Author's Note: This fic was originally written for someone on tumblr. I think the Imperial Three need more love. Yes.

The story takes place two years before the main storyline. Headcanons are in abundance here, because we don't know enough about them.


Cormag threw himself into the fresh, clean, once-neat sheets (not anymore) of Glen's bed as his brother watched with an amused chuckle. "You generals really do get the best, Brother," Cormag commented after rolling onto his back.

"Well, we're generals for a reason. The best get the best, right?"

Glen laughed as Cormag turned away and buried his face into the pillow after a scowl crossed his face. They had their little sibling rivalry, but Glen always won in the end. It was something that Cormag both loved and hated. While he was proud that his brother was one of the strongest in Grado, he loathed the fact that he just couldn't best him no matter how hard he tried.

"You could stay here for the night, Cormag," Glen offered, seeing how comfortable his younger brother was on the plush bed.

"Shut up."

"That breaks my heart, little brother."

Cormag decided not to dignify the gentle teasing with any response, and there was an extended moment of silence between them. Considering that Glen was a pretty talkative person (much to the glee of the girls who swooned over him), it made Cormag slightly uncomfortable. Turning back to glance at his brother, Cormag rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. The expression on Glen's face was the one he wore whenever he was feeling nostalgic; a gentle and sad, yet proud, glimmer danced in his eyes and graced his smile. By now, Cormag knew what was coming.

"Oh, just get it over with, Brother," he grumbled as he sat up. "You've been nostalgic a lot recently. Is something wrong?"

Glen just shook his head before walking over to Cormag and wrapping his arms around the younger brother, pressing Cormag's head to his shoulder. "You've grown so much, little brother. … I'm so proud of you, Cormag."

"Yes, yes … can you let go now?"

"No." Glen stroked Cormag's hair like he did when they were kids, working in the field, and Cormag's hands were rubbed raw. They could still remember life at home, working restlessly from sunrise till sunset just so they could wake up the next day with whatever meager gains they had made. Cormag wouldn't admit it to anyone now, but back then, he would cry a lot. His hands hurt, his body was sore, he was hungry, he was tired, he was lonely, why couldn't they have what those rich kids had (their family was dirt poor and had been for generations), where were mom and dad (begging for food, but Glen couldn't tell him that). At some point, he gave up complaining, but he still felt a pang of guilt knowing that his older brother had been pelted with these same questions day after day, week after week, month after month. And yet never once, in his memory, did Glen ever even show signs of being annoyed or frustrated at him for it.

The sound of sniffling brought Cormag out of his thoughts as he realized that Glen had, at some point, leaned his own head on Cormag's shoulders. Is … is Brother crying?

He saw Glen hastily raise his arms to wipe away tears, confirming his thoughts.

"Tch. You're a general, Brother, you shouldn't cry so easily like this."

"I'm a general, so what? Can't we feel emotions like everyone else?" There was nothing Cormag could say to retort, so he remained silent as Glen let go to recompose himself. With a heavy sigh, Glen dropped himself onto the bed, the soft mattress and pillows cushioning him.

"Cormag, remember when you got that scar?"

The younger brother placed two fingers to the scar across his cheek. "Yes. Why?"

"I always think about that day … you were so young then. Five, maybe?"

"It was around a year before His Majesty's procession came through, so I was five."

"Mm. I'll always remember that day like it was yesterday. … I've never told you this, but that was the most terrifying day of my life." He covered his eyes with his arm as he began reminiscing. "When the wolves started approaching you, I … I was so scared …"

"..." Cormag didn't care if he was gaping; he just couldn't imagine his older brother, his confident, smiling, talented brother, being terrified.

"At first, it was of the wolves … I had no idea how I, a ten-year-old boy, could possibly fight them off … but then I heard your scream. I saw you hit the ground and then I was … I …" Glen rubbed at his eyes with his arm again. "I was so afraid that they'd kill you, and I … I don't even really know what happened after, I was so caught up in the moment. But you were so bloodied, I thought you were lost for sure … Cormag, I … seeing you all grown up like this, I couldn't ask for a better little brother ..."

Cormag laid down beside his brother. "And for the next few days after that, you stuck to me like glue. And I … I remember, um …" His voice trailed off in embarrassment. "I … I-I thought that you were the best brother I could ever wish for, and I, uh, I wouldn't want anyone else …" Unsure of how to end the sentence, Cormag just coughed awkwardly and turned away so he wouldn't have to see Glen's reaction.

As it turned out, he didn't have to see to find out, because Glen burst out into laughter several moments later.

"What the hell's so funny, Brother?! -Gah!" Before Cormag could protest, Glen had grabbed him into another hug, although much more playful and teasing than the previous one.

"Heh, we really are brothers, aren't we? Both having trouble expressing ourselves - we really do have the same blood running through our veins! Ha ha, you should've heard yourself stuttering, that was too cute!"

"Shut up!" Cormag struggled to break free, but to no avail as his brother simply laughed harder and ruffled his hair fondly. "And-stop-this!"

"Nope, you're still my baby brother, so you'll allow me this," Glen responded tauntingly. Finally, he let go and just leaned against the bed's headboard, laughing heartily.

Although he was annoyed by his older brother's gestures of affection, Cormag still found the laughter to be contagious, and soon joined in. It was appropriate for Glen to have been named the Sunstone. Glen was, and would always be, his sun.


Selena the Fluorspar stood outside Glen's door, poised to knock, but hesitated and lowered her hand. She hadn't overheard all of the conversation, but simply hearing Glen and Cormag's laughter filled her with joy.

"Is something wrong, Selena?" Duessel noticed her standing at the door and walked over.

"No, it's nothing. … Those are fine boys you've raised, Duessel."

"Raised? These old bones? Hardly, Selena. Those boys made it this far on their own, with their unwavering determination, honor, and skill."

"... With all this talk, people would mistake us for parents," she chuckled.

"Perhaps you will be one, someday," Duessel suggested. "You have time."

Selena shook her head in response. "I fancy myself fighting and dying in His Majesty's service, or better yet, living out my life in a world of peace."

He nodded in agreement. "We all pray the same, Selena."