“Good morning, Father.”
Alcryst bows as is custom in meeting the king, but smiles gently as is custom in meeting his father. It is a beautiful day outside—the sun just barely grazes the horizon over the cliffs, bringing rays of sunlight into Brodia like the grace of the Divine Dragons. There is a gentle breeze that shuffles gravel, but only faintly. Though this morning is somewhat chilly (per the usual in Brodia’s colder climates), it was expected: Alcryst comes wearing his favorite jacket, and Alear, behind him, in the white faux leather of his treasured mica outfit.
Days like these are the best that can be asked for in Brodia, which pleases Alcryst. It’s nice that his words will be framed with such pleasant atmosphere.
He approaches the white marble gravestone of his beloved father. Before it lies a bouquet of fresh lilies, and the tomahawk sitting at attention beside it glimmers with reflected light. Alcryst's smile grows a touch. “I see Diamant’s already come by to polish your axe,” he chuckles, just barely touching his finger to the metal. It feels so long ago that he’d seen his father swinging the thing around, one-handed as if it weighed little more than a feather. His strength was one of many things Alcryst felt he had lacked, but Morion always told him of the many aspects he had to make up for it: his dexterity, his speed. He’d always known just what to say.
Much as Alcryst wants to sit back and reflect, however, he knows he’s here for a reason. “Father, there’s a lot that’s happened since I last came here.” He takes a deep breath and blinks once, twice, then flicks his eyes to the side. Alear, sensing his nerves, stands behind Alcryst and taps a gentle hand on his shoulder. Alcryst smiles, feels courage, and stands up straight.
“I want to tell you about all of it later, but right now… Right now I have something you should know.”
- - -
“Father, what’s the purpose of this stone?”
Alcryst has always wondered what the point of it was, this blue-and-red stone given to him at birth. Such a rare item is wasted on someone like him—what is he even supposed to do with it? Any modifications to it would ruin it, surely, if Alcryst were to do it. Even still, he wants to know why his father decided he ought to have it. Would he want it back? Do fathers do gift returns?
Morion raises his eyebrow at the question and puts down his sword and polishing rag. “What?” he asks, clearly not expecting something like that. “What d’ya mean, ‘what’s the purpose’?”
Alcryst stumbles in return. Has he set himself up to be a pest by asking? “I… I mean, it’s such a rare stone, isn’t it? Why give it to me of all people?”
“Because it reminded me of you, Alcryst. Didn’t I tell you that already?” Though he asks the question in a manner one may consider irate, Morion only looks sad. Alcryst feels the guilt of a thousand kicked puppies just looking at him.
“Y–You did! You did, Father, and I, um. I can see the resemblance! It’s blue and red, I’m blue and red, it’s rare, I’m… well, I guess I’m probably also rare, seeing as how you didn’t have twins… it’s like me if I were a little stone!”
“So then why’re you askin’ me why I gave it to you?”
Alcryst sighs. “It’s just that… I don’t know if I’ll ever give it the life it deserves.” He runs a thumb over the glossy surface. It had been excavated and cut with a care unmatched, and it was clear from the beautiful shape and how the colors were preserved. The fact that the color strain was so rare only compounded how precious this item was set to be, and yet of all the things his father could have done with it, he’d decided to… give it to Alcryst. “I carry it with me wherever I go… but with my luck, I’ll lose it or damage it beyond fixing. I haven’t put it in a weapon, nor have I converted it to jewelry—all I’ve done is keep it as its same old self. Am I really so worthy of this?”
He isn’t looking for pity; rather, he genuinely seeks a reason for why he was chosen to bear this item. Morion, knowing father that he is, seems to understand this and pats his hand on Alcryst’s head.
“Aw, kid, c’mon. You’re doubtin’ a gift from your old man?” Morion leads, but before Alcryst can open his mouth and barf a stream of apologies, he quickly picks back up. “Don’t answer that. Anyways, you remember the Brodian tradition around trinkets, don’t ya?”
Alcryst looks somewhat confused. “Yes, that they change form when they change hands. But I haven’t changed it into anything.”
“Maybe not right now, ya haven’t… but one day ya will.” Morion’s gaze turns gentle and it strikes Alcryst in the heart. “One day, you’ll give this gem to someone who deserves it, and you’ll have turned it from a birthday gift to a vow to someone special. That’s enough of a change, don’t you think?”
Eyebrows furrowing, Alcryst tries to take his father’s word for it. He wants to believe that it’s a substantial enough reason, wants to believe that he’ll honor the gift that means the world to him in the right way…
…but who on earth would he meet that could ever truly appreciate a gift like this?
- - -
The memory of a self-conscious conversation appears in his mind, and Alcryst almost laughs at it. He had been so sure of his failure then.
“Do you remember the conversation we had about the gemstone you gave me?” he asks the gravestone, staring at the lilies that rustle in the wind. “About how, when I gave it to someone special, it would have changed forms like all things do in Brodia?”
The grip on Alcryst’s shoulder tightens for a moment, and Alcryst flashes a look at it. Alear’s graceful hand, glittering with the blues-and-reds of Alcryst’s precious birth stone. It looks so beautiful on his finger… almost as beautiful as the blues-and-reds of Alear himself.
He turns back to the grave and smiles. “Well… it’s happened. Alear and I… we’re getting married, and we’ve had the stone turned into a ring.” He still remembers just how hard Alear had worked to preserve as much of the stone as possible when making it. The resulting band was rather large, but it made Alear happy and it touched Alcryst to no end. “We’re still deciding where to have the venue, but it’s going to be a big reception. Everyone in the army will be there… I think you’d enjoy it. I just wish you could be here in person…” He trails off and wipes his eyes, but before he can start talking again, Alear straightens.
The Divine Dragon pulls out from behind Alcryst and stands on his own, resolute and kind. He smiles at the grave as Alcryst had, remembering how loud and loving Morion had been. “King—er, excuse me… Mister Morion…?” Old habits die hard, apparently, even when trying to be emotional. “I may not have known you for as long as Alcryst had, but from the time I did I knew you were a strong and wonderful father. Your sons only ever have good things to say about you.”
Alcryst flushes a little, but Alear continues. “When Alcryst gave his stone to me, I was surprised—he had told me about how you’d given it to him before, and I wondered if I was someone worthy of taking such a precious thing.” He brings his ring hand in front of him, watching the stone closely. “But I thought about all the times we fought together, and how many times we’ve supported each other through the moments we felt we couldn’t go on.”
Alear looks over to Alcryst then, picking up on the shine of the Pact Ring Alcryst wears on his own hand. “I traded him a ring that is very important to me—one that had belonged to my mother,” Alear says. “So I think those precious items became promises to always be by each other’s sides… and I swear that I will be the person Alcryst looks to in times good and bad. Always.”
Alcryst had tried to stifle his tears while Alear spoke, but his words only worsened the flow. He knows how much Alear cares for him, but hearing the softness in how the Divine Dragon vocalizes his affections always rattles him more than he expects. Alear looks worried when Alcryst whimpers—“A-Alcryst?! Did I say something wrong?!”—but it’s only because he feels so incomprehensibly loved and honored that it takes all his strength not to start wailing.
After some time in quiet thought (save, of course, for some sniffling), Alcryst calms enough to speak again. “S-Sorry, Alear, I… well. Ahem.”
He’ll give a more thorough apology later. Alcryst turns one final time to the marble headstone, trying to imagine the way his father always looked so gently at him. Would he be crying, too? Surely not—his father with tears in his eyes was an impossible idea. Probably. “Diamant will walk me down the aisle, and he’ll bring your sword. He’s already talking about getting it sharpened and cleaned up, even though we haven’t set a day yet.” He laughs, thinking back on when he’d asked Diamant to be the one to walk him; he hasn’t seen his brother’s eyes go that wide perhaps ever, nor did he expect the tears. The sword was a mutually agreed upon item.
“What I’m getting at with all this… well,” Alcryst muses finally, breathing in deep once again. “I hope you will watch over us, if it’s not selfish of me to ask.” Alear sighs with a grin, lightly exasperated but fond. Alcryst catches that. “I-I mean, it isn’t selfish, I think, since I’m your son, but… I want you to know that your sons are doing well. Both of them. And they’re taking the treasures you gave them and changing their forms to pass on… because they know that’s what you’ve always wanted them to do.”
He takes Alear’s hand in his own and squeezes. Alear draws close so that their shoulders touch, and Alcryst feels emboldened to place a light kiss on the hand he holds. The sun is now high in the sky and the wind has ceased, so all is still at the gravesite.
Alear reaches into his pocket and pulls two chrysanthemums from it, placing them on the ground next to the lilies. “We should probably be getting back soon,” he notes to Alcryst. “We’re to be receiving imports from Queen Timerra later this afternoon, and they need you to supervise.”
Alcryst sighs. “Oh, right. The, er. Wedding gifts.” Timerra, upon learning of the wedding, had promised a deluge of ‘party favors’ courtesy of both herself and Fogado. Dragons only know what they decided on. “Yes, I guess we should get to Firene soon to receive the ships.”
He bows to his father’s tombstone, and Alear follows suit. “Goodbye, Father,” Alcryst says, stern but with a hint of emotion. “I promise I’ll come visit you again soon. I have to tell you where the venue will be.”
The two of them leave hand-in-hand with the Brodian sun to their backs. The flowers upon Morion’s grave shift lightly in a new breeze, bidding the pair farewell, before pushing together with their petals facing the sky.
