Chapter Text
“Breathe in, and hold that breath until -”
The tall, white haired man spoke with a focused intensity. He was coaching a young boy with tousled, short, similarly white hair and determination in his eyes.
“Loose!” The man called out with enthusiasm.
An arrow sailed through the brisk air, landing just short of a bullseye. The elated look on the boy's face betrayed any attempt at forced stoicism, turning to beam at an older boy leaning against a wooden fence-post. Near enough was proof of improvement, with that perfect victory just within reach.
“Good job Hamignant.” The man further mussed the boy's unruly hair. “For once, you could learn something from him, Estinien.”
“Hmph.”
Though his twelfth birthday was close on the horizon, he hardly acted like the child he was. Long white hair, much like his father’s, was braided neatly. The woven tresses tumbled down between his shoulder blades, the fringe of which was tucked behind his pointed ears.
A brooding sort, though not to the point of denying a proud smile towards his younger brother. Two years separated them, and to Hamignant that gap felt more like an untraversable chasm. This blossoming inclination towards his bow made him feel just a few steps closer to being like his sibling.
“You did well.” The older boy praised, nodding approvingly at the smiling boy.
“We should head back, before your mother comes to find us instead.”
A shared look of fearful unease passed between the three. Few things were more frightening than the wrath of Elisette, which could be incurred in a variety of ways. All were under the umbrella of not heeding her requests, which were always done with her family’s safety in mind.
The fall was starting to give way to the cold of early winter, though no snow had yet fallen. With the last of the crops squared away, it was now a matter of hunting to keep food on the table, and preserving what they had.
They made their way down the winding dirt road through the clearing to head back towards their humble village of Ferndale. Tall pine trees were densely packed together in the more forested areas they crossed, opening up into similar swaths of green fields to the one they had recently left. It was the same as the fields that housed all the animals Estinien tended, off to the opposite side of the village to where they were then. Aging buildings were still somewhat standing, abandoned. Though the green of the fields was less vibrant now, the dying grass turned to brown as the seasons changed.
When they came upon the village, the golden hour of sunset was upon them. Long shadows from the surrounding forest stretched across the narrow streets, woven around the trees. Such a village might seem odd to outsiders; why build such small homes within the forest when fertile land lay a stone’s throw away? Surely the yawning pastures with their potential for sprawl would prove easier to work with.
The answer was simple; dragons.
Dense canopy proved the safest way to keep hidden from the winged beasts, bent on scorching man from the earth. Their village, like the others that neighboured it, was built deep into the woods. Foraging was plentiful, and hunting frequently proved fruitful.
The two boys followed their father closely, Hamignant with a spring in his step from his earlier success. Estinien, meanwhile, carried a leather satchel filled with foraged verdure. The only thing worse than coming home to his mother late was coming home late and empty handed.
Small houses built of wood, and stone peeked from the surrounding foliage. Plumes of smoke gently billowed from the chimneys, supper time being upon the quaint village. A small, red house was tucked away at the end of the road, the smell of salted pork accompanying the sight. A meat smoker was doing its work in the half-open shed beside the carmine home, light from the fire illuminating the windows.
“Marcelloix?” A woman’s voice called out as the boys entered.
She stood tall, nearly as tall as her husband. Long, blonde hair was intricately braided, keeping it tidy, fashionable, and most importantly, out of the way. Her smile was thin, but earnest, while her slate blue eyes fixated on the bag her eldest son placed on the counter.
“Good work, this should do nicely…” Her voice trailed as she stared out the window overlooking their small wood burning stove.
“You should have seen this one today!” The proud father continued to shower the small boy with praise. Her empty gaze filled with life all at once, turning to look upon her youngest.
While the other three were preoccupied, Estinien slunk away. Each time he inhaled brought with it another aspect of his surroundings; the smell of damp earth, smoke, fresh pine needles. The clothing he was wearing was starting to be noticeably thin for the weather. Soon he would need to don thick winter furs once more, assuming his coat from last year would still fit.
The sound of striking iron rang through the relative quiet, the smell of hot metal accompanying it. All this before the locale in question became visible; a cabin on the side of the ravine with a smith’s forge attached to it. Estinien didn’t announce himself as he walked closer, merely standing in watch of the muscular man’s work. Swinging a great hammer down onto some project, sparks flying with every heavy connection. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he turned, jumping back slightly as he did.
“Gods lad, you gave me a fright!” He scolded the boy. “I take it you’re here for the lance?”
“Is it ready?”
“Aye. You have what I asked of you?”
Procuring a smaller leather satchel than the one he had delivered his mother prior, he pulled out a dried bushel of plants tied together with twine, along with a silver piece. That one piece had been from weeks of labour helping around the village, but it was a small price to pay in regards to what he was receiving for it. The man took it from him, lifting the browned leaves beneath his nose, inhaling deeply. The smell coming from them was bitter, Estinien wrinkling his nose at it anytime he had to handle them.
“You did well finding these; this is perfect. Strong.” He set down the payment on an iron table, disappearing into the back of his workshop before returning with a sturdy, modest steel headed lance.
Placing it into Estinien’s hands, the boy’s eyes widened with wonder. Finally, his own lance, the perfect size just for him. No more using sparring wooden ones, or practicing with his father’s that was far too large for him; his own. Holding it up, the balance felt right, the tip twinkling from just how fresh, and sharp it was.
“You seem pleased.”
“...thank you.” He looked up, struggling to find words for a moment.
The smith’s smile was warm, and he placed a heavy hand onto the youth’s shoulder.
“You take care of yourself, and that family of yours, you hear?”
“Estinien!” A loud voice broke through the quiet; his mother’s.
“Speakin’ of; you better hurry lad, or you might be needing to defend yourself sooner than you thought.”
The boy ran through the village, a mad dash to get back to the little red house before he had fully incurred the wrath of Elisette.
“Gods boy, I was starting to think you’d just up and vanished.” Her brows were still furrowed in mild anger, but her voice was filled with relief.
“Sorry mum I-”
“What’s that on your back? You spending time with that smithy again?” She leaned over her son, inspecting the lance. “He’s no good, that man. But…” She lingered as she seemed to be admiring the weapon. “He’s good at his job at least. That better have come out of your own coin purse, Estinien.”
“I promise it did.”
“Come on now, before supper gets cold.”
She ushered her son inside, a gentle hand around his thin shoulders. His brother, and father were already sitting at the table, fried greens with smoked meat on stone hewn plates. He leaned his new lance next to his father’s, hopping onto his stool.
“When did you get that now?” Marcelloix looked at it curiously.
The family spoke with each other while they ate, sharing their thoughts, and events from their days. Eventually it would turn to Elisette meticulously planning what still needed to be done on the morrow, while Marcelloix would reassure her it would all be done, and all be fine.
Afterwards, Estinien, and Hamignant would sit on either side of their mother while she read to them as their father sat on the front porch, smoking his pipe. The boys clung to every animated word their mother spoke as they were pulled into either fantasy, or fantastical reality as she read.
The town had made an effort of putting together a small library to share, much of the legwork to get it running being done by Elisette herself. No matter how rural their town, she felt it important that the children in it should know how to read, helping teach some of them herself. Unfortunately, those other children seemed to pick up the inclination much better than her own two sons. This evening, the story was of The Dragonsong War.
“Ishgard is a real place, right?” Hamignant interrupted.
“Yes; this is a true story.” She turned to speak to her son. “You know I was born there.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Well, sometimes castles are better left in stories. As we were,” She picked up where she left off.
Once she had finished, she continued their nightly rituals by talking of what they had just read while she undid her eldest son’s braid. Estinien would close his eyes as he relished the feeling of her nails gently raking through his long, white hair, half listening as his brother would ask a ceaseless barrage of questions while his mother somehow always found an answer to them. Shivers pleasantly ran up his spine as she ran her fingers down his neck, and against his scalp. Satisfied that her son’s hair was free of tangles, she would send them off to bed with a kiss for each of them on the crowns of their heads.
“Upstairs, the both of you. Get some rest; there’s plenty to get done tomorrow.”
The boys had the attic to themselves, while their parents slept in a small room below off to the left of the kitchen. They would whisper amongst each other until one stopped responding, which was usually Hamignant. Estinien always struggled to find sleep, staring into the darkness while he thought of the stories his mind was still full of. His idle dreaming was interrupted by the sound of his parent’s irate voices.
“What do you mean this is all we have left?”
“When you took the boys today...they came back.”
“For more? Elise, this is ridiculous. Soon there will be nothing left to take -”
“I know, I know. They keep saying they need the provisions as a tax for the war effort. I… Sometimes I fear they’ll try to take the boys. Soon, Estinien will be -”
“They aren’t taking either of my sons. And they won’t be taking from our stores any longer either. Bloody soldiers aren’t doing anything for us anyway, they’re just bringing everything back to the city.”
“As I said, I know. But I don’t know what else to do.”
After that their voices went too quiet for the boy to hear.
Soon I’ll be… Well, what?