Renier's eyes widened at the heir's question. How long had this been bothering him, they wondered? They stood again and lowered to Edvin's height to look him in the eye. It was a moment before they spoke, their voice less loud or confident.
The bard cleared their throat and spoke quietly, after nodding vaguely to Clarke's response. "Where did you get that idea, kid? You have done nothing that would make you "horrible"." They smiled slightly, a mix of warmth, concern, and confusion. They omitted Edvin's formal title before realizing it, although it felt a bit unnatural to use "Your Highness" or something. They remembered him introducing himself with a name other than what they remembered to be his real one- the name that could be heard everywhere, no matter the kingdom, at least a year after he was born. It was hard to believe now that this was the same child, for whatever reason.
"And, him, Clarkeston. He's stubborn." They continued, whispering almost playfully. Ren let their smile become slightly more prominent, trying to lift the child's spirit, even a little. "Don't worry about either of us. Sleep as best you can, yeah?"
One thing that definitely hadn't changed was Clarkeston's obsessive sword maintenance. It was unlike anything Renier had seen before meeting him and took them years to be able to understand. For a while they were almost jealous of it, their own restlessness unwavering no matter what they did. After having seen the warrior tending to the weapon for a night on end, though, their envy dissipated. It was tempting to declare they'd be preparing as well, but they figured at least sitting awake and providing Edvin comfort would be enough and easier than contradicting Clarkeston.
Edvin blinked. He didn't really want to say that he was eavesdropping on Reiner and Clark, but it is the truth. There is also fact that a lot of the danger is because of him and his royal blood. What makes him stressed is that no matter how much he can try, he can't do anything about it. The possibilities of what would happen if they get caught are what is keeping him awake.
Tears welled up in his eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek then gave the doll a light squeeze. "I am bringing danger wherever I go because I am different," He sniffled. "I cannot do anything about it. It is horrible. Does that make me horrible?"
He looked over his shoulder, briefly glimpsing at Clarke. It's the first time anyone has ever simply called him "child," and he does not mind it at all. Still, the little prince thinks that the three of them should go to sleep, yet he knows that he can only make himself go to sleep. Meanwhile adults choose to stay up then become sleepy. Adults are strange.
"Huh?" He stared at Reiner with wide eyes. Quietly, he let out another sniffle while doing his best to smile back. The best he can sincerely do was a faint one. Edvin was about to nod and say "yes" but he hesitated. Again, his mind went back to thinking about the importance of sleep. "Are you not going to bed as well?" He asked. "I do not want to be alone." A yawn managed to escape from him. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.
"You're not horrible, child," Clarke grumbles, gruff and harsher than anticipated. "This was bound to happen eventually," he continues with a grimace. Fate has a way of messing with Clarke. Something always happens. Hell, he thought he had finally found at least some semblance of peace but even he cant' enjoy it without something barging in and disrupting it all. He shouldn't complain, though. Not when this task is much larger than just him and his pride.
"Go to bed," Clarke repeats. "Both of you aren't a burden but you will be if you're sleep-deprived once we head out." Though unnecessarily blunt, Clarke at least prays his point will get across. With the sun just fully setting outside and the stars finally begin to freckle the sky, there will be about seven hours until dawn. Those seven hours will give Clarke all the time he needs to prepare and supply all the time the bard and the prince will need to recover from whatever strenuous journey they were on before arriving at Clarke's doorstep. With another few clean slides of the polishing stone, Clarke retires his blade and stands, carefully laying the sword horizontally across the worn armrests.
The warrior stands in the doorframe, hesitating before going into the rest of the house. He has three knapsacks. There's plenty of daggers in the small storage shed outside. He should have enough dried meat to last them a few days and enough coin to score them an inn or two along the way. He should be prepared. They should be prepared. Glancing momentarily back at Renier and Edvin, Clarke shakes his head and begins to rummage about the house, sorting everything they'll need for the next three weeks and more across the continent.
Again, Ren nodded to Clarke's statement and glanced up when he left. Probably going to prepare. Again, they felt anxious to try and assist- it was often difficult for them to understand that they needed to sit still. 'This is how I am helping him,' they thought, slightly exasperated, noting Clarke's emphasis on their sleep that night.
"Are you not going to bed as well? I do not want to be alone."
"Me?" Renier asked. "Ah. I will be here, next to you, although I am rather restless," they admitted. Their voice drew softer. "But I will not leave. I'll try and find sleep, and hopefully you will too, hm? You're more sensible than I am when it comes to this. "
"…Again, don't worry yourself with the future or me or Clarkeston. That will only hinder your sleep." Renier added as they stood and sat on the edge of the bed again. They patted the mattress with their hand, hoping they'd convinced Edvin to rest by now. When they were a child all they had to say to their younger siblings were 'Go back to sleep'- and they would, although they thought that to be cold, even if it was small. They wondered if Edvin had ever heard that in his own home. To comfort him, they decided not to treat him like they did the younger members of their family. Ren reminded themself that the heir would likely return to the castle one way or another once this was over, so it only made sense to them to let the memory he would keep of these nights be positive. Maybe for themself as well, but they didn't like the thought of that.
"In the meantime, is there anything that I can do that might help you fall asleep?" Ren asked. They assumed he might say, for example, a common fairytale, story, or something like that. At least they hoped so, for something common and decided, since they knew from experience that they weren't very good when it came to stories or writing in general. They usually used their skills to convince innkeepers to lower their price or otherwise smooth-talk. But storytelling was different, very different. So was songwriting, they found.
(also i drew the characters!! i don't know how accurate it is but yeah haha https://ibb.co/Jcv4ybX )
A long sigh drew out from his small rose colored lips. His head dropped into a sulking position. Edvin didn't want any of this to happen. "Okay…" Sometimes he doesn't even want to be the crown prince. Why must things happen the way they do? Why can he not have a say in how they do? Every single thing that has led him to this point has left his mind plagued with worry. The worry that incessantly runs along with the shadows in his mind.
All of it keeps him awake. Ever so tired yet still awake. He bit the inside of his cheek. Letting go, he yawned. Not worrying would be nice; it is one way that he can help himself along with Reiner and Clarke. He'll try it. Or there may be a good chance he won't have to since he is blinking a lot in order to properly listen to what Reiner was saying to him.
Pieces of hair fell back as he gazed up at Reiner. Something to help him fall asleep? Like a bedtime story? There is a lot to consider here. Edvin is nine which is pretty close to ten. From what he knows, not a lot of ten year olds get bedtime stories. Same goes for nine years. He could be the only nine year old in the kingdom who would still have bedtime stories from his mother. Crown princes and kings do not get bedtime stories. They read to themselves.
Edvin went over to the bed and got in as he pondered over asking for a bedtime story. He pulled up the covers then gently tucked the doll in beside him. The little prince stared at the doll for a couple seconds. He sat up straight then turned his head to Reiner. "I'd like a story please."
Listening to their fading voices, Clarke begins to lay out supplies. He had never necessarily been a messy person in the past, but it feels as if he couldn't have been less organized. Where did he keep his short knives, the small collection of leather sacks, the spare laces for his boots? How long had it been since he tended to his cloak? Is there still a tear along the shoulder seam?
Slowly counting his breaths, Clarke open and closes about a dozen drawers before he finds the medium leather sack filled with smaller ones. He had used them once for powders and spices. Perhaps he could fill them with… marbles? God, what is he doing?
Not even two hours ago, Clarke had been… normal. Well, as normal as Clarke could possibly be. He was alone and eating soup and pondering when he should next tend to the landscaping around his house. Now he's packing and planning and figuring out what the hell to do with an old friend and an heir. I'm going to be enemy of the state again, he muses internally. God, he's going to have to prepare to run from the guard… again. It shouldn't be too hard to fall back into his golden days… right?
He spares another look into his room, an unexpectedly fond feeling settling deep into his chest as he listens to Renier's smooth voice tell the boy a tale. It's likely one Clarke heard around the campfire years ago, with bravado and wide gestures and expressions that managed to crack even the smallest smiles from Clarke's face of stone. Golden days.
"…Alright." Ren moved from the edge of the bed to face the same direction Edvin was. They thought for a moment. Only one tale came to mind, one they'd heard in their own home, then elaborated on when telling to others. With ease, they recalled every detail- it was the only one they really knew.
Recollecting the details in their mind, their head tilted up. With their voice, they slowly began building the familiar story they'd heard and told so many times. This time it was a bit different to appeal to Edvin, but not too far off. During action scenes, they'd make large gestures and allow their voice to change depending on who may be talking. Their tone changed with the energy of the story. Although they weren't good at coming up with stories, Ren enjoyed telling them. They liked performances of any kind. They didn't suppress the smile on their face while letting the tale unfold- there was a tinge of nostalgia to the entire experience. It was a story carried through all phases of their life, and now it was returning, like many other more obvious things.
Renier continued with the story until their own voice became tired and low. They weren't sure if Edvin was still awake, but they hardly were themself. They trailed off midsentence and finally laid back, surprised to find their usual tenseness gone. Half awake, they stared up at the ceiling, listening carefully to the small noises from the other room from Clarkeston's preparation.
Again the weight of what would be the next day crept into both Ren's subconscious and conscious mind. They wondered if these few hours would be enough time to prepare. They swore to themself that, the moment they woke the next morning, that they'd try to help push this forward as well as they possibly could. Arriving there was only the easy part, but all there was to do then was wait until the next day.
The little prince sat in bed with wide eyes. Soon he was focused on the story being told to him and not any of the worries that were in his head. He didn't think about the what-ifs and the danger that will be out there. In fact, he did not realize this. He just eagerly listened to what Reiner was saying. Even as he tried to hide a yawn, he was excited and happy for once.
What came after the first yawn was another. Next thing Edvin knew, he was fighting to stay awake. The weight of his eyelids became heavy. A wave of sleepiness blanketed over him; he was not able take it off. Nevertheless, he tried to stay up by looking around at other things or pinching his hand. The little pinches did not work, and he gave up after seeing a part of his hand turn red. He mustn't guve up. He wanted to hear what happens next. Oh the struggles of a little prince.
His fight proved to be unsuccessful. Edvin fell asleep a little halfway into the story. His arms were wrapped around the doll. He finally was able to get some rest after such a day as today. Now he is helping Clarke and Reiner by getting sleep! In the morning he probably will apologize for falling asleep while being told a story then thank Reiner for what they have done. He cannot pay with much for now other than his gratitude. For now, he sleeps comfortably while dreaming about dancing with the shadows underneath the moonlight.
The room goes quiet and Clarke's hands hesitate from where they're sorting through a drawer. Quieting his own breath, Clarke allows his heightened senses to tune. It's been years since he's had to focus his energy to his ears, to his eyes and nose–years since he's ever had a reason to. They're both breathing. Softly. Asleep. Slipping back into his human ears, Clarke resumes his quiet rummaging.
The stars swirl overhead; the constellations play tag in the sky. While the clouds skate over the moon, Clarke works quickly and quietly. He has three bags, all of them the same large size. Clarke tries to imagine little Edvin trying to lug one around, but there's no other option. Perhaps he'll carry the young prince's bag.
He packs the bags full of knives and small provisions. He wraps dried meat in small cloths and ties them with twine. He fills various flasks with fresh water. He finds bedrolls hidden within his cabinet and laces them to the top of the sacks. The moon is lingering in the west when he's finally done. The sky has grown lighter, yet there's no sign of the sun. The warrior supposes he should feel the fatigue of a night spent, but all that plagues his consciousness is running scenarios and confrontations–so, just in case, Clarke finds the longbow locked in a chest and sets it on the table beside the bags.
The sun is only crawling forward, and Clarke figures it's about time to wake Renier and Edvin. Keeping his feet light and breath held, he steps into the room and clears his throat. He knows the bard is a light sleeper and he prays that when they'll wake, they'll rouse Edvin along with them. Clarke hardly believes that he's a welcome face to wake up to–a scowl, stubble, and eyes dark enough to be blood.
In their usual fashion, the bard's rest was choppy and light, with intervals during the night where they'd only be able to lie wide-eyed and still. It was normal, yet it seemed more prominent then than on another night. This was hardly a shock. When sleep would overtake them again, they were sometimes met with vague dreams that would disappear when they'd wake up. Only twice did these dreams wake them forcefully, but hours later they will have forgotten- at least that's what usually happened.
Ren could sense the slight change in the light behind their eyelids, when they were blessed with unconsciousness. They soaked the last few minutes in spite of themself, knowing they'd have to wake soon. People who took any kind of rest for granted were strange to them.
Renier's eyes flitted open and darted around, landing on Clarke as they sat up. Again, they had almost forgotten their surroundings. Dim light streamed into the room. Ren was tempted to ask if Clarke had slept at all, but they already knew the answer. Instead, they were silent and wondering if they should greet him. For a moment they opened their mouth to say something but hesitated, and in the end, they didn't say anything.
They understood Clarkeston's hesitance to wake Edvin- Ren gently shook his arm, not wanting to startle him. He seemed to have slept well last night, they thought. It wouldn't surprise them if the storytelling became nightly. They found they wouldn't mind if it did. Nostalgia was an enticing thing.
Edvin is a heavy sleeper. He has slept through the worst thunderstorms that the kingdom has experienced. One time he fell asleep during a celebration for his birthday and it was noisy from all the music and chattering, but none of it was a match for him. Even the whispers of shadows do not bother him anymore; sometimes they lull him to sleep. Other times he is just exhausted and ignores them. So when he fell asleep during Reiner's story, he was out. Nothing could harm his slumber.
Eventually the little prince does have to wake up. The adventure to save Keosalon starts today. He groaned when feeling someone shake his arm. It took him a minute to finally give in and open his eyes. At first, he was slightly confused when waking up to see that this was not his chambers. He knows where he is, it's just that sometimes sleep can confuse things for a moment or so. All it takes is for him to collect his thoughts then he remembers everything once again.
He rubbed his eyes then stretched out his arms. Untying the ribbon around his wrist, he used it to tie his hair up into a bun. "Good morning," He yawned. Rubbing his eyes ince again, he looked at Clarke then Reiner. "Are we to leave really soon?" Perhaps he should change into the plain looking clothes that he packed in his cross bag; it is still by the couch where he left it last night.
The warrior watches the small prince wake with a feeling he can't quite place. The sight is suffocating domestic, with Renier slowly rousing the boy. He has to turn away with a scoff and shake of his head. He prays the sight will lose all novelty soon, for he could possibly find himself liking their odd situation more than intended. His sword perfectly shines in the first rays of the morning light. Clarke can already smell the blood his blade will taste.
He retrieves the packs from where he left them on the table, doing one last check to ensure that they're adequately packed. He has fresh cloaks folded next to them, one of them sloppily rehemmed to be a few feet shorter. After all, Clarke is a swordsman, not a tailor.
With a sigh, the man looks out the window to his small little farm he had built for himself in the past four years. Various crops, a working irrigation system, handmade planters. Clarke wonders if the splinters he'll inevitably get on the voyage will remind him of home. To be frank, Clarke knows that nearly everything will somewhat remind him of the house he built from the ground up. He had never been a materialistic person, but he can't help but dread the thought of leaving it behind.
Perhaps he was getting too comfortable in his retirement.
"Are you accompanying me to town?" He asks, buckling a cloak around his neck. "I have to acquire a few horses. I don't care if you come with, but you should probably eat some breakfast." He sets his boot on the table with a thunk, the man reaching down to tighten the laces. His hands are already gloved; there are knives strapped to his belt. "Plus, I don't know if there are guards looking for you. "
"I'll accompany you," Ren states, jumping on the opportunity. They stand up then turn to Clarke. "And I can prepare him food." They tell him, referring to Edvin. The promise they'd made to themself was not lost overnight.
Renier figured what they already had would be enough to cover up their identity. The clothes in Edvin's bag should probably be enough, but they'd work something out if not. The bard was feeling strangely optimistic compared to the last few days. It was hard to pinpoint why. It could have been their usual confidence- after all, that's what it usually was. They walked into the kitchen-area and got a serving for Edvin, some for themself. Ren placed the bowl on the table for the child.
While they had their breakfast, Renier recounted the clothing they'd brought with them; Thankfully, they already had a cloak as well. From what they could remember, there was some kind of cloth in their bag that could act as a sort of loose scarf to cover the bottom half of their face. Hopefully, that'd be enough, in addition to what they were already dressed in. There wasn't much they could do for the bag itself, unfortunately. The drum would not fot anywhere other than on the outside and, to them, the thought of leaving without it stood next to walking onto an open battlefield without armor. So long as their cloak stayed on and they didn't get too cocky it probably wouldn't become an issue.
Renier finished their food as they finished pondering this. Like the night prior, they cleaned their dish and returned it to its original place.
It probably would be best for him to stay here. On the other hand, he does not like the idea of being alone. When Edvin means alone, he means not in the presence of physical beings of flesh and blood. Shadows don't really count. He doesn't understand why they always show up when he's alone and sometimes do when he's around others. They are such strange beings for sure.
After slipping out of bed, he turned to pull the sheets up and take the doll. He walked out of the bedroom to pick up the bag. It dragged behind him as he went to go get dressed. A few minutes went by while he did his best to get dressed as quickly as possible. Getting ready by himself is not something that he is used to doing. Back in the palace, a servant would be there to help him right as he wakes up. Surely being sleepy has the process of putting on a brown linen long sleeve shirt, pants, and thin coat a bit difficult.
Edvin went out with the fancy clothes tucked underneath his arm. The doll was in the bag which he wore across himself. At the smell of food, he hummed with a little grin. He was went over to the table and sat down. Just like the night before, the little prince took his time eating. Once he was done, he made sure that everything was cleaned up.
Walking up to Clarke, he held the palace court clothes up. Yes they are wrinkly, but he does not know how fold them properly. Still, he wants to get rid of them. What better way to do that then to sell them? "When you go, can you sell these please," He asked then added on, "They are silk and I do not want them anymore. They should be worth a decent amount. You can use the money on whatever, I do not want any. Please."
(hi guys sorry this is so late i had a crazy ass week)
Clarke stares at the child for a moment before taking the offered clothes. "Alright," he grumbles, folding the clothes a little smaller and then shoving them into one of his pockets. It's odd that the child was so quick to give something from his home up, but Clarke knows that he's no sort of child psychologist so he lets it go. "Let's head to town then. I don't know if there are hunters waiting for you two in the town, so I recommend… concealing yourselves."
Not sure if he should say anything else, Clarke nods and turns for the door, already flipping his own hood over his braided ash hair. Per usual, he has knives strapped to his belt, but they've been sharpened to a point sometime during the night. The walk into the town is short. In regards to the stereotypical traveler's village, Smoann runs perfectly in line. There's a tavern with fairly attractive waitresses, plenty of semi-clean inns, and is only hit moderately by whatever seasonal sickness is in fashion. Clarke has slain quite a few monsters for the people. He hoped it would earn him a little pay and respect, but all it got him was a fan club. Grumbling to himself, Clarke tugs the hood of his cloak a little further over his eyes and listens closely to ensure the bard and child are still following him.
The horseman lives just outside of the town, thank god. Clarke prays that nobody sees his face, for both their sake, his companion's sake, and his own sake. It's only a few more minutes to the large stables, the horseman a short, middle-aged man that looks as if he should harbor a beer-belly, but instead is lean and fairly athletic. He has two sons in their teenage years, both of them watching from the rafter windows.
"I need three horses." Clarke, ever the one to get straight to the point, huffs and slams a bag of coins onto a nearby barrel. The horseman pauses his morning grooming and stares at the warrior. "I need them now."
Renier followed Clarke carefully, while also glancing around the town. They swore they'd performed there at some point, maybe a few months before meeting Clarkeston, coincidentally. At one point while walking they grabbed Edvin's hand, for the fear that they might lose track of him when cutting through larger groups of people. It made them nervous, how small he was.
The whole time, Renier was paranoid that the cloth might come loose or that they'd somehow look too recognizable. They tried to tie it tightly around their mouth and nose for a few minutes of this trek through the town but it was too stifling for them. They trusted their hood to cover enough as well.
For a moment Ren stopped to glance at a poster nailed to the side of a building. They squinted at it from afar, then looked down at Edvin. Looking at this made them more anxious so they continued on as if they hadn't seen it.
Clarkeston demanded the three horses. A few years ago they would have chided him and told him to be less forceful. Or they would have done it themself from the beginning. But it felt stupid to use their voice when they were likely wanted and didn't have to. Instead they tried to make direct eye contact with the horseman, trying not to come off as pleading or desperate, but just to be polite. This might have looked strange with most of their face concealed, but Renier never cared too much if they came off as eccentric.
Edvin strolled along next to Reiner. Before they had left, he removed the ribbon to let his hair down. It was just another precaution to keep himself hidden even though he has a cloak on. He wished he had time to twirl around in this cloak. The feeling of the fabric is lovely.
For a good part of the time they walked, he was worried about what could happen. There were a lot of people. Sometimes it got crowded. Would he get lost? Would he be found by a mercenary or a wandering soldier? Some of his worries were calmed down by Reiner holding his hand. From then on, he stared straight ahead as the three of them walked to the stables.
The little prince was distracted as Clarke was demanding for horses. He kept staring at a flower in the distance. It stood alone with its white petals. If he could, he would pick it, but he didn't want to disturb it. Although he has to keep quiet, he wanted to point it out to Reiner and Clarke.
Something tugged on the end of his cloak. He began to hear whispers. At first, he did not have any problems with them. They were incoherent. It came to a point where he started to frown. His eyebrows lowered as he looked over his shoulder at the shadows on the ground. He tried to shush them, but they chuckled back at him.
"Three horses?" The man repeats. He's chewing on a stalk of straw, switching it from one side of his mouth to the other as he gnaws on it. His tired eyes never leave Clarke's face. They're too relaxed, not nearly as on edge as they should be. When he speaks next, his tone is a lazy drawl and Clarke can't stand it. "I dunno if we can–"
"I asked for three horses." His voice dropping, his eyes flashing, and his fist gripping the bag of coins, Clarke glares at the stableman. "What gold's inside the bag should be plenty. Buy yourself some new horses and keep the more than generous amount leftover." A wave of silence settles over the ranch. From within the window, the stableman's children duck out of sight. Clarke can hear their nervous chittering.
Sighing, the stableman opens his mouth and allows the gnarled straw to fall to the grass. "Fine by me sir, right this way." Gesturing over his shoulder, the stableman heads down a worn path to some distant stables. It's been far too long since Clarke has ridden a horse, but it's too well engrained in his mind. Forgetting how to ride would be like forgetting how to breathe. He can't quite say the same for his companions.
When the stableman stops, Clarke is quick to step to his side. Within the stables, there are eight well-bred stallions and mares. "Take yer pick," the man grumbles before waddling out of the building.
Renier looks down at Edvin. Was he hushing someone? They thought he was. Maybe they were just hearing things that weren't there. They were a little on edge after seeing the flyer.
"I asked for three horses."
Renier, slightly behind Clarke, rolls their eyes. Sure, they're on his side, but they wanted so badly to correct him on his persuasion. He's intimidating and blunt, and that was enough, but it's also unbecoming. They also doubt he cares about that, which they kind of liked when they first met him- they still do, but it annoyed them more in the last few years before they separated. Next time, Renier tells themself, they will step ahead and bargain for him. His method is bound to fail someday, they believe. Even if it is admirable.
But today, thankfully, the stablesman agrees. "Come," Renier whispers to Edvin as they start to follow Clarkeston. Instead of grabbing his hand, this time the bard holds their's out to the heir.
Renier catches up with Clarkeston and stands next to him, looking around at the horses. One that was the color of charcoal catches their eye, only because it's pretty. It'd been a while since Renier had ridden a horse, and animals were never that fond of them, unlike what is said about other bards. They decide to take whichever lets them mount it, if they are able to even do that. They are unsure about how well they'd be able to after so long, since they more often travel on foot. Just to show that they could, they would try. Can't be that hard.
The shadows kept on with their teasing. Meanwhile the little prince was not enjoying it unlike the previously before. It is important that everyone, including the shadows remain calm and quiet, so then Clarke can get the horses without any problems. And yet, the shadows decided that now must be a good time to continue tugging on Edvin's cloak or whispering nonsense.
"Stop it, please," He hushed. The shadows froze for a moment then laughed. Edvin frowned while staring at the shadows on the ground. In the midst of frustration, he pointed at them while whispering, "Stop." As his index finger had pointed, they became silent. Without another thought, the prince returned to looking ahead and watching Clarke trying to get horses. He frowned again. The warrior can say "please", it might make things easier for them all. Never underestimate the power of a simple word like please.
Or not. Gold works too, he supposes. Thankfully the stableman is convinced. He gazed up at Reiner then took the bard's hand. Edvin walked alongside them. In the corner of his eye, he could see that the shadows were following him. They were silent, but they moved swiftly.
He is excited to see horses. All this time he has only see them from the window in his bed chambers. One time he saw His Majesty on one. Edvin never rode a horse. His mother and the king are worried about him falling off of one. In a way, they instilled the fear in him. Still, Edvin stood by Reiner while taking a look at all the horses with wide eyes.
(i am so so sorry it's been two weeks)
Clarke slowly pads down the hay-covered aisle, his eyes sweeping over each of the steeds locked behind their stables. A few of them are smaller, built for more leisurely riding. Others are quite literally war horses bred to be stalky and led into combat. Clarke has to dismiss the larger ones. They may be able to take a few hits, but they won't be fast enough for this crucial mission. He stops in the second to last stall, staring down a charcoal mare with a silky black mane.
He supposes she reminds him of the horse he had years ago. He called her Willow, after the tree she loved to nibble on whenever she had the chance. There had been a few times when she'd lead them off the beaten path in favor of the weeping tree. Clarke doesn't smile at the memories, and instead swallows them back.
"Pick your horses," Clarke orders back to the child and the bard. "I've already found mine." He unlinks the stable door and steps back. Obediently, the new horse steps out of her quarters. It's probably not included in their payment, but that doesn't stop Clarke from pulling a saddle from the shelves on the walls. He must have picked her saddle correctly, for it slides on without resistance.
(its okay!!)
Ren watches Clarkeston saddle his mare. They take note to watch him closely whenever he mounts it, in hopes that if they'd forgotten anything, seeing someone else might remind them. They walk between the stables, examining the horses. The bard stops at a chestnut-colored stallion and starts to unhitch the door before it steps back, adjusting its footing. Taking this as a sign, Renier locks it again, unwilling to force any to let them ride it. They'd been bucked off twice before. The second time it was weeks before they chose to continue riding, and they are careful not to let it happen again. Far too embarrassing (and inconvenient, they suppose) to be limping around like they were.
Renier turns and looks around after their first attempt. Their attention is focused on a mare, completely white aside from a gray stripe from her forehead down to the end of her nose. Slowly, they walk toward her. She doesn't hesitate or appear wary when they begin to unhitch the stall and open it. Trying to see if she would be fine with them coming closer to her, Ren tentatively raises their hand, then lowers it when she doesn't recoil. Bewildered, they stare a moment longer, then carefully examine the saddles before guessing which might fit.
"I've found mine," Renier says unnecessarily. "Do any draw your attention?" They ask Edvin. They realize they feel unfit to teach him how to handle a horse, given their skill. That irks them a little. It feels unlikely that he had been taught by anyone else, though.
Standing idly by, the little prince kept his chin lowered to the ground. At first he stared at the straw until a shadow appeared in front of him. Deciding to not give it any attention, Edvin watched as Clarke and Renier chose their horses. He frowned.
Edvin picked at the edge of his sleeve. He took a glimpse around at all the horses before shaking his head. "No." He does not know much about horses, let alone how to properly ride one. It's an embarrassment since boys in the royal family and palace guards begin learning around the time they are seven. He is two years behind.
Anything he knows about riding horses is from whatever the shadows have told him. That or the few times where he was able to watch soldiers or important officials mount their horses before speeding off. Neither of which had really been useful in learning how to ride a horse.
"Do I have to have my own horse?" His voice was weak and weary. He kept his eyes from making eye contact with Reiner, Clarke, the shadows and horses. While it may be exhausting, Edvin would rather walk.
Clarke's already mounted on his horse when the boy speaks. "Would you like your own horse?" He answers, voice gruff and edging with the exhaustion of the sleepless night. The mare beneath him whinnies; Clarke runs a soft hand down the side of her charcoal neck to calm her. As he looks over the different steeds standing in their stalls, Clarke notes that there's really none that are quite the size of the boy. Small. Delicate. Probably prone to break a knee or two.
With a sigh, Clarke shakes his head. "No, I suppose you can ride with me or Renier if you want." There's no sense in scaring the child into riding a horse. When Clarke was young, he knew other boys who were terrified of horses. Clarke could never truly understand. He had always wanted to leap and ride any sort of quadruped that came into sight. There was even one instance with an eagle, but Clarke chooses to deeply repress that memory.
He snaps and points to the remaining group of saddles hanging from the stable wall. As soon as Renier is mounted and ready, they'll be saying good riddance to the cottage and then riding off into the red sunrise. Three weeks, if they make haste. The importance of this mission is high. He'll ask the child what powers the talisman locket possesses later down the trail.
Renier considered this for a moment. It felt dicey to possibly put the child at risk, but they also weren't that bad at riding.. the horse seemed tolerant to them. More than usual, thankfully. They trusted themself to carry Edvin with them more than they trusted themself to try and quickly teach him to ride himself. Making it Clarke's concern was already off the table. This was their responsibility, they thought to themself. Plus, Ren felt the three would have to leave soon.
"You can be with me." Renier said. They led the mare to Edvin and lifted him up, placing him carefully on the back part of the saddle. "Is that good?"
Renier then took a moment to go about mounting the horse themself. They did, with only a minor amount of struggle, and a little less graceful than they intended. But still, the bard was thankful that they hadn't forgotten how to entirely. It might just take some warming up. And with the heir on the same mare, they'd be sure to be extra careful.
"Wrap your arms around my back," they instructed, turning slightly to face Edvin. "You- you are unlikely to fall, but just to be sure." Adding this felt important, given his inexperience. Frightening him was among the last of Ren's intentions.
