Work Text:
The Past
"Hendrik. I'd like to introduce you to someone."
Hendrik looked up at King Carnelian, who seemed to tower over him. Hendrik's father had been tall too, taller than this man, but it never made him feel this small. King Carnelian was like a stone tower while his father was more like a sturdy castle.
The castle had fallen, along with Zaardwurst and Hendrik's family. His throat tightened.
"Come in, my son!" Carnelian called.
A small pair of eyes peeked past the doorway, and then another boy like Hendrik entered the room. Except… he wasn't like Hendrik at all. From his royal robes to his perfect posture, this boy was someone on a different level.
"Greetings, Hendrik," said the boy. "I am Prince Micah."
"G-Greetings, Prince Micah…" Hendrik stumbled over his words pathetically as he attempted to bow. He feared the look of disgust once the boy undoubtedly discovered his lowly circumstances. But instead, Micah continued to smile at him politely.
"Father has told me about you. Apparently you have a natural talent for swordsmanship…?"
Hendrik couldn't help but flush. He wasn't used to receiving such compliments from people who weren't his immediate family.
"Thank you, your highness…"
"I'd be honoured to have you as a practice partner in the future. What say you?"
"I–! I would not dare..! I am but a simple farm boy."
It was true that his father had been a knight, but it wasn't Hendrik who was supposed to inherit that duty. His eldest sister had been training with father for much longer. Next year she was going to take the junior knight's exam.
Hendrik swallowed the lump in his throat. It caught somewhere in his stomach and refused to leave.
"Don't worry about that. Such things have no place in the training ring nor the battlefield - that's what my teacher tells me." Micah paused and tapped his chin with a finger. "Tell you what… If you truly hate training with me, we can stop after the first session. I would not force you to do something you hate."
Hendrik felt a wave of dread wash over him. What right did he have to deny a prince? Much less the prince of the kingdom that took him in as a refugee. His fists clenched into the fabric of his shirt.
Then a large, calloused hand landed on his shoulder. The warmth of Carnelian's palm seeped into Hendrik's body.
"Our hospitality is not conditional, Hendrik," he said softly. "Whether you listen to my son's whims or not, Heliodor will take care of you."
Had the King read his mind? Was that a power granted to people once they met a certain age? Hendrik's mom could read his mind too sometimes.
But his father had always told him how important it was to repay a debt, so he blinked back the wetness in his eyes and nodded.
"Don't hold back on me now, Hendrik!"
Prince Micah lunged forward, his sword clashing loudly against Hendrik's. Perhaps in the beginning the knight had put more effort into keeping his liege from harm than being a good sparring partner… but it was different now.
The years had been good to both of them. Hendrik had grown like a weed upwards and outwards, while Micah had followed close behind in height, always a couple of inches behind. Hendrik's Zaardwurstian blood granted him his stature, but Micah was plain tall.
With a grunt, Hendrik pushed his prince back. "I would never hold back on you, your highness."
There was a chuckle from the sidelines. Sitting on a bench and cradling a canteen was Jasper. His breathing was laboured from having been Micah's previous sparring partner.
"That is a blatant lie if I have ever heard one." Jasper grinned.
Hendrik opened his mouth to deny it (despite Jasper being correct), but his attention was pulled by another voice.
"Don't get distracted now…"
He had only a second to react as a gust of magic hit his chest in full force. It pushed him back even after bracing himself and digging his heels into the dirt. When the spell finished, Hendrik had been pushed outside of the training ring.
He could hear Jasper behind him, laughing. Hendrik grit his teeth and sheathed his sword. "Magic is normally frowned upon during a duel, Prince Micah."
Micah was grinning from ear to ear, his hands on his hips as if he had just won the finals of Octagonia's tourney. The sunlight made him look like an otherworldly being. "Lighten up, Hendrik! This is only practice. I would never use magic during a formal sword duel."
Hendrik frowned, but he knew the man to be telling the truth. He hadn't used magic against Jasper, after all. It seemed like Hendrik was the only one who the Prince went all out for. Something stirred in his chest, tickling him in a good way.
Micah sheathed his blade. He beckoned both of his escorts with a wave of his hand. "Come. Let us take a well deserved break from training. You will need the energy for the upcoming trip to Dundrasil.”
The Present
Hendrik awoke with a start. He grunted and dragged a hand down his face before throwing off the covers.
It had been a long time since he dreamt of those days.
Now it was almost a chore to fulfill his duty. Hendrik forced himself to get dressed and don his armor. The promise that the golden insignia once held now seemed dull.
He nodded to staff as he strode down the hallway. All of them looked sympathetic to the duty he was bound to. Soon (too soon) Hendrik made it to his destination. He knocked on the large, ornate doors.
"Your highness, Prince Micah," Hendrik called. "It is morning. You have duties that need attending."
No sound came from within. Hendrik knew better than to just wait for an answer. He knocked again before entering. Immediately he was assaulted by the smell of booze. It was strong enough to make him waver in the doorway before covering his nose with a hand. The inside of the room looked as bad as it smelled. Clothes and papers were thrown about, covering every surface except whatever surface they were supposed to be covering. Micah must have told the housekeeping to stay out again.
Finally Hendrik’s eyes landed on the lump in the master bed. Micah was sprawled out like a starfish with his blanket covering more of the floor than his body. He stank the most of booze, more than the pile of bottles nearby. His hair was long and unruly, unmaintained and unloved. It was a stark difference to the short, military cut that Micah used to have as a young adult. The knight frowned deeper as he watched him lightly snore.
“Prince Micah,” he said again, loudly. “It is time to wake up.”
The prince’s face scrunched with displeasure and he muttered, swinging an arm out haphazardly. Hendrik was already well aware to stay out of range, so it hit nothing but air. Hendrik took it as an ‘ok’ and pulled the rest of the blanket off of his charge.
He couldn’t help but flush. There was nothing noble about the way Micah dressed himself for bed. Instead of proper nightwear, he wore nothing but undergarments. It was one of the bigger reasons why no one else in the castle wanted to be the prince’s wake up call. Hendrik was the only one who still had a strong enough sense of duty to look past it.
After some more encouragement (didn’t work) and finally losing his patience enough to shake the man (worked), Micah finally opened his eyes and returned to the world of the living. “Ah… Hendrik…” he yawned and stretched. “G’Morning.”
Hendrik bit back a sigh. “Good morning, your highness. There is paperwork that I need from you. I shall help you complete it.”
“Oh don’t worry about that! I completed it all last night. It’s on my desk.”
Hendrik turned his head to look at the prince’s desk, which was completely empty.
“Oh…. right, haha.” Micah rubbed the back of his neck and smiled. “Kinda made a mess last night. Sorry about that. The papers you need should be somewhere around here.”
As Prince Micah stood up and headed to his dresser, Hendrik had half a mind to ask him to help look for it. After all, this mess was created solely by him. It was his responsibility as prince to complete that paperwork. Micah needed to commit to his duty to the end.
But, as usual, Hendrik bit back his complaints. He was in no position to order his liege to do anything. Suddenly a memory entered his mind, one that had haunted him multiple times as of late.
King Carnelian kept most of the duties that should have belonged to the crown prince position, due to his son’s lack of competency. As of late whilst he, Jasper, and Hendrik were ironing out the details of the army’s deployment or city infrastructure, King Carnelian would confess his concern for his lack of a reliable heir.
Hendrik used to defend Prince Micah. He was traumatized from losing his little sister and mother, he just needed time. Time and time again Hendrik would ask the King to give him a chance.
Ten years later, Hendrik no longer raised objections.
After finally finding all of the paperwork he needed scattered throughout the room, Hendrik looked at his charge. Prince Micah was inspecting the bottle left laying around and making sure they were empty by tipping them over his mouth. The bright image he used to have of the prince faded further into memory.
“I will take my leave now, your highness,” Hendrik said with a bow.
“Ah, before you leave, Hendrik!” Micah called. “Could you ask the maids to prepare a bath for me?” Although he had made a show of looking through his wardrobe, the prince was only wearing a robe. Hendrik should really have been used to his ungentlemanly nudity, but he could still feel his cheeks heat.
“As you wish.” Hendrik’s words were rushed as he hurried out of the room.
Micah’s easygoing expression faded as the door shut behind his escort. He pressed his ear against the door until he could no longer hear Hendrik walking away and then locked the door. Next he went to a drawer in his dresser and pressed against a small mechanism inside, which made the false bottom fall out. From inside he retrieved a jewelry box.
The box was not suited to a prince. It was several decades out of style, and despite his best efforts it was showing its years. Upon opening it, he grabbed the magic crystal inside and averted his eyes from the name engraved in the lid. Micah siphoned his magic into the crystal and pointed it at his bed. A beam of light emanated from it and created what appeared to be a perfect copy of his likeness. To anyone who managed to get past the locked door, Prince Micah was hungover and asleep in his bed.
Just as it should be.
After putting everything away, he poked his head out of the window. No guards. He jumped down, softening his fall with wind magic, and took off at a run. He knew the rotation by now, and also that his ‘father’ did not bother increasing security around his room. It was too easy to sneak out of the palace and get downtown. Once he was there his pace slowed to a walk. It did not matter if people saw him here, he knew all too well that anyone who lived here would rather die than give any information to the guards.
He climbed the stairs to a small shack and opened the door with a key. After the first time it had been ransacked, he learned to protect this place with magic. Micah navigated the space with practiced movements that could only be gained from years of habit. He stored his royal garments and pulled out more fitting commoner clothes.
Once he was done blending himself in, his stride was much more comfortable. He leisurely made his way downstairs and bought himself breakfast at a nearby stall. His feet took him to a secluded building. A handmade shop sign hung over the doorway. As he opened the door, a bell chimed.
“Welcome– Oh! It’s just you, Feldspar. You’re here early.” The store owner came out from behind a bookshelf.
Micah shrugged. “I just ended up waking up early and had nothing better to do.”
“Works for me. I forgot to have breakfast and I’m starving. Hold down the fort while I grab some grub.”
The owner clapped Micah on the shoulder as she walked past, the door chime ringing as she hurried out. Micah smiled softly and shook his head.
As he grabbed the broom and began to clean up, his mind wandered back to the castle. It was unable to reach him here, in the forgotten slums of the city. No doubt by now the maids were knocking on his bedroom door and receiving no answer but his pre-recorded and magically projected snores. eventually they would give up and return to their normal duties.
Everyone gave up on Micah, sooner or later.
He had embraced it. If no one took him seriously, then no one would try to get rid of him. These days barely any assassins visited his room. It was a relief compared to the early days following the fall of Dundrasil, when his sister was lost amidst the chaos and his mother fell ill from grief. The night his mother had finally fallen into a coma, Micah cried in his room into the late hours of the night. It was almost a blessing. If he hadn’t been awake, he would have never caught the monster trying to steal into his room.
Micah still remembered the sickening feeling in his gut when he told his father. The look of disappointment that could not be hidden from Carnelian’s face as he studied the remnants of the scuffle in his bedroom.
In the present he looked out of the window of the bookstore towards the castle. It was barely visible from here, obscured by high walls. It would be easy to continue his fake life here in the slums, or even pack up his things and move farther away. There was no reason why he couldn’t commit and stay away for his own good. There was nothing for him in Heliodor castle.
But that evening, when the store closed, he still found himself trudging back to his messy room.
Maybe one of these days Micah would muster the courage to do something.