The Child of Namyrur - Chapter 9
Title: The Child of Namyrur
Author: white_coral
Rating: PG
Summary: The history have written dark times and speak of the feud between the Nairn Kingdom and the Namyrur Kingdom. There are stories told upon children that either were to blame for the war that ensued. However, only few are left with the real truth. Time has passed and now, one of the fallen Namyrurians will see to the vows they made come true and retells a new history. But he'll have to deal with the obnoxious Prince Minho beforehand.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
~o~
The sun glared from her towering height. Beneath, massive trees reached up for the warmth, their green leaves cloaking the forest ground where four expedition members acceded to a combat. Crows resting on tree branches witnessed with their bright, dark eyes of the flurry of soil sent to air as the Nairn Prince dragged his foot up and banged the stomach of a mercenary. The mercenary backed away with a hoarse cough, the grip on his dagger tightening.
“Tell me again why we thought this was a brilliant idea?!” He bellowed at his friend, whom, like him, was in a fit of panic and fear.
“Oh I don’t know, some blithering idiot here wanted to rush to his death!!” He tilted his head angrily to another man who was on the mercy of Sir Ernold, the King’s Knight.
“Aye, place the blame! It ain’t getting us nowhere else, dummy!”
“You are staring down the tip of my blade, I can make it an imperial license for you to be somewhere else.” Minho taunted, his hand steady and his gaze unwavering.
The head of the foe, who had the most wit amongst his lot, was boggled at the word ‘imperial’. And a thought struck him. “By Satan’s hairy arse!!” He shrieked in a broken tone.
“What the devil you swear for?!” His mate asked.
“He’s the bloody Crown Prince!!” He shouted back.
“Oy, these people.” Taemin, who was standing behind Haym, never realized cutthroats were more foolish than he had ever hoped. You’d think it was a safe world after all.
The biggest among the men looked from one friend to another. In a rough voice, uncertainly he asked, “So are we to carry on?”
“God bless, he didn’t yell.” Haym muttered and hearing it, Taemin kept a giggle to himself.
The leader spat, he had a good mind to retreat. But in his lame refuge, were torn pieces of pride. He stood up carefully, searched around for a brilliant scheme for he wasn’t going down or away without spoiling the Prince’s crew.
“Do you yield?” Minho bid. Taemin was sure he would never fancy the Prince, but oddly he found Minho striking this way. He rules more than he reads than most princes would- this he acknowledged.
Driven with his wicked thought, the foe smirked. “My dick, Prince.” He mocked through tight-lipped smile, and casted his friend nearby to shield himself from Minho’s stab. Surprised, Sir Ernold rushed in to aid his Lord. The betrayer let his friend bleed, the hurt had eyes wide with repulsion at him, while he ran towards Haym. On impulse, Taemin pushed away the older man while Minho unsheathed his sword from the foe’s meat and sprinted towards his manservant.
But Minho froze when the betrayer shoved Taemin to a tree and stuck his dagger on the trunk right below Taemin’s left ear, severing a few strands of loose hair from the boy’s braid. “Step closer and I’ll slit his throat!” He warned. Taemin could feel the cold sting of the blade on his skin, leaving a slight cut, and the shaking in the man’s hand.
The tallest of them all rushed to the bleeding friend’s side, and looked up to the betrayer. “Are ya mad?!” He roared.
“Shut it! He pulled us into this! The chump deserves a lil’ bleeding!” Replied the man.
“Have you no humanity? Towards your own comrade..” Sir Ernold said, disgusted by how people could be so vile.
“Well,” The man spoke, his bad breath breathed upon Taemin’s face. “I ain’t a Knight. Don’t understand any one of yer bullshit code of honour. All I need is to survive. And I will!” He declared. Repulsed, Taemin refused to be held down by such a man, so he wriggled. He had confidence that he could fend off the insane man, keeping in mind at the dagger waiting by his neck.
“Get your hands off me!” The young warlock griped.
“Pipe down, ye shitface!!” The man yelled. He wasn’t having any of it and ruthlessly stepped on Taemin’s foot to profess his statement. An alarming, great pain shot up Taemin’s physique and he cried torturously. Minho moved in unease but the foe eyed him with warning.
Taemin whined in agony, but he was flaring in anger inside. “Shitface? Are you sure my eyes didn’t mirror you?” He exhaled to soothe the awful throb on his foot before continuing. “Since everyone would agree.. that your face looks more like the chamber pot than mine!” Taemin rebelled, then proceeded to knee him in the groin and head-butt him hard. Groaning, the leader fell back on his bums and Taemin pulled out the dagger from the tree and pointed it at him. “Most chamber pots have bigger holes though and I could spare you one or two.”
Shrieking, one of his friends fled the scene and the other hoisted his hurt comrade upon his shoulder before following suit. Sobbing in hurt and shame, the leader stood up with struggle and ran with a long trail of disgraceful cry.
“Yeah, run, you pest!” Taemin yelled before he dropped to the ground and cradled his foot. The dagger he held lost among dried leaves. Now that the distraction left, the pain was overwhelming and his forehead was aching. Haym came by his side with Minho on his right. Sir Ernold collected their baggage that had been tossed to the side earlier, his worried gaze upon Taemin as well.
“You brave child.” Haym mentioned, taking off Taemin’s shoe and began to check his foot. He meant to scold but his voice betrayed him. Deep down, he was grateful and the young warlock liked to see the demure one in a new light.
Giggling, Taemin replied, “He’s not that tough. You should’ve seen me when I fought a bea-AGH!” He wailed, jolting in pain when Haym massaged his foot from the ankle to the toe. It seemed like he was gripping onto something and when he opened his eyes; came to know it was Minho’s hand, whose face full of concern and bereft of colour.
“Fractured a bone.” Haym said. “You’ll limp. This is going to bruise and swell. You can walk, however, it’s either going to be uncomfortably numb or often, with severe pain.”
“Well, for how long?” Taemin queried with dread.
“If you’re in luck, I’d say, a month.”
Taemin held his breath of curse, for, if there was anyone that the news would antagonise, it would be Minho. A burden he became, and how upsetting was it to imagine what next few days of expedition would turn out to be. The attack earlier had effectively frightened away their horses and daylight was dying, rendering little time to search for the beasts. He tried to move his toes but winced in pain. Sensing the group’s concerned regards dawning upon him, Taemin tried to breathe out the ache.
“Its.. Um.. I’ll be okay.” He said, though it failed to reassure anyone. Minho’s eyes fixated on Taemin’s foot, willing himself from looking fretful. The Prince looked around and saw no clearing in sight but he could hear, albeit faintly, the sound of a stream.
“Ernold, lead us and find the stream. We’ll camp for the night. It’s almost nightfall anyway.” Minho ordered and received a curt nod. Haym casted a glance to Taemin, then said before leaving, “I’ll gather wood for the fire.”
Minho approached Taemin and took his arm upon his. “Come on, lean on me. It’s just a little further.” Not meaning to deter the unit’s pace, the young warlock adhered to Minho’s help cheerlessly.
“Sorry.” Taemin muttered, as they fell behind the other two. Minho can’t imagine why the boy thought he owed anyone a sorry. Inside, the Prince felt guilty. Sure, his manservant was annoying and naughty, but he never wanted harm to be anywhere near Taemin. Before the boy came along, God knows he was praying for someone to be by his side, not wait by his side. Then this one showed up.
“You’re not at fault, Taemin. Give yourself a little credit. You kicked that chamber pot’s arse and the rest of his poo friends.” Minho replied. Rarely hearing compliments and humorous terms from his Prince, Taemin laughed, knowing that Minho was trying to cheer him up.
“Even so-” Taemin was about to say. And Minho, sensing another apology, added;
“If you’re going to be sorry, then do me one small favour.” Minho pled, then went ahead and scooped Taemin up. The slender lad squeaked, his eyes wide with surprise. “Don’t struggle in my arms.”
“Hey, put me down!” Taemin insisted and squirmed. It was odd being carried like a princess and the young warlock could feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment when Sir Ernold and Haym glanced behind at them.
“Bear it for a moment, it’s easier to walk this way. Thank god you’re light.” Which in Minho’s dictionary, meant that he was a stick. And Taemin could read that thought through the man’s sneaky grin.
Sir Ernold didn’t turn to see what happened next, but heard the Prince’s loud ouch and Haym snickering from behind. The knight smiled.
~o~
A crescent moon adorned the clear, night sky and stars sparkled like expectant eyes of the gods. While it seemed like it won’t rain anymore, the air was chilly and feeling altogether cold, Taemin sighed at the warm touch that crawled from Haym’s aged, careful hands as they tended to his swollen foot.
Counting today as the fourth day of the expedition, Taemin had come to learn that the physician had endurance for an elderly. Why, he never whined along the route. He is as quiet and demure as Kai, but particularly detached and impersonal. Some draw attention for being distant and Taemin can’t say nay for Haym. What could he keep underneath all that outer layer?
Taemin leaned back on the glacial stone, staring up the sapphire canopy of mature tree crowns and clear, night sky. The sound of water flowing down the slender rivulet by his side played as the accompaniment of crackling fire, singing cicadas and crickets, owl screeches that come and go- a peaceful piece of nature.
But then, Minho’s face drift to mind. Having the Nairn Kingdom change its outlook on magic, the slight change of plan endowed him second thoughts. Taemin wasn’t sure what would be the right thing to do. Even if he knew, could he really raise a sword on the Prince? Somewhere along the line of duty, Taemin had settled on the fact that he couldn’t entirely hate Minho’s guts. And as the said ‘child’ in Namyrur’s prophecy, he knew it was wrong to feel this way.
The sound of soil crunching beneath boots came closer. With eyes fluttering drowsily and Haym bandaging his foot, Taemin glanced up to Sir Ernold approaching with a bundle of firewood wrapped in his arms.
“How do you fare?” He asked politely.
“I’m well enough.” Taemin flashed a small smile.
Sir Ernold Wendlinger is a King’s Knight. One time he told Taemin of a dying experience- that Ernold was so sure he was fatally stabbed, he would never make it. Then he told how he felt a gentle hand touched his forehead, closed his eyes and whispered him reassuring words until he slept so soundly as if he wasn’t ill at all. He recovered properly afterwards. Thenceforth, Taemin realized why he gave such a strong sense of familiarity. Sir Ernold was the dying messenger he helped during the Bandit, Tabard’s uprising.
Taemin felt so grateful and he grinned so wide during then, Sir Ernold was almost spooked but he laughed it off. That’s his personality though- beneath the fact that he is easily spooked, Ernold is loyal and inquisitive. It was easy to see through him. It mattered little if Ernold knew, Taemin was happy for the fact that he saved someone. His believe in Namyrurians language bolstered for good.
“Take it easy from here on.” Sir Ernold said and Taemin responded with a nod.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” The young warlock declared indolently. Prince Minho’s figure emerged behind the Knight who bent down by the campfire, his eyes inspecting all around, settling a minute longer on Taemin, then dragged elsewhere.
“Shall we discuss the watch turns?” Sir Ernold inquired. With hazy eyes, Taemin dimly heard a reply from Minho, an incoherent babble of words. He fought to keep his eyes open and stayed awake for a few minutes of talk but Minho’s cosy voice provided a blanket of security and the young warlock nodded off just as soon.
Then there was a flicker of fire. At first, like a torch- a small ball of warmth and light. But it grew bigger until it was more than capable to consume a house. He saw people running in fear and confusion, a child with a bad burn on her left arm crying with no one giving so much as a horrified glance, a gate falling down before a thousand army of armoured men storming in with shiny swords and shields, a treasured relic lost beneath the rubbles and the air was stale with the stench of death. Blood was shed. People were lying down gracelessly on the soil, unmoving, not breathing.
There was a valiant Knight, whose fellow comrade took a blade to the stomach so he could ride his horse and charge towards the castle. As anger and guilt overtook his whole conscience, the Knight- Sir Onew, hurried off with a tear rolling down his cheek, leaving behind disembodied mates.
Then Taemin saw the closed chamber; The Holy. An aged Priest read a spell loudly but oh, how shaken was he. A royalty with a beautiful coronet encircling his head and dressed in a white, intricate robe was holding a baby. He stroked the child’s cheek gently like the wind to a leaf.
“I love you.” He whispered. With an old accent; like a saint. “Not to fear, my dearest, for I will always love you.”
Then bony hands came reaching, ripping apart what there were; the pure balance, the innocent youngster, the frail soundness and lay bare a mock retribution if comes the time when the vows are not met- torments flashing beneath the child’s eyelids. Invading tendrils of otherworldly matter scoured his body. The searing pain haunted like a real suffering he is subjected to. It probed deep within, and in a thread’s distance to his heart-
Taemin’s eyes snapped open along with a sharp intake of breath. Tears were forming at the crease of his eyes and it was cold but he was sweating on his temple. The young warlock sat up, trembling and taken aback. He ran his hand through his long hair, gulping down the tremor and eyes darting everywhere.
The only thought he could summon was of Onew. His guardian is the only one who can chase away the nightmares that haunted his sleep before and now this torture starts the cycle anew with his absence. While Taemin was angry and greatly aggravated, what overtook most of him, was the fear he kept behind a dam. He almost caved in again.
Calming down, Taemin looked around to find Sir Ernold sleeping with his back leaning on a tree and nearby, Haym on his own bedroll. Someone must have carried Taemin nearer the campfire and tucked him in. Wiping off the warm tears with his sleeve, he stood up limping, feeling like a wreck, and decided to stay awake until he stops shaking. He walked pass the two sleepers and approached the fire.
Seeing its life almost going out, Taemin fed it with a new log and sat by to warm himself. What stared back at him was the vivid memory of someone scorched in fire, melting and yelling in pain before he looked away from the blaze and willed himself to forget.
Taemin stood up again and walked to the rivulet. The soothing sound of cold water rushing nursed his aching head even if a little bit and he sat down on a rock besides, exhaling a white puff of air. Feeling his buttocks cramping over the icy seat, Taemin shifted onto the ground.
“Boy, do I miss my old shack..” He muttered, rubbing his hands together. And stopped. His heart steeped in focusing the overwhelming feeling of yearn for Onew. Taemin hugged his knees and buried his face in it. To him, the perks of living in the castle weren’t the comforts of a warm bed or a proper meal. It was the luxury of not dreaming, and waking up to a familiar face. Taemin understands that magic has no boundary but even he can’t figure out why Onew is the only cure for the nightmares. He can’t begin to express his agony. This has been going on his whole life- a constant reminder of his blood and brethren. But it’s not easy, even for him.
He wiped his tears off his face vigorously. He challenged himself he wouldn’t cry again. Now he’s losing another round for a measly little dream. Taemin snickered to himself, sniffling. It’s weird how he felt that his dreams are heavy burdens but the thought of it being a ‘measly little dream’ just registered in his mind.
The sound of a branch cracking whipped Taemin’s attention to his East. He glared upon the Prince’s face, who showed surprise under his watchful and wary eyes. Out on a patrol shift, perhaps. His shoulders visibly slackened at the presence of a friend.
‘Minho, a friend? Why, I’ve gone mad.’ ,Somewhere inside Taemin, a voice piped up.
“You’re up. Something the matter?” Minho asked, his eyes travelling to the lad’s injured foot, wondering if it’s the cause. When you are truly in pain, even sleeping becomes an impossible task. He should know this, for the damage of swordplay bouts when he was a kid used to keep him up all night.
“I, uh, my bladder.” Taemin came up with a reply. A second later, he wondered why he didn’t answer truthfully. It couldn’t possibly hurt. Minho recognized the look of his manservant when something was amiss. His pleading eyes showed signs of fresh tears and he hugging his knees to his chest convinced Minho that Taemin was hurting somewhere.
Minho scanned around, decided their base was safe for the moment, and then took a seat beside the sniffling boy. Taemin looked at him inquisitively before standing up.
“You know, if you wish to take a breather here, I don’t want to be a both-”
“Sit.” Minho ordered, yanking Taemin’s wrist down to emphasize his sole word. Grumbling, the young warlock swore under his breath for failing to get away but stayed put nevertheless. They sat together for a few moments of silence, both presently ill-equipped in carrying a conversation however mindful of one another.
If Minho was looking forward to have a talk with Taemin all this while, it was well hidden. Glancing sideways at his bearer, Minho couldn’t help notice, albeit not for the first time, how slim Taemin was. Just a few days ago, he was working the boy with chores and duties in and out of the castle that he casually brushed away the fact that Taemin was human. And humans have essential needs. Minho tried to pay no regard, but he always ends up remembering how upset Taemin was to miss his lunch, and rightfully so. Which makes it so much harder to forget that he, as the Master, was at fault.
A gentle breeze carried fallen leaves in its current, twirling wildly in all directions, some amongst them descended and were carried down the stream into the darkness afar. Taemin’s slight shivering didn’t pass unnoticed and blinking, Minho took off his greatcoat and offered. The young warlock should want to decline, however, his yearn prevailed and he gratefully accepted. He pulled the rich blue cloth over his shoulders and sighed at the warmth it provided.
“Have you ever..” Minho started, with a low voice and the words droned in the sound of the stream.
“Hn?” Taemin glanced at Minho, who cleared his throat before starting again.
“Have you ever heard of the forest of Trystle?” And those words effectively stole Taemin’s attention. Why Minho brought it up, Taemin doesn’t know but he would like to know what the Prince has to say about his old, humble abode.
“Only rumours. Not many come to pass that forest. Plenty with peril, they say.” The young warlock fibbed. Yet, his mind wandered to old images of ripe bosc pears hanging abundant, the trees rich with fruition, fresh air carrying distinct smell of harvest and gleaming, thorny rocks formed of different meld of resplendent colours and sizes born deep from within the forest’s soil shone beneath the sun’s brilliance. The spark within the rock made pretty sounds of tinkle and bell.
“True, not many come to pass and I suppose that is sourced from all the rumours strewn across the kingdom but the forest is relatively peaceful. I’ve been there when I was a child. I remember eating a handful of blueberries. It was very tasty.” Minho pointed out, a soft smile painted on his lips.
“It was my grandfather who wanted to protect the forest.” He mentioned. “He went to great lengths, said it was the late King, his father’s dying wish. The forest was held dearly and treasured by him. There are people who suffered in actuality for venturing into its rocky trail with malevolence in their intent. The rumours do not lie. It is fairly inaccurate.”
Taemin softened his gaze, eventually staring into space as the story sank into him. Questions sprang to his mind lavishly. What was the forest? Why was it safeguarded? What of the pretty rocks that gleamed like jewels? How the forest did influenced the preceding king? What exactly was his majesty’s dying wish? And most importantly, does Namyrur have any connection to this green plot of land?
Seeing Taemin lost in his deep thoughts brought a chuckle to Minho. It was a story told when he was a child. The prince remembered his big baby blanket, how it wrapped around himself snugly as he was held in Mother’s arms protectively. She sat perched on a pillow by a slightly opened window. And he would listen- Listen to her heartbeats from her chest, pressed to his ear, listen to her voice, enlightening him with stories and he would eventually doze off. The story of the Forest of Trystle isn’t exactly a children story, but as a Vawdrey, he should know of the ventures of a fellow Vawdrey. It was his lineage. Some tales made no sense but ancient magic existed and Minho couldn’t argue with it.
The mood lightened up considerably and sitting by Taemin’s side felt much more comfortable with the story he had offered. Minho let out a loud sigh and said with a soft voice, “I’m sorry.” Taemin, caught in a subtle surprise, glanced into the Prince’s shy, sincere eyes. “For.. not being considerate of you sometimes. I’m not good in.. being attentive. My whole live, it’s been the other way around.” Minho professed.
Taemin wondered what sprung up in Minho. The Prince wasn’t this amiable and warm. However, when he looked back on the times when Minho was a thorn to him, and how he fumed about and full of ire, all Taemin could do now was smile back.
“I don’t mean to say it’s bad. I’m just glad that I had you here to make me see pass that.” Minho said. He felt a wee bit embarrassed, and his cheeks warmed but somewhere inside him, these simple words were readily awaiting to be conveyed in some way. And to see Taemin’s lips a curved-up pin was very nice and he felt his guilt easing up.
“Um.. Thank you, I guess.” Taemin simply answered. “Wow.” He chuckled.
“What?” Minho asked.
The latter shrugged and said, “Nothing. Just didn’t expect this coming from you, being honest and all.” The Prince piqued at that and pursed his lips.
“You see, I kind of agree with that so I can’t argue you.” Minho said and exhaled. “Oh why did I even bother thinking?”
“Aye, that’s dangerous.” Taemin replied with a serious face.
“One of these days, I will pull your tongue out Taemin.” Minho said while the boy grinned.
“How poetic.” Taemin joked and Minho elbowed his arm. The young warlock play-acted to lean away, hurting. Minho pulled him back, both chuckling.
“Although, I’ll admit I like your approach. I wouldn’t mind you do it more often.” Taemin confessed. Finally, he thought, Minho and he are strumming the lute strings in sync. He feels like they’ve come a long mile.
“You mean, the story? I just did what Mother always does to make me forget why I’m all sullen and down.” Minho replied, which effectively reminded Taemin bits of the bitter images of his nightmare. He exhaled deeply, hoping they flush out his system as he did so. Scooting closer to Minho, Taemin looked on expectantly.
“Share me some more.” He ushered and when Minho passed an incredulous look, he nudged on. “Please? I’m up anyway.”
Although Minho knew there is the matter of respect servant boys should have when they engage the Prince, it’s inevitable that he fawn over the outgoing side of Taemin. It loosened the stifling every day for him.
“Okay. Then… The other day,” Minho began. “You know how the court began sanctioning magicians?”
Taemin’s smile dropped a little. “I’m aware.”
“Well, I was there on the first court date.” Minho passed on a tale after another, and Taemin actually find all of it pleasant in their own ways. Even as the night darkens in its workings and the air was chilly still- he could find comfort in the little things, like gestures Minho made to stress on something or the anecdotes he lays for every characters that rose or the squirrel that dropped a nut from a nearby tree. Tired, they both rested their backs on the rock and the last thing Taemin remembered was Minho pointing up to a star, and he blinked.
When Taemin awakens, the veils of misty morning lifted and the sky promised a bright, sunny day ahead. Inhaling the forest scent, he moves his body to stretch and breakaway from a warm embrace. “Hm?” The young warlock pushes away a distinguishable greatcoat of Minho’s possession that blanketed his abdomen and under the rich blue cloth, reveal arms loosely wrapped around his tummy. He turns around, and there, softly snoring was Minho with his back on a rock, sleeping still.
“Ah.. We ended up sleeping here.” Taemin said dozily. He looks on the rock behind and thought, is his back alright?
Minho felt the warmth on his front body dissipate and hankered after the soft nuzzle of hair on his neck and collar that has gone amiss. He pulled his arms closer around the missing being and it landed on his chest lightly. But it moved again and backed with a loud thud, effectively waking up Minho.
“Up already!” Taemin called out. Minho grunted and upon seeing Taemin up close, wondered if they had slept here. It took a little while for him to register but once he did, Minho said;
“Did we slept together?” And blushed at the sentence.
“Mm.. That would be yes.” Taemin replied, unaffected. He rose and walked away with a limp, leaving Minho trying to recall the last moments of last night.
Sometime later, the team departed from their site just as warm patches of sunlight began lighting their paths. Minho said sorry for dozing off during his watch turn, which could have easily allowed harm upon the group in the dark of night. But Sir Ernold assured him that the knight did woke up in the early dawn and upon inspection, found their site isolated from mischief. He also said that Taemin and the Prince seemed so snug and content in their sleep that he couldn’t bring himself to wake them up.
“To let your guard down in the dead of the night in the vicinity of a dangerous forest… You must really love him.” Haym spoke to the Prince.
“Who would-“ Minho wanted to protest, but figured bursting it out is not sensible. “No, Haym. I do not.” He replied coolly.
Haym looked on with a thoughtful gaze and a smirk, then said, “I’m convinced, My Lord.” Taemin thought the old physician didn’t have a bone to joke around but he seems to enjoy watching Minho dangle. The younger lad cleared his throat and walked on.
The group didn’t proceed that far when Taemin felt his foot throbbing in streaks of pain, ceasing his walk altogether. He groaned and wilted into Sir Ernold’s arm who was fortunately by his side to catch.
“Are you alright?” The Knight asked.
Wincing, the young warlock answered, “Yes, in a minute probably. I’m sorry.”
“This is through no fault of your own. Here, I’ll carry you.” Ernold offered.
“No! I don’t want that!“
“Just for a while, Taemin. I’m sure we can find our horses somewhere along our track. Till then, I’ll be your ride, okay?” He smiled kindly. Hesitant but knowing him dawdling would affect their pace, Taemin nodded and climbed behind Sir Ernold. When they caught up to Haym and Minho, whom the latter showed surprise when he turned around to see them, Taemin buried his face on Ernold’s shoulder. Minho cued Ernold a questioning look.
“We’re playing horseback riding.” The Knight joked. There was a pause before Taemin started to shake with a giggle, followed by a hearty laughter. The Prince’s worried eyes eased upon hearing the sound and Ernold smiled, figuring he helped lessen his liege’s concern.
“Move along now, lads.” Haym finished and led the group. About half a mile from there, they stumbled upon Minho’s horse who merrily trotted to his side upon close inspection. Its discovery bolted Taemin’s spirit and he cheered as Ernold let him down. The knight didn’t mind with the little weight he had to carry but figured Taemin wanted to walk the distance himself. Taemin helped himself onto Greyfell and Minho pulled him along.
It wasn’t until noon that they left behind the forest path that gave way to a grassy plain, where goats were grazing and the slightly bitter smell of raw buttermilk wafted in the air from a farm somewhere nearby. The winter dormant pinewood lily flowers rose to worship the sun and blossomed one of their final blooms for the season although sadly, the velvety purple delights would only last for a day.
Minho found the goatherd, who was resting by his cart with a pipe on his left hand and a mug of scentful rice wine in another. He asked for directions and inquired after the reputed healer. The old man pointed a road winding down the hill and assured that they’ll make before night time.
“Howl, you say? Aye, good lad. Helped my daughter heal from stillbirth. Don’t see much doc around that kind much. So generous. Little charge, he put up for. But my word I tell ya, the meds no second to any. He’s retired, I heard.” He stated. The team exchanged glances, yet couldn’t put down their judgement on words alone. The old man tipped his ivy cap and they carried on their way.
At early dusk, they reached the village and commoners were returning to their humble abode and began lighting candles to fend off the dark. There were about a dozen houses of timber frames and thatched roofs, windows with open shutters now closed one by one. A big well stood like a sore thumb in the middle of the village, with a bucket perched on it and wild flowers hanging from its wooden rooftop.
“Ebycir.” Minho said dimly. “Small.”
“Sufficed.” Taemin replied. To reveal now that this village isn’t exactly a hometown but a shopping community he frequented when he dwelt in a nearby forest, might not be a wise idea. How would he know that mentioning the village’s name to Kai once would eventually lead him to another visitation? Much less along with the prince’s expedition.
“Minho, a hand please?” He requested and the Prince hoisted him down the horse carefully, minding the bad foot. “There’s no inn here. But I know a couple who provide for travellers for a little help around the house.”
“Can’t we just stay in your house?” Minho inquired.
“Err.. Probably neither in shape nor supplied for dinner. And much walk away.” He explained, hoping that would be an adequate excuse.
“That’s a shame. But I’ll adhere.” The prince abide and Taemin smiled. He ushered them towards a two-storeyed house that looked like the biggest amongst the rest, built near the end of the village road. A large wooden basin brimming with dried flowers and herbs right by the house caught Haym's eyes and when the group neared, the front door creaked open, allowing a peek into what looked like a homey interior and a middle-aged lady sprung out.
“TaeTae, is that you?” She beamed.
“It’s been a while, Truce.” He greeted back. She approached for a hug and groaned in delight.
“Gods, it has been! And you’re still so adorable!” She pinched his cheek and Taemin, well aware of his team behind him, could only blush on. “Dad! Come see who’s here!” Truce called into the house. There was a muttered reply asking on about who it was then a white-haired grandfather showed up, surprised at Taemin in his vision.
“Sunshine?” The man laughed. “Ohh, you joy!” He looked genuinely happy after a hug with Taemin. Taemin never realized how close he had been with this family. He remembered saving Truce’s son from a bear, distracting it to another direction and allowing the little boy to escape. But then he got lost in the thick forest, alone in the dying daylight and without strength in his legs. Fortunately Taemin stumbled upon him and brought him back to the village, where Truce was waiting in fluster and cold sweat.
“Why, you got company too.” Truce eyed them one by one. Minho and Ernold smiled at the older lady while Haym kept a stoic expression.
“Truce, meet Haym, the court physician. Sir Ernold, the King’s Knight. And this is Minho.” Taemin introduced. The lady gasped.
“The Crown Prince?! Your Highness!” Truce bowed. “Why come such a long way?” She asked but shook her head instead. “Never mind that, come on in! It’s going to get chilly.”
“Come, boy. I’ll take care of the beast.” Truce’s father ushered, taking the reins from Ernold’s hand.
“Thank you, Sir.” The Knight said.
“Just call me Hill.”
~o~
Once inside, they gathered around the dinner table, where stacked bowls and mugs were modestly placed beside a basketful of dinner rolls in the middle. The hearth were liven and the burning cherry firewood gave off a sweet smell around the spacey home.
“We’re here on an expedition to seek out a healer named Howl. We hear he’s lodging nearby.” Minho said.
“Howl? Aye, the young, cheery lad.” Truce responded, hands on hips. “He travelled all the way from Bauric Province and settled in the Cave of Byd. You know the place, Tae.”
“Cave? He lives in a cave?” Sir Ernold wondered aloud.
“Pass this village, two paths will break towards the forest. One will lead uphill, where fruit harvests are plenty. Head the one leading downhill and you’ll find the cave at the end of it.”
“Why a cave?” Taemin topped Ernold’s question. Truce laughed.
“Howl’s a quaint one. Why not ask the person himself? You’ll pry a better answer. He’s halted his services but still come by the village once in a while.”
“I think it’s better if we paid a visit ourselves.” Minho said. “Do you have any idea why he stopped his practices, Madam?”
“Why, I can’t offer any. Howl didn’t speak a word when anyone asked. It’s a shame because he’s so good at it. We have a doctor in the village but his conducts are too absurd sometimes. He goes around flaunting how natural his method is and use leeches for the job.” Truce shivered in disgust. “No offense, but I’m no fan.”
“We know the track now. Shall we depart?” Taemin inquired Minho and right before the latter could answer, Truce interjected.
“Absolutely not, dear! You’ve got a bad foot, and you lads all came a long way. I’ll bet my best pumpkin, you haven’t had proper food since breakfast.” She ballyhooed. “You didn’t had breakfast, did ya?”
Ernold scratched the back of his head. “Some beef jerky and raisins, Madam.” And Truce shook her head.
“Howl can wait. Dedication is good, but you’ll have to keep up strength so you won’t go down without a fight. Stay for dinner, aye?” The lady advised as she made her way to the kitchen, putting a full stop where an option could have present itself. Taemin eyed his teammates.
“So she offered. Your say, Minho?”
Minho let out a sigh and his shoulders slackened. He had always admired houses like this. Small but spacey, with a homey ambience and a kitchen right by. So conventional his admiration is, that he is surprised at himself. “Madam’s right. There’s no rush.” Minho replied.
~o~
As the evening settled in with its gloom, the members of the group dispersed to different tasks they found to bide their time on. Taemin helped Truce with dinner, stewing the tender cuts of meat and cutting himself a little while dicing the tomatoes. Ration and supply shopping were assigned to Ernold and Haym while Minho stacked cut firewood on the ground pallet outside with Hill casually chatting with him.
The village road was deserted but it didn’t look lonely. A man carrying a crate of homemade bottled rum hollered at them as he headed home and one lady with her basketful of peaches tossed two good fruits for them each. Minho thought the evening were so light and easy that he felt as if he never belonged as Crown Prince or the Knight’s Commander in the colossal, stone castle of Nairn. Minho would want this life. If he could dream of it. He felt iffy. It is miles away from home yet here has the designs of every home.
“How do you like it here, young man?” Hill blew a puff from his pipe as he sat on a barrel, tucking one leg to his chest. Minho dumped the final piece of wood and dusted his hands off the crisp dirt just as the last couple of birds took flight to their nest.
“It’s a good land.” He muttered. But realized the sentence left a tang of glum. The old man fiddled with his pipe and coughed gingerly, then smiled.
“Why make such sad face then?” Hill inquired. And to that, Minho couldn’t think of an answer. He approached the man and leaned on the wall by his side, crossing his arms.
“Just slightly fatigued, I suppose.” Minho replied. Hill stared up the sky, taking yet another drag of his tobacco.
“There could never be enough land..” Said Hill, “To sate one’s hunger.”
The Prince stared at the old man’s side profile and reflected on his words. He pressed on. “For what?”
“It could be light. It could be a roof over one’s head.” The man answered, then looked down to the peach fruit he had in his palm. “It could be a seed. Sharing a parallel view with someone will allow you to see reasons for wanting ‘it’.”
Minho wanted to say a word, but even if he did, it wouldn't probably be the best respond, thus he kept quiet to hear what Hill has to say.
“Your Highness, I have worn my hand. I was blessed to be born on such peaceful age, although one of languid, but peaceful nevertheless. I cannot ask for more.” The old man professed, leaning forward and his shoulders slumping, showing signs of openness and submissiveness. “Your Father is a good man, a good King. No matter who speaks ill of him.”
Who speaks ill of him? Minho thought for a beat but then realized Hill wanted to confide to him of his future reign. And he listened.
“Nothing is final in history. The wheel rolls. Peace will be built time and again.” Hill spoke, then he stood up and they locked gaze. “Let the peace of this day be here when I wake up tomorrow.” He pled as he tread into his home, leaving Minho in the glowing orange dusk.
He didn’t want to expect. But that won’t be a barrier enough to prevent people’s expectation mounting up when he rise up for his throne. Hill dug a spot he never thought was buried in himself. Fear for peace. And fear for losing peace altogether. Will he ever be king to shoulder it? Minho’s hand tightened into a grip and pressed his lips together with a slight frown.
Will he ever be king?
~O~
A/N: I have nothing else to say than;
I miss you guys terribly and it's been so long, I'm sorry. I hope you liked the new chapter.
Coming on chapter 10; we'll meet Howl, he's been postponed long enough(my fault, really, tee hee) and Taemin's in for a surprise when he gets back to Nairn Castle! Keep up your enthusiasm, thanks for reading and I hope you have a good day! :D
Author: white_coral
Rating: PG
Summary: The history have written dark times and speak of the feud between the Nairn Kingdom and the Namyrur Kingdom. There are stories told upon children that either were to blame for the war that ensued. However, only few are left with the real truth. Time has passed and now, one of the fallen Namyrurians will see to the vows they made come true and retells a new history. But he'll have to deal with the obnoxious Prince Minho beforehand.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
~o~
The sun glared from her towering height. Beneath, massive trees reached up for the warmth, their green leaves cloaking the forest ground where four expedition members acceded to a combat. Crows resting on tree branches witnessed with their bright, dark eyes of the flurry of soil sent to air as the Nairn Prince dragged his foot up and banged the stomach of a mercenary. The mercenary backed away with a hoarse cough, the grip on his dagger tightening.
“Tell me again why we thought this was a brilliant idea?!” He bellowed at his friend, whom, like him, was in a fit of panic and fear.
“Oh I don’t know, some blithering idiot here wanted to rush to his death!!” He tilted his head angrily to another man who was on the mercy of Sir Ernold, the King’s Knight.
“Aye, place the blame! It ain’t getting us nowhere else, dummy!”
“You are staring down the tip of my blade, I can make it an imperial license for you to be somewhere else.” Minho taunted, his hand steady and his gaze unwavering.
The head of the foe, who had the most wit amongst his lot, was boggled at the word ‘imperial’. And a thought struck him. “By Satan’s hairy arse!!” He shrieked in a broken tone.
“What the devil you swear for?!” His mate asked.
“He’s the bloody Crown Prince!!” He shouted back.
“Oy, these people.” Taemin, who was standing behind Haym, never realized cutthroats were more foolish than he had ever hoped. You’d think it was a safe world after all.
The biggest among the men looked from one friend to another. In a rough voice, uncertainly he asked, “So are we to carry on?”
“God bless, he didn’t yell.” Haym muttered and hearing it, Taemin kept a giggle to himself.
The leader spat, he had a good mind to retreat. But in his lame refuge, were torn pieces of pride. He stood up carefully, searched around for a brilliant scheme for he wasn’t going down or away without spoiling the Prince’s crew.
“Do you yield?” Minho bid. Taemin was sure he would never fancy the Prince, but oddly he found Minho striking this way. He rules more than he reads than most princes would- this he acknowledged.
Driven with his wicked thought, the foe smirked. “My dick, Prince.” He mocked through tight-lipped smile, and casted his friend nearby to shield himself from Minho’s stab. Surprised, Sir Ernold rushed in to aid his Lord. The betrayer let his friend bleed, the hurt had eyes wide with repulsion at him, while he ran towards Haym. On impulse, Taemin pushed away the older man while Minho unsheathed his sword from the foe’s meat and sprinted towards his manservant.
But Minho froze when the betrayer shoved Taemin to a tree and stuck his dagger on the trunk right below Taemin’s left ear, severing a few strands of loose hair from the boy’s braid. “Step closer and I’ll slit his throat!” He warned. Taemin could feel the cold sting of the blade on his skin, leaving a slight cut, and the shaking in the man’s hand.
The tallest of them all rushed to the bleeding friend’s side, and looked up to the betrayer. “Are ya mad?!” He roared.
“Shut it! He pulled us into this! The chump deserves a lil’ bleeding!” Replied the man.
“Have you no humanity? Towards your own comrade..” Sir Ernold said, disgusted by how people could be so vile.
“Well,” The man spoke, his bad breath breathed upon Taemin’s face. “I ain’t a Knight. Don’t understand any one of yer bullshit code of honour. All I need is to survive. And I will!” He declared. Repulsed, Taemin refused to be held down by such a man, so he wriggled. He had confidence that he could fend off the insane man, keeping in mind at the dagger waiting by his neck.
“Get your hands off me!” The young warlock griped.
“Pipe down, ye shitface!!” The man yelled. He wasn’t having any of it and ruthlessly stepped on Taemin’s foot to profess his statement. An alarming, great pain shot up Taemin’s physique and he cried torturously. Minho moved in unease but the foe eyed him with warning.
Taemin whined in agony, but he was flaring in anger inside. “Shitface? Are you sure my eyes didn’t mirror you?” He exhaled to soothe the awful throb on his foot before continuing. “Since everyone would agree.. that your face looks more like the chamber pot than mine!” Taemin rebelled, then proceeded to knee him in the groin and head-butt him hard. Groaning, the leader fell back on his bums and Taemin pulled out the dagger from the tree and pointed it at him. “Most chamber pots have bigger holes though and I could spare you one or two.”
Shrieking, one of his friends fled the scene and the other hoisted his hurt comrade upon his shoulder before following suit. Sobbing in hurt and shame, the leader stood up with struggle and ran with a long trail of disgraceful cry.
“Yeah, run, you pest!” Taemin yelled before he dropped to the ground and cradled his foot. The dagger he held lost among dried leaves. Now that the distraction left, the pain was overwhelming and his forehead was aching. Haym came by his side with Minho on his right. Sir Ernold collected their baggage that had been tossed to the side earlier, his worried gaze upon Taemin as well.
“You brave child.” Haym mentioned, taking off Taemin’s shoe and began to check his foot. He meant to scold but his voice betrayed him. Deep down, he was grateful and the young warlock liked to see the demure one in a new light.
Giggling, Taemin replied, “He’s not that tough. You should’ve seen me when I fought a bea-AGH!” He wailed, jolting in pain when Haym massaged his foot from the ankle to the toe. It seemed like he was gripping onto something and when he opened his eyes; came to know it was Minho’s hand, whose face full of concern and bereft of colour.
“Fractured a bone.” Haym said. “You’ll limp. This is going to bruise and swell. You can walk, however, it’s either going to be uncomfortably numb or often, with severe pain.”
“Well, for how long?” Taemin queried with dread.
“If you’re in luck, I’d say, a month.”
Taemin held his breath of curse, for, if there was anyone that the news would antagonise, it would be Minho. A burden he became, and how upsetting was it to imagine what next few days of expedition would turn out to be. The attack earlier had effectively frightened away their horses and daylight was dying, rendering little time to search for the beasts. He tried to move his toes but winced in pain. Sensing the group’s concerned regards dawning upon him, Taemin tried to breathe out the ache.
“Its.. Um.. I’ll be okay.” He said, though it failed to reassure anyone. Minho’s eyes fixated on Taemin’s foot, willing himself from looking fretful. The Prince looked around and saw no clearing in sight but he could hear, albeit faintly, the sound of a stream.
“Ernold, lead us and find the stream. We’ll camp for the night. It’s almost nightfall anyway.” Minho ordered and received a curt nod. Haym casted a glance to Taemin, then said before leaving, “I’ll gather wood for the fire.”
Minho approached Taemin and took his arm upon his. “Come on, lean on me. It’s just a little further.” Not meaning to deter the unit’s pace, the young warlock adhered to Minho’s help cheerlessly.
“Sorry.” Taemin muttered, as they fell behind the other two. Minho can’t imagine why the boy thought he owed anyone a sorry. Inside, the Prince felt guilty. Sure, his manservant was annoying and naughty, but he never wanted harm to be anywhere near Taemin. Before the boy came along, God knows he was praying for someone to be by his side, not wait by his side. Then this one showed up.
“You’re not at fault, Taemin. Give yourself a little credit. You kicked that chamber pot’s arse and the rest of his poo friends.” Minho replied. Rarely hearing compliments and humorous terms from his Prince, Taemin laughed, knowing that Minho was trying to cheer him up.
“Even so-” Taemin was about to say. And Minho, sensing another apology, added;
“If you’re going to be sorry, then do me one small favour.” Minho pled, then went ahead and scooped Taemin up. The slender lad squeaked, his eyes wide with surprise. “Don’t struggle in my arms.”
“Hey, put me down!” Taemin insisted and squirmed. It was odd being carried like a princess and the young warlock could feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment when Sir Ernold and Haym glanced behind at them.
“Bear it for a moment, it’s easier to walk this way. Thank god you’re light.” Which in Minho’s dictionary, meant that he was a stick. And Taemin could read that thought through the man’s sneaky grin.
Sir Ernold didn’t turn to see what happened next, but heard the Prince’s loud ouch and Haym snickering from behind. The knight smiled.
~o~
A crescent moon adorned the clear, night sky and stars sparkled like expectant eyes of the gods. While it seemed like it won’t rain anymore, the air was chilly and feeling altogether cold, Taemin sighed at the warm touch that crawled from Haym’s aged, careful hands as they tended to his swollen foot.
Counting today as the fourth day of the expedition, Taemin had come to learn that the physician had endurance for an elderly. Why, he never whined along the route. He is as quiet and demure as Kai, but particularly detached and impersonal. Some draw attention for being distant and Taemin can’t say nay for Haym. What could he keep underneath all that outer layer?
Taemin leaned back on the glacial stone, staring up the sapphire canopy of mature tree crowns and clear, night sky. The sound of water flowing down the slender rivulet by his side played as the accompaniment of crackling fire, singing cicadas and crickets, owl screeches that come and go- a peaceful piece of nature.
But then, Minho’s face drift to mind. Having the Nairn Kingdom change its outlook on magic, the slight change of plan endowed him second thoughts. Taemin wasn’t sure what would be the right thing to do. Even if he knew, could he really raise a sword on the Prince? Somewhere along the line of duty, Taemin had settled on the fact that he couldn’t entirely hate Minho’s guts. And as the said ‘child’ in Namyrur’s prophecy, he knew it was wrong to feel this way.
The sound of soil crunching beneath boots came closer. With eyes fluttering drowsily and Haym bandaging his foot, Taemin glanced up to Sir Ernold approaching with a bundle of firewood wrapped in his arms.
“How do you fare?” He asked politely.
“I’m well enough.” Taemin flashed a small smile.
Sir Ernold Wendlinger is a King’s Knight. One time he told Taemin of a dying experience- that Ernold was so sure he was fatally stabbed, he would never make it. Then he told how he felt a gentle hand touched his forehead, closed his eyes and whispered him reassuring words until he slept so soundly as if he wasn’t ill at all. He recovered properly afterwards. Thenceforth, Taemin realized why he gave such a strong sense of familiarity. Sir Ernold was the dying messenger he helped during the Bandit, Tabard’s uprising.
Taemin felt so grateful and he grinned so wide during then, Sir Ernold was almost spooked but he laughed it off. That’s his personality though- beneath the fact that he is easily spooked, Ernold is loyal and inquisitive. It was easy to see through him. It mattered little if Ernold knew, Taemin was happy for the fact that he saved someone. His believe in Namyrurians language bolstered for good.
“Take it easy from here on.” Sir Ernold said and Taemin responded with a nod.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” The young warlock declared indolently. Prince Minho’s figure emerged behind the Knight who bent down by the campfire, his eyes inspecting all around, settling a minute longer on Taemin, then dragged elsewhere.
“Shall we discuss the watch turns?” Sir Ernold inquired. With hazy eyes, Taemin dimly heard a reply from Minho, an incoherent babble of words. He fought to keep his eyes open and stayed awake for a few minutes of talk but Minho’s cosy voice provided a blanket of security and the young warlock nodded off just as soon.
Then there was a flicker of fire. At first, like a torch- a small ball of warmth and light. But it grew bigger until it was more than capable to consume a house. He saw people running in fear and confusion, a child with a bad burn on her left arm crying with no one giving so much as a horrified glance, a gate falling down before a thousand army of armoured men storming in with shiny swords and shields, a treasured relic lost beneath the rubbles and the air was stale with the stench of death. Blood was shed. People were lying down gracelessly on the soil, unmoving, not breathing.
There was a valiant Knight, whose fellow comrade took a blade to the stomach so he could ride his horse and charge towards the castle. As anger and guilt overtook his whole conscience, the Knight- Sir Onew, hurried off with a tear rolling down his cheek, leaving behind disembodied mates.
Then Taemin saw the closed chamber; The Holy. An aged Priest read a spell loudly but oh, how shaken was he. A royalty with a beautiful coronet encircling his head and dressed in a white, intricate robe was holding a baby. He stroked the child’s cheek gently like the wind to a leaf.
“I love you.” He whispered. With an old accent; like a saint. “Not to fear, my dearest, for I will always love you.”
Then bony hands came reaching, ripping apart what there were; the pure balance, the innocent youngster, the frail soundness and lay bare a mock retribution if comes the time when the vows are not met- torments flashing beneath the child’s eyelids. Invading tendrils of otherworldly matter scoured his body. The searing pain haunted like a real suffering he is subjected to. It probed deep within, and in a thread’s distance to his heart-
Taemin’s eyes snapped open along with a sharp intake of breath. Tears were forming at the crease of his eyes and it was cold but he was sweating on his temple. The young warlock sat up, trembling and taken aback. He ran his hand through his long hair, gulping down the tremor and eyes darting everywhere.
The only thought he could summon was of Onew. His guardian is the only one who can chase away the nightmares that haunted his sleep before and now this torture starts the cycle anew with his absence. While Taemin was angry and greatly aggravated, what overtook most of him, was the fear he kept behind a dam. He almost caved in again.
Calming down, Taemin looked around to find Sir Ernold sleeping with his back leaning on a tree and nearby, Haym on his own bedroll. Someone must have carried Taemin nearer the campfire and tucked him in. Wiping off the warm tears with his sleeve, he stood up limping, feeling like a wreck, and decided to stay awake until he stops shaking. He walked pass the two sleepers and approached the fire.
Seeing its life almost going out, Taemin fed it with a new log and sat by to warm himself. What stared back at him was the vivid memory of someone scorched in fire, melting and yelling in pain before he looked away from the blaze and willed himself to forget.
Taemin stood up again and walked to the rivulet. The soothing sound of cold water rushing nursed his aching head even if a little bit and he sat down on a rock besides, exhaling a white puff of air. Feeling his buttocks cramping over the icy seat, Taemin shifted onto the ground.
“Boy, do I miss my old shack..” He muttered, rubbing his hands together. And stopped. His heart steeped in focusing the overwhelming feeling of yearn for Onew. Taemin hugged his knees and buried his face in it. To him, the perks of living in the castle weren’t the comforts of a warm bed or a proper meal. It was the luxury of not dreaming, and waking up to a familiar face. Taemin understands that magic has no boundary but even he can’t figure out why Onew is the only cure for the nightmares. He can’t begin to express his agony. This has been going on his whole life- a constant reminder of his blood and brethren. But it’s not easy, even for him.
He wiped his tears off his face vigorously. He challenged himself he wouldn’t cry again. Now he’s losing another round for a measly little dream. Taemin snickered to himself, sniffling. It’s weird how he felt that his dreams are heavy burdens but the thought of it being a ‘measly little dream’ just registered in his mind.
The sound of a branch cracking whipped Taemin’s attention to his East. He glared upon the Prince’s face, who showed surprise under his watchful and wary eyes. Out on a patrol shift, perhaps. His shoulders visibly slackened at the presence of a friend.
‘Minho, a friend? Why, I’ve gone mad.’ ,Somewhere inside Taemin, a voice piped up.
“You’re up. Something the matter?” Minho asked, his eyes travelling to the lad’s injured foot, wondering if it’s the cause. When you are truly in pain, even sleeping becomes an impossible task. He should know this, for the damage of swordplay bouts when he was a kid used to keep him up all night.
“I, uh, my bladder.” Taemin came up with a reply. A second later, he wondered why he didn’t answer truthfully. It couldn’t possibly hurt. Minho recognized the look of his manservant when something was amiss. His pleading eyes showed signs of fresh tears and he hugging his knees to his chest convinced Minho that Taemin was hurting somewhere.
Minho scanned around, decided their base was safe for the moment, and then took a seat beside the sniffling boy. Taemin looked at him inquisitively before standing up.
“You know, if you wish to take a breather here, I don’t want to be a both-”
“Sit.” Minho ordered, yanking Taemin’s wrist down to emphasize his sole word. Grumbling, the young warlock swore under his breath for failing to get away but stayed put nevertheless. They sat together for a few moments of silence, both presently ill-equipped in carrying a conversation however mindful of one another.
If Minho was looking forward to have a talk with Taemin all this while, it was well hidden. Glancing sideways at his bearer, Minho couldn’t help notice, albeit not for the first time, how slim Taemin was. Just a few days ago, he was working the boy with chores and duties in and out of the castle that he casually brushed away the fact that Taemin was human. And humans have essential needs. Minho tried to pay no regard, but he always ends up remembering how upset Taemin was to miss his lunch, and rightfully so. Which makes it so much harder to forget that he, as the Master, was at fault.
A gentle breeze carried fallen leaves in its current, twirling wildly in all directions, some amongst them descended and were carried down the stream into the darkness afar. Taemin’s slight shivering didn’t pass unnoticed and blinking, Minho took off his greatcoat and offered. The young warlock should want to decline, however, his yearn prevailed and he gratefully accepted. He pulled the rich blue cloth over his shoulders and sighed at the warmth it provided.
“Have you ever..” Minho started, with a low voice and the words droned in the sound of the stream.
“Hn?” Taemin glanced at Minho, who cleared his throat before starting again.
“Have you ever heard of the forest of Trystle?” And those words effectively stole Taemin’s attention. Why Minho brought it up, Taemin doesn’t know but he would like to know what the Prince has to say about his old, humble abode.
“Only rumours. Not many come to pass that forest. Plenty with peril, they say.” The young warlock fibbed. Yet, his mind wandered to old images of ripe bosc pears hanging abundant, the trees rich with fruition, fresh air carrying distinct smell of harvest and gleaming, thorny rocks formed of different meld of resplendent colours and sizes born deep from within the forest’s soil shone beneath the sun’s brilliance. The spark within the rock made pretty sounds of tinkle and bell.
“True, not many come to pass and I suppose that is sourced from all the rumours strewn across the kingdom but the forest is relatively peaceful. I’ve been there when I was a child. I remember eating a handful of blueberries. It was very tasty.” Minho pointed out, a soft smile painted on his lips.
“It was my grandfather who wanted to protect the forest.” He mentioned. “He went to great lengths, said it was the late King, his father’s dying wish. The forest was held dearly and treasured by him. There are people who suffered in actuality for venturing into its rocky trail with malevolence in their intent. The rumours do not lie. It is fairly inaccurate.”
Taemin softened his gaze, eventually staring into space as the story sank into him. Questions sprang to his mind lavishly. What was the forest? Why was it safeguarded? What of the pretty rocks that gleamed like jewels? How the forest did influenced the preceding king? What exactly was his majesty’s dying wish? And most importantly, does Namyrur have any connection to this green plot of land?
Seeing Taemin lost in his deep thoughts brought a chuckle to Minho. It was a story told when he was a child. The prince remembered his big baby blanket, how it wrapped around himself snugly as he was held in Mother’s arms protectively. She sat perched on a pillow by a slightly opened window. And he would listen- Listen to her heartbeats from her chest, pressed to his ear, listen to her voice, enlightening him with stories and he would eventually doze off. The story of the Forest of Trystle isn’t exactly a children story, but as a Vawdrey, he should know of the ventures of a fellow Vawdrey. It was his lineage. Some tales made no sense but ancient magic existed and Minho couldn’t argue with it.
The mood lightened up considerably and sitting by Taemin’s side felt much more comfortable with the story he had offered. Minho let out a loud sigh and said with a soft voice, “I’m sorry.” Taemin, caught in a subtle surprise, glanced into the Prince’s shy, sincere eyes. “For.. not being considerate of you sometimes. I’m not good in.. being attentive. My whole live, it’s been the other way around.” Minho professed.
Taemin wondered what sprung up in Minho. The Prince wasn’t this amiable and warm. However, when he looked back on the times when Minho was a thorn to him, and how he fumed about and full of ire, all Taemin could do now was smile back.
“I don’t mean to say it’s bad. I’m just glad that I had you here to make me see pass that.” Minho said. He felt a wee bit embarrassed, and his cheeks warmed but somewhere inside him, these simple words were readily awaiting to be conveyed in some way. And to see Taemin’s lips a curved-up pin was very nice and he felt his guilt easing up.
“Um.. Thank you, I guess.” Taemin simply answered. “Wow.” He chuckled.
“What?” Minho asked.
The latter shrugged and said, “Nothing. Just didn’t expect this coming from you, being honest and all.” The Prince piqued at that and pursed his lips.
“You see, I kind of agree with that so I can’t argue you.” Minho said and exhaled. “Oh why did I even bother thinking?”
“Aye, that’s dangerous.” Taemin replied with a serious face.
“One of these days, I will pull your tongue out Taemin.” Minho said while the boy grinned.
“How poetic.” Taemin joked and Minho elbowed his arm. The young warlock play-acted to lean away, hurting. Minho pulled him back, both chuckling.
“Although, I’ll admit I like your approach. I wouldn’t mind you do it more often.” Taemin confessed. Finally, he thought, Minho and he are strumming the lute strings in sync. He feels like they’ve come a long mile.
“You mean, the story? I just did what Mother always does to make me forget why I’m all sullen and down.” Minho replied, which effectively reminded Taemin bits of the bitter images of his nightmare. He exhaled deeply, hoping they flush out his system as he did so. Scooting closer to Minho, Taemin looked on expectantly.
“Share me some more.” He ushered and when Minho passed an incredulous look, he nudged on. “Please? I’m up anyway.”
Although Minho knew there is the matter of respect servant boys should have when they engage the Prince, it’s inevitable that he fawn over the outgoing side of Taemin. It loosened the stifling every day for him.
“Okay. Then… The other day,” Minho began. “You know how the court began sanctioning magicians?”
Taemin’s smile dropped a little. “I’m aware.”
“Well, I was there on the first court date.” Minho passed on a tale after another, and Taemin actually find all of it pleasant in their own ways. Even as the night darkens in its workings and the air was chilly still- he could find comfort in the little things, like gestures Minho made to stress on something or the anecdotes he lays for every characters that rose or the squirrel that dropped a nut from a nearby tree. Tired, they both rested their backs on the rock and the last thing Taemin remembered was Minho pointing up to a star, and he blinked.
When Taemin awakens, the veils of misty morning lifted and the sky promised a bright, sunny day ahead. Inhaling the forest scent, he moves his body to stretch and breakaway from a warm embrace. “Hm?” The young warlock pushes away a distinguishable greatcoat of Minho’s possession that blanketed his abdomen and under the rich blue cloth, reveal arms loosely wrapped around his tummy. He turns around, and there, softly snoring was Minho with his back on a rock, sleeping still.
“Ah.. We ended up sleeping here.” Taemin said dozily. He looks on the rock behind and thought, is his back alright?
Minho felt the warmth on his front body dissipate and hankered after the soft nuzzle of hair on his neck and collar that has gone amiss. He pulled his arms closer around the missing being and it landed on his chest lightly. But it moved again and backed with a loud thud, effectively waking up Minho.
“Up already!” Taemin called out. Minho grunted and upon seeing Taemin up close, wondered if they had slept here. It took a little while for him to register but once he did, Minho said;
“Did we slept together?” And blushed at the sentence.
“Mm.. That would be yes.” Taemin replied, unaffected. He rose and walked away with a limp, leaving Minho trying to recall the last moments of last night.
Sometime later, the team departed from their site just as warm patches of sunlight began lighting their paths. Minho said sorry for dozing off during his watch turn, which could have easily allowed harm upon the group in the dark of night. But Sir Ernold assured him that the knight did woke up in the early dawn and upon inspection, found their site isolated from mischief. He also said that Taemin and the Prince seemed so snug and content in their sleep that he couldn’t bring himself to wake them up.
“To let your guard down in the dead of the night in the vicinity of a dangerous forest… You must really love him.” Haym spoke to the Prince.
“Who would-“ Minho wanted to protest, but figured bursting it out is not sensible. “No, Haym. I do not.” He replied coolly.
Haym looked on with a thoughtful gaze and a smirk, then said, “I’m convinced, My Lord.” Taemin thought the old physician didn’t have a bone to joke around but he seems to enjoy watching Minho dangle. The younger lad cleared his throat and walked on.
The group didn’t proceed that far when Taemin felt his foot throbbing in streaks of pain, ceasing his walk altogether. He groaned and wilted into Sir Ernold’s arm who was fortunately by his side to catch.
“Are you alright?” The Knight asked.
Wincing, the young warlock answered, “Yes, in a minute probably. I’m sorry.”
“This is through no fault of your own. Here, I’ll carry you.” Ernold offered.
“No! I don’t want that!“
“Just for a while, Taemin. I’m sure we can find our horses somewhere along our track. Till then, I’ll be your ride, okay?” He smiled kindly. Hesitant but knowing him dawdling would affect their pace, Taemin nodded and climbed behind Sir Ernold. When they caught up to Haym and Minho, whom the latter showed surprise when he turned around to see them, Taemin buried his face on Ernold’s shoulder. Minho cued Ernold a questioning look.
“We’re playing horseback riding.” The Knight joked. There was a pause before Taemin started to shake with a giggle, followed by a hearty laughter. The Prince’s worried eyes eased upon hearing the sound and Ernold smiled, figuring he helped lessen his liege’s concern.
“Move along now, lads.” Haym finished and led the group. About half a mile from there, they stumbled upon Minho’s horse who merrily trotted to his side upon close inspection. Its discovery bolted Taemin’s spirit and he cheered as Ernold let him down. The knight didn’t mind with the little weight he had to carry but figured Taemin wanted to walk the distance himself. Taemin helped himself onto Greyfell and Minho pulled him along.
It wasn’t until noon that they left behind the forest path that gave way to a grassy plain, where goats were grazing and the slightly bitter smell of raw buttermilk wafted in the air from a farm somewhere nearby. The winter dormant pinewood lily flowers rose to worship the sun and blossomed one of their final blooms for the season although sadly, the velvety purple delights would only last for a day.
Minho found the goatherd, who was resting by his cart with a pipe on his left hand and a mug of scentful rice wine in another. He asked for directions and inquired after the reputed healer. The old man pointed a road winding down the hill and assured that they’ll make before night time.
“Howl, you say? Aye, good lad. Helped my daughter heal from stillbirth. Don’t see much doc around that kind much. So generous. Little charge, he put up for. But my word I tell ya, the meds no second to any. He’s retired, I heard.” He stated. The team exchanged glances, yet couldn’t put down their judgement on words alone. The old man tipped his ivy cap and they carried on their way.
At early dusk, they reached the village and commoners were returning to their humble abode and began lighting candles to fend off the dark. There were about a dozen houses of timber frames and thatched roofs, windows with open shutters now closed one by one. A big well stood like a sore thumb in the middle of the village, with a bucket perched on it and wild flowers hanging from its wooden rooftop.
“Ebycir.” Minho said dimly. “Small.”
“Sufficed.” Taemin replied. To reveal now that this village isn’t exactly a hometown but a shopping community he frequented when he dwelt in a nearby forest, might not be a wise idea. How would he know that mentioning the village’s name to Kai once would eventually lead him to another visitation? Much less along with the prince’s expedition.
“Minho, a hand please?” He requested and the Prince hoisted him down the horse carefully, minding the bad foot. “There’s no inn here. But I know a couple who provide for travellers for a little help around the house.”
“Can’t we just stay in your house?” Minho inquired.
“Err.. Probably neither in shape nor supplied for dinner. And much walk away.” He explained, hoping that would be an adequate excuse.
“That’s a shame. But I’ll adhere.” The prince abide and Taemin smiled. He ushered them towards a two-storeyed house that looked like the biggest amongst the rest, built near the end of the village road. A large wooden basin brimming with dried flowers and herbs right by the house caught Haym's eyes and when the group neared, the front door creaked open, allowing a peek into what looked like a homey interior and a middle-aged lady sprung out.
“TaeTae, is that you?” She beamed.
“It’s been a while, Truce.” He greeted back. She approached for a hug and groaned in delight.
“Gods, it has been! And you’re still so adorable!” She pinched his cheek and Taemin, well aware of his team behind him, could only blush on. “Dad! Come see who’s here!” Truce called into the house. There was a muttered reply asking on about who it was then a white-haired grandfather showed up, surprised at Taemin in his vision.
“Sunshine?” The man laughed. “Ohh, you joy!” He looked genuinely happy after a hug with Taemin. Taemin never realized how close he had been with this family. He remembered saving Truce’s son from a bear, distracting it to another direction and allowing the little boy to escape. But then he got lost in the thick forest, alone in the dying daylight and without strength in his legs. Fortunately Taemin stumbled upon him and brought him back to the village, where Truce was waiting in fluster and cold sweat.
“Why, you got company too.” Truce eyed them one by one. Minho and Ernold smiled at the older lady while Haym kept a stoic expression.
“Truce, meet Haym, the court physician. Sir Ernold, the King’s Knight. And this is Minho.” Taemin introduced. The lady gasped.
“The Crown Prince?! Your Highness!” Truce bowed. “Why come such a long way?” She asked but shook her head instead. “Never mind that, come on in! It’s going to get chilly.”
“Come, boy. I’ll take care of the beast.” Truce’s father ushered, taking the reins from Ernold’s hand.
“Thank you, Sir.” The Knight said.
“Just call me Hill.”
~o~
Once inside, they gathered around the dinner table, where stacked bowls and mugs were modestly placed beside a basketful of dinner rolls in the middle. The hearth were liven and the burning cherry firewood gave off a sweet smell around the spacey home.
“We’re here on an expedition to seek out a healer named Howl. We hear he’s lodging nearby.” Minho said.
“Howl? Aye, the young, cheery lad.” Truce responded, hands on hips. “He travelled all the way from Bauric Province and settled in the Cave of Byd. You know the place, Tae.”
“Cave? He lives in a cave?” Sir Ernold wondered aloud.
“Pass this village, two paths will break towards the forest. One will lead uphill, where fruit harvests are plenty. Head the one leading downhill and you’ll find the cave at the end of it.”
“Why a cave?” Taemin topped Ernold’s question. Truce laughed.
“Howl’s a quaint one. Why not ask the person himself? You’ll pry a better answer. He’s halted his services but still come by the village once in a while.”
“I think it’s better if we paid a visit ourselves.” Minho said. “Do you have any idea why he stopped his practices, Madam?”
“Why, I can’t offer any. Howl didn’t speak a word when anyone asked. It’s a shame because he’s so good at it. We have a doctor in the village but his conducts are too absurd sometimes. He goes around flaunting how natural his method is and use leeches for the job.” Truce shivered in disgust. “No offense, but I’m no fan.”
“We know the track now. Shall we depart?” Taemin inquired Minho and right before the latter could answer, Truce interjected.
“Absolutely not, dear! You’ve got a bad foot, and you lads all came a long way. I’ll bet my best pumpkin, you haven’t had proper food since breakfast.” She ballyhooed. “You didn’t had breakfast, did ya?”
Ernold scratched the back of his head. “Some beef jerky and raisins, Madam.” And Truce shook her head.
“Howl can wait. Dedication is good, but you’ll have to keep up strength so you won’t go down without a fight. Stay for dinner, aye?” The lady advised as she made her way to the kitchen, putting a full stop where an option could have present itself. Taemin eyed his teammates.
“So she offered. Your say, Minho?”
Minho let out a sigh and his shoulders slackened. He had always admired houses like this. Small but spacey, with a homey ambience and a kitchen right by. So conventional his admiration is, that he is surprised at himself. “Madam’s right. There’s no rush.” Minho replied.
~o~
As the evening settled in with its gloom, the members of the group dispersed to different tasks they found to bide their time on. Taemin helped Truce with dinner, stewing the tender cuts of meat and cutting himself a little while dicing the tomatoes. Ration and supply shopping were assigned to Ernold and Haym while Minho stacked cut firewood on the ground pallet outside with Hill casually chatting with him.
The village road was deserted but it didn’t look lonely. A man carrying a crate of homemade bottled rum hollered at them as he headed home and one lady with her basketful of peaches tossed two good fruits for them each. Minho thought the evening were so light and easy that he felt as if he never belonged as Crown Prince or the Knight’s Commander in the colossal, stone castle of Nairn. Minho would want this life. If he could dream of it. He felt iffy. It is miles away from home yet here has the designs of every home.
“How do you like it here, young man?” Hill blew a puff from his pipe as he sat on a barrel, tucking one leg to his chest. Minho dumped the final piece of wood and dusted his hands off the crisp dirt just as the last couple of birds took flight to their nest.
“It’s a good land.” He muttered. But realized the sentence left a tang of glum. The old man fiddled with his pipe and coughed gingerly, then smiled.
“Why make such sad face then?” Hill inquired. And to that, Minho couldn’t think of an answer. He approached the man and leaned on the wall by his side, crossing his arms.
“Just slightly fatigued, I suppose.” Minho replied. Hill stared up the sky, taking yet another drag of his tobacco.
“There could never be enough land..” Said Hill, “To sate one’s hunger.”
The Prince stared at the old man’s side profile and reflected on his words. He pressed on. “For what?”
“It could be light. It could be a roof over one’s head.” The man answered, then looked down to the peach fruit he had in his palm. “It could be a seed. Sharing a parallel view with someone will allow you to see reasons for wanting ‘it’.”
Minho wanted to say a word, but even if he did, it wouldn't probably be the best respond, thus he kept quiet to hear what Hill has to say.
“Your Highness, I have worn my hand. I was blessed to be born on such peaceful age, although one of languid, but peaceful nevertheless. I cannot ask for more.” The old man professed, leaning forward and his shoulders slumping, showing signs of openness and submissiveness. “Your Father is a good man, a good King. No matter who speaks ill of him.”
Who speaks ill of him? Minho thought for a beat but then realized Hill wanted to confide to him of his future reign. And he listened.
“Nothing is final in history. The wheel rolls. Peace will be built time and again.” Hill spoke, then he stood up and they locked gaze. “Let the peace of this day be here when I wake up tomorrow.” He pled as he tread into his home, leaving Minho in the glowing orange dusk.
He didn’t want to expect. But that won’t be a barrier enough to prevent people’s expectation mounting up when he rise up for his throne. Hill dug a spot he never thought was buried in himself. Fear for peace. And fear for losing peace altogether. Will he ever be king to shoulder it? Minho’s hand tightened into a grip and pressed his lips together with a slight frown.
Will he ever be king?
~O~
A/N: I have nothing else to say than;
I miss you guys terribly and it's been so long, I'm sorry. I hope you liked the new chapter.
Coming on chapter 10; we'll meet Howl, he's been postponed long enough(my fault, really, tee hee) and Taemin's in for a surprise when he gets back to Nairn Castle! Keep up your enthusiasm, thanks for reading and I hope you have a good day! :D