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The rain lasted three days, giving the Silver Knights respite. It was always in the downtime that the burden of their duties weighed heaviest on their shoulders.
Ornstein had always liked the rain, fascinated by thunder the same way he was by iron shocking with iron. But he had survived far too much for the restlessness to not aggravate him. Hours lingered in the low mist of rainfall, until he felt near mad with it. Still, he waited. Like a cornered, starving predator, he waited.
He wasn't alone in it, of course. In front of him, looking as sheepish as he could with his height and thick eyebrows, sat Gough. Ornstein twirled the knife atop the table again, staring at the giant with unimpressed irritation. Gough looked away. Ornstein had the impression he was blushing, hard to tell though it was with his kind.
"Thou'st yet to provide me with an explanation, sir." Oh, the title was mere fancy, of course. Outside of the battlefield, they could care less about who was whose superior officer.
"Ornstein, prithee. I understand thy… reservations." Ornstein scoffed at the word, but Gough continued bravely on. "Yet His Highness was genuine, was he not? He had no intention of bringing thee harm, despite thy rudeness."
Ornstein narrowed his eyes at Gough, twirling the knife again. The conversation with the Prince of Sunlight felt like a dream. Soaked with rain, adorned with booming thunder and livid lightning. His words crystal clear despite the water droplets falling heavy on the pavement: "I shall prove myself worthy of thy faith, yet". Yes, the princeling had been genuine. The real issue was that the conversation had happened at all.
Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to vocalize his grievances, memory shaking with thunder and divine oaths, Ornstein continued to glare. When Gough looked back at him, Ornstein saw his eyes grow even more timid under it.
"Ornstein… 'Tis all I can do to offer mine apologies." Gough's voice was quiet and soft. Genuine.
Genuine.
"I know." Ornstein sighed, lowering his gaze to the table, seeing right through it. "'Tis but the restlessness. I hold not a true grievance."
The giant nodded, understanding. The nervous energy ate through all of their limbs. For a while, they didn't talk. The sound of others' chatter and the rain outside kept them company. Then Gough hummed.
"Ornstein?"
"Aye." The smaller man looked up on reflex, finding the other looking out of the window at the rainfall.
"Thou didst once tell me thou wert born afore rain had ever fallen." Gough seemed pensive, his voice languid.
"Aye." Ornstein nodded. "Wherefore doth mine advanced age arouse thy curiosity?"
"Dost thou remember the first rainfall?" The question seemed inane, but Ornstein decided to indulge his friend.
"No. I was a newborn babe but a few days old." It was true, of course. He had no reason to lie. But there was more to the story. Ornstein chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "I have been told, however, my cries would not cease, from the moment I was born until the first thunder. A fanciful tale, no doubt. But I do enjoy them; the rain and thunder."
Gough hummed and nodded, as if putting the words to memory. When he turned back to look at Ornstein again, he was smiling.
"If naught else, they are good company for good sleep." His smile spread to the man in front of him, and Ornstein scoffed, joyful.
"Aye." Though he did not agree. If sleeping were the death of the immortal body, then rain befit whatever opposed it.
The rain settled, eventually, as it always did. The sun shone true, even as puddles of water still littered the streets of gold. Yet even as he resumed his duties, Ornstein could not quell the humming – like lightning coursing through his veins, fire encased in flesh. And every arrow loosed, every string pulled taut, simply increased the noise he couldn't hear.
He had his knights practice their sword fighting again, and even then, the shock of iron seemed to seep into his mouth like thick wine. His own strikes, held back for the sake of practice safety, fed the inconsolable restlessness in him. It could not be silenced, not so easily, so instead it grew. It became voices belonging to names he could not remember, distant sounds of battles long fought. Ornstein craved the violence of a true fight, and in its absence, his mood grew sour.
It didn't take long for it to be noticed. The news spread quickly, surreptitiously, like water in wooden cracks, of one of Ornstein's moods making its appearance. An occurrence almost legendary in fame for the damages it caused in the past, mostly comprised of broken noses and bruised egos. Ornstein had little patience to entertain the whispers and hushed giggling as he was. In fact, he had little patience to do so even at his calmest, so he could at least consider himself consistent with his displeasures.
The days passed, and Ornstein sent off knights far more bruised than usual after sparring, and far harsher lessons than needed after archery practice. Yet neither the unrelenting golden glow of sunlight nor time could quell the itch under his skin. One thing, however, could aggravate it. A dogged shadow of pale hair, dressed in too much finery, just at the edge of his perception day in and day out. Ornstein pondered if he was truly going insane, or if that would be the Prince's case.
If Ornstein were to give himself some grace, he would say that he tolerated the behavior for many days – three, or perhaps even four – before resorting to more drastic measures. Measures which, of course, were no more and no less than slowly closing in on the man until Ornstein could corner him somewhere no one else would see them.
"Sir Ornstein! I—" The Heir of Sunlight's foolish grin only worsened Ornstein's frown.
"What" he said. Hissed, truly, "art thou seeking with such insufferable behavior?"
"Thy meaning?" Oh, the nervousness in his voice could not sell the lie of innocence.
In a better state of mind, Ornstein would have scoffed, a vague derision and a reprimand. He would have told the princeling, in neutral tone and careful words, to mind his step, to not run underfoot. Ornstein would have mocked him, maybe, in a subtle fashion. The Heir might even have looked like a dejected dog about it.
Ornstein was not in a better state of mind, so he pulled the Prince down to his height by the fabric of his vest instead.
"Play not the fool with me, princeling." Ornstein wondered if he looked as mad as he felt. "Thou'st hounded my steps for days, now. Wherefore?"
There was a marked change in the Heir of Sunlight's expression. A hardening of his eyes, lips pressed into a line. He leaned closer to Ornstein, until they were nose to nose, locked into a stalemate of wills.
"Whoever hath claimed 'tis thee I watch?" His voice was low, a threat. "I was made to lead this army. Must I justify knowing them?"
"Thou lie'st so easily. Thou'st never taken such keen interest afore." A part of Ornstein's mind, perhaps the last one clinging to sanity, briefly wondered what they would look like to a third party. He paid the notion no mind.
"How wouldst thou know, exactly?" The tone of mockery indicated some level of provocation on the Prince's part. Ornstein would gladly rise to the bait.
"I have been here from the day this army first marched and I shall be here to see it succeed." His self-satisfaction was eclipsed by his hissed irritation.
The Prince didn't offer a verbal response. Instead, he narrowed his storm-gray eyes, breathing heavy, before detangling himself from Ornstein's now-loose grip. Ornstein wanted to pull him down again, to hurt him, to make him see red. But in an uncharacteristic flash of good sense, arising from a look at the Prince's hard eyes, the knight took the opportunity to leave, before either of them committed to further idiocy.
He took a step back, and, upon the Heir's lack of reaction, turned to walk away. Yet, before he did, he said over his shoulder:
"Thou shalt learn naught from merely watching. Thou'st mouth to speak and hands to wield, no? Use them."
Even as he returned to the drills of his slacking knights, Ornstein did not notice the buzzing in his teeth dying down.
Training, sparring, preparing. Ornstein continued on, relentless, mind abuzz in such a way that his thoughts were seldom coherent beyond the action, the movement they conducted. He spoke less, those days, mood mellowing from irritation to vague anxiety. He felt as though levinstruck, livid energy flowing through his veins in place of blood.
Ornstein did not stop if he could help it. Others could persuade him, through insistence and worry, to rest a while, but it never lasted. He swept through the barracks, training grounds, through all of Anor Londo, truly. He kept, still, on a rational level, the idea of his purpose: to prepare for the inevitable. Yet the buzz in his brain clouded any complexity. The reality was that Ornstein acted for he must, lest the restlessness swallow him whole.
The Prince remained in the edges of his perception. So often, now, he would be at the training grounds with the infantry, but neither him nor Ornstein approached the other. They remained in a silent stalemate, one Ornstein couldn't quite understand, nor did he care to, not at that time. To the onlookers, they were as stars gravitating each other's peripheries.
Ornstein was forced out of his haze during dinner. The hall was full, and his limbs felt like lead. The weariness catching up to him, no doubt. He needed only to sleep – an easier task spoken than accomplished. Walking through the motions of feeding himself, the buzzing in his mind finally retreating with exhaustion, he overheard a pair's conversation:
"And he said: 'thou'st improved'. He did!" The young man's excitement was near overwhelming to Ornstein.
"Oh, by Sunlight, thou might have caught his eye!" A woman, whose starry eyes were clear in her words, replied.
"Hath he ever taken a knight afore? Dost thou think…" The idea on display had Ornstein bristling. As if a knight were something to be taken possession of by a noble, like a toy by a child.
"Only twice, I hear. Though I know not what happened to them. The Prince must be one of high standards."
The realization of who they were talking about had Ornstein perk up. The Prince had taken his advice to heart, then. He couldn't tell whether the warmth in his chest was a smidgen of irritation, pride, or something else altogether. Whichever it was, it made Ornstein's thoughts drift lazily about the Prince's sudden appearance in his life. All at once, he had caused such upheaval in Ornstein's mind, yet not at all in the ways he had expected. It was odd that the man had done as Ornstein told him, and odder still that he seemed dedicated to impressing the knight. A curious specimen, Ornstein decided, as a headache emerged behind his eyes.
"The Prince never trained with us afore, either. Dost thou think he was already searching for one to knight?" The boy was hopeful, from what Ornstein could hear – for his turn, he could only pray the disappointment wouldn't be too great for the young man.
Because, of course, though the world itself seemed to mock Ornstein's predicament, no other knew of the Prince's promise. His rain-soaked fervor as thunder boomed. No other knew that the Heir had already found what they conjectured he was searching.
Ornstein rubbed his temples. At that pace, the man would drive him mad long before anything else were to pass.
Waking up was an affair of torture, yet he did it all the same. Dragging his exhausted self from his cot, Ornstein felt as thought a dragon had chewed, swallowed and shit him out. Neither a meal, light though it was, nor direct sunlight could energize him. He sighed, and decided stationary archery was enough practice for the day.
"Fourteen and three days." Gough's voice sounded beside him as he sat down after a short drill.
"Pardon?"
"Fourteen and three days did thy frenzy last." Gough repeated, and Ornstein winced. That would explain his weariness. "I counted."
"Of course, I…" Ornstein closed his eyes, sighed. "I apologize, Gough. I could not… The thought of losing so many more, again, was… difficult."
"I should not have told His Highness of thee, truly." Gough's own sigh had Ornstein's eyes snapping open.
"Wh— Wherefore dost thou mention him?" He felt as though he was going mad.
"It started after ye spoke. I know not what His Highness spoke of with thee, but he should not have." Ornstein had seldom heard Gough this direct or dry in speech. It would surely speed up his madness taking hold.
"He… wished only for advice." Ornstein knew himself to be a great liar; at least when it was needed. "My frenzies and moods are mine own. He ought to have worsened the bout, yet 'twould happen regardless."
Gough grunted, unconvinced, but seemed to accept the answer. The two stayed in silence for a while, the breeze ruffling their hair and the sound of others at work around them. Ornstein could feel the atmosphere shift, and not before long, Gough spoke again:
"I fear His Lordship shall have us on the field, soon." His voice was heavy.
"Aye. No more than seven days now afore an announcement." The words were as stones to the pit of Ornstein's stomach, because he knew them to be true. He had seen it before.
"We have not the means to achieve what he wisheth for." Gough's voice was solemn like a fresh grave.
"We have not." Ornstein agreed, and the breeze felt cold.
"What are we to do?" The words were quiet and still.
Ornstein didn't answer, but his despondence was palpable.
It was early. Far too early for practice, at least. The courtyards were quiet save for those walking past, and Ornstein stood before the Cathedral. Rocks in the pit of his stomach as he took one step closer. And another.
The decision had been spontaneous, unplanned. To use whatever favor or goodwill the Prince had for him to beg a delay on the next excursion. Because though Ornstein would rather die than crawl, he could not, would not let his pride kill the poor sods forced to the battlefield too soon. So beg he would, even if through gritted teeth.
He expected to be barred at the doors, but the flux of servants, knights, nobles and courtiers was already starting. Swept up in the crowd, Ornstein found himself in the cavernous nave of the Cathedral. He wandered, upstairs before the hall where supplicants awaited Lord Gwyn, following servants that seemed to work in the kitchens. He wished to asked them where he could find the Prince, or beseech an audience. They were faster.
As soon as they turned into an empty hallway, the pair of humans turned around and looked up at him with hard eyes.
"An' what 'ave we here?" The younger asked. "What's all this, following us?"
"Pardon?" The harshness of her voice had surprised Ornstein, but not in a way he wasn't used to.
"Why is ye sir following us? These are royal quarters." She gave him a nasty eye. He raised an eyebrow.
"I have… matters to discuss with His Royal Highness. If ye would be willing to call for him." Ornstein was sure he'd remained as poised as always, despite a gnawing insecurity, yet the older lady before him raised her own brow at him.
"Matters with His Highness, sir knight hath." Her voice was gentle, but sharp in a way that made him feel seen through. "And who is sir knight? That we should bear his message?"
"You may call me Ornstein, madams. He shall know the name, I promise ye." He could not help but feel growing respect for the defiant women before him. Their backbone was stronger than many a knight.
"If ye say so, sir Ornstein," said the younger.
"I do." He replied.
The two didn't disguise how they looked him up and down in judgment. He didn't hide how he stared right back. Their stalemate, however, was broken by a woman's voice nearby, from a side hallway.
"Grynn! Brother! Thou'st not broken fast with us in so long!" She seemed… whiny. In an endearing way, however.
"Aye, dear sister, but I have duties, still." The staring contest Ornstein was holding with the young woman fell away as he looked up. He knew that voice.
"Thou'st not! I know thou'st not! The rain hath grown mold in thy head, brother!" She whined, though halfway through a giggle, and the Prince, her brother, laughed in turn.
And then they walked into the hallway where Ornstein stood with the servants.
"Your Highness." He inclined his head at the Heir of Sunlight, whose eyes were wide as saucers.
"Sir Ornstein! I expected not to see thee here." His face lit up with a smile – one Ornstein did not reciprocate.
"Aye. Mine apologies for not sending word ahead of time." Ornstein inclined his head again, though he honestly had no clue of how he would go about sending such word to begin with.
"Thou shouldst worry not! What bring'st thou here?" Still smiling, the Heir of Sunlight took a step toward Ornstein.
The humans between them shared a glance, then looked between them, in a unsubtle way of one used to being ignored. Ornstein did not miss it.
"Yes, madams?" He looked at them, and they looked at him with the same surprise they gave him when they first met.
"Do ye need us still, sir knight?" The older one asked, a shadow of a smirk on her lips.
"No. Though I am grateful for the offer, nevertheless." The younger one grinned at his words as they asked for the Prince's leave, who granted it with a puzzled look.
"Thou'rt familiar with them?" His eyes were once again wide, though now with a certain sadness Ornstein tended to associate with hungry dogs left outside.
"Nay. We met but now." Ornstein's words seemed to confuse the man even further.
"May I have an introduction to this man, brother?" The woman, tall as the Prince, spoke up, distracting him for his confusion.
"Ah, of course, mine apologies. Gwynevere, this is the knight I mentioned some time ago, sir Ornstein." He had an easy charm around him when talking to his sister, one Ornstein ignored entirely in favor of bowing to the Princess. In hindsight, he should have known it was her. Who else would call the Prince 'brother', after all?
"Your Royal Highness, it is an honor." Ornstein didn't quite know if his greeting was appropriate. He was quickly realizing he couldn't quite care.
"Oh, my brother spoke highly of thee! Though, as I recall, ye had not quite met then." The Princess no longer looked at Ornstein, but at her brother with a vaguely accusatory gaze. As the Prince opened his mouth to retort in the bickering typical of siblings, Ornstein couldn't help but feel as though they had wasted far too much time already.
"Mine apologies, Your Highness, but I must needs speak with the Prince of Sunlight, if it so pleaseth him." Ornstein had his voice lower, solemn. It worked to grab the Prince's attention.
"Thou mayest speak, then." Was the reply, as if it were so simple. Ornstein grit his teeth. He was willing to grovel, he didn't need witnesses.
"'Tis a delicate matter, Your Highness. If we may speak alone…" Ornstein expected resistance, but the Princess nodded with a smile.
"Of course! Matters of war, no doubt. 'Tis no interest of mine. I shall take my leave!" And off she went, before her brother could protest, though it looked as if he wanted to.
"Very well. What is it?" A cloud of mild irritation seemed to set on the Prince's head, but Ornstein would not be swayed. He stepped closer, until the two could whisper to one another, and the Prince frowned down at him with crossed arms.
"His Lordship desireth to march again soon." Ornstein said, a solemn certainty, and the Prince nodded in agreement. "We cannot. We are not prepared. The archer regiments are depleted, our overall numbers are low. He wisheth for the unreachable; he leadeth us to a death trap."
Perhaps it was the urgency in his voice, or perhaps the Prince simply knew the same as he, but the Heir of Sunlight sighed, deep and sad. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were sorrowful. Ornstein hadn't expected it.
"I know. And I have tried to convince him to wait, but his lordly desires shall not be denied, 'twould seem." The Prince spoke with a low bitterness in his voice. "Mine apologies. Speaking in such untoward a manner is unbecoming of me. I shall beseech him again, I promise. But I cannot say whether it shall have any great effect."
"I… see." Ornstein could not deny his despondence. The exhaustion seemed to seep further into his bones by the minute. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "What is left for us to do?"
A beat of prolonged silence set over them, and Ornstein kept his eyes closed, clawing through the storm of sorrow about his head. But it was broken, eventually, by the Prince's voice, gentle as though he were soothing a newborn.
"Thou see'st them as thy charges." Ornstein's eyes snapped open at the words, looking up at the Prince, who stared back at him with unsettling focus. "Thou'st given thyself the duty to protect them, hast thou not?"
Ornstein felt cornered, in a way, for having the sentiments he long had refused to name so exposed before another. But he would not back down. Not now. He nodded.
"I have long fought this war." Too long, some would say. Since the army first marched, really. He looked up with a confidence that bordered on defiance.
"So have I." The Prince looked away, sounding upset. With what, Ornstein could not say. "As God of War, hereby I pledge:"
He looked Ornstein in the eyes again, though his fervor, this time, was not radiant, nor filling his voice when he spoke. It was there, still, but in the hardening of his eyes, in the determination in his spine.
"This burden, this duty I shall take upon mine own self. As I should always have, for I am War. From now on, I shall neglect it nevermore."
The moment was solemn, yet, after a second of silence, Ornstein couldn't help but scoff in amusement. He raised an eyebrow as he looked up at the Prince, looked into his eyes.
"Thou'rt turning the swear of oaths around me a habit." Another second of silence, and the Prince chuckled, eyes warm.
"Aye, so it would seem." His smile was smaller now, quieter. Ornstein much preferred it.
"What hath moved thee so? All this time, wherefore now?" There was, perhaps, a hint of bitterness to Ornstein's curiosity. He didn't bother to hide it, and the Prince didn't bother to be offended.
"I have been training with them, e'er since thou didst so graciously advise me to." The Prince spoke with a little irony, but Ornstein, too, didn't bother to be offended.
"Fourteen days? 'Tis all it took?" It was hard to be credulous about such a statement. It was the Prince's turn to scoff, amused.
"I have watched ye from afar for very long." Ornstein remembered the way the Prince stood out on the courtyard, that first day. He wondered if that had changed. "Yet… I suppose, too late, I realized I am War, and warriors befit me better than nobility and palaces."
"Still… Fourteen days? Truly?" Ornstein smiled, unbidden, but genuine. The weariness truly was getting the best of him.
"Fourteen days and…" The Prince raised an eyebrow, eyes unimpressed. "A man who ne'er respected my birthright."
Ornstein felt his eyes widen, but he could not look away from the Heir of Sunlight's storm-gray eyes. He had sworn to earn Ornstein's faith, true, but he had expected him to take longer than some few weeks to start his endeavors in truth. Or, perhaps, this truly was simply the oddest Lord in Lordran.
"Then… Share thy burden with me?" The Prince held out his hand, and Ornstein stared at his face. "To keep Anor Londo's knights, however we may?"
It was hard to find words to describe what he felt, what he thought. So Ornstein did not. He simply accepted the moment, and its weight, and gave up on giving further sense to it. He grasped the hand extended to him.
"Even should Father spur this march on, still… Together, we shall succeed. I have faith we shall."
Ornstein didn't answer, couldn't. His fear and sorrow still clawed at him. But the words were soothing, if only because he was no longer alone.
Ornstein arrived at the barracks to be forced to rest. As much as he would like to – and did – protest, he could not deny his exhaustion. So he rested. And when he tried to get back to his duties, he was stopped. Often, by a knight of his own group, all under Gough's orders. Once, Gough himself. But two days were more than enough, so he left. Even though Iwan tried to stop him and ended up sprawled on his backside for it.
Outside, after having redirected his subordinate, Ornstein stretched as a cat. He had no idea what he was to do that day, but a walk through the courtyards couldn't hurt. The sunlight shone in full splendor over the city, and it was in those moments that the moniker of 'streets of gold' made all too much sense.
Lost in thoughts, Ornstein arrived where archers trained, and stopped dead in his tracks.
"Loose!" A voice he was becoming uncomfortably good at recognizing shouted before arrows flew.
There was the Heir of Sunlight, sitting on the same box Gough sat on when instructing the archers in similar fashion. However, unlike the giant, he didn't have a bow to maintain in his lap, but a dull claymore. As the arrows landed, he shouted the following orders, the rhythm a familiar one for Ornstein.
The incongruity of the scene had the knight rooted to his spot, terribly exposed to being seen. And it took very little time for the Prince to notice him. Ornstein could only watch as the God of War smiled and waved like a young boy. Were that not enough mortification, he stood up and all but trotted over.
"Sir Ornstein. Freed of Sir Gough's clutches at last?" His smile held a hint of mockery, and Ornstein felt his eyes harden.
"And mine own clutch of traitors, aye." Ornstein looked over to the archers, who had, by then, lost their stances to stare at the two of them curiously. "I shall take over here. Thou mayest do as thou wilt."
"Hm? Wherefore?" Once more, the Prince had the airs of an abandoned dog to him.
"Because I shall not entertain their gossip." Ornstein would not entertain pouting from a member of royalty either. "Fare thee well, Your Highness."
For once, the Prince understood finality when he heard it.
And hours later, still, when the courtyards emptied as the knights retired for the day, he was left. A lonely figure cut against a sky that slowly darkened with grey clouds. Ornstein sighed, feet walking away from the barracks before he could stop himself. He walked up the stairs to the infantry courtyard, and waited until the Prince saw him.
Ornstein beckoned him with a nod. As the Prince walked up, he pointed to the railing, just in case, before jumping over it. The space between the stairs and the barracks was tight; more than enough for two to walk side by side, but no more, either. It led to a seldom used area, little more than a covered alleyway, behind the barracks. It had once been a back entrance to deliver supplies, but now, it was a storage of empty boxes and barrels.
The Heir of Sunlight turned the corner with downcast eyes. Drawn inward, as if trying to make himself small, despite his prodigious size. Ornstein again recalled his unease at the courtyard, days before. Looking closely now, he could ascribe him the airs of a child used to being scolded, rather than of an abandoned dog.
"Speak thy misery." Ornstein's tone took on an authoritative edge from where he leaned against a wall.
The Prince looked up at that, eyes a little wild, just about looking as a cornered animal. Ornstein raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't speak again.
"I… fail to grasp thy request, sir Ornstein." Oddly formal. What hath befallen thee, little prince?, Ornstein thought.
"Thy countenance belieth thy troubles. I lend thee mine ears." A pause. "For the moment."
"I am… of passable wellness, sir Ornstein. Worry not." A practiced ease fell over the Prince's posture and face. Ornstein tilted his head and shrugged.
"I am not kind enough to pry the truth from thy chest, little prince. Speak, or bury it in thine own company."
The silence lingered. The Sun's Heir watched him with that same unsettling focus, but his body seemed coiled, prepared to fight or flight. Ornstein wasn't keen on seeing either.
"Shall we leave? 'Tis nigh time for supper and I am sure thou'rt a busy man at this hour." His voice was impassive, almost bored. Ornstein's kindness was not abundant enough for him to expend such effort into consoling a grown man. Not without exhaustion clouding his judgment at least.
Another bout of silence. Ornstein pushed himself off the wall.
"Wait."
Ornstein stood still, turning his gaze back to the Prince. He looked as though he were facing the gallows.
"I must ask…" He breathed deeply, finally looking Ornstein in the eyes. "Wherefore dost thou wish not to be seen with me?"
"Oh." Ornstein blinked, resisting the urge to sigh in vague disappointment. Of course the Prince would fuss over such nothing. "For I wish not to live as the face of gossip. Thou'rt not a forgettable one, little prince."
"Gossip? We but—" The Prince seemed quite sincere about the arguments he was about to say. Alas, Ornstein interrupted him.
"Thou art the Heir of Sunlight. We are not cut of the same cloth. For thou to know me is motive for suspicion."
The Prince's eyes widened, but his face soon took on a crestfallen expression, his shoulders drooping. Misery hath a name, Ornstein concluded in the privacy of his mind. It was difficult to avoid noticing, once more, that the man looked like a sad dog.
"Of course. How foolish of me, to forget my place." Downcast eyes and a quiet voice. "Mine apologies, for mine indiscretions. I shall endeavor to maintain an appropriate distance, from now on."
Ornstein was unsure if he was sorry for the Prince, or frustrated with him. Perhaps both, in equal measure.
"Cease thy commiseration." His impatience made his voice harsh. For once, Ornstein cared to soften it, if only slightly. "'Tis true, this divide betwixt. I know little of thee, and thou of me. Still… Thou'st seen a truth of mine none other hath, in all my time. More even, thou'st understood."
The Prince looked at him with such terrifyingly fragile eyes, Ornstein nearly ran away. It tugged at his heartstrings most uncomfortably.
"Thou need'st avoid me not, little prince. But seek me not afore a hundred eyes, hm?" The Prince smiled a sunlit grin, and Ornstein resisted the urge to scoff. "Now, we are overdue our retirement for the day."
Ornstein pat the other man on the shoulder as he walked past him to leave. If he delayed anymore, his absence would be noticed at the hall, and the last thing he needed was Gough's insistence in caring for him as a newborn.
"I owe thee mine apologies again." The Prince spoke as he reached the corner. Ornstein turned around to see him a couple paces away, smiling still.
"What for?"
"I vowed I would earn thy faith, did I not? To think I would be so easily dissuaded hardly honoreth such a promise." There was warmth in his eyes, warmth Ornstein refused to think on any further.
"I am sure thou shalt improve with enough dedication, little prince." It was an easy mockery, one Ornstein delivered with practiced bite.
The Prince scoffed a laugh.
"Faraam." He said.
"Pardon?"
"As fond as thou art of thy chosen appellation for my person, thou mayest call me Faraam, if thou so desire'st." His tone was genuine, but Ornstein couldn't recall ever hearing the name.
"Whence this name come?" He could not contain his curiosity. The Prince's smile turned wistful.
"A familial name, once. Now, I fear even Father hath long forgotten it." Ornstein watched as his eyes lost focus for a moment, as if remembering something. "I have kept it by mine own self. 'Twas always my preference."
"Thou'rt far too quick to trust; revealing such secrets when thou know'st so little of me." Ornstein admonished, and the Prince laughed, his expression taking on a certain edge, a certain sharpness.
"My vow to thee is most sacrilegious, sir Ornstein." He seemed older, then, more like a storm than his usual Sunlight. "One my Father would gladly punish me for, should he know of it. Thou mayest question my wisdom…"
The Prince – Faraam, Ornstein's mind repeated – narrowed his eyes in what seemed like amusement.
"But I seem to have made a good choice. Wouldst thou not agree?"
Ornstein narrowed his eyes back at him, though his gesture was guarded, rather than amused.
"One could say a wisdom of War is to act decisively." Ornstein tilted his head, locking eyes with the Prince, wondering if his own gaze were half as intense as his. "Even should one not have the opportunity to think beforehand."
The Prince grinned, lopsided and sharp, edged with the memory of blades. Ornstein grinned back. Mirrors of each other, though neither could see it.