A/N: Yes, the events Gibari describes are canon. They're revealed by talking to one of the men at the training grounds immediately after Rambari and Celsica die at the Cloudvents.


The moments slowly tick away into twilight, the scarlet clouds of Diadem swirling languidly about the perimeter of the city. The sun has set and night bruises the sky as though a relentless swath of blue had been spread across it by some celestial hand.

Some months had passed since my twelfth birthday, and the king's words proved prophetic. His final weeks were difficult to confront: the once able-bodied, proud monarch was confined to his bed and required assistance with almost everything. He deteriorated suddenly, faster than any of us could anticipate. And then it seemed, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

His open casket is on display at the foot of a gargantuan marble effigy at the center of Sheliak. Dozens of lit candles surround the coffin and statue, winking almost playfully in the darkness. Every citizen that has attended has offered a candle, often engraved with a personal epitaph. His subjects surround the statue and the casket, filling the center of the city, enveloped in reverent silence and crying silent tears.

I feel their gazes gravitate toward me one by one– some hoping to catch a glimpse of emotion from me, others seeking strength in the stony stoicism of my features. I remain perfectly poised throughout the entire procession, my eyes never leaving the contented, lifeless visage of my father, and I know that he would have been proud to see it. Although he was kind to his people, he did not believe in revealing anything tantamount to weakness.

Frankly, the urge to cry at his funeral did not strike me even once.

The crowd gradually dissolves as people start to return home. The night is unusually dark and moonless. Most of the candles have burned down to more than halfway.

As I turn to leave, thinking I am the last to do so, I notice a familiar face looking at me expectantly from a nearby alleyway. It's Gibari. The soft, dancing flames of the candles illuminate him, intricately emphasizing the contours of his muscles.

"Hey." His tone is incredibly somber, although it's appropriate.

"Hello." I return his greeting. "Why aren't you at home, Gibari? I thought I saw Sir Rambari leave for Nashira some time ago. It's much too dangerous to take the cloud passage at this time of night…"

"I know. I planned that. I wanted to talk to you, but from the look of it, you don't need any consolation."

I have a difficult time interpreting the tone of that comment. I can't tell if he's mad at me, somehow disappointed or concerned. It could have easily been all three.

"Well, whatever. Sit down with me, Kahn." He leans against the stone wall of the alley and casually slides down into a seated position.

"Sure…" I almost hypnotically obey him, even mimicking the motion.

"This is really, really bad." He wipes his palms against his pants. "What happens now? Where do we go from here?"

"Well," I start, "I assume the title of 'king' from today onward. I'll also be taking on a number of the king's responsibilities, but I'm not ready to work entirely on my own yet. Rambari and the head knights will assist me there. Although, you know, to be perfectly honest-"

"Ladekahn, why didn't you ever call him 'father'?"

"What?" I turn my head to look at him, only to find him staring back at me with vitriolic intensity. With no hyperbole, making contact with those russet eyes makes me feel as though my very heart is being stared into. It is so affronting that I quickly avert my gaze.

"You know who and what I mean. Why didn't you ever call your old man 'father'?"

I lower my gaze further and pause momentarily, searching for an honest answer.

"Perhaps…" I say after quite some time, "Perhaps it's because I never really felt loved by him. He never spoke to me like I was a human, not like my mother did. I never felt like he thought of me as his son, just as some successor."

"You can't be serious."

After speaking those first words, revelation after revelation unfolded and I couldn't hold my tongue any longer, "Actually, now that he's gone, I don't miss him at all. He never showed me half the affection he showed his subjects, or Sir Rambari, or you, or even the greythornes."

"You can't mean that."

"I do," I retort adamantly, "He was a legendary king and a valiant knight. But I can't say the same of him as a father."

Before I can process what is happening, an open, square palm strikes my cheek with such force that I feel momentarily faint, creating a sound comparable to a gunshot.

Literally stunned, I stare at him wide-eyed and wary, lifting a hand to my cheek to inspect the damage. I can feel the skin bruising beneath my fingertips, and I'm sure I bit the inside of my mouth, because I could taste blood.

His heart-piercing gaze hasn't changed. He's shuddering visibly, drawing deep, rhythmic breaths, as though to steady himself.

"Kahn. Do you know what your father was thinking about when he was in Sadal Suud, and we were attacked? Before Pop was the head knight?"

"Like I care now, you jerk." I say, voice faltering at the conclusion of my sentence, biting back tears.

He seems to have realized it, because his disposition softens considerably, and he looks almost apologetic. "You."

"What?"

"Yes, you. I heard it from him myself, eavesdropping on Pop and the king. You were practically alone here. He rushed back and left his business half-done because he was worried about you."

"I…"

"He loved you, even if he didn't know how to show it, or showed it the wrong way. You know? That's just how your folks are! It's family!"

He thumbs through his magnus and finds one containing ice; the very kind of ice that the fishermen normally use to keep their catch fresh. He summons it into his hand, momentarily licked by the golden light, and proceeds to wrap it in one of the cloths hanging from his belt. He turns to me, on his knees, and gently places the cold pack against the cheek he struck, holding it there.

"Thanks."

"You're… welcome."

"Not for the cold pack. For the blow." I admit. "I needed it."

His expression contorts into one of bewilderment, and he quickly becomes flushed. I assume he's embarrassed about having lashed out at me, and feels as though he grossly overstepped his bounds. He's probably anticipating some sarcastic or snarky comment from me.

"I like this about you." I manage a half-smile, because a full smile hurts too much. "No powdung. You treat me like a human."

He looks relieved, instantly. "I don't know about that… I hope your definition of 'treated like a human' isn't 'beaten senseless'."

"Don't worry, it isn't. If I'm to become king, I think I need someone like you to keep me down to earth. Er, so to speak."

I move my hand to the cold pack, effectively letting Gibari know that I was willing to relieve him of his holding-a-cold-pack-to-the-king's-face duties. But instead of moving his hand away, he gently twines his fingers between my own. A simple gesture.

But not one I was expecting at all. I feel my breath catch in my throat. It is as though he's reaching out to me – telling me that he's here for me, no matter what, in a way that is distinctly different from the protective pledges my knights offer.

He completes me. And in that moment, I decided I would be willing to do anything in my power if I thought it'd make him happy.

"Actually, Gib, I'm really happy to have you. I can't wait until Rambari retires. We already know you'll succeed him. Then, you'll be at my side. For good."

"Yeah." He says quietly, untangling his hand from mine to gently brush my hair from my face. I feel my lips forming an honest smile, and I can't help but admire the boy seated next to me. He's watching me closely now, with those incredible, soft brown eyes, the ambient candle-light playing over his velvety tanned skin. Marvelous.

As the reflections of the flames glimmer on his dark irises, I notice that he's considering something deeply. It's as if there's something he wants to say, but he's reluctant.

"Is something wrong?" I ask after a profound silence.

"No. It's nothing." He withdraws his hand from my cheek and breaks eye contact, and seems suddenly melancholic.

Not quite understanding, but wising to console him, I abandon the cold pack in favor of resting my head on his broad shoulder. Just a small gesture to let him know I was there, as he had done for me.

I listen to him talk some more, meandering idly through endless conversation topics. My eyelids are fast becoming heavy. He can't return home until daybreak, so I suppose it won't hurt to fall asleep here.