Chapter Text
With a flick of his fingers, the door to his private office clicked shut, silencing the lively chatter of those milling about the palace corridors. Servants hastened to prepare supper for the castle residents. Courtesans laughed as they meandered the hallways. And now that the council meeting adjourned for the day, the various lords retired to their chambers to rest before reconvening for the evening’s later feast.
Meanwhile, the King of Adarlan sought refuge in his private office. As Dorian crossed his study towards his desk, he noted the growing stack of papers likely consisting of schematics for Rifthold’s reconstruction and requests from royals across Erilea to finalize new post-war trade deals. Dorian left them ignored for now as he slumped into his leather chair. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, succumbing to the roaring spiraling in his mind.
“There have been rumors, your Majesty. Of a growing rebellion,” Lord Beaumont announced earlier at the Adarlan council meeting. The news did little to surprise Dorian. He understood that his recent efforts to stabilize his kingdom would not be enough to save Adarlan from being on the brink of civil war. Yet, a small part clinged to optimism. He hoped that a common goal of rebuilding Adarlan might unite his people and that his people trusted Dorian to bring harmony and healing to their cleaved kingdom.
“We’re still trying to ascertain the main details regarding who leads the cause, what they seek, where they are drawing support,” Lord Sands added following Beaumont’s announcement. “But this council should take these rumblings as true. We must proceed cautiously.”
Chaol suggested deploying scouts to investigate the rebel movement further and the council agreed with the Hand. Each lord would send a handful of their finest men to learn about the potential rebel threat and were expected to report back by the end of the month.
Even recognizing that there was nothing more to do in these early stages, Dorian couldn’t help from sinking further into his chair, surrendering to the overwhelming sense of helplessness. We ended one war only to catapult into another, he thought to himself.
Dorian jolted upright in his seat at the sound of his office door creaking open. The young king drew a quick breath, folding his hands before him in an effort to draw together the composure expected of a king.
“Loosen up, it’s just me,” Chaol greeted, gently closing the door behind him. With a strained smile, Dorian relaxed back in his chair, “If you’re here to inundate me with more official Adarlan business, I kindly request that you exit the way you came.”
“We’ve had enough of that for today,” Chaol replied as he sat in the chair opposite his friend. “I know news of rebellion is not unexpected for you, but it doesn’t make it any less difficult. I came to make sure you weren’t running yourself into the ground about it.”
Dorian let out a sigh before he admitted, “I’ll feel better once we know more. Right now, it’s just this abstract, looming threat over our heads. I want to address this head on, be done with it, and focus once more on rebuilding our home.”
“We can take action once the scouts come back with their reports, but for now, it does no one good for you to worry–”
“I want our people to know peace,” Dorian interrupted, “I promised a better world. I intend to fulfill that promise.”
“You will,” Chaol assured him. Dorian seemed weary even with his friend’s support as he slouched into his chair. Tilting his head slightly to the left, the king peered out of his study’s window, admiring the view of the sun setting over the Rifthold skyline.
Chaol’s gaze lingered over his friend. The dark circles were more prominent today. And, like most days, Dorian sported an uncharacteristic slight frown. While Dorian certainly fooled many around him, Chaol knew his friend continued to struggle in the months following the war. He often wondered when the last time Dorian got a full night’s rest. However, each time Chaol pried, Dorian was quick to change the subject to Adarlan’s reconstruction, diplomatic relations, and just about anything other than whatever weighed down on the young king’s shoulders. Respecting his friend’s boundaries, Chaol generally held his tongue. But today, with the whispers of rebellion lurking, Chaol decided that perhaps it was time to give his friend a push.
“Have you heard from her?” Chaol asked.
Dorian’s head whipped to face his friend. Surely, Chaol isn’t asking about–
“Manon,” Chaol continued, “have you spoken to her since Terrasen?”
“No,” Dorian choked out, focusing on his twiddling fingers in his lap, “No, I haven’t.”
With a sigh, Dorian finally looked up at Chaol, “At first, I thought maybe it was best to give her space to mourn. We all faced loss in the war. But she– the pain she must be enduring… I cannot imagine it.”
“I wanted to write to her. Many times,” Dorian explained. “But, I wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted. When I left for Morath, everything became so muddled. I don’t know where we stand. I hoped when she was ready, if that day ever came, she would reach out to me and maybe, we could figure it out together. But, there’s been nothing but silence.”
“You know these past few months have gone by quickly with everything on your plate. I presume she’s also been busy rebuilding the Witch Kingdom,” Chaol offered. “Like you, she is probably under a lot of pressure and stress.”
“Then, perhaps I am selfish for missing her. She has enough to deal with.”
“That doesn’t make you selfish,” Chaol immediately cut in. “You care for her. It’s clear that you miss her. You must allow yourself the grace to do so.”
“I guess,” Dorian conceded.
“I worry about you,” Chaol confessed.
“Chaol–”
“It is not just me fussing. Yrene worries too,” Chaol added. “I understand why you want to prioritize all your responsibilities as king. But you will be an even better leader for your people if you give yourself the chance to work through everything and heal.”
“And what does that have to do with Manon?”
“Because if you won’t let me in to help you, then, she might be the only one you’ll open yourself up to,” Chaol declared. Dorian’s mouth hung open. He struggled to find a witty comeback to gloss over the truth underlying his friend’s remarks, but faltered as Chaol’s words pierced him in the gut.
“When I first found out about you two, I didn’t understand,” Chaol continued. “I couldn’t wrap my head around why you were so drawn to each other. But, like always, Yrene helped me realize how obvious it is. You both understand each other in ways others cannot. Both on the same path. Both new leaders with the heavy lift of rebuilding entire kingdoms all while trying to deal with their own loss and grief. Both battling this internal darkness. Yet, too stubborn to seek help from anyone.”
Growing uncomfortable by the startling accuracy of Chaol’s observations, Dorian glimpsed down at his fidgeting hands, noting the growing ice spots creeping along his fingertips.
“And, well, I am getting the sense that perhaps she needs you too,” Chaol said. Dorian met his friend’s concerned gaze and listened as Chaol added, “But, like you, she also pushes down whatever she struggles with under the guise of putting her people first.”
“What gives you this impression?” Dorian asked.
“Yrene frequently corresponds with Elide and others from the Witch Kingdom,” Chaol replied. “The most recent letters expressed concern for the Queen of Witches.”
Dorian’s heart sank as he implored, “What did they say?”
“She barely eats. Looks like she doesn’t sleep. Does what is expected of her then retires to her chambers for most of the day without saying a word to anyone. It’s been the same since the war ended and her condition has not improved.”
She lost her only family, Dorian thought, the fact that she is able to go day-to-day carrying out her responsibilities is a credit to her unwavering strength.
“Go to her,” Chaol urged. “She needs you, you need her. Just go.”
Dorian sighed before admitting to his friend, “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”
“There are no right words to say. I think she just needs to know that you’re there for her.”
“By what?” Dorian wondered aloud, “Showing up at her doorstep unannounced?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t entertained the idea,” Chaol laughed. “Besides, I think deep down you and I both know Manon might just appreciate a surprise visit from you.”
Dorian chuckled and rolled his eyes at Chaol’s musings.
“You can do whatever you want, and at the end of the day, you know her best,” Chaol stated. “But, as someone who knows and loves you, I think talking to her will really be good for you. And, if you truly love her, you should also go and let her know that she doesn’t have to face all that grief alone.”
With that, Chaol stood and made his way to the door. Just as he reached the door knob, he turned back to his friend with an encouraging smile, “Just go, Dorian.”