply kept falling.

That asshole.

Aven twisted his body around, rapidly approaching the water and with his body straight as a sword, dove. He cut through the water like an arrow, a school of fish bolting as he slowly kicked his legs. Fortunately, the sea was calm. It didn’t take long for him to find the surface, even in the dull starlight and with a kick of his legs, broke through and dragged in a breath of air.

Lucian floated down beside him. “I’d give that a ten,” he purred.

Aven shot him a look and groaned, flopping onto his back in the water. He floated, staring up into the night sky. “Thank you, your highness. But we now face another matter. You’re half naked outside in the sea.”

“So I am. A moment while I summon a boat.”

Summon a boat. Aven’s arms flailed in the water as he kicked himself rightside up. “Ah, your highness?” He protests as Lucian lifts his fingers. “Perhaps you should… conserve your energy. We can simply swim to shore, it’s not far.”

Lucian hesitated. Then gave a slow nod. “Yes. All right. Keep up.” His legs kicked, arms cutting through the water as he began to make for shore, Aven close behind.

They emerged from the sea like drenched rats. The beaches on the shore of Exthellion were stark white, running along the side of the castle that was perched by the shore. The castle walls towered above, protecting the palace from seabound assaults. Aven shook the water from his hair and glanced over as Lucian wrung it from his golden locks.

He had the decency to look embarrassed.

An embarrassed Lucian was an intolerable Lucian.

“You’re a good swimmer,” Aven said, hands on his knees as he recovered his breath.

“As are you,” Lucian said. “I didn’t think you’d have many opportunities to swim in an arena.”

“They flooded the colosseum more than once. Eventually, you end up in the water. You either learn fast or you drown.”

“I suppose one must learn one way or another.” He regarded the castle walls with a frown. “…we need to get up over the wall,“ he said, tapping his jaw. "Sneaking in through the servant’s quarters is much too far…. and every entrance through the gates will be guarded. I will not be seen drenched and half naked.”

“How high are the walls..?” Aven asked.

“Thirty feet.”

Thirty feet. Aven frowned, eyeing the wall. He approached and ran his calloused hand along its surface. The edges didn’t have many foot holds. “It’ll be a difficult climb,” he murmured. “Doable, but not impossible.”

“Climb?” Lucian scoffed. “Who said anything about climbing. You climb. I’m getting up my own way.”

He threw out his hand before Aven could stop him.

“Your highness, wait!”

A flash of light. Aven threw out his hand, stumbling backwards. He blinked away the stars in his vision. “Your highness..?” He hissed out, squinting.

He could see Lucian’s back. He was sitting on the ground, shoulders sagging and the Prince heaved a slow breath. “….it was supposed to be a floating disk,” he murmured, voice harsh. “I was simply going to ride it to the top.”

There was no floating disk.

His legs had fused into a mermaid tail.

Silvery blue scales glittered in the starlight. Lucian’s face was hidden in his hand, and through his slim fingers, Aven could see his cheeks burned bright red.

“…my lord,” Aven said. “Just a suggestion, but….perhaps magic is not going to be of any help to us right now.”

“Apparently not.”

Aven edged forward. He knelt down beside the Prince, eyes running over him and a smirk drew over his features. “…well. At least no one can tell you’re half naked, now.”

“What does it matter?!” Lucian hissed. “My spell has gone awry again. I’m stuck outside my castle, my legs are gone and who knows how long they’ll stay like this.”

“How long does this normally last?”

Lucian heaved an irritated breath, folding his arms. “It depends,” he muttered. “Sometimes it only lasts for perhaps an hour. But I do believe Mrs. Brailey still has a sixth toe from a stray spell when I was a child.”

“Surely someone at the castle will be able to help. But first…” Aven drew his eyes upwards. “We need to get you up over that wall.”

“How.”

“How high did you say it was, again?”

Lucian stared. “….you’re going to climb it?”

Aven’s shoulders rolled. “Sure. It can’t be too bad. Unless you’d like to wait about for some noble to find us-”

“Absolutely not. Get me onto your back.”

The edge of Aven’s lip curved. He heaved Lucian up and the Prince squirmed up onto his back, arms hooking around his neck and hands gripping his golden collar as though they were his reins.

“Comfortable?” Aven grunted.

“No. Don’t fall.”

Easier said than done. Aven exhaled, glancing up at the wall - and began to climb. It was slow going. Especially with a brat squirming on his back. As he misplaced his foot about fifteen feet up, Lucian jumped, smacking him in the face and Aven gasped, scowling backwards.

“Settle down. You’re going to make us fall,” he hissed. Sweat dripped down his brow. He glanced downwards towards the ground below. Well… if they fell, at least the sand would cushion their fall.

Finally, with a pant, Aven heaved himself up onto the edge of the wall. A cold breeze blew across his face and he shivered, lowering so that Lucian could flop off of his back. “Well done,” Lucian hummed, as though he’d just seen an entertaining show. He shimmied himself over towards the edge, scoping out any possible way down.

Aven was slick with sweat now, kicking his feet over the edge. “Guess you got lucky, picking the big strong gladiator,” he muttered. “Should we just jump down?”

“Thirty feet?” Lucian snorted. “Sure. Go for it. Tell me how a pair of broken legs feel.” He threw out a hand… perhaps to cast a spell. Then his fair cheeks flushed with red, and he pulled his hand back. “…perhaps not spells…” he murmured.

“I would advise you wait on the spellcasting when we’re back in your room,” Aven agreed, looking about.

Then, his eyes locked on the nearest tower balcony.

“Your Highness. Have you ever gone fly fishing?”

“No.” Lucian turned, spot the balcony, and immediately scowled at him. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m afraid it’s that or jumping down. Now come here.” Aven didn’t wait for Lucian to argue with him. They’d have been sitting up on that wall all day. He swung Lucian up and the Prince clung to him like a koala, tail wrapping around his hip and face buried into his chest.

“If you fall,” Lucian hissed, letting the threat hang.

Aven was somewhat grateful. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how the Prince intended to finish that sentence. He took a breath, gritting his teeth and surged towards the edge. Powerful legs leapt - and he was in the air, sailing over the ten foot gap separating the tower from the wall.

He missed.

Aven felt the panic shooting through his veins like fire as his hand reached for the balcony edge, missing by an inch. That’s it. My life is over. This boy is going to kill me.

He squeezed his eyes shut, ready to twist around to at least soften the blow when he heard Lucian crying out. Their fall jolted to a stop. He opened his eyes - to spot Lucian clutching desperately at the balcony, tail coiling around his waist and holding on tight. “God, you’re fucking heavy!” Lucian shouted out, knuckles white and teeth bared.

“What did you expect?!” Aven hissed out. “I strangled monsters in an arena with my bare hands.”

“JUST CLIMB ALREADY.”

Aven ground his jaws together. His muscles screamed as he heaved himself up and as soon as he was up on the balcony, his hand snatched out, grabbing Lucian’s wrist. He hauled him up onto the balcony and practically collapsed against the railing.

They recovered their breaths. Felt the cold wind brush by and Lucian shivered in his arms, face burning red.

“….I swear that normally doesn’t happen.”

He had half a mind to remind Lucian that this was in fact the third time it had happened that day. But… his eyes roamed over Lucian’s features. Embarrassed. Vulnerable. Softness crossed over Aven’s gaze as he pulled the Prince close and edged open the balcony door leading into the hall. “As far as I’m concerned,” he murmured. “You lasted long enough holding me, Your Highness. Most men would have fallen instantly. Or dropped me."

"It takes a shocking amount of strength to constantly be pointing at people all day and telling them what to do."

"I can imagine. Now… your uh… tail looks like it’s drying out. We should probably get you into a bath until this clears up.”

———————————-

Aven edged his way quietly through the castle. Guided by Lucian, they dodged and wove around guards before they could be seen, keeping quiet and still around a corner until a pair of servants passed. Finally, they reached Lucian’s room - with a single guard at attention at the door. Icarus.

Icarus stirred to attention when he spot Lucian and Aven, eyes going wide as he quickly assessed the situation. The Prince with a mermaid tail and half naked. Both of them dripping wet. He opened his mouth to ask - when Lucian waved his hand.

“No. Just let us in.”

Icarus’ jaw snapped shut. Right Better to not ask questions. He stepped aside, opening the door and Aven gave him a nod as the swept through, kicking the door closed behind them. Lucian gave a groan as Aven placed him down on his bed, falling backwards to stretch out across the blankets. “Finally,” he muttered. “Go and draw me a bath. Be sure the appropriate amount of bubbles fill the tub before you retrieve me.”

Seems they were back to the usual routine. Aven snorted. “Yes, your majesty,” he murmured, moving off towards the room attached to the bed chambers.

Lucian’s bath was made of white marble flooring. A circular pool rested in the corner, a constant song being played - the plucking of lyres and the soft singing of a woman singing in a tongue Aven didn’t recognize. The sounds reverberated calmingly off of the walls, and as Aven turned the knob, hot water poured from the vase of a stone woman standing over the edge. Outside, a window gave a perfect view to the expanse of sea and starlight.

He’s drawn Lucian’s bath enough times now to know the very particular process. The water warm. A quart of bath salts and a quarter liter of soap. By the time he left, bubbles were nearly spilling over the edge. “It’s ready for you.”

“Good. You’re going to join me.” He glanced over and noted the wrinkle of Aven’s nose. “I know you’re like a big, messy mutt that doesn’t like to be bathed, but you will not be allowed in my bed if you don’t wash yourself. So you will either join me, or sleep on the floor like the dog you are.”

Aven grimaced and rubbed his head. “All right, all right,” he murmured, sweeping his arms underneath Lucian to lift him up. He swept into the baths, lowering Lucian down. The Prince’s tail hung half out of the water, relaxing against the edge and his blue eyes followed Aven as he began to move to the candles, lighting them with a match until a warm light filled the baths.

Neither of them said a word as Aven began to undress, peeling off his silky clothes and lowered himself into the water with a slow breath. He still wasn’t used to this. He was used to cold water being dumped across his shoulders, and a rough sponge being scrubbed across his body until he was clean enough to be sold out during the nights. This… it seemed deceptively calm and pleasurable.

He glanced over. Lucian’s tail was lazily flicking about in the air, head resting back against the white marble tiles.

“…why does that happen?” Aven dared to ask.

“Why does what happen.”

“The….spell failures. Why doesn’t it work?”

Lucian sighed. He drew his head up to look at Aven. “…how much do you know about magic, Aven.”

“Next to nothing.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected. Icarus told me about your… condition.” Lucian hesitated. “…magic is drawn from different sources. Servitors and paladins draw their powers from deities. Druids draw their abilities from nature. Most of those who wield magic in Aeliorn however are mages. And they draw their power from the Weave.”

“The….Weave?”

“The Weave is…the source of all magic. It’s the very fabric of the world, and it is controlled by the goddess, Mystra. The Weave is made up of something called Mana.”

“I’ve heard that term mentioned a couple times,” Aven said. He scooted a bit closer.

“That’s because there is Mana in all living things. It is essentially life itself. It’s in all of us. Mana is our connection to the Weave. Mages can cast spells by reaching inside themselves and tap into the Weave through their mana. But sometimes…. It goes wrong.” He tapped his finger on the edge of the bath. “To manipulate your own mana, you must have focus. Concentration. Discipline. You must be decisive in what you’re using it for, and be able to harness it with confidence. If you waver once, your mana can go astray, and go - as mages like to call it - wild.”

“And… what happens if it goes wild?”

“Anything. As I said before, the Weave and Mana is the fabric of the very universe. You could change the bodies of the people around you.” He nods to his tail. “Summon things from midair. Destroy the landscape around you.”

“So why is it so bad for you?” Aven asked.

Lucian shot him a look. “It’s not.”

Aven arched a brow. Brown eyes flicked down towards his tail and Lucian’s cheek flushed. He drew his gaze away.

“I just…” He drew it up into his chest, arms wrapping around. “..I don’t know. It’s been like that for a long while. It’s difficult for me to focus at times. I think I…. try too hard.”

Aven didn’t answer for a long moment. His eyes searched Lucian’s face in the dull light of flickering candles. He held an expression that was so often rare on his usually stone solid features. Vulnerability.

Aven edged forward and drew up the softest sponge within reach. “Why don’t I wash you, your highness. Then we can get you to bed.”

“….all right.”

Lucian shifted so that his back was to Aven. The barbarian dipped the sponge into the water, drew it up to Lucian’s shoulders…. And froze.

Once again…. His eyes were drawn to the scar on the Prince’s back. Dead in the center of his back, having missed his spine only by inches. He’d seen it the first night they’d slept in bed together. Again the next morning during Lucian’s bath. There was no mistaking it. It was a wound Aven had seen countless times before.

A sword scar, stabbed through his back. Aven’s brows pushed together. He reached out, fingers delicate, careful to drag them across his scar… when he thought better of it. With a sigh, he drew the sponge down Lucian’s back. Squeezed the water to let it drip down his spine. Lucian’s shoulders were lined with tension. No words were said. There was no sound save for the stream of water flowing into the bath, and the sponge scrubbing tently across the Prince’s back.

Lucian’s leg suddenly kicked out from the bath, toes flexing.

“It’s fixed. You’re excused.”

The vulnerability was gone. His expression had returned to steel. Aven’s eyes searched him for a moment longer, before he stood up from the bath, warm water dripping down his figure.

“….yes, your highness.”