"I would burn the world for you" (OxO Closed)

"The route goes mainly through forest, but Blakkast is a mountainous terrain–" Miran steps forward, uncrossing his arms as he approaches the map lain out across the table. He points to the marker signifying their camp and then travels north east towards a printed mountain range. "The first three days will be the worst. I'm not sure what type of beasts lurk in the forests, but I'm sure we won't be alone." His crusades had never been in the direction of Blakkast. Thier alliance formed by his mother's marriage was too strong.

"I haven't heard reports of problematic bandits. Just the occasional thief without a party looking for a bracelet to pawn." He taps the map firmly, right where the mountains begin. "No beasts travel into the Blakian Peaks. The military there has trained a multitude of cougars, leopards and lynxes to defend the mountains." The last time Miran had been to Blakkast, he was only fifteen and marveled at the beauty of the cougars that the generals rode upon. He asked his mother for one fir his sixteenth birthday, but she was killed before the date. "If Sella accepts our request, we won't have to worry about little ones being picked off by enormous cats."

"She will," Miran says firmly, circling around thr table to get different angles of the map. "Sella's first decree as soon as her father died wad to terminate the alliance formed between Blakkast and Araniel. Sella's a smart woman, she's been on this earth five years longer than me and that's five years more of witnessed crimes. She knows what a pig my father is, but unfortunately for her, Araniel is Blakkast's only ally in this war."

After completing a full circle, Miran points to the mountains. "The demographic here is an isolated one. They had remained neutral on all efforts–that was until the war began to look for them and my grandparents quickly sold my mother away to Araniel. Shortly after my mother was killed–" He pauses to swallow the bitter taste in his throat. "Blakkast closed their borders, not wanting to put the royal family in danger of the same fate. I am unsure if Sella will open the borders for newcomers again or if she'll lock it down into an even stricter fortress. Either way, Blakkast is without allies and if she knows what's good for her, Sella will accept our help."

(aksldfj yay! that's exciting)

"Blakkast is a mighty kingdom. Their allies may be few, but they are not without power." Miran pauses, unsure of how he should calculate his next words. "The royal family has magic in their blood." It's how Miran inherited his own abilities. His mother's magic had been weak, but her uncle had been rumored to be a great mage, one that served alongside the fallen kingdoms. "Most of their generals are skilled in that manner as well. There's a reason their kingdom hasn't been invaded in centuries."

Miran looks to the rest of the map, pointing to Irgeven in the West, Cobrass in the North, and Lumiere in the South, all of them equally placed from around the central kingdom of Araniel. "And these three countries are only bound to my own with marriage. Irgeven has remained neutral on the subject, but with Bel's betrothment, the Queen agreed to lend her inventions to Araniel. However, Bel is not in the kingdom where he's supposed to be. He's here and Queen Tacia just requires a bit of convincing to join our side. She agreed to marriage for an heir and only an heir. We could lend her a child and that's that." Miran shrugs, the idea clearly not serious. "The husbands of my sisters are… stupid men. All it would take would be a sweet word and we'd have their backing."

Miran finally stops his constant pacing. "My father is not a likeable man. It won't be hard to gather allies if we need."

"At ease, Nicandros," Miran drawls, narrowing his eyes at the king. He has to withhold his scoff. "Do you take me for a pimp? I would rather die a thousand painful deaths than sell my siblings." He tolls his eyes to take away from the slight heat of his voice. "There's a war. There's plenty of orphans in a war." Children don't have to be biological to be considered heirs. The King of Cobrass was adopted at the age of fourteen if Miran's memory serves correctly.

Of course Miran knows their time is limited. He's the one who set the deadline for the Solstice. "My sisters have much more persuasion over their stupid husbands. I'll speak to them later to draft their letters, but they'll be sent by nightfall."

Miran laughs darkly, shaking his head. "All the Mages in Araniel have fled, been killed, or scared into silence. I know." His eyes get steely. "Over the past eight years, it's been my mission to get every person who could possibly wield magic out of the country's border and into the safety of the hidden tribes in the forest. For their safety and mine, we cut ties as soon as they were safe."

The Crown Prince stares at the map, at the red and silver marker that claims Aranian lands. "My father has developed many anti-magic measures. Poisons, gasses, traps–He's always expecting a mage infiltration." Miran goes quiet. He feels cold, the emotions getting the better control of him. He has to bite his lip–hard–just to distract himself from freezing his hands over. He knows his father wouldn't hesitate to behead him as soon as he made his powers known. "Our best bet would be a frontal attack with as many allies as possible, but then a small group will infiltrate from behind, killing my father while he's too busy sitting fat on his throne."

Miran himself has had plenty of experience setting the traps, all to appease his watchful father, but he has no idea what the actual properties of the mage-killing haze are. That's his younger sister's expertise. "I can help with their locations, but I don't know how to counter them. Heed my words, you will set off at least a few. They're set up like a minefield. When they're triggered, blades coated in poison or capsules containing viruses will attack. It is possible to survive, but it'll likely kill you before you can counteract them." An exhale. "My sister was the one who first created the mage-killing poison." He shoots Nicandros a venomous look. "She is a child, one that's been manipulated by my father since she was born. You are not to lay a finger on her. I will speak to her personally about the traps and see if there's any antidote to it."

He looks to the map again, studying the neighboring kingdoms of Blakkast, Cobrass, Lumeire, and Irgeven. Blakkast is a mining kingdom, renowned for their ores and gems. Cobrass is set deep in the forest, in a humid environment near the rocky coast where they fish and dive for their exports. Lumeire is a valley kingdom much like Irgeven, but craft garments and weave textiles. Irgeven's inventions are leagues above any other kingdom's. Really, Miran is baffled why his father chose the agriculture kingdom of all to conquer. "You're right," Miran says with a nod. "The letters will be drafted by tonight. We'll have their status hopefully before we arrive in Blakkast."

"The mage-killer isn't a quick death," Miran says quietly. It's a painful, suffering thing. One that Miran was defenseless against, with only a thick cloth to his mouth to filter out what he could. His friends didn't make it. They were only meters from the border. Miran wants to cough. He wants to hack up whatever remains still linger in the depths of his lungs. "It's suffocating. It'll pull all the magic from your blood and through your lungs. If it doesn't collapse your windpipe, you'll certainly bleed out before you can do much else." He swallows and begins his pacing all over again, eyes never leaving the scaled marker of Araniel.

"The soldiers are all armed with a salve that's resistant to any type of burn. After my mother was killed, my father was adamant on preventing fire mages from getting anywhere near our walls. An act. My father didn't care once my mother was killed. I wouldn't put it past him to sign the decree himself." His eyes go glassy, but he's quick to blink it away. "If he found out he had a mage for a son, he would have a public execution for it. Rid the bloodline of any corruption." He shakes his head and clears his throat. "We're lucky Treya was taken on the road with us. If she stayed any longer in her basement laboratory, she could've developed inventions to make Aranian soldiers invincible to magic."

Miran looks to the top of the tent, then to the map, then to the floor and back up again, never meeting anybody's eyes. "King Mierlenan is… He is a cruel man. He married my mother to secure the fortified Blakkast for an ally, but he never loved her. She was nothing more than a tool to him." He can feel the anger rising as he thinks about his mother and how terribly she had been treated by the pig that was his father. "They had been together five years before the eldest was born. Her name was Kein and she died when she was nine. She was five years older than me and my mother was pregnant with Bel when she died in her sleep." He grits his teeth. "She was similar to Treya with an odd reaction to magic. Except, instead of Treya's bloody noses, Kein would have seizures."

"My father was the cause of that. He thought with a human magic-detector at his side, he would be impossible to kill. When Kein was an infant my father began experimenting on her, altering her blood and mind until any sort of abnormal, magical presence would cause it to shut down." Miran pivots on the ball of his foot, finally meeting Nicandros's eyes. "My father's the type of man to kill his own children for his own gain." Kein was nine and Miran was the only sibling to ever know her. Bel has her eyes. "His throne room makes all of us sick to stand in. His power is suffocating. He's no mage, but he's killed enough to absorb their presence."

"A lot of people should still be with me today," Miran says quietly, but he shakes off any sentiment and looks to Nicandros with a stone face. He pushes his mother, his sister, his friends and comrades out of mind. He doesn't need to think about them. Not now. They will be avenged; they will be at Miran's side when he finally ascends to the throne and makes things right.

"There's soldiers infesting the palace." They're like ants, swarming in the corners and marching through doorways and holding their large pikes. "They like standing guard in every damn hallway. However, only the ones closer to the throne room are exceptionally trained. The rest are just boys in helmets trying to protect their families." He almost feels bad for them. "That doesn't mean they're not dangerous. They're weak but abundant."

"And for his military tactics, my father enjoys choking out the enemy and watching them suffer before swooping in to steal the entire town. It's submit or be killed." And too many have been killed. "He hasn't stolen any kingdoms yet–only the independent towns near the border. He's growing gutsy. I wouldn't put it past him to seize one of his neighboring kingdoms soon."

"I was hoping he would die before things got violent," Miran muses with a shake of his head. It was a terrible waiting game. Every day Miran would wake up, praying for the news of his old man's demise. It never came. It's time to get a little proactive. "I would get the throne without the word of treason getting out. There would be no blood, but I'm growing to believe the damned hypocrite is using other forces to keep himself alive." He grits his teeth and paces again and again.

The King's liver should've gone out years ago as his alcoholism ran rampant. The King's heart should've stopped when a heart attack took hold. The King's brain should've long been taken by dementia. And yet, the King still lives. He still sits upon his throne and signs the decrees for massacres and genocides.

"I will not allow my father's tyranny to extend past our borders. We will stop him before he even thinks about an attack." Miran's voice grows cold.

"Oh, I know he'll die." By Miran's hand. He'll be damned if he ever lets anyone else get the finishing blow. Nicandros has also suffered, but thousands of others have as well. Miran's lived it. He's had to wake up every day for the past twenty-five years knowing that his father's blood courses through his veins. He has to breathe in the suffocating power of a stolen throne. He's had to sit and watch as the king caused the deaths of hundreds. It's Miran's right to patricide. He's been counting the days since he was a boy.

"If you have nothing else for me, I'm going to begin drafting the letters to my allies. I wrote to Sella last night. I'm sure she'll get back to me tonight or tomorrow." Miran doesn't bother with a nod or goodbye–he exits the tent and breathes in the early afternoon air. He finds the cafeteria tent with his siblings. He bumps past Bel, who is carrying a plate of food. Slightly confused but deciding it's not his problem, Miran looks to Treya and Val. "I need you two." He jabs his thumb in the direction of their temporary tent.

The Crown Prince takes his sisters to their tent, where he immediately begins to debrief them on the situation. Treya is hesitant, claiming that she never signed up for patricide. Val, per usual, is silent. Miran doesn't blame any of them. Their situation is rough, but the death of their tyrant father will be the best for everybody. All he needs is his sisters' cooperation to get their secondary kingdoms to back Araniel in the coup.

Bel, left alone in the mess hall, finishes up his cooking. He's a fairly neat chef, but there are still dirtied dishes. He'll clean them up later; he doesn't want the meal he made to go bad. With a small covered tray in hand, Bel ducks out of the tent and avoids as many people as possible. He gets lost somewhere along the way, but a little kid kindly gives him directions to the war tent. There are voices coming from within and a sudden wave of anxiety washes over Bel. How is he supposed to do this? Just waltz in with food? Gods–Well. No better time than now.

Swallowing his anxiety, Bel pokes his head into the tent, immediately finding Nico on a fancy chair at the head of the table. He looks tired. Bel prays that he can get Treya to make a tonic. He locks eyes with Nico and offers a small smile.

Bel only enters when everybody had exited. He considers himself a people-person but its very hard when people are scary and they could possibly hate him. He waits for a moment and only after ensuring the tent is empty, save for Nico, Bel enters. They have an hour together.

He quickly finds himself seated atop of Nico's lap. "It's been four hours," Bel says with a smile as he readily accepts Nico's kiss. "And I made wraps." All of the ingredients are perishable and Bek doesn't want to take away any food from the journey ahead of them. "Oh yes. And brownies."

"Mm, I'd love to eat with you," Bel answers, even though he's fully aware that he'll hardly eat more than a few bites. Despite the question and agreement, none of them make a move for the food. Bel stares into Nico's eyes with a content smile before looking to where his hand is softly caressing his thigh. If they had more time, this would without a doubt escalate into something much more heated.

"Are we actually going to eat?" Bel teases in a quiet voice before uncovering the trey of food. There two and a half wraps, vegetables and seared chicken poking out from where the lettuce had been diagonally sliced. There's a side of brownies, stacked in a neat pyramid. The rest had gone with his sister. Bel notes that he didn't bring any drink, but it was hard to find anything that wasn't alcohol or in low supply.

Bel blinks when the wrap is offered to him first. Knowing that Nico would persist until he obliges, Bel bites the bullet and bites the wrap. He chews it for a moment and swallows, definitely missing his spice rack. It's not terrible but Bel knows he's capable of much more. He's at least thankful that he had swallowed his food before Nico talked, for he's sure he would've choked on it from Nico's melodramatic reaction.

"Stop–" Bel smiles and knocks his head against Nico's collarbone. He keeps his eyes low as he reaches for a brownie, breaking it into smaller pieces. They're still warm.