ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD

He was the last to come after the day’s fast had been broken, but he was not alone, he came with Ser Aaron, the young Kingsknight clad in gold in tow.

One Kingsknight was enough to make Zephyr feel safe, he would not bother both of them with the task of guarding his back, unless a situation deemed it of necessity. It was Ser Calix he let take the day to himself, and maybe he would keep doing so for more days to come. He did not see the elderly lord commander as one for such a labour. His son was a man of gold as well, gold and silver just like his father, he was more than enough.

Dante beamed a smile as he saw Zephyr waltz into the solar dressed in a black rich padded jerkin, and a gold cloak fastened to his left shoulder with a silver raven brooch. It was as though he had never seen a person before, even though one sat across from him. That one did not smile though, he just stared, seemingly in something alike to confusion or unsurety of why he was seated in the solar at this time. The auburn-haired man loved coats, he was dressed in one again, a grey one this time, but the auburn that matched his bunned hair was still on it, this time bedecked as stripes.

Flynn rose to his feet, receding his unrelenting confusion to the end of his mind, while allowing the requisite courtesy he was to offer the king, take the stage—this he did as the door of the solar went shut. “My king,” he greeted, his right hand placed on his left chest favoured with the raven pin of the king's advisor, in a fist.

“Zephyr,” Dante corrected. He did no standing though, he was still seated, watching his half-brother and his Kingsknight stride to the high-seat, with a face that did little to hide his excitement. He was the one that brought up they gather afterall, he was sure to be happy that his wish was granted. “Oh, sit Flynn. Your King is seated already.” Jesting, he told him, but he was of truth. Zephyr had already taken his seat, and Ser Aaron was behind at his left, the gold of the sun coming in from the small window at their rear, mixing indistinguishably with his gilded plates, while his oiled jet-black hair shone in the light. His great-helm was nowhere to be found, but his longsword was; it was strapped at his waist, his hand on its pommel: a golden stag with a pair of small horns that would do nothing to disrupt his grip.

Flynn was seated now, and Dante took his voice to his brother. “Jerkins… we wear the same, only different in colour. You look tired, brother.” He was tired no doubt. His lower eyelids were black and swollen with small bags. “Did you not sleep?” Dante asked, he with a look of concern and Flynn with a look of consideration. Ser Aaron looked down at his seated king as well, wondering what could have kept him awake. They all wondered, but aside from the guard he had told to make no mention of his night exploit, only he knew. Only he met her after all, and only he heard what she had said.

The second branch… all of them… He glanced to his left at Dante, then to his right at Flynn, both watching him in the same silence he gave them, and he with tired eyes begging for a chance at sleep. His head throbbed and he was weary, he lacked the energy to neither question nor judge the loyalty of anyone at the moment, he was only here because he had grown to be a man of his word, his father had made sure of that. He called the meeting, and he would attend it, tired or not.

“It did not come,” Zephyr answered, all in. Even his voice requested for rest. He cleared his throat and spoke again, “Do not mind me. I shall rest after our meeting.” A forced smile pushed the edges of his lips up the best it could, which was not enough, not nearly to show he had strength.

“You should rest, my king,” Flynn said, his voice tinted with the concern of his royal advisor, or maybe even: a friend. Was it? Zephyr was not sure. His head throbbed again, and he discarded his growing new habit of distrust.

“Zephyr,” he emended Flynn after his throbbing had stopped, which did not happen for long. He was the one that did the correcting now. “How many more times do I have to tell you?” A weak grin came on his face.

Dante had grown silent, assessing his brother for all the good it might do him, and him only, it was not doing Zephyr any good, it did not bring sleep to him, just another pair of eyes watching him like the faces he had seen last night.

Zephyr turned to meet his gaze. “I will be fine, brother. It’s just sleep, it will come.”

Dante was not convinced, at least that was what his demeanour said. “Your milk, did you stop taking it?”

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Flynn’s lashes swept up at Dante and he blinked at that question.

What milk…? Zephyr thought to himself. He did not have an answer, and he was too tired to even think up one. Bad is what he would call his situation, bad beyond doubt. Knowing nothing about yourself was more stressful than he thought it would be. Zephyr was who he was now, and he knew nothing about such person. “Yes,” he answered Dante with what crossed his mind first.

Flynn had a look of solicitude storm his eyes. “Why would you do that, my king?” Zephyr and his half-brother paid his formality no mind. He was constantly fleeing from being matey with the words he offered Zephyr; understandable that he was the king, but the king tended not to mind him being chummy, only himself did the minding.

“You took the Almond for your nerves, my dear brother,” Dante began, and no doubt kept on going without relent, “you know it’s always been hard for you to sleep, stopping is not something that should have crossed your mind. I do not want you maltreating your body in such a manner. You’re the king now, and a king must always be sound-minded to rule. How do you expect to do that with a blackened eye and a weary mind?” Dante was doubtless a brother in words, but was he in heart? Zephyr thought to put reasoning to it, but he would not be caught dead helping himself to another painful throb.

He stopped there, and thought about something else. He thought about how Zephyr’s sleeping disorder sounded a lot like the one that took him over after his father’s death. He too could not take to sleep without milk as well, the faces he saw tensed him up, but milk did the sleep trick. We are alike in some way… is it possible that he saw the faces as well…? He reasoned to himself, and surprisingly, his head did not drum a throb.

“Might I make sure the milk reached your chambers after, M’Grace?” Ser Aaron asked, as curtsy as expected of a Kingsknight.

Zephyr sighed. It seemed Milk of the Almond was what the other drank, and that was what he would begin to drink too. He had never tried almond before, but if it proved fruitful to calm his nerves and grant him sleep, then he would take it. Afterall, just like Prince Dante had said, he was the king and he was to rule, like it or not. “Make sure of that, ser,” he accepted the Kingsknight’s offer. “Is that fine with you both?” He gave a questioning glance each at the two seated men before him, advisor on his right and half-brother on his left.

“I shall make do with that,” Dante answered, while Flynn nodded only once and slightly, his lips unopened.

When Zephyr had called the meeting, he had been of mind to find out one or two things hidden to him, one or two things about this world he was dumped into, but his weary mind was not helping him with that at the moment. He wondered if he should just call it off and call for it again later, but did he have such time? He recalled he had a bride selection coming up, and after that was the tourney. He used to watch tourneys in movies, and he knew how tiring they could be. They would span from dawn till dusk, and sometimes over a few days. There were also the night faces, and… Melisandre… if they both came again, there goes his night’s sleep. It fraught impossible.

“Why did you call us together again, my king? You mentioned that we should not come together for a while less than a fortnight ago, so why the sudden change?” Flynn, taken over by his unwavering curiosity, broke Zephyr out of his reverie like wheat bread ready to be dipped in mutton stew.

Why…? Zephyr thought. That’s my question… Why are we three seemingly best buddies…? You… he side-eyed Flynn… someone I suspect, and you… he did the same for Dante… someone from the second branch, the one that witch said—

His head throbbed harder now. One, two, three, and everywhere went silent. Dante had begun speaking, taking glances at him while he talked to Flynn, but he was not hearing anything, all he heard were his slow breaths. In and out. In and out.

Ah… I’m so tired… it feels like my exhaustion is doubled… I’ve never been so tired before, what the heck is wrong with me…?

It went dark and it brightened again. In and out. It went dark and it brightened again. In and out. It went dark and it brightened again… but this time, his vision had grown blurry. It went dark, and it did not brighten again. He felt his body thud to the floor feebly.

What is this? Am I dying again…? He asked himself. No! He heard it, faintly but loudly. It was there, the voice, it came again, answering his question. It had not stormed his head in a while, but there it was, bellowing something again like it always did, although this time he could not hear it, it was faint and unhearable. At least it had told him he was not dying, he was relieved to hear that. Now he knew the darkness was for sleep, not death. He would wake up soon. He would.