The King's children seldom had time to themselves. He made sure of that personally. At best, he looked upon those within his issue who wasted their hours on frivolous things with dismissal. At worst, they were sent away to schools or homes in exile or simply deemed illegitimate and turned out. As a result, each of the numerous princes and princesses worked day and night to study the tome if they had magic, the sword if they were strong, or the quill, if they were sharp. Trailing after them were retainers, children of noble and common stock alike, all of whom could keep up with the grueling training regimens of their masters.
The sullen little girl with ash-colored hair had come from seemingly nowhere, flanked by two flaxen-haired maids in identical uniforms. Her title was a story that many found ludicrous to believe if it hadn't come from the King's own booming, gravelly voice.
"She— the prophecied dragon that guarded our forefathers— will guard my heir—" Garon clapped a hand to the shoulder of a gangly, mid-growth spurt Prince Xander. "…With her life." If anyone noticed the boy stagger back slightly from the unfamiliarity of the gesture, no one daired voice it.
Instead, the gathered courtiers peered down at her, a scrap of a thing with wide red eyes the bloodshot color of a rabbit's. Her dress was neat, if plain and clearly hastily cludged together from sewing scraps that the maids had dug out of some out-of-fashion nursery. Her lower jaw trembled as she took two shaky steps forward and curtseyed. She was unused the the patent buckled shoes that they had found out of some hand-me-down pile that the king's own children had outgrown.
The girl was a creature of some sort plucked from the woods, or some conjuring of a dark mage. They weren't sure, and frankly didn't care. And now, the girl was to accompany the one chance they would have out of the King's iron fist, standing at the side of the boy a little older than her.
He gripped the throne as he looked upon his eldest son and the new child like a hunter would his two most prized foxhounds. King Garon's eyes brimmed with pride. So too did his gaze towards the children, imperious and distant, tell them to know their place.
"Protect him like you would your life, Corrin. You know what you were brought here to do." Commanded the King, before dismissing the court and retreating back into the shadows of his private chambers.
Xander knew his father to speak of things as an honor when he really intended to burden others. Was it a practical joke, to have a girl that looked scared of her wits by a simple introduction to his father's court?
For years now, he had had the full confidence of his father as he undertook the training of a Nohrian knight. For countless nights he had collapsed into bed after practicing to knock his foe's head from their shoulders on horseback, sore in more places than he had even imagined. He had taken the time to win two allies— and friends— in Elise and Leo, his half-siblings that were gifted with magical skills. Xander had a plan for every contingency that his father and the world that surrounded him could come up with. Most importantly, he had a plan to earn the right to wield Siegfried, a blade said to soot bolts of black fire that aimed true as an outlaw's bow.
But now, his fate was in the hands of someone barely out of childhood.
The fifteen-year-old fumed as he briskly walked past a row of footmen dusting a corner of the castle that was seldom used. He needed time to think, and he needed it fast.
Dragons and Prophecies! He could spit the words from his mouth if he hadn't been trying to quell the words of a temper tantrum-prone schoolboy. Clenching his fists to his side, Xander took several deep breaths, unclenched his hands, and looked around him. The hallway was empty, save a few footmen sitting on crates, polishing serving trays until they shone bright with silver. Noticing him, the younger one— a silver-haired young boy Corrin's age— got up and clumsily bowed.
Corrin herself trailed after him like a shadow, her eyes still alert and shifting nervously on her feet. Looking down, Xander felt the same twinge of responsibility as when he'd said something untowards to a younger soldier, or to someone like Leo. None of this was much of a choice for her, was it?
"I realize that I behaved in an unseemly manner just now," he said, drawing himself up to his full height and turning to the girl. "Father didn't tell me that I had needed a guard. Listen, why don't I show you around the castle?"
"Okay." Her voice, quiet but certain, held a note of resignation to it. The hesitation only added to what Xander had been curious about through the course of the audience— Where had his father found a girl like this?
They proceeded down the hallway in silence. Despite his frustration at still receiving protection from a child, Xander couldn't help but look back to see just how Corrin regarded the place that was to be her new home. Her eyes, eerie and red, had followed the trail of a hunt painted on several tapestries of blue and gold that hung on the walls. Despite her young age, she could devour information and did so freely. He could tell that in a person, when their eyes followed the details of a painting or a swordfight with close scrutiny.
Xander found what he was looking for at the end of the hallway. Two dark banners emblazoned with the kingdom's spiked crest framed the doorway. Usually the sight of the banners strewn about the castle comforted him. But nothing could right the ship of Xander's mood quite like angrily thinking about how his father had let him down. Alone. Preferably with a sparring session afterwards.
Inside the chamber were more finely-woven tapestries, continuing the story told of the hunt. Knights, dark mages, and great knights pulled at a golden net until their faces strained. He could even see the puckered lips on a courtier that drew the net away. Nohrian art was never subtle about those sorts of things, nor was it short of people willing to commission them in high works of art.
He saw Corrin press a palm into whatever was in the net in the hunting scene, and peered closer.
Inside was not one, but a small family of dragons, bound together painfully by the net forged in Nohrian gold, steel and fire.
Her eyes narrowed, and she turned to face him.
Up until now, the girl had more or less acceded to his questions, and his father's commands. In a glimpse, though Xander saw the fiery determination of someone who was, among those things, fed up. He glanced at the final tapestry that the king's artisans kept out of the way. Corrin's breathing grew ragged as she clenched her teeth at the tapestry. She turned away from him and ran into a corner fo the room, where she huddled with the occasional voiceless scream. The dragon ––could it have been her?An ear-shattering roar, sharp and sound, echoed throughout the hallway. He squeezed his eyes shut reflexively.
In her place when Xander came to was what his father had promised would be near him- a dragon with the horns and clawed hooves of the tapestry . The problem was that she was angry, and likely at him. Out of all the lessons that Prince Xander knew of, and that he had prepared to take, this one was something else entirely.
