Brat

There was a reason that this job was hereditary. No sane human being would ever agree to it. Or—if for some unfathomable reason—they did happen to agree, they’d quit within a week.

“Gion, I’m bored…”

For this reason.

I glanced up from his document—a detailed plan explaining how heightening taxes on imported luxury items could help improve the nation’s economy by encouraging the citizens to buy domestic products. It sounded plausible. Or at least it had, until my train of thought had been rudely derailed.

“Darion, you shouldn’t have a problem finding something to do.” You’re almost thirty-years-old, for Christ’s sake. I shouldn’t have to babysit you.

I really should have expected the look he gave me. Darion glanced up at from where he was leaning rather obnoxiously on my desk, his chin resting on his arms as he gazed up at me from beneath a set of long, dark eyelashes. Then he pouted, the expression that of a child that had just been brushed off and told to go play with his toys. After a moment, as he realized that I wasn’t going to reply, he continued, his voice increasing in volume and whininess. “I’m bored, Gion. Let’s go do something.”

I passed him an irritated glare that should plainly have stated ‘Can’t you tell that I’m busy? Doing your work, I might add’.

Apparently Darion’s telepathic powers were at an even lower state than usual. That or, more likely, he just didn’t feel like being considerate today. Instead of leaving me alone, like a thoughtful person would have, he suddenly reached out and plucked the document from my hands, gave it a cursory glance, and then dropped it onto the floor.

“I’ll ask Arianna to make us a picnic!” he exclaimed, leaping from his seat, the melancholy gaze he’d been throwing me throughout the past hour instantly disappearing from his now overly-excited dark eyes. I just stared in mourning at the lost document, knowing that it would be futile to attempt to pick it up. Darion would just take it again and possibly perform an even more atrocious act, such as throwing it into the fire, which would just lead to even more work as I’d have to somehow procure another copy.

“Darion, please, you know I’m busy,” I attempted in a last ditch effort to regain some control of the situation.

Darion flashed me a grin, obviously entirely ignoring me. “You stay here. I’ll be back in a minute!”

He then turned and pranced, (Yes, pranced; I sometimes really worried about him) toward the door, before seeming to think of something. He whirled around, fast enough that I was surprised he didn’t get whiplash, and pointed an accusing finger in my direction with an unaccustomed serious expression. “And don’t you even think of starting on any of those papers. That’s an order.” He paused for another moment, eyeing me as if making sure that I was going to obey him. When I didn’t make a movement toward the stack, he dropped the hand and smiled again. “Okay, just wait here.” Then he hurried outside.

I remained seated there for a long moment, staring at the papers that covered every inch of my desk. Papers which I was pretty sure I could hear calling for me, ‘Gion. Gion. Read us, sign us.’

Darion was seriously driving me insane. In a few more years I’d be sitting in a quiet little white room seeing unicorns and green fairies.

…Maybe that wasn’t an entirely unappealing prospect. I’d finally be able to get away from my hyperactive charge…

I allowed myself to vaguely consider this for a moment, then finally just dropped my head on the desk and glared at the documents. Stupid papers. Stupid papers with their stupid propositions and stupid Darion and stupid job and stupid ancestors for being stupid enough to accept this ‘incredibly prestigious position’.

Ever since I was about eight-years-old, I’d been trained to undertake this work. At eight, my father had taken me to dinners where I sat among the wealthiest aristocrats, trying desperately to remember which of the seemingly hundreds of forks set in front of me was supposed to be used with the salad. At nine, I’d sat up in the balconies while listening to operas sung in languages entirely unfamiliar to me. At ten, I’d listened to the finest tutors as they rambled on about etiquette, history, politics, while I was mentally wishing for someone to burst in with a pistol and put me out of my misery.

I supposed though, if I were entirely honest with myself, I knew that it had all been worth it. Eventually. When my father had burst into my room with a wide smile and the sudden exclamation of “the queen is expecting!”

It was what I had been trained for; it was what my entire existence boiled down to. I’d been younger than most; some people had worried over it, conversing about my age when they thought I wasn’t around to overhear. “Get someone older…he’s just a kid himself…we can’t leave him in a child’s hands…”

My father had ignored them all, instead increasing my lessons. Not that I minded at this point. Not when there was a goal in sight. Every day, I’d be allowed to meet with the queen, often in the gardens, where she’d ask me about my lessons and I’d tell her about all the things I’d learned.

As the date of the baby’s birth grew closer, my lessons gradually were replaced with other tasks. I was allowed to help decorate the nursery and pick out various toys. I would sometimes assist my mother as she worked with the seamstresses in creating trunks of infant’s clothing.

And then, the day came. After what seemed like ages of pacing in nervousness and asking my father again and again “Will the baby be okay. Do you think the queen is okay? What if something happens to one of them?” a nurse came out with a smile on her face and an exclamation of “The heir to the throne has just been born.”

If I had known exactly what sort of pain-in-the-neck said prince would turn into, I probably wouldn’t have been quite as ecstatic about the news as I was. However, it was what I had been trained to do. It was what I had been destined to do since birth and…although I hated to admit it, even to myself…I doubted now that I would ever really want to give up my position as the heir prince’s royal advisor.

“Gion!”

I glanced up from my desk, startled out of my memories by the sudden exclamation. Darion was standing in the doorframe, his eyes still bright with undisguised joy, as he clutched a blanket to his chest with one hand and swung a basket by his side with the other.

“Good, you listened to me,” he laughed. “Come on! You should see what Arianna made us, plus she made extra for the guards, so they can join us.”

For a long moment, all I could do was gaze at him, still lost in my memories. Memories of years of those bright eyes and that infectious smile. Years of dealing with Darion’s sudden whims and plans. Then a grin twitched over my lips as I stood and stretched my arms behind my back. “All right, Darion, you win.” He always won.

A/N: So thanks for reading this. These two are actually characters from a novel that I've been working on for a while. If anyone wants, I'd be open to continuing this with other one-shots involving the pair.

And for anyone who is reading this after reading my other story, thank you very much for reading that one too, even though these are pretty much opposites in tone.