after all this time - 3/3 - closed

Four weeks. Well, four weeks if they make haste.That could be doable. It would be hell, but it would certainly be doable. I'm getting too old for this shit. Clarke exhales again and rubs his eyes temporarily blind. "We'll leave in the morning." He should be retired. He should say no and turn his old friend and their newly acquired child away… but– God.

"I'm assuming you're both hungry," Clarke grumbles. With his tone, everything could be an insult. It took someone who could truly listen to figure out that he's actually there to help. He may be irritable and intimidating and prone to starting fights, but that doesn't mean he's somehow an empty, soulless husk of a man. No. He knows how to cook and how to use a sword. With innkeeping firmly off the table with his temper, it was only logical Clarke took the warrior career path. Well, that and the fact Clarke's never met a superhuman innkeeper before. What a waste the young alchemist's powers would go to if Clarke slaved his days away behind a countertop with a rag and apron.

With a pair of stomping feet, Clarke makes his way to the small kitchen area of his three-room self-built cottage. The back room is his bedroom with an adjoining bathroom complete with the best plumbing a medieval not-plumber could possibly craft. The largest room is a mix of a living room, dining room and kitchen. Clarke mostly eats on his porch where he can breathe in the outside air, but when the weather is particularly bad, he'll use the couch and low table to scarf his meals. He thanks his stupid god that he made extra food. He was going to be eating this stew for the next few days but… well, there are better uses for it.

Carefully, Clarke ladles his cooling stew into two of his cleanest bowls before sliding them over to Ren and the child–Edward, Eddin, Edwin? Edvin– Yes, that's it. "Eat it while it still has some semblance of warmth," Clarke deadpans with a sigh. "And you're staying here for the night." He points to his couch. It was another gift from a neighboring village after he removed a particularly annoying heard of Poison Tonic Wasps from their well. "Kid, you're on the couch. There's blankets in the trunk there." He points to a chest. "Ren, you're with me in my room." They're no strangers to sharing a bed. It's been four fucking years, but it shouldn't be… too bad. When he speaks next, his voice is barely above a whispered snarl. "We have a lot to talk about."

Lowering the map, Edvin smiled faintly at Clarke. His heart leaped with joy. They all are going to get the locket! Everything is going to be okay! Carefully, he folded the map up and placed it back in the bag. They are going to go on an adventure tomorrow and will save Keosalon. For once he actually feels happy. It's making his face all fuzzy and tingly.

The excitement had fizzled out. His stomach rumbled. He frowned. The last time he ate was this morning. All the energy has led him to forget and he didn't even think to pack some sort of snack. He copied Reiner, watching as Clarke made food.

Edvin was still unsure about Clarke. A bit of him was unsure about everything. This is all still confusing. He has heard so much about him from a lot of people, but especially Hunor and Suho. He has heard about the adventures Clarke and Renier had and how the Beholder was slayed. They can help him!

Taking the bowl, he titled his chin up to look at Clarke. In a low volume, he said, "Thank you." The little prince happily ate every spoonful possible. When he finished, he stared down at the empty bowl. What to do now? Everything has been done for him. Everything, whether he liked it or not.

He watched Reiner. Maybe copy what they did? The little prince did so, or at least tried his very best to. As he took care of cleaning the bowl and utensil, he had to get on his tippy toes. Only when done did he relax his feet.

A yawn crawled out from his mouth. Edvin rubbed his eyes. He took a few blankets then went over to the couch. The first he did was place the doll where he was going to sleep then got onto the couch after taking off his slippers. The shadows lingered. Edvin pulled the blankets up to himself.

Clarke watches the boy and his old friend finish the stew and wash out their bowls in the sink. All the sink is is a cut out in his wall with some woolen insulation stuffed around an outdoor pump. He's near enough to the river that he can store it beneath his house. Every week, Clarke will go down to the lower floor and boil a large vat of it to use for drinking and bathing. Hell, he won't even be back until a month later–maybe even more than that. "If either of you need to bathe, the bathroom's attached to my room. Don't worry about conserving it, I have plenty and I won't need it for a while." Clarke points to his open bedroom door.

Sighing heavily, Clarke repackages the last of his stew. He'll put it all in a thermos in the morning. There's just enough for the three of them for one last helping. Before they set off, they're going to have to stop by the town. Having been four years, Clarke is irritatingly low on all adventuring supplies. He's going to need fishing hooks and travelling packs, a quiver and some new arrows and a horse– Shit. He's going to need horses for them all.

"How long will the journey be if we get steeds?" Clarke asks, mostly directed at the child because Ren is clearly incompetent. The boy is small enough to fit on the back of Ren's horse. Two stallions… Bought or rented… Clarke could likely get a discount on whatever choice through glare and grumble. "And how are your supplies?" The second question is actually directed towards Ren. Edvin's state is… tired. Exhausted, even. Clarke has to grit his teeth to suppress the memories of sleepless adventuring.

In the morning, he planned, he will wake up early, wash himself, and then go back to bed. Then he will have time to learn how to put his hair up by himself. A top knot shouldn't be that hard, he hoped.

"Steed?" He looked down at the doll in his arms, as if she would help him. The details were in his mind, yet they were not as fresh as they were before he started running with Reiner. Everything in his mind was quite wishy-washy to say the least.

Edvin lightly shook his hand. A grumbling voice emerged, the shadow laying on the floor beside the couch. Three and a half, at the most. He smiled as a way of saying thanks. "Three and a half at the most….I think."

Brushing a strand of hair away, he yawned. His eyes lingered at Clarke and Renier. What do they have to discuss? Are they going to do so in front of him? Why? He sighed. It doesn't sound like he will be getting a bedtime story from one of the adults.

The little prince lowered himself, but didn't close his eyes just yet. The shadow on the floor remained, but it was joined by another. Resting on his side, he waved his fingers, watching as the two shadows kept switching places. He smiled while trying to guess which one was which. It was a game he played with them ever since he was five. If only they could tell him bedtime stories, they're not good at it.

(no worries lemonwitch!! It's nearing finals week so I'm not sure how active I'll be either!)

With the boy prince tucked away on Clarke's couch, the man finally turns to Ren and claps his old friend on the shoulder. "C'mon," he grumbles, already steering them into his room. Sighing, he toes off his boots and snags a tied ribbon from around his wrist into his teeth. He nods his head towards the bathroom as an invitation. There's no use holding bad blood between them. Not when it's been four years and Clarke can't even bring himself to truly remember what caused them to fall apart.

"Use the bath if you need," Clarke mumbles, his hospitality leaving an odd taste in his throat. "Use anything in there, for all I care." He moves the ribbon to tie his hair back in a knot. As the silence settles over him, Clarke has to wonder what exactly he and Ren have to talk about. He knows that there's something that must be said, but Clarke's never been a wordsmith. That's always been the bard's specialty. Clarke has always been steered more towards grunts and answers of yes, no, and we'll see.

"What have…" He struggles to put his thoughts into words. "I–uh–fuck." He sighs and slips his shirt over his chest to change into one not covered in the sweat and mud of the day. "What were you doing in Keosalon? And how exactly did you acquire the boy?" Clarke momentarily imagines Ren struggling through a tall castle tower like one of those fairy tales Clarke read all those decades ago. He has to suppress a smile at the mental image of Ren singing some ballad with their drum before sprinting for the throne and snatching a child in the process.

His hand hung in the air as it draped over the edge of the couch. Edvin stopped with the little game as his attention became focused on the conversation between Clarke and Renier. Their voices were rather faint, yet he managed to listen in. He could not help it. Eavesdropping has become a habit for him and he has always used it for some sort of benefit.

The little prince frowned, mostly at himself. Yes he is free, but at the expense of putting him, Reiner, and Clarke in danger. He can only guess how many mercenaries were sent out to find him. Mercenaries. The ones that His Majesty would have set out to fetch people only to end up imorisoning them or worse.

Does this make him terrible? Is he a terrible person for all of this? But he must save the kingdom. His Majesty isn't doing anything except for having so many people watch the little prince's every step. Someone must do something in order to save Keosalon from the Clutcher.

Edvin hugged the doll. He couldn't help but think about all the risks. His mind cannot even imagine most of them. What would happen to Clarke and Renier if they get caught? What would happen to himself?

The shadows remained where they were. In the corner of his eye, they appeared fuzzy. "You do not have to stay the whole time," He mumbled to them. "I am quite alright." He waved his hand then the two shadows were able to move freely.

Why do you say that when you are resisting sleep? Suho asked. Edvin yawned then gave a small shrug. "I do not want to burden these men by putting themselves into danger," He added. They went on adventures together before you were born. They are more than capable of this adventure they will be going on with you.

Before he was born….Once again, he yawned. His eyelids were becoming heavy, yet the little prince was doing everything in his power to stay up just a bit longer.

Clarke listens with a set jaw and eyes that have been described as harsher than the biting cliffs of the Climbclaw Mountains. Truly, he doesn't mean to be so intense, but he supposes it just comes naturally with the sword and rusted armor. He's known Ren long enough that his resting glare won't scare them away. Clarke can't quite say the same for the child.

"You were entangled with a group that wanted to kidnap the boy, so you just beat them to the punch?" Clarke clarifies, arching a single dark brow. "And they got arrested and you managed to slip away with the only heir to Keosalon?" This entire situation just seems to get worse and worse, but Clarke has faced much worse odds. Granted, he faced those terrible odds when he was twenty-something, reckless, and in peak physical form. Well, he supposed age has made him a little more than just crotchety.

Yes, this situation does look horrifically bad. Clarke and Ren could lose their heads. Hell, they could lose the only heir to a powerful kingdom. One wrong step would be all it would take. They'd have paper faces up in every single goddamn town if they'd managed to be seen with the little prince. "This is going to have to be a stealth mission," Clarke grumbles because like hell he'll leave Ren and the child to fight on their own. "Remind me to buy heavy clothes when I go to the market tomorrow. Ones that'll be easy to conceal an identity." He snaps his fingers and finds a folded shirt from his self-built dresser. "You and the child will stay here–out of sight–until I return. Then, we can decide if we want to wait until nightfall or leave as soon as possible."

He doesn't address Renier's gratitude. Clarke doesn't feel the need to. "Until then, get some sleep, Ren." Clarke notes the drop in his voice, going from gruff to somewhat… soft? No– no, that's not it. "You need it." God knows how long the bard had been running. God knows how long since the bard has gotten the proper amount of sleep. Clarke himself doubts he'll rest tonight. Perhaps it's time to finally sharpen his sword.

Edvin laid on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. His sleepiness was pushing him down against the couch like gravity, but he just could not let his eyes close for the night. The surrounding area darkened as thoughts swirled around in his head. He still worried about the danger. He still worried about all the things his mind cannot fanthom. It was those worries that managed to keep him awake.

Sitting up, he threw the one end of the blankets over in order to swing his little feet over the end. They didn't touch the floor yet. Hovering above, he stared down at his slippers then over to the door of Clarke's bedroom.

His eyes then flickered around, taking every detail that they could catch. The little prince was still in his disguise, yet he felt lazy to not change into the clothes that he had brought. A decision floated around his mind. He looked back at the door then hummed while pondering.

Setting the doll down beside him, he undid the red ribbon that kept his hair up. Wind brushed the back of his neck as his hair fell down. He tied the ribbon around his wrist into a loose bow. Then he got off the couch.

The wood creaked as his feet made contact. This made him jump, immediately grabbing the doll. Edvin slowly made his way over towards the door step by step. When he was close enough, he made a fist and gently knocked three times. One…two…three…

His eyes lit up as he looked up, waiting eagerly.

Clarke watches as the tension begins to ease from Renier's shoulders as they slowly drift to sleep. He's sitting in a chair by the door, poking at a shabby hearth with a fire poker. The embers are still smoldering from when he lit it that morning, keeping it controlled throughout the day and smoking the occasional slab of meat. That's why his room smells like steak. He hopes it isn't embarrassing. Not that he cares… Just… Whatever.

Above the aforementioned fireplace is his sword–a bronzen blade with stained edges. The dark maroon used to be something he would spend hours in the river trying to clean, but he gave up after three years of no effort. He still oils and scrubs it regularly, even in its years of idleness. It's a… coping mechanism of sorts. Something to do with his hands as his brain shuts off. How much blood has the blade tasted in the past decade? How many monsters' souls has he reaped with the longsword?

He should probably be protecting the house. An old friend and a child are in his abode with an entire kingdom after their heads. He sighs and stands, but before he can pick up his reliable blade, a knock sounds at the door. Raising an eyebrow, Clarke clicks the latch open and allows the hinges to creak open. It's the child. Shit. Clarke can barely cope with his own nightmares, how can he aid such a young boy in navigating his?

"Ren's asleep," Clarke grumbles. That's who the prince would be here to see. Why would he ever seek out a man he met not even an hour ago. Ren… well, Renier had kidnapped-slash-rescued Edvin from his home, provided him protection across the land, fed him, bathed him, played for him– It only makes sense for the boy to want the bard. "Do you need something?" He inquires anyways because like hell he'll turn the prince back to the dark living room.

Looking over his shoulder, he took a few steps back. When he had returned his gaze, his chin lowered. Edvin was sure that he was never more patient than he is right now. Thanks to the questions plaguing his mind, he is still up. Sure his eyelids are a bit droopy and the little prince is sluggish, but here he is standing in front of the door to Clarke's room.

The door creaked open. He threw his head back to see Clarke. Still he feels unsure about this warrior. The warrior is huge like some of the guards back in the palace. Strong and tough. And yet, there is something about Clarke that he cannot put his small finger on. There must be more to the warrior than what the stories say. He wondered if Clarke cannot sleep too.

Edvin leaned his head back, looking up at Clarke. Then he quickly got a glimpse of Reiner. Is he supposed to be asking for one of them? Really he just got up to knock because he doesn't want to be alone. He feels bad for dragging these two adults into so much.

"I cannot sleep," He finally said. With the back of his hand, he rubbed his left eye. "Can I sleep with you two? Please?"

Clarke looks to the child, then back to the bed. Shit. There's no way Renier could've slept through that. He doubts that the years alone have done anything to help quell Ren's horridly light sleeping. He steadies the boy with his deep copper eyes. Small, helpless, vitally important to a powerful kingdom– Stop. I shouldn't assess the boy like I would assess monsters. Sighing and running a calloused hand over his lined face, Clarke steps to the side.

"I won't be sleeping tonight," he says quietly, gruffly. "Somebody needs to prepare for tomorrow, and it shouldn't be either of you." His gaze settles on the idle sword hanging above the fireplace. Shaking his head, Clarke then points to the vacant pillow of the right side of the bed aside Renier. The bard shouldn't care. "Please, try to sleep as much as you can. I don't know how strenuous the journey will be."

This journey… A month across the continent to find some sort of talisman the boy requires for whatever reason. Though most of his questions had been answered by Renier, Clarke still holds so many more. However, they're all for another time–meant for the morning or when their horses require them to slow. Only then will Clarke manage to get the information from both the bard and the prince about whatever situation he's being dragged into.

His head tilted to the left. The little prince is certain that sleep is also vital for adults too. He wondered if he really could say such a thing. After all, he is a guest in Clarke's home. Well, after basically barging into Clarke's home. And he doesn't want to be rude either way. They all need to get ready for the start of their journey tomorrow.

"Wouldn't sleep count as preparation?" He asked. Another yawn left him. "Warriors need sleep too. And we can all fit in that bed somehow, I think." He wasn't going to say please though. Sometimes such a word isn't useful in cases like this. It would be nice for all of them to get their good night's sleep before whatever happens tomorrow. They need to get on the right foot in order to get this talisman.

Edvin shuffled through the door to Reiner. The floor underneath him creaked. His face was worn-out. There was still a buzzing, throbbing feeling in his legs and feet. Thankfully he will not be alone while asleep.

"I am sorry I woke you up," He whispered to Reiner. His head was kept down as he stared at his feet. "Am I a horrible person for bringing you and Clarke into this?"

Clarke stutters with his movement towards the sword at the boy's words. "Well. You two should sleep to prepare for tomorrow. I will work to ensure we're all ready to go. I don't need sleep. Not right now at least." It pains Clarke to even stay for too long in the house. His neck itches, his scalp tingles, his heart palpitates every few minutes. His hibernated reflexes and heightened senses have decided to return. Clarke is unsure if he should take it as a blessing or a curse. "Just go to sleep, child. God knows you need it." Clark accentuates his sentence with a heavy sigh as he finally dismounts his sword and studies the blade in the dying firelight.

The warrior overhears the prince's small words to Renier. With a clenched jaw, Clarke refuses to comment. No need for awkward, stumbling affirmations when Ren's words will usually do just fine. That's how it always was… wasn't it? Ren would talk and talk and talk for seemingly forever while Clarke handled the more physical, action-centric parts of things. Clarke decapitated whatever horror awaited him in the forest. Ren would then barter them a nice inn room for the night.

The blade sings as Clarke runs the smoothing stone over it. Taking a seat in the rugged armchair beside the hearth, Clarke continues to work away at the sword. Despite his reflection already being clear in the stained surface, the warrior continues to slide the stone over it, again and again and again. He wouldn't be surprised if he ate away at the metal until dawn. It's happened before, right after Clarke nearly lost his head brawling with some behemoth in the swamp. The stress from events past and current are roughly the same, hence the resurgence of Clarke's favorite nervous habit.

Edvin blinked. He didn't really want to say that he was eavesdropping on Reiner and Clark, but it is the truth. There is also fact that a lot of the danger is because of him and his royal blood. What makes him stressed is that no matter how much he can try, he can't do anything about it. The possibilities of what would happen if they get caught are what is keeping him awake.

Tears welled up in his eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek then gave the doll a light squeeze. "I am bringing danger wherever I go because I am different," He sniffled. "I cannot do anything about it. It is horrible. Does that make me horrible?"

He looked over his shoulder, briefly glimpsing at Clarke. It's the first time anyone has ever simply called him "child," and he does not mind it at all. Still, the little prince thinks that the three of them should go to sleep, yet he knows that he can only make himself go to sleep. Meanwhile adults choose to stay up then become sleepy. Adults are strange.

"Huh?" He stared at Reiner with wide eyes. Quietly, he let out another sniffle while doing his best to smile back. The best he can sincerely do was a faint one. Edvin was about to nod and say "yes" but he hesitated. Again, his mind went back to thinking about the importance of sleep. "Are you not going to bed as well?" He asked. "I do not want to be alone." A yawn managed to escape from him. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You're not horrible, child," Clarke grumbles, gruff and harsher than anticipated. "This was bound to happen eventually," he continues with a grimace. Fate has a way of messing with Clarke. Something always happens. Hell, he thought he had finally found at least some semblance of peace but even he cant' enjoy it without something barging in and disrupting it all. He shouldn't complain, though. Not when this task is much larger than just him and his pride.

"Go to bed," Clarke repeats. "Both of you aren't a burden but you will be if you're sleep-deprived once we head out." Though unnecessarily blunt, Clarke at least prays his point will get across. With the sun just fully setting outside and the stars finally begin to freckle the sky, there will be about seven hours until dawn. Those seven hours will give Clarke all the time he needs to prepare and supply all the time the bard and the prince will need to recover from whatever strenuous journey they were on before arriving at Clarke's doorstep. With another few clean slides of the polishing stone, Clarke retires his blade and stands, carefully laying the sword horizontally across the worn armrests.

The warrior stands in the doorframe, hesitating before going into the rest of the house. He has three knapsacks. There's plenty of daggers in the small storage shed outside. He should have enough dried meat to last them a few days and enough coin to score them an inn or two along the way. He should be prepared. They should be prepared. Glancing momentarily back at Renier and Edvin, Clarke shakes his head and begins to rummage about the house, sorting everything they'll need for the next three weeks and more across the continent.

A long sigh drew out from his small rose colored lips. His head dropped into a sulking position. Edvin didn't want any of this to happen. "Okay…" Sometimes he doesn't even want to be the crown prince. Why must things happen the way they do? Why can he not have a say in how they do? Every single thing that has led him to this point has left his mind plagued with worry. The worry that incessantly runs along with the shadows in his mind.

All of it keeps him awake. Ever so tired yet still awake. He bit the inside of his cheek. Letting go, he yawned. Not worrying would be nice; it is one way that he can help himself along with Reiner and Clarke. He'll try it. Or there may be a good chance he won't have to since he is blinking a lot in order to properly listen to what Reiner was saying to him.

Pieces of hair fell back as he gazed up at Reiner. Something to help him fall asleep? Like a bedtime story? There is a lot to consider here. Edvin is nine which is pretty close to ten. From what he knows, not a lot of ten year olds get bedtime stories. Same goes for nine years. He could be the only nine year old in the kingdom who would still have bedtime stories from his mother. Crown princes and kings do not get bedtime stories. They read to themselves.

Edvin went over to the bed and got in as he pondered over asking for a bedtime story. He pulled up the covers then gently tucked the doll in beside him. The little prince stared at the doll for a couple seconds. He sat up straight then turned his head to Reiner. "I'd like a story please."

Listening to their fading voices, Clarke begins to lay out supplies. He had never necessarily been a messy person in the past, but it feels as if he couldn't have been less organized. Where did he keep his short knives, the small collection of leather sacks, the spare laces for his boots? How long had it been since he tended to his cloak? Is there still a tear along the shoulder seam?

Slowly counting his breaths, Clarke open and closes about a dozen drawers before he finds the medium leather sack filled with smaller ones. He had used them once for powders and spices. Perhaps he could fill them with… marbles? God, what is he doing?

Not even two hours ago, Clarke had been… normal. Well, as normal as Clarke could possibly be. He was alone and eating soup and pondering when he should next tend to the landscaping around his house. Now he's packing and planning and figuring out what the hell to do with an old friend and an heir. I'm going to be enemy of the state again, he muses internally. God, he's going to have to prepare to run from the guard… again. It shouldn't be too hard to fall back into his golden days… right?

He spares another look into his room, an unexpectedly fond feeling settling deep into his chest as he listens to Renier's smooth voice tell the boy a tale. It's likely one Clarke heard around the campfire years ago, with bravado and wide gestures and expressions that managed to crack even the smallest smiles from Clarke's face of stone. Golden days.

The little prince sat in bed with wide eyes. Soon he was focused on the story being told to him and not any of the worries that were in his head. He didn't think about the what-ifs and the danger that will be out there. In fact, he did not realize this. He just eagerly listened to what Reiner was saying. Even as he tried to hide a yawn, he was excited and happy for once.

What came after the first yawn was another. Next thing Edvin knew, he was fighting to stay awake. The weight of his eyelids became heavy. A wave of sleepiness blanketed over him; he was not able take it off. Nevertheless, he tried to stay up by looking around at other things or pinching his hand. The little pinches did not work, and he gave up after seeing a part of his hand turn red. He mustn't guve up. He wanted to hear what happens next. Oh the struggles of a little prince.

His fight proved to be unsuccessful. Edvin fell asleep a little halfway into the story. His arms were wrapped around the doll. He finally was able to get some rest after such a day as today. Now he is helping Clarke and Reiner by getting sleep! In the morning he probably will apologize for falling asleep while being told a story then thank Reiner for what they have done. He cannot pay with much for now other than his gratitude. For now, he sleeps comfortably while dreaming about dancing with the shadows underneath the moonlight.

The room goes quiet and Clarke's hands hesitate from where they're sorting through a drawer. Quieting his own breath, Clarke allows his heightened senses to tune. It's been years since he's had to focus his energy to his ears, to his eyes and nose–years since he's ever had a reason to. They're both breathing. Softly. Asleep. Slipping back into his human ears, Clarke resumes his quiet rummaging.

The stars swirl overhead; the constellations play tag in the sky. While the clouds skate over the moon, Clarke works quickly and quietly. He has three bags, all of them the same large size. Clarke tries to imagine little Edvin trying to lug one around, but there's no other option. Perhaps he'll carry the young prince's bag.

He packs the bags full of knives and small provisions. He wraps dried meat in small cloths and ties them with twine. He fills various flasks with fresh water. He finds bedrolls hidden within his cabinet and laces them to the top of the sacks. The moon is lingering in the west when he's finally done. The sky has grown lighter, yet there's no sign of the sun. The warrior supposes he should feel the fatigue of a night spent, but all that plagues his consciousness is running scenarios and confrontations–so, just in case, Clarke finds the longbow locked in a chest and sets it on the table beside the bags.

The sun is only crawling forward, and Clarke figures it's about time to wake Renier and Edvin. Keeping his feet light and breath held, he steps into the room and clears his throat. He knows the bard is a light sleeper and he prays that when they'll wake, they'll rouse Edvin along with them. Clarke hardly believes that he's a welcome face to wake up to–a scowl, stubble, and eyes dark enough to be blood.