#muse: garon

Meme II Accepting!

"You're rebuking me?"

It wasn't often that the Nohrian king found cause to laugh. But his daughter's latest bout of foolishness was certainly one of those times. Upon hearing her protests — her! The war machine that he'd raised — he nearly doubles over in his throne, spewing spittle from laughter.

"You, my little general .... you think you know better than your king?” Garon says, his barking laughter reaching a crescendo. “You think you can advise him when your opinion has not been asked?”

As Garon laughs, his gaze falls upon Xander. Xander is careful to keep his face neutral, but, inwardly, he panicked. He didn’t like where this was going. He knew that his father’s temper was stoked, and whatever happened next would be influenced by it. 

Indeed, Garon’s next edict fills him with dread: “My son, why don’t we show what happens to fools who forget their place? Draw your sword.”

Xander didn’t even think of defying him. He gives a curt nod and obliges his father, drawing Siegfried from its sheath. As ever, the blade is pristine, and it hums with energy. 

“Now, fight her,” Garon commands. He issues the order as though it’s a simple task. For Xander, it’s anything but. He doesn’t want to hurt his sister, but his duty to his king demands that he fulfill the order. Reluctantly, he raises Siegfried high, and its power responds to his will. A line of blood-red light tore from the blade, but it meets neither flesh nor armor; it misses Manali completely, instead striking a wall behind her. 

“Father,” Xander says, making certain to keep his voice quiet and reverent. “It was by your will and blessing that I, not her, was granted Siegfried. Is that not demonstration enough of where she stands?”

Garon was unmoved. His eyes narrowed. Quickly, before he could scream another edict, Xander continues: “She is tired, Father, and has forgotten herself. We should dismiss our general and let her rest. By your leave, I will take a different adjutant with me.”

Garon’s expression was unchanged. For one deadly moment, an ominous silence hung between them. Then, in the next, the king relents. “Very well, Xander. Take Hans with you. Do not fail me.”

Xander bows, ever graceful, and takes Manali’s hand, practically dragging her out of the chamber with him. Once they’re far enough from Garon, he lets her hand go and gives her a death glare. 

Meme II Accepting! 

“Yes. You’re as lovely as always, my dear.”

Arete had finished singing to him. Her songs and dances never failed to bring a smile to his face. Although Garon missed his first wife dearly, Arete reminded him that love was still a sentiment within his heart. She pulled him from the brink of his grief and reminded him that life still had its joys. 

As she returned to his side, he clapped for her. Slowly at first, but then he stood up, grinning, and gave her one man’s equivalent of a standing ovation. 

“You deserve an entire audience clapping for you,” said Garon. “Praising you. Your songs are divine! A gift from the gods themselves.”

Upon hearing this, the attending servants took their cue to clap as well. Maids and butlers clapped and cheered, following the king’s lead. After a few minutes, he bade them to stop with a wave of his hand. 

"Do be aware, /father/ , that touching Brynhildr could lead to broken limbs. Whether I will it or not."

“I believe I’ll have Iago risk his, then.”

  malumprospera said:  “Who dared to insinuate that...

“I, um– I wasn’t laughing at you, Sire. I was laughing at, er… The audacity of anyone daring to try and start such baseless gossip! You’d, um, think the servants would have better things to do than spread such ridiculous rumours…”

“Indeed. The servants would best spend their time actually serving as opposed to putting their lives in peril for earning my ire.”

  "Father?" Gods, it feels disgusting calling Garon...

“…But the rabbit is a REAL rabbit, Father. A living, breathing, rabbit. I understand why you might take issue with a toy, but…! Surely, the living rabbit has done no wrong?”

“And that is supposed to convince me how?”

It was patently obvious to any onlooker than Prince Marx had undergone a painful transition from honorable prince to tyrant king. None felt the change as keenly as his elderly father, who pined for his son to return to the kindly man he was prior to taking the crown. Now, Garon knew that something had triggered this stark contrast; but the underlying cause, he could not name. Rather, he could only speculate. One of those speculations had been possession, but could it truly...? Could it truly be so?

He faces the figure of his son---or what he assumed to be the lad--with an unwavering gaze of his own. Hands held tightly ‘round the handle of Bolverk, his own magnificent weapon, he stood his ground. King to heir seemed to face each other with an impossibly thick tension permeating the air around them. One could slice the tension with a blade, it if were possible to slice at air. 

“Loyalty is not at stake here, Marx.”

“Sorry, you must’ve misheard my name. It is Garon. Not a run-of-the-mill name you’d expect, huh?”

At that, the teen offered her a teasing laugh, having no ill intent towards her innocent mistake.Truth be told, it was commonplace for people to call him anything but the correct name. People tended to gravitate towards what the found common, understandable. 

And, because of that, they’d bullied the poor foreigner for her accent and her “newbie” tendencies --- in the name of retaining normalcy. Thinking back to those who tormented the girl sickened him. He’d received no better when he was a freshman, but it was not a practice he would uphold.