Chapter Text
Shink!
Anna’s wooden blade clashed with her young lord’s.
The boy, who was about twenty years younger, was easily pushed back by her superior strength.
He was undeterred as he immediately ran back at her, he jumped and brought his sword down, attempting to recreate a move he had seen his father pull off so many times.
Anna easily dodged out of the way and struck him in the back, knocking him to the ground. She stood over him, blade pressed against his neck, “Another victory for me, Lord Symon.”
Symon grumbled in frustration as Anna threw her sword to the side and helped him stand up. The boy let out a sigh, “Benedict’s advice did seem to help at all…”
“That would be because you stopped following it halfway through.”
“Yeah, because it wasn’t getting me anywhere!”
“It’s all about patience, take notes, it might prove useful when you lead House Wolffort.”
“I know I know… I’ve heard it all before. From Benedict. Everyday.”
Anna gave him an amused look,”You’re only ten, you’ll hear that talk many more times still.”
Symon cast a glance at Anna’s sheathed dagger, “How old was father when he got his first real blade?”
“Like… five or something.”
“And I still don’t have one?”
“...”
“Have I not been making enough progress? Am I… useless…”
“Lord Symon, don’t say such things. You are still young, you still have time. You are making progress, don’t jump to conclusions.”
“R-right, I am sorry. I am just being childish,” he turned away, “I’ll go work on my studies now.”
He could feel Anna’s eyes still on him. The young lord scaled the stairs and headed off to his room. He stopped in front of his father’s room, gazing at the door. He lingered for a moment before ripping his gaze off and retreating to his room.
Upon entering he viewed himself in the mirror. As always, his skin was as pale as his mothers and his dark brown hair resembled his fathers in every way.
Symon flung himself onto his bed, glaring at the ceiling.
Why am I so useless? Why can’t I do anything right? I’ve been training with Anna for months and am still no closer to beating her!
He groaned as he dug his nails into his scalp, I’ll never be as good as fath-
The sound of a rock hitting the window broke him out of his thoughts. Blinking, he hopped to his feet and walked over to the window. When he didn’t see anything he slowly opened it and glanced out.
All was as it should be.
When he reached up to close the window, a hawk appeared descending at a dangerously quick speed. The rider hopped off and tackled Symon to the ground, “SURPRISE!!!”
The air was knocked out of the young lord's lungs and his vision was blurred. When he came to, a pair of bright blue eyes were eagerly staring back at him.
Symon blinked, not sure if he was seeing this right, “Prince Frani? Why are you here?”
The blond haired boy scrambled off him and cast his messy braid over his shoulder, “I dunno, I was bored and wanted to practice a stunt with my hawk!”
“I… see. And your parents were okay with this?”
“Oh no. Absolutely not. As far as they know, I’m in my room. I also wanted to pay my favorite cousin a visit.”
“I’m going to tell Orlea you said that.”
“W-what no! You can’t! Your sister is terrifying, especially when she’s mad!”
Symon laughed, “Tell you what, if you agree to spar with me, I won’t tell anyone what transpired here.”
Frani drew his sword, “You got a deal!”
Symon shot him a look.
“What’s wrong- Oh, right. You still don’t have a sword. No worries, I brought an extra! Catch!”
The young lord scrambled to catch it, cutting his hand on the blade in the process. He held back a yelp from the pain, and raised the sword, refusing to show weakness.
His cousin didn’t grant him a moment of respite, Frani dashed at Symon with a flurry of attacks the former could barely block.
Exhilarating… Fighting with a real blade is spectacular!
Unfortunately, the battle was cut short by a knock on the door, “Symon? What’s going on in there?”
The boys instantly froze, swords dropping from their hands.
Symon cleared his throat nervously, “N-nothing father! I just dropped… something.”
“Uh, alright. I’m coming in.”
Frani dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed seconds before Symon’s father, Lord Serenoa Wolffort himself, opened the door.
His eyes instantly fell to the swords, “Where did those come from?”
Symon couldn’t bring himself to look into his father’s eyes, let alone lie to him. He instead opted to remain silent, staring at his boots.
Serenoa knelt down, he gently touched Symon’s chin and lifted it to look into his eyes, “I’m not mad Symon, I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
He faltered at that, “W-well I… I dunno, I guess I really wanted a sword of my own…”
“I see. You know, you always could have asked…”
He trailed off as his eyes fell on the cut on Symon’s hand.
The young lord curled his fingers around the cut, “It was just an accident, the blade was sharper than I thought it would be.”
Serenoa rose to his feet and patted his son on the shoulder, “Come, let’s get that hand fixed. Then we can see about that sword.”
Symon gave his father a quick hug, “Thank you, father.”
His father ruffled his hair before walking out of the room, beckoning him to follow. Symon risked a quick glance at his bed before running after Serenoa.
As Serenoa headed back to his room, he stopped to talk to Anna. Symon could make out something about swords as he caught up. He flinched, Please don’t find Prince Frani…
Deep down, he already knew that unless the prince had already left, Anna would certainly catch him.
Regardless, the father and son continued undeterred. Upon arriving in his bedroom, Serenoa held the door open for Symon, closing it behind him.
The older man pulled a first aid kit out from his desk and kneeled beside the younger, “Luckily the cut isn’t that deep, be more careful next time.”
Symon decided to pretend he wasn’t incredibly overjoyed at the words ‘next time.’
There was an awkward silence as Serenoa tended to the wound, a silence that Symon wanted to break, but wasn’t sure how. He tried anyway.
“So. Dragan’s coming home tomorrow, right?”
“Actually, I believe he’s arriving later today.”
“Oh. That’s nice. I wonder how he liked his trip to Aesfrost.”
“Mm. He probably loved it, your brother always has liked exploring new places. Hopefully he didn’t give Lord Svarog too much trouble.”
Symon nodded his agreement as Serenoa finished wrapping the cut. The lord stood up and walked over to the two swords displayed on his wall. He grabbed the lower one and held it out to Symon.
The young lord’s eyes widened, “You’re giving it, to me?”
“Yes. It was the sword I had the day I met your wonderful mother. It’s the sword I had when I became lord of House Wolffort. Now, I want it to be your beginning, as it was mine.”
Symon nodded in fascination as he grabbed the handle and tucked the sheath into his belt.
“Are you going to draw it?”
Symon’s hand returned to the hilt and he slowly withdrew the blade. His eyes widened in fascination as he whispered, “It’s beautiful, I love it! Thank you so much Father!”
Serenoa ruffled his son’s hair, “Just try not to hurt yourself.”
“No promises!”
At that, Serenoa let out a good natured laugh, “What am I going to do with you!”
***
A ship was approaching the dock in front of the Wolffort demesne. On board a young boy yawned, wind at his back. His mostly dark brown fluffy hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. He reached up a hand and ran it along the strike of pink in his hair, the strike that betrayed his Rosellen heritage.
The weather was bright and sunny by the port. The boy shrugged off his cloak to embrace the sunshine.
“You’re so quick to discard my cloak.”
The boy turned around at the sound of the voice, “Oh! Hi Grunkle Svarog! This weather is too nice for a fur cloak.”
Svarog sighed as he picked up the cloak, “Oh Dragan… The fur is mostly around the edges, surely it’s not that warm?”
“Maybe it's the Aesfrost blood in me, but I quite like the cold, I’m going to miss it.”
Svarog ruffled his great nephew’s hair, “I do hope you’ll visit me again.”
“Oh but of course, shouldn’t I be acquainted with the country I’m going to lead one day?”
The response was met with silence.
Dragan frowned, “Did I say something wrong?”
“Hm? Oh no.”
“...”
“It seems we’ve arrived.”
“Oh really I had no idea.”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me young man!”
Dragan huffed as he hopped off the barrel he’d been sitting on, “Maybe if you let me help you with that new bomb design, I wouldn’t be so sarcastic!”
“Even with your child logic, you must know that statement didn’t make any sense.”
The young boy giggled as Svarog let out another sigh, “We best go, wouldn’t want to keep your father waiting.”
As the pair walked off the ship, a hawk flew overhead, heading towards Whiteholm Castle with haste. Dragan smirked as he watched the bird, Seems Frani snuck out of the castle again, I wonder if he’ll get caught this time…