Chapter Text
“I can’t believe that he’s here.”
It was the first time Soren had spoken in hours, and it caught Priam’s attention. Suddenly he was wide awake, drawn from his drifting by the soft tone in his mother’s voice, the helplessness that Priam wasn’t used to hearing.
“I know.” And that soothing tone of Ike’s, that came whenever Soren was worried about something. This time, his father spoke so softly that Priam could hardly hear him through the crack in the bedroom door. He turned over so that one ear was uncovered, the other pressed into his pillow as he blinked at the thin line of light shining in from the main room. Their little cabin was small enough that Priam could eavesdrop without much effort, but still he had to keep his breathing even in order to not drown out his parents’ hushed voices.
“It’s… I shouldn’t be so…” Soren was having trouble finding the right words.
“You’d have to be pretty heartless to not react at all,” Ike said.
“Not heartless, just pragmatic. I don’t know why I’m so affected.”
“Soren…”
“I don’t even know him. I have no reason to care that he’s here.”
“Soren, he’s your—”
“Don’t!” Soren snapped, his voice lowering in volume, like a hiss. They were silent for a moment.
“You do care. You should.” Ike, calm and doggedly determined to make his point. There was a sigh from Soren. The light flickered for a moment as Ike’s bulky frame crossed in front of it. Priam shut his eyes instantly, but the door did not open. He could hear Ike closer now, though his voice was a bit muffled, as if he were pressing his nose into Soren’s hair. “Ashnard is your father. Whatever that means to you, if anything, you’ll have to accept it.”
“But I—”
“You don’t have to do anything about it,” Ike said. “You said years ago that it wouldn’t matter if he were alive.”
“But now that he’s here…”
“I know. You’ll have to decide if it really is something you can just brush off. Take some time to figure it out.”
Another pause. When Soren spoke again, it was in a softer voice, and Priam had to lift his head off of the pillow to hear him. “… Rajaion. We can’t just let him…”
“Reyson and Leanne are both here. They can free him.” A sound like shifting cloth, rhythmic, as Ike rubbed Soren’s back. “If Ashnard doesn’t like it, well… I beat him once before.”
Soren chuckled at that. “I’m going to enjoy the look on his face when he sees you again. I wonder if he remembers. Or rather… I wonder if it happened already, in his time.”
“Who knows?”
As his parents’ footsteps faded, their voices drifting towards their bedroom at the other end of the house, Priam rolled onto his back and blinked in the darkness. He didn’t understand much of what had been said. He didn’t know who Rajaion was, or why the herons needed to save him. All he knew was that Ashnard was Soren’s father. All he knew was that he had another grandfather.
“Huh!” he huffed, and rolled over, letting sleep take him.
>>><<<
Ashnard was in a rage.
Summoned from the realm of the dead, he’d believed himself to be living through the sheer virtue of his strength. Surely, the Goddess had seen how worthy he was. Surely, She had allowed him to come to this promising new land of war as a way to reward him for all he had done.
The son of Gawain was here – as was Gawain, himself. That had stirred Ashnard’s blood. Far from being angry, he was thrilled to see how strong the boy had become. Ike was a proper man now, and if Ashnard had been defeated by the whelp before his balls had dropped, then surely their inevitable battle as equals would be the stuff of legend. Facing the man who had killed him, Ashnard felt even more righteous in his cause. The strong ruled, the strong survived, and he was witness to how right he had been all along in that belief.
Then the herons had come, and they had released the blasted dragon from his feral stupor. Ashnard was livid.
Rajaion was weak from his years of transformation. The tall, proud prince had fallen immediately onto his hands and knees, naked, heaving and trembling. Ike stepped forward to cover him with his cape. The little mage, whom Ashnard recognized only vaguely from the last battle, stood by hesitantly.
“Prince Rajaion, be still,” Reyson murmured as he knelt at the dragon’s side. Ike was coaxing him into a sitting position. Long, black hair, tinted emerald in the sunlight from the windows, hung over the prince’s face. Reyson began to sing softly, a restorative galdr, meant to soothe and strengthen. Rajaion’s trembling gradually subsided.
Ashnard said nothing throughout the exchange, but he was furious. His conquest had been taken from him. Taming Rajaion had been one of his proudest moments, and now he was left without a mount. He knew that he could do nothing about this, as the terms of the contract prevented him from raising his sword in violence against his “comrades”. Every time he tried – and oh, had he tried – some impenetrable force held him back. His hands, he grudgingly acknowledged, were tied.
Nobody said anything to him as they gathered around the fallen dragon prince. Perhaps they hoped to avoid confrontation, to ignore the roiling fury in Ashnard’s countenance like plodding peasants ignoring an oncoming war. Ike, the herons, and two healers Ashnard did not recognize got Rajaion to his feet and escorted him out of the great hall. Ashnard looked on, the scene playing out as if he had consented to this, as if he were merely observing, and not under sudden assault on his pride. His fist clenched at his side, longing to wrap around the hilt of his sword.
Only one remained behind – the mage. He was looking at Ashnard with a curious expression on his face. The king scoffed at such insolence, particularly from one so frail-looking. He sneered, “I suppose you think I’m going to retaliate. Go on and take him. I don’t need a mount to rain death upon my enemies.”
Thin brows furrowed just slightly. The mage’s eyes were red, Ashnard noted with some interest. That was unusual. His eyes flickered to the mark on the boy’s forehead.
Without comment, the mage spun on his heel and followed Rajaion’s entourage. The soft tap of his step faded down the corridor.
Ashnard was left alone. He let out a frustrated breath, wishing he could release the tension in his shoulders that prevented him from drawing on anyone here. He wanted to rip, tear, rend, devastate. He would just have to wait for his chance.
As he turned to stalk towards the courtyard, he was stopped in his tracks by an obstacle in his way – a little boy. Ashnard’s frown turned into a glare. “Out of my way, boy,” he spat, moving to knock the child from his path.
The boy dodged, and backed up a few paces out of reach, but remained staring at him with a sharp, almost calculating look. Ashnard continued on, paying the urchin no further mind.
The pitter-patter of footsteps followed him.
Ashnard chose to ignore it. If he just so happened to lop off the boy’s head while training, then it was the child’s own fault. He trailed Ashnard through the courtyard, past the entrance to the gardens, and around the corner. Their feet found packed dirt and sawdust. The training yard was fairly lively this early in the morning, with other heroes testing themselves in the bright sunshine. A few glanced up as Ashnard entered; nobody moved to greet him.
The chime of the boy’s voice nearly startled Ashnard as he stood in the center of the yard. “Are you really my grandfather?”
Ashnard’s head snapped toward the boy. He had nearly forgotten about him; the boy’s continued presence was as surprising as the question. “What did you say, boy?” Ashnard growled in a dangerous voice, one that would send even a grown man scurrying.
The boy didn’t even flinch. Ashnard couldn’t tell if he was brave or simply stupid. “I said, are you my grandfather?”
There was silence for a moment. Ashnard processed this question. “What makes you think that you are related to me in the slightest?”
“My mom said so,” the boy stated.
“I care not for your mother’s strange fantasies,” Ashnard sneered, drawing his sword. “Begone, or I’ll cleave you in half.”
He started up a series of practice swings, designed to relieve his anger and test his limitations. When not facing another person, his movements went unhindered. The strange magical force that stayed his hand against the fools in this castle seemed to lessen when on the training field. That was important to note.
“My mom says you’re his dad, but I don’t think he’s happy about that,” the boy said, and Ashnard’s stance faltered.
“Are you still here?!” Ashnard didn’t even ask about the pronoun mixup. “I said, BEGONE!”
“I can be here if I want.” The boy spoke defiantly (brave and stupid, then, Ashnard decided). “I come here all the time with Dad and Grampa and Mom and Titania—”
“And WHERE is this father of yours?” Ashnard snapped. “He should know better than to let his progeny wander unattended!” Better than killing the boy, if he could tear into the father, that would relieve quite a bit of his frustration. He was gearing up for a fight.
The boy squared his shoulders, and stared Ashnard in the face with a bravado that was disarming on one so young. “My father is Ike, son of Greil,” he said, and Ashnard’s eyebrows shot upward.
“So! The son of Gawain has passed on his idiocy.” Impressive though his lineage may be, the boy was only a boy. He barely stood as high as Ashnard’s hip. “Go to your father and tell him to keep his son in check, or I shall do it myself.”
If the boy understood him, he gave no indication. “So, are you my grandfather, or not?” he asked doggedly.
“I have no daughters, and certainly none who would lay with the son of Gawain.” Ashnard really had no idea where the child had gotten this notion.
“My mom’s not a girl,” the boy said, his expression confused, and Ashnard felt the pull of magic holding him back from swinging at him.
“Well, then you had better check under her skirt,” Ashnard said.
The boy’s frown deepened. Ashnard noticed, for the first time, that the boy’s forehead bore a familiar red mark. His eyes narrowed. “You are the son of that mage?” Ashnard had had no idea that it was a woman. The mage’s features were perhaps androgynous, but not overly feminine.
“Yeah, my mom’s a mage,” the boy said, brightening. “Well, a sage. Mom says he trained for a really, really long time to get as good as he is. He’s the best spellcaster in the whole castle!”
Ashnard had stopped listening and was now swinging at a training dummy. The boy was clearly insane. He wouldn’t waste any more time on him.
“Priam!”
Again, Ashnard’s form was stilted. He turned to see Ike stalking towards them. Blue eyes like twin flames were fixed on Ashnard. The king grinned.
“Son of Gawain,” he said, turning to face him. “We meet here at last. I have wanted a chance to test your skills.”
“Yeah, that’s great, but we can do that later,” Ike said, rousing Ashnard’s indignant fury once more. Who did these people think he was?
“Do not think that you can disrespect me based on the merits of your past actions!” Ashnard bellowed, holding Gurgarant aloft. Ike sped up, until he was pushing himself between Ashnard and the boy, who was watching with wide eyes.
“Are you gonna fight?” he asked. “I wanna see you fight!”
“Quiet, Priam,” Ike barked, but his eyes remained on Ashnard. “What are you doing with my son?”
“So, he really is your boy,” Ashnard said. “Good. Then I shan’t have to march him around the castle. You would do well to keep him in check. He followed me from the great hall and has shown nothing but insolence. You ought to teach him how to respect his elders.”
Ike’s eyes never left Ashnard’s. “Priam, go inside.”
“But—”
“Now.”
This word wasn’t spoken loudly, but it held an iron resolve that sent Priam scurrying for cover. Ike stood where he was, staring Ashnard down. “We may be on the same side here, but don’t you dare come anywhere near my family.” Ike’s voice was full of deadly intent. It only roused Ashnard’s bloodthirsty glee. He grinned.
“Good to know that should I desire a real fight, I have only to threaten the child,” he said, and Ike’s eyes narrowed.
Ashnard could see the muscles in Ike’s arms flex, the tendons pulling as he held himself back from drawing Ragnell. They held the gaze for a moment, and then Ike spun on his heel and stalked away, towards the open doorway where the curious child could be seen peering out at them. Ashnard turned, too, and resumed his training. The son of the son of Gawain… he would have to file that information away for later.
>>><<<
“So, my grandpa is evil.”
“Huh?” Shiro looked up from the map spread out on the desk. It was the last hour of class, and he and Priam were working on their geography project – a map of Askr. Everyone else had paired off to work on their own presentations, and Byleth was patrolling between the desks, making sure that his students were working. Priam was frowning in concentration as he colored in some grasslands south of the capitol city.
“What do you mean, evil?” Shiro asked. “Your grandpa seems pretty nice to me. He helped train with me and my father a few times.”
Priam glanced up briefly as he reached for a different shade of green charcoal. “Not Greil; I mean my other grandpa. Mom’s father.”
“I thought your mom was an orphan.”
“Nope.” Priam’s frown deepened a bit. “But he doesn’t seem to know that he’s my mom’s father. I guess they never lived together.”
“That sucks,” Shiro said with a shrug, returning to his haphazard scribbling in of the lakes. “My mom’s father is evil, too. You know King Garon?”
“Yeah, you told me about him,” said Priam. “I guess me and you are in the Evil Grandpa Club.”
“Heh, Evil Grandpa Club.” Shiro grinned. “You know, I tried to talk to my grandfather once, and he tried to kill me.”
“Yeah, my evil grandpa looked like he wanted to chop me in two.” Now Priam was grinning. “It was kinda funny. Dad got really angry and told him off.”
“Who is he, anyway?”
“King Ashnard of Daein.”
“What?!”
“Is there a problem over here, boys?” Byleth came towards them, alerted by Shiro’s shout. A few others looked over at them curiously.
“Nothing, I just… Nothing,” Shiro said sheepishly as Byleth turned and resumed his rounds. Lowering his voice, he leaned closer to Priam. “Your grandfather is the Mad King of Daein? We learned about him two weeks ago, didn’t we?”
“Yep, when he was summoned,” said Priam.
“Woah… Didn’t your dad kill him?” Shiro’s eyes were wide.
“Yep.”
“That’s gotta be awkward!”
“Tell me about it. But Mom and Dad won’t talk to me at all.” Priam wiped the tip of his nose, leaving a gray smudge there. “I only know because I overheard them. When I asked Mom directly, he got that blank look on his face and told me to mind my own business. Even Dad won’t tell me anything!” He sighed in frustration. “They won’t tell me about Ashnard, and they won’t tell me about that dragon guy they rescued from him… I hate not knowing stuff!”
“You gotta find out on your own,” Shiro said with a shrug. “But if Ashnard doesn’t know he’s your grandfather, there’s not much you can do, right?”
“I’ll just have to tell him,” Priam said. “I tried to before, but I don’t think he was listening.”
“Yeah, but then what?”
“Huh?”
Shiro shook his head slowly. “Well, I mean, even if you do tell him, and he knows… Then what? It’s not like he’ll act like your other grandpa; he’s evil!”
“Oh.” Priam’s frown deepened. “You’re right. Maybe he won’t even care… But I really wanna know more about my family.” He pounded his fist on the desk. “Hey, we are family! Family is supposed to stick together – Grandpa says so all the time!”
“Uh, I don’t think that means evil family…”
Priam resumed coloring. “No, I’m gonna make him feel welcome. Even if he is evil, he’s still family.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“It’s a great idea!” Priam rolled his eyes. “It happens all the time in stories – the bad guy meets someone who shows him about, you know, love and fun and stuff. And then he turns good! And besides,” Priam smirked, “what’s he gonna do about it? He can’t hurt me because of the magic here.”
Shiro returned Priam’s grin. “You’re a cheeky bastard, you know that?”
“Yup, and proud of it,” said Priam. “Gimme the orange.”
>>><<<
Stalking about the halls of Castle Gloria had become somewhat of a pastime for Ashnard. Deprived of his mount, leashed by the contract, watched by petty fools who dared to prevent him from doing any damage, he had little to occupy his time. What time he didn’t spend training, eating, or sleeping was spent in spreading his influence among the Order of Heroes. He walked around, sneering at everyone, making sure that they could see his powerful form patrolling the castle. He was not a king here, but he would become the master of these halls.
He reached the end of one corridor and paused a moment to observe the scene before him – through the large plate window, he could see the wyverns and pegasi flying to and fro in exercise. Horses galloped below, led by a small group of riders. Ashnard grimaced; how he missed soaring through the skies on his conquered beast…
“Hi, Evil Grampa!”
His lip curled, and he turned. Sure enough, there was the boy again. “You…” he growled.
“Yeah, me,” said Priam, looking around as if to confirm that there was nobody else there. Ashnard turned away.
“Begone, boy.”
“What’cha doing?”
“None of your business.”
“Why?”
A long sigh escaped Ashnard. He turned again, facing the child. “Because, as a king, I am entitled to do as I wish,” he said.
Priam nodded. “Yeah, but what are you doing?”
“What does it look like, boy?”
“Umm…” Priam looked the man up and down. “Standing there?”
Ashnard’s nostrils twitched.
“Why are you standing there doing nothing?” Priam peered up at him curiously. “Is that something kings do?”
The king sighed again. “When they are lost in thought, yes.”
“What’cha thinking about?”
He grinned. “Murder.”
The strongest men in Daein would have cowered at the sight of that smile. Their king was known to have a smile that could strip paint from the walls, and Ashnard had done nothing to discourage those rumors. But Priam only looked up at him steadily. “Murder sounds fun,” he said at length. “Who’d you murder if you could?”
Ashnard glared. “The person who is currently closest to me.”
The implication was not lost on the boy, but he only flinched for a moment. Then, he laughed. Ashnard’s face reddened. The boy actually had the audacity to laugh at him! “You wouldn’t kill me, though,” Priam said. “I’m your grandson, you know.”
“This again?!” Ashnard bellowed. “Boy, get it out of your head! I am no kin to you!”
“Yeah, you are,” Priam said patiently, as if he were explaining something to a younger sibling. “You’re my mom’s dad. We’re family, so we should get to know each other!”
“Boy!” Ashnard’s teeth were clenched so tightly that he thought they would crack. “I. Am NOT. Your GRANDFATHER!”
“Yes, you are,” the boy said with a grin. Apparently, Ashnard’s growing anger amused him. “Now, let’s get to know each other. Do you wanna play hide and seek?”
“NO!” The force of Ashnard’s shout rattled the window. Priam blinked at him.
“I’ll hide first!” he said, nonplussed.
Ashnard glared down at the boy. His first notion was to see how far he could push the contract – perhaps he could at least nick the kid with his sword. But a better idea occurred to him. He smirked. “Very well, boy,” he said. “You go and hide.”
Priam’s face lit up. “Alright!” Spinning on his heel, he dashed down the hallway, shouting, “You gotta count to twenty!”
“Fine!” Ashnard barked. “One! Two! Three! Four!”
The minute Priam was out of sight, Ashnard turned back to the window, chuckling to himself. It had been a very long time since he had needed to trick a child like that – in fact, he had been a child, himself. Pulling one over on his many siblings had given him a taste of power, and it was good to feel reconnected to the basics again. Murdering his family in cold blood had been the highlight of a journey that began with locking them in closets and tripping them down the stairs.
It was a nostalgic feeling. He let out a long breath, transported momentarily to simpler times.
He promptly forgot about the boy. It was nearly an hour later when he returned to his private chambers, and his mind had long turned to other matters. He was imagining the possibility of Izuka being summoned (his pet alchemist had synthesized the feral drug that transformed Rajaion against his will, and there were so many dragons here) when he heard a distinct humming sound coming from… somewhere.
He stopped halfway across the living space, his thick brows knitting together in a deep frown. Stomping towards the window, he confirmed that he was indeed on the third story, and that there was nobody standing outside. “Whoever that is, STOP the infernal singing!” he shouted, and the humming died down.
Ashnard listened for a moment, and nodded to himself, satisfied.
“You still can’t find me!”
The voice nearly made him choke on his own breath.
“B- boy?!” he spluttered.
“Y- yeah?” Priam spluttered in mock surprise. Then he laughed.
He laughed.
“Where are you?!” Ashnard barked. The voice wasn’t coming from any direction, instead echoing all around.
“You have to find me!” said Priam.
“Dammit, boy, this is no game!”
“Yeah, it is.” The boy’s voice was taunting. “You said we could play hide and seek, so you have to find me!”
“DAMMIT!”
Ashnard began to methodically tear the room apart. He scooted the large wingback chair from the wall; he pulled apart the draperies; he struck the tapestries with no small amount of force. He went into the bedroom and practically flipped the mattress to check under the frame. All the while, Priam was singing to himself in a low murmur that seemed to resonate in Ashnard’s eardrums. “Mademoiselle from Begnion, paaaaarlez vous. Mademoiselle from Begnion, paaaarlez vous!”
“STOP THAT!” Ashnard shouted.
“She’s the hardest working girl in town, she makes her living upside-down,” Priam sang louder.
“BOY!”
“HINKY DINKY PAAAARLEZ VOOOOUS!”
“Where did you even LEARN such filth?!”
“From Mia,” Priam said. “She taught me lots of songs!” Clearing his throat, he began to sing again. “Mademoiselle from Begnion, paaarlez vous…”
“RRRRAAAAAAAGH!” With a mighty heave, Ashnard lifted the trunk from the end of his bed and overturned it. Folded sheets and spare bits of armor came tumbling to the floor, but Priam was nowhere to be found. “Where are you?!” Ashnard bellowed.
“I can’t tell you,” Priam said. “You have to find me. That’s the whole point, Grandpa!”
“Stop calling me GRANDPA!”
“OK. Grandfather?”
“I am not your grandfather!”
“Gramps?”
“BOY!”
“I like Gramps.”
By now, Ashnard had practically destroyed most of his quarters. Furniture was tossed around, throw rugs were shredded, bits of pottery littered the floor. Ashnard stood in the center of the chaos, panting like a beast of burden and looking around with wild eyes. It was in this state that the guards found him. Ephraim and Laevatein came bursting through the door, weapons at the ready.
“What’s the trouble?” Laevatein asked.
“There is an intruder!” Ashnard growled. “Find him and KILL him!”
“We’re playing hide and seek!” Priam said cheerfully. Ephraim and Laevatein looked at each other, confused.
“All this, because of a game?” the prince looked around at the devastation of the room.
“This is no game!” Ashnard shouted. “He is trespassing in my rooms!”
“You said we could play!” Priam’s voice was accusing.
“Whatever is going on here,” Ephraim said, “we won’t hunt for a child. If there is no threat, then we’ll take our leave.”
“There is a threat to my SANITY!”
“Hahahaha!” Laughter echoed around the room. “That’s funny, Gramps! Your sanity. Because you’re the Mad King and all. Hahahaha!”
Ephraim was chuckling to himself as he and Laevatein took their leave. Ashnard stared after them, at a loss for what to do. Finally, he crossed to the door and left, cringing as the echoing chorus of “Mademoiselle from Begnion, paaaarlez vooous!” followed him down the corridor.
>>><<<
Soren was just coming from a meeting when he was suddenly stopped by a hulking figure standing in his way. He looked up in horror to see Ashnard glaring down at him. “You are Ike’s whore, are you?” The king’s lip curled, and Soren’s eyes narrowed, fear covered by a stoic mask. “The mother of that boy?”
“Why?” It took all he had in him to keep his voice from shaking.
Without another word, Ashnard grabbed Soren’s arm. Soren gasped sharply as he was tugged forward, forced to follow as the Mad King pulled him along the hall. He found his voice after a few steps. “Let go of me! What do you think you’re doing?”
“The boy is vexing me,” Ashnard grumbled. “You will find him, and you will correct him, and you will put the fear of ME into him!”
“Are you talking about Priam?” Soren stopped pulling against the hold and began jogging to keep up with the king’s quick stride. “What have you done with him?!”
“I have done NOTHING!” Ashnard took a sharp turn, making Soren hiss as his arm was nearly pulled out of its socket. “The boy insists on following me. You will correct him, or I will kill him!”
Before they could get around another corner, a searing heat overtook Ashnard’s senses. He grunted in pain and released his hold on Soren, who backed away against the wall, a tome in his hand and hatred on his face. Ashnard flexed his burned hand, and then grinned. “You have some fight in you, after all,” he said, somewhat pleased by this.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Soren said in a low and dangerous tone. “You do not touch me. You will not touch my son. I don’t want him around you any more than you do, so you will allow me to collect him, and then you will leave us alone. Understood?”
“Heh. You’re quite presumptuous for a woman.”
“I- I am not a woman!” Soren’s face reddened. “Now, show me to your room. I’ll take care of Priam myself.”
“You do not order me to do anything,” Ashnard said, equally irritated and amused. This girl had guts. But he resumed his trek through the corridors, and Soren followed, walking briskly and with his tome still held at the ready. He never took his eyes off of Ashnard.
They reached the room, where Priam could still be heard singing up and down the hallway. “Where are the girls who used to swarm, about me in my uniform, hinky dinky parlez vooooooous!”
“Priam!” Soren barked, and the singing stopped.
“Oh, crap…” was all they heard before Priam went silent. Soren let out a long sigh.
The room was in as much disarray as Ashnard had left it. Soren stared around for a moment, and Ashnard said, “He must be using some sorcery to conceal himself. I could not find him. Use your magic to reveal him, woman!”
“I told you, I’m not a woman!” Soren snapped, but he stepped over the mess and crossed to the wall. “And didn’t you check behind the tapestries?” He pulled aside a large hunting scene to show a metal grate stretching from the floor to midway up the wall. And behind that grate was—
“BOY!” Ashnard stepped forward immediately, his hand going for his sword. Priam yelped and ducked away out of sight, and Soren put his hand out to stop Ashnard’s advance.
“These walls are thick, and full of secret passages,” Soren said. “Most of the tapestries conceal such openings. This one probably comes out in the hallway somewhere. You should have the steward block it off for you.”
Ashnard watched as Soren crossed the room again, stepping lightly around broken glass and crumpled cloth. “I’ll tell him to stay away from you,” he said without looking at Ashnard. His voice was completely flat. “And if you come near him, I will have you flayed alive.”
Before Soren could leave, Ashnard said, “Tell me, who is your family?”
Soren turned to face him, and there was such loathing in his eyes that it almost made Ashnard laugh. Again, the king’s eyes flickered to the red symbol on the mage’s forehead. Without answering, Soren closed the door behind himself, leaving Ashnard in the ruins of his room.
>>><<<
Priam was caught trying to sneak towards the main hall. He put up no fight as Soren dragged him back to their cabin. It was very close to the castle keep and had been intended for use by the groundskeeper. As Donnel, the current gardener, lived in a small hut near the gardens so that his wife Panne could roam freely, Ike had asked for the cabin to house his family. They lived a quiet life somewhat removed from the bustle of the palace, close to the training grounds and overlooking the outer wall. It was ideal for raising a child, and both Ike and Soren preferred a slightly more rustic lifestyle than the palace could offer.
But there was nothing quiet about the cabin that evening.
“I can’t believe I have to tell you this,” Soren said as he glared at Priam from across the table. “But you are not allowed to irritate the Mad King! He is MAD, Priam. He would kill us all if he had half a chance!”
“But he can’t because of the magic,” Priam pointed out.
“You think intent counts for nothing?” Soren scoffed. “I don’t know why you want to be around him at all, when you have so many other people to entertain you. What could you possibly get out of irritating Ashnard?”
“Well…” Priam knocked his feet together under the table. “Well, he’s my grandfather, after all, so I thought…”
“What?” Soren’s face went white. Priam shrugged and ducked his head sheepishly.
“I heard you and Dad talking. If he’s my grandpa, then we should try to be friends with him, right?”
Soren’s mouth moved wordlessly for a moment before he found his voice again. “I- Priam, you weren’t supposed to- to hear that.”
“But I did. So what? I should know stuff like this!” Priam crossed his arms defiantly. “You and Dad didn’t tell me anything, so I had to figure it out by myself!”
“If we don’t tell you something, it’s because you don’t need to know.”
“Why don’t I need to know? I’m not stupid!”
“After today’s fiasco, I’m wondering if you really are!”
Now they were both leaning over the table, glaring at each other. “It’s not fair!” Priam shouted. “Why don’t you ever tell me anything?”
“You don’t need to know!”
“Yes, I do!” Priam’s agitation spilled over, and he kicked the table leg forcefully. “If he’s your family, then I—”
“He is NOT my family!” Soren slammed his fist onto the table, which effectively cowed Priam. He had never known his mother to physically lash out in anger. “He threw me away the first chance he had! Neither he nor my mother did anything for me, from the day I was born! He is NOT my father!”
Priam remained silent, and Soren’s fury began to fade. He deflated, slumping back against the chair, his face drawn and wearier than Priam had ever seen it. “He is dangerous,” Soren said, his tone defeated. “He’s an enemy, Priam. Just like Gangrel, just like Grima. They’re only held in check by the contract’s power. If he had a chance, he would kill you with no remorse. Your father nearly died battling him. That is why I want you to stay away from him.”
“Yes, Mother,” Priam said quietly.
“You’re dismissed,” Soren said, and Priam made a hasty retreat to his room.
Anger still boiled in Priam’s heart, but it was now directed at Ashnard. Whatever he had done to Soren, it obviously hadn’t been good. Revenge was the primary thought but remembering his father’s words had him second guessing himself. Hadn’t Ike once sought revenge against someone? And hadn’t that ended up being a mistake? “Living for revenge is hardly living,” Ike had said once, and Priam believed him.
Thinking of his father made him reconsider the issue. The Black Knight had once killed Greil, and yet Ike had grown to respect him. Now, they were fighting on the same side, and they frequently sparred with one another. Priam had heard all about it – how Zelgius had challenged Greil, hoping to be defeated but surprised to so easily defeat him instead. How Zelgius had regretted that action. How he had tried to compensate by teaching Ike, subtly, the skills that Greil could no longer pass down.
Maybe Ashnard was secretly full of remorse for what he’d done to Soren. Maybe he wasn’t really such a bad guy, after all.
Priam reached below his bed and pulled out a wooden box. Opening it, he withdrew a ribbon snake and allowed it to curl around his fingers. “I bet that’s it, Matilda,” he said to it. “I bet Evil Grandpa could be taught, like he can be trained to be good. Zelgius is good, and he used to be one seriously evil guy!” He lay back against his pillows, watching as the snake wound down his arm. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was to fight with compassion, to try to understand the other person’s side of things. Since Ashnard was technically on the same side now, he had an obligation to reform him. Didn’t he?
Pulling out the bag of crickets he kept in his drawer, Priam tossed a couple into the box and put the snake back in. “There ya go, girl,” he said. “We’ll figure out what to do about Evil Grandpa. Don’t worry.”
>>><<<
Prince Rajaion turned out to be quite an interesting addition to Castle Gloria.
He was an easygoing sort, despite his royal heritage. Once he had recovered and moved to a proper suite in the palace, he had set his mind to getting to know his nephew – because he had recognized Soren the moment he’d opened his eyes again. Though Soren was reticent around him, that didn’t bother Rajaion one bit. He was so amiable, and got along so well with Ike, that soon Soren was reluctantly opening up to him, too.
In truth, it was nice to have someone – a family member – who cared about him just because he existed.
“Dragons don’t have a taboo against laying with beorc,” he explained as he sat easily on the couch in their living room. “Even though we don’t have anything to do with outsiders, it’s not because we hate anyone in particular – my father simply wanted to maintain peace. He always regretted having to close the borders. Having friends from all over the continent once brought him great joy…”
“I suppose you never took to the cats’ notions that the Branded are bringers of misery, ill omens, and all that…” Soren said, his tone tinged with bitterness.
Rajaion shook his head. As his health was returning, his long black hair now shone with emerald hues in the sunlight, lustrous and glossy. “We never heard those things at all,” he said. His voice was low and rich, rather as Ike imagined Soren’s might be once he had aged a few more decades. In fact, the similarities between the two were striking. Ike hadn’t spoken two words during the entire conversation, instead just staring at his husband and his uncle-in-law.
“What’s a little more surprising, to us, is… this.” Rajaion’s red eyes flickered between Soren and Ike, one eyebrow elegantly arched. Soren’s cheeks reddened. “It’s not that two men of our tribe haven’t been known to take up together, but it’s not very common.”
“If you think that’s strange, wait until you hear about our son,” said Soren flatly. Rajaion’s other eyebrow rose to meet the second.
“You adopted a child?”
“Not exactly.”
As Soren was explaining the ins and outs of the alpha/omega dynamics, Priam was peering in through the open window. Rajaion spotted him first, and his lips quirked into a smile. “That must be him,” he said, and Priam ducked out of sight.
“It’s alright, Priam,” Ike called. “Come on in.”
Priam came inside, shutting the door carefully behind himself as he eyed Rajaion warily. He crossed the room and came to stand in front of Soren, who put a hand on Priam’s shoulder as Ike reached out to ruffle his hair. “Priam, this is Rajaion,” Soren said. “He’s… my uncle.”
Priam’s eyebrows shot upward. “You have an uncle?”
“Apparently so,” Soren said.
Rajaion’s smile widened, and he extended a hand to Priam. “How do you do, Priam?”
Hesitantly, Priam took the offered hand and shook it. “I’m fine,” he said. “Aren’t you that dragon?”
“I am,” Rajaion said. “I was under a sort of spell, you might say. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
Priam’s face screwed up in indignation. “I wasn’t scared!” he said, and Rajaion bit back a laugh.
“No? Well, I’m not surprised. You look like a strong boy.”
“Yeah, I am.”
Rajaion leaned back, regarding Priam carefully. “You have the mark, too. I suppose you got that from your… er… mother?”
“I did,” Priam said with a nod. “And I’m not ashamed of it, either.” His eyes narrowed, as if glaring defiantly at the dragon prince.
“Good,” Rajaion said. “There’s no reason to be ashamed of it. That mark…” He reached up and brushed aside his own bangs, revealing the intricate red pattern on his own forehead. Priam’s eyes widened. “It proves your connection to the royal family of Goldoa. You should be proud of that mark.” He looked at Soren, who averted his eyes.
Ike cleared his throat. “Hey, Priam, I need to bring in some firewood. Why don’t you help me?”
Priam groaned. He wanted to stay and talk with Rajaion. But he followed Ike towards the door. “When I get back, can I show you my room?” he asked, looking back.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Rajaion said with a smile, and Priam felt a bit bolstered by that. He went outside and darted towards the wood pile.
“Not so fast, Priam.” Ike went to sit on the log bench by the garden wall and motioned for Priam to follow him. “We’ll stay out here for a while.”
“I thought we were bringing in wood?” Priam dropped the piece he had already picked up.
“We will, later. I think your mom needs some time alone with Rajaion.”
“Oh.” Priam sighed and went to sit next to Ike. Swinging his legs back and forth, he said, “So, is Uncle Rajaion really a prince?”
“Yep.”
“Then does that mean Mom’s a prince?”
Ike remained silent for a moment. “He grew up knowing nothing of his family,” he said at last, crossing his arms and looking up at the cloudless evening sky. “We only found out after the second war, when we traveled the continent.”
Priam stared at Ike for a long moment. “Is Ashnard really Mom’s father?” he asked at length, carefully watching his father’s face for a reaction.
Ike let out a long sigh. “You have to understand, there’s a lot of… Well, a lot of bad history between them. A lot of bad history in that whole family.”
“Dad?”
“Hm?”
Priam was staring intently when Ike turned to look at him. “Will you tell me what happened?”
At first, it seemed as if the boy would remain in the dark. Ike turned away again, watching as the sky gradually became tinged with gold as evening approached. Just as Priam was going to give up and go look for bugs, Ike said, “When your mom was born… Ashnard thought that he would have some kind of special power.”
Priam was at attention immediately.
“I guess he thought your mom would be literally half dragon, or he’d be able to transform, or something like that.” Ike looked down at the grass waving in a slight breeze. “When he didn’t show any of that, Ashnard… lost interest in him, I guess. He thought your mom was weak.”
“Mom’s not weak!” Priam felt anger rising in his chest.
“I know, Priam. But Ashnard… To him, strength is physical. It’s shown through power. When your mother turned out to be a normal infant, Ashnard decided to use him as bait to lure Rajaion.”
“Bait?”
“Rajaion is the brother of your mom’s mother. Lady Almedha. She was the princess of Goldoa, and she ran away to be with Ashnard. For some reason…”
“Eww.” Priam scrunched up his face. “She must’ve been really pretty, because Mom doesn’t look like Ashnard at all.”
Ike chuckled at that. “Yeah, your mom seems to get his looks from the dragon side of the family.”
There was a moment of silence, until Priam said, “So, what happened?”
“Ashnard sent word to Goldoa that he was going to kill his child unless someone came to get him.” Fury rose like bile in Ike’s throat, and he bit it back. “Rajaion wasn’t about to let that happen, so he rushed to Daein. He planned to take Almedha and Soren back to Goldoa with him, to keep them safe. But… when he arrived, Ashnard drugged him. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but he gave him a drug that turned him feral. It made him transform, and he lost his mind.”
Priam’s eyes were wide with horror. “That’s why he was riding on him when they got here?”
“Yes. The herons were able to save him, and thanks to the contract, Ashnard can’t hurt him again.”
An insect buzzed somewhere nearby, but that was all that disturbed the heaviness of the moment. Priam felt as if he were being dragged down towards the heated earth. “Ashnard is a really bad guy, huh?”
“Yeah.” Ike’s voice was grim. “He is, Priam.”
“But…” Priam swallowed a lump in his throat. “But, he’s still family, isn’t he?”
Ike looked at his son, and Priam almost shrank from the intensity of that gaze. His father seemed to look right through him, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes…” the vanguard said slowly, “Sometimes, someone does something so bad that they lose the right to be called ‘family’.”
“And Ashnard did something that bad, didn’t he?”
“What’re your thoughts on it?” Ike asked. “Do you think he deserves to be part of our family?”
Priam looked down at his feet. “No. I guess not.”
When Soren called them for dinner, Priam wasn’t too surprised to see that Rajaion would be joining them. He sat at the table, looking around at the little cabin with a pleasantly curious expression on his face. Feeling bold, Priam took the chair right next to him. He returned Rajaion’s warm smile. Evil Grandpa out, Uncle Dragon in.
Soren and Rajaion talked more than they ate. While Ike and Priam demolished their food, Rajaion told tales of his home in Goldoa; of the mighty mountains rising into misty skies; of the palace, carved directly into the highest mountain in the very heart of the country; of the stone halls echoing with the voices of dragons, and ringing with harps and drums and flutes. Even Priam soon forgot his meal, and sat listening with rapt attention, imagining himself striding into that palace and announcing his presence with a draconic roar.
The dragon prince talked of his family, too. “Your grandfather,” he said to Soren, “wasn’t as stern as he appeared. He had his moments of humor. He had a wonderful mind, and he often used it to amuse us when we were all hatchlings.”
“Great-grandpa made jokes?” Priam asked.
“More like… pranks,” Rajaion said with a grin that edged slightly on roguish. “Not that he would vex anyone himself, but he taught us various things. You see, there were quite a few courtiers who used to annoy him; and so, he put us up to annoying them.”
“That sounds really different from the King Dheginsea I met,” Ike remarked.
“Few ever saw that side of him,” Rajaion acknowledged. “He presented a stern countenance to the world. But the father I remember from my youth was always finding ways to make us laugh. You might not believe me, but Kurthnaga inherited much of Father’s nature.”
Soren’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes were glistening somewhat in the fading sunlight. Rajaion looked to him, and his smile took on a melancholy bent. “In the end,” he said, “I’m glad it was you. He wouldn’t have begrudged you doing what you had to do.”
Priam didn’t know what they were talking about. He looked back and forth between them, but Soren said, “King Caineghis is here. Have you seen him yet?” and the subject effectively changed.
After dinner, Priam said, “Uncle Rajaion, do you wanna see my room?”
“If it’s alright with your parents,” Rajaion said, and received permission to follow Priam into the little room tucked behind the kitchen.
Since they had moved to the cabin a few years ago, Priam was very proud of having his own room. Most of his friends, though they lived in the palace, had to share sleeping quarters with their parents. “This entire room is all mine!” he said. The thought that Rajaion was a grown prince, and therefore probably had his own entire suite of rooms, didn’t cross his mind. But Rajaion nodded in approval and looked sufficiently impressed. Priam grinned and began pointing everything out. “There’s my bed, and those are my swords.” Most of these were toys, but he wasn’t about to tell Rajaion that. “I keep my clothes in there,” he pointed to a small trunk. “And that’s my rock collection.”
“You keep it very neat,” Rajaion said.
“Yeah, I have to. Mom says so.” Priam made a face that prompted Rajaion to laugh. Then he glanced toward the doorway, making sure that his parents were still around the corner in the kitchen. “And here…” He dropped to his knees and dug under the bed. “This is Matilda!”
“Heh, you keep a snake under your bed?” Rajaion asked, kneeling down to get a look at the creature, which was sliding up Priam’s outstretched arm. The pale-yellow ribbons of its namesake undulated with its body, flashing in the evening light.
“Only sometimes,” Priam said. “She lives out in the garden a lot, but she doesn’t like it when it’s wet or cold. I let her stay in here when she wants.”
“Nice to meet you,” Rajaion said to the snake, and Priam grinned widely.
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad about her, OK?” he said. “She’s a secret.”
“OK, I won’t,” Rajaion said. “You know, I once secretly kept a crag lizard in my room.”
“What’s that?”
“A lizard.” Rajaion’s voice was light and casual. “Though, it is about eight feet long and carnivorous.”
“Woah!” Priam’s gray eyes danced. Rajaion couldn’t resist ruffling his hair.
“I’m sure you take good care of Matilda,” he said, and Priam puffed his chest out.
He had other wonders to share. “That’s a bag of crickets I caught yesterday,” he said, tugging on the drawstring. “I feed those to Matilda. And this is where my raccoon used to sleep during the day, until Dad found it and chased it out. And this is my box of dead stuff!”
“You have quite a collection,” Rajaion said.
“Yeah, I guess,” Priam said with no small amount of pride. As he pointed out dried insect carcasses, frog skeletons, snakeskin, and dried leaves, he suddenly sighed and set the box aside. He looked up at Rajaion with a piercing expression. “You’re not evil, right?” he said.
Rajaion wasn’t taken aback at all by the bluntness. “No, I wouldn’t say I am,” he said, returning the boy’s gaze steadily and honestly. That seemed to satisfy Priam, who nodded and looked down at his folded knees.
“I’m really sorry about what Ashnard did to you,” he said. Rajaion was surprised at this.
“Why are you sorry?”
“It’s really awful,” Priam said without looking up. “I wish he wasn’t my grandfather…”
Rajaion’s eyes softened, and he patted Priam on the back. “You deserve a better grandfather,” he said. “What about your father’s father? I hear he’s a great man.”
“Yeah, Grandpa is great,” Priam said, perking up a little. “I just wish you didn’t have to go through all that. It’s not fair that you can’t kill Ashnard for what he did.”
“Do you think he deserves to die?”
“Well, yeah!” Priam did look up then, his expression fierce. “I wish I could kill him! He hurt Mom and he made you a monster! Dad already did it, but now he’s back, and I dunno what to do…”
Rajaion was looking at Priam thoughtfully. “It’s true that the contract prevents anyone from killing him…” he said slowly. “Though, that’s not to say that he’s safe from karma.”
Priam’s head tilted to the side. “Karma?”
“Karma is a concept in which dragons believe,” Rajaion said. “Put very simply, I suppose you could say that it means, if you do something good, good things will happen to you. And if you do something bad…”
“Bad things happen,” Priam finished. “Wow… Do you really think Ashnard will get karma?”
“I’m sure of it,” Rajaion said. “I certainly know that even if he can’t be killed here, he can suffer in other ways.” He leaned back on his palms and looked up through the open window. “Yes, I think that if anybody wanted to make his life difficult, they would be able to do it easily. He can’t retaliate, and he would certainly deserve it.”
Silence descended for a moment. A warm breeze blew in through the window. Priam seemed to mull over Rajaion’s words, and finally looked back up at him with sudden realization plain on his face. Rajaion smiled at him, nodding, as Priam’s eyes went wide. Then the boy grinned. “Hey, Uncle Rajaion? Could you tell me some of the other things you used to do when you were younger? You know, to annoy the courtiers?”
>>><<<
Castle Gloria had many balconies, breezeways, and alcoves that opened to the great outdoors. Only one of these balconies was called The Balcony, though. This was the largest one, located above the main courtyard and overlooking the slope that led to the distant town. On a sunny day like this one, it was populated by heroes milling around and enjoying the sunshine and fresh breeze. And it was here that Shiro found Priam sitting against the balustrade, scooping water from a bucket into a funneled dipper that he then emptied into a sheepskin sac.
Shiro paused as he got closer, frowning. “What’s all that?” he asked, and Priam looked up to acknowledge him.
“Water balloons,” Priam said, returning to his task. “What are you doing?”
“Uh, I wanted to see if you were free to spar…” Shiro came over and sat next to Priam, looking curiously at the pile of already-filled balloons. “What are all these for?”
“Target practice,” Priam said simply, tying off another sac and adding it to the pile.
“What’s the target?”
By way of answer, Priam stood and peered over the railing. Shiro followed suit. In the courtyard below, heroes were walking to and fro – except for one pair, who had stopped to have an apparent shouting match over something.
Ashnard was yelling at Hector, who stood a few paces back and made threatening motions with his hands. Whatever they were arguing about was a point of heated contention, that much was clear. Shiro looked to Priam. “Them?”
“Just him,” Priam said, and before Shiro could ask him to clarify, he had lobbed a balloon over the railing. It fell through the air heavily, landing just short of Ashnard’s left shoulder. He and Hector both stopped yelling, staring at the wet ground as Ashnard shook droplets of water from his leg.
“Wait, you’re aiming for the Mad King?!” Shiro gawked as Priam held aloft another balloon.
“Yep,” Priam said, and let the projectile fall. This time, it found its mark. Ashnard let out a furious bellow as his right shoulder was drenched in water. Hector began to laugh.
“Are you NUTS?!” Shiro demanded as he and Priam ducked away out of sight. “If he catches you, you’re dead!”
“Nope,” Priam said with a sly grin. “One, he’s not gonna catch me. Two, if he did catch me, he couldn’t do anything about it. He can’t hurt us, remember?”
“Yeah, but still!” Shiro peeked between the carved stone supports of the balustrade. Ashnard’s voice carried up to them, and he thought he heard the words “dead” and “slaughter”. He shuddered. “He’s going to do something to you, even if he can’t kill you. Won’t you get in trouble?”
“I’m not worried about that.” Priam stood and, checking to make sure Ashnard wasn’t looking up, threw two more balloons. They exploded with a ringing POP, and Ashnard’s curses only grew louder. “It’s karma. Ashnard’s a bad guy, so bad things happen to him. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else.”
“Karma, huh?” Shiro looked down again, watching as Ashnard began interrogating everyone around him. “Sounds like something we have in Hoshido. We believe that if you live a bad life, your next life will be full of suffering and crap.”
“Wow, that sucks.” Priam threw another balloon. This time, Ashnard looked up.
“He sees us…” Shiro’s voice trembled slightly.
“Good.” Priam stood and ran over to the double doors that were flung wide open to allow the fresh air inside. “Come on!” he called, and Shiro ran after him.
They could already hear Ashnard’s voice echoing up from the main hall. “Tell me how to get to the balcony!” he was shouting. Priam went to the stairs and took them two at a time coming down. They reached the second floor and stopped just short of the staircase that would lead them to the first floor.
Shiro’s jaw nearly hit the floor when Priam shouted, “Hey, Ash-Nards! Come and GET me!”
“You’re as crazy as he is!” Shiro squawked as he started running alongside Priam. They sped down the hall and made it to the library entrance just as Ashnard came trundling up the stairs.
“I SEE YOU!” he bellowed.
“Run!” Priam shouted, but Shiro hardly needed the encouragement. They burst into the library and quickly made for the spiral staircase leading to the first floor. Heroes and servants alike had to leap from their path as they dodged to and fro, darting like two mice scurrying for cover. Behind them, Ashnard’s clanking steps could still be heard echoing in the corridor.
“What’s the plan?” Shiro gasped when they came to a halt behind one of the massive bookshelves.
“You’ll see,” Priam said in a hushed voice. “Come on.” He pulled Shiro along at a slower pace, until they were well hidden from sight. “OK, you need to get out of here,” he said at last. “This is gonna get ugly.”
“Priam, what are you doing?” Shiro eyed him warily.
The only reply was a cheeky grin, which fell when the ceiling above them began to shake. “Where did you go?!” Ashnard’s voice was loud and clear in the silent library.
“Excuse me!” A new voice – Minerva, from the sound of it. “What do you think you’re doing? This is a library.”
“I’m looking for the URCHIN who did THIS to me!”
“Keep your voice down, or I’ll have to escort you out.” Minerva did not sound intimidated in the least. Shiro and Priam looked at each other gleefully.
“BOY! I know you’re in there!”
“Leave!”
“When I get my hands on you—”
“This way. Come on, let’s go!”
Ashnard’s voice faded with the heavy footsteps. “—I’m going to tear you limb from limb!”
Priam and Shiro stood in the now-silent library, breathing heavily and looking at each other warily. Then Priam’s face broke out into a grin. Shiro’s soon followed. “He’s going to kill you,” the prince said with a laugh.
“Not here, he’s not,” Priam said. “As long as he’s a hero here, he can’t do shit!”
“Man, was he ever angry!”
“I know. I can’t wait to see how he likes the spiders!”
Shiro’s smile fell as Priam started walking to the exit. “Uh, spiders? You mean you’re gonna do more to him?”
Priam’s only response was a shrug and a smirk, before he disappeared around the corner.