darklight: ascension

darklight: ascension

by Lockehart

            Arlon scowled as he slid into the seat. He tried valiantly to straighten his hair, tangled as a result of his early morning ride. Finally giving up on it as a lost cause, he surveyed the rest of the class, half of whom stared back at him with frank interest. Languages class, currently focusing on Thalassonian, and Arlon was utterly bored, but he had to do this. Most of the class looked like the skinny, nerdy type with a scattering of others, probably sons of trade barons who needed to know this stuff, no matter how boring they considered it. The sole exception to the two categories appeared to be a slender dark-haired boy perched behind a desk in the corner, dressed in the sober grayish-silver of a mage-apprentice.

            The young man was going incognito, of course, or he wouldn’t even have that half of the class surveying him, some appreciatively, some questioningly, some irritably. He’d insisted on it, actually. So it was that the tutor introduced him as “Arlon, a charity student from Darzonius”. That was sort of true, the only difference being that instead of receiving charity, he (his father, actually) was donating it.

            In the afternoon, while thwacking the stuffing out of a straw doll during swodsmanship class, he noted the dark-haired mage-apprentice again, practicing against the weaponsmaster with a long knife. He seemed to fight with a kind of barely-restrained fury, and Arlon wondered if he’d be more suited to a berserker rather than a mage. He seemed to have the makings of it, anyway, and he intrigued the undercover prince.

            During dinner, Arlon managed to corner the apprentice. He was sitting at one of the corner tables, away from the huge fireplace and all the chattering groups of boys dotting the place. There was nobody sitting near him, which made it easier for Arlon to get close. Smiling casually, he plopped the plate of his food on the table, and his behind on the bench. The boy flicked a curious gaze over, but once he seemed to ascertain Arlon was neither a threat nor a liability, he focused back on his eating.

            “Bright be your way,” Arlon greeted cheerfully. The boy seemed to respond more out of habit than any real friendliness.

            “The sun angel lights it well.”

            Arlon grinned. “You look like you rely on Leana to light your way... May I know your name? It’s not fair that you know mine and I don’t yours, anyway.”

            Again, that faintly curious glance. Arlon had the feeling that the boy was collecting impressions of him and filing them away neatly like some scribe filing documents. “Kail. Mage-apprentice.”

            “Arlon. Swordstudent.”

            Kail raised a single dark eyebrow elegantly. “I know... prince.”

            Arlon had been eating at the moment, and he almost sputtered everything out.

            “WHAT? How do you--”

            Kail took his time in answering; all Arlon could do was seethe and wonder how this magestudent could figure his identity out so fast. Finally, the other boy showed him a faint little smile. “I watch, and learn. One, is that your clothing is too fine for a charity student. Two, is that you have this... regal bearing. Not arrogant, mind, just regal. Three, is that you seem rather clumsy while doing chores, as if you’ve never done them before.” Well, that was right, he hadn’t.

            “Of course, the real reason I knew was because I overheard your escort leader telling the Master to ‘be careful with His Highness’. Unless you happen to be such an obnoxious brat that everybody calls you “highness”...”

            Arlon rolled his eyes. “ I guessed it’s be something like that, you little sneak.” To his surprise, the other boy chuckled, a quiet unobtrusive sound, and stood.

            “You’re strange,” he commented, striding off.

        *           *           *          

            He supposed that he should be glad. After all, it wasn’t every day that one’s father suddenly dies and leaves to kingdom to one. Father. Dead. Oddly enough, that fact didn’t affect him much, or at least not more than the prospect of his coming coronation did. Then again, maybe not, considering that the man who was “father” now had never been such, just “His Majesty” and “Your King” and “Your Majesty”. Never “father”. Would his children feel the same way, he wondered. Father isn’t father, but King, and hey!--I’m glad he dies, ‘cause now I get the kingdom!

            Arlonais kalShena el Darzon XIV, Crown Prince, soon-to-be king of Darzon, graduand of the prestigious Forthael School, swordsman and normally cheerful young man sighed irritably. He hoped not. Pacing up and down the ornate corridor, he knew he was probably driving his guards crazy with the clicking of boot heels on fine marble floor, but he couldn’t really care less.

  

            Back to the problem. Him=king. King=him. Arlon could barely get his mind around the notion, considering he’d been a prince so long. Oh, he bloody well knew all about courtly manners, kingly manners, all that ceremonial stuff he was supposed to do--more than he really wanted to know, as a matter of face. But still...

            Letting out a despairing sigh, Arlon swept out onto a balcony, ignoring all that his tutors had ever said about princes or kings, balconies, unnecessary danger or assassins. By the wings of the sky Angel, he was just seventeen! Seventeen meant boasting to friends, flirting, playing, having fun--

            --courting a certain shy boy--

            --whatever, not being King! Not that the position of king meant much around here. You wore the crown, gained the trust of the people, attended all the fancy ceremonies they wanted you to, and basically left the real business of ruling to all the ministers. “King” in this country meant “figurehead”, and everybody knew it. Trouble was, nobody wanted to do anything about it. Oh yeah, he almost forgot. Included in the list of “kingly duties”--right at the very top-- was another prominent entry: producing heirs. Preferably lots of the little critters, right? The ministers were already poring through lists of possible candidates.

            “Ugh!” Arlon let the single disgusted syllable loose like a man spitting. The winds swirled the word about and carried it away, leaving him alone on the balcony with two guards stationed unobtrusively at the door. Or... not so alone.

            “Is your Highness getting nervous?” Silky smooth voice, belying the tension lurking beneath. He was good at that. Arlon chuckled, turning.

            “No more than you, Master Mage.”

            Kail Stormcaller sighed, leaning against the balcony. “Not yet,” the slender young man noted matter-of-factly. The bright light didn’t suit Kail very much, Arlon decided. Moonlight flattered him best, while Arlon made his home in the sun. Under the moon, Kail shimmered like a child of the moon Angel Leana herself. Moonlight would gild his evony hair and set a shimmer of silver to those eyes that were plain gray in sunlight. Even his clothes seemed tailored for moonlight--the jet-colored light armor, metal-silver wings curving down his back, the plain white silk robe and silver trousers and shirt--all seemed to be made especially for nighttime display. No wonder the mages liked to spellcast at night.

            “Oh, close enough. You were always a nitpicker.” Similarly, Arlon was well aware that he himself made by far the striking picture in sunlight... good for a king. Blond hair shot through with auburn glowed red-gold, with bright highlights striking his blue eyes. Where Kail shimmered, Arlon glowed.

            “If you insist... your Majesty.” Arlon scowled and mock-punched the older boy on the back at this reminder of the very thing he had been trying not to think about. Both of them laughed, Arlon a little too heartily, Kail rather quietly. Strained laughter, and it did little to alleviate the tension growing between them. those two words, “your Majesty”, illustrated everything that was wrong in their relationship.

            “Kail,’ Arlon started to say tentatively. “We...”

            The young man bowed his head, looking down at the sunbright palace gardens. “There is no we,” he said softly. “Not anymore.” Arlon fell silent. He knew what the mage said was true, but he didn’t have to like it, or think about it. We’ve been “Kail-and-Arlon” for too long to think about anything else, but now this is being thrust on us suddenly. We didn’t expect it... this fast. He had, in fact, consulted one of his ministers about abdication in favor of his younger brother, but the freezing look the man had given him had frozen that idea pretty fast.

            “Yes,” he agreed finally, turning to look over the land that would soon be his--in a way. “There is no we.” They stayed that way for a long time, secure in each other’s companionship before Kail spoke again, his tone final.

            “I’m leaving,” the mage stated flatly, as if daring Arlon to forbid him. “I’m going to request assignation to Forthael once my Mastery’s verified.” He expected opposition, Arlon knew, and by not giving it to him, Arlon managed to take the other off-balance... a little.

            “I won’t stop you if you want to... can’t stop you if you want to.” Kail glanced at him. Blinked.

            “I’m not needed here. Considering our situation, it seems... prudent to put some distance between us.”

            “I understand, but even if we can’t... I’d like a friend around me who doesn’t grovel whenever I look at him.”

            “I know. Don’t worry... you’ll be fine.”

            “Fine. Not happy.”

            “None of us were ever born to be happy.” Kail turned to face him again, gray eyes dark with anguish, and Arlon realized what it was costing him to say this, to do this. “I hated it at Forthael too, when I first started. Part of that aloneness you saw was anger. I never wanted to be a mage. My father was a sculptor, and I wanted so to follow him. Then came the accident, the transfer... I truly hated everything and everyone there. But I learnt to accept it, and got used to it. I found a friend who helped me and understood me... or at least tried to,” he added wryly. Pale fingers lifted, brushing over Arlon’s cheek lightly, leaving a ghost-impression tingling there.

            “Someday you’ll get used to it too,” he added.

Shounen-ai! I just had to try it out. After reading so much of llama’s and Tenshi’s stuff, not to mention Deena, how could I resiste. Of course, I won’t venture into yaoi... much too young for that, yet--I haven’t even kissed a boy yet! This story doesn’t really have a meaning, or a moral or something. It was just written for fun, and there is practically NO storyline. I had fun writing this, hope you have fun reading this, and if you’re offended... Well, sor-ry. I DID put a little warning there. Not my fault you HAD to come here and read it. If you don’t like this, you’d better stay clear of the next installment, Leavetaking, which will have even more of... this stuff.

-Lockehart (26-9-2001)