The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels against the cobblestone streets of Lorium was a stark contrast to the profound silence Areion had grown accustomed to in his secluded training. The city sounds, once a familiar backdrop to his life, now surged around him with a renewed vibrancy – the insistent cries of merchants peddling their wares, the carefree laughter of children chasing pigeons, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer shaping metal, all weaving together into a symphony of Capital life.
Every head turned as their royal carriage passed. Adults, their faces etched with respect, offered deep bows. Children, their eyes wide with innocent curiosity, waved with unrestrained enthusiasm, their small hands fluttering like startled birds. Inside the carriage, Vivienne sat beside Areion, her gaze soft and filled with a tender observation as she watched him absorb the familiar sights.
"Areion," she asked gently, her voice a warm caress, "are you feeling nostalgic?"
Without turning his gaze from the window, where the tapestry of Lorium unfolded before him, a warm smile touched his lips. "Yes, Maa. It's… remarkably the same as I left it. Even the children here don't look like they've aged a bit… somehow," he mused aloud, a thoughtful frown momentarily creasing his brow. He paused, as if searching for the right words to articulate his subtle unease. "Or maybe… maybe it's just my imagination playing tricks on me after so long away."
Vivienne reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her touch reassuring. A knowing smile played on her lips, a secret held close. She didn't want to spoil the surprise that awaited him within the castle walls. "Just wait until you meet your father and brothers," she said, her voice laced with a gentle anticipation. "Then you'll see for yourself."
He hummed in response, a low, resonant sound that vibrated with a growing excitement. The thought of seeing his father and siblings again, their faces etched in his memory but slightly blurred by the passage of time, although they're not his first family but still these memories filled him with a warmth that chased away the lingering sense of displacement.
[Almost a decade I wonder what they upto now? Lucian should be in mid twenties. Have he married someone at this point? What Caius upto.]
The carriage finally rumbled to a halt before the imposing gates of the royal castle, its ancient stones standing as silent sentinels. "Oh, we're here," Vivienne announced, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go inside."
"Yeah, sure," Areion replied, a surge of eagerness propelling him forward. "I'll go first." He reached for the carriage door, his movements fluid and graceful.
"Of course," she said, a fond smile gracing her lips as she watched him.
As Areion stepped out of the carriage, he was met with a scene that echoed his departure years ago, yet carried a profound difference. Every guard in their polished armor, every neatly dressed maid, every solemn-faced butler stood in precisely ordered lines, their faces turned towards him, etched with an anticipation that was palpable. It was as if time itself had held its breath in his absence. Areion maintained a warm, regal expression, his shoulders squared, his posture tall and proud. His long, wavy golden hair, now longer and more lustrous, flowed gently in the afternoon breeze, catching the sunlight like spun gold. A collective gasp, a soft wave of surprised admiration, rippled through the assembled crowd. Was this the same young prince who had bid them farewell? He seemed taller, more refined, an aura of quiet power emanating from him. They looked at eachother not understanding how is it possible.
Areion turned back to the carriage, extending a hand towards Vivienne, offering his support as she gracefully stepped down. Her heart fluttered at the simple gesture, at the undeniable evidence of his newfound maturity and unexpectedly gentlemanly manners. Unaware the fact he already was like this even before his birth. "Oh, how gallant you are, my son," she said, her voice thick with affection, her eyes misting slightly.
She took his offered hand, her touch light and appreciative, and stepped onto the cobblestones. Looking up at his towering figure, she playfully ruffled his golden hair, a familiar maternal gesture that bridged the separation. "Is this the effect of being with your old grandmother?" she asked, a hint of teasing dancing in her eyes.
He laughed, a genuine, warm sound that echoed in the courtyard, and nodded in playful confirmation. "She looks angry all the time," he confided, a wry smile playing on his lips, "but… she is not. Not really."
"Exactly, my dear," Vivienne agreed, her voice laced with warmth and understanding. "Your grandmother is a very… unique individual, and I'm so glad you've learned to see beyond the surface." Areion chuckled in response.
The assembled servants parted silently, creating a respectful path for them to walk, their voices a low, unified murmur of welcome. "Welcome back, Lord Areion and Lady Vivienne."
With each step he took on the familiar stone pathway leading to the castle doors, Areion's excitement grew, intertwined with a poignant wave of nostalgia.
Inside the castle, in one of the long, echoing hallways, Lucian heard the approaching footsteps. He instantly recognized Vivienne's light, elegant tread, something familiar. But there was another set of footsteps accompanying hers, a heavier, more deliberate cadence. Lost in thought, his brow furrowed in curiosity, he wondered who could be with her. Just then, Caius approached from the opposite direction, as if he had been instinctively drawn by the same subtle shift in the castle's rhythm. "Brother," Caius announced, his usual cheerful demeanor slightly subdued, "Father is waiting for you in the throne room." Lucian nodded, his mind still preoccupied with the unknown guest, and fell into step beside Caius. But the distinct sound of the second set of footsteps continued to resonate in his mind, a subtle mystery unfolding within the familiar walls of their home.
Valdemar, sat upon his throne in the grand hall, the weight of his crown and his responsibilities resting heavily upon him. As he saw Lucian and Caius approaching, a proud yet weary smile softened his stern features. He gestured for them to come closer. They obeyed, their movements synchronized by years of shared upbringing, and stood before the throne, bowing their heads in respectful unison. "Your Majesty, you called for me?" Lucian inquired, his voice carrying a note of polite curiosity.
"Yes, my boy," Valdemar replied, his gaze sweeping over his eldest son, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Lucian pondered the reason for the summons, his mind running through the possible matters of state that might require his immediate attention, while Caius, ever the more impulsive one, blurted out without hesitation, "Okay, Father, can we know what it is? You sounded rather… mysterious."
Before Valdemar could offer an explanation, but suddenly the massive, ornate doors to the throne room swung open wide with a resounding creak. Every eye in the hall, from the high-ranking ministers seated in their designated places to the stoic guards flanking the throne, turned towards the entrance, a collective ripple of curiosity passing through them. Vivienne entered, her presence commanding attention without a word. The ministers, recognizing her regal bearing, rose and bowed deeply in respect. With a gentle gesture of her right hand, she commanded them to sit, and they complied, their eyes still fixed on her. Lucian bowed respectfully. "Good afternoon, Mother," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that was often hidden beneath his reserved exterior.
Caius offered a simple, nod, his lack of verbal formality towards Vivienne a familiar quirk that never seemed to truly bother Vivienne. She smiled warmly at both her sons, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good afternoon, my sons," she said. She reached out and lightly ruffled their hair, a playful gesture that belied the formality of the setting. Lucian offered a rare, small smile in return, a fleeting expression of affection, while Caius maintained his practiced, cheerful façade, wanting end of this drama.
Valdemar turned his attention to Vivienne, the lines of worry around his eyes easing slightly. "Your journey, my dear," he began, his voice laced with a deep-seated concern that only those closest to him truly recognized. "How did it fare? And… how is he?"
Vivienne met his gaze, a radiant smile spreading across her face, chasing away the last vestiges of worry. "He is well, Dear," she reassured him, her voice filled with a quiet joy. "More than well. He is… thriving."
Valdemar took a deep, steadying breath, his gaze locking intently with Vivienne's. "I cannot wait any longer," he said, his voice low, a subtle urgency underscoring his words. A shared understanding between husband and wife that went unnoticed by the others present in the vast throne room.
Vivienne responded with a soft, almost imperceptible nod, her eyes twinkling with a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the anticipation that had been building within them both. She clapped her hands together once, the sharp, decisive sound cutting through the hushed atmosphere of the throne room.
The grand doors, still slightly ajar, swung open again, this time revealing the figure that had been the subject of their unspoken conversation. Areion stepped into the throne room. A collective gasp, sharp and involuntary, rippled through the assembled dignitaries and guards. Every breath seemed to catch in the throats of those present, as if seen a ghost.
Areion entered with a grace and elegance that belied his years of rigorous, often solitary, training. His tall figure, now undeniably towering over the average human, commanded attention without arrogance. His face, though feminine with very soft skin almost replica of her mother's and the strong line of his brow, possessed a delicate, almost ethereal beauty that left onlookers mesmerized. He moved with a quiet confidence, his presence filling the vast room, drawing all eyes to him like a lodestone attracts iron filings. The golden bracelet on his forearm glinted in the light, a subtle testament to the journey he had undertaken.