So: I've decided I'm probably going to do a chapter story next, but I wanted to write something lighter after the last story first. Also, I still need to choose the plot for the chapter story. I really appreciate all of the suggestions you guys offered!
This is set when the boys are younger. Going off of William Foster's (young Dastan) age, this is Dastan's twelfth birthday. I know they never really say how much older than Dastan Garsiv and Tus are, but I decided Garsiv's around 15/16 and Tus is around 17/18.
Anyways, this is just a fun brother bonding story before I begin the big project. Enjoy, and please review!
Betas: Juliette06 and Mya Kirne.
There were days where Garsiv wondered why he even bothered getting out of bed.
Like today. It was only breakfast, and Tus had already made Garsiv feel like he was going to lose what little sanity he had left. Father would have no choice back to lock him up in the dungeons to keep him from hurting innocent citizens—or at least traumatizing them with his raving behavior.
"It's his birthday, Garsiv," Tus reminded him, sounding more like a parent than an older brother. Garsiv rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
"No."
"Garsiv —"
"Tus!" Garsiv hissed, cutting his older brother's lecture off before it even started. "This is…even for you, this is exceptionally stupid. I'm not going to be responsible for that…him. I'm not going to teach him horseback riding, and even if I were, which I'm not, I would not teach him on my horse."
"Dastan, Garsiv. He does have a name."
Garsiv slammed the palm of his hand on the table in frustration. "Damn it, could you just for once act human and stop trying to be a saint," Garsiv raged, throwing an apple hard at his brother. Tus, well accustomed to his brother's tantrums, merely moved to the side some, letting the apple hit the wall instead.
That was so unsatisfying. Garsiv petulantly shoved his plate down the table, watching as the plate fell onto the floor and broke into pieces.
That was moderately more satisfying.
"I wasn't aware you were five, Garsiv—" Tus began again.
"You," Garsiv snarled, ripping his gaze away from the destruction to point a finger accusingly in Tus' direction. "Have no right to call me immature. You are getting sick, sick pleasure out of this, and don't think I haven't noticed. Just because you try to act all kingly—"Garsiv made it sound more insulting than honorary "— does not mean you are actually above the petty antics of us commoners."
"I'm merely trying to give Dastan more time with his older brother. I'm not the one who forgot today was his birth— "
"Damn it all to hell Tus, I'm not doing this!" Garsiv stormed, slamming his hand down again. "I will not play teacher to Dastan! We have plenty of competent riding instructors who have the patience to deal with his…his!" Garsiv threw his hands up as a substitute for an actual word when he could up with none.
"Garsiv," Tus sighed, employing his "I-know-best" tone. "I know you do not like Dastan's behavior sometimes, but he is in this family now. You know better than to treat him like this." Garsiv opened his mouth to retort, but Tus held him off by holding up a hand. "Garsiv, today is his birthday. For once in your life would you just be patient and make him happy? He will want it to be from you like I promised him last night, not from an instructor he doesn't know."
Garsiv looked remarkably like a fish right now as his mouth opened and closed; he was unable to form a proper response to the information that Tus had already promised their brother that Garsiv would teach him—Garsiv knew Tus had done this just to make sure he couldn't back out, since not even Garsiv could break promises once they were made.
Garsiv's hands gripped the sides of the table, his nails clawing at the wood. If anyone else had been in the room with them, they would probably have described Garsiv as looking possessed
"Fine," Garsiv finally growled. It wasn't like he really had any sort of choice in the matter. If he didn't do it, Tus would pull the 'I'm disappointed in you' card and probably go snitch to Father about how he was being a poor brother figure in Dastan's life. And if there was anything worse than Tus and his condescension, it was Father and his lectures. Not because they made Garsiv feel guilty—hardly anything could do that—but because they were dreadfully dull.
Tus had that knowing smile on his face again, and Garsiv, more to keep from physically attacking his brother than anything, abruptly stood from the table and stormed to his room to change into riding clothes.
An hour later saw Garsiv entering the stable alone—Dastan wasn't with him. Garsiv couldn't be bothered to search every last nook and cranny of the palace for the boy; Tus had promised this to Dastan before he had even told Garsiv, so Dastan would just have show up on his own.
Enjoying his last few minutes of peace and quiet while they lasted, Garsiv moved to his horse's stall to begin the process of saddling him. He used the lead rope to tie the stallion to a hook on the outside of the door, and then moved towards the far end of the stable where saddles were kept.
Something swung over the side of the hayloft right into his face.
Garsiv swore loudly in surprise and stumbled backwards, actually tripping over his own feet on the way. He landed hard on his back, which only caused him to curse louder. He'd be feeling that for several days.
"Good morning, Garsiv!"
Garsiv's eyes snapped up to the offending thing hanging by its legs from the hayloft; of course it was Dastan. The second prince bit his lip as he sat up, mentally counting to try and calm down. He couldn't kill Dastan on his birthday, couldn't kill Dastan on his birthday…
He stood up off the filthy floor and brushed himself off, promising himself tomorrow he could smother Dastan in his sleep with a pillow. "Good morning, Dastan," he ground out. It took every fiber of his being not to yell at the top of his lungs. "Get down from there. You're a Prince of Persia now, we don't hide in haylofts to scare people."
Actually, he would have pulled the same move on Tus when he was younger if he'd thought of it, but he wasn't going to reward Dastan for being an over-the-top little fool today. Garsiv heard a dull thump behind him as he retrieved Akram's saddle from the racks; Dastan had done what he was told for once and jumped down.
"Soooo what do we do now?"
Garsiv couldn't wait until Dastan's voice deepened; that cheerful squeak pierced his ears and just put him in an even fouler mood.
Garsiv heaved another sigh and stepped past him to saddle Akram. "Now you stay out of my way for a moment," he replied as he slung the saddle over the white stallion's back; thankfully, Akram stayed still while Garsiv got everything in place and put the bridle in his mouth—he couldn't handle both an annoying little brother and a peevish horse today.
Dastan was so excited about getting his first riding lesson he was acting like he had never even seen a horse. He kept walking around and around, looking over Akram in fascination, but at least had the good sense to keep a hand on the horse's back so he wouldn't get himself kicked. Garsiv rolled his eyes and finished the last minute adjustments, then moved to get a mounting block to help Dastan step into the stirrups.
The younger boy saw and made a disgruntled noise. "I don't need that thing, I'm not—"
Garsiv turned around and gave Dastan his own version of the look Tus had given him just an hour ago, but unlike Tus', Garsiv's had more of a shut-up-before-I-knock-out-your-teeth effect. Dastan wisely decided not to tempt fate and grudgingly clicked his teeth together as Garsiv set the stepstool at Akram's side.
Then, the dreaded question. "Dastan," Garsiv sighed, "do you know anything about riding?"
"I know people look pretty neat when they're riding a horse." Dastan was seemingly not in the mood to give an easy answer today.
Garsiv closed his eyes in exasperation and let his head hit Akram's neck. The stallion snorted and pawed at the ground, and Garsiv took some comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one annoyed in the stable. How could Tus have possibly thought this would work?
Dastan jabbed him in the side with a grimy finger. "We don't have all day." The youngest brother gave Garsiv a cheeky grin, which would have earned him a black eye if it wasn't his damn birthday.
"If you touch me again, I'll break your finger," Garsiv grumbled as he pulled away from his horse. Dastan was doing nothing to motivate Garsiv to let this lesson go smoothly. Garsiv was becoming more and more convinced that it was a good idea to 'accidentally' let Dastan fall off Akram. A few dozen times.
Dastan had apparently learned when Garsiv was just throwing out empty threats, because this time he went ahead and tempted fate and poked his older brother again. But fate had other plans for Dastan today; Garsiv turned and cuffed his little brother hard across the head. "Do. Not. Touch. Me," he repeated. "Now would you please stop being infuriating and just get on the block?"
Dastan rubbed his head sullenly and reluctantly stepped onto the block. "You have no sense of humor," he groused, giving his older brother his best wounded puppy look. Garsiv ignored that last jibe in favor of just getting this lesson over with. Even if Garsiv had much of a conscience—which he didn't—he wouldn't be fazed by that look; he knew Dastan just used those accursed blue eyes of his to gain sympathy from other people.
"Put your left foot in the stirrup. Grab his mane and use it to help pull you all the way over."
Garsiv watched as Dastan screwed up his face, apparently determined to do exactly as Garsiv instructed. Of course, he ended up getting stuck trying to get his right leg onto Akram's other side, and Garsiv gave him a none-too-gentle shove into the right position.
"Now what?" Dastan said, giving Garsiv that aggravatingly cheerful smile of his once he had settled on the horse's back. Dastan had at least sat on a horse before after all; this was nothing special to him.
Garsiv heaved another belabored sigh and untied Akram's lead rope. "Do you understand how to use the reins?"
"How stupid do you think I am, Garsiv? Of course I—"
Garsiv shut him down with a pointed glower. Dastan rolled his eyes and just nodded a yes.
"Then we start walking." Garsiv wound the end of the rope around his wrist and walked Akram out into the stable yard, trusting Dastan could handle at least this level of difficulty. Family members had been riding with Dastan as a passenger since he was adopted seven months ago; he could surely understand the basics of keeping his balance by now.
But either Garsiv just had too much faith in his brother, or Dastan was just being thick today. Or both, because Garsiv heard a loud thud behind and to the right of him, followed by a muffled "ow". They weren't even going that fast. More likely than not Dastan just hadn't be able to sit still and leaned over to the side too much in his fidgeting.
"You are utterly hopeless," Garsiv groaned as he stopped Akram and looked over his shoulder at his little brother splayed in the dirt. The boy grunted in response and stood up stiffly to limp has way back to the horse. With a sigh Garsiv went over to his little brother gave him a makeshift mounting block with his hands; yes, Dastan was tall enough to get into the saddle by himself; he just wasn't skilled enough.
Dastan popped his neck and looked down at Garsiv, determined. "I'm not hopeless. Keep going."
Garsiv snorted and started walking Akram again, mocking Dastan under his breath. "Keep going, Garsiv. Do everything for me, Garsiv." He ignored Dastan's protests at the mocking and pulled a little harder on the lead rope, getting Dastan used to the idea that people didn't just mosey along when on horseback.
Bored quickly with even that though, Garsiv undid the lead rope and let Dastan walk the stallion on his own. Dastan' uncertain noises and movements made Garsiv smirk as he stepped off to the side to look at his brother' form.
"Oh come on now, sit up straight," he taunted, watching as Dastan struggled into the correct posture. This was more amusing to Garsiv than it probably should have been.
Dastan eventually managed to push Akram into a brisker pace without falling off, so Garsiv decided to up the ante. "Alright, kick him into a trot, Dastan. You do know how to do that, don't you?"
Dastan made a rude gesture before taking a deep breath and kicking Akram in the sides. Even Garsiv had to wince in sympathy when Dastan kicked him too hard and angered the horse. Akram was apparently tired of Dastan and his antsy behavior, because he broke his training and passed into a gallop instead of a canter.
"Garsiv!" Dastan cried out, his voice desperate. "Garsiv how do I stop—!"
It was too late. Dastan had already panicked and lost his balance, causing him to take a hard tumble into the dirt again. Akram whinnied and trotted away, apparently tired of being used as a lesson.
Garsiv opened his mouth to taunt Dastan again, but stopped short when he realized something: Dastan hadn't moved since he fell.
"Dastan?" No response. Garsiv took a hesitant step forward. "Dastan, if this is an act, I'm not laughing!"
When he still got no reaction, Garsiv abandoned his sense of pride and ran over to his little brother—but before he had even knelt down to shake Dastan' shoulder, the younger boy had rolled onto his back to stare listlessly at the sky, and Garsiv realized the problem; he wasn't physically injured, he was sulking because he had fallen off again.
"I'm never going to get this, Garsiv. I'm just a stupid little street rat, we can't ride horses."
Garsiv sighed and crouched on the balls of his feet next to his little brother. "Er…" Garsiv wasn't good at this 'comforting' thing, but he made a weak attempt: "You know what they say, Dastan. When you fall off the horse, you—"
"Shut up, Garsiv."
Well, alright, that was fair. He wouldn't have appreciated a cliché statement in response either. Garsiv stayed quiet for awhile while Dastan continued to stare blankly above them.
Eventually, Garsiv spoke up again. "You know, when Tus was first learning how to ride, he cried." Dastan gave him an incredulous look—when had Tus ever cried—but Garsiv continued. "It's true. He just kept falling off every five feet or so. He gave up and just lay there for awhile, and then the horse urinated on him. I kid you not, it broke him down."
To be truthful, Garsiv had no idea how Tus had reacted when he learned to ride: Garsiv had been focused on pitching a fit because he didn't get to learn how to yet. But the story made Dastan laugh, and it made Garsiv feel like an appropriately obnoxious little brother for making up humiliating stories about Tus.
"How hard did he cry?"
Garsiv grinned wickedly. "Like a little girl who got her doll stolen."
Dastan positively howled with laughter, and Garsiv was strangely relieved his trick to get him to stop sulking had worked.
"So you see, little brother, you don't have to be a street rat to have trouble riding a horse. Even we Persian princes have trouble from time to time." He paused and added: "Well, you and Tus. I'm perfect."
He ignored Dastan's doubtful snort and stood back up, pulling Dastan with him. "We'll try this again tomorrow. I think Akram's tired of your stupidity." There was only so much affection he could stomach.
He left the process of unsaddling Akram to the stable hands and turned and walked back towards the palace, Dastan shadowing his steps from a couple of inches behind.
"Hey, Garsiv?"
"What, Dastan?"
"You've…never called me your little brother before."
Garsiv paused to consider that for a moment, but he recovered himself and started walking again. "Consider it a birthday present, then."
Dastan beamed happily and sped up to walk by Garsiv's side. "Hey, Garsiv?"
The brother in question sighed. "What, Dastan?"
"If it's my birthday….how did you act when you first learned to ride a horse?"
Garsiv sucked his teeth before throwing his arm around Dastan's shoulder. "Some things, Dastan, not even a birthday is going to get you."