Chapter Text
As usual, the whispers wake him from his sleep. They thread through the fallen soldiers and cracked ground in his dreams, wrenching the fire prince from the imaginative horror. Weak, they whisper, nightmares are for children afraid to confront their fears.
A bump in the road rattles the transport abruptly, causing Maven’s eyes to flutter open. There are no more battles, fires no longer rage along trenches bordering enemy lines, and Maven’s body isn’t paralyzed as it was previously. Without changing his facade, he stretches minimally, sitting up enough to alert the two guards sitting opposite him he’s awake. They don’t need to know how easily his foolish fears get to him. However, neither gives him any notion they care other than a slight flicker of their eyes his way.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Maven ganders out the window nearest him. Instead of the glamorous structures and Silver-owned businesses passing by, towering trees with a vibrant green rustle in the wind, creating an aesthetic he finds surprisingly pleasing.
“Where are we?” Maven asks without thinking of his posture or anything else his mother would scold him for. Being too enticed with the view, he barely glances over at the guards.
The guard closest to him shifts, his armor making an unpleasant sound against the seat cushion. “Five miles outside the military campsite, your Highness.” His voice is gruff yet quiet for a man of his size; more muscular than the other guard and Maven combined yet just less than a foot over the prince.
The front. Of course. How could he possibly forget?
A week ago, the subject had been brought up at the dinner table. One week ago. Maven exhales sharply. How the time flies.
“You’re sending me to the barracks?” His voice was collected, though the slightest tremor rewarded him with a pointed look from Elara. Swallowing any morsels left in his mouth, Maven looked between his parents. “I feel it’s a bit,” he hesitated, “sudden.”
Elara had scoffed. “Sudden? You’ve been lacking in areas during training for the past month according to Lord Arven, I was assuming you saw this coming.” Daintily cutting a slice of meat with her silverware, she kept her eyes on her plate but her voice was cutting through his head.
But you didn’t. Always be prepared, darling. That way, no one can catch you off guard. You never know who could throw a wrench in your plans or poison your soup, you need to be able to plan for it.
Cal, who’d been eating silently across from mother and son, spoke up. “Lord Arven judges on who he likes better, not upon skill as he should.”
“I’m assuming that’s why you have perfect marks.” He bit at his brother, narrowing his eyes. It was time for him to stop fighting Maven’s battles. Cal frowned, looking a bit startled it was Maven who said something and not Elara.
“Whatever the reason, I feel it’d be a good experience for the boy.” The king proclaimed, wine sloshing in his goblet. “Toughen him up. Like Cal here.” A drunken smile appeared on his face and he clapped Cal on the back causing him to nearly drop his fork. Maven clenched his own utensil, biting his tongue to keep from lashing out at his father. Another comparison to his perfect brother who achieved what he couldn’t hope to in his lifetime. Patience, was all his mother whispered.
Taking a sip from his glass, Maven was grateful for the pause. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. “When am I leaving?” He remained calm, eyes shifting calmly between Elara and Tiberias, not even bothering to look at Cal in fear of meeting a softened bronze. He had accepted his fate, he didn’t need any sympathy.
Smiling proudly, Elara set down her knife. It was Maven’s imagination but the knife almost seemed to prod at him from where it laid, biting at him with it’s sharpened teeth and ripping at his flesh until there’s nothing left. Perhaps Maven would allow it to, even welcome it in fact.
“As soon as all of your things are packed.”
Thankfully, it’d taken him a week to finish up various tasks including training sessions and lessons before he could finish gathering necessary items for his trip. According to his mother, he’d be at the front for quite some time. Or at least until he can rid himself of weak habits that hold him back from being as good as Cal.
The view outside the window becomes less beautiful as the transport turns right into a clearing where a few tents are scattered about in front of rows of smaller tents leading farther than the eye can see. Bigger tents located in front must be important ones like the dining hall and the general’s quarters. Possibly his quarters as well. It’s not as nice as he expected it to be, though it’s not terrible.
But the smell is. As soon as Maven is escorted out of his transport after it’s come to a stop, he tries to keep himself from gagging. Bile rises in his throat and he finds it difficult to keep a straight face as he walks towards a stout man waiting for him in front of the second largest tent in the clearing. His guards flank him and seem to think the same; their noses wrinkle at the same time Maven wishes he could.
“Prince Maven.” The short man says once he’s close enough. For such a vertically challenged man, he’s incredibly loud. “Welcome to your new home. I’m-”
“General Lerolan.” Maven interrupts. He smiles, showing his canines. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” General Lerolan gives away his surprise by an arch in his eyebrows. To the prince, it wasn’t much of a mystery considering the orange and red, Lerolan house colors, lining his uniform as well as the shining medals adorning his chest. The fact that he’s Silver is a dead giveaway.
Forcing a chuckle, General Lerolan stares into Maven’s eyes with a cold smile. “You’re new, I get it. But don’t ever forget this warning I’m gonna give you. Don’t ever interrupt me or I’ll send you out with the first group for battle at the front lines.” As he speaks, he gets louder, and Maven inwardly cringes. He supposes his ears will have to become attuned to the volume sooner or later. The threat isn’t well delivered, at least compared to others Maven’s heard, but the sincerity of it is certainly there.
Clenching his teeth, Maven’s smile falls slowly. “Understood. I will let my mother know at once I’m off to battle.” The indication is clear as day but General Lerolan merely laughs, shaking his head and crossing his arms.
“Boy, your mother ordered this type of punishment along with many more chores for you to do if you step outta line. Whine to her all you’d like, Blue, you aren’t getting outta any of this.”
“Blue?” Maven questions, taken aback. His mother did what? Did she honestly think he’d be that much of a bother? Surprisingly though, the nickname startles him more.
The guard to Maven’s right bites back a chuckle, disguising it as a cough. The fire prince scowls. General Lerolan gives him an amused smile then turns on his heel and calls over his shoulder for Maven to follow him, adding his new nickname. Feeling humiliated, he sulks after the general.
An hour and a half later, Maven wants to tear his hair out which is horrific for him since he spends a lot of time caring for it. General Lerolan showed him around the camp, starting with both of the dining halls, which he called “mess halls”, and ending with the training grounds on the far end of the rows of tents. Each new place there was to show was followed with an introduction filled with loud barks from the general and snappy comebacks if Maven uttered a single word.
Clearly, General Lerolan doesn’t care about the prince or his feelings. Just his skills and capability, which he apparently thinks Maven lacks.
Stopping outside the fenced area, General Lerolan turns dutifully towards Maven, sizing him up. “Oh yes, you’ll be visiting here often.” Maven’s about to retort something about his height when he starts to speak again. “These are the training grounds. First thing tomorrow morning, you’ll report here to get yourself into a group that works on your weaknesses to build them up. Fortunately for you, Blue, your momma requested your strengths be worked on as well as your weaknesses, so you’ll be part of our top class.”
“I’m assuming I have no say in this.” Maven says with a locked jaw. He’s met with a smug smile.
“And as part of our top class, we have one rule you need to know before you start.” Leaning in a bit as if about to tell him a secret, he grasps his hands behind his back. “You drop before I tell you to, you’ll regret it, princeling. According to your mother, I have no limits with you so don’t hide behind her skirts any longer.” Straightening back up, he laughs and claps Maven on the shoulder. “I’ll have your guards show you to your room. It’s a long ways back so I suggest you hurry. Night’s a comin’.”
Maven is escorted away by his own guards, who look as though they adore the short man, without a second to think of a response. Usually he’s the one with the quick retorts, the smart mouth. Was he outdone by a foul general, a Lerolan of all houses?
The walk back to his tent isn’t as brutal as General Lerolan claimed it would be and his tent’s nicer than the ones closer to the training grounds. Standing at the front of the row directly behind the general’s quarters, his tent looks magnificent compared to the ones behind it, standing at around three feet taller and ten feet bigger all around. Inside there’s not much, a bed with a pile of sheets folded at the end and a pillow, a desk in the corner, and a set of his own military clothes set neatly on a chair near his bed with giant boots that look extremely heavy standing next to the leg. It’s nothing in contrast to his room back home but it will have to do for now.
His guards leave him when ordered to, rather rudely due to Maven’s sour mood, and he finds he’s happy to be alone for once. Ignoring his new garments and bed sheets, he sits on the edge of the mattress carefully, as though sitting on it will ruin it. Scanning the bland room, he exhales slowly.
The front is not the first place he would’ve chosen to leave his home for. In fact, it’s at the very bottom of that list. But he’ll have to accommodate if he wants to survive here and unfortunately, that means putting up with General Lerolan and his antics and possibly some unfriendly soldiers. His lungs suddenly feel like they’re being squeezed. Other soldiers. He’ll have to eat, train, and walk alongside other soldiers, Red and Silver alike, in order to be successful like Cal.
With a sigh, Maven discards his shoes and lies back on the bed. There’s one thing for certain. He’s not going to like it here. But if he’s going to change anything, one thing that he will not tolerate, he already knows what it is. He can make friends if he truly tries, he can put up with a blown out eardrum due to all the yelling, he can even survive the rough training he’ll endure come morning.
But his nickname is not going to be Blue.