VINCE
I cried out as I slashed my sword across a dummy's pathetic face. It was dressed lazily in old silver armor, a bent up chest plate around a large wine barrel stuffed with hay, and a smaller barrel for its head. Its face painted black, eyes as two red dots like a goblin. I gritted my teeth and wedged my one handed sword right into it that face, between its red eyes without struggle. Again and again, I spun and hit its side, knocked the shield out of its grip and let it topple to the earth.
Sweat quickly collected beneath my ruby red cloak, a necessity to help with the padding of the silver armor from scraping against my skin. Shoulders were heavy with thick pauldrons, legs dragged with the extra weight of sabatons, and my chest plate made me feel stiff and hot, but it also made me feel so alive. I took my sword into both hands and performed an overhead hit, the blade wedged into the dummy's shoulder.
Its armor bounced the blade back, and I went again, for its straw stuffed thighs and cut away at the bits and pieces of it. I let my anger simmer into my hands and onto the sword, each frustrating memory another push to my limit.
I was furious at father. The blade jammed into the gut of the dummy and yanked it back to me.
I was pissed at my sudden upcoming coronation. A side sweep of the blade knocked the dummy's helmet off.
I was upset over losing mother, and father still unable to talk about it.
I cried out and hit the side of my blade against the dummy's hip as hard as I could. It made my sword rattle up to my teeth, metal against metal when it slammed into the dummy's armor.
Losing mother, and soon to lose Father as well, to be left to run a kingdom I didn't want to necessarily be stuck in for the rest of my life, all sounded like being inside a cage. And that cage was only getting smaller until I hardly had any room to spread out my arms.
I huffed and puffed, hands rested on my knees while I took in gulps of air. Even with my hair all coiled in a low bun, strands escaped and clung to the sweat off my cheeks and temples. I was alone, to do as I pleased in the training grounds of the royal guard headquarters. Just inside its walls, I could practice the arts of the sword as much as I pleased without servants to my aid and teachers telling me what to do. Usually, the grounds fill with knights and rookies in training, but with their sending this morning, it felt deserted.
"Well, aren't you starting earlier today," a voice startled me.
Or at least I thought I was alone.
I looked up and found Vince stare down at me cooly, his arms crossed while he leaned his back against the white stone wall. Half hidden in shadow, he could have been there the whole time. His dark brown undercut hair was unkept as usual, body dressed half chainmail and half armor with his long sword resting at his hip. He had dark brown eyes with the ability to dive deep into your soul if you ever even thought about lying to him about anything. Two years older and yet with eyes that have seen more than perhaps even father, sometimes Vince appeared almost ancient behind that boyish figure.
I was startled to see him, thought he would have gone with the fleet this morning. I hurriedly collected myself enough to eye him with a gruntled greet.
"Just a bad morning," I muttered as I wiped my brow with the back of my padded arm.
Vince pushed off the wall, and smirked at me just before he gazed upon the dummy I was hacking at.
"Hmph, worse than usual it seems," he began. "It's too bad your father pulled you away since winter. You were starting to get good. This probably doesn't beat goblin hunts and one-day expeditions, does it?" He gave me a coy look, knowing just where to hit where it hursts most.
I glared at him.
"No, it doesn't compare," I grumbled, ready to hack at the dummy again or even daring to try Vince when I raised my short sword. Against the noon sun, the blade appeared damaged, the edge of it cracked in a few places, but it made for a good dummy-hacking sword.
"You want to enlighten me?" I threatened, hand ready to pull up my sword for a duel. Vince saw that and shook his head, eyes closed like he couldn't possibly feel threatened by me.
He showed me his profile, jaw line square against the skyline as he looked at me with the corner of his eye.
"Do you really want to fight me?" he warned.
I swallowed, my rage quickly replaced with a bit of fear and admiration for his swordsmanship. I've seen him fight, and quickly disengaged the thought of ever possibly going against him.
I relaxed and tossed my sword carelessly in the dry dirt. It landed with a loud thump, brown dust clouds blooming around it.
"What's bothering you anyway, apart from the usual dead mother issues?" Vince pried. He could never really look directly at me as he spoke, he always had to look at something, his hard eyes either up at a tower or to a wall. This time, he chose the dummy, and he collected in every detail of it as I wondered whether to tell him what's happened this morning or not. He always had a way of being blunt, but I liked that about him.
Never afraid to mention the sensitive stuff.
I used to hate that when we were younger, not talking to him weeks at a time when he pressed my buttons, but then I got used to it, and learned that's just how Vince talked. Now I am barely fazed, not even blinking to his ruthless questions anymore. Though, I do still call him out on it once in a while.
"Aren't you one to talk?" I played, smirking at him.
Vince kicked the heel of his boot into the dirt, watching clouds collect by his feet. He looked at me through his loose strands of straight hair.
"Yes, but I've lost mine much longer than you have. I barely remember my mother," he argued, tone unchanged. He stood tall again and walked towards me smoothly. Next to me, Vince was a foot taller than I was, and that almost made him intimidating, even if we've been friends for years.
He put a gloved hand on his narrow hip and cocked his head at me.
"So, what's going on? Why the lunchtime rage?"
I felt honored he cared. He usually dug some issues out of me, but he often just stayed at the moment, focused and collected at the task at hand while I blabbed on and on about my royalty problems. I'm sure he only listened half of the time, but the majority of feeling reset was just venting it all out. He wasn't Bonbon, but I liked him around.
I could be myself around him.
I kicked at a dirt clump and watched it splatter against the wall to dozens of tiny pieces.
"Father wants me to be queen," I uttered, head down. I waited impatiently for Vince to reply, to give me some kind of reassurance or sympathy, but I should've known him better by now.
I watched his reaction, unreadable, and eyes off to the wall again. He crossed his arms, a breeze blowing his long bangs over one of his eyes.
"Why does that upset you?" he asked quietly, still thinking while I struggled to come up with a good explanation.
I put a fist to my heart, pretending to be holding it with a squeeze, but in reality, I was empty-handed.
"Because it means Father…" I gasped. Should I tell Vince? He wasn't a rumor spreader, so I went on with it. "King Morpheus wants to leave."
Vince eyed me, watching closely when I stared up at him, my lips almost quivering. He knew instantly why the news ached me when he asked, "You're afraid to be alone, aren't you?"
Something in me stirred, like my body gasped if it could, while my breath froze.
How? How could he know one of my biggest fears?
I just looked at him, surprised at how accurate he was. We stared at each other for a minute, but it may as well been hours. Slumberland seemed to freeze around us, almost non-existent in our little world we held together with our silent communication. I kept a hold of my breath, afraid that if I were to release it, time would only start up. It even seemed quiet with the wind gone, and the chirping of birds died. I thought I could only hear my heart as it thumped hard behind my chest plate, pulsing heat up to my cheeks.
But as always, Vince looked away first, as though it took much effort for him to pull away, and time began to move again.
"You have me and Bonbon," he put it simply, not looking at me again like before.
The heat in my face flushed away, and I breathed again, relieved as well as disappointed, and shrugged at his attempt to cheer me up.
"I know. But…" I shook my head. "Father hasn't been himself in months since Mother died. And now he's just going to up and leave me? Doesn't he know how I feel?" I barked, glaring at Vince with more pent-up heat. He scoffed, and replied sharply, "no. Knowing King Morpheus and his foul moods as of late, I doubt he knows how you feel. You probably should tell him before you two start the next war."
I hated how he always knew what to say. For once, I wish he struggled, showed some vulnerability or unsureness. But at the same time, I knew he was right. I stomped my armored boot to the dirt, more dust around my leg.
"I don't…." I sighed, tired of feeling angry for the past three months. "I prefer not to tell him," I admitted quieter, almost whiney.
Vince caught that tone and threw a light glare.
"You need to grow up," he demanded.
I threw fireballs at him with my eyes.
"In two weeks, I will grow up! In two weeks, I will apparently be queen, and when I do, I may just command you off the Royal Guard!" I threatened, serious.
Vince glanced at me with an amusing grin as though telling me with it, "I'd like to see you try", look.
"Speaking of the Royal Guard…" I eyed around the deserted place, and suddenly remembered Vince was still here.
"Where is everybody? I saw the ships leaving this morning, heading West. You didn't go with them?"
I could practically feel him boil under his armor, eyes at nothing or glaring at a ghost image of his father when he replied, "Father wanted me to stay here and take charge of the rookies. Scouts found Goblins at the border and needed reinforcements for the West post. It's the most dangerous part of the border, so he took himself and a hundred of his best men." He flapped his half navy cape over his shoulder with aggression, and it slapped against him.
"What an over reaction for a pathetic bunch," he grumbled. I couldn't help but smile at him and his unique behavior. No one else in Slumberland behaved the way he did.
He caught me smiling at him and he frowned.
"What?" He growled.
"Nothing, it's just..." I tried my best to soften what I was about to say. "I like that you're from Middle Land. It's refreshing."
This apparently peeved him, for he turned his glaring eyes sharply to me, his mouth open and ready to argue, but then he just stopped himself. His eyes were distant, mind elsewhere as I braced for his lecture, but none came. I watched as he collected himself, took a deep breath through his nose, eyes closed and turned away.
"Trust me, this place is a lot better than Middle Land," he muttered, his back to me like he was ready to walk away, head high and cool as usual.
"Vince?" I called, and he waited, but he didn't turn around either.
"Will you tell me a story this time? About Middle Land?" I pried. When we were kids, I used to beg him at every encounter we had together.
Flashbacks washed over me, the earliest being the first time I saw Vince.
Father was introducing Vince's father to the royal court in the throne hall, as new Captain of the Royal Guard. Everyone was in awe at the two "outsiders" from Middle Land, handpicked personally from King Morpheus himself. Little Vince, eleven at the time, stood like a shadow behind his father, eyes cold at everyone like they were all not to be trusted.
"Tell me what it's like in Middle Land," I begged him after scoping him out from behind a table, while everyone else danced and ate during the celebration. Vince eyed me with so much hate, he scoffed and pushed me away with rough hands.
"Why?" he jabbed, ready to throw a punch at me.
I glared back at him while pressing my lips together hard till they went inside my mouth. I, then, pushed him back so strongly, he gasped, falling backwards and crashing into a table. He fell on his rear, the table collapsed behind him, wine and food spilled everywhere. No one seemed to have noticed, the ballroom rowdy with laughter, music, and chatter. I remembered how he looked up at me, more surprised than upset. He blinked, startled, mouth open with no sound.
And we became friends ever since.
And, each time I went over to the Royal Guard's Fort to visit, or to find him outside the courtyard waiting for me, I would always ask him, "tell me about Middle Land".
His early responses used to be simply just "no!" Firm and direct. But then he eventually came up with excuses.
"It's nothing special."
"Why? Slumberland is so much better."
"I don't really remember anymore."
"I don't feel like talking about it."
"It's a world full of fucking idiots," was his latest answer when I asked again right before Mother died.
When the flashbacks disappeared, I didn't realize Vince stared at me until I came back to the present.
"You're still asking about that?" he asked, eyes dim, and he looked like his eleven-year-old self again.
I twisted my lips up, hands on my hips.
"You still haven't told me any stories!" I snapped.
Vince hissed and looked away, eyes closed.
"Even after almost nine years, you still ask me from time to time," he began, and I could've sworn he gave himself a sad smile when he opened his eyes. He looked up, over the wall and to the far away towers of the palace, and I wondered what he was thinking.
"It's nothing you need to know, Princess," Vince answered grimly. It was rare of him to refer to me as "Princess" and I blinked at how he said it, like it made a sharp cut under his tongue. Was my asking of tales about Middle Land a continuous reminder of his upbringing? Was it so bad, that he just wanted to forget all along?
I bravely mentioned that with, "if it was so bad, then tell me."
"No!" he snapped, twisting around to glare at me again. I held still, lost in his painful eyes. We were about to stumble into another time freeze, launched away from Slumberland into our world, when an old voice wailed, "Princess!"
Vince and I fell back to Slumberland, and we both turned to the voice to find a wrecked Professor Genius scrambling towards me. His legs were awkwardly long in his custom-made wool pants, almost flailing like a drunken spider with his arms up in the air, a trail of dirt clouds behind him.
Vince stood comfortable next to me and crossed his arms.
"Great. It's Mr. Ansy Pansy," he dreaded. I gave him a twinkled look. The professor's nickname had been an inside joke between the two of us for years, and I still grinned whenever I heard it.
"Princess Camille! You shouldn't be here, remember?!" wailed the professor. He finally stopped, exhausted easily with his thin figure. His tweed coat collected dust, leather loafers a grimy mess, and bifocals fogged up. That tall lavender top hat made his already tall height, even more towering when he glared down at me. His mustache rattled against his breath when he said, "you aren't supposed to be here anymore. What would King Morpheus say?"
He then looked to Vince, and narrowed his bushy grey eyebrows.
"And Vince, you should've known better. Do I need to tell Captain Leroy?" he warned.
Vince just smiled wickedly at the professor, and flew his cape across his chest like a cloak.
"Go ahead, when he gets back from his trip. I mean, you could always just write to him with your doves or clown messengers if it's urgent, of course." We all picked up on his sarcasm, and Professor Genius's face turned pink with frustration while I tried my best to hide my smile.
"I best leave anyway. The rookies will be done with lunch soon, and I still need to set up their drills," Vince explained, his back turned to us and stepping away, his head up high and collected.
I was left with a grumbling Professor Genius, stomping his wide feet in the dirt.
"That boy," he growled behind his perfect white teeth. I could just picture him forcing Vince into a lecture hall, shoving book after book in front of him as torture, or worst, write a twenty-page essay about his behavior. I would be lying if I said I hadn't done all that already.
The thought of such torture flared in the professor's eyes when he turned them to me as he cleared his throat. He fixed his little bowtie, and straightened himself up, brushing the dust off the tails of his coat.
"If you are done here, Princess, then we must go," he alerted. He took out his personal pocket watch, one of his few Middle Land treasures, and glanced at it.
"Oh my, we're late. You're scheduled to work your reading with me in my study this afternoon, as well as writing up plans for your upcoming coronation."
He gripped for my wrist, trying to drag me along, but I pulled back, not wanting to leave in armor.
"At least, let me change first. I won't let father or anyone else find me like this," I demanded.
The professor snapped his pocket watch shut and stiffed it inside his jacket.
"King Morpheus will hear about this anyway," he fussed.
I glared up at him.
"You wouldn't!" I dared.
"And-!" he lifted a finger up in the air, to add one more to the pile.
"You will write a twenty-page essay about Slumberland's history and the importance of its Monarchy System," he punished.
I twisted up my fists to my chest and imagined ripping his hat to shreds.
I sulked in my personal writing table, vaguely listening to Professor Genius discuss the formation of Slumberland, and why we existed to begin with.
"Without us, the people of Middle Land would have no pleasant dreams," I caught him saying, but then I dozed off again. My eyes stared out at the window, its shutters open to let a mid-afternoon light fall into the study room. With my chin resting in my hand, I stared off into the perfect blue sky, birds chirping happily like they did so every day.
Everything is always perfect.
"But because the people of Middle Land suffer, with their anxieties, their wars, pain and sadness, Nightmare Land was too, created, just so the suffering could continue even in sleep," he rattled, voice dry and raspy like he's a thousand years old.
I sighed, tired of being told what I already knew, but Professor Genius insisted I was reminded, as part of punishment, and then basically write what he just said in a duration of two or three hours.
In the middle of his lecture, finally on about the War of Beginnings, when Nightmare Land grew during a time of Plague on Middle Land, I interrupted.
"Is that why Slumberland has to always be perfect?"
This made Professor Genius stutter, hands on his open book of thousands of pages like an encyclopedia.
"What?"
I finally looked at him with my eyes, and asked again, "is that why we are always perfect? To set a good example for lovely dreams?"
The professor cleared his throat. "Why, yes, Princess. Without us, the people of Middle Land would only have nightmares. We must maintain our proper land untouched with even the slightest of nightmares, or else it may disrupt the balance. Hence, why we go to many wars. With wars, there is a need to a leader. A leader means a King..." he cleared his throat. "Or Queen," he corrected himself. "Kings and queens lead our armies, defeating Nightmares and pushing them back. If people of Middle Land suffer, that gives more power to the Nightmare folk, and that's when they strike force. It's always been that way. Nightmare Land always strikes first."
I propped my head up a little, curious. "How come we never strike first?" I asked.
The professor wrinkled his forehead.
"Because we know better. Human suffering will forever exist. It's part of being alive. Nightmares will happen. Without Nightmares, then…" he was at a loss, for once, unsure. He stood up from his chair, troubled.
"Oh my, now that I think about it, I'm not certain. If we destroyed Nightmare Land, would the people of Middle Land only have good dreams, despite their negative experiences? That's an interesting question."
I sighed and went back to staring at the blue sky. I could smell the crystal lake water of Lake of Dreams, and even heard geese flocking towards it.
Professor Genius was writing on his blackboard, about to make the family tree of the Morpheus bloodline. Father's full name was Armud Voss Morpheus. I grit my teeth whenever I heard the dryness of the chalk scrape against the board, my hands begged to be dipped in rose oil.
Watching the geese fly towards the lake, instead of watching the family tree written into form upon the blackboard, I suddenly fell into another memory.
"Will you go back, someday?" My twelve-year-old self asked Vince then, while we threw flat stones across the Lake of Dreams. Vince's stone skipped farther and farther till it finally plopped by a swan, who took no notice to it.
"I hope I never go back," he said under his breath, his fourteen-year-old eyes hard at the lake's horizon.
I remember staring at him with wonder, never seeing someone with so much anger in their eyes before. This foreigner bewildered me, kept me trailing after when I discovered that there was more to life than dance parties, sweets, cute animals, clowns, and anything considered pleasant dreams. It was odd of me to daydream about Vince, for I caught myself before it continued on into other memories and what if scenarios. I sighed again, hand back under my chin, and tried as hard as I could to think about something else.
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