do you think he was sexy when he beat his son that he conditioned to be a cold blooded killer to the point that he was dark with bruises before dooming him to a slow and painful death by sealing him in a coffin and wiping him from history because he was too afraid to go down in it as being the king who was killed after an attempted coup to end his reign? do y
(Thorns roleswap!AU.) The decay of the Thorn royal house begins in earnest when the days are at their brightest, amongst the full bloom of the harvest. As Prince Ewan Thorn tries to keep the peace between his brother Prince Oswald and their father King Edrick, an opportunistic thief slips in alongside the shadows of doubt between brother and brother and between prince and king.
---
I. The House of Swords
“For Kryta!”
Oswald threw out his arm. Ewan’s sword struck his shield with unusual force.
“‘For Kryta?’” Oswald echoed sardonically, looking up from under the shield.
Ewan smiled, panting from their joint training. “The instructor told me to think of something that filled me with conviction to improve my swing.”
The orange light of late afternoon seeped onto the grounds of Castle Thorn. At the noon bell, the training yard had been filled with soldiers completing their exercises. Now, just past the fifth bell, only four pairs of boots still left tracks in the packed dirt. Off to one side a young man trained alone, and an older and taller woman looked on as Prince Oswald Thorn and Prince Ewan Thorn sparred.
“If only Father’s subjects were half as loyal as you,” replied Oswald, heaving up against his shield arm and throwing Ewan’s sword arm wide.
“Wait,” said Ewan, making no move to counterattack, “what do you mean?”
Seeing his brother’s hesitation, Oswald darted in with a few sword jabs and landed one on his shoulder.
“Ow,” said Ewan, stepping back and rubbing away the sting. “Hey!” He brought his shield up to cover his flank just in time to intercept Oswald’s arcing cleave.
The force of the strike rattled all the way up Ewan’s arm and sent him stumbling. Oswald pursued, gave a kick to his shins, and the next thing Ewan knew, a wooden point was at his neck.
Ewan blew a few strands of hair out of his face. “No fair. You caught me off guard, saying something like that.”
“All’s fair,” said Oswald, looking pleased with himself. Ewan batted away Oswald’s sword and accepted the hand offered to him. Oswald lifted him out of the dirt and squeezed his hand hard. Something zapped Ewan’s palm.
Ewan jumped. “By the—what was that?” He shook out his hand.
Oswald snickered. “Open your palm and I’ll show you.”
Ewan glanced between his stung hand and Oswald. “You already got me twice. I don’t think so.”
“Prince Oswald says—“
“All right, all right, but I’m watching you.”
Ewan held out his palm, and Oswald dropped something into it. It was paper twisted into the shape of a small teardrop, and in its belly was a dark, coarse material.
“What is this?”
Oswald produced another from a pouch on his belt. “Watch,” he said, and flung it at the ground. With a loud snap and a spark, the paper exploded open.
Ewan flung his too. Snap! His eyes shined. “Those are fun.” Then he gave Oswald a funny look. “Have you been carrying those around all day?”
Oswald nodded.
“Why didn’t they burst those times I knocked you down?” Ewan wondered. His hand still stung.
Oswald patted the pouch. “It’s padded.”
“Your Highnesses,” somebody said. Oswald and Ewan looked over to see their instructor striding towards them, a sheathed sword at each hip and a shield on her back. She crossed her arms.
“I believe we were practicing sword technique today, not repurposing siege powders.” Caldrae’s leathery face creased, unimpressed.
“Apologies, Weaponsmaster,” said Ewan sheepishly, picking his sword off the ground. Oswald shrugged, unrepentant.
Caldrae glanced at the light dying along the castle walls. “Samson,” she called.
The young man standing in one corner of the yard stopped going through his maneuvers, hefted his training sword over his shoulder, and walked over.
“You’re in for the final exercise,” Caldrae said to him.
“Excellent,” said Samson, smiling and bringing his sword down to rest by his side in a loose stance.
“I hope you’re ready,” he told Ewan and Oswald.
“For you?” Oswald began.
“Always,” Ewan finished.
“We’ll end with a little friendly free-for-all,” said Caldrae. “Once more through today’s technique, then you may go.” She waved a hand, and Samson, Oswald, and Ewan took up their stances.
Samson moved first, darting in with a feint to Ewan’s flank before pivoting and cleaving his sword toward Oswald’s shoulder. Oswald’s sword arm came up fast, and the wooden blades collided with a clatter.
Ewan, lowering his shield after the blow in his direction didn’t fall, saw his opportunity. “Ha!” he cried, striking at Samson’s exposed side.
Samson arched sideways, breaking contact with Oswald’s sword and stumbling out of the way with only a nick to his jerkin. Ewan’s and Oswald’s swords both came down, and then it was the two brothers dueling, parrying one another in quick, memorized movements.
Ewan grinned, feeling sweat begin to prickle on his brow once more. Samson played the fairest, but Ewan loved when it was just him and Oswald, moving with a synchronicity in a way that only kin could—
Samson struck in the middle of their melee, sending their swords downward. Then Ewan found himself side by side with Samson, and instead of turning on one another their attention went to Oswald in a series of short jabs and advancing footsteps.
“We have an audience,” said Oswald impishly, dancing away from their blades.
Ewan and Samson both looked, and Ewan saw that his brother’s words hadn’t been a ruse: three familiar young women watched them from the fence.
Ewan’s blade was smacked from his hand. Oswald swung again and Ewan dove, shield protectively in front of him as he rolled in the dust. He came up facing Oswald’s flank, and then it was Oswald’s turn to be distracted, parrying with sword and shield a flurry of Samson’s attacks. As Oswald backed up, he stepped over Ewan’s sword. Without looking, Samson kicked it in its owner’s direction.
Ewan lurched forward and snatched it up, grinning. He darted behind Oswald, and a moment later Oswald bumped up against the tip of a sword at the back of his neck.
“Surrender,” said Ewan, triumphantly.
Oswald froze, his weapons still raised. “Two against one, that’s not fair.”
“All’s fair,” Samson echoed, with a laugh.
In an instant, Oswald spun and kicked Ewan in the shins, felling him. He spun back toward Samson, and his shield met Samson’s sword arc. But then Samson ducked under their locked arms and shoved his elbow against Oswald’s gut, sending Oswald sprawling.
The Thorn brothers lay in the dust. Standing alone, Samson grinned, blinking the sweat from his eyes.
“It seems I’ve bested the both of you.”
“Well done!” cried Lyrica from the sidelines while Serene whooped and clapped. Samson gave a short, playful bow in their direction, and offered his hand first to Ewan.
“Well fought,” said Ewan, gripping his hand and standing.
“Indeed. We should duel, just the two of us,” replied Samson.
“Next time,” promised Ewan.
They turned to Oswald, who was only just sitting up. He still looked a little winded, so both Samson and Ewan offered their hands to him. Oswald obliged them both, and together they hauled Oswald to his feet.
“Well fought, Your Highness,” Samson said to him, clapping him on the shoulder.
Oswald crossed his arms and smiled arrogantly. “We should train our swords on a real challenge one of these days.”
“At the expense of the attention of these admirers?” teased Samson. Lyrica gathered up her skirts while Serene gazed at the weapons in their hands with longing.
“We could have the beast tamers bring something suitable to the castle grounds.”
Ewan glanced around for Caldrae. She stood at the other end of the training yard, her arms crossed and her stance assessing. After a moment she nodded, then strode off toward the barracks.
Ewan sheathed his sword. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, removing his helm and breaking away from Oswald and Samson. He walked over to the gate and opened it, stepping out to meet their friends.
“Good day Lyrica, Serene, Tynna,” Ewan beamed.
“Your Highness.” Lyrica curtseyed.
Ewan placed a hand over his heart and took a half-step back. “‘Your Highness’? What happened to Ewan? Gods, does this mean I should go back to calling you Lady Lyrica?”
Lyrica covered her mouth, laughing. “Of course not. Too formal, by far.”
“You can always be formal with me, Ewan,” offered Serene, leaning on the fence. “It’ll be even stranger, but I don’t mind.”
Ewan bowed, obliging her. “How is your family, Lady Serene?”
Serene giggled. “Oh, fine enough.”
“And yours, Lady Tynna?”
Lyrica’s handmaiden curtseyed at her mistress’s side. “In good health, Your Highness. Praise to the gods and to you,” she said.
“When did you arrive?” Ewan asked Lyrica, shyly pushing out of his face some of the hair sticking to his forehead.
“Only in time for the last few exercises, regrettably,” said Lyrica, and Ewan wanted to protest her apologetic tone.
“Our riding went long,” Serene supplied, her hip leaning against the fence. She was still in her riding breeches.
“Even so,” said Ewan, “I’m honored you took the time to come see us.”
“I like to keep my promises to you, Your Highness,” Lyrica replied, smiling, and Ewan felt a shyness come over him again.
“My Lady…” Tynna murmured.
Lyrica’s eyes went to her and then to the rampart. The sun no longer lined the walls with its light.
“Yes,” she agreed. “We shouldn’t linger.”
Oswald walked up. “Why not?” he asked, swinging his sword idly.
“Because I’m not really supposed to be here,” replied Serene, sounding unworried.
“Since when?” asked Ewan, frowning.
“Since rumors,” said Serene. She caught Lyrica’s hard stare and her mouth closed.
Oswald stilled his sword and looked up. “Rumors?”
“How is His Majesty the king?” asked Lyrica, at the same time.
“Father’s fine. I think,” said Ewan, puzzled. “We haven’t seen much of him lately, but that’s because he’s been cooped up with his advisors for something-or-other.”
“Boring stuff,” Oswald announced, shoving the tip of his sword into the dirt. “All these things about this year’s crop, rainfall, trade shipments…”
“Eavesdropping again, Os?” said Samson, coming up and tapping the side of Oswald’s sword with his own.
Oswald looked over his shoulder at him. “Exactly what you’re doing right now,” he confirmed.
“Hardly,” Samson chuckled. “You see, we’re out here in the open air for all the kingdom to hear. What you’ve been doing is finding ways to listen past closed doors and guarded rooms.”
“So what are these rumors?” Oswald pressed Serene, who chewed on her lip. “Don’t hold out on us, now.”
Serene crossed her arms and shrugged. “My mother and father are just being worried. What any of it has to do with me, I don’t know. But they’re gettin’ stricter about my visits here.”
“Serene,” said Lyrica, diplomacy in her voice and anxiety in her eyes, “Couldn’t this be Lord and Lady Brody’s objection to you coming to the training yards?”
Serene stuck her hands into the pockets of her breeches. “Oh, I’m sure it’s got to do with that, too. Wild girl of noble blood, getting up to marrying age. It’s lucky you’re all proper, Lyrica, or they’d choose me a different companion. They’ll do just about anything for me to stop spittin’ and speakin’ like commonfolk, and to keep me away from swords.” She winked.
“No chance of that,” Samson grinned. “We should cross blades sometime, my lady.”
“Once I’ve chopped off my pigtails I’ll look like a proper boy, so don’t go asking who that young blonde lad is when he comes up and challenges you to a duel,” Serene said slyly, tugging at a lock of her hair that had escaped one of her pigtails.
“For today, though, we are still noblewomen needing an escort,” said Lyrica, taking Tynna’s hand in hers. Tynna gave her a small, fond smile.
“Of course.” Samson turned to the princes. “I’ll see them home safe, my lords.”
“We’ll come to call again soon,” said Lyrica as they began walking away.
Ewan’s heart lightened. It was another promise.
---
Dusty and sweaty, Ewan and Oswald walked back to barracks.
“I can’t believe you got me twice by kicking me in the shins,” huffed Ewan.
Oswald laughed. “I can’t believe you still fall for it!”
“And I actually fall for it,” Ewan agreed, rubbing one of his ankles with his other. By the gods, Oswald could kick hard.
They hung up their weapons and worked at undoing the clasps of their leather armor.
“Os, did Serene say something that upset you?”
“Hm?” Oswald lifted his cuirass over his head.
“You were giving her a look.”
Oswald put the cuirass aside, then leaned down and began undoing the laces to his greaves. “She said something about a rumor, but she wouldn’t say what.” He sounded irritated.
“Why do I have a feeling you already know what that rumor is?” said Ewan, pulling off his bracers and lifting his own cuirass over his head.
Oswald shrugged. “I might.” He tossed his removed greaves onto a bench.
“Are you going to tell me?”
Oswald straightened and rolled his shoulders back. “Remember what I said about loyalties?”
“Yes,” Ewan replied slowly, some of his apprehension returning. “If you heard something, we should tell Father.”
Oswald sighed. “House Brody and House Faren have been snubbing us lately, and Father doesn’t seem to care whether his subjects revere him or not. He rarely pays them any attention. How are the Houses supposed to be loyal? I’d make sure they adored me.”
“Maybe they’ll be adoring when you’re king,” said Ewan, with a faint smile. “You do know how to be entertaining. I used to think you were the reason we don’t have a court jester.”
Oswald rolled his eyes. “We don’t have a court jester because Father can’t take a joke.” He jabbed Ewan playfully with his elbow. “When I’m king, we’ll have a jester, and you can be the leader of my kingdom’s army.”
“For Kryta!” Ewan whooped.
Their armor and weapons put away, the brothers left the barracks and passed through the side gate that connected the training grounds to the castle’s inner courtyard.
“I’m ready for a bath. And supper,” said Ewan, wiping his brow.
“Wait.” Oswald held out an arm to halt him.
In the large courtyard stood the king. He was speaking with the guard stationed at the inner gate, and his retinue of advisors was nowhere in sight. He stood close to the man, and from where Oswald and Ewan hovered, their exchange could not be heard.
Oswald turned to Ewan. “What do you think they’re talking about?” he asked.
Ewan shrugged, not understanding the keen smile Oswald was giving him.
“Administrative affairs? I mean….” He motioned to their father’s attire.
For several seasons now, King Edrick had taken to wearing what Ewan heard his advisors whisper as “unorthodox”: slim attire made out of a number of leather belts and clasps. But today, as on formal days, the king’s retainers had managed to force him into the more traditional attire of a Krytan ruler, with accommodations of the crimsons and blacks Edrick favored. Gone too was the makeup that gave his face a skeletal appearance.
“Pretense,” said Oswald, crossing his arms, smile still in place. “That guard will be dead by tomorrow.”
“Oswald, that’s not funny,” Ewan complained.
Oswald shrugged. “Where’s the joke?”
“You always have a joke.”
Oswald turned and clasped his hands with his brother’s.
“Don’t believe me?” he asked. “We can find out tonight. I’ll bet Mr. Gum Drops’s bridle that Father will summon him after the lanterns are lit, and then--”
“Os!” said Ewan, scandalized.
Oswald snickered and let his hands drop. “That guard won’t be here tomorrow.”
Meanwhile, the king, his conversation apparently finished, swept past the guard and through the gate that led back to the castle proper. As soon as he was out of sight, Oswald began to walk across the courtyard.
“You don’t know that,” insisted Ewan, following him.
“Oh, Ewe,” Oswald tossed over his shoulder carelessly, his favorite nickname for his little brother when he was being naïve.
Oswald strode right up to the guard and peered up into his helm, angling for a better look at his face.
The guard smiled with a touch of nervousness. “Greetings, Prince Oswald and Prince Ewan,” he said, and bowed.
“So,” said Oswald, eyes dancing, “how does it feel to be Father’s chosen?”
“I—” The small patch of neck exposed between the guard’s collar and his helm pinked. “I was unaware that was the case, Your Highness.”
“What do you think it is, Ewan?” asked Oswald, dragging him into the conversation. “Youth? Meekness? Good service?”
Ewan’s face burned even brighter than the guard’s. “Father does not like the meek. And stop acting like he’s old, he’s barely thirty-five summers.”
“How old are you?” Oswald asked the guard.
“Twenty-eight summers, my lord.”
Oswald patted the disconcerted man’s shoulder as he passed into the shadows of the open gate. “Give my regards to Grenth.” His laugh faintly echoed off the stones.
Ewan met the guard’s half-panicked glance with his own helpless one. Please excuse us, Ewan mouthed, so that Oswald would not hear, then hurried to join his brother inside.
when your goth son acts up and causes a rebellion against you and you already got your henchman to write him out of history and a handful of candy corn to make the worlds worst eternal dad joke
When you assign blame to someone else and watch the chaos unfold.
So I was talking to a friend last night about good villains from other video-games. And I linked this image after talking about and sending clips of Hades from Kid Icarus: Uprising, the first comment they said was “he reminds me of the Mad King. Imagine that image but the Mad King.”
Aaaaand of course I couldn’t help myself and began making silly doodles.
I know halloween ended ages ago. But I was on vacation for it and didn’t finish this until now.
And posted after popular demand.
Have a Mad King I worked on and off for since mid October!
Now, we shall play a game loved and feared by all of Tyria for countless centuries. Surely, you've heard of it. Prepare yourselves for... Mad King Says!
it’s his day..... it’s literally the latest i could post this haha
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