“Rowan… Rowan… Rowan!” He quickly opened his eyes, blinking off the fatigue. Laurel stood above him, his brother's hand was firmly placed on his shoulder. “By the gods, Finally. I was beginning to think I’d have to get Simon.” Laurel released his hand from his brother. The warmth from where it had gripped faded quickly. He placed a hand on his hip and rubbed his stubble with the other and looked as if he was deep in thought, pondering. Laurel smelt of sunberries, a nostalgic odor. It brought back memories of their childhood. “Your nightmares are getting worse. These fits are only getting more abundant as time passes. I do not envy you brother. But I do wish that I could bear some of the weight.”

Rowan pushed himself against the headstand of his bed. His clothes stuck to his skin and his hair, slick as a seal, covered his eyes. He swept the hair out of his eyes. Nightmares filled with flashes of future and past alike. Though some were clear as glass, most were shattered and stitched together at random trying to make sense of the nightmares was a fool’s errand. It gave Rowan a sense of comfort though knowing it a normal thing for those of the Crowe lineage to have similar experiences. At least for the firstborns. “I’m certain you wouldn’t say that so easily if you were to have some of these. Now, why’re you here brother? Surely you didn’t wake me just to talk about my nightmares?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Rowan? It’s two weeks today since you turned eighteen.” Laurel looked at his brother's furrowed face failing to see the significance of what he had been told. He sighed and shook his head. “You really can be so absent minded.” Turning around Laurel grabbed a water filled pitcher off its platter letting the cool water fill a wooden tankard handed it to his brother. “Here, drink.” Rowan took the tankard and drank the water greedily. The water was a taste of heaven. Laurel spoke as Rowan hydrated. “You leave to do your sacred duty, staving off old Ishtar and the demonic horde for a few years, decades if we are to be lucky, successfully saving the realm from certain war, death, and anguish. I have to say this is rather your forte isn’t it brother? Rushing into the fray to save whomever need be saved, returning victorious to a thousand maidens that would love nothing more than to be yours.” He sighed. “Nothing like me. My nose always stuffed in a book, researching things that needn’t be researched. I will say I have more of a mind for tactics then you though brother. Forgive me I don’t mean to suggest you haven’t a tacticians mind brother but you have to agree that I’m more fit for tactical warfare than you.” With a thud Rowan placed his tankard on the table next to his bed.

“I’d be a fool to think myself better than you at tactics. You’d win against me with a hundred men if I had ten times that. “He threw off the satin sheets covering him and jumped off his bed. “Don’t worry about the thousand maiden competing for my love. There will be a hundred competing for yours.” He flashed a sly smile as his brother rolled his eyes. He moved to the foot off his bed. A Nuovian made chest sat waiting. The design was precise and intricate, detailed beyond any other country's carpenters skill. It bore his family's sigil engraved into the wood. A crow, wings outstretched beneath a bright orange sun casting its shadow on the earth beneath.

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He rummaged through it. Closed it shut and set his clothes atop it. “I would ask you to come with me brother but as you said you’re more suited to your books and tactics if we had more men I’d beg you come.” He buttoned his shirt. “Feed old Murph while I'm away, will you?” The doublet came next, fitted like a glove. An elaborate weaving of linen and silk. Its deep charcoal black accented with a cool white.

“I’ll make sure the old cat eats his fill. I have to say brother, the family color suits you quite well.” He laughed. “It’s no wonder why the woman swoon when the prince Rowan passes.” Walking to the chair by the balcony he sat gazing at the cloudless sky. “Do you know what the common folk say about you?” He looked at his brother. He continued dressing. “They say Rowan Crowe is more handsome than all the other lordlings. Stronger and more brave than a thousand men. He will be a greater ruler and king than all those before him. And do you know what they say of me? Laurel Crowe. Prince Rowan’s brother? Yes I’m sure he'll be a good counselor to his brother. Rowan’s brother? The other Prince? Oh Prince Rowan’s brother. They only know of me because of you brother. You proved yourself a hundred times over during the war your renown reached further heights than I will see. I have no achievements, accomplishments for people to recognize me for.” He scratched the arm of the chair. “I won’t lie. It does indeed make me quite jealous brother.”

Rowan listened to his brother. He understood in a sense how Laurel felt. The weight of becoming the future king and ruler sat heavy in his mind. He often compared himself to his father’s legacy. He walked over to his brother and stood beside him. “I can’t say I fully understand how you feel. After all, I don't have a older brother to compare myself to. I will become king one day though I’ll have to measure up to fathers legacy and push myself higher than higher than him. A little part of me is always questioning myself. How would father do this? Can I rule better than father? There is always a part measuring myself to father, comparing myself to him.” He looked at his brother. “There will be a times when only you and your vast knowledge and military tactics can save and help people. Times where I can’t do anything. Don’t listen to their drivel. I know you are far better than they know.” His brother nodded. He clapped his hands. “Now enough moping brother. Lift up your chin. I leave today for quite a bit of time. I need my brother there to cheer for my success. And make sure those maidens don’t try to keep me from leaving.” Laurel smirked and got up.

“I’ll make sure they don’t forget about you while you are away.” They both laughed. He hugged his brother. “Don’t die in some boring place brother. The people would weep for a year.”

“I wouldn’t dare think to die a boring death.” They released from each other. “If I’m going to die it’d be one that all the bards make songs of. Now come, I'm sure father will want to speak in private before my sendoff.” They left his bedchamber making their way to the kitchens.