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Tales of Vesperia, "Inheritance" (Ioder+Duke)
The Children of the Full Moon must be watched: all of them. Duke knows well how fast the imperial heirs must grow up.
Contains Ioder and Duke. Chronology is shortly after the Great War, some spoilers for after the game. Very strange. Inspired by the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
no_true_pair prompt: "Duke+Ioder, with a cherry on top." So of course it's strange.
.inheritance.
His boot-heels rang out quietly on the cobblestone walkway, but he had chosen the time and the place well. Although he made no effort to hide himself, no one saw him as he passed by; no knight or watchful attendant or idle servant saw the visitor striding through the imperial residence as if he owned it.
Duke kept tabs on the royal family. In another man, or perhaps at another time in his own life, it might have been a matter of keeping track of his own extended relatives. But for him, for the man he had become, it was a duty. An obligation.
In recent years, the royal family had not done well. Once it had sprawled over dozens of individuals, but their blood had weakened and their line was faltering. The Emperor had died with no heirs to his direct line, and his father had had no other heirs. But his father's father had sired two other children, both daughters, and their descendants now competed for the throne, seeking the acknowledgement of a sword that was now far beyond their influence.
A miserable quest and a miserable story, and one that Duke knew by heart. It had been ingrained into him when he had been no older than these future heirs to the throne.
The child he had come to see was playing by himself in a small enclosed courtyard, and Duke paused a short distance away to observe undetected. The boy was small, blond, with bright blue eyes and a bar of ice cream to his lips; he played idly with a ball, kicking it against the wall endlessly. A lonely, pitiful game.
Duke had no pity left in his heart for these children, for these creatures. He was only here to observe.
Although the boy had no trace of the telltale pink hair that came with the heightened aer conductivity he was seeking, it was important to periodically check on him to make certain that what power he did have was not being abused. Even a man who could barely see could witness something valuable; even a dying animal had the life left to tear out a throat before it submitted to the inevitable.
But the aer around him was normal and stable. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about him; he could have been any child, seven or eight, overprivileged and undersocialized.
Or so Duke assumed, until the boy lifted his head and said idly, "Do you like ice cream?"
Duke blinked, slowly, and then turned his head in each direction, seeking out the person to whom the boy had addressed his question. But there was no one nearby, no one coming close.
Had the child... spoken to him? Noticed him?
Unfazed by the silence, and still without turning his head from his game, the young prince added conversationally, "I do. I like most flavors, really, but I like it best when there's a cherry on top. It makes it feel special, even though I have it -- almost every day."
Duke took a slow, quiet step back. Perhaps the boy was not speaking to anyone: perhaps it was another game he played with himself, pretending that there were others about, friends for him to talk to. But when he moved away, the child turned his head, those wide blue eyes fixing on Duke unerringly.
Was it his gift? The other child, his third cousin once removed, had far more of the talent than he did, and she had never noticed Duke's presence. But perhaps this boy's slight ability had made him more attuned to the aer, somehow...
"You don't like it, do you?" the boy asked, almost gently. As if he didn't want to scare Duke away.
To be spoken to so, by a child, was utterly unexpected. Duke held very still for a moment more before saying simply, "That is all you have to ask me?"
No questions about who he was, or what he was doing here? None of the common complaints or demands that humans felt so entitled to?
"What else should I ask?"
The child was fey; thoughtful and contained and quiet, not like the others of his kind, the masses of impulsive and headstrong humanity. Duke asked him, "You are not curious that I am a stranger in your private estate?"
The blond prince smiled. "Everyone is a stranger to me."
It was a statement that the boy seemed to feel no need to clarify, but which begged a dozen more questions.
Duke had never enjoyed the company of children, not even as a child himself, and he no longer bore the company of humans at all. This boy raised a lot of questions that he didn't have the will to ask or the interest to pursue answers for; the important question, whether this boy was abusing his ability as a Child of the Full Moon, had been answered enough.
"All humans are strangers to each other," he told the boy, turning again to prepare to leave.
He would return to Khroma and leave this place and forget the child, and the next time he needed to come here he would remember to take better precautions. The boy would return to his game and his ice cream and his solitude, and Duke believed -- for whatever reason -- that he did not need to be concerned about the boy telling others about his visitor.
But years later, when the world had nothing left to fear from the Children of the Full Moon, he left Dein Nomos on that boy's bed.
Contains Ioder and Duke. Chronology is shortly after the Great War, some spoilers for after the game. Very strange. Inspired by the
no_true_pair prompt: "Duke+Ioder, with a cherry on top." So of course it's strange..inheritance.
His boot-heels rang out quietly on the cobblestone walkway, but he had chosen the time and the place well. Although he made no effort to hide himself, no one saw him as he passed by; no knight or watchful attendant or idle servant saw the visitor striding through the imperial residence as if he owned it.
Duke kept tabs on the royal family. In another man, or perhaps at another time in his own life, it might have been a matter of keeping track of his own extended relatives. But for him, for the man he had become, it was a duty. An obligation.
In recent years, the royal family had not done well. Once it had sprawled over dozens of individuals, but their blood had weakened and their line was faltering. The Emperor had died with no heirs to his direct line, and his father had had no other heirs. But his father's father had sired two other children, both daughters, and their descendants now competed for the throne, seeking the acknowledgement of a sword that was now far beyond their influence.
A miserable quest and a miserable story, and one that Duke knew by heart. It had been ingrained into him when he had been no older than these future heirs to the throne.
The child he had come to see was playing by himself in a small enclosed courtyard, and Duke paused a short distance away to observe undetected. The boy was small, blond, with bright blue eyes and a bar of ice cream to his lips; he played idly with a ball, kicking it against the wall endlessly. A lonely, pitiful game.
Duke had no pity left in his heart for these children, for these creatures. He was only here to observe.
Although the boy had no trace of the telltale pink hair that came with the heightened aer conductivity he was seeking, it was important to periodically check on him to make certain that what power he did have was not being abused. Even a man who could barely see could witness something valuable; even a dying animal had the life left to tear out a throat before it submitted to the inevitable.
But the aer around him was normal and stable. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about him; he could have been any child, seven or eight, overprivileged and undersocialized.
Or so Duke assumed, until the boy lifted his head and said idly, "Do you like ice cream?"
Duke blinked, slowly, and then turned his head in each direction, seeking out the person to whom the boy had addressed his question. But there was no one nearby, no one coming close.
Had the child... spoken to him? Noticed him?
Unfazed by the silence, and still without turning his head from his game, the young prince added conversationally, "I do. I like most flavors, really, but I like it best when there's a cherry on top. It makes it feel special, even though I have it -- almost every day."
Duke took a slow, quiet step back. Perhaps the boy was not speaking to anyone: perhaps it was another game he played with himself, pretending that there were others about, friends for him to talk to. But when he moved away, the child turned his head, those wide blue eyes fixing on Duke unerringly.
Was it his gift? The other child, his third cousin once removed, had far more of the talent than he did, and she had never noticed Duke's presence. But perhaps this boy's slight ability had made him more attuned to the aer, somehow...
"You don't like it, do you?" the boy asked, almost gently. As if he didn't want to scare Duke away.
To be spoken to so, by a child, was utterly unexpected. Duke held very still for a moment more before saying simply, "That is all you have to ask me?"
No questions about who he was, or what he was doing here? None of the common complaints or demands that humans felt so entitled to?
"What else should I ask?"
The child was fey; thoughtful and contained and quiet, not like the others of his kind, the masses of impulsive and headstrong humanity. Duke asked him, "You are not curious that I am a stranger in your private estate?"
The blond prince smiled. "Everyone is a stranger to me."
It was a statement that the boy seemed to feel no need to clarify, but which begged a dozen more questions.
Duke had never enjoyed the company of children, not even as a child himself, and he no longer bore the company of humans at all. This boy raised a lot of questions that he didn't have the will to ask or the interest to pursue answers for; the important question, whether this boy was abusing his ability as a Child of the Full Moon, had been answered enough.
"All humans are strangers to each other," he told the boy, turning again to prepare to leave.
He would return to Khroma and leave this place and forget the child, and the next time he needed to come here he would remember to take better precautions. The boy would return to his game and his ice cream and his solitude, and Duke believed -- for whatever reason -- that he did not need to be concerned about the boy telling others about his visitor.
But years later, when the world had nothing left to fear from the Children of the Full Moon, he left Dein Nomos on that boy's bed.