"Are we going home today?" Eryz asked, his voice soft and gentle.
"Possibly," his brother, Eryx, replied, tying the small blue bows on the shoulders of Eryz's beige tunic. The tunic flowed to Eryz's knees, slit down to the small of his back.
His feet were sandaled, the laces climbing to just below his knees. Eryz was at a beautiful youth of fourteen, his fate tied to that of House Noxarion, the bloodline of Death and Despair.
He, along with his brother, were the last members of this ancient powerful bloodline. Eryz had pale copper skin, teal eyes with frosty hair and a small flat-mole in the centre of his upper lip.
Eryx, on the other hand, had paler skin with jet-black hair. He was garbed in fine onyx-black velvets, symbols of House Noxarion. Although, his tunic and boots were worn from sweat and dirt, Eryx would not part with the Noxarion garments.
The chamber they stood in hummed loudly with activity. Handmaidens rushed about, placing cakes, setting cutlery. Everyone did something.
Cakes were placed; cakes of all kind. Peach cakes made from the finest peaches from the Sunstone Keep in Velara, limes from the finest trees in Greenstone and vanilla from the gardens of Hesperia.
The scents danced wildly through the intoxicated atmosphere and Eryz inhaled them deeply, taking in the comforting scents and letting them wrap themselves around him.
The ground beneath his feet were made from rough cobblestone, the pillars that climbed the smooth marble walls rose high, supporting the domed ceiling.
The ceiling itself consisted of intricate markings that swirled like black-oil in salty water, telling no specific story, but making the most sense to the Susceptible Prince.
Eryz stared, as if his eyes were glued to the hypnotic picture. Large openings were carved into the limestone walls, mimicking those of large windows, where sun poured into the chamber in floods, drowning the room in warm light.
Sparrows perched themselves on the window sills and danced around in the ceiling. The sky outside was the bluest Eryz had ever seen, not as dark and vivid as his own eyes, but close.
Those, the eyes and the skin, those were the telltale signs of Noxarion, it was a symbol of their darkness, their strength, their light and their omininity. The House of Wyvern's, House Noxarion, a doomed line.
"What is this for?" Eryz asked shyly.
"We are to receive guests," Eryx replied, his voice hollow and stern. "The Men of Silver wish to view you."
"Me?" Eryz questioned, turning to face his brother, his eyebrows raised in concern. "What for? How do they know my name?"
"You will not question me," Eryx snared. "You will be viewed and that is all to it."
Eryz did not know how he would be viewed. He was confused and scared, lonely even. Eryx paced forward, through the chamber, his head high and his shoulders widespread, with his hands behind his back.
His boots clopped through the chamber as people darted to avoid his path. Eryz followed with his eyes fixed on the cobblestone tiles, his sandals softly tapping against the ground.
The breeze danced through his legs, giving him a chill. Archon Oryn Valcrest was kind enough to open his doors to them, a few months ago.
He took one look at the broke-n boys and decided to take them in. Eryx thinks it to be about power, and that Archon Oryn only keeps them with him so that he would be better viewed by others... other important Lords.
Eryz thinks otherwise. He thinks Archon Oryn to be a genuine man, with kindness in his heart. Kindness and compassion. Eryz thinks he saw something in them, or perhaps rather Eryx, since he is older and more dominant.
Eryz did not like how small he was, how thin his legs were, how frail he was, how... susceptible he was. His brother didn't like it either.
Eryz often got called names. Names he could never repeat, words that couldn't even be put on this piece of paper. But he was the most beautiful boy anyone had ever seen, with his frosty hair, strong subtle features, teal eyes and warm tanned skin, his beauty was seeked throughout the lands.
He was desired by all.
Eryx stopped at the large table at the very end of the room, with stone chairs placed behind it. Eryz frowned. He hadn't seen something like it in a long time.
Since his parents have died and they were forced to flee from Arkeus, their homeland, nothing has been the same. Luxury was ripped from them, favour was ripped from them, Eryz's home was ripped from him and that was the thing he missed most.
Now Eryz, along with Eryx, were the last steeples of a forgotten House. "I'm sorry for questioning you," Eryz said softly as he stood beside his brother.
Eryx sighed deeply. "The wyvern does not forgive easily."
Eryz saddened.
"But if you agree to play along tonight. And go with whatever happens, whatever it may be, then I will consider forgiving you."
Eryz nodded, his smile bright. "Really? Thank you, Eryx."
Eryx grabbed Eryz's wrist, the force painful to the younger Prince. "Disobey or interrogate me again and I will not be as merciful."
Eryz's smile fell from his face, replaced with a sad frown, and tears started to well in his sorrowful eyes. "I'm sorry..."
Eryx shoved Eryz's wrist back to him. The Susceptible Prince stumbled backwards from the force, clutching his sore wrist in his other hand.
He looked up to his brother who was began walking away from him, to Archon Oryn who seemed to be in deep conversation with one of the guards.
Eryz felt like dropping to his knees and letting the small tears fall. Instead he attempted to replace his sadness with feigned joy for if his brother saw the sad frown on his face, he would be beat or starved, or both.
Eryz smiled, though the lump in his throat hurt and the twist of his heart ached. The tears were on edge, threatening to fall. Eryz quickened his pace, his soft sandals tapping against the floor.
Handmaidens ignored him, so did the squires and the guards, but he minded not. He was accustomed to being alone, being left alone and ignored or rejected or made light of.
Eryz stepped outside where the sun nearly blinded him, the heat and humidity slamming into him harder than any punch from his brother could.
Straight ahead ran a path that streamed down, through hills and forests, rivers and ponds, to a darker land, a land Eryz could not see. But he knew it would be cold there, so he avoided and ignored it because his brother told him to.
But how he loved the snow, he could jump and play in it all day and sit around a fire surrounded by it all of the night. Beside the path were great oaks, their leaves bright-green and their bark light, their roots covered in tall blades of grass.
Eryz wandered to his left, where the ground was elevated. It rose and rose and rose, like a tall hill of sorts, until Eryz stood at the very top, where the wind softly tore through his snowy hair.
His beige tunic softly billowed in the wind, the little blue bows brushed against his cheek. He turned to look at them and saddened once more. Eryz sat in the grass on the high hill and let the small tears he felt fall.
But they came out big, and strolled down his cheeks like little waterfalls. Eryz brushed the bows softly, afraid that they'd come undone.
He sniffled and looked over the landscape. How icy-blue rivers streamed and zig-zagged through green hills. How the path he saw was visible even from very far away amazed him.
Eryz closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh spring air, the scent alien compared to the scents that intoxicated the air inside. He listened to the grass softly rustle, and the low whistle of the wind, and the birds in the trees.
The grass softly tickled his bare legs, but he did not seem to mind. Instead he rolled in it, memories of him playing in the snow in Frostholm as a child flooding back to him.
Eryz laughed as he spread his arms and legs out on the grass. He gazed straight up into the sky, the clouds appearing as all sorts of things. Like animals or random words.
He spotted a bunny in mid-jump and the word home. Or perhaps that was the word he wanted to see, instead of it just being. Eryz sat back up straight, staring back at the path, and for the hundredth time, he wondered where it led.
"Home?" he softly whispered, his eyes longing and sorrowful.
Eryz made himself into a small ball, enveloping his hands around his knees as he just stared the at path. "Home."
"Where have you been?" Eryx shouted from behind, startling Eryz. "Do you not have something better to do, other than lie around in the grass like a child?"
Eryz quickly stood and apologized, keeping his head low.
"Who do you think you are?" Eryx snarled as he pinched Eryz's chin between his thumb and forefinger, raising his head. "I asked you a question."
It was a trap, Eryz knew it. He wouldn't say a word. But when his brother's frown deepened he knew he was being serious.
"No one," Eryz said, his voice soft.
"Exactly," Eryx remarked. "Don't forget it. So the next time you think of running off, think of this moment and remind yourself, that you. Are. Nothing."
With each word Eryx brought himself closer to Eryz. The boy wanted to crawl away and die in a hole with each passing moment.
"I'm sorry," Eryz said softly, cowering in Eryx's presence. "It won't happen again."
"I warned you before," Eryx spoke dangerously, his voice on edge. "The wyvern does not forgive."
"I'm sorry," Eryz said again, this time softer, perhaps more to himself.
Eryx shook his head in feigned sympathy, unsheathed his obsidian dagger, one of the few valuable items he owned, and held it up to Eryz's face.
The Susceptible Prince's heart thumped vigorously in his chest. Fear clouded his mind, but he did not have the temptation to run; he knew that would only make it worse.
He felt frozen in place. In time.
Eryx grabbed Eryz's shoulder-length frosty hair in his fist, held it up and sliced it off, nearly to the scalp. Little loose wisps of snowy hair fluttered to the ground as it left Eryz's scalp.
Eryx held the hair up in his fist like his trophy. He always was envious of Eryz's hair, the colour was a symbol of peak beauty and power in House Noxarion. Eryx was, unfortunately, not chosen by the gods to carry this symbol.
Each Noxarion who was chosen, each had a colour of their own. If you lived with courage in your past life, you might have been birthed with fiery-orange hair.
If you were gentle, it might be periwinkle-blue. If it's black, well, it means nothing really then.
Eryz fell to his knees in shock, clutching his head in his hands as tears streamed down his face and sobs threatened to jump from his throat and as his heart leapt a thousand miles.
He looked up to his older brother, the Shrew Prince, his eyes overflowing with salty tears, "Why did you do that?"
Eryx's eyes were wide... maniacal as he stared down at the young Prince. In an instant, the dagger used to chop off Eryz's hair was to his soft cheek, the slick blade sharp against the smooth skin.
"The wyvern does not answer to peasants," Eryx laughed. "And you are nothing remember?"
No answer escaped from Eryz's lips, they only lived in his mind, soft answers that agreed to whatever his brother had to say.
"Remember?" Eryx pushed, the knife inching harder into Eryz's skin, threatening to pierce the skin.
"Yes."
"Good," the knife was swung back into it's sheathe.
Eryx tucked the snow-white hair into on of his pockets, quickly, as if afraid that someone might spot him. "No one hears of this."
Eryz watched as his brother disappeared round the corner and down the hill. He was left alone. He sat on his with his hands in-between his knees, as wisps of hair caught on his tunic, as the slit in the back suddenly felt colder than it had before.
Eryz collected a piece of his hair that had fallen on the grass beside him and sadly glanced at it. Hair holds memories, his father had once told him. People say it grows back but when you think about it, really think about it, it never does.
Some memories are meant to be forgotten, Eryz thought as he let the wind carry the strands away. His hand lightly brushed against the spot where the dagger had nearly pierced it, wondering how he would've felt if it were open and bleeding, about the scar it might've left.
Eryz crawled onto his side, lying down in the foaetal position, as more tears streamed down his cheeks and soon, he was asleep in the grass were insects crawled and lived.
Eryz dreamt of a family, of love, if his brother still felt that towards him, and he dreamt of home, perhaps not a tall mighty castle, but rather a small cottage in the woods, where no man would bother him.
Where no monsters would come seek him. It would just be him. The Prince slept for hours and when he finally gained consciousness once more, he found it to be dark.
The moon shone high and the stars burned bright. Down the hill, inside the fortress, he heard chatter and booming laughter. He smelled mulled wine, ale, mead, chicken pies, roasted pork and whatnot, he could practically taste it.
Eryz wiped the sleep from his eyes and the drool from his mouth as he came to his feet and made his way down the hill.
The air inside was warm and comforting. The castle was alive with activity. Lords from all over the land stood with cups filled with... all sorts of things. Eryz could not tell.
Others stuffed their faces with pork. Some of their bellies were round, others were flat. Some were tall, others were no taller than Eryz's hip. They all wore lavish garments; velvets, wools and other things.
Their hair was just as white as Eryz's, but for them, it was because of their age. Their hairline pulled back to the middle of the scalp, their hair dangerously wispy.
Eryz sniffled and walked among the crowds. These very Lords gasped as he passed them, immediately recognizing him. Braziers were lit with fire and music played in the background.
The melody carried through the air like water across ice, soothing to Eryz's ears. He cautiously peered round crowded corners, keeping an eye out for his brother.
The young Prince slowly made his way forward, through the thicket of the crowd, to the large cobblestone table he and his brother stood at this afternoon.
Seated at the table was Archon Oryn, along with... Eryx. At first he did not spot the Susceptible Prince, but as Eryz approached, Eryx caught sight of him easily and shot him a deathly glare.
Eryz all but collapsed under the deathly gaze. His hair appeared to be a mess from his prompt retribution or rather his minute slumber. He stumbled forward, to the grand cobblestone table ahead.
Music whispered loudly through the granite pillars that were stationed in straight lines all around the castle, supporting the floors above them.
Their designs were intricate, with wide, chunky bases, and beautiful floral designs on it's capital. Eryz knew carving with such intricacy with granite was a tedious procedure, required a ton of skill and was quite labour intensive.
The designs all of a sudden did not seem so intricate to him. It appeared rough and crooked, but still oddly beautiful. Eryz ignored the chatter that buzzed all around him.
He ignored the confounded faces people unknowingly. Instead, he focused on the women all around him, who served wine and food, and cleaned up spew from drunken Lords.
It was then that Eryz realised that he could not spot one single Lady. These were all Lords. And he saw not one male servant. They were all women. Women garbed in tattered worn rags paced around the vast chamber, toiling about.
Eryz did not like that it was only women that worked. He was a child-like teen, who felt deep sympathy towards those who were being treated unfairly. Not only to women, but to men and girls and boys, aswell.
However, he felt the strongest of sympathies towards women, because they were already bereft of their rights in his mind. A wave of aching passed through Eryz as he walked past these women.
He approached the table where his brother, Eryx, and Archon Oryn were seated, dining, drinking, laughing at jokes whispered to them, jokes that Eryz could not hear.
Eryx's laughter ceased abruptly when his eyes fell upon Eryz, and an abhorred expression dawned upon his stark features. Archon Oryn instead smiled at Eryz and raised his cup to him, a sign of good fortune and veneration.
Eryz smiled reticently, bobbed his head and ascended the steps, strolling round the table and next to Archon Oryn. Eryx was seated on the other side of Oryn, his snare conspicuous.
"Good evening," Eryz said softly as he was presented with unconventional dishes and wines and ales and meads. The display of the ball from this perspective alleviated Eryz.
It brought him immense comfort to see others enjoy themselves.
Lord's danced with one another, they feasted happily and drank even happier. Still, Eryz smiled.
"What happened to you?" Oryn asked, his voice as raspy as paper, as hollow as a log, baritone. He gestured to Eryz's hair, gently touching the longer stands on the sides.
Archon Oryn was an old man, a wise man, but an old man nonetheless. He had seen Prince's, like Eryz, come and go. He was still kind at heart and brave at soul, as if he had been birthed the day before.
Out of the corner of his teal eyes, Eryz spotted a group of Lord's, or knights rather, all clad in silver and black, hunched over their table, whispering. Eryz ignored them.
"Nothing, Archon," Eryz said tenderly. "Those men... who are they? The ones in black and silver."
Eryz decided to not ignore them.
"Oh... them?" Archon Oryn asked, his gaze moving to the display of knights. These were the Men of Silver, although the Susceptible Prince did not know that, and Archon Oryn was not about to tell him.
They were here for Eryz. The young Prince, unknowing, thought not of it as much. If Archon Oryn trusted them, then so would he.
"Don't fret over them, sweet boy," Archon Oryn said, his words bestowing a tone of irrevocability. "Eat something."
Eryz did as he was told and ate hesitantly. He ate roasted pork and greens with gravy. He drank grape juice, although to others, it would appear as wine.
He ate slowly. He wasn't a very big eater. He rarely ate and when he did, it was in diminutive portions. By the time he had finished a quarter of his plate, he had watched so many dances and other chaotic events unfold before his eyes that he felt dizzy.
Eryx erected himself from his chair in an instant. The room immediately fell to silence, all eyes focused on the Shrewd Prince, even those of the Men of Silver.
"I...," Eryx's voice boomed loudly through the sanctum. "I am so gratified by you all. Thank you for coming, you have truly set the stage for the main event of the evening."
All the Lord's gazed around confounded by Eryx's words.
"Archon Oryn," Eryx's gaze shifted to the Archon beside him. "Thank you for all you have done for me and my brother... Eryz."
He said the name with resentment, like it stung his tongue to say it.
"Without you... I wouldn't be where I am today," Eryx continued.
Eryx took his glass in hand and turned his attention back to the chamber of Lords. "There is nothing more valuable in this world, than that of a Noxarion's word. Even better, a Noxarion themself."
The room gasped, both in uncertainty and in stupefaction.
The Men of Silver rose from their sitting positions and slowly made their way to the front of the room. There were two of them. Eryz was just as perplexed as the rest of the room was.
"What is he talking about?" Archon Oryn whispered into Eryz's ear.
"I don't know," Eryz whispered back ten times softer.
"A Noxarion, when so rare as I am, will not be easy to come by. No, they do cost a pretty penny. Certainly enough to offer someone an abundant amount of silver for a lifetime."
The room gasped even more raucously. In the Nine Kingdoms, silver was more valued than gold, as it was harder to come by.
Archon Oryn played dull while Eryz attempted to make sense of this, to puzzle the blurry pieces together.
"And tonight, I have found a buyer for one," Eryx said in conclusion, downing his glass and slamming it against the table, startling Eryz. He yelled in triumph.
The Men of Silver now stood directly before the steps of the great dining table. Eryx made his way around Archon Oryn and to Eryz.
Eryx grabbed him by the arm, ripping him from his chair, his frail body as light as a feather. The Susceptible Prince was dragged across the floor, down the steps and flung to the ground before the two knights.
Eryz's tear flowed freely. He was being sold.
"I have had just about enough of you," Eryx said, pointing at Eryz. "You and all your... insecurities."
The Shrew Prince laughed maniacally as he said this, made his way back to his seat, took the pitcher in hand and cheered, "To the rightful King of the Nine Kingdoms, Eryx Noxarion!"
No one dared move, instead they all stared at Eryz, some in concern, some in disgust, some in amusement. Most of them... in amusement...
"What are you doing?" Eryz frantically questioned, unmoving.
"You're being sold, dullard," Eryx said with nothing short of repulsion.
Eryz's eyes widened, even though he already knew before that. This was his confirmation. He wasn't fearful, or enraged. Instead he felt guilty and sorrowful, repentant.
"Eryx, please!" Eryz pleaded, supplicatingly. "I thought it was just you and I... We're the steeples, remember?"
Eryx pulled an abhorred face, frowning deeply at the Prince beneath him. "No, you fool. I am the last steeple of this House. You are nothing."
Eryx glanced around the room for endorsement from others. "The Susceptible Prince thinks himself to be a wyvern!"
Eryz could only stare with wide, beseeching eyes as his brother spoke.
"I will be King of the Nine Kingdoms," Eryx said, mostly to himself. "And when I rule... When I rule..."
Eryx appeared maniacal, tyrannical. Eryz turned his head, glancing at the Men of Silver who stood still behind him, like pillars of an abandoned fortress. Eryz rose gradually, like he had the weight of the Nine Kingdoms itself on his frail shoulders.
And... he walked out, his head filled with tragic notions, with his eyes blood-red from crying. His hair was a sorrowful reminder of today, a checkpoint in his destiny.
His small beige-tunic suddenly made him feel susceptible. The slit in the back that traced all the way down to his lumbar area brought a chill to his torso. He inched forward as beady eyes stared, hearts with ill-intent reached out to him.
Not to comfort or console him, but to diminish and smite him. Eryz didn't think for a moment of this, for he already felt it. He already felt crushed.
"There he goes, your kind Prince!" Eryx cackled after him.
The Men of Silver followed Eryz. Afterall, they were here to escort him, to use him. They had their own tales. Tales of m Vermyrr and of resurrected Lord Commanders.
They felt just as crushed and frightened as Eryz, if not more so.
"Hold on a minute," Eryx called just before Eryz and the Men of Silver disappeared round the granite pillars. Eryz felt a flicker of hope spark within him. "Take them with you."
Eryx gestured to the handmaidens and the pleasure-girls. Their eyes widened as they heard this. They froze.
"Well go on," Eryx barked.
The wyvern is not merciful towards serfs. The handmaidens rushed to Eryz and the Men of Silver, petrified of what might become of them if Eryx's rage ire instantly spilled over the edge.
"Thank you, brother," Eryx remarked. "You have done so much more than you think. You have just made me King of the Nine Kingdoms."
Eryz carried on walking, he was no longer listening. He felt apathetic. His eyes felt heavy, although he was fully awake. His tears stopped falling, although he was sobbing inside.
This is what Eryx meant when he said that Eryz would be viewed. Eryz strode over the threshold, with the crying handmaidens and the brooding Silver knights.
The night air felt chilly, like an invisible or invincible entity was scrutinizing them. The hill on which Eryz sat, only an hour before, was forsaken of the warmth it previously held.
His leather sandals chafed against his heels, the strips suddenly constricting and digging into his flesh. Still, he walked on as he was not welcomed to stay any longer.
The Men of Silver followed, their garbed armour clanking in dull rhythm and behind them came the high Lords, their fine silks gleaming in the moonlight.
Even his brother walked among them, though Eryz wished he wouldn't. Eryx had always been a cruel thing, with a smile like a blade and a tongue sharper still. A whisperer, a schemer, a shadow in the halls where power shook hands.
If there was ever warmth in him, Eryz had never seen it.
Archon Oryn was absent. That unsettled him further.
One of the Men of Silver stepped forward, leading a horse by the reins - a pale silver beast, it's coat like moonlight poured over polished steel. It's eyes held no colour, but the most life, and it's mane spilled like silk over it's muscled neck.
"One of the last of it's breed," the knight said, voice low with something like reverence. "For a prince as fine as yourself."
Eryz said nothing. He only laid a hand upon the creature's flank, feeling the warmth beneath it's unnatural beauty.
The gods were fond of omens, and this horse felt like one. Whether it was good or ill, he did not yet know.
Eryx strode toward them, his steps quick and full of purpose, his anger plain for all to see. His gaze fell upon the pale silver horse and his lips curled in disgust.
"He doesn't deserve this honour," he spat, his voice sharp as a drawn blade. "He is a servant-boy."
The Men of Silver did not stir. One of them, a grizzled knight with a scar running down his cheek, met Eryx's gaze without fear. "You have put this boy through enough."
Eryx's nostrils flared. His hands curled into fists at his sides. His breath came heavy, hot with fury. Then his voice thundered across the field.
"I WILL BE KING!"
The knights did not flinch. One of them stepped forward, helm tucked beneath his arm, his voice calm but firm.
"You are not King yet, your Grace."
"This is a threat, you know!" Eryx shouted, his voice raw with rage.
The knight did not answer. He did not so much as give him another glance. He swung himself into his saddle with practiced ease, his black cloak settling against his shoulders.
The other knight followed, the sound of hooves striking hard against the rocky road, from their steeds impatience.
Eryz swallowed hard, his throat thick with fear. He turned to Eryx, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Please," he whispered. "Please don't let them take me. I'll be good, I promise."
Eryx sneered. For a moment, just a moment, Eryz thought he saw something flicker behind his brother's eyes - something distant, something lost. But then it was gone.
Eryx spat at the ground, the wet sound loud in the silence. "Get out of my sight."
Eryz bit his lip, but the tears came anyway, hot against his cold cheeks. The Men of Silver did not wait for him, but neither did they push him forward. He mounted the silver steed and slowly, he rode to them, his horse moving as smooth as water.
He did not think of the way the beast moved beneath him, nor the fine leathers of the saddle he sat in.
He thought only of his brother. He turned back, half-hoping, half-dreading, but Eryx did not move. He did not call out, did not falter. He only stared ahead, cold and silent, as if Eryz had already ceased to exist.
All day, Eryz had wondered where this road led. If, by some twist of fate, that it could take him home. But now he knew.
It was leading him away - from the halls where he had wandered, from the last remnants of family, from the only family he had left. A brother who did not want him.
He did not look away from the Lords watching in silence. He did not look away from Eryx's hateful stare. He did not look away until they faded from view, until the ache in his neck forced him to turn forward.
And even then, he did not feel safe.
He did not feel wanted.
He did not feel home.
Home was a word he had once known, a word he will forever cling to, even in the dark - his brother's voice, his mother's hands, his father's shadow stretching long in the candlelight. But that was gone now, scattered like dust in the wind.
The road stretched ahead, endless and empty and Eryz rode forward with it, hollow as the sky above.