(TW for racism, colorism, and references to slavery in the first and second sections.)
His late wife was nothing like him.
He first laid eyes on Anais during their formal introduction about a month before their wedding. He remembered thinking her title was the only beautiful thing about her, this underweight mouse of a girl with thin red hair and an oversized nose. She didn't say a word and he'd never been one for small talk anyway, so their respective fathers spoke in their stead—Oswald prefers this, Anais can do such-and-such, they should have at least five children, this union should secure those trade routes, correct? He visually traced the wallpaper's looping pattern as the chatter around him melded to a dull cacophony.
To say he wasn't impressed was an understatement, but listless marriages were standard fare for the nobility. They were married for six months before they had their first real conversation, and it wasn't until Anais gave birth to Tiana that he saw her true colors. She took one look at the hairless, writhing thing she'd heaved out of her body and cried. She turned down the wet-nurses, insisting that she breastfeed their daughter herself. Anais spent hours holding and talking to and coddling the girl, celebrating every developmental milestone with the same vigor he felt after a major policy achievement.
Godfrey was born three years later, and she treated him much the same. As their children grew up she personally oversaw their lessons, dressed their wounds, read them to sleep at night. There was never a matter so pressing that she couldn't draw pictures with Tiana or ease one of Godfrey's crying fits. If Oswald was the linchpin of the Alliance, she was the linchpin of the Riegan family. There was no distance between him and his children that she did not act as a bridge for.
And then she died, leaving him alone with two kids under 10.
Oswald had no time for fiction, but he especially hated the borderline-propagandist mythos that permeated Faerghus culture. The gallant knight could slay the beast, save the maiden, protect the king, and make everything right with the slash of his sword, but it ultimately didn't matter. If left running long enough, everyone's story ended the same. No deed or lofty title could circumvent the inevitable.
Anais had been gone for over 35 years—between that and his old age, it was easy for him to forget the sort of stock she came from. She was from a lesser house in the Goneril region, one that made its wealth from selling Almyran prisoners-of-war into 'servitude'. It was a soft word to mask what was actually happening, and even as a young man he hadn't been happy with his in-laws. The Empire had outlawed slavery five hundred years ago, and the Kingdom followed suit soon after they lost Leicester; and yet the Alliance persisted with their shackled, starved, beaten-till-they-bled servants.
House Riegan slaughtered its slave staff after the assassination of the Second Sovereign Duke, and their anti-slavery sentiment eventually became their official roundtable position. It was an attitude that solidified for Oswald whenever Anais asked to bring in a slave for her and the children, one that hardened to stone whenever his refusal triggered a paranoid diatribe against the people they shared a continent with.
He wondered what Anais would think of his plan. Would she support him given the circumstance, or would she rather see House Riegan fall than hand it over to one of 'those people'? Would she even acknowledge Khalid as her grandson? No, she would sooner convince herself it was all some plot cooked up by the Almyran crown to gain a foothold in the Alliance. To her, Almyrans were both drooling idiots and hyper-competent conspirators, to be feared and conquered and enslaved for their own good and before they did the same to the Fódlanese. If Oswald were being honest with himself, Khalid would not have been allowed in their home as a free man if she were still alive.
But she wasn't.
Oswald supposed the Goddess allowed things to unfold as they should.
Khalid arrived ten days later.
Oswald had been eyeing Derdriu's main gate from the balcony. When he saw a hoard of nondescript wagons turn onto the city's main road, he knew it had to be his grandson's party; so he headed to the staircase, climbing down one step after agonizing step. He waved away any servants looking to help as he inched to the meeting hall, harshly reminding them that they were not permitted to see or interact with this guest until granted permission.
He made it there moments before the doors were opened. First entered the flurry of Reigan knights who'd been tasked with searching his grandson's wagons. Then there were the discreetly dressed Almyran guards who'd accompanied him. And then—finally and at long last—came his grandson, dressed in the browns and oranges and golds Almyra was known for—
Oswald was taken aback. Khalid was dark.
Goddess, he was even darker than Judith. He knew where the boy came from but didn't expect him to actually look the part, as if the Crest he supposedly had was proof he really was more Fódlanese than Almyran. The only Riegan thing about him were his bright green eyes and the good humor dancing behind them.
(Oswald's eyes once looked like that. He knew because Harper told him, and Harper Goneril was the only person who never lied to him. That side of him was long lost, and a flurry of regret the passed through him for ever contacting his dark, bound-to-lose-his-spark-now grandson.)
An Almyran guard who looked like he well and truly did not want to be there gestured vaguely at the boy. "Introducing Prince Khalid."
He was surprised that was the only title afforded to Khalid. Oswald met with the former Almyran King early into his tenure as Sovereign Duke, and it took his poor guard a solid three minutes to list off all his titles: King of Almyra, Lord of Such-and-Such Mountains, Ruler of These Irrelevant Seas, First Citizen of the Mars and the Moon, the Goddess's Official Consort, Look-At-Him-He-Has-A-Twenty-Inch-Cock, No-Small-Dick-Energy-Here—
He nodded to Khalid in greeting, short and curt. "So, you're Khalid. It's a joy to finally meet you."
"And you're the Sovereign Duke." The boy stated, careful to avoid naming their connection. He grinned as bright as the sun. "Funny, I was expecting our introduction to have a little more fanfare."
Oswald swayed, unsteady on his feet. "There will be time for that later. Come."
"Come?"
"Food."
"Oh, well that's all you had to say."
It was such a relief to sit.
He ordered that the food be set out early to avoid any servants catching sight of his grandson. He considered having his chefs to make an Almyran dish, but decided against it at the last minute, figuring it'd be better for them stick to what they knew rather than risk offending Khalid with some cheap imitation of his homeland's cuisine.
Besides, his ultimate goal was to convince his grandson to become his heir and relocate in Leicester permanently; a primer on Fódlanese culture would aide in that negotiation, and food was certainly a part of culture. For his part, Khalid seemed to enjoy what he was given. Oswald imagined it had to be a step up from whatever barebones slop the boy had been forced to eat on the road. The Sovereign Duke picked at his food, haven gotten to an age and state of health where he rarely felt hungry anymore.
"The trip went smoothly," Khalid abruptly shared without having been asked. "Only three bandit attacks and one rouge bear."
Oswald gave Khalid a level look. "Are you serious?"
"Of course! When I looked out the window I saw three whole bandits, and they sure were an assault on the eyes. You know your life's rough when you start the day looking like a horse trampled you."
Oswald looked at the wallpaper just behind Khalid, it's pattern unchanged from when he first met Anais. "What about the bear?"
"It was a lost cub."
"That's sad."
"Is it? I would've thought you'd be happy."
Oswald raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"
"Mom told me you're a big-picture kind of person. A lost cub means its mother is too distracted to menace any humans, and if the cub dies that's at least one less bear attack in the future. I thought you'd cheer that sort of thing on."
He's testing me. "Really. And what else did Tiana tell you?"
"Now that is a secret," he winked.
"Hmph. In that case, I hope that you'll allow me the opportunity to correct your assumptions."
"Hey, I never said your way of looking at things was wrong. Bears are dangerous. I would know, when I was 7 my older brother took me on a hunting trip and left me stra—"
Oswald put up his hand, stopping the boy mid-sentence. "I'm sorry. Brother?" He was told Khalid was Tiana's only child.
He nodded, unfazed as he tore into a drumstick. "I have thirteen siblings."
Oswald put his hands over his face. "Goddess help me."
Khalid erupted in a fit of laughter, slamming his fist on the table. "Yup, you really screwed the pooch not snagging my oldest brother! Not that he's at all relevant to you, considering mom didn't give birth to him."
"I don't understand."
"What's there to understand? Mom didn't want any more after me, and a king needs lots of heirs to avoid…" Khalid waved his hand between the two of them. "These sorts of situations."
"Huh. And Tiana doesn't mind?"
"No, she understands. Said the man you wanted her to marry—what's his face, Lord Ophelia?—probably would've done the same thing."
Oswald shook his head. "That simply isn't true. Count Ordelia is faithful to a fault."
"Really? In what way?"
"You ought to know. What did you say in your letter?" He placed a finger to his chin, freighting recollection. "That you read 'volumes of Alliance history'?"
"And each page was dirtier than the last."
"Then get a new copy, and take better care of your books next time."
Khalid raised an eyebrow, and Oswald swore he saw a hint of annoyance on his face. "Wow, dad jokes. And here mom said you were stiff as a board."
"What can I say, I have seven decades worth of unused jokes." He widened his eyes, staring at his grandson intently. "Prepare yourself."
Khalid smirked, leaning forward across the table. "You know, growing up people like you used to make me nervous."
"Why, because I'm so devastatingly handsome?"
"You look like an older version of me, so I'll go ahead and take that as a compliment. No, it's because you never smile even when you're telling a joke. It's off-putting, because I can never tell when I'm supposed to take people like you seriously."
"Trust me son, when it's time to take me seriously, you'll know it."
Khalid rolled his eyes. "How ominous."
He didn't sound very intimidated, and that was okay. Intimidation wasn't why he summoned his grandson. "Well, this banter's been fun, but I think it's about time. Let's see it."
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
Oswald remembered that hormone-addled joke, and in it recognized what Khalid was actually asking. As an answer, he held out his hand, palm-up, and allowed Crest Riegan to manifest.
Khalid's chewing slowed as he studied his Crest. Swallowing, he asked, "what's that thing on top?"
"The mark of a Major Crest."
"Sounds important."
"It is and it isn't. A Major Crest will activate more frequently, and has a higher chance of being passed down." He clenched his fist, dissolving the mark. "My life was spent in meeting halls and backrooms, so only the second reason was relevant to me. But in battle, a Crest's activation rate can make all the difference."
Khalid smirked wryly, lifting his palm up. His Minor Crest bloomed. "Guess mine is pretty weak-sauce in comparison, huh?"
Oswald fought the urge to smile. "On the contrary. It's perfect."