A/N: Continuing on the thread of some present snippets, I have added one for Kellan. Rye and Milo's parts are obviously in the past, though. I hope I have written Milo okay!
~~ Rye ~~
When Milo's second year of study came to an end, Rye waited with excitement to see him. His older brother always brought back exciting stories of his adventures with his friends, and it was nice just having someone else to talk to. Someone who had been outside of the Yukon Institute. It was the longest Academy holiday, falling around the mundane Christmas time. While it was a more mundane celebration, their family still liked to gather together, since they didn't get to see Milo for most of the year, only at a few other short breaks.
Often Milo would bring something back for him, and he was excited to see what it might be. Likely a weapon, or some other souvenir from Alicante. He wondered what it might be that year.
Hurrying down the stairs on the day when Milo would usually arrive, just to wait in the main room near the doors, he paused at the sight of his parents standing with a letter. "Is Milo back yet?" he asked in anticipation, hoping he hadn't slept in too late.
"I'm sorry honey," his mother replied, looking disappointed for him. "He's not coming back this holiday."
"What? Why-… Why not?" he asked quickly, not quite believing it. His brother always came back for the holidays to see him.
His father held up a letter with some rushed handwriting on it. "He's spending the holiday with some Academy friends. But he sends us his love."
Rye swallowed, stepping forward to take the letter. It was definitely his brother's handwriting, and he read the letter in dismay.
"He sent you this too," his father added, holding out a small throwing knife. He couldn't help but think that his father looked just like an older version of Milo. "He said it's easy for you to conceal."
After a long pause, Rye reached out to take the knife, glancing at it quietly.
"It's okay, we can still have a good time," his mother tried to assure him. "You'll see him again soon."
"Not soon enough," Rye said, his voice rising in response – something which was unusual for him. "When I'm old enough, I'll go to the Academy too, and I'll see him all the time."
His parents merely stared at him with that sad look that they sometimes had. Like he didn't quite understand how serious it was. "Honey. You know you can't-…" His mother started gently, but he ran off, before she could finish. He already knew what she was going to say. Heading up the steps, he went to his room, swinging the door shut behind him.
Sniffling, he sat down on the floor, staring at the knife his brother had sent him, before curling his fingers around it. He hadn't expected his brother to forsake him like that. Sighing, he did not hold the knife too hard, knowing any injuries would be slow to heal, and he'd curse himself later. Instead, he sat quietly, hoping his brother was okay, and wondering what he might get up to.
~~ Kellan ~~
Due to the frosty weather outside, Court that day was held in one of the underground chambers. It was decorated grandly with moving branches covered in leaves and beautiful flowers which were hanging from the ceiling, if one only looked up. Kellan was mesmerised with it, although he tried to concentrate on what the other Seelie Court members were saying. A number of other high Court members had attended, and each one was dressed nicely. Kellan had chosen to wear the fur-lined cloak that Ethos had given him, as it held a sentimental value to him. He'd already been given a drink, and he took a small sip. He couldn't help but wish he had Ethos there to advise him on which drink would be safest. Realising someone was talking to him, Kellan inclined his head in a welcome.
"Your tailor has outdone themselves," a faerie girl remarked with a polite smile, her yellow wings glittering in the light. "I love your cloak."
Kellan smiled in return, feeling a little bad at the pretence. "Yes, they always do an amazing job. I have little need to worry about what to wear." He wished he could remember her name, but there were many unusual ones and they all rolled around in his head. Names such as Salvador, Adelina, Siofra and Aslan. Half the time he was worried about pronouncing them wrongly.
Others came over to join in the conversation, as he found many were eager to talk with him. "You look well, Prince," Aslan remarked, giving a slight, embellished bow. "Have you been able to engage in many activities?"
"I have been to a number of the festivities – although I know many have been put on hold due to the weather," he answered, trying to keep his words light and friendly. He knew he did not sound quite as elegant as the rest of them. "I am eager to learn more about the Seelie."
"It must be hard coming from places so… different," another faerie remarked, who Kellan thought was called Salvador. "You will find our ways much more refined."
Kellan found the jibe stung, but he tried not to show it. "The Seelie is certainly very elegant," he said smoothly, in reply. "No one can deny that."
"Will you tell us more about the Hunt? What it was like there?" the first girl asked, enthusiastically.
Kellan hesitated, knowing that many viewed the Hunt as savages. "I can't say too much," he remarked, cautiously. "But the Hunt is skilled at adapting and living off the land. It is different working with fae from different factions and trying to bring them together."
A server came around to take their glasses, and Kellan passed his over, since he'd already finished it.
While the girl looked keen to question him further, Aslan interceded. "I'm sure the Prince is tired of talking about his former residence." It was still strange to be called a 'Prince,' but he did not want to be rude and correct them.
Looking over at him, Kellan gave a slight, grateful smile. They were interrupted again when a girl with sharp teeth and what looked like pixie blood, brought another tray over with fresh drinks. Each one was a different colour, and Kellan gestured for the others to pick first, although they appeared hesitant to, at first. As Salvador reached for his glass, the pixie girl moved slightly, causing the glass to slip from his hand, falling to the floor and shattering. There was a collective inhale as the other faeries moved out of the way. "Silly pixie," Salvador hissed, his calmer demeanour fading. "This is your fault."
The girl nodded, silently accepting it and muttering a quick 'sorry,' before bending down to start collecting the shards of glass. Frowning when she cut herself, Kellan moved to bend down beside her, taking her hand. "You shouldn't pick them up without gloves. Let me do it," he said, surprised when she quickly pulled her hand back, unable to meet his gaze. Reaching for some shards of glass, Kellan quickly became aware of the silence that had descended on the room. Glancing up, he realised that they were all staring at him. As if he had done the wrong thing.
"Kellan, you don't need to do that," Aslan said, voicing all of their thoughts. "Just leave it."
He swallowed, feeling suddenly a little embarrassed, even if it was the right thing to do. Setting the shards of glass on the tray, he rose to his feet. While he had often felt out of place, this was certainly one of the worst times. He wished once again that Ethos was there to advise him, but that was one thing he couldn't help with.
The girl quickly grabbed the last few pieces near her, picking up the tray, before hurrying off.
"Someone else will bring more drinks," the faerie girl assured them, as if to break the silence. "Don't worry about that."
The chatter finally started up again, but Kellan could feel their gazes on him. He knew what they were thinking. He doesn't act like a Prince.
All he could think was that maybe he shouldn't be one.
~~ Milo ~~
On one of his visits back home in his third year of the Academy, Milo made sure to spend some time with Rye. Taking him out for a trip into the woods near the Institute, they explored a little after Milo gave him a training session. He was always eager to learn, although Milo tried not to go too hard on him, knowing that their parents wouldn't forgive him if something happened.
As they made their way back through the forest to their house, Rye was quick to quiz him on matters. "What did you learn last term?" he asked, keenly.
"Ah-… What did I learn?" he contemplated aloud, finding that all the topics seemed to blend into one, when he looked back on things. "That's right, mostly stuff on Downworlder politics and origins. You probably know it all from your books already. For training we were focusing on long ranged attacks which you know I don't have the patience for."
Rye smiled, giving a nod in return. "I would like that. And how are your friends? Did they do anything stupid this time?"
"One of my friends failed one of their classes," he said, making a face. "Which was stupid. Otherwise, they mostly behaved. Guess we're getting to the more serious side of things, now."
When Rye cried out in pain, he looked back, coming to a stop. "What happened?" he asked, starting over quickly.
He was quick to see that Rye had got his foot stuck in a hole in the ground. He managed to pull it out, but he looked pained whenever he tried to put weight on it.
"You probably sprained your ankle or something," he sighed. "I swear you have the worst luck with these things."
"Sorry," Rye said quietly, accepting his brother's help when he put his arm around him.
"It's okay. We've still got a little way to walk back yet – just lean on me if you need to."
Rye nodded, and they continued on, albeit at a slower pace this time.
They chatted for a bit longer, before Rye started to slow more, leaning on him more heavily. "C'mon, we're nearly back," he urged, able to see the Institute just up ahead, since they'd reached the tree line.
"I need a break," Rye inhaled. "It's starting to swell."
Looking down at his ankle, Milo frowned. "It's going to take weeks for that to heal now. We need to make it heal quicker or you'll fall behind on your training. You won't be better until I'm gone." Coming to a stop, he drew out his stele.
Rye's eyes widened. "No, Milo," he stammered. "Not that. You can't-…"
"Seriously, Rye, it'll be fine," he replied, holding him still. Admittedly he hadn't been there the first time the Silent Brothers had tried to draw a Rune on him. But his brother was a Shadowhunter, so he should be able to take Runes. He'd seen other Shadowhunters at the Academy who had some faerie blood drawing Runes on themselves. Sure, it looked like it hurt more, but they could put up with it. He half wondered whether his parents coddled him too much.
"Milo," Rye said, and he could tell his brother was trying to hold back tears. "Please don't."
Trying to ignore him, he muttered a quick, "Just trust me." Leaning down, he set his stele to Rye's lower leg, a little above the ankle, knowing that it would work best placed nearby. When he pushed it into his skin, starting to draw, he heard Rye give a sharp inhale. As he started to connect some lines, Rye started to scream out in pain, the sound hurting his ears. "Shh," he said quickly, worried that their parents would hear. "It's not that bad. I'm nearly done."
"Stop," Rye cried out, and Milo frowned when he looked more closely at the Rune he'd nearly finished. Where he'd started to draw, the skin had gone horribly red, as if it had been burned by a branding iron. Immediately growing worried, he pulled the stele away, staring at it.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, finding it hard to breathe. He hadn't expected such a thing to happen, and he was taken by surprise. "Are-… Are you okay?"
Rye didn't get a chance to answer, as their parents ran over, having heard the noise from the Institute.
"What's going on here?" his father said, worry clear in his voice.
"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry," Milo repeated, helplessly. Now his brother was hurt, and it was his fault.
Pushing him out of the way, his mother rubbed Rye's back, while his father inspected his leg. "It's okay, honey. It's okay," she said in a soothing tone.
Milo could barely bring himself to look at his brother, after he glimpsed the tears smeared on his face, and he was still breathing hard.
"You did this," his father said, looking back at him with an accusation in his gaze. "Don't ever touch him again."
"… It's okay, Milo," Rye said, quietly. "I know you didn't mean it." It was just like his brother to forgive him so easily, always the saint.
Milo could only watch on helplessly as they helped his brother away, back to the Institute.