A considerable amount of time passed before Alistair finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and disbelief.
"Wait... Wait, hold on," Alistair interjected, his tone laced with astonishment. "You're.. you're a wizard, too? Did I hear you correctly?"
Yvain confirmed Alistair's question with a tinge of smugness in his voice, his gaze locked on Alistair's face. "Yes, you heard it right," he nodded. "I was raised in the Glacirien as well."
Yvain's tone carried a hint of pride as he continued, "My sister... she's none other than Isidora."
Alistair's eyes widened in surprise, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Wait, wait a minute," he exclaimed, his thoughts racing. "You're saying my mom... has a brother?"
Yvain's expression momentarily shifted to one of surprise, his eyes widening fractionally as he digested the unexpected news. "Wait a moment," he muttered, a hint of astonishment replacing his earlier smugness. "You're telling me... you're my nephew?!"
Alistair's expression crumpled with a mixture of hurt and confusion, his voice growing quieter. "I had no idea..." he murmured, his words tinged with a touch of betrayal. "To think... My own uncle would do this to me..."
Yvain's expression momentarily faltered, his confident facade slipping as he absorbed the weight of the revelation. For a brief moment, he seemed frozen in place. He had kidnapped his own nephew, not fully grasping the connection until now. A mix of shock and guilt flickered across his face, as if the reality of his actions finally dawned upon him.
***—FLASHBACK—***
A young Yvain stands in a beautiful garden, the sunlight casting a soft glow on his surroundings. His sister Isidora, her face warm and loving, kneels down in front of him, her hand extended with a vibrant flower.
Isidora, her voice gentle and filled with affection, leaned down and handed a bright flower to the young Yvain. "If I had a son, you two would be close," she mused, her gaze fixed affectionately on the young boy in front of her.
Young Yvain, with his young inquisitive eyes, looked up at Isidora, his innocent question lingering in the air. "Sissy," he chimed in, his voice tinged with curiosity, "why is the baby still in your belly? I don't get it..."
Isidora's smile softened, her tone gentle and reassuring. "Don't worry, this baby will come out soon," she assured, her hand absentmindedly rubbing her swollen belly as she spoke.
9 months later
Fast forward to nine months later, the scene now depicts a newborn baby in Isidora's arms, tiny and vulnerable. Young Yvain stood not far away, gazing at the infant with wide, curious eyes.
Young Yvain's young voice carried a hint of timid excitement as he approached Isidora, his gaze fixated on the infant in her arms. "Can I hold him, sissy?" he asked, his words filled with eagerness and awe.
As young Yvain cradled the baby in his arms, his expression lit up with excitement and wonder. "Sissy, look! He smiled!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with awe as the infant's tiny face crinkled with a wide, toothless grin.
Young Yvain's curious gaze shifted from the baby's face to his sister as he posed a question. "What's his name?" he inquired, his youthful wonder evident in his tone.
Isidora gently patted Yvain's head, a soft smile gracing her lips as she responded. "We haven't decided yet," she explained, her gaze fond as she watched young Yvain carefully holding her infant son.
Young Yvain's face lit up with excitement, a grin stretching across his features. "Oh! Oh! I know!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "What about Alistair?"
A warm smile spread across Isidora's face at Yvain's suggestion, her voice carrying a hint of approval. "That's a wonderful name!" she affirmed, her eyes filled with affection for her son and appreciation for Yvain's thoughtfulness.
Eldron, Isidora's husband, approached the group, a hearty chuckle escaping his lips. "I guess this little dwarf already named our son," he declared, his gaze fixed affectionately on the infant cradled in Isidora's arms.
Young Yvain's cheeks puffed in a mock pout, his bottom lip jutting out in protest. "Hey! I'm not a dwarf!" he protested playfully, his youthful voice tinged with playful mock hurt.
Isidora laughed gently at the playful banter, her voice filled with affection. "Hey, stop fighting! Let's go inside," she intervened, her gaze fondly shifting between her husband and young Yvain.
Young Yvain's voice was resolute, his expression filled with youthful determination as he declared, "If Alistair grows up, I will teach him lots of things! I will protect him!"
Young Yvain's attention shifted to baby Alistair, his eyes widening at the sight of the infant gleefully biting his own little fingers. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he marveled at the adorable sight before him.
Young Yvain, still in awe of the adorable spectacle before him, sprang up from his seat. "Sissy, I'll just get us some water!" he announced, his voice filled with the eagerness young children have when eager to prove their usefulness.
As night gradually enveloped the kingdom, young Yvain carried a pitcher of water and set off to explore the nearby forest, his curious nature propelling him forward into the unknown. Hours later, amid the shadows of the night, he stumbled upon a knight patrolling the forest with a torch in hand, the flickering flames casting eerie shadows across the foliage.
The knight's voice cut through the night's oppressive silence, his words sending a chill down Yvain's spine. The young boy looked up at the knight, confusion etched across his face. "We found one," the knight stated, his tone grave and his gaze fixed directly on Yvain.
Fear gripped the young boy as the words washed over him, his heart thumping in his chest with a mix of confusion and terror. "Found one?... What...?" he managed to stammer, his voice quivering with trepidation.
The knight's voice held an air of authority, his words leaving no room for negotiation. "You are coming with us to the Floxglade." The statement hung in the air like an ominous threat, sending a shiver down Yvain's spine.
**END OF FLASHBACK**
As the flashback concluded and Yvain returned to the present, guilt washed over him like a tidal wave. The weight of his current actions, the cruel way he had treated Alistair, weighed heavily on his conscience. The memory of his past self, so innocent and full of good intentions, starkly contrasted with the current situation. It was then that Yvain felt a pang of regret. He regretted the path he had taken, the decisions he had made, and the harm he had caused to his own nephew.
With a heavy heart, Yvain untied the ropes binding Alistair, his usual smug demeanor replaced by a look of remorse. His voice trembled ever so slightly as he spoke, his gaze fixed on Alistair's face. "You've grown up so much... At first I gaslighted myself into believing it wasn't you, Isidora's son, but now... I feel a profound sense of guilt for the pain I've inflicted upon you."
Alistair's voice held a mixture of hurt and bitterness as he posed the question, his gaze boring into Yvain's. "If I had told you sooner that I was Isidora's son, would you have done this?"
Yvain's expression shifted, a flicker of shame passing over his features as he lowered his gaze, unable to meet the intensity of Alistair's gaze. "I... I don't know," he muttered, his voice tinged with regret and uncertainty. "Maybe. Maybe not."
Yvain's voice was laced with a raw vulnerability, the weight of his guilt heavy upon him. "I won't let anyone hurt you," he promised, his words tinged with a mixture of determination and remorse. "I'm sorry... Forgive me, please..."
As Alistair looked at Yvain, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and unanswered questions, he asked softly, "Uncle... Why weren't you there when I grew up?" His voice was tinged with longing, a deep sense of loss and abandonment lingering beneath his words.
Yvain's voice held a sense of uncertainty, his expression troubled as he searched his memories. "My memories are still hazy," he murmured, his words tinged with a mixture of confusion and nostalgia. "At least some of them"
The sound of approaching footsteps pierced the air, and Yvain's expression hardened. He turned to Alistair, his voice urgent. "Alistair, you need to go," he urged, his words laced with a mixture of guilt and determination. "King Ragnar wants to execute you. I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess."
Alistair's voice was fervent, pleading with Yvain to join them. "No, please come with me," he implored, his words tinged with a mixture of desperation and hope. "Come with me, with Thorin and Lucius. We can escape together."
As King Ragnar entered the room, he paused, taking in the scene before him. There before him were Yvain and Alistair, seated in a chair, a tableau of tension and unexpected circumstances. King Ragnar's expression hardened, his gaze flickering between the two of them as he tried to make sense of the situation.
King Ragnar's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his voice carrying a sinister undercurrent. "Excellent work, Yvain," he acknowledged, his gaze fixed on Yvain. "You have fulfilled your part of the bargain."
Yvain remained deathly quiet, his expression frozen in shock and horror, as if the scene before him was a nightmarish vision he couldn't escape. The gruesome act, the sight of Alistair meeting his fate, was a stark reminder of the path he had unwittingly set in motion. He felt the weight of his guilt bearing down on him, the realization of the true cost of his actions crashing down upon him.
King Ragnar's expression remained impassive as he left the room, however, a subtle air of satisfaction could be detected in his demeanor. He appeared pleased with the outcome, seemingly pleased with Yvain's compliance.
Amidst the silence that had enveloped the room, Yvain's voice emerged, a hushed whisper that seemed to echo heavily in the air. "Alistair, come out now," he instructed, his tone barely above a whisper, betraying a touch of desperation. "He's gone."
The Alistair seated in the chair was not the young boy himself but rather a convincing puppet crafted by Yvain to deceive King Ragnar.
With a mix of relief and excitement, Alistair blurted out, "Phew! Let's go!" His words filled the room with a tangible sense of urgency and anticipation.
Yvain gently grasped Alistair's hand, his voice firm but tinged with a note of resolve. "I will abandon my title as the Prince of Floxglade... I'll stay with you," he declared, his words carrying a weight of sacrifice and newfound loyalty.
Excitement danced in Alistair's eyes, his smile radiant as he processed Yvain's words. "You'd really do that... for me?" he asked, his voice trembling ever so slightly with a mix of disbelief and gratitude.
Yvain lifted his hand, his fingers tracing a complex pattern in the air. As he did so, a brilliant portal materialized before them, thrumming with energy and possibility. "Here you go," he affirmed, his voice laced with determination and a hint of affection.
Hand in hand, Alistair and Yvain stepped through the portal, passing through the shimmering veil of energy. As they emerged on the other side, they found themselves landing on the soft grass, the sounds of the forest enveloping them in a familiar embrace.
As Yvain rose to his feet, Alistair spotted Thorin's familiar figure sprinting towards them. The sight of him filled Alistair's chest with a mixture of relief and anticipation.
Lucius stood before Yvain, his grip tight on his sword, his dark gaze fixed unflinchingly on Yvain. "So, you've finally decided to release Alistair? How dare you betray us by siding with the king?"
Alistair rushed forward, gently pushing the blade away from Yvain's neck. His voice was firm, his eyes imploring. "No, stop, please," he pleaded, his concern for Yvain evident in every note of his words.
Yvain's expression shifted, a hint of regret and helplessness etched across his features. "I didn't know..." he confessed, his voice tinged with a tinge of guilt. "I didn't know Alistair was my nephew."
Thorin and Lucius' jaws dropped simultaneously. With shocked expressions, they both echoed the revelation, their voices filled with disbelief. "NEPHEW?!"
Their voices rang out in unison. Thorin and Lucius' eyes went wide in shock upon learning Yvain's relation to Alistair, their disbelief evident as they processed the unexpected twist.
As Alistair recounted the unfolding events, Yvain joined in to share his own recollections, filling in the gaps with what he remembered. Though his own memories were still hazy and scattered, he managed to piece together fragments of his past, shedding light on the complex web of their intertwined histories.
Thorin's voice held a tinge of disbelief as he shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I can't believe it... This short-stack has a nephew, huh?"
Yvain's cheeks flared with a hint of embarrassment and annoyance at Thorin's comment. "Hey, I'm not that short!" he protested, bristling at the playful jibe at his stature.
Thorin chuckled at Yvain's reaction, his amusement obvious as he observed the shorter man's indignance. "Oh, come on now, don't get so worked up about it. I was just teasing you," he teased, a smirk still lingering on his face.
Yvain crossed his arms, his expression haughty as he retorted, "Watch your words, young man. I am older than you!" His tone was a mixture of defiance and annoyance, as if daring Thorin to challenge him.
Thorin's smirk grew wider as he responded, his tone lightly mocking, "Yeah, your age may be higher, but your height is the opposite." His voice held a playful note, clearly reveling in the opportunity to tease Yvain further.
In a sudden burst of anger, Yvain lunged toward Thorin, his movements fueled by irritation and competitiveness. The two men exchanged blows, their combat skills put to the test. Each strike was calculated and precise, a testament to their training and skill.
Alistair turned to Lucius, concern and uncertainty etched across his features. He watched the ongoing fight between Yvain and Thorin with a mix of worry and hesitation, uncertain if they should step in to halt the clash. "Hey," he piped up, addressing Lucius, "should we stop them?"
Lucius shook his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Nah, let's go find some firewood for tonight," he suggested, his tone indicating that he was in no rush to intervene in the ongoing brawl. "They'll handle themselves. Besides, it's kind of entertaining to watch."
After some time had passed, Thorin's expression transformed into one of mild annoyance and growing frustration. He watched as Alistair continued to chat energetically, his words flowing nonstop without a moment's pause. The contrast between Thorin's reserved demeanor and Alistair's lively babble was clearly starting to wear on his patience.
Yvain approached Alistair, a subtle playful glimmer in his eyes. In his hand, he clutched a crown flower, its petals a vibrant shade of purple. "This will look good," he remarked, his tone a blend of suggestion and mischief.
Yvain, noticing Thorin's hand wrapped around Alistair's arm, interjected firmly, "Hey, let go of my nephew." His voice held an edge of protectiveness, his intentions clear as he attempted to gently extract Alistair from Thorin's grip.
Thorin's grip loosened, his expression hardening as he fixed Yvain with a suspicious gaze. "Where are you taking Alistair?" he demand, his voice cautious and wary. "I don't trust you now after everything."
Yvain's tone was calm as he looked at Thorin, his observant eyes noting the possessive tendencies Thorin had displayed towards Alistair. "Thorin," he stated, his words cutting into the tense silence, "you've been very possessive with my nephew. It's starting to make me think you have feelings for him."
Thorin retorted defensively, hastily denying Yvain's insinuation. "What are you talking about? I only like women, idiot," he asserted, his voice tinged with indignation. "And he's just my friend, I just don't want him to get kidnapped again!"
Thorin continued, his tone now edged with a hint of irritation, "And additionally, Alistair is 13 and I am 17! Do you really think I have feelings for someone that young?!"
Yvain watched the exchange in silence, his expression unreadable as he observed Thorin's reaction. The accusation had clearly hit a nerve, but Yvain's face gave no hint of what he was thinking or feeling.
Alistair's voice broke through the tension, his innocent suggestion cutting through the tension. "We should go to sleep," he proposed, his tone gentle as he attempted to diffuse the situation.
Lucius spoke up, his voice tinged with a hint of pride, "I robbed a home in the Floxglade and saw a blanket, wanna share?" He held up the stolen item, a cheeky grin on his face.
Thorin exclaimed in disbelief, his expression one of surprise and annoyance. "Hey, you old punk, the hell you robbed that home for?!" Thorin's words echoed with a mix of incredulity and disapproval.
Alistair chimed in with a note of innocence, his voice tinged with a hint of concern. "I thought stealing is bad?" he mused, his expression showing genuine confusion and uncertainty.
Yvain couldn't contain his amusement, a hint of mockery in his tone. "You seriously robbed a house just to get a blanket?!" he repeated incredulously, his lips curled into a smirk. "How hilarious!"
Lucius quipped, his voice tinged with a hint of self-indulgence. "If you don't want it, I'll have this myself," he retorted, his eyes fixed on the captured item.
Lucius thought he'd have the blanket to himself, but soon he found himself squished in the middle, surrounded by Alistair, Yvain, and Thorin, who had squeezed themselves under the blanket despite his initial resistance. As a result, Lucius was unable to move, with Alistair's head lying on his stomach.
Lucius attempted to protest, "Guys, seriously—" but his words were cut off as Yvain gently placed an index finger on his lips, silencing him with a soft shhh. "Shh, shh, shh, just sleep," Yvain instructed, his voice carrying a soothing tone.
As the night wore on and the others fell asleep, Lucius struggled to find rest. The sound of Yvain and Thorin's loud snoring echoed in his ears, making the task of drifting off nearly impossible. The relentless noise created a restless environment, making it extremely difficult for Lucius to get any meaningful slumber.
In the midst of slumber, Thorin began speaking in his sleep, his arm flailing about. Unfortunately, this movement landed a firm smack on Lucius' face, jolting the recipient awake. Lucius let out an annoyed sound, rubbing his now sore cheek, silently cursing Thorin's oblivious and restless sleep.
Lucius couldn't contain his frustration any longer. "Seriously, this is the worst," he muttered, his voice tinged with irritation. The discomfort and annoyance had reached its peak, and he couldn't help but express his frustration out loud.
The following morning, Thorin, Alistair and Yvain groaned as they awoke, their sleep interrupted by the natural light. As their eyes flutter open, they couldn't help but notice Lucius who was already sitting on the trunk of a tree nearby, his long hair concealing his face.
Alistair, concern in his voice, turned to Lucius and inquired, "Lucius? Are you okay?" His gaze fell on the dagger in Lucius' hand, a subtle sense of worry creeping into his tone.
Thorin, having just woken up, rubbed his eyes sleepily. As his vision cleared, he noticed Lucius holding a dagger, his expression turning serious.
Lucius stood up, his face hidden behind his flowing locks. His expression remained concealed, his features cast in shadow by his long white hair.
With a look of exhausted annoyance on his face, and sporting visible bags under his eyes due to the lack of sleep, Lucius stood up and made eye contact with Alistair, Thorin, and Yvain, who were still on the ground. As he began to chase them, shouting "you punks!", the three of them jolted and quickly scrambled to their feet, fleeing as fast as they could to escape Lucius' wrath.
Thorin, Alistair, and Yvain found themselves sprinting around the area in a desperate effort to escape Lucius' pursuit. Their footsteps echoed through the surroundings as they weaved through the trees, their breaths ragged and labored. Thorin's eyes darted around, searching for an exit or any form of escape from Lucius' wrath. Alistair's gaze remained focussed on the path before him, pushing himself to run faster while Yvain kept his eyes fixed on Lucius' movements, his mind racing to find a way to escape.
Thorin leaned against a nearby tree, panting heavily with exhaustion. He managed to gasp out, "Haa... haa... He's so scary..." Thorin's face shone with sweat, his eyes wide with a mixture of relief and lingering fear. Alistair and Yvain joined him, their breathing erratic as they too leaned against different trees, attempting to catch their breath.
As time passed, Alistair noticed Lucius, still lying on the ground sleeping. Alistair, with a compassionate gesture, took the spare blanket and gently draped it over Lucius' form. Despite the earlier terrifying chase, Alistair displayed a hint of kindness in his actions, covering the sleeping, exhausted Lucius with the blanket.
Alistair spoke with a nervous tone, his voice slightly shaky from the earlier adrenaline rush. "Let's just let him rest for now," he suggested, his gaze shifting toward Lucius' sleeping form. "Let's wait for him to wake up first."
TO BE CONTINUED