Narsus wondered just how did he become a parent of three teenagers.

He was twenty five years old, much too young to have children their age, and if he was being honest, much too young to have children, period.

He was quite proud of what he managed to accomplish in his life so far. After all, he inherited an important title along with many lands, freed its slaves, stopped the invasion of three united armies, became a member of the court and got himself exiled from it. He felt like that earned him some reprieve, like he could spend the rest of his life making art and reading old books in peace.

His plans had absolutely no place for a child in them, and yet before he knew it, Elam was preparing his meals and cleaning his rooms.

But.

Narsus never felt like he was raising Elam. The boy was his charge, his servant, somebody under his protection. The boy spent the last few years thinking he was fulfilling his parent's last wish by serving Narsus, and he was right. What he didn't know, however, was that his parents had one last request for Narsus as well, and it was to look after their son when they were gone.

And his plans really, really didn't account for this, but what else could he do but to accept their wish?

He fulfilled this obligation dutifully, sharing as much knowledge as he could, letting the boy polish the skills he already had, preparing him for the day he would be ready to leave.

Elam didn't know about that. By the time Narsus realized his parents didn't inform him about their request, it was already too late. The boy needed a parental figure, someone to look up to, to admire, and not having many people too choose from deep in the mountains, he started to idealize Narsus. He was convinced he would spend the rest of his life at his masters' service, hunting for food, preparing meals and guarding a small hut in the middle of nowhere. And Narsus didn't correct him, but instead took an advantage of his eagerness and taught him as much as he could.

One day Elam would outgrow his youthful devotion and Narsus was going to make sure that by that time he would be ready to face the world on his own.

But.

He was not raising Elam. He was determined to repeat it to himself as many times as necessary, so that it would start to sound true.

And regardless of his relationship with Elam, he had absolutely no intention of helping prince Arslan when he suddenly showed up at his doorstep with Daryun in tow. All they could expect was to leave the next morning well rested and after a good meal. He was not interested in whatever was happening outside of his forest.

Which was not a complete truth, of course. But he learned his lesson: the wars would keep happening and they would always be bloody and sorrowful and pointless, and he was tired of finding ways to prevent them peacefully, only to watch all his plans fall on deaf ears.

He was done with the court and the royalty, their constant lust for more power, more wealth, more influence, their petty, pointless intrigues without any higher goal beyond filling one's pockets.

He was perfectly content in his little hut and nothing, nothing, could convince him to leave this life behind.

Well.

Except for one thing.

He froze for a second when Arslan made his outlandish offer, because… Well, he wasn't stupid or naïve. He knew how tremendously different his art was from everything other accomplished artists created. He had seen Arslan's reaction to his painting, though he pretended he didn't. He knew that young prince didn't like, didn't understand his art either.

But the thing was – the boy didn't pretend to. He didn't try to praise Narsus and pander to him, didn't try to appease his ego. He made his offer as any seasoned ruler would, plain and simple, an exchange of favors, because he didn't have to like Narsus' art to use it to his advantage, to create the bait that would undoubtedly lure the tactician in.

And he knew Narsus for mere hours.

It was that easy understanding of people's nature, that intuitive knowledge of what drives them, what makes them tick, that made Narsus look at the boy – really look at him.

And before he knew it, he was keeping watch in the middle of the forest and staring at the bundle of blankets that would, in the morning, reveal young prince of Pars, wondering just when had his life become like this. He was helping to lead a war with a bunch of very odd allies, and for all intents and purposes raising a child.

Damn it all. Raising another child.

Because Arslan might be a crown prince and lead and army, but he was still only fourteen years old, scared and inexperienced and wishing for home. And Narsus' heart bled for him, for a delicate boy thrown in the middle of war and violence and chaos.

Narsus tried to teach him, the best he knew how, to train him in the ways of the world, to create a space for Arslan to feel safe in. He wanted him to try things out when he was curious, to ask questions when he was unsure and, most importantly, to make mistakes, because how else was the boy going to learn to walk on his own path? But, of course, it was a war and not all mistakes could be allowed to pass, so Narsus was always nearby with an advice, a lesson, a plan. It was a delicate balance of serving their master, and helping the boy their master still was.

He knew Daryun was doing the same thing, in his own way. He could see it in the knight's pained eyes, whenever he looked at the noble child pushed into impossible. Whenever he bowed a bit lower, showed slightly more reverence than necessary, just to prove to Arslan that he had them, that there were people around him who were supporting him, always.

He and Daryun never had a chance to really discuss it, what with his friend barging back into his life after four years of absence, bringing chaos and wars with him, and then later with running for their lives from enemies, and finding allies, and gathering information, and running from enemies some more, and by the time they had time to catch their breath, it already got decided.

Arslan was theirs. He was their prince, of course, but he was also theirs in other ways, even more important, ways that meant that after particularly harsh day Daryun slept a little closer to Arslan's cot to ease his nightmares, and that Narsus made sure he ate enough before a battle even when he had no appetite, always wore warm clothes when they traveled in the night.

He was theirs like maybe he wasn't anybody's ever before, end whether he realized it or not, Narsus couldn't say. But there was an ease to his smile when they were just with their little group, a sort of openness that only then made you realize that he was guarded in the first place, and Narsus counted that as a success.

He was thankful that Arslan and Elam could meet, that they became companions in age and in hardships, both pushed into the adult world much too soon.

And, of course, there was Alfreed as well.

The girl didn't share much about her past, but the mere fact that she was raised as a future leader of a bandit group deep in the mountains, already a second-in-command at the age of sixteen, spoke volumes about things she had to see, things she had to learn and fast.

Narsus suspected that it was part of the reason for her current infatuation with him. It didn't have anything to do with real romance, not really. But it must have been lonely to grow up a young girl surrounded by old bandits, their voices gruff and eyes full of untold hardships, days spent on running from justice or planning their next move.

And all the while, there were those new and unknown feelings blooming in young chest without an explanation. And so, the second she was free of her responsibilities, the first time she could really do as she pleased, she latched herself to a first available person – and Narsus just happened to be nearby.

She just needed somebody to direct her youthful, bouncing, energetic feelings towards. She was just like Elam in this, thought they would both reject the notion. And their overblown conflict was another way to find release, to make as much ruckus as teenagers wanted to, to shout at each other without worrying about any serious consequences, to throw insults with wild abandon.

And perhaps, subconsciously, they knew it themselves. Because it was enough for a smallest sign of danger to catch their attention, and their backs stiffened, eyes became sharp and steely, any signs of foolishness gone in an instant. They were ready to infiltrate a city or lead troops or carry a vital message through frontlines, and whatever argument they just had was replaced by hard won trust, the knowledge that the other would have their back no matter what. They fulfilled their duties with more skill than many adults, and they were adults in all but their age, ready to put their lives on the line for a cause they believed in.

And so, the others in their group understood the need for a little foolishness from time to time. That's why Narsus just sighed when he heard shouts again, that's why Farangis and Alfreed had long talks late into the evenings. Perhaps she was hers, Narsus thought, perhaps being parents somehow just happened to them all.

But Arslan didn't have even that.

When the other two shouted, Arslan discussed Sinduran strategy with Jaswant. When Alfreed sat too close and tried to hug Narsus, Arslan wrote messages to strongholds, assessing their numbers. When Elam prepared a petty breakfast from all of Narsus' favourite ingridients and announced it loudly in front of Alfreed, Arslan smiled, indulgent, but there was a small frown on his face and his mind was elsewhere.

And Narsus watched, and his heart bled for all of them.

And, hell. He wasn't a parental material, and neither was Daryun. Neither was Farangis or Jaswant or, gods forbid, Gieve. But the fall of Pars happened, and swept them all in the aftermath, throwing them together, into this group of much too young adults and literal children who somehow wanted to change the world. And they were trying to work with that, the best they knew how, helping each other and maybe even creating a family in the meantime.

So Narsus would take it. He, and the others, would take it upon themselves to care for the children the world entrusted them, and if they couldn't protect them from the brutalities of war, at least they would be there to show them how to deal with it, and how to bite back.

They didn't set out to be parents, but if they were going to become ones anyway, then goddamn, these kids would get the best they could.