Chapter Text
King George has a nice ring to it. George was already twenty-five years old when he was summoned to his father's bedside shortly after the Battle of the End. His father was ninety years old and led an impressive reign.
Very few people knew what the last heir looked like. His coronation was a secretive affair, attended only by a handful such as his advisors, the Holy See, and his part of the Royal Guard. Yet, not the Knights Guard that patrolled the outer castle grounds and city. Hell, Parliament and the Royal Court still didn’t know what George looked like, let alone, his real voice.
Aspell masks his voice, thanks to Wilbur.
The War was finally over, and with it, a new era blossomed. His brothers were all but poisoned, tortured and killed, or assassinated. His favorite brother died in battle.
George closed his eyes and in one moment, felt the heavy crown on his head seal his fate and his namesake. Those beginning months were full of strife and accusations. Such timing aroused suspicion.
In spite of his youth and inexperience, the brunet defied his family and advisors' wishes and named his heir almost immediately: his sister's offspring. She and her family would be protected at all costs back in their humble hometown on the outskirts of the kingdom, in Castina.
Now, George can focus on ruling without pressure to wed or to sire an heir.
He had no desire.
It wasn’t a completely unorthodox move, but one that shook the foundation of his court and further widened an open door for his political rivals to seize. George merely cited royal history with a smirk, and who could argue with a king? Plenty challenged the decision. To which, George paid no mind. His duty was to the people.
He escaped to the forest when his courtly duties were over. Although this rare free time was becoming scarcer in recent months. George had finished a plan to establish trade routes for the harvest, leading to a temporary relief in courtly duties. Winter would be upon them soon enough, and he wanted enough for his people to survive.
He wasn't a king that gave into drink or women. George was seen as mercurial and more of an airy ruler. Carefree, yet responsible when the time called for it. Capable in mathematics and frugality, he had already installed major cuts to his court. A move that made him deeply unpopular amongst the nobility.
George was fair-skinned and jovial with a sharp tongue that came out in rare instances when he was angry. It had not been six months into George's reign when a knight came into his employ.
"So who's this new knight?" George asked one day. He was lazing in the meadow by the river, watching clouds drift in the clear skies, his arms behind his head.
"His name's Dream. We used to play together, remember?" Sapnap said.
Dream. The name was familiar. Strange nickname. They all went by nicknames, except for George. Gogy, he was occasionally called. His name was all he had in this world. No title and it was his closest companion. It was the only thing that his father gave him that he liked.
George, someone whispered softly in his ear once. Summer was upon them and there was still so much to be done.
"I guess so. We played with a lot of kids back then," George said. His accent was something he never got rid of. He was raised in faraway lands. He would only come back to his Father's castle in summertime to play with his brothers and peasant children and squires. But that was many years ago.
"He's fought on the front lines with me," Sapnap said, cutting into an apple with his knife.
"I remember when I was on the front lines with you," George yawned. "Not much of a vouch."
As soon as he became of age, George sent himself to the military. No one would care about his name, not when he was seventh in line. In fact, no one ever cared for his name. Not that it bothered George much. He lived an unimportant life, and that was fine by George.
"You were an archer," Sapnap rolled his eyes. "Hardly front lines."
"I'm an excellent shot okay? Besides, I cleared the lines for you to take the glory," George said.
George, though little knew of it at first, spent most of the last decade of his life fighting alongside Sapnap. He held somewhat of an aptitude for a sword, but was much better at shooting targets from afar. There were days when his feet ached from marching and his body was bruised from bullying, but he took pride in knowing his shots landed. Most of the time. These shots, one of many, helped lead the vanguard to victory.
Shots like George's made it easier for warriors like Sapnap to fight on horseback.
Sapnap was his childhood nickname from seeing a bear from an Eastern storybook once. They reversed the name of the bear to prevent rumors of his sympathy for the East. He was one of George's most loyal friends and an absolute genius with most weapons, but he preferred swords the most. Sapnap’s bow skills nearly matched George's in some instances.
George was trained from a young age to wield weapons. But the bow and arrow called to him first. He was raised by his mother in a modest estate in a village far away from the capital. 'You must learn to fight too. Your name will do you no good in this world,' she fussed as she fitted with gloves and gambeson.
He smiled at the memory. 'Education will keep your wits about you,' her words echoed.
Sapnap handed him an apple slice.
"We were in the same battles. I've fought alongside him a hundred times," Sapnap, mouth full. "You probably have too."
"Hopefully, he's much better than you with that temper of yours," George humored. The apple slice was juicy and sweet, proof of a good harvest this season.
"Shut up," Sapnap lightly shoved.
"We already have Techno," George said breezily. "And Philza and Purpled and Punz. Ant. Velvet. Sam." He chuckled at their names known only to their group. A handful of childhood friends or comrades made in battle. Under the red sun and throughout famine and thirst, they rallied with one another on the battlefield at some point.
"Dream is friends with all of them, too," Sapnap defended. "Surprised you've never crossed swords with him at some point."
"I'm a lazy archer, as you say," George said. He closed his eyes. Moments like these were bliss.
"Y'know, Dream was at the Battle of Aster, Battle at the Trident, Battle of Calanthe…" Sapnap listed, lost in old memories.
"Everyone was at the Battle of Aster," George rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “Let me guess, he was at the Battle of the End too.”
When George became king, he called upon his closest companions assigned to the castle in the capital city. Most were already at the capital for their heroic feats, promoted to Royal Guard. The more trusted people that knew his face, the better. Wilbur was already a sorcerer’s apprentice years before they met again. Bad was already instilled within the castle as an archivist and negotiator. Techno, on the other hand, was always favored to be the new Commander of the Royal Guard after the war. A position that caused him great disdain and distrust.
This was a rare moment in time. The sun was warm on their skin. The scent of hay and faint vanilla wafted through the air. They smelled like fresh grass and flowers in full bloom. It was the warmest part of the day, but neither men paid it any mind.
The king's ear caught a sound from the distance. A crackle of twigs, resounding on the wind. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that Sapnap caught it too. Too many sleepless nights being trained to wake up at a moment's notice, or an assassin's attack.
The dark-haired man could feel his companion tense up, a miniscule shift in movement next to him in the meadow. He already read his friend's mind, knowing that his hand was already with the sword at his side, readying himself for a stray arrow aimed from any direction. Sapnap was the attentive type. George kept his eyes closed. George's hand slipped from behind his head to the holster wrapped around his chest, under his armpit, his fingers playing at the handle of his obsidian dagger.
Not another sound other than the buzzing of the bees and the breeze softly singing against the trees and the stalks of golden meadow. The brook nearby sang the same sweet melody of moving waters. Not a splash or crash from its mouth.
Sapnap’s eyes trained on the distance, his eyes on a man dismounted from a horse, tying his bridle to the branch of a tree, just a few feet away from the main road. He squinted. He kept his ears attentive, ready for another distraction from behind or perhaps to their sides, and prepared to duck down and grab his quiver of arrows and bow nearby. The horses were lazing nearby, unalarmed at such an intruder.
They kept their breathing even, slow breaths to focus and concentrate. The intruder could be a distraction while a bowman aimed from a distance from the forest treeline nearby. Sapnap’s hand tightened on the sword’s grip. All that was heard now was the buzzing of the bees on bellworts and bluebells, a sound so peaceful and innocent. A thick, fat cloud must have obscured the sun, because George’s skin felt the sun’s warmth falter.
George tensed his grip on the handle of his blade. Sapnap watched the man’s movement, a green cloak, thin leather gloves, and light leather chestplate adorned his large physique.
The knight breathed a sigh of relief as the figure advanced toward them, the stranger’s features becoming clearer and clearer. George only relaxed when he felt the earth next to him release, Sapnap's limbs melting into rest at his side.
"Dream?!" He called.
Sapnap jumped up and rushed to the newcomer.
George heard the clamor of cloth thudding, the padding of feet ambling on broken stalks of gold as Sapnap made his way toward the man in the distance. He could hear their laughter and their loud voices, animated and boisterous.
He doesn't make an effort to get up and greet them. He has precious moments to relax before going back to boring taxes and lord disputes. Seldom would he have a moment like this alone to himself. Few people knew his face to be king. Even his coronation was a near empty affair for fear of assassination attempts. It was a first in their history, but dissidents couldn't attack him for it verbally given that the royal family was hanging by a single thread. Just ask his six dead brothers and their grieving mothers.
It was a different time six months ago.
Now that some semblance of order was implemented and his credibility rose due to his upbringing and service made public, George was championed as King of the People, having fought in the war. A King hadn't fought alongside his people in multiple reigns. However, this made him a target for possession for the throne. Rumors swirled around him like plumes of dark smoke, but George batted them away with disregard. His first decrees as king were popular amongst the populace. But in a kingdom as precarious as theirs, power could easily shift until loyalty within the court was won.
Heavy footsteps thudded closer to him. George felt the shadows eclipse over him. The cloud must have passed the sun, because he feels the sun’s rays beating down on him once again.
"This is George," Sapnap said proudly. "George, this is Dream."
George opened his eyes slowly as if he were awakening from a hazy slumber, his brown orbs squinted up to meet golden ones. Dream was a mess of blonde hair, broad shoulders, and a toned figure. He was average in build. A halo of light illuminated his hair. His expression was confident and sly, yet betrayed a youthful look. One corner of his mouth was quirked up. An amused smile.
He looked like a firstborn and one with a title at that. Unlike George, the bastard son of a mistress.
George had pale skin that looked like fresh milk. A concubine's skin, the other royal staff would hiss from his childhood. The mothers of his brothers whispered the same thing behind his back, even Henry’s mother. Dream's skin was honey and light in color. Sapnap's skin was weathered and the most tanned of all of them.
Dream looked at him with calculating eyes. For a moment, time stopped as they sized one another up. Dream grinned, "he's just as scrawny as I remember,” Dream smirked, a quirk of his lips. “Barely grew an inch,” he added.
Cocky, George thought.
“You’re as ugly as Sapnap said,” George shot back without hesitation.
George sat up, peering up at the intruder. His eyes swept over the figure. He’s tall, no doubt. Firstborn son written all over him. Spoilt and his face unmarred and unmarked. His body, too, George thought. Not much different from himself based on observation alone, George supposed.
“Stop joking, George,” Sapnap said. Sapnap offered a hand to George, pulling him up to stand next to them. He got a better look at the towering figure above him.
Dream was somewhat attractive. His armor clung to him, lean and molded to his body. Jawline clean and collarbone defined that led to the slope of broad shoulders and full chest. The golden-haired knight was well-nourished and kept the condition of his body fit, possibly toned, he’d give him that. Not too stocky, yet not too skinny. No pot belly or bulbous nose, so he’s not an alcoholic or a glutton. Yet, at least, George thought.
“You look like you’ve never seen a day of combat,” Dream scoffed, with an amused quirk at the corner of his lip. Unfazed.
“Let me guess, were your spoons silver…or gold?” George said, bored.
“Daddy probably sent you to the battlefield to ‘get some experience’, but you probably stayed in the tent all battle long,” Dream’s eyes narrowed. “Then you got the credit…and now you’re here.”
“Tell me, does your mummy sew your undergarments as well?” George fired back.
They certainly ignored each other's insults like old friends.
“What is it that you do in court, anyway? Small thing like you?” Dream cocked his head to the side in mock curiosity and derision. “I bet…” He took a step forward toward George.
George resisted his instinct to take a step back. He isn’t intimidated. It was just annoying standing so close to someone so presumptuous. George stood his ground, tight-lipped with his expression neutral and unbothered. He stared into Dream’s eyes. Calculating golden eyes clashing with his defiant brown ones.
The newcomer leaned down close to George’s ear as if he were a child. Hot breath against his ear. A chill climbed up his spinal column.
“I bet…that you’re sucking the king’s cock every night,” Dream whispered softly. It’s a playful tone to his voice. George can hear the smug smile on his stupid face.
Without skipping a beat George fired back, “And I bet that you're here begging to bed the king just to stay here.” The accented lilt of his voice was deadpan and unaffected.
“Guys, that’s enough,” Sapnap sighed.
“That milquetoast? For all we know, he’s spent his whole life in the castle deformed from all that royal-inbreeding,” Dream said in disgust, pulling his face away to stare at George, all humor gone. “He’s just someone’s puppet anyway.”
“Dream,” Sapnap urged. Such talk could be considered treason.
“And somehow, he’s still an improvement from you, to say the least,” George said.
“And how would you know?” Dream chuckled, his hand shooting to his mouth to mock-stifle the laugh. “So, you have sucked his cock. Must be the only thing you're good at.”
“Thanks, I took pointers from your mother,” George scoffed.
George was used to schoolyard insults. It’s the humor of their friend group, all at once familiar and nostalgic to the archer. Maybe they were childhood friends after all. Yet, George couldn’t quite recall. This shouldn’t be enough to get underneath George’s skin…but it does. He feels annoyance and anger prickle his skin.
“GUYS,” Sapnap growled exasperated. “Enough.”
They turned their heads to stare at the knight. Both Dream and George weren’t used to Sapnap being the voice of reason, in their own experiences. Dream straightened himself up.
“Dream,” Sapnap faced him. “George, here, is actually--”
“-a lowly archer,” George interrupted. He shrugged, glancing at Dream.
“Called it,” Dream grinned. George wants nothing more than to smack him for that childish triumph in his voice.
Sapnap snapped his attention to the brunet. An annoyed, quizzical look on his features, with his eyebrow raised.
“George is actually the-” Sapnap began again.
George nudged him with his elbow, a bit more harder than intended. It knocks a breath out of Sapnap by surprise. Not because it hurts, but George’s puzzling insistence catches him off-guard.
“The one that bests Sapnap at a bow and arrow,” George smiled, his turn at being sickly confident. “Though, he’ll never admit it. Near cost us a battle once.”
“Hey! You’ve been missing your shots recently!” Sapnap jabbed him back.
Dream laughed, a wholly full-bodied and musical sound that surprised George. He threw his head back when he did, good-natured and radiant.
“Sapnap would always charge in too! Even before the Commander announced it!” Dream laughed. “Pissed them all off too.”
“He’d charge in before they announced the bowmen to nock too! I’d look down and there he was, stupidly rushing in on horseback! Like an idiot!” George guffawed loudly.
George caught Dream’s eyes on him, and for a moment, they reveled in their shared enjoyment of teasing Sapnap.
Sapnap wasn’t all too amused, protesting their jests. Their voices overlapped one another like excited children.
“George, you should have seen Dream when it was him, Illumina, and Fruits on the field in Calanthe, they all raced each other to take out one of the generals,” Sapnap said with a fond grin. “And then Dream-”
“Don’t even-,“ Dream groaned, a smile on his face and a playful shove at Sapnap’s side.
“Dream actually trips-”
“Stop! Listen-Stop! I caught up eventually-” Dream sputtered.
“And I had to save his ass from a polearm to the neck!” Sapnap wheezed. “You didn’t even care! No acknowledgement, thank-you, or-or anything at the bonfire after!”
“Hey, well, no, I said it later! I-I-hey-” Dream stammered between his own bouts of laughter.
“All he cared about was beating Fruit and Illumina to the hill,” Sapnap laughed. His eyes crinkled in fondness. A warmth to his voice. Something that George knows is genuine.
George can’t help but feel a sudden pin prick of jealousy. The feeling twisted deeper like a splinter in a finger, discomforting and foreign. He hadn’t heard Dream’s name too often over the years. Perhaps he did, but George wasn’t too observant of minute details such as names. Yet here Sapnap was, as close friends with someone else other than himself. Not that he minded when Sapnap laughed and joked with others, but this was…different.
Dream and Sapnap held a closeness he hadn’t seen before.
There were several periods of time during the war that their regiments went their separate ways. It would be months before George and Sapnap met again and sometimes it would be brief nights before being whisked away to the next battle. Sometimes, they spent months in each other’s company attached at the hip.
Other times, their regiments would meet at the same battle, but never interact at all. However, George always managed to look and scan for Sapnap’s red cloak amongst the crowd. And if he was lucky, his arrow would carve a path for Sapnap to fight onwards.
Of course Sapnap would have other companions George wasn’t privy to. George internally stamped down the begrudging feelings.
“The worst part was-” Sapnap giggled.
“DON’T even- listen, I mean, it was-, like I got there first-”
“Techno was the one to kill him before any of them,” Sapnap sputtered. Tears sprang to his eyes from the memory.
George laughed. He could picture Illumina, Fruit, and Dream ambling up the hill and Techno taking the glory for himself.
“Nooo, it was so unfair too! Like, he knew-he knew that we were-” Dream wheezed, holding his sides and lightly pushing Sapnap.
Their laughter carried on the wind on that summer day, as if they were old comrades sharing stories of war. George stole a glance at Dream. His eyes creased in equal likeness as Sapnap. A place that he couldn’t reach. George shook the invading thought away, internally.
“Well, this was…nice. I have to check in with Techno before sunset,” Dream smiled. “It’s good seeing you, old friend,” Dream’s hand and arm slapping Sapnap’s shoulder. Sapnap returned the gesture, smiling brightly.
“We have so much to catch up on,” Sapnap said. “Let’s get dinner in the mess hall once you get settled in.”
Dream turned to George, “Sorry, were you going to join us? Or do you archers have a separate mess hall from the likes of us?” Dream’s smirk is self-assured. George would love nothing more than to knock that grin off his face. Oh, he’s going to relish this.
“I’ll be there. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to tell cook to include our finest linens for you. I can’t imagine you staying long. We’re far too lowly for your tastes,” George smiled sweetly.
Dream returned the smile, painstakingly fake as George was, but neither were under the pretense of being fooled. Dream nodded at them and sauntered back to his horse in the distance. Once Sapnap was sure his horse galloped far away enough in the direction of the city, he turned to his friend.
“What the fuck was that about?” Sapnap asked.
“He started it,” George shrugged.
“You were being childish,” Sapnap scoffed.
“Me? I didn’t say anything that mean,” George said in mock incredulity, with an exaggerated facial expression. It was a comedic bit he did ever so often. “That would be unbecoming of the king, now wouldn’t it?” he says sarcastically. The sun was hanging lower in the sky now, George and Sapnap began to wrap up their foodstuffs and threw it into their satchels.
“Both of you were being idiots,” Sapnap grumbled. “Though, I don’t understand why.”
“Why do we need another knight in the Royal Guard again? We have enough,” George groaned.
“Okay, first off, he’s going to be in the Knights Guard,” Sapnap said. He paused for a moment, checking their area for any missing items. They mounted their horses. “At least, for now,” he amended.
Sapnap led the way on his horse, back to the main road. He kept his eyes trained on the horizon and took a quick look behind him, making sure to pay attention to any shimmering reflection of light. He was waiting patiently for a slip-up, a glint of anything that would be a threat to them. Once he was satisfied, Sapnap continued speaking, but his focus and attention still trained to the distance in front of them. Occasionally, he would glance to his peripheral vision for any warning signs. This was a habit of theirs. War trained them to be alert at all times, even in reprieves of peace.
“Second, he’s fought in as many battles as we have. If not, more,” Sapnap said. “Show some respect. His family’s known for making some of the best fighters this kingdom’s ever seen.”
“So, he’s nobility after all,” George grinned triumphantly. He was correct in his assessment.
There were knights from all walks of life in the military. Many were of noble blood, of knightdom, and others that clawed their way up from peasantry. However, there were fighters that relied on family names and stole the credit from others that worked harder. Such men used infantry as fodder to sweep in and claimed victory at the end. Those were the people that George disliked the most. Although, if he had to admit, archers were not any better. But that was beside the point.
“George,” Sapnap chastised, “you know he was making the same accusation about you. Besides, he’s also a-”
“Because I’m an archer?” George interrupted.
"No, because you're nobility as well!" Sapnap argued.
"Yeah, but I'm different," George whined in over-exaggeration. It was a humour bit that they performed. "I'm barely a noble!" He intoned his voice high and silly.
"You are literally King of Elytra, George," Sapnap laughed.
“For now,” George scoffed.
“You guys really are idiots,” his friend groaned.
Archers, or Arbalists, were an integral part of the battle used to knock the opposing vanguard, provide cover and backup for the infantry…but the class had a sordid history themselves for sneaking in scions in order to bolster their family credit and claim their fame of serving in the military despite being unskilled or, in most cases, useless. Such sons of nobility were snakes. Once the battle was over, they would slither back to their families to curry favor with the people and claim credit in spite of seldom seeing battle. It often left his profession with a reputation of entitlement and deception. These people still fell into the same camp of people that George disliked the most.
To George, it was a joke that their group of friends leaned into, poking fun at George’s status. But they all knew at the end of the day, George was a skilled marksman. He worked hard and had proven himself amongst his peers. There were many times George moved to the front lines to assist the vanguard. His friends knew this.
Archers may generally be safer away from the upfront action compared to the knights, but close enough to risk death and danger as well. They were still vulnerable to other attacks.
“Third, why didn’t you just tell him?” Sapnap asked.
“Why would I?” George’s voice was deadpan. George knew it came out harsher than intended, but Sapnap knew George well enough to know the brunet didn't mean offense.
George’s expressions varied often. He was either serious or his voice was silly, high, and sarcastic. His deadpan humor often confused outsiders. Something that his court often took offense to. George isn’t rude, but he’s…unrefined. Sapnap knows this, but doesn’t seek to correct the king like Bad does. In recent months, Wilbur sometimes corrected him.
“George…” Sapnap pressed.
“If he’s promoted to the Royal Guard, then I’ll consider telling him,” George decided. “If he even lasts that long.”
“You need more friends, not enemies George,” Sapnap huffed.
“Not interested,” George dismissed.
They reached the main road now, but neither made the first effort to gallop toward the capital city. The pair kept a leisurely pace, with both knowing that the conversation wouldn’t be dropped by either party. The horses clopped along the cobbled road, a gentle and welcome symphony that sang in their ears.
George is appreciative of this pace and the steady rhythm of hooves. It reminded him of the day the war concluded. The sounds of leisure, laughter, jests, singing, and horses clomping down the main road signified a new era of peace and hope. This was all before he was whisked away to the capital to be ordained by the Holy See. To see his father for the last time. To be named heir apparent and successor to the throne.
As idealistic as it sounded, that day was the first time in a decade of war where they didn’t have to keep up a brutal pace. Their horses and carriages were always rushing to the next battlefield, the next siege, or racing to their next impending death. They no longer had to witness another village razed and torched to the ground. The stench of cannon fire and blood and burnt flesh behind them.
He was sure that Sapnap feels the same way.
After a long spell of silence, George was the first to break the tension, an act that surprised Sapnap.
“I don’t see the point in revealing my identity yet,” George said, contemplative.
“I know,” Sapnap said softly. The knight is patient for once. If George was making the effort, so would he, the fighter decided.
They’re both acting out of character. He knows George is rarely in a mood to explain himself or his actions, let alone speak about his true feelings. It's a sign of change.
“I just…I don’t know. I know that the courts are getting impatient with speaking to me through a confessional box,” George grinned.
He thought the idea ingenious, really. The booth was built into the wall of their parliament hall. He would speak to the assembly through a well-contained screen, concealing his identity perfectly. The door to it opened to a corridor that led to a restricted wing of the castle where George could slip in and out of, undetected. It was Wilbur’s idea. Even Grandmaster Sorcerer Brennen commended him on it.
Sapnap nods.
“I know it’s…childish of me to want this privacy,” George said. “And that one day, I'll have to reveal my face. But until I solidify my role as king, I’d like to be selfish for a little while longer,” George said, peering up to the sky.
The archer takes a deep breath, holds it in for a half beat and exhales. His head lolled back, facing the heavens. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sounds of summer, a hum in the air. The sky began to dim with colors of orange and violet bleeding together, signifying dusk in another hour or so.
He never wanted to be king.
He wanted to keep laughing with Wilbur, Quackity, Karl, Bad, and the rest of them, especially now in times of peace. There was nothing more than what he wanted, a simple life with all of his friends, like the children they used to be.
Sapnap gazed at his friend, awed and silent. George showed a tremendous amount of restraint for once, Sapnap noted. Probably being shoved into the role of a King had a lot to do with it. Perhaps Bad’s rants rubbed off on George after all.
“Besides, that means that my food taster gets to live a while longer, right?” George laughed, opening his eyes and facing his friend. “Can’t take my meals in peace if everyone knows my face.”
“Neither can your food taster,” Sapnap laughed.
The knight knew that despite George’s carefree attitude, the archer worked smarter than most. His friend refused to ask for help, preferring to concoct his own solutions in his rational mind instead. The brunet was careful and quiet around strangers. Oftentimes, Sapnap caught glimpses of George alone at the edge of a bonfire gathering or victory celebration, too quiet and shy unless he knew acquaintances or friends. But to those that knew him, George was silly and never took things too seriously.
George’s thoughts turned to Dream. Dream, the golden-haired knight. There was something about him that George disliked, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it other than the insults. It went beyond that. He ignored the heat he felt. Ignored the way his breath felt against the shell of his ear. He ignored the tugging in his chest and the warmth that spread through his limbs.
He wanted to pay it no mind.
But he did.
Dream was the first annoying knight he'd met in a while. He wouldn't last a fortnight. George felt heat rise to cheeks as he replayed earlier events. Dream's face was so close to his. Dream's laughter. The way his lips curled, so arrogant and self-satisfied. Worst of all, it was Dream's golden eyes that watched him. There was something in the ways his eyes swept up and down his form.
Hunger.
No. George internally shook his head, wiping away the thought. He likely misread it. Much like an annoying hangnail, Dream was the first person in a long time that tripped a landmine in him. Nothing more and nothing less. They would hardly cross each other’s paths at the castle.
George held the reins of his horse and cued for her to go faster, breaking the gait cycle from a steady cadence to a trot and then to a gallop toward the capital city. Sapnap followed suit, oddly, it was a comforting sight watching George's back.
Sapnap grinned.
During the war, it was George that watched him from the tower as he charged ahead laying waste to the kingdom's enemies. In the past, Sapnap asked once, "How do you always know where I'm at, out there? You're colorblind."
George complained, "I always know to look for you, because your cloak is the one with the most blood."
"Cool, right?"
George scoffed and they'd bicker as they washed their clothes in the river together.
Now, it was Sapnap's turn to watch George's back. He couldn’t help but look forward to the future, and hopefully it would be as bright and wonderful in times of peace.
Sapnap knew his friend would never say so, would never utter the words, or admit to it. But the knight knew, unfailingly and unquestioningly, that the reason George joined the war effort was because of him. His best friend George, armed with a quick insult ready on his tongue, followed Sapnap into the war. He brought an infectious energy like he had so many times before. Even with his own life on the line, George believed in Sapnap and covered him in every battle whenever their regiments were assigned together.
George looked out for him countless times. His arrows protected him.
Now it was Sapnap’s turn. His turn to return the favor. To serve his friend, the King.
Sapnap would follow George to the ends of the Earth, because George did the same for him.
But King? George? His childhood friend George? Sapnap knew it would be a long journey before George resembled anything like a King. But it will be an interesting one, to say the least. Sapnap hoped that by inviting his trusted friend and skilled knight, Dream, to court, he could protect George as well. Perhaps, the knight thought, he was too hopeful after all.