Chapter Text
Anger was a good look on Dream.
That was what George thought, staring down at the him from the top of the castle, twirling his crown absentmindedly around one finger and watching his personal guard bark orders to the other knights.
George had been king for a total of two months, four days, and about six hours by now, and he still couldn’t pinpoint exactly how he felt about it. On one hand, the sudden and unexplainable death of his father was a possibly scarring and definitely horrifying event for most of the kingdom. On the other hand, George and his father had never exactly found one another on “good” terms, not since the death of his mother. George had been born and raised to inherit the throne when his father died, so acceptance of ruling wasn’t the issue either. He just couldn’t put his finger on it, why he felt so wrong sitting there behind his gilded gates, listening to his advisors squabble with one another over treaties and territories. He’d been doing this since he was young, the scene was a familiar one, if a bit boring.
Sighing and relaxing his elbows against the stone rim of his balcony, George slouched and propped his head up with his left arm. A couple of bluebirds twittered around him nearby, and he smiled offhand at the soft noises. The light breeze ruffled his hair.
Dream had been out there sparring all day. It might have something to do with all of the new recruits, fresh faced and unburdened by the weight of battle. Sapnap, the captain of their guard, had wanted Dream’s assistance with training them up. Looking down at Dream’s lithe movements, George couldn’t blame him. After all, there was no one out there better than Dream.
Maybe the blonde could sense his gaze, but it was at exactly that moment that Dream whirled around, (always with that catlike grace) ripping off his helmet as he did so and making direct eye contact with George. There was a huge smile on his face, and he barked out another command to the knights behind him. His sea green eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, and George sat up as straight as a rod, dropping his crown with a small ‘eep!’.
That just made the smirk on Dream’s face grow. George shrunk in on himself, wincing at the metallic clang of the crown hitting the pavement below him and spinning around, walking briskly into his room. Like hell he was going down there to get it after that.
He sat at his desk and, with shaking fingers, began to pen a letter to their cook, inquiring as to what they would be serving for breakfast the next day. It was a pointless endeavor, seeing as he would find out in a couple of hours anyway, but the soothing act did something to calm his frazzled nerves. George had always liked writing letters. There was just something about the presentation of a well written letter that appealed to him.
He had gotten as far as laying it aside for the ink to dry before the knock on the door interrupted him. Jumping slightly, he called out, “Come in!” and reached for a ribbon to tie the letter with.
The door opened, and George looked over to see his personal guard leaning in the doorway, a shit eating grin on his face and a thin, golden crown dangling off of his pointer finger.
“Ah, Dream,” George said, clearing his throat and standing to meet the other man’s eyes. “I haven’t seen you all day.”
“Strange,” Dream replied, sauntering into the room in that infuriatingly cocky way that he always did, “I could have sworn I saw you earlier.”
George refused to let the light dusting of pink on his face distract him. With a small huff, he snatched his crown from Dream’s outstretched hand, nestling it back in his brown locks. “I’m surprised you could tear yourself away from the heat of battle,” he commented, sitting down on the corner of his bed and looking up at the other man.
Dream let out a huff of his own at that. “Well, Sapnap did ask for my help training the new recruits,” he replied. “I just didn’t expect them to be so…” he trailed off, searching for the word.
“Incompetant?” George tried, but Dream just shook his head.
“Passionate,” the blonde finally decided. “They’re rusty for sure, but they’ll get there,” he continued happily, and George marveled at the way the dying sunlight lit up his friend’s freckles for a second too long. “We all have to start somewhere. They’re a good group of kids.” Dream was the prettiest when he was like this, sincere and quiet and genuinely content. Dream was prettiest when he was pouring his heart out to George, when he didn’t bother to hide behind over the top teasing and a cocky grin.
George grinned at that. “Well, we all have to start somewhere,” he replied. He himself knew his way around a blade, but he much preferred his crossbow in the event of any fighting. Better to resolve issues from a distance. He supposed that was where he and Dream differed- the other man loved to get all up close and personal and “I’m sure you weren’t any better when you started off.”
Dream’s grin widened, and the moment was broken. “No way! You think I had to train to be the best? I’m all natural, baby, I was born like this!”
George laughed at that, rolling his eyes. “Right, sure. I never said you were the best, Mr. ‘All Natural.’ You’d better not let us down at the Festival, then.”
Dream sent him a winning grin, ruffling his dirty blonde hair. It glinted like spun gold in the low light. “Have I ever let you down?”
“Every day of my life,” George promises him solemnly. “You’re the worst.”
“Oh, shut up!” Dream walks over to him, shoving him playfully aside and flopping onto the bed next to him. “Move over, I’m tired.”
George lets himself flop over, letting out a fake wounded noise. “My shoulder! Is that really any way to treat your king?” he asked Dream, clutching his shoulder in mock pain where Dream had touched him.
Dream rolled his eyes, turning on the bed so he was now facing George. “You’re such a crybaby. I’ll kiss it better,” he replied dryly, leaning over and pressing his chapped lips to George’s shoulder before the brunette could even process what was happening.
Where Dream’s lips touched him, he burned.
“Dream!” George yanked himself back from the other boy, flushing a deep red.
“What?” Dream’s voice sparkled with laughter at his outburst. “Oh my gosh, George, you’re so overdramatic. What is it?”
Embarrassment flooded him, and George turned to face the wall stubbornly. “Nothing.” He sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. “You smell, get off my bed.”
“Oh, come on,” He could hear the grin in Dream’s voice.
“No buts,” George said, in a tone that recommended Dream didn’t argue back, a tone he usually only saved for snobby nobles and stuck up advisors. “I don’t want you getting my sheets all sweaty and gross.” He finally looked back at his friend, which was decisively a mistake. Dream cocked one eyebrow at him, smirking. George just groaned again at the double entendre. “Get out.”
Dream was still laughing as he closed the door.
George did his best to not bury his head in his silky pillowcase and scream.
Dream and Sapnap made those kinds of jokes together all the time. Dream made those kinds of jokes all the time to him. He and Dream had been close for years, it was perfectly reasonable to joke about that kind of stuff. Dream had always been flirtatious, anyway.
He’d known Dream since they were kids.
George had to smile at the memories. He had met the other boy when he was thirteen and Dream was eleven. Now, at twenty one, he already felt like he’d known the green eyed man for a lifetime.
Dream had come to their castle at night on horseback, completely alone. George had already been left in his chambers, presumed asleep, but he had been up writing a note to Sapnap. He could get one of the servants to deliver it in the morning. The hustle and bustle of the castle waking back up had piqued his interest, and so he slipped out into the hallway and crept downstairs to see what was going on.
There were so many people. Servants and nobles buzzed with conversation, and the air seemed electric and charged. Everyone was also in their nightclothes, which made for a strange picture. There was an air of unease about, an uncommon occurrence in the kingdom. The hairs on George’s arms raised slightly.
Hiding behind a nearby tapestry, he saw one of the castle’s cooks ushering a small, blonde boy down the hall, his parents and a large number of other servants right on their heels. The cook was saying something, speaking too quickly and too low to be heard properly, and George’s dad’s face was buried in some sort of… note? The parchment was ripped and torn, and the red and black seal on the envelope was broken.
George catches the eye of the boy as he passes, sucking in a harsh breath. Blood is caked down the side of the stranger’s face. He withdraws further behind the tapestry, putting a shaking finger to his lips.
It’s hours before George gets up the courage to visit the strange boy, spending more time than he would like to admit pacing outside of the room they put him in. No one knew he was out of bed, but the longer he stood in this hallway, the greater the chance that any one of the numerous servants employed at the castle could happen upon him, and then he would really be in trouble. With one final exhale, he grabbed the knob and confidently walked into the room.
It was dark. The shadows wrapped around everything, curling around the shapes of what appeared to be a bed, a dresser, and some sort of padded seat. George was blinking his eyes sleepily, trying to adjust to the low light, when he heard a shrill battle cry.
“Ahhhh!” The cry spooked him, and there was a sharp pain on the side of his head, causing George to blurt out a word he really shouldn’t have known at that age, let alone said aloud. Staggering to the side, he caught himself on the rough stone wall.
“Who are you?” the voice, which had to belong to the boy from earlier, demanded, cracking a little at the end of the sentence. “What are you doing?”
“What the hell? Why would you do that?” George shot back at him, wincing and rubbing the side of his head. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the wild eyed boy brandishing a candlestick threateningly at him.
The other boy just let out a growl of a warning, raising the candlestick a little higher.
“Okay, okay, jeez!” George put his hands up in surrender, wincing back from him. “I’m Prince George, don’t hit me again!”
There was a beat of silence. George did his best to squint through the darkness at the odd guest.
“Dream.”
“I’m sorry?” George squinted up at him.
“Dream,” the blonde repeated sheepishly, lowering his makeshift club. “It’s my name. Sorry for hitting you with a candlestick.”
“I’ll get over it. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dream,” George replied, smiling and sitting up straight like his lessons had taught him and smiling politely.
Dream was silent for a minute. “I hit the prince with a candlestick.” He sounded slightly guilty, if slightly in awe as well.
George cracked a grin at him. This boy was strange, and new, and he wanted to know everything there was to know about him. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
“Okay that is a story I’ve got to hear,” Dream told him, sliding down to sit cross legged on the floor. George mirrored him.
“All in good time,” George shot back at him. He was positive Dream didn’t want to hear about Sapnap accidentally giving him a bloody lip while miming playing croquet. “I want to hear about you first.”
Dream bit his lip. “What do you want to know?”
“Who are you?” George asked him, trying not to scrutinize him too harshly. “Why are you here?”
“My village was under attack, has been under attack,” Dream corrected himself. “My entire country has been under attack for a long… long time. Um, this time, my family got targeted, and it was bad.” Dream bit his lip. “They sent me away to keep me safe.”
Images of slumped figures danced behind George’s eyelids. Mortality was fascinating to the child. “Are they dead?” George breathed out, in that way that kids who could barely contain their fascination sometimes did.
Dream looked uncomfortable. “Probably.”
That put a damper on the conversation for a moment. “Oh,” George responded, suddenly painfully aware of Dream’s discomfort. “Sorry.”
The other boy wrung the candlestick in his hands, giving him a half genuine smile. “It’s okay.”
“Is that why your head’s bleeding?” George asked him sympathetically. “The attack?”
Dream just nodded. “I got hit.”
“Is it going to scar?” George asked him, just to fill the silence. He knew it would.
Dream nodded again.
“Hey, you never know, maybe we’ll match,” George replied, touching the still slightly tender place on his head where Dream had hit him earlier.
That at least brought a smile to the other boy’s face. “Oh, come on, I didn’t even hit you that hard!”
Relief flooded through him, but George just stuck out his tongue. “I don’t think you get to be the one to decide that, Dream!”
“What, are you really that fragile?” Dream teased him a little bit, tentatively. The tension in the air was fading.
George wrinkled his nose. “I am not fragile!”
“Sure,” Dream responded, running his fingers through his hair. “Whatever you say, Prince George.” The two of them lapsed back into comfortable silence.
Finally, George started to stand up.
“Where are you going?” Dream asked him. He still hadn’t let go of the candlestick.
George just rolled his eyes with a huff. “I snuck out of bed to figure out what was going on, if they find out I’m out of my room and talking to you, they’ll literally kill me.”
Dream bit his lip. George winced at his phrasing.
“It was nice to meet you,” Dream finally said.
“You too,” George replied awkwardly. He paused in the doorway. “Don’t tell my parents you’ve already met me tomorrow, okay?”
Dream’s head snapped up, and he met George’s eyes with an intense stare. “Tomorrow?”
“Of course!” George replied with a smile. “You’ll be staying with us now, I assume?” Then, he considered the fact that Dream might not be staying. Until that moment, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Unless… unless you would like to go.”
Dream shook his head hesitantly. “I’d like to stay here,” he whispered, like it was a confession.
“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then!” George replied cheerfully. That settled it in his mind.
“In the morning,” Dream repeated him with a little wave. It was oddly tentative.
The next day, George walked downstairs to breakfast to find his parents sitting at the table already, Dream across from them.
“Good morning, Sunshine!” His mother smiled at him, rising from the table and coming over to hug him. His dad stayed motionless at the table, fixated on his breakfast. He didn’t even look up.
“Morning, Mum.” George smiled at her, before flicking his gaze over to where Dream sat, awkwardly chewing next to his father.
His mother, ever so quick on the uptake, smiled. “Honey, this is Dream. He’ll be staying with us for a while.”
Dream gave him a small wave and a conspiring smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
George grinned back just as widely, sliding into his seat. “Likewise.”
Dream’s parents had been killed by Schlatt, a vicious dictator who had been making his way through L’Manberg, a bordering country to Traumreich. At the time, he and his cult-like following had been mostly going village to village to raid and plunder the inhabitants, but the night Dream’s parents were killed was Schlatt’s final and largest assault on the country, and the dictator slaughtered the entire royal family and assumed control. It was presumed that he and his followers had halved the remaining population of L’Manberg, and he had crowned himself king as the bloody sunset rose over the decimated kingdom. Changing the name to Manberg and immediately closing their borders to trade, Schlatt had effectively been holding the entire country hostage for nearly a decade now.
George frowned a bit, moving back to his balcony to breathe in the crisp night air. It was also because of Schlatt that Traumreich was preparing to host the Festival this year. The Festival, a yearly occurrence where knights from all the kingdoms could compete for honor and glory, used to be held in the neutral zone, a diamond of land bordered by not only Traumreich and Manberg, but the neighboring kingdoms of Pogtopia and Stolzshire as well. In fact, the only kingdom not bordering the neutral zone was the estranged Arctic Empire, a frigid island located just north of the continent, next to Stolzshire. Unfortunately, Schlatt had made it painfully clear that the neutral zone was no longer neutral, and none of George’s scouts had returned from it with their heads still attached to their shoulders.
He was so consumed by his thoughts that he hardly noticed the door opening again. Bad’s voice took him by surprise.
“My king.”
He turned to look at one of his many advisors with a small smirk on his face. “Come on, there’s no need to call me by my formal title, Bad.” The words ‘ I’ve hardly earned it’ lay on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed them down.
“Very well. George.” Bad offered him a crisp smile. All of Bad’s smiles had been crisp since George had been crowned king. He supposed that was because he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “I came to update you on our preparations.”
“Very well.” George motioned him to continue.
“The cooks have prepared a list of ingredients they are lacking.”
“Send out some men to gather them what they need, we’ll cover the cost as per usual and provide them with a small reward for their labor.”
Bad nodded, squinting at the list in his little notebook, and George could feel relief shoot through him. At least he knew this part, he knew how to settle domestic affairs.
“We have men who have decided that their pay is insignificant for the repair of the stadium, and have gone on strike.”
George bit his lip. This one was a little trickier. The stadium was where most (never all) of the fighting at the Festival would occur, and it was vital that repairs were made before the start of the Festival. “Are there other men available for the job?” he asked.
Bad made a ‘so so’ face. “We have been having issues finding proper workers lately. We can always search a couple of the towns on the outskirts. There are usually eager people looking for work there.”
“Good, do that and then get back to me if we still have an issue,” George replied. “Is that all?”
Bad shook his head. “With all of the new knights, we are experiencing an armor shortage for the first time in a long while. I’m assuming you want them all outfitted in time for the Festival?”
No, I want them all outfitted in time for whenever Schlatt decides he’s done playing nice and fooling around in the neutral zone and starts attacking my people instead.
“That would be preferable,” George agreed, face betraying nothing. “Do we have the funds to cover the cost?”
“I’ll look into it,” Bad replied.
“Thanks, you’re the best,” George replied, meaning it. He laughed a little at Bad’s tense posture. The other man never liked leaving things unfinished. “Don’t worry! How long do we have until the Festival?”
Bad looked back to his notebook to check, despite probably already knowing the date by heart. “A week and a half.”
George clapped his hands together. “Perfect! We have plenty of time. We can address any other concerns that come up tomorrow, okay?”
Bad nods stiffly. “As you wish.”
As the door closes behind him, George lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in, plucking the crown from his head once more and staring at it. The rubies and sapphires seem to glint mockingly at him as he turns it in his hands.
“What am I doing?” he mutters to the universe.
He doesn’t get a response.