Lord Cedric had always been the man, who got things done for the Prince Phobos; it was the reason that despite the Prince's distaste, he'd been given a title of Lordship along with the controls that went with it.

Cedric was not as most; a large proportion of those working faithfully - a strong word, which no one knew better than Cedric as simply an acting term, as there was not a soul who'd ever literally pledge themselves for Phobos and Phobos alone - had only become out of fear, or possibly greed: traveling from across the many plains to offer their services to a small child whom would surely die and leave his sums to his workers, by the meager age of thirteen at the latest. Fourteen was Prince Phobos 'terror' year. And it had been predicted he would die until then; when he began to show his intellect with brilliance of creativity that even Lord Cedric had been dazzled by.

Then, Cedric would uphold, he was not ten at the time, and it would be another two years before he'd find his strengths; his own father's wretched suicide only proving that there was nothing to mourn upon in the crisis Phobos allowed himself. Prince Phobos was being crude to allow himself vulnerability - Lord Cedric was well aware that he had simply gotten on with his time, when Prince Phobos had sauntered in - hoping to taunt and tease with the information. But Cedric had known before, that his father's will was weakening, and had only been upheld by the way that Prince Phobos dug his hands into the ashes; silvery blue eyes wide and glistening, and a smile that Cedric would in time come to know to be described as a smirk.

"You know, you've always been here."

Lord Cedric recalled following the Prince, as he had sprinkled the ashes around. At the time it had been a taunt, Cedric was sure, but now he wondered if the child was merely spreading the ashes of a servant, assuming that that was where they belonged - rather than taunting his father's remains by pouring them so that the old man could linger in what his father had always called Hell. Possibly not intentionally, Prince Phobos' splintered genius would be what taught the Lord of symbolism. It was in everything Prince Phobos did - from the day he was fourteen intentionally, and unintentionally before that - Cedric came to learn. But sometimes, like that day, Prince Phobos would only stare at him curiously. His hair would be short then, somewhere about his shoulders; it took him until he was almost sixteen for Phobos to realize there was no one there to chide that his hair was getting too long again.

"I know."

And Lord Cedric had been unaware of the symbolism mostly - only liking that he would get to speak to the Prince. His father had never, not since the Queen, set his eyes on the Prince. His father wasn't good enough. Cedric doubted that Phobos would realize that now though, because Phobos was becoming much less with every day, and back then would be one of few times Cedric would see a worthy prince; not looking at him directly again until earlier in the current year. Cedric had forgotten the face entirely, forgotten meeting him at all, forgotten his small father's death, until as of recent.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Prince Phobos had sighed at that, irritated, and had turned away for a few moments; to walk to the vase Phobos thought that Cedric wouldn't know to be an urn; to dig his fingers into it, so harshly that the greyish color crept under his already dirty fingernails, only to turn back and offer the stuff as though it a fine appetizer or beverage. Iced blue eyes watching carefully for every movement, a smile creeping across his face only once Cedric had pushed his fingers into the outspread hand to grasp the smallest amount; between a thumb and two fingers. Cedric looked plainly at the soft, light grey that would slightly stain his fingers, knowing full well what it was; knowing full well that Phobos would tell him had he not known. "Your father is dead."

"I know."

It had been almost interesting, in the moment, the way that Prince Phobos had stopped at that - seemingly stumped for the moment, not expecting the twelve year old in front of him to be so casual in his knowing, and in the very little of full respect that Cedric was showing. Not that Prince Phobos would care at that moment - something Cedric would later come to pity; the Prince allowing his disrespect as a form of mourning; that being a kindness from the Prince, though Phobos never saw it such a way. And Prince Phobos had watched, with those clever, clever eyes, as Cedric rubbed smooth circles of his fingers and thumb; pushing the ashes into his skin; letting them fall to the floor. "That is him you are touching. I burned him into dust."

"I know."

And then there had been silence; a long, long silence, in which Cedric's mind had wandered somewhere of copying the Prince's idea to grow his hair, because he'd always hated it as it was in that moment; cut short and slicked back.

"Don't you care?"

"About what?"

And Cedric had watched His Highness' eyes flicker in boredom, fixed with an agitated sigh that merely conveyed the image further, as Phobos walked away. And Cedric had merely assumed; the way that Phobos had dropped the handful of ashes, so thus had only pushed the urn and emptied it on the floor in a small pile before allowing that vase to roll down beside it, ready for someone else to clean up the mess.

In a week Lord Cedric would be called to duty for the first time; working amongst many in that of basically counting up the dead. There wasn't much else to do then - and Cedric had never been particularly interested, nor bright enough to do much else - not for a twelve year old boy. Besides. Cedric had liked his job.

Cedric was good at his job.

"Nothing, my Lord. The villagers remain silent of the rebels." Lord Cedric frowned, as he walked through the Meridian Village. A child or two at the most, the people were dying out because no one bothered to recreate anymore. There was no food. There was no money. The things that those closest to Phobos had were exceptionally few, not that Prince Phobos was the hand that stole their bread.

"See how silent they are, with no water in their wells." The head of the Guard would know what he meant.