To Whom It May Concern: The following fic is about a few father-son moments, some good and some bad, shared between King Logan and Sir Walter. Semi-spoilers, especially if you haven't seen the trailer, which I assume that if you're here, then you have… Enjoy.
If I Needed You
"I hope I'm at least half the man he didn't have to be."
-Brad Paisley
-x-
It was a tranquil day in Bowerstone, nothing noticeably different from the rest of the days the Hero Queen Sparrow served out her rule with. The garden was reviving itself from a long hibernation, as it were. Everywhere, little sprouts of color were revealing themselves. The animals had returned, birds chirped, bees droned, and it was almost impossible to look anywhere in the garden and not see the blooming magnificence of a flower preparing to reemerge to its full beauty once more. The sun's heat had begun to intensify during the days, staying up longer now so that it had time to work its magic, leaving ponds unfrozen and only patches of cold, white powder scattered over the growing earth. Spring, the season of revival. It had finally come to Albion. Gone were the days of winter, and with it, the depression of a King's untimely death.
Or at least, that's what everyone wanted to believe. People had bowed their heads and dabbed their eyes that winter. They'd worn black, paid their respects, passed on their condolences to the royal family. But sans that, the King's death was otherwise ultimately meaningless. Not even the good Queen Sparrow herself seemed fatally unnerved or even moved by it. At least not in the way a wife should sorrow for a husband. The months of mourning passed them by slowly, though not as slowly as they should have for a deceased monarch. It was too soon before the clouds that had settled over everyone's heads faded away. Too soon for it to be considered decent to walk out of your house with a smile worn proudly and broadly on your face for no reason at all. Slowly, the Nobles began nosing about once more in the castle gardens. Workers went back to working, beggars went back to begging. Even the older children of the royal family seemed to move on quickly considering they'd just lost a father. Before long, everything had fallen into place again, as if everyone suddenly had a rationale to be joyful again.
Because in reality, they did have a reason. A very valid one, in fact. A princess's birth had been celebrated that very same season, not long after her father's demise. Suddenly, instead of black, the world wore a very vibrant, very girlish pink. Pink dresses, pink wigs (atrocious things), pink shoes, and even pink shirts and trousers for the men. It seemed everyone in the kingdom had piled in to the castle for at least one point during the winter, forgetting a lost life by welcoming a new. With so much excitement, most people failed to look around, so preoccupied by the newcomer to take any awareness to a young prince, whose birth they had only a few short years ago commemorated with as much joy and vigor as they did now for his youngest sister. Most people, including his own mother and older siblings, failed to see the boy sulking in the corner of life. A boy no less than five, aged ten years over by the loss of a man he intended to become someday, for every lad grows dreaming that he'd one day be "just like Father."
But Walter noticed.
He was a much younger man in those days, still bearing the same amount of (if not more) power, size and strength as he did now. The full beard and tousled hair did already adorn his face and head, but its graying color had yet to come, allowing a deep russet to harbor still. Needless to say, he did not have the same skill, intelligence or observation as his older self did. But he needed none of those things to understand what the young Prince Logan was feeling. He himself had lost a father at an early age. Though he and the man had never been entirely close, his death did leave a sting in the young Walter's heart. From what Walter could tell, the late King of Albion's relationship with his children was not a great one either, which might've been why the older sons and daughters never did pay heed to his death much. But Logan was at that tender age where a boy began to look towards that male figure in his life. To have that figure ripped away by Death's jaws, just when one was beginning to learn how to cherish it? It was too much to ask for anyone to handle, but especially a lad young as Logan.
Today, on this fine spring morn, the castle was alive and already bustling. It had been three weeks since the birth of the youngest princess, who had been named Cassandra (or little Cassie as they'd come to call her), and only two months since the death of the King. People didn't pay too much attention to the latter. All of their contemplation was on the prior. The Queen was kept busy by her new child, the servants were absorbed in aiding her, the Nobles were engaged in conversation of the random gossip, and the older children were involved with their lessons.
As a matter of fact, a certain young Prince should have been involved with the same thing at the moment. But, of course, he was not. And, of course, no one seemed to care or even notice. It was not as if his lessons were excessively important, after all. He had two older brothers and one older sister, each of them in line before him to take the throne. Everyone knew any attempt to teach the child the ways of a King would be simple foolishness, for the boy would likely never wear the Crown unless he survived a sibling who already worn it. Not many people were anticipating this, for Logan's birth had been a difficult one. He'd been rather small when he entered the world, and even now a might too short for his age. Not to mention the sickly pale colorlessness of his skin, and faint circles of bluish-black darkness that surrounded his eyes. It was this appearance alone that separated him from the rest, and though the good Queen Sparrow loved him just as much, it seemed everyone was afraid the lad would die before long and so they were reluctant to get too attached to him. As a result, he never received treatment the equal of his siblings.
But for all his stature lacked, the boy made up for in his brains. He seemed to figure out, quickly and silently, that he was different...but unfortunately, he confused the word "different" with "unwanted"...by most at least. The recent passing of his father had only harmed his spirits further. It was not uncommon for the lad to go an entire day without making himself known to anyone. He'd sit up in his room with a book (as he was an exceptional reader considering his youth) or explore the gardens alone until the day prepared to end.
This particular day held no dissimilarities. The young prince had chosen the garden as his scene, and found a nice tree. He'd clambered up with a book to perch on a higher branch, leaving him well hidden by new green leaves just coming out. For all who thought he was too weak to do a number of things, they should watch him climb something. He could certainly prove them wrong with his skill in climbing anything with merely one arm.
On this day, Walter happened to be entering the castle grounds through the garden when he caught sight of a loose white fabric billowing in the wind through the gaps in the branches of the very same tree Logan had made his place in. He did not need to spend a moment wondering what the white blur was. Already, images swam in his head of a small five-year old wearing an oversized peasant's shirt and black trousers nestled on a branch with a book. On any other day, the sturdy soldier would have passed by without any other thought but pity for the lonely boy in his forced state of solitude. But for some reason, Walter found himself going in the direction of said tree.
Clearing his throat, he spoke up in his voice, a bit less gravel in his younger less-worn tone. "Your Highness, I don't think your Mother'd much like you hanging 'round here by yourself." He said, eyes surveying the garden. Sure, there were a few Nobles out and about so the boy wasn't entirely by himself, but none of them were paying much attention to him anyway.
"Go 'way, Walter. Mother doesn't care, and you shouldn't either?" Came the small but stern voice within the branches. Walter could tell he was trying to sound high and mighty and strong, but with the small stumble in speech children usually have in their words coupled with the pitiful terms themselves made it hard for Walter to imagine the lad as what he attempted to come off as.
"Ah, don't be like this, lad." Walter answered, dropping to a gentler tone as he moved a branch to be able to see the boy who was conveniently only high enough up to be just under eye level with the soldier. His gray eyes studied the poignant Prince a moment. His trousers were cut off at the knees, revealing rough red patches where the skin had been scrape from his small knees, the rest of his legs also adorned with a few grazes. Walter imagined this was a result of his tree-climbing hobby. A thin book was in the child's hands, and he seemed entirely too intent on hiding his face behind it. "You know your Mother cares for you just as any other mother ever cared for a child." Walter said kindly as he reached a thick, reassuring hand out towards the boy.
Logan reacted instantly to the warm palm grasping his shin comfortingly, though he did not feel it so consoling. "I wish to be left alone, Walter!" The child snapped once again, the book in his hand suddenly whirling forth for the corner to his Walter's forehead in exhibition of the Prince's very scarce but still existent bouts of lacking self-control. A tiny gasp escaped the child's lips as he realized and regretted his actions, and immediately an apologetic look of innocence overtook his small, angry outburst as he brought his hands up to his mouth in surprise at himself.
The impact had not hurt Walter in the slightest, not nearly as much as it did when the child's tiny pout threatened to break his heartstrings. The contact had surprised him more than anything as he rubbed at the collision zone on his forehead. "Balls, boy, the prince of Albion ought to know better than to hit people." He said, chastising only slightly as the grin tugging at his bearded mouth was enough for the Prince to know his unspoken apology had been accepted.
He seemed to sigh quietly with relief, bringing his hands back down to his lap and leaning his back against the tree. He pulled his skinned knees up around his chest and locked his frail arms about them. "Robert's the one you got to tell that to..." He muttered as if he didn't expect Walter to hear, crossing his arms over his narrow chest.
It was then that the young soldier realized the makings of a black and blue circle starting to form around the already dark skin under his left eye, both of them somewhat bloodshot no doubt due to tears. The tiny royal's orbs glanced at Walter pitifully, and he resembled a look more akin to that of an injured puppy. His lower lip trembled slightly, causing Walter to notice the small, swollen welt on it. Walter tried but failed to contain his shock. "Robert did this to you?" He asked, taking the boys head in his hands and angling it to view the forming black-eye better. Logan made no protest to the movement, only answered in the affirmative to the elder's question. Anger bubbled up inside the soldier for the eldest Prince Robert. A boy of sixteen taking ganging up on a kid like Logan, who was going on ten years his junior? Walter wished he could say it was a first, though.
Robert was the first born, and so the Crown Prince of Albion and in his entirety, the complete opposite of Logan. He was tall and strong and tan, very well built for his age. Perhaps not the sharpest knife in the kitchen, and that was where Logan beat him. But in the mind of that unruly teenage boy, brawn beat brains every time. It was not uncommon for Robert and Charles, the boy born after him, to gang up on their youngest brother. Victoria, the third child and now eldest daughter, would sometimes intervene if things became too violent. But her presence was becoming much more scarce during this time as she evolved from a girl to a young woman.
"That boy... He needs to learn his place." Walter grumbled, ironic for a lowly soldier to be saying it about a prince. "Don't worry, lad. I'll talk to him about that." The kind man said, giving the child a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"No, don't!" Logan cried suddenly, moving out of the way of Walter's hand and nearly toppling out of the tree he was in. Walter gave him a somewhat surprised look. "I can take care of him all by myself, Walter!" Logan's voice was desperate.
"Oh, I can see that." Walter said in mock disdain, though even he could not believe the boy was correct in saying that.
"Walter, stop trying to help me! If I needed your help, I would ask for it!"
The air between them suddenly became more serious as Walter's furrowed brows softened on the Prince. A tiny sigh escaped the boy's lips as he skillfully balanced himself on the branch with only his knees so that he could lean forth to bring his face closer to the man before him, placing a small hand on either of the broad shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. "I can. I can stand up to him I know it. Maybe not now...but one day I will. Everyone thinks I'm just some stupid little kid who can't do anything for himself... But I'll show them all, someday I will, I promise!"
The boy's dark orbs stayed locked with the man's own gaze for quite sometime, neither of them faltering for anything and saying nothing. It had caught Walter off guard to hear Logan's thoughts, and he couldn't help the feeling of faith he had already begun to invest in the kid. He was no different than the rest, really. Smaller, a tad bit weak, and prone to illness, perhaps. But he could still match them. If not now, then someday he would. In that moment, any prediction of the lad never becoming King, or even living to see the day he was eligible, vanished from Walter's mind and he suddenly knew this boy could do it. He could pull through and survive and live on, and yes, even stand up to Robert. If the gleam in his eyes and hard set to his jaw were any indication, Logan seemed bent on it. And for the first time, Walter was seeing a King in the child before him.
A sigh of defeat slipped past his mustachioed lips. "I hope so, my boy." He said. Logan, for the first time in quite a while, adopted a large grin and threw his thin arms around Walter's neck in a hug that was nothing short of solace-seeking. Walter obliged and followed suit, lifting the boy out of the tree to hold against his shoulder. "I really do."
-x-
The day's soon turned into years, though they both felt like mere hours for dear Walter. It seemed hardly a week passed by and that little boy in his arms was a hundred pounds heavier, and nearly four feet taller. At the age of seventeen, Logan now stood taller than most men twice his age. He'd developed a muscular form and a strong frame that stood over six feet. The sword at his side he wielded well, better than any boy his age that the graying Walter had ever coached. The dark circles once prodding at his eyes had been chased away and though he remained an unusual, the sickliness of it was no longer present. His once innocence and cherubic face had given way to noble and chiseled features so strikingly similar to that of is father some might think it was the late King himself.
Walter would never forget the perfect image of a King he did create that one, fateful day of his life. Long legs straight and locked at the knees, one broad shoulder rolled back to allow a thick gloved hands to clasp firmly and respectively behind his back, the other bent at the elbow in front and slightly to his side where his weeping woman clutched his strong arm as soft sobs racked her dwindling body. The warm summer wind blew umber tresses of hair just long enough to whip against the cheek of his face, stoic but at the same time deeply grieved.
Behind him stood the people of Albion, the people he would some day rule. All of them, nobles and commoners alike, sulked with bowed heads and tears rolling from their eyes. To his right, the woman weeping into his shoulder clutched harder at his bicep as he whispered soft words like "It'll be all right, Mother." To his left, a small girl of twelve stared in disbelief at the simple coffin before her, tears pricking her eyes before rolling off her cheek to create unseen drops against her dark dress. She too leaned her tiny body slightly into his chest, and he removed the hand behind his back to rest on her shoulder. Before him lied a coffin, the third he'd seen that year being buried in the slowly forming graveyard on the outskirts of the castle grounds.
It had been painted a dark and elegant mahogany color, quite the contrast to the fair skin of the slumbering beauty inside. She did not look dead, merely sleeping, so life-like one could expect her to wake if they called her name. Long, blond curls cascaded down the sides of her face and shoulder, a diamond studded tiara sat gracefully upon her head. Lips, still so plump and red even in death, were parted ever so slightly to reveal white teeth. Her lids were shut so that none could see the magnificent sea glass that was her eyes, thick lashes resting peacefully against her flawless cheek. Several baby-blue flowers tied by a white ribbon laid against the bosom of her black dress, her pale, delicate hands brought to hold the stems over her middle. It was hard to believe the young woman of twenty-four was not breathing, and harder to believe that just yesterday she was up and running about the castle wildly like the fun-loving spirited girl she was, even in her sick state.
An inaudible sigh escaped through his nose as several men, Walter among them, closed the lid forever and lowered the sleeping corpse's bed into the hole it had been intended for. Above it, a stone had been placed. Engraved into the silver rock read the words: Here Lies Victoria, Princess of Albion. A small sun-like design had been carved underneath.
No words were spoken at this funeral, as no words could be described to feel the pain the scenario caused. In the far-off distance, bells chimed, slow and haunting and all to sad. The birds did not dare chirp, despite the sun shining overhead. She would have wanted the sun... He thought to himself. She had held her hand as she died. Mother on one side, him on another, and little sister nestled against her lovingly. It had been raining for weeks with no end. "Oh... I do wish the sun would come out for a little while." She said, offering them each a weak smile, for she knew she would never see the sun again. Logan could still feel her cold palm against the stubble on his cheek as she wiped a foreign tear away from his eye. "Take care of them, my dear, dear brother." Were her last words on this earth.
Lost in his own thought, he had not noticed the crowd behind them slowly start to disperse until he, his mother and little sister were the only one's standing before the grave. He perhaps would have never noticed were it not for Cassandra tugging lightly at his side before leaning up to innocently whisper, "Are we going to stand here all day?" Offering her a sorry attempt at a smile, he turned to wear he knew Jasper and Walter were faithfully standing behind them still. At his request, the ever-old Jasper led the two women away and back to the castle, leaving Walter and him alone for a silent moment or two.
He turned back to study hole again. It was filled now, without much of his recollection on how it got that way, and he could scarcely grasp the fact that beneath the piled on dirt was his sister. He thought of his father's tomb resting in the golden casket beneath the castle gardens not far away. He thought about how a similar one awaited his mother. Glancing around him, his eyes seemed to harden at the other two stones surrounding his sister's. They did not harden out of anger or spite or contempt, but out of regret.
"Here lies Charles, Prince of Albion", one of them read; just as a sun had been carved under Victoria's name, a small dagger had been carved under his. Just months earlier Logan had stood in the exact same spot to mourn his death. He'd been but twenty-six last Logan saw him lying peacefully in his casket. While Logan had eventually come to get along with his older siblings as they entered adulthood, a far cry from their harsh childhood antics that tended to result in nothing but harm to himself, Charles had always been somewhat distant and harsh. A rather misunderstood man he had become in the last few months of his life. Said life had been ended by his own hand after losing the woman he loved, and while its holder had been foolish enough to take it, Logan still bitterly grieved for it to be alive again.
Beside this stone, another stone was engraved, this one Logan could barely bring himself to look upon. "Here lies Robert, Prince of Albion." A flying eagle carved expertly under his name. Logan's brow furrowed in pronounced determination as he resisted the urge to fall on his knees before the stone and weep. Robert had grown into a fine young man, as everyone believed. He was every bit of the Hero most of Albion predicted he would become. Strong, handsome, and noble, ready to take Albion over as great King; though he had shown no powers yet, their was no denying his mother's Heroic blood ran in his veins. Or at least, that was what everyone thought. It was only the day he set out on some valiant quest in hopes of unlocking his powers did the people realize they had been incorrect on that. Logan could remember the funeral quite vividly. Like their father's, it had taken place in winter. The casket had not been opened by Logan's own request. He had been the only one to see Robert's body when it was return, only to realize it was too violently mauled for him to allow his aching mother and too-young sister to see it. What sort of creature had attacked? No one ever found out. But Logan still awoke with his imaginative nightmares of what it had been. Someday, he intended to kill it. Someday...
"You all right, boy?" Logan heard a gruff voice from behind. He did not need to turn around to know who it was, for the voice of the aging soldier had long-since been engraved into his skull.
"As all right as one can be on a day such as this..." He replied, obviously not comforted by the warm hand suddenly on his shoulder blade and clearly wishing to be alone. Walter ignored him, figuring the last thing the boy needed was solitude at this very moment.
"It was just her time, lad, as it was for all of them, as it was for your father-" At this point Logan turned in one swift moment to face him while knocking the hand away from his shoulder.
"Do not presume to tell me that it was their time! You cannot say that about a woman taken from this earth too young by an ailing disease which she did not even deserve!" He snapped, feeling himself heating up rather quickly. "You can't say that about a man who feels their is no other way out but to take his own life due to the loss of another, nor can you say it about a man whose life is ended before it begins by some feral beast no one will ever no of!" He hissed, turning around to face a large tree that provided the graveyard with shade. He rested his back upon it, sliding down defeatedly into a sitting position. "You cannot say that of the man who is taken from his children...children who still need him more than he could...ever imagine."
Walter had kept silent for the duration of this speech, allowing the boy, no, the young man to talk. He was taken aback by Logan's understanding of it all. He himself had never thought of it that way, and he especially hadn't been lectured on it as he practically had a moment ago.
"Well..." The aging soldier spoke up, clearing his throat. "I suppose I've been finding false comfort in people saying that to me all these years." He said, offering a light-hearted grin at the attempted humor. Logan did not oblige, his face becoming only sterner. Walter sighed.
"Look, lad. I know you miss your Father." Walter began, hesitating only a moment before continuing. "But it has been almost thirteen years since his death. Wouldn't you say its time to let him pass?" Logan's eyes seemed to soften, and he pulled his gaze from its straightforward glare to gaze into the eyes of Walter who had come to join him in sitting shoulder-to-shoulder against the large trunk of the tree. At least he's willing to listen, Walter thought. "Look, Logan, your Mum's not getting any younger. You are next in line for the throne now, lad, as you well know." He reminded, noting how Logan's eyes took to the ground almost instantly at that statement. "The people need someone they can look to for strength and guidance. Not someone caught in his past, and you know this as well, don't you?" Walter said, studying Logan's profile as the young Prince nodded, eyes still were glued to the floor. He brought a cautiously comforting hand to wrap around the lad's opposite shoulder. He sighed in relief when it was not slapped away. "You've got a lot of people hear who care for you, my boy. They wanted to see you do great. They want to help you...I want to help you." Walter said, still keeping his gaze trained to Logan's profile in attempts to gauge a reaction. He leaned forward ever so slightly, a warm light in his eyes. "Let me help you, Logan." He said softly, like a father would do his son.
Unfortunately, Logan sensed this father-son bond forming like a dog senses a hunt. And as if he were a dog with ears perking up at the faint scent, his eyes darkened and his head jerked to Walter. "You are not my father..." A scowl like none Walter had ever seen lined the boy's face. "If I needed your help..." He breathed, rising from his place. "I would ask for it." He said before stalking quickly off, leaving Walter confused and rather disheartened.
-x-
The years had suddenly sped forth, leaving everyone to sit in the dust such a fast forward had created. Everyone save for Logan and Cassie. The deaths of her three other children had the old Queen Sparrow paranoid as ever. A weak after the death of her third child, without a second thought, she immediately ordered for her two remaining children to receive the utmost amount of security. This gave the two little freedom, and everyday lived out as a prisoner in the castle seemed like years. The Queen just could not bear to loose anymore.
Already, the deaths she had already seen had made her weak. As the years past, Logan could no longer see that strong flame in her eyes. She had seemed so much smaller those last three years. Where she would typically leave three or five times for long journeys each year, she hadn't been on a single one since before Victoria's death.
Cassandra was growing up quickly, Logan could not help but notice, nor could he help the small flickers of concern that came with that knowledge. At fifteen, she had long since begun on the path to womanhood. Already, suitors were lining up at her door. It was all Logan could do to keep from shooting the unwanted dinner guests as soon as they sat down.
Meanwhile, he himself had been thrust into preparation to become the King. It seemed he had beaten the odds that were against him, for no one save for Walter ever believed he would make it past the age of ten, let alone twenty. And no one was expecting him to become King, even if he had lived. His training had gone well, and all his mentor praised him on his success, especially Walter. Logan had shortly forgotten their conversation the day of Victoria's funeral, but the aged man had not let a single word seep from his memory. It was Walter who was responsible for everything the boy knew about fighting, and most of the decisions Logan made started out with a 'what would Walter do?'
It was a sad day when Sparrow finally did pass on, and the days of mourning surpassed the other deaths of her family by far. The sky had turned black, and not soul had gone without crying out for her spirit to return to her. Cassandra, then the tender age of sixteen, had cried for months on end for her mother. Factories and shops closed for days after her death, with no one finding the strength to go to work. Logan had even dismissed most of the servants from the castle, though that was mostly due to the fact he wished to be alone.
Albion seemed quiet for a long time after that. The birds were afraid to sing, the sun was afraid to come out. The last time Logan had heard anything from the citizens of his country was at his coronation. "The Queen is dead, Long live the King" they had said, though it was clear they all held resentment. Perhaps not to the fact Logan was their monarch now, but to the fact Sparrow was no longer.
But by and by, the country's heartache did cease. And while no one ever forgot their first Hero Queen, they were appreciative of Logan's rule as well. The Kingdom had prospered under their 21-year-old King. Though he had not yet shown any abilities of Strength or Will, he was quite Skilled, and people believed that was enough to name him a Hero some day. With his many expeditions, he would always find some sort of treasure that would aid his people and the economy. Albion had been greater than it had in years. And it was with this mentality that Logan decided to explore the land far out across the sea. Aurora, it was called. And he went in search for some sort of bond between him and their leader, perhaps to form an alliance in which they could stand strong against the world. As long as that alliance did not require Cassandra marrying one of their Princes...oh no, that simply wouldn't do.
Regardless for his reasons, a ship was prepared and Logan lead a thousand men into the deserts of Aurora. A cave had been the first thing they had stumbled into. Without going into great detail, Logan had been the only one to make it out alive. Even then, he did not get far before collapsing hard on the scorching sand. Before he slipped away, he came to terms with himself. This is it. Was the last thing he thought of before going under. Consciousness had died, leaving him in a cold and deprived state.
One could imagine his surprised when he awoke again to find a radiant and exotically beautiful face staring into his. Kalin was her name. And admittedly, Logan was quite taken by her. Perhaps it was her alone, the reason he agreed to help protect her country from the coming darkness. It wouldn't be that bad. He just needed more men. A lot more.
It was nightfall when he'd first seen Albion graze the tip of the horizon again. An hour passed, and the island country slowly began to fall below the skyline as they neared it. Logan, so eager to get home to Cassandra, hadn't notice how eerily quiet everything had fallen. At least not until a frigid wind hit him, making his spine shudder from the cold. Looking around, he found the deck had been emptied of its crew. He began to panic as time seemed to stand still. But he was given no time to investigate before a being suddenly stood before him. She wore a red, hooded dress of gypsy origin and she perhaps would not have frightened him so had she not appeared out of thin air. He was alarmed enough to draw his sword and raise it threateningly above his head, taking on an offensive look. But it was her voice that startled him. It was almost ghostly, the way she spoke, her worn voice tickling his eardrums. She sounded like she had the knowledge of someone far beyond her years. "Be still, young King. I am not here to harm you." Logan reluctantly lowered his weapon. "I only wish to warn of what has yet to come." He was not given time to reply before she whisked him away to a vision of the future. That day, he knew he'd have to forget all about a foreign beauty in Aurora. Albion came first, and that was that. He would see it destroyed before he surrendered it to the coming darkness.
Walter and a few men from the castle were their at the docks to greet him on his return. "Welcome back, Your Majesty." The old soldier said, taking a respectful. Gone were the days when Logan was referred to merely as 'my boy' or 'lad'. Both of them missed those days. Later that night, after Logan had made sure Cassandra was asleep, he called for Walter to enter his study. The soldier wasted no time in coming.
"Your Majesty," He had said upon his arrival, and Logan secretly thanked him for not bowing. He didn't like it when Walter bowed to him. It had always felt...odd. Logan did not reply to the man's greeting, only stared at him with something Walter had never seen flickering through those dark orbs. "You alright there, my boy?" He asked, glad to be able to call him that again. Walter had seemed to be the only one to notice how the young King had changed so suddenly. He seemed very tired now, and dark as if he was expecting something terrible to happen. Something far more worse than anything that he'd ever experienced. It gave Walter a very bad feeling.
"Walter?" Logan rasped after a long and heavy sigh, his tone more desperate than Walter had ever heard, eyes finally looking up from his fists clenched on the desk before him. "I need your help."
Before I get into anything, I'd just like to say that I turned 16 fifteen minutes prior to posting this, alright! Ahem, anyhoo. I noticed there was a lack of Walter and Logan fics on here and I can't help but imagine fluffy father-son moments between them. The few hear are actually dreams I had…teehee, I'm so fluffy I could die! Well, I know it isn't very good but today was a snow day and I had little to do other than sit and stare at the snow falling, play Black Ops and bake muffins. So I just kind of threw this together without much thought. It was one of those brain to paper moments where I didn't really think about what I was writing. Be nice, it's my first draft, I didn't really want to read over it. So…I didn't ha! Still I apologize in advance for the inevitable mistakes! Read and Review, Loves!
P.S. - Sorry it is so long!
Mood: Ecstatic
Listening to: Logan's Trial - Fable III (OST)