Chapter 48: Dreaming Of A Meet Cute

Dreams were peculiar things.

Sometimes they were fractured echoes of memories, softened by time until the sharpest edges dulled into something almost comforting. Other times they were so vivid that every scent, every sound, every heartbeat felt more tangible than reality itself, as though the past had merely been waiting for someone to remember it properly.

Morning sunlight spilled across rolling hills painted gold by late summer as a long caravan wound steadily along the kingdom’s southern roads. Heavy wagons bearing the crest of Blackstone creaked beneath carefully packed supplies, while broad-shouldered warriors rode alongside them atop powerful mountain horses. Their thick furs had been exchanged for lighter traveling leathers suitable for the warmer climate, though every one of them still carried enough weapons to remind any observer that this was not merely a diplomatic mission—it was an escort worthy of an entire clan. Inside the foremost carriage, five-year-old Valdor Blackstone sat perfectly upright upon the wooden bench.

His legs barely reached the edge of the seat, yet his posture already possessed the rigid discipline of an experienced warrior. His small body was already broader than most kingdom children several years older than him, while his dark eyes narrowed at every tower, wall, and silver-roofed building emerging upon the horizon. His one small hand rested atop his knee, his black-colored eyes narrowed toward the distant horizon with such unwavering concentration that one might mistake him for a seasoned veteran rather than a child scarcely old enough to read. He had spent the entire journey suspicious of the polished kingdom roads, the heavily decorated caravan, and the strangers waiting at the end of it, as though the newly signed treaty might suddenly transform into an ambush merely because adults insisted it represented peace. The other small hand rested near the bone-handled knife at his belt, not because Vervath had permitted him to fight anyone, but because Valdor believed being forbidden from using a weapon was no reason to be unprepared.

Beside him lounged Vervath, considerably younger than the cheerful man he would one day become, though the laughter lines already lingered around his eyes. He studied his eldest son for several long moments before letting out an amused sigh.

"[You know, boy...]"

Vervath began conversationally, scratching thoughtfully at his jaw.

"[This is supposed to be diplomacy.]"

He warned, speaking in the Blackstone tongue so the kingdom driver beyond the partition would not misunderstand the conversation as a threat. Valdor did not look away from the window.

"[I know.]"

"[The important word there is diplomacy.]"

A slight nod.

"[I know.]"

Vervath leaned farther back against the carriage wall.

"[So...]"

Silence answered him.

"[So...]"

He repeated patiently.

"[There will be nobles.]"

Another nod.

"[I know.]"

"[There will also be servants.]"

"[...Yes.]"

"[And children.]"

"[...Yes.]"

Vervath smiled with exaggerated optimism. Valdor’s eyes remained fixed upon approaching the manor.

"[Did you even hear me?]"

"[Yes.]"

"[That was one word.]"

"[You asked if I heard.]"

One of the elders turned his face toward the window to hide his amusement.

"[So you’ll behave?]"

Valdor finally looked at him.

"[...Yes.]"

Vervath’s smile widened.

"[No arguing.]"

"[...Yes.]"

"[No wandering.]"

"[...Yes.]"

"[And absolutely—]"

He pointed an accusing finger toward his son.

"[No biting...]"

Valdor stared at him for several seconds. Vervath rubbed a hand over his beard, which had not yet grown as thick or silver-streaked as it would become decades later.

"[You know what I mean. These people are trusting us beneath their roof during the first envoy month, and if you make someone bleed before we finish greeting them, the kingdom nobles will spend another twenty years calling us wild.]"

"[...That happened once.]"

"[It happened four times this month...]"

That earned Vervath a slow, deeply offended stare.

"[You bit Elder Korran just yesterday!]"

"[He took my knife.]"

"[You are five now. You are not a little boy who doesn’t know any better.]"

"[It was mine.]"

One of the elders across from them coughed into his fist, poorly disguising amusement. Vervath pointed at his son.

"[That. No doing that...]"

Valdor’s mouth flattened.

"[Say you understand.]"

"[I understand.]"

"[And you will obey?]"

"[...What if they deserved it?]"

"[Then they absolutely deserved it...]"

Vervath admitted immediately.

"[Remember when one tribesman called your aunt short, another tried stealing your lunch, and the last one attempted to pull your little sister’s braid.]"

Valdor returned his attention toward the window.

"[...Those were justified.]"

"[Mhm, they were and I couldn’t be prouder...]"

A pause.

"[But diplomacy in this kingdom generally discourages biting people regardless of how justified it may be.]"

The little boy frowned almost imperceptibly. Valdor considered this.

"[What if they bite first?]"

"[They will not.]"

"[What if they try?]"

"[Then call me.]"

"[You may be far.]"

"[Haah, I will not be far!]"

Valdor’s small jaw tightened, clearly dissatisfied with a defense plan relying upon someone else’s availability, but he gave a begrudging nod.

"[...I will try.]"

Vervath laughed softly beneath his breath. He accepted it as the greatest obedience he was likely to receive and leaned back against the carriage wall again, though concern remained within the lines around his eyes. Valdor had been a quiet child from the moment he learned speech, using words only when action could not accomplish the same thing more quickly.

That answer, oddly enough, reassured him more than a confident promise ever could have. Valdor had always been as painfully honest as he was quiet. If he promised something, he intended to keep it. If he said he would try, then he truly did not know whether he could. That honesty had followed him since the day he was born.

Even as an infant, he had cried less than other children, preferring simply to stare at the world with unnervingly serious eyes that seemed to analyze everything around him and at whatever else displeased him until someone corrected it. He did not explain hunger, discomfort, or curiosity if movement could communicate the need more efficiently. When he wanted a toy, he retrieved it; when another child took something, he took it back; when a younger sibling fell, Valdor simply lifted them to their feet without announcing concern. As he grew older, nothing changed except his size. While other children filled every quiet moment with endless questions and louder laughter, Valdor observed first and spoke only after deciding words were absolutely necessary. Sometimes entire afternoons passed with fewer than ten sentences leaving his mouth.

It worried Vervath more than he cared to admit. Not because there was anything wrong with silence. Blackstone valued action above empty speech. Yet Valdor’s silence was different. It was thoughtful, measured, as though every sentence cost something precious that he refused to spend carelessly. Meanwhile...

His younger brother, Tharek, made enough noise for three villages. By contrast, he appeared to have been born carrying enough conversation for the entire family. The boy spoke while eating, sleeping, climbing, running, and occasionally while no one remained near enough to listen. Tharek, who could speak from sunrise until sleep overtook him in the middle of a sentence, apparently possessed so many words that Kesra concluded they must have belonged to someone else first. Vervath chuckled unexpectedly.

The memory surfaced with effortless clarity. Vervath still remembered their youngest daughter, Kesra, running to him in tears because she feared Tharek had stolen all of Valdor’s words and would steal hers next if someone did not stop him.

---

Only a few weeks earlier, little Kesra had burst into his workshop with tears streaming down her face, clutching desperately at his fur cloak as though the world itself had ended.

"[Dada!]"

She had pointed dramatically toward the doorway.

"[Reki keeps stealing words!]"

Vervath blinked.

"[...Stealing words?]"

She nodded furiously.

"[He took all Dori’s!]"

Behind her, tiny Tharek continued babbling excitedly to absolutely no one in particular, somehow managing to hold three completely unrelated conversations with himself while attempting to climb a chair twice his height. After having a family meeting to find a solution to a seemingly non-problematic issue, Tharek had attempted to help by offering several of his own. Valdor had declined.

Both Vervath and Sarka spent near endless hours to try and convince Kesra that words were not a finite resource. Valdor simply... Preferred not to use many.

---

She had been three then when she ran toward Vervath sobbing, her small braids bouncing around her face while she accused Tharek of stealing all Valdor’s words and refusing to speak to him to prevent Tharek from taking her words next. It had taken nearly three weeks, several demonstrations, and a solemn promise from Valdor himself to convince her that her eldest brother simply disliked speaking more than necessary. The memory made Vervath chuckle once more.

His son looked toward him suspiciously.

"[What? It’s nothing. Go back to glaring.]"

Valdor continued staring. Vervath’s amusement softened into the old concern beneath it.

A man could lead with actions, provide through labor, and protect without speeches, but courtship required making intentions known before someone else misunderstood silence. Even now, Vervath wondered. What person would agree to marry a warrior who responded to vulnerable questions with nods, grunts, and an occasional sentence so brief it sounded like an order? Vervath feared Valdor might grow into an excellent hunter, capable chief, and lonely old man who never explained that he wanted companionship until everyone had already assumed he did not.

A boy so silent might grow into a warrior others respected, perhaps even feared, but marriage required more than standing nearby and expecting affection to interpret itself. Someday Valdor would notice someone worth courting and need to tell them. He could not simply carry the person home, place food before them, and assume the matter settled. Vervath had tried explaining this once. Valdor had asked.

"[Why not?]"

Would someone someday understand his eldest son?

Would anyone possess enough patience to wait through his long silences?

Would anyone realize that behind those few carefully chosen words hid an astonishingly gentle heart?

He certainly hoped so. Because his son deserved someone willing to listen. The carriage gradually slowed. Outside, the escort shifted formation as riders called quiet instructions to one another. One of the elders lifted the curtain covering the window.

"[We’ve arrived.]"

Valdor looked up. Beyond the iron gates stood one of the grandest estates he had ever seen.

House Moons.

Its pale stone walls gleamed beneath the morning sun while silver banners fluttered gracefully from every tower. Flower gardens stretched across the front grounds in carefully arranged colors, fountains sparkled like scattered diamonds, and servants hurried along immaculate paths with practiced elegance.

It was beautiful, orderly, and nothing at all like Blackstone. The great gates slowly opened. Their caravan rolled inside. Servants lined the front drive in neat rows while noble retainers waited with dignified composure near the entrance. Standing at the very front was a young nobleman with lavender hair that shimmered almost white beneath the sunlight.

Lord Lanslet Moons.

Though still far younger than the father Valdor would someday know, he already carried himself with effortless refinement. Beside him stood his wife.

Lady Avamor Moons.

Her long light-green hair flowed nearly to her waist, catching the breeze like fresh spring leaves stirred by gentle wind. Bright yellow eyes sparkled warmly as she smiled toward the arriving delegation, radiating the sort of quiet kindness that immediately softened the grandeur surrounding her. Yet neither noble truly drew Valdor’s attention.

His gaze settled instead upon the tiny bundle nestled securely within Lady Avamor’s arms. A silver blanket wrapped around the infant so completely that only a small face peeked through its folds. The small face emerged from the silver blanket.

Soft lavender curls escaped beneath the edge of the blanket and rested against a round forehead, so fine and light they looked painted there by morning mist. Large—unbelievably large—bright pink eyes opened wide, unfocused but gentle, their color softer than any flower Valdor had seen near Blackstone’s mountain springs; they blinked curiously at the unfamiliar visitors. A tiny hand slipped from the blanket and moved aimlessly through the air.

The baby couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. He looked impossibly small. Impossibly soft. Valdor stopped. Everything else disappeared. The moment Valdor saw him...

Something shifted. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no thunder. No mysterious voice. No magical light descending from the heavens. Simply...

Click—

A feeling unlike anything he had ever experienced settled quietly inside his chest. His heartbeat changed. The world suddenly narrowed until only that tiny child remained. Before anyone realized what he intended, Valdor pushed open the carriage door. He hopped down onto the gravel drive with surprising speed for such a serious little boy and marched directly toward House Moons. Vervath blinked.

"[...Valdor?]"

The child stopped only a few feet before Lady Avamor. He stared solemnly at the bundled infant. The baby stared back. Tiny pink eyes widened with open curiosity. Then to everyone’s astonishment... The baby smiled.

Not a sleepy twitch or random movement. A genuine smile. Small hands escaped the blanket and reached upward toward the serious little Blackstone boy. Valdor inhaled sharply. Then, for perhaps the first time in his young life, words rushed from him without hesitation.

"I want the baby..."

Silence. Utter and complete.

"Give him to me..."

Silence fell across the courtyard. Vervath’s hand loosened in shock. One elder’s mouth opened. Another looked toward the sky as though checking whether some omen had accompanied the sentence. Valdor had spoken eight words together. Then, because no one immediately obeyed, he added more.

"I want to hold him."

Vervath stared.

’Thirteen words from my son. A new personal record!’

Silence once again. The servants froze. The guards froze. Several elders looked as though they had forgotten how breathing worked. Vervath’s mouth slowly fell open. Not because of what his son had said. Though admittedly, that was surprising enough. No...

It was because Valdor had spoken an entire sentence with absolutely no prompting. And demanded something. Voluntarily. Lanslet, meanwhile, stared as though struck by lightning. His lavender brows rose nearly into his hairline.

"...You..."

He looked down at the infant in his wife’s arms. Then back toward the exceedingly serious five-year-old.

"...You... want my son?"

Valdor nodded once.

"Yes."

Lanslet’s eye twitched. His pleasant diplomatic smile vanished beneath paternal disbelief. His gaze moved from Valdor’s solemn face to the tiny infant in his wife’s arms, then toward Vervath as though demanding an explanation for the audacity of a child who had arrived upon his estate and immediately requested possession of their heir. Amor had been born only weeks earlier, and no one—not king, duke, diplomat, or drunken relative—had dared ask for him with such certainty. No one...

Not a single soul...

Had dared speak so directly regarding his newborn child. His son had existed in the world for mere weeks, and already letters from ambitious noble houses had begun arriving, full of carefully veiled compliments and even more carefully disguised suggestions about future engagements. Every one of them had been politely ignored. Yet somehow the very first person to openly declare intentions toward Amor...

Was a five-year-old barbarian. Who looked entirely sincere.

Lady Avamor lowered her eyes toward the baby nestled in her arms. Little Amor continued reaching insistently toward Valdor, tiny fingers opening and closing with obvious determination. She couldn’t help smiling.

"Oh..."

Avamor, however, looked amused. She glanced down at her son, then at the dark-eyed child standing before her with both hands already extended.

"You would like to hold the baby?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how?"

Valdor’s hands remained out.

"I will be careful."

Vervath nearly stumbled. Another full sentence. His quiet son, who sometimes responded to direct questions by blinking once, had apparently found every word Kesra feared Tharek had stolen. Vervath looked at the infant with sudden respect. The child had achieved what years of parenting could not. Lanslet stepped closer to his wife.

"He is very young, darling."

He said, referring to Amor, though his eyes remained suspiciously fixed upon Valdor.

"So is he, dear."

Avamor replied, nodding toward the five-year-old.

"He requested our son as though negotiating ownership."

"I said I want to hold him."

Valdor corrected. Lanslet looked down. Valdor stared back. The exchange contained the first spark of a conflict that would apparently survive twenty years later. Avamor’s smile widened.

She descended one step, keeping Amor secure against her chest.

"What is your name, child?"

"Valdor Rhazien."

"I see. Hello, Master Valdor, this is Amor Moons."

Valdor repeated it quietly.

"Amor..."

The baby moved at the sound. His pink eyes drifted toward Valdor again, and the tiny hand emerged farther from the blanket. One curled finger brushed the edge of Avamor’s gown. Valdor’s expression softened so faintly that Vervath almost missed it. Almost.

"He looked at me."

Valdor said. Lanslet folded his arms.

"Humph! He is a baby; he looks at everything, even at lamps."

"He looked at me."

Avamor laughed. The sound eased some of the tension among the servants, though Lanslet remained deeply unconvinced. She lowered herself carefully, bringing Amor closer to Valdor’s height without releasing him.

"You may touch his hand."

Valdor looked dissatisfied with the compromise. Still, he approached. His own hand, small but roughened already from early training, lifted toward the baby’s. He moved with extraordinary caution, slower than he had ever approached a frightened animal or injured sibling. One fingertip touched Amor’s palm. The baby’s fingers closed around it. Valdor froze.

Amor’s grip possessed no strength, yet the child looked down as though captured by something unbreakable. His obsidian eyes widened. The sternness within his face dissolved into astonished concentration. Avamor’s gentle laughter drifted softly through the stunned silence.

"I believe..."

She looked back toward the speechless Blackstone delegation.

"He rather likes you."

"He likes me."

Lanslet opened his mouth. Avamor answered first.

"Yes, it appears he does. Isn’t that right, honey?"

Lanslet could only grumble and reluctantly agree, if only to please his wife. The boy looked back down again. Only two words entered Valdor’s mind when seeing Amor’s cute face. Words his father used on his mother whenever he wanted alone time with her.

"Little Wife."

He murmured. The courtyard became silent again. Vervath’s eyes widened. Avamor covered her mouth. One elder turned away completely, shoulders shaking. Lanslet descended upon him with speed.

"What did you just call him, brat!?"

Valdor tightened his careful hold upon Amor’s tiny hand wrapped around his finger.

"Mm, Little Wife."

"He is not your wife!"

"He can be."

"He is weeks old!"

"I will wait."

Vervath sat down upon the edge of the carriage because his knees had become unreliable beneath laughter. Lanslet looked toward him furiously.

"Control your son!"

"I have been trying for five years. If you have any advice, I will be here for a month to listen."

"This is not amusing!"

"It is extremely amusing!"

Valdor ignored both fathers.

He bent his head slightly toward Amor, shielding the baby from the noise as though Lanslet’s outrage constituted environmental danger. Amor remained asleep or nearly so, cheek resting near Valdor’s hand. The small body rose and fell with calm breaths. Avamor watched them. Something tender entered her yellow eyes. She gave Lanslet a look before he could remove Amor immediately from the site.

"Let him be for a moment."

"Avamor—"

"He is careful and gentle. You know I have an eye for these sorts of things. My special gift."

"I know, but he declared marriage—"

"He is only five, dear. It will be long before he picks our baby up for that."

"That is old enough to stop making declarations. For God’s sake, I’ve only held him a few times. I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet!"

Vervath laughed harder. Valdor looked toward Lanslet with deep seriousness.

"I will protect him..."

The words struck differently. The courtyard noise softened. Valdor possessed no understanding of marriage, distance, political treaties, or the ways two lives might grow apart. He knew only that Amor was small, soft, and willing to sleep against him. To Valdor, protection was the clearest form of devotion available.

Avamor understood that. Perhaps Lanslet did too, though paternal alarm refused to admit it. Valdor lowered his face toward the baby.

"I will keep him."

"No!"

Lanslet said immediately. Vervath, after wiping tears from his eyes, watched the moment and felt an absurd thought enter his mind. Perhaps marriage would not be a problem after all. Finding someone willing to understand Valdor’s silence might be difficult, but apparently his son was capable of becoming remarkably communicative when sufficiently motivated. The larger concern might be preventing him from deciding the matter before the other person learned how to sit upright. Valdor looked toward Avamor.

"Now I hold him."

Lanslet made a strangled sound. Avamor tilted her head.

"That was not a question."

Valdor’s unwavering gaze never left the tiny bundle nestled within Lady Avamor’s arms. The infant continued reaching toward him with surprising determination, little fingers opening and closing as though impatient that the distance between them still existed. Something warm settled inside the five-year-old’s chest, a feeling unfamiliar enough that he did not know how to name it, yet simple enough that he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He stretched both arms forward with complete confidence again. Valdor considered the correction.

"May I hold him?"

Vervath placed one hand over his heart.

’The kingdom has performed a miracle! Wait until I tell Sarka when we get back!’

Lady Avamor blinked in surprise. The request itself was innocent enough, and there was something undeniably earnest about the solemn little boy standing before her with his arms lifted expectantly. She had only just begun shifting Amor slightly in her embrace, considering whether perhaps she could help him support the baby safely—

"Absolutely not!"

"[No!]"

Lanslet and Vervath said together. Both fathers answered at exactly the same time. The synchronized refusal echoed across the front courtyard so perfectly that even several servants visibly startled. Another silence followed.

Both fathers glanced at one another, briefly united by a threat neither had anticipated during treaty negotiations. Lanslet recovered first, smoothing his expression into strained courtesy as he stepped slightly closer to Avamor and the baby. Vervath tightened his hold upon Valdor’s shoulder before the child could launch himself upward.

For one long heartbeat, silence settled over everyone present as the two men slowly turned to look at one another, each realizing they had interrupted at precisely the same moment. Vervath cleared his throat into his fist while Lanslet coughed delicately beneath his breath, both hastily recovering what remained of their dignity after their unexpectedly unified outburst. Avamor looked toward Lanslet. Her husband’s expression communicated several objections at once:

Amor was delicate, Valdor carried a knife despite being five, the treaty had existed for too little time to survive an injured heir, and no one should encourage a Blackstone child who already looked at their newborn with alarming purpose. Avamor answered all of it with one calm smile. Lanslet’s polite smile returned with practiced elegance, though it appeared ever so slightly strained around the edges.

"Master Valdor..."

He said with remarkable patience, addressing the child as though speaking to a visiting noble rather than a five-year-old.

"While I appreciate your... enthusiasm, you are still very quite young yourself. Our son is only a few weeks old, and newborns are rather delicate creatures. Even adults must learn how to hold them properly before being trusted, and someone small, like yourself, may drop him without meaning to."

Lanslet explained, his voice painfully patient.

"I do not drop things."

"[You dropped your bowl yesterday.]"

Vervath said.

"[It was empty.]"

"[You still dropped it.]"

"[I threw it.]"

"[What! That is worse!]"

Lanslet drew Amor more securely toward himself despite Avamor being the one holding him.

"In any case, it is nearly his nap time."

Valdor’s arms remained extended.

"He can sleep with me."

Lanslet’s face tightened. His pink eyes drifted briefly toward Valdor’s sturdy little hands.

"You are undoubtedly strong, but strength and gentleness are skills learned separately."

Vervath nodded so vigorously his dark braids bounced against his shoulder.

"Exactly!"

He laughed a little louder than necessary.

"My boy is only teasing, Lord Moons!"

Valdor turned slowly toward his father.

"...No I—"

Vervath continued smiling as he cut in.

"He doesn’t actually mean it."

"I do—"

"He’s excited to meet a kingdom child because his younger brother and sister stayed home..."

Vervath continued, ignoring him.

"They remained in Blackstone, and he must feel lonely without playmates."

"I want the baby—"

"He thinks he’ll have someone to play with."

"I want this one—"

The smile on Vervath’s face finally cracked. For perhaps the first time in his life, his wonderfully quiet son had chosen the exact worst possible moment to become astonishingly talkative.

"[Valdor...]"

"[I want him.]"

"[...Son.]"

"[I wasn’t joking.]"

Vervath closed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw twitched. Then, with the practiced efficiency of a father who had raised three energetic children, he lightly rapped his knuckles against the top of Valdor’s head. Vervath’s fist descended upon the top of Valdor’s head. Among the Blackstone clans, children roughhoused with one another from the moment they could walk. They climbed cliffs, wrestled in snowbanks, and considered bruises badges of honor earned while learning. A light knock atop the head barely qualified as discipline. If anything, it served simply as punctuation to an argument.

Thunk—

It was hardly more than a gentle correction. The knock would have been harmless by Blackstone standards, no more punishing than a light smack intended to correct a cub’s behavior, but the sound startled several kingdom servants. Valdor barely flinched. Avamor, however, gasped with immediate sympathy.

"[Enough! Or you’re staying in the wagon for the full month!]"

Valdor rubbed the top of his head once.

"[...Ow.]"

"[Oh don’t give me that! You’ll survive!]"

"[I was speaking honestly.]"

"[I know...]"

Thunk—

"[Now stop helping your case.]"

Lady Avamor’s eyes widened.

"Oh!"

Before either man realized what she intended, she hurried forward, skirts gathered delicately in one hand while Amor remained cradled securely against the other.

"You shouldn’t strike him like that."

Vervath blinked.

"I did not strike—"

"He’s still a child."

"It barely—"

"He said ’ow.’"

"...He says that when stepping on pebbles because he thinks it improves dramatic effect! Trust me, I am not even sure he can feel pain!"

Lady Avamor had already crouched gracefully before Valdor, entirely ignoring Vervath’s increasingly helpless attempts to explain Blackstone parenting. Her gentle yellow eyes filled with concern.

"Oh, you poor little dear. Did that hurt terribly?"

Valdor looked at her. Then at the baby. Then back at her. A remarkably complicated calculation unfolded behind his usually unreadable expression. Very slowly... He nodded.

"...A little."

Vervath’s mouth fell open.

"[You...]"

His finger lifted accusingly toward his own son.

"[You little mountain fox!!]"

Valdor ignored him completely. Lady Avamor smiled with unmistakable sympathy.

"I’m terribly sorry."

Without thinking, she leaned closer, offering comfort to the solemn little boy who appeared so brave despite his obvious suffering. That... turned out to be a mistake. The instant she entered arm’s reach, Valdor moved. Not quickly or violently. Simply with astonishing commitment.

Both small arms wrapped securely around Lady Avamor’s neck in a determined embrace before anyone had time to react. She made a small surprised sound and instinctively caught him, one arm shifting beneath his weight while the other continued supporting Amor. Valdor clung tightly enough to force her upright. The moment his body rose, he twisted slightly and wrapped one arm around the silver bundle as well. She let out a tiny gasp of surprise.

"Oh my!"

Now he held both mother and baby. Amor blinked up at him. Valdor’s expression softened for another time since the caravan entered the estate. Vervath stared. Lanslet looked horrified. Avamor laughed faintly, believing the embrace came from a frightened child seeking comfort after his father’s correction.

"There, there. You’re safe now."

Valdor clung with all the quiet determination of a child who had absolutely no intention of letting go. More importantly, his cheek now rested directly beside the silver blanket.

Mission accomplished.

He turned his head the smallest amount. There, only inches away, Little Amor blinked up at him with those enormous pink eyes. The infant’s tiny hand immediately found a strand of Valdor’s dark hair. His fingers closed around it triumphantly. Valdor didn’t mind. In fact, he smiled. It was incredibly small. So small that most people would have missed it entirely. But it was there. The first genuine smile Vervath had seen on his son’s face in weeks.

Little Amor responded with a delighted coo. Then another. His tiny feet kicked enthusiastically beneath the blanket as though he had just reunited with someone terribly important. Lady Avamor laughed, the sound bright and effortless.

"Oh, goodness..."

She looked over her shoulder toward the two fathers.

"If I weren’t the one who gave birth, I’d have believed they’d already known each other their whole lives. I truly have an eye for these things, don’t you agree, dear?"

Lanslet looked horrified. Vervath looked betrayed.

"My son..."

Vervath muttered weakly.

"Just... tricked someone."

Lanslet nodded numbly.

"Your son manipulated my wife."

"I don’t even know where he learned that, I swear. He barely speaks when he is at home."

Valdor continued happily existing precisely where he wanted to be, ignoring everyone except Amor. The baby’s tiny fingers opened near his face. Valdor leaned closer. Little Amor had now released his hair only to pat his cheek with astonishing seriousness.

Each tiny touch was clumsy, lacking any coordination whatsoever, yet Valdor remained perfectly still so the baby could continue exploring his face. Lady Avamor’s smile softened.

"They seem rather comfortable together."

Lanslet immediately stepped forward.

"That may be so, my darling sunlight, but—"

"Since the gentlemen have diplomatic matters to discuss..."

She shifted Amor slightly before standing once more, Valdor still attached securely around her neck like an unusually serious scarf.

"Why don’t I take these two to the nursery?"

Both fathers froze. Avamor adjusted both children awkwardly against herself. Lanslet stepped forward.

"Ah! My sunlight, you should not carry both—"

"Oh, I’m fine. You’re such a worry wart. Keep acting like this, and you’ll lose your beauty."

"You are still recovering, darling. You only just gave birth—"

"It is only a short walk, dear. I’m fit enough for this much at least. Consider it practice for our second."

"S-second!? No, wait—There are no toys appropriate for him."

"There are blankets."

"...He’s weeks old, it will be boring—"

"He can supervise him while I rest."

Vervath opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again, finally producing sound.

"...Shouldn’t... shouldn’t Valdor stay with us?"

Lady Avamor smiled warmly.

"I think he’ll behave."

Valdor nodded solemnly.

"I behave."

Vervath stared.

"...That sentence usually means the exact opposite."

Valdor tightened his hold when Lanslet reached for him. The young lord of House Moons stopped. Avamor smiled at her husband.

"He seems comfortable."

"He seems like a calculating little brat—"

"Lansy! Language! He is only five."

"But, my sunlight, he demanded our son."

"He is excited."

Valdor rested his cheek near Amor’s blanket, looking entirely content with the result of his strategy. Vervath’s mouth had fallen open.

His nearly silent son had manipulated a noblewoman, exploited maternal sympathy, and acquired physical access to the newborn within minutes of arrival. The achievement might have impressed him under different circumstances. At present, he could only wonder whether Valdor had secretly learned cunning from a spirit no one else could see. Lady Avamor only laughed again before gracefully turning toward the manor.

"It’s settled then. Come along then, you two."

Lanslet followed one step.

"Avamor—"

"You have guests, dear. Don’t keep them waiting outside."

"But-but—"

"See you at lunchtime."

Valdor looked over Avamor’s shoulder at the two fathers with quiet victory. Then she carried both children into the manor.

Vervath remained in the drive. Lanslet watched the doors close. Neither man spoke for several breaths. Valdor tightened his hold ever so slightly, making absolutely no effort whatsoever to release her. He glanced once over Avamor’s shoulder, one more toward his increasingly distressed father.

"[I willl return.]"

Vervath watched helplessly as his eldest son disappeared into House Moons. Being carried by the lady of the house. While hugging the future heir. Without the slightest intention of apologizing. The front doors closed behind them.

Silence returned to the courtyard. A servant coughed discreetly. Another looked away before anyone noticed he had been smiling. Neither man spoke for several breaths. Finally, Vervath said.

"He has never done that before."

Lanslet turned toward him.

"Demanded someone’s heir?"

"Hugged a stranger."

"That is not the concerning part! That scoundrel is after my baby!"

"Mm, and he spoke many words."

"He asked to take my son! Does this not bother you at all!?"

Vervath frowned thoughtfully.

"Perhaps he likes babies."

"...He said this baby."

"Mm, you are right. That is specific. Should we talk about marriages then?"

Lanslet stared at the closed doors as though reconsidering every treaty clause that had brought Blackstone warriors beneath his roof. The envoy arrangement had seemed politically wise when discussed in the king’s council, a visible act of trust that might stabilize trade routes and quiet noble prejudice. No one had warned him that hosting the Rhazien family could result in losing his infant son before the first formal meal. Lanslet slowly turned toward Vervath.

"I already regret this treaty."

Vervath was still staring at the closed doors.

"I don’t think..."

He paused.

"I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak that much in one morning."

Lanslet pinched the bridge of his nose.

"My son has been alive for three weeks."

"I see."

"In those three weeks, ambitious nobles have sent flowers, jewels, marriage proposals disguised as congratulations, and enough gifts to fill two ballrooms."

Vervath nodded sympathetically.

"That sounds exhausting."

"And somehow..."

Lanslet looked toward the manor with the expression of a father witnessing fate itself become deeply inconvenient.

"The first person to successfully carry him away..."

His eye twitched.

"Was a five-year-old barbarian."

Vervath sighed heavily.

"I’d like to tell you this isn’t normal."

"It isn’t right?"

"...No."

A beat passed.

"Though, knowing my son..."

He rubbed tiredly at his forehead.

"I’m beginning to suspect it may become a habit."

Neither father noticed the elderly steward standing several paces away quietly observing the entire exchange. The old servant smiled faintly to himself.

Children were peculiar. Some met for years without becoming friends. Others looked at one another only once... And somehow behaved as though they had been searching for each other all along.

"This month will be long."

He murmured. Vervath nodded.

For once, they agreed completely.

---

Lady Avamor walked leisurely through the bright corridors of House Moons, the soft morning light pouring through towering windows and spilling across polished marble floors. Cradled comfortably against one arm rested little Amor, bundled securely within his silver blanket, while clinging around her neck with astonishing determination was the young Blackstone boy who had somehow attached himself to her within the span of a few minutes. She could not remember the last time she had found herself carrying two children at once, particularly when one of them had willingly climbed aboard.

"I do hope..."

She said with gentle amusement, glancing toward Valdor from the corner of her eye.

"That your father is not worrying too terribly."

Valdor’s cheek remained pressed against her shoulder.

"He worries."

"Haha, yes, I’ve gathered as much. But that is only because he loves you dearly and doesn’t want to lose you."

"He’ll stop."

Lady Avamor laughed quietly.

"Oh my, while I admire your confidence, a parent will never stop worrying for their child. That is true no matter if you’re from the Asterian Empire, from the tribe of Blackstone, or even from the distant lands where the elves live. You can be in another world, and it will still be true."

They soon arrived before a beautifully appointed nursery tucked away in one of the manor’s quieter wings. Unlike the formal elegance displayed throughout the rest of the estate, this room had been designed entirely for comfort. Plush rugs softened the hardwood floor, painted wooden animals lined low shelves beside carved building blocks, brightly colored storybooks rested neatly within tiny bookcases, and wide windows overlooked flower gardens where butterflies danced lazily among the blossoms.

"It seems..."

Lady Avamor murmured warmly.

"We have arrived."

She bent her knees carefully.

"Now then, Master Valdor..."

Very gently she attempted to lower him toward the floor. He did not move. Rather... He tightened his grip. Lady Avamor blinked.

"...Master Valdor?"

The little warrior remained perfectly still.

"I am setting you down."

"...No."

She smiled patiently.

"No?"

He shook his head against her shoulder.

"No."

Lady Avamor tried once more, carefully easing him downward. Nothing. The child clung with surprising strength, his small arms locking stubbornly around her neck. She could actually feel the pressure beginning to build. His answer was muffled against her shoulder.

"Um... My neck is beginning to hurt. You’re quite... um, big for your age, aren’t you? Please get down now."

"I hold the baby."

"...Y-you are squeezing rather tightly."

"Yes."

"Would you mind letting go a little?"

"...No."

She tilted her head, trying not to laugh.

"And why not?"

Valdor finally lifted his head enough for her to see his serious expression.

"I let go if I hold Little Wife."

Lady Avamor paused.

"...I-I beg your pardon?"

"I let go..."

He pointed solemnly toward Amor.

"I hold him."

Only then did she realize what had happened. The quiet little boy had... begun negotiations.

She stared at him in astonishment. He stared back without the slightest trace of embarrassment. For several long seconds neither moved. Then Lady Avamor looked down at the infant nestled securely against her. Then back toward the child hanging stubbornly from her neck.

"...Have I..."

She frowned thoughtfully.

"Been taken hostage?"

Valdor considered the question.

"...Maybe."

She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sigh. Amor rested between them, wide pink eyes moving from his mother’s face to the dark-haired boy wrapped around her neck. The situation had somehow transformed from a reassuring hug into negotiation, with the newborn heir positioned directly in the middle of competing demands. Avamor felt as though she had entered a hostage crisis conducted by someone barely tall enough to reach a table.

"You are remarkably determined for someone so small. Unfortunately for you, I cannot let you hold him while standing."

"I will sit."

"Hmm, I suppose... Ah! You might squeeze him, so I cannot still."

"I will not."

"Gah! Alright, you win. I’ll let you hold him, but you must support his head."

"I know."

"How?"

Valdor looked toward Amor’s head.

"With my hand. Mom showed me with my baby sister, Kesra."

Avamor could not argue with the basic accuracy. Still, she hesitated. After all, Valdor is a child, albeit a very large one, no matter how serious and mature he seemed. Before she could think of another response, the tiny bundle in her arms made a strangled little sound. Amor sensed the tension. His small mouth trembled. A soft hiccup escaped him.

"Hic—"

Both pairs of eyes immediately dropped toward Amor.

"Hic—"

Another tiny hiccup escaped him. Lady Avamor’s expression changed instantly.

"Oh."

She knew that sound. Every mother did. Amor’s little lower lip quivered. His brows knitted together. Another hiccup.

"Hic, hic—"

"...Oh dear."

The tension surrounding them had reached even the newborn. Whenever little Amor became overstimulated, confused, or unsettled, the hiccups always came first. The crying followed seconds later. She had learned quickly that those specifically spaced-out hiccups meant tears were approaching quickly, and once Amor began crying, he possessed remarkable stamina for someone so tiny. His face pinkened, his fists curled, and another hiccup shook the blanket. Lady Avamor’s heart melted immediately.

"Oh, no, my moonlight."

Valdor looked alarmed.

"He is crying."

"Mm, but not yet."

"He will?"

"Yes, and judging by the sound, it’s gonna be a big one. Hush now, moonlight, hush. Mama’s here."

"Give him."

The order carried increased urgency. Avamor sighed. Thinking quickly, she shifted her balance and slowly lowered Valdor until his little leather boots finally touched the carpeted nursery floor while keeping one arm around his back.

"Well, I suppose I should start trusting you now."

She said softly, though only she was entirely sure why she already could; it still felt like it was too soon for her. He refused to release her neck until she carefully loosened one arm just enough and began guiding the swaddled Amor carefully beneath Valdor’s still-clinging arms. The moment the warm bundle settled against his chest, Valdor let go of Avamor and caught the baby with both hands.

The transformation was immediate. The instant the baby settled securely against Valdor’s chest, the hiccups stopped. The tiny trembling lip relaxed. Instead of crying, Little Amor released the happiest little coo imaginable. His enormous pink eyes brightened as though someone had lit tiny lanterns behind them. Small hands escaped once more from the silver blanket. They reached upward, searching.

Valdor instinctively adjusted his hold, supporting the baby’s back exactly as his mom showed him with his baby sister. Lady Avamor had shown countless servants over the past weeks after learning for herself from a wet nurse, but even she was impressed by how steady Valdor was when handling a newborn. Little fingers found Valdor’s cheek.

Pat—

Another delighted coo. Then a tiny giggle-like sound that no one had heard him make before. Valdor’s impossibly serious face softened almost imperceptibly. He leaned forward just enough that the baby could continue exploring his face with clumsy little hands.

"...Hello, Little Wife."

The single quiet words made Amor squeal happily. Lady Avamor simply stood there. Watching, blinking, and utterly bewildered.

"...I..."

She looked between them several times.

"I can’t believe what I am witnessing. And here I thought I’d never see the day. Aren’t I just too lucky?"

Neither child answered. One was three weeks old while the other rarely spoke voluntarily. Neither seemed interested or capable of explaining themselves. Instead, they continued quietly staring at one another as though everyone else had somehow disappeared. Lady Avamor placed one delicate hand against her forehead.

"I truly have been outmaneuvered by a five-year-old. I will never live this down. I’ll become a joke to my hometown if they ever found out."

A laugh escaped her lips despite herself.

"I believe..."

She shook her head fondly.

"I may have underestimated you, Master Valdor."

Just then the world tilted.

"Oh..."

It happened so suddenly that she scarcely recognized the warning signs. Her vision blurred around the edges. The cheerful nursery dimmed. A wave of dizziness swept through her body so abruptly that her knees buckled beneath her. The faintness came without warning, beginning as a rush of heat beneath her skin before darkness gathered along the edges of her sight. An attending maid standing near the nursery doors lunged forward with practiced speed and caught her before she struck the floor.

"My lady!"

The attending maid wrapped one arm securely around Lady Avamor’s waist while another servant hurried to support her opposite side. Lady Avamor blinked several times until the room slowly steadied once more.

"Ah...Thank you."

She whispered to the maid. The older maid offered a sympathetic smile.

"You must rest, my lady."

"I-I’m fine."

"You nearly fainted! Please, you must lie down. At least for a moment."

"It passed—"

"You are still fragile from the birth, and Doctor Haverin said the spells could return if you overexerted yourself."

Avamor looked toward the children. The little Blackstone boy remained exactly where she had left him, standing quietly with surprising stability despite the precious bundle nestled carefully within his arms. Little Amor looked happier than he had all morning. He had somehow nestled himself against Valdor’s chest, listening contentedly to the steady little heartbeat beneath it.

Lady Avamor felt a strange mixture of emotions. Relief, wonder. And, if she were completely honest, gratitude.

’Had Valdor not insisted upon holding Amor when he had...’

She realized with a chill.

’I might have still been carrying him when my legs gave way.’

The thought alone made her hug herself. Perhaps... the impossible little boy had accidentally protected her son. The attending maid spoke gently.

"My lady, Doctor Haverin instructed that you mustn’t overexert yourself."

"Y-yes, I remember. He’s been nagging me nonstop for days since Amor’s birth."

"You are still recovering, and I know you said you are fine, but please... For my peace of mind, let us help you back to your room."

Lady Avamor lowered her eyes. Giving birth had taken far more from her than she wished anyone to know. Though she smiled easily and carried herself with grace, there remained moments when exhaustion swept over her without warning, reminding her that healing demanded patience no matter how much she disliked remaining idle.

"I suppose..."

She sighed softly.

"I ought to take my medicine."

"I believe Lord Lanslet would appreciate that."

She smiled faintly.

"My husband would insist. Hey, can you add honey to it? You know how I hate that disgusting bitterness of herbal tonic."

The maid nodded knowingly.

"He already has added it, my lady. Lord Lanslet prepared this batch personally and knows just how you like to take the medicine."

Lady Avamor looked once more toward the two children.

Valdor had found a nearby cushioned chair and sat with astonishing care, supporting Amor exactly as though someone had spent decades teaching him how. No one had yet; somehow he seemed to know. Little Amor continued happily batting at Valdor’s long dark hair before eventually discovering the fur lining around the little boy’s collar, which immediately became infinitely more fascinating. Valdor had shifted one broad hand beneath Amor’s head and drawn him closer to his chest. The position appeared secure. Several nursery maids had already gathered nearby, ready to intervene if necessary, though none seemed eager to disturb the strangely content pair. Lady Avamor smiled with genuine warmth.

"They seem quite content."

"Yes, they do, my lady."

She addressed the nursery maids waiting nearby.

"I should stay, but I really can’t stand now. Would you watch them for a little while?"

"Of course, my lady."

"We will watch them."

Another senior maid promised. Avamor still hesitated. Valdor looked toward her with solemn seriousness.

"I will not drop him."

The words sounded like an oath. Despite the weakness trembling through her body, Avamor smiled.

"Mm, I believe you, but still be gentle with him."

"Yes."

"And listen to the maids..."

Valdor did not answer. Avamor decided that was the most agreement available. Before leaving, Avamor touched Amor’s blanket and then lightly smoothed Valdor’s hair, though the boy looked mildly confused by the affection. The maids helped her stand full upright, and Avamor turned to the servant beside her.

"If Amor grows hungry, send for me immediately."

"Yes, my lady."

"And..."

Her gaze lingered fondly upon the solemn little Blackstone child.

"Perhaps keep an eye on Master Valdor as well."

One maid tilted her head.

"...To ensure he doesn’t drop the baby?"

Lady Avamor laughed quietly.

"No..."

She watched as Valdor carefully adjusted the blanket after noticing it had slipped slightly from Amor’s tiny shoulder.

"To ensure no one accidentally takes the baby away from him."

The maids exchanged puzzled glances. They had no idea whether their mistress had spoken entirely in jest. Truthfully, neither did Lady Avamor.

She allowed the servant to guide her back toward her rooms, glancing over her shoulder once before the nursery lavender doors closed. Amor remained calm, nestled against the Blackstone child as though the dark furs and strong little arms were already familiar. Valdor did not look away from him. The nursery gradually settled into a gentle hush after Lady Avamor departed, the door closing softly behind her as the attending maids resumed their quiet duties around the room.

Warm late morning light spilled through the tall windows, painting pale gold across plush, carpeted floors and the mountain of embroidered cushions that had been arranged for the young heir to lie on when Avamor needed a break from holding him. For most children, such a room would have been enough to encourage quiet play, yet to five-year-old Valdor it resembled an empty camp awaiting preparation, and his sharp black eyes immediately swept across every corner as though evaluating unfamiliar terrain.

The nursery maids gathered at a respectful distance. None knew what to expect. Kingdom stories described Blackstone people as harsh, uncivilized, and impatient with delicate things. Some claimed their children wrestled monsters before learning letters, ate half-raw meat, and viewed weakness with contempt. The small warrior sitting upon the cushioned chair did appear fierce enough to support several rumors.

He looked down at the tiny bundle resting in his arms with complete seriousness, as if someone had entrusted him with the most important responsibility in the world.

"Wait here, Little Wife. [I will return.]"

He murmured. Without another word, Valdor carefully slid off the chair and made his way slowly and carefully towards the cushions and lowered Amor onto the largest pile of cushions he could find, testing each embroidered pillow with both hands before allowing the baby to rest upon it. Unsatisfied, he frowned, gathered two more cushions from across the room, and tucked them around Amor’s sides until the infant sat nestled in an impossibly soft little nest of silk, velvet, and cotton stuffing. He stepped back.

The arrangement leaned slightly. Valdor frowned. He dismantled half of it.

The maids watched in silence as he reconstructed the nest with greater stability, testing each cushion with his palm before placing Amor within the center again. When the baby remained warm, supported, and unable to roll anywhere dangerous, Valdor appeared satisfied. Only when the lavender-haired baby gave a pleased little coo instead of a cry did Valdor finally nod to himself in satisfaction.

"[Better.]"

The maids exchanged uncertain glances.

"...Is he making the nursery safer?"

One whispered.

"I... believe so?"

Another answered just as quietly. No sooner had Valdor decided Amor was comfortable than he launched into his next task with startling determination. He darted from one side of the nursery to the other, collecting every toy that caught his eye with astonishing speed, returning each time to present his newest discovery before the delighted baby.

A carved wooden horse came first. Amor’s bright pink eyes widened. He reached out both tiny hands. Valdor immediately placed the horse into them, crouching before him like a devoted attendant awaiting judgment. Amor rewarded the offering with an excited squeal and babbles that meant nothing but felt like praise. Valdor’s face remained perfectly solemn.

"[...Good.]"

Then, instead of taking time going back and forth, Valdor looked around the room again, slower this time, and ran off again. One maid gasped as he darted right past her. Valdor crossed the nursery, seized three plush animals, and returned carrying the three plush animals beneath one arm, a colorful rattle hanging from his wrist, and what appeared to be an entire basket of carved wooden blocks balanced carefully against his chest before anyone could ask what he intended. He held each toy above Amor in turn:

A silver rabbit, a pale blue bird, and a round purple creature that might have been intended as a bear. Amor cooed at all three. Valdor selected the purple one and placed it beside him. He deposited everything one item at a time before Amor without having to leave and come back, patiently waiting after each presentation to observe the baby’s reaction as though conducting the most important experiment of his young life.

The little heir smiled at every single object. Each smile seemed to fuel Valdor’s determination.

"He likes all of them. Usually he’s so particular about which toy he wishes to see, and he’s not even a month old."

One maid whispered in amazement.

"I think... I think Lord Valdor believes this is a mission? It’s kind of cute. He must have younger siblings."

"I’m beginning to believe that too. Look how careful he is, like he knows our young master is delicate and intends to protect him from even a breeze."

When the toys had all been inspected, Valdor noticed a small stack of beautifully illustrated storybooks resting upon a nearby shelf. He gathered every volume within reach into his arms, stacking them near the cushion nest before returning to Amor and sitting beside him. Carefully, he selected the smallest book from the pile and opened it across his knees. His reading, however, progressed rather slowly.

The Common Tongue still sat awkwardly upon his still developing tongue, every unfamiliar word requiring careful thought before it emerged aloud.

"...The... rabbit... walked..."

He stopped. His brow furrowed.

"...Somewhere..."

The next sentence defeated him entirely. Valdor stared at the page for several long seconds before quietly looking away from the book.

"I do not know this word."

The watching maids expected him to abandon the story altogether. Instead, he simply looked at the painted rabbit on the page and began inventing one.

"The rabbit climbed a mountain..."

Amor giggled.

"The mountain was cold..."

Another delighted squeal.

"So he stole his father’s blanket..."

One maid immediately covered her mouth. Another had to look away entirely. Valdor continued with complete confidence despite inventing nearly every sentence.

"The rabbit became warm..."

"He hunted berries..."

"He shared them..."

"He was happy. The end."

Each sentence earned another cheerful coo from the tiny audience before him. The kingdom script remained difficult for him; he could speak the common language more fluently than he could read it, and several letters looked unnecessarily decorative. Still, he continued to open the next book in the pile and studied the page.

"The moons prince walked into the forest..."

He read slowly. A maid glanced toward the cover. The title concerned a young baker visiting the market. Valdor continued with complete confidence.

"He found a monster with six teeth..."

Amor kicked beneath the blanket.

"The monster wanted to eat the moon..."

The baby made a pleased sound.

"So the prince stabbed it."

One maid covered her mouth. Another whispered.

"That is not the story. Should... should we stop him?"

Valdor looked toward her. She became silent. He turned the page.

"Then he cooked the monster and fed the village."

Amor smiled. Valdor decided the story had succeeded. The books he could partially understand received similar improvements. A tale about a lost lamb became an account of tracking a white mountain beast through snow. A gentle fable about friendship involved two warriors defeating raiders before sharing dried meat. When he encountered a book he could not read at all, he studied the pictures and invented something entirely new.

Amor listened to everything. His pink eyes followed Valdor’s face. Whenever the boy changed his voice for a monster or made a plush animal leap across the cushions, Amor produced excited little noises that encouraged increasingly elaborate performances. The maids slowly relaxed, their initial caution turning into fascination.

Apparently satisfied with his storytelling abilities, Valdor moved on to the plush animals. The stuffed bird spoke first in an absurdly deep voice that somehow sounded exactly like Vervath attempting to be intimidating.

"I am strongest."

The plush rabbit answered in a much higher tone.

"No—"

"I am!"

The little bear interrupted.

"You should share food."

Amor burst into delighted laughter so infectious that even the maids found themselves smiling despite trying to remain professional.

"I’ve never seen young master laugh this much."

One admitted softly.

"Neither have I. Oh, perhaps we have a thing or two to learn from the tiny lord."

When the plush toys had exhausted their dramatic careers, and every nursery item had been presented, tested, rearranged, or incorporated into a story, Valdor reached for the wooden figurines instead. Valdor used the wooden toys differently. Unlike the stuffed animals, these became student tools. He arranged carved blocks into a defensive wall around Amor’s nest, then explained which pieces represented mountains, rivers, villages, and dangerous paths. The baby understood none of it, but Valdor spoke with the grave concentration of a teacher instructing a future scout.

"This is north."

Amor grabbed the block.

"No. North. [North]"

The baby brought it toward his mouth. Valdor removed it gently.

"Not food."

Amor frowned. Valdor offered a cloth toy instead. The frown vanished. Holding up a tiny carved hunter, Valdor pointed toward the pouch hanging from his belt.

"This is for wounds. When hurt..."

Amor waved both hands.

"You clean first..."

The baby kicked.

"Then wrap."

He opened the small pouch at his belt and removed a few rolls of neatly folded bandages. He removed one roll of clean wrapping cloth and held it where Amor could see.

"[...Wrap.]"

One maid whispered to another.

"He-he knows the young master cannot understand him, right?"

Valdor looked over.

"He will later."

No one argued. He continued with his demonstration, carefully beginning to wrap the bandages around the figurine’s little wooden leg.

"This stops bleeding."

Amor blinked with complete fascination despite understanding absolutely none of it. Valdor seemed unconcerned. He continued the lesson anyway. Once he finished with the wooden figurine, he moved on to demonstrate how to wrap an imaginary injury around the purple plush creature next, tying the cloth securely before placing the healed patient beside Amor. Then he removed a small medicine jar from the same pouch, kept it tightly closed, and explained which herbs soothed swelling. The kingdom maids watched in disbelief as a five-year-old Blackstone child delivered a complete lesson in field care to a newborn.

"This..."

He withdrew the tiny clay jar so it wouldn’t be too close to Amor’s sensitive nose.

"Medicine...[Medicine.]"

He uncorked it briefly before sealing it quickly and making sure Amor wasn’t bothered by the smell. Luckily, Amor didn’t seem bothered at all and continued to try grabbing at it.

"No. It smells bad..."

He wrinkled his nose.

"But it works."

The maids stared in disbelief.

"Is... is he teaching first aid to a newborn?"

"I believe he is."

Valdor nodded once, apparently pleased his student had attended the entire lesson without interruption. Satisfied, he tucked the medicine away before reaching once more into his traveling pouch. This time he removed a beautifully carved bone comb. It had clearly been used often, polished smooth through years of careful handling.

Valdor examined it, wiped it upon a clean cloth, then moved closer to Amor’s head. He looked toward Amor’s soft lavender curls, hesitated briefly, then very gently began combing them. The baby’s lavender curls were barely long enough to require any sort of styling, let alone combing, but he passed the smooth bone teeth through them with extraordinary gentleness. Amor became still beneath the attention. Valdor combed every soft curl. Then he used his fingers to arrange them around Amor’s ears.

"Good."

The baby cooed. Each careful stroke separated the fine strands without pulling even once.

"[So soft and pretty.]"

Valdor observed quietly. Amor answered by happily grabbing at the comb itself. Valdor simply smiled—so faintly it barely counted as one—and allowed the tiny hands to investigate.

The next item he produced was a small leather purse. Opening it revealed several bronze, silver, and gold kingdom coins resting inside, Vervath had given him for the journey so he could purchase something during the envoy month. Valdor examined them thoughtfully. He removed one silver piece and showed it to Amor. The coin caught the nursery light beautifully.

Amor reached. Valdor looked at the surface. He imagined the countless hands that had touched it. He put it away.

"No."

He immediately closed the pouch again. Amor made an offended noise.

"[Dirty.]"

The coins disappeared back into his belt. The noise grew louder. Valdor searched for something else for Amor to play with. Before he found it, tiny fingers reached upward without hesitation, grabbing one of the long dark braids hanging beside Valdor’s shoulder. Amor’s hand had caught one of his braids. That’s when Amor discovered something far more fascinating.

Valdor’s hair.

Valdor paused. Amor made the loudest delighted sound yet. He tugged once, and Valdor leaned closer automatically and lowered his head to be within easier reach. Amor gave the braid another experimental tug. Then another. His delighted laughter filled the nursery.

"He likes it..."

Valdor observed with quiet certainty. Amor grabbed two braids with his other hand, pulling them toward his mouth. One end disappeared between small gums as he chewed experimentally. The nursery maids surged forward in alarm. Valdor raised one hand.

"He has no teeth."

"That does not make hair clean, Master Valdor. Hair can still be very dirty even after washing it, and it can be harmful if he swallows any."

The senior maid said. Valdor considered. He removed the wet braid from Amor’s mouth and wiped it carefully. Amor immediately caught another. Valdor allowed him to play.

The baby wound tiny fingers through dark strands, tugging with surprising strength and squealing whenever Valdor shifted his head in response. He seemed more delighted by the hair than every expensive toy within the nursery. Valdor stayed still for him.

Apparently encouraged, Amor wrapped both little fists around a braid near Valdor’s temple before enthusiastically pulling part of it toward the air. One of the carved wooden beads snapped free.

Then another.

Tiny beads scattered across the nursery floor like spilled seeds. Small carved bones and thin stripes of hide cords scattered across the carpet. The maids gasped.

"Oh heavens—"

Valdor looked down, yet he never frowned. He never scolded, never even looked upset. No anger entered the boy’s face even as his once-braided hair hung loosely by his cheek and stripes of cord clung to the strands. Amor still held the broken braid, entirely unaware of the damage.

He gently removed the clutched braid from Amor’s determined grip, then placed Amor’s hand safely under the blanket before lowering himself onto hands and knees. He then began collecting the fallen beads, bones, and cords one by one. Every bead, no matter how far it had rolled beneath furniture or into the folds of carpets, Valdor retrieved it. He checked beneath cushions, toys, books, and the edge of the nursery rug, running his palm over the carpet to ensure none remained hidden where Amor might later find and swallow them. His movements became painstakingly methodical, checking twice beneath each chair and cushion. Only after counting every piece did he place them inside an empty pouch hanging from his belt and secure it tightly. The maids watched him.

"He is not upset?"

One whispered.

"Perhaps he did not like the beads?"

Valdor looked toward them.

"My family made them."

Silence followed. Only when he was absolutely certain none remained where Amor might swallow them did he return. He did not retrieve the stripe of hide cord from the baby’s hands. The baby immediately reached for his hair again. Valdor leaned forward without hesitation.

"[You may.]"

Instead of leaning over Amor, Valdor sat beside the cushion nest and allowed Amor to continue playing with the loose hair, even when tiny fingers pulled hard enough to make his head tilt. His expression remained patient. Every time Amor laughed, Valdor seemed to decide the discomfort was worthwhile. The maids could only watch in growing amazement.

"I have looked after noble children for nearly twenty years..."

The eldest whispered.

"I have seen brothers quarrel over toys worth less than those beads. And yet... that child never became angry even once."

"He simply removed the danger..."

Another maid smiled warmly.

"I do not think he notices how remarkable that is."

This child was supposed to be a barbarian. Instead, he showed greater patience than many grown nobles who visited the nursery, endured ruined heirlooms without anger, and treated their young master’s comfort as a responsibility entrusted directly to him. The fierce little boy seemed incapable of boredom where Amor was concerned.

...

Afternoon sunlight slowly drifted across the nursery floor, warming the little nest of cushions until both children began rubbing sleepy eyes. The excitement of exploration had finally given way to pleasant exhaustion, and even Valdor’s determined vigilance could not completely overcome the heavy pull settling behind his eyelids. He glanced once around the room.

Every toy had been returned. Every bead collected. Every blanket adjusted. Amor remained warm, comfortable, and smiling. Mission complete.

Without ceremony, Valdor climbed onto the enormous pile of cushions beside the baby, settling carefully so that none shifted beneath Amor. He lay close enough to shield the smaller child from accidentally rolling while leaving enough space that the infant could move freely, one sturdy little arm curving protectively around the silver blanket more by instinct than conscious thought.

Amor turned immediately toward the familiar warmth. His tiny fingers closed around the edge of Valdor’s fur. He sighed—a tiny, contented sound scarcely louder than breathing—and nestled against the older boy’s side.

A wooden fortress guarded one side, while the purple bear rested with its bandaged leg near Amor’s shoulder. Valdor rearranged the blankets every time one slipped, checked Amor’s hands for cold, and watched his breathing as though memorizing it. Eventually, the baby yawned. Valdor saw.

"Sleep."

Amor’s eyes remained open. Valdor remained lying beside Amor in the nest, at least he tried to. The cushions were not built for him, so one shoulder rested upon the carpet while his head fit awkwardly near Amor’s blanket. He shifted the purple plush toy aside and curled his body around the outside of the cushions without disturbing their support. One arm finally rested protectively near Amor’s middle, not pressing, but close enough to prevent anyone from approaching unnoticed.

Amor turned his face toward him. His small fingers caught one loose braid. Valdor allowed it. The baby’s eyes closed first. Valdor watched until his breathing became slow and even. Only then did the five-year-old’s fierce expression soften completely. Exhaustion pulled his own eyelids down. He fell asleep beside Amor. Within moments, both children had fallen asleep.

The nursery became utterly still. The maids stood in respectful silence, watching the unlikely pair resting together upon the mountain of cushions. One nursery maid approached cautiously. Neither child stirred; however, Valdor’s arm curved more protectively around the silver bundle, his small body positioned between Amor and the open room as though he expected danger to arrive through the nursery door. Amor slept peacefully within the cushion nest, one fist still tangled in dark hair.

The fierce little Blackstone leader-to-be, who had spent the entire afternoon treating a newborn he had met only hours before as though protecting him were the single most important task in the world, now slept with quiet trust written across his normally stern features. Beside him lay House Moons’ infant heir, nestled safely against that instinctive shelter, his tiny face peaceful beneath a halo of pale lavender curls. One maid finally smiled.

"I do not believe he ever intended to play."

"No..."

Another answered softly.

"He came here to guard him. Come, let’s not disturb them. The young master will undoubtedly be hungry when he wakes, and I don’t think the little Blackstone boy will take kindly if we are even a moment late."

The maids did not separate them. They adjusted a blanket over Valdor’s back, which made him let out a low, tiny growl. Some sat nearby to watch while two went out to prepare Amor’s bottled lunch.

None of them realized they were witnessing the beginning of a promise that would quietly endure for twenty years, surviving kingdoms, misunderstandings, heartbreak, and time itself until one sleeping child, now grown into a warrior, would once again find himself curled protectively beside the same lavender-haired soul—still guarding him, still staying, and still refusing to leave him alone.

Even then, before either understood courtship, love, or fate, he had known one thing with complete certainty.

The baby should not be left alone.