* Six Years Prior… *

* Dragonslayer & the Dragon Prince *

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Beneath lilac skies and clouded heavens, a young man sat cross-legged beneath a flourishing, cherry blossom tree. In shape, his eyes resembled those of a fierce tiger’s, and in hue, the sourest of lemons. A shy tune gracefully left the precipice of his lips with every calm breath that he took, as he hummed the song of his younger and only sister, Gwynevere of Lordran; even through opened eyes, he could see his sister’s ethereal beauty–her long, chestnut locks that always flowed so gracefully down her shoulders, and her kind smile, that soothed the townsfolk of his home: Anor Londo. Sen’s hands remained clasped together upon his lap as he hummed and whistled the heavenly melody, over and over again–keeping sure that his back remained straight and his shoulders, tugged back, as though he were calling upon the very dragons themselves. Those ancient, winged-creatures held an intimidating, and oftentimes destructive rule over the vast lands of the world, yet Lordran remained a rather safe home to many, as Sen’s father, Lord Gwyn of Cinders, did not allow the flying beasts to pose a threat of such its usual calibre. Though, this particular young man not only failed to fear the ancient lords of the sky, but instead, demonstrated an unseemly curiosity and peculiar yearning for the creatures.

Before Sen could further lose himself in spiralling and what others would render delusional thoughts, a rustle in a nearby array of bushes brought an abrupt halt to his gentle hymn. The luscious and voluminous, bristled-white locks that stood atop Sen’s head swayed back and forth in an ethereal manner, as the tame winds toyed with his hair; now lidded, his piercing-yellow gaze focused in on the slight movement amidst the dark green leaves, before they widened in disbelief at what they were suddenly gazing upon. A slim and rather timid figure suddenly emerged from the bushes–albeit gracefully, despite the blatant weariness–looking around the homely nook that Sen remained seated amongst. One might have described the little hideaway as a “burrow” of sorts–exceedingly green in stature, save for the single cherry blossom tree that was nestled away in the middle, occasionally shedding a slow array of faded-pink petals that eventually wedged themselves in the fresh grass below; the very grass in which Sen was sat upon, staring forward at the other young man, who had finally noticed he was not alone in this nook.

“Gods! Forgive me, sir. I swear-–I wasn’t spying, nor perving! Nay, I just wanted some shade from this blinding bulb in the sky, you see. An agonising anomaly, is it not?” the intruding man exclaimed, taking two steps back as he focused on the stiff man that was seated cross-legged before him. A second later, it finally dawned on him. The lanky man’s lips parted slightly as his thin, dark brows raised in shock and frightened realisation, before immediately dropping to one knee and splaying a hand across his chest, while his other stretched out to his side–all-the-while tucking his head down against his clavicle in a bow of deep respect; his thin and lengthy dark locks fell in waves amidst his face, blocking out most of his prior view, yet he continued. “Prince Sen of Sunlight, it is mine honour to stand—er, bow before you, Your Highness,” he announced, taking in a shaky breath to speak once more, before Sen suddenly rose from the ground, breaking his meditation; a huff of annoyance from the prince filled the tight air between the two young men, to which the unintentional intruder sucked in his own breath–fearful of the events that were to potentially follow this awkward, royal encounter.

Instead, a gentle hand bid itself welcome atop the dark-haired man’s shoulder. “Do not bow amidst these trees. I do not wish to be regarded as such whilst absent from the distasteful structures and folk of Anor Londo.” Sen brought his other hand to carefully tug the silky, beige material that acted as a sort of face covering for the prince, so as to reveal the entirety of his face to the stranger. “Meet mine eyes and reveal thy name,” he continued, allowing his lips to sit in a straight line as he awaited a proper response from the other man–though, his gentle grip did not falter, nor did his gaze.

“Ornstein, Your Highness. Aspiring dragonslayer for the lands of Lordran, and a man who wishes thou no harm. Again, my apologies for impeding on thy moment of rest–”

Sen shoved the man whose answer rang true in his ears, directly to the ground with a harsh thud, before turning his back towards him. “Thou speaketh far too much. Leave this place at once, or I will have thy presence in the Undead Asylum, come nightfall on this sacred land of sunlight,” the Prince of Sunlight demanded, his voice bellowing amongst the silent and still trees of the peaceful nook. Ornstein watched in confusion and disbelief as Sen returned to his prior spot beneath the healthy, cherry blossom tree–once more closing his eyes and clasping his hands together upon his lap. “Your Highness, I don’t understand—I answered your question, yet I was met with what I assume to be only resentment. Tell me, what is it I did wrong?” Ornstein inquired, lifting his upper body from the ground as he, too, now sat, facing Sen. “Is my own presence that distasteful, Your Highness?”

“Enough with the peasantry theatrics and repugnant royal dogma,” his voice bellowed once more, filling Ornstein with waves of innate fear. Sen pulled his face covering back over his nose, opening his eyes as he stared straight into Ornstein’s own hazel. “The art of dragonslaying interests me as much as a life of pure despair; I do not wish to associate myself in anything that fares even remotely close to its abhorrent calibre. It is cruel, it is unjust, and I resent the very king whom you all bow your naive heads towards,” he spoke, his voice muffled, due to the material that, again, masked his true identity. “The ancient creatures interest me. I do not fear them like the rest of this land does. Do my words ring true for thou? Or art thou simply another pawn of my father’s objectionable plan against the ancient dragons—the very ones in which he believes to have destroyed?”

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Ornstein did not reply this time; instead, a loose grin took to his lips as his eyes began to travel up the prince’s stature. “And you said I speak a lot,” he let out, chuckling to himself as he met Sen’s intimidating stare.

“Tell me at once how you found this place,” the prince demanded, ignoring Ornstein’s poor attempt at loosening the air between the two. Though barely noticeable, his hands were now clenching at his thighs–and Ornstein made quick work as he released a pent-up sigh of anxiousness himself. “I followed a most strange cat, and it led me straight to those bushes behind me,” the raven-haired man replied without hesitation. The name Alvina rang loud in Sen’s mind, and he grit his teeth beneath the mask at his hastened realisation, before muttering the words, damn cat, beneath his breath. “Well, that, and I also heard a lovely hymn emanating from this corner of the Darkroot Garden. Cat or not, it seems fate took my side for but a brief moment,” Ornstein added, finally breaking his gaze as Sen dared not; but the prince was at somewhat of a loss of words himself, for he had not expected this stranger to have impeded this far on his personal matters. The stranger’s nose twitched–then he sighed once more, propping his elbows up onto his crossed legs and dropping his chin upon them.

“The very concept of dragons alone interests me; it is not just the art of slaying them wherein I yearn for,” Ornstein spoke bluntly, once more meeting the Prince of Sunlight’s deathly stare. “I wish to learn their mannerisms, their powers, how they think—feel… Love,” he continued–though, it seemed as though the man had begun musing to himself, more than anything. Sen’s eyes had widened long before Ornstein managed to finish his rambling thoughts; his mind was completely honed in on the stranger’s each and every word, before finally, he spoke.

“Thou art truly interested in the ancient dragons?”

Ornstein nodded, continuing as though Sen’s question held little meaning. “Yes. I was raised to believe that their demise was all that should matter, yet, I find myself yearning to unravel more about their true identities and intentions.”

Sen stood once more—his grand shadow looming over Ornstein as he spoke: “You will follow at once, and keep thine mouth shut until I say.”

Immediately, the raven-haired man nodded thrice, before lifting his lanky frame from the fresh grass and awaiting further orders from the prince. Sen huffed a grunt of approval, before once more turning his backside towards Ornstein–but this time, he made his way behind the cherry blossom tree, and lifted one of many bushes that hid the nook away from the rest of the forest. “Follow,” he let out, before disappearing entirely in its green masking.

Ornstein dared not stray a moment behind, and practically ran straight through the bush—but the sight he was met with, caused him to falter in his frantic efforts. A wyvern, no larger than a tiny boulder and no taller than a tree stump, waddled over towards Sen as it released a pitched squawk in its excitement. Instantly, Ornstein dropped to his knees as he stared at the young creature in awe; his mouth fell agape, and his eyes refused to focus on anything else in the surrounding area. As though the wyvern were but a young pup, he opened his arms with a warm grin and beckoned forth the ethereal creature—but he was met only with another pitched squawk and a slight stumble in its step, as it rushed over towards Sen.

“I’ve named her Kalaego,” the prince spoke low, so as to not scare his little friend. “Hiding him from my father has proven… difficult,” he continued, slowly taking to his knees as the baby wyvern made frantic work in nestling upon his lap. “I keep her here, away from those who wish to harm her kind.” Sen’s golden gaze shifted over towards Ornstein as he searched his face for a response of sorts, yet the crimson-haired stranger showed no signs of disagreement. Insteade, he crossed his legs, dropping his arms in his lap as he watched intently at the wyvern shifting around amidst Sen’s lap.

“Your admiration and devotion towards wyverns and dragons is quite beautiful,” Ornstein mused, clenching his hands against the tall, green grass in which he sat. No other sight came close to ripping his attention away as his eyes refused to stray away from Kalaego. “I’m sure this beast thinks fondly of you,” Ornstein added, listening with a grin as the wyvern squawked, once more.

“She is no beast,” Sen’s voice bellowed, immediately wiping the charmed grin off the other man’s face. The prince opened his hand so as to allow the ancient creature to rest her chin against his empty palm. “Her species is nearly all but extinct… And it is my father who is to blame,” Sen finished, before the corners of his narrowed eyes crinkled slightly as he watched his Kalaego growl gently against his large and blistered hands. “My apologies,” Ornstein croaked, furrowing his brows and cursing himself beneath his breath as his eyes refused to meet Sen’s own—which were almost certainly glued to his frame; but to Ornstein’s surprise, an array of warm feathers brushed against his arm as he continued to berate himself—and he gasped, a sharp intake of breath, as he looked down at Kalaego. She was completely trusting Ornstein as she slid against his arms, tumbling a few times as she ruffled her feathers and circled his body, three times over.

“She is no beast,” Ornstein spoke beneath his breath, eyes wide as he refused to look away from the ancient creature. He found himself sliding the pads of his fingers along her smooth and delicate feathers, smiling to himself each time he earned a contentful squawk from Kalaego.

“I've never before seen such beauty withheld in a creature,” Ornstein let out; he continued to pet the wyvern, but his gaze shifted up towards Sen—who, to his humble surprise, was already looking at him.

Ornstein shifted against the grass, suddenly feeling rather judged by royalty itself, as he had been unabashedly gawking at the wyvern’s natural beauty—all-the-while Prince Sen continued to stare at him. “I meant what I said,” Ornstein spoke up, meeting his gaze. “Kalaego is truly special—and to you, no less. It isn’t just the wyvern herself that holds this profound beauty, but the love in which you clearly hold towards her. I daresay I’m envious,” he continued, trying his utmost attempt to hide the red that seared against his cheeks.

Sen huffed out a low grunt of acknowledgement to Ornstein’s words, before he beckoned Kalaego toward him—then Ornstein. “It seems I have found another who wishes to protect you, little one,” Sen mused as he looked down at the tiny wyvern. “One day, you will grow larger than Anor Londo itself,” he let out with a low chuckle, dragging the pads of his fingers along the creature’s soft feathers. Ornstein, too, chuckled at Sen’s remark, unaware of his continued staring at the wyvern as he grinned radiantly to himself; but all thoughts and propriety was suddenly ripped from his mind as he felt a presence atop his head. As Ornstein looked up from Kalaego amidst Sen’s lap, he saw the prince’s arm stretched above him, and three, gentle pats slowly followed as Ornstein failed in prying his eyes away from Sen’s.

“Good Lion,” the Prince of Sunlight mused. And Ornstein closed his eyes, lifting his head to meet the rest of Sen’s open-palm as he smiled.