Honestly, yes, the first two chapters are entirely pointless, and while I'm hoping to intertwine those beginning scenes in the upcoming chapters, nothing is planned.
Literally, I've planned nothing for this.
I really should......
Chapter 1: Vehemence in Monotony
The prince's golden strands fell past his eyes and the maid behind him let out a heavy sigh.
"Oh Master, you really must stop running off like that; you worry His Highness."
At the mention of "His Highness", the prince simply ignored the scolding and closed his eyes, trying also to distract from what had happened. The maid grasped his hair lightly and brought the blade to it, cutting his hair ever so gently.
The prince's shining, silver-blue eyes scanned the room for anything interesting to do or think about, and sword aside, thought of nothing. He missed his uncle.
How long has it been since that day? A week? A few days?
"I can't remember" his mind responded to his questioning.
The days have all felt the same; everything is so bland.
"It all just...melts together, doesn't it?" his mind snickered in self pity.
"All done!" the maid cheerfully announced! Ryan looked up at her and sighed, "About time..." he muttered.
He stood and held the mirror up--not too bad. Shame it's so short, short hair doesn't really suit him.
He twists the pure gold, eagle engraved knob, and Aaron is standing there, staring at the young Prince.
"..."
"..."
He hands the prince a piece of paper and walks away. The paper is folded.
Slowly, anxiously, Ryan unfolds the mysterious paper. Its white wrinkles teasing him, laughing at him. What could possibly be hidden inside? What knowledge could Sir Aaron be passing onto--chores. "Bloody Hell!" his mind yelled in torment!
The abused, distraught, lonely prince shuffles quietly to his fencing lessons.... in sorrow.
"Such monotony..." his head pitiably whined.
One, two, lunge, one, block, one, two, three, four, swirl, lunge, block, one, lunge.
"Good play M'Lord!" the swordsman haughtily laughs and pats him on the back. "Telling you son, all those beautiful maids are helping your lunge, for sure!"
"You think so?" the prince laughs, "I think you're just getting limp with your skills."
The warrior let out a bellowing laugh and patted him on the back again, "that's M'Boy, meet you bright an' early tomorrow, okay?"
"Of course," he responded and waved back, "bye."
Swordmaster Octavius waved back to the youngling and turned to polish his swords, "boy's a virgin," he thought, "obvious as day."
A messenger came to him, "My Lord?" he started, awaiting the prince's answer.
"You may," he sighs, annoyed with such...idiotic formalities.
"Your Highness, your father, wishes to speak with you, Young Master. You are anxiously awaited." he relays to the to-be-king and bows, before fleeing from the now very upset prince.
He takes a deep sigh and begins walking with influence and pride--the way a prince should be walking. How he hated this droll show of power. He stared at the underling by the throne room doors--two large, gold doors, trimmed with royal white fur.
He took 20 paces--exactly--inside, and bowed to his father, holding back glares of vehement animosity. His father: a coward, weakling, cheat, all the things he hated--and more.
"Yes, Your Highness?" the youth greeted and inquired simply.
His father, King Alraan, frowns, and gives a long sigh. "You are my son, there's no need for such formalities..."
His son always made him feel as though he wanted to cry--
little Ry hated him,
and he knew not why...
"If only," the stern man told himself, "if only I knew, though my mind yet feels dim."
The youth stared up at him, "You needed me, sire?"
He tried his best to force a smile and cheerful tone, "Of course! You're my son, and I was hoping to talk with you."
The youth's mind spoke to him in utter rage, "Doesn't he realize I hate him? Is he so ignorant?"
"With all respect, Your Highness, I must complete my daily work post-haste, or I will find my day's duties incomplete."
The King nodded sullenly, "Of course, of course my son. You have much to do and little time to do it. Please, by all means, and may Advent be with you in your day."
The youth bowed, and strode out.
Aaron sighed while leaning against the wall opposite to the opened gold doors, and as they close behind them, his eyes look up into Ryan's.
"He means well."
Ryan stared at him in astonishment, his fists clenched. "He's a greedy old pig." he seethed behind clashed teeth.
The knight shrugged, "Well, you haven't much to do. What will you say to him when he finds you're done with your work before high sun?"
His cold red eyes remain unchanging.
"I don't know; I don't care." he responded, looking away. "Damn," he thought, "he has such a piercing gaze..."
"I suppose since you are to work all day, I will personally train you until sun down."
"Oh Advent!!" his mind screamed in supreme anguish, "No!"
Finally, after several speechless moments of twitching, pain-stricken eyes, he gains his voice just long enough to croak, "No!"
His mind remembering all too well the first and only time they've trained together, etched into the steel of his brain like a volcano's ever-fire searing at his nerves, bringing forth images of pure viciousness given reaper's form.
"Be in the courtyard by High Sun" Aaron finally said, entirely ignoring his refusal. Then walked away in a seemingly slow gait, though when the prince finally gained his composure and looked down the hall, he could not see Sir Aaron.
Finally, High Sun, and he was in the courtyard. He couldn't believe the grueling labor he was facing with such calm a mind and body.
Sir Aaron silently stalked towards Ryan. He saw Sir Aaron, though he didn't..."see"...him, his mind just didn't register it as being him.
Eventually, Sir Aaron came to a halt in front of the prince and saluted, "It is time for your training." he announced sternly.
He left out the sigh, "Though, there is news you should hear."
The prince stared at him silently, it was rare that Sir Aaron chose to personally deliver any news.
"Your Father, the King, has chosen not to declare war on the Kingdom of Adratos."
"What?!" Ryan immediately responded, "And why the hell not?! They killed his brother!"
As usual, PLEASE leave a comment telling me how I did, especially if you didn't like it. Please be descriptive.
Literally, I've planned nothing for this.
I really should......
Chapter 1: Vehemence in Monotony
The prince's golden strands fell past his eyes and the maid behind him let out a heavy sigh.
"Oh Master, you really must stop running off like that; you worry His Highness."
At the mention of "His Highness", the prince simply ignored the scolding and closed his eyes, trying also to distract from what had happened. The maid grasped his hair lightly and brought the blade to it, cutting his hair ever so gently.
The prince's shining, silver-blue eyes scanned the room for anything interesting to do or think about, and sword aside, thought of nothing. He missed his uncle.
How long has it been since that day? A week? A few days?
"I can't remember" his mind responded to his questioning.
The days have all felt the same; everything is so bland.
"It all just...melts together, doesn't it?" his mind snickered in self pity.
"All done!" the maid cheerfully announced! Ryan looked up at her and sighed, "About time..." he muttered.
He stood and held the mirror up--not too bad. Shame it's so short, short hair doesn't really suit him.
He twists the pure gold, eagle engraved knob, and Aaron is standing there, staring at the young Prince.
"..."
"..."
He hands the prince a piece of paper and walks away. The paper is folded.
Slowly, anxiously, Ryan unfolds the mysterious paper. Its white wrinkles teasing him, laughing at him. What could possibly be hidden inside? What knowledge could Sir Aaron be passing onto--chores. "Bloody Hell!" his mind yelled in torment!
The abused, distraught, lonely prince shuffles quietly to his fencing lessons.... in sorrow.
"Such monotony..." his head pitiably whined.
One, two, lunge, one, block, one, two, three, four, swirl, lunge, block, one, lunge.
"Good play M'Lord!" the swordsman haughtily laughs and pats him on the back. "Telling you son, all those beautiful maids are helping your lunge, for sure!"
"You think so?" the prince laughs, "I think you're just getting limp with your skills."
The warrior let out a bellowing laugh and patted him on the back again, "that's M'Boy, meet you bright an' early tomorrow, okay?"
"Of course," he responded and waved back, "bye."
Swordmaster Octavius waved back to the youngling and turned to polish his swords, "boy's a virgin," he thought, "obvious as day."
A messenger came to him, "My Lord?" he started, awaiting the prince's answer.
"You may," he sighs, annoyed with such...idiotic formalities.
"Your Highness, your father, wishes to speak with you, Young Master. You are anxiously awaited." he relays to the to-be-king and bows, before fleeing from the now very upset prince.
He takes a deep sigh and begins walking with influence and pride--the way a prince should be walking. How he hated this droll show of power. He stared at the underling by the throne room doors--two large, gold doors, trimmed with royal white fur.
He took 20 paces--exactly--inside, and bowed to his father, holding back glares of vehement animosity. His father: a coward, weakling, cheat, all the things he hated--and more.
"Yes, Your Highness?" the youth greeted and inquired simply.
His father, King Alraan, frowns, and gives a long sigh. "You are my son, there's no need for such formalities..."
His son always made him feel as though he wanted to cry--
little Ry hated him,
and he knew not why...
"If only," the stern man told himself, "if only I knew, though my mind yet feels dim."
The youth stared up at him, "You needed me, sire?"
He tried his best to force a smile and cheerful tone, "Of course! You're my son, and I was hoping to talk with you."
The youth's mind spoke to him in utter rage, "Doesn't he realize I hate him? Is he so ignorant?"
"With all respect, Your Highness, I must complete my daily work post-haste, or I will find my day's duties incomplete."
The King nodded sullenly, "Of course, of course my son. You have much to do and little time to do it. Please, by all means, and may Advent be with you in your day."
The youth bowed, and strode out.
Aaron sighed while leaning against the wall opposite to the opened gold doors, and as they close behind them, his eyes look up into Ryan's.
"He means well."
Ryan stared at him in astonishment, his fists clenched. "He's a greedy old pig." he seethed behind clashed teeth.
The knight shrugged, "Well, you haven't much to do. What will you say to him when he finds you're done with your work before high sun?"
His cold red eyes remain unchanging.
"I don't know; I don't care." he responded, looking away. "Damn," he thought, "he has such a piercing gaze..."
"I suppose since you are to work all day, I will personally train you until sun down."
"Oh Advent!!" his mind screamed in supreme anguish, "No!"
Finally, after several speechless moments of twitching, pain-stricken eyes, he gains his voice just long enough to croak, "No!"
His mind remembering all too well the first and only time they've trained together, etched into the steel of his brain like a volcano's ever-fire searing at his nerves, bringing forth images of pure viciousness given reaper's form.
"Be in the courtyard by High Sun" Aaron finally said, entirely ignoring his refusal. Then walked away in a seemingly slow gait, though when the prince finally gained his composure and looked down the hall, he could not see Sir Aaron.
Finally, High Sun, and he was in the courtyard. He couldn't believe the grueling labor he was facing with such calm a mind and body.
Sir Aaron silently stalked towards Ryan. He saw Sir Aaron, though he didn't..."see"...him, his mind just didn't register it as being him.
Eventually, Sir Aaron came to a halt in front of the prince and saluted, "It is time for your training." he announced sternly.
He left out the sigh, "Though, there is news you should hear."
The prince stared at him silently, it was rare that Sir Aaron chose to personally deliver any news.
"Your Father, the King, has chosen not to declare war on the Kingdom of Adratos."
"What?!" Ryan immediately responded, "And why the hell not?! They killed his brother!"
As usual, PLEASE leave a comment telling me how I did, especially if you didn't like it. Please be descriptive.
A Dark Angel is set on fire
With burning love and desire
This feeling she never knew before
Yet her mind is asking for more
Rotten and dark she is inside
A fallen angel of the night
She curses for the feeling she calls Love
It makes her like an Angel from above
Yet her heart holds it light
Because that's what comforts her through the night
This fallen that you see
Is the soul that hides inside me.
With burning love and desire
This feeling she never knew before
Yet her mind is asking for more
Rotten and dark she is inside
A fallen angel of the night
She curses for the feeling she calls Love
It makes her like an Angel from above
Yet her heart holds it light
Because that's what comforts her through the night
This fallen that you see
Is the soul that hides inside me.