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Craddling her head in his elbow, Trian let himself become like the statues that dotted the Hall of Heroes, as if stillness could make him a Paragon. She was so little. Tiny wisps of hair, a red scrunched-up face, fists balled up, waving uselessly.
"Look at her go, that's a warrior for sure." Uncle Pyral laughed, the elder dwarf's hand on Trian's shoulder. "She may look fragile now, but I reckon with that attitude she's going to be taking on the deep roads by herself."
"I'm a warrior too," Trian whined. An undignified sound, and the hand on his shoulder reminded him of his place. Eldest son, heir to the throne, there were no lapses allowed for him, even here in the family's private apartments.
"Enough of that." Father's hand was firm. "You two will be out chopping the heads of deep stalkers soon enough."
"Of course, Father," Trian wrinkled his nose. "She's awfully small."
"You were just as small once," Father said, "And it's your job to protect her until she's big."
"I was never that small."
"You weren't much bigger." Uncle Pyral's jab curtailed Father's attempt to laugh, the only one allowed to be so loose with him, and only then in private. Even his, theirs as he looked down at the little girl, mother didn't usually forgo the formalities of role.
"Your other sprog is looking like he'll be a big one too," Uncle Pyral joked, but Father's face turned, something unpleasant as he gestured to stop.
"Not here."
"Ah, yes, the Queen's not-"
"Its a near-outlawed topic. It may be socially acceptable, but affairs of the heart are far more fickle," Father ruffled his hair before leaning down to whisper in Trian's ear, "Remember that. Men make the strangest of choices when that dread organ forces its due."
"It's disgraceful, moving her into the rooms across the hall from me." Mother bemoaned, body astrwen the chaise, a hand dramatically lain across her face.
"Moooommmaaa," Trian winced as the rattle hit the stone bars of the baby bed.
"Madam-"
"Oh yes, Ancestors bless this house while making me a cu-"
"Madam!" The maid curtsied, "Apologies for the interruption, but perhaps-" She waved at Trian, the sullen preteen with his nose buried in a book, using the guise of memorizing the names of dead kings to gather much more information.
Lately, his Mother's tirades were much more exciting than any history lecture.
But Sereda seemed to have other plans by the excited little shrieks she gave, throwing the rattle down to thrust her arms up. Demanding, a good trait for a princess, annoying as a sister.
"Trian, take Sereda into the halls, please?"
"Mother, I am studying."
"She needs to practice walking more-"
"Peas out!"
"I am not a nursemaid!"
"No, you are her brother, and it is your responsibility to care for her." Mother's finger parted, exposing a single eye, affixed in a glare that left his blood cold. "Now go."
With a huff, Trian pulled the toddler from her crib. Sereda was, simply put, a menace.
From the day she arrived, everything rotated around her, a gravity well of charisma that Trian still couldn't match, and he has a decade on her. And now that mobility was within her grasp, that magnetic pull would extend beyond the family apartments. The maid shut the door between them, not that it mattered. Stone walls held secrets like a promise, and provided Sereda with ample space to create echoes that never ceased to delight her and create more.
Sometimes Trian felt decades older than he was, because after just a few gibbering shrieks, he already felt a headache coming on. "Shhhhh," Trian said softly. "Hush, and I'll put you down."
"Run?" Sereda's volume did not decrease, but a single word and clumsy clapping were a moderate improvement.
"Yes, but only up and down this hallway." He put her down, shaky legs quickly finding their stance. "And no yelling." He put a finger up to his mouth, pleased when she repeated it back, chubby fingers that she didn't quite grasp how to control one at a time yet.
"No yell," nodding excitedly, Sereda took off. Trian has watched his mother and the nursemaids enough to know that he should be following close behind in case she fell, but that sounded like work. Crown prince, more like the crown chief of stupid chores. Wasn't allowed to listen to gossip, too important to go into the Deep Roads for practical training like the boys from the warrior caste he trained with, nor allowed to join his father's court yet.
A cry broke Trian's ruminations. Sereda was gone, but baby sobs bounced off the walls, each one a possible slap across the back of his head. He rounded the corner, as there was only one way she could go without leaving the apartments. Only to find a castless girl, swaddled cloth in hand, trying to help her up.
"Get your hands off of her," Trian growled, slapping the woman's hand back. The black ink across her face contorted as her expression turned sour.
"Of course, my lord," She gave a jerky bow, trying to juggle the bare minimum in appropriate response to his station and the bouncing motion of the baby in her arms.
Pulling Sereda back, the little girl squealed. Trian gathered her up in his arms, "State your purpose here before I call the guards. Casteless aren't allowed in here-"
"I'm caring for your new brother." The woman moved a bit of cloth off the baby's face. "Would you like to meet him?"
"Baby!" Sereda laughed, the sobs disappearing at the sight of a dwarf even smaller than herself. "Baby!"
"Yes, A baby brother for you," The woman smiled softly.
"Did you and Father name him?" Trian said softly. The little boy looked just like their Father, the same nose and as the little infant's eyes fluttered open, the same startling eyes. Sereda and he both resembled their mother, the Queen Consort, so closely. It felt strange to look at his Father's twin in the form of an infant.
"Bhelen," She said softly, and Trian knew in that instant that his troubles were doubled.
"Twian!" Sereda's little screams hadn't dampened with age. At only 5, she somehow had gotten louder. A trait Father only ever encouraged, saying it was important for when the little girl would someday traipse through the darkspawn. The voice of a commander, the right hand he'd want leading his campaigns.
Trian was not yet convinced.
"Twian!" A lack of response was not an indicator to quiet down, but rather a commandment to increase the volume, enough that Trian's teeth chattered.
"Yes, Sereda?" Trian called out, a low moan creeping into his voice. Was it too much to ask for some peace and quiet today? He'd finally been allowed his own apartment, the perk of turning sixteen, free of his little sister's and mother's clutches. And yet, the hallway and flight of stairs were already proving insufficient for any true freedom.
Maybe Uncle Pyral would let him move into the Harrowmont estate.
Ugh, that probably would require agreeing to marry his daughter or something, and he could really only pull that political card once.
"TWAIN!" Sereda's charge rivaled the warrior caste boys he trained with. She was going to be a wrecking ball in the Deep Roads if she wanted to be. Within seconds, she was on his bed, knees digging into his chest as she perched above him. "Happy Bithday!"
"Is it?" Trian groaned, the air escaping his lungs left the sound more raspy than intended.
"Yes!" Sereda screamed.
"Get off me, nuglet," Trian swept his hand out, throwing her onto the bed, her cascade of giggles more annoying than cute.
"Not a nug," She giggled, "Me and Bhelen-"
"Bhelen and I," He corrected, eyes flitting to the door where Bhelen stood quietly, gripping a piece of hard card stock so tightly it crumpled under his pudgy little fingers.
"Bhelen and Seweda made you cards," Sereda cut him off, waving a glittery and wet glue-covered monstrosity around on his bed, little sparkles starting to cover his bedsheet.
"I can see that, now get off my bed with it," Trian picked up by the armpits, flinging her off the bed. Little kids were bouncy, he'd learned. No pain lasted longer than the time it took to garner the all-important attention they craved.
"You need to read it!" Sereda waved it until he took it from her. The front was just a random assortment of glitter and paints, but the inside was the picture of six figures - at least that's what they looked like. Their strange family, with her name and his scrawled in giant letters, mismatched in size.
"Cute." Trian gave her a nod. "Here I'll hang it up."
"Trian?" Bhelen held up his card. His voice was soft. The four-year-old was always quiet, always hiding, rarely seen unless Sereda took him in hand. But in contrast to Sereda's chaos, the card was subdued, covered in simple colored paints, and the inside had his handprint on it. The letters were shaky, but more consistent than Sereda's.
"This is really good, Bhelen." Trian gave the little boy a side hug, hanging it next to Sereda's. "Thank you."
"Trian, I need you in my apartments-" Mother's voice trilled off. Trian turned to see her in the doorway, her face in a sneer, nose turned up. Trian pushed Bhelen behind him slightly, creating a barrier between the little boy and his mother. "Oh, once you're done with that, come meet me in our apartments."
"Of course," Trian nodded. The room was still while they waited for the Queen to leave, her footsteps echoing down the hallways until a door slammed.
"Why does Momma hate Bhelen?" Sereda asked. Trian looked down, two pairs of giant eyes, sad baby faces looking up at him.
"She doesn't hate you." Trian gave his little brother a small hug. "Its complicated."
The little boy looked away with a little sniffle. Trian kneeled down, pulling Bhelen's face to look at his own, "Look at me. You're a Prince of House Aeducan. That's all that matters."
"What do you mean you're sending her into the Deep Roads?" Trian hissed; the near-constant grinding of his teeth left a pain in the back of his jaw. "She's only fifteen. I didn't go on my first expedition until I was eighteen, and a full campaign only at twenty."
"Your sister is on a different path than you," Father - no King Endrin, as the new role Trian had taken dictated - said, putting down his quill to meet his gaze. Endrin stood slowly, age starting to show more with each passing season. The man was still strong, but his body could no longer compare with the strength of his mind.
"We both agreed that if I am to take the throne, her skill is in the field, but sending her this young is madness." Trian hissed. Expeditions were day trips, maybe a few days of camping in the lowest reaches of the Deep Roads. The places that were well known, like the old Aeducan Thaig or the outer reaches of Orzammar, where darkspawn attacks were not rare but smaller in scope. Campaigns were at minimum a week, often up to two months, with the goal of clearing back large sections, the Warrior Caste always hopeful that it would be possible to truly retake an old Thaig.
"If she is to be your Commander, the right hand you can lean upon," Endrin said, "Then she had to be seen as a leader among the troops. She cannot command them if she does not know them."
If Sereda did not come up with the latest generation of Warrior Caste, they wouldn't know her in the field, wouldn't trust her, and her command would constantly be in question. Holding her back, restraining her talents did not strengthen any part of their house, even if it left him scared and jealous.
The begrudging acknowledgement of her skill with a blade, besting his own, an envious wave swept through him. It warred with the desire to keep her safe, the little girl who screamed to run around became a warrior who charged off into battle, her screams leaving her enemies terrified and her allies rallied.
"She is a Princess of House Aeducan," Trian huffed, slumping down in his chair. "There is no reason she should be treated as if she were a lower caste."
"The Warrior Caste sends their most promising at age fourteen, only their weakest take on their first campaign in their twenties."
"So you are calling me weak?" Trian bristled at the knowledge that his first long trek in the Deep Roads began only at his twenty-second year.
"I am correctly identifying as the heir to the most powerful House in Orzammar, the next King, and like most scions of a powerful House, you need not be tested at that young age," Trian said softly.
"She is too young."
"Sereda is a once-in-a-generation talent with the blade. She's already won two provings, against foes who have won twenty over." Trian smiled. "It is a great blessing as a Father, to have children who are so incredibly talented, but a terrible burden that as King, I must parley those talents, despite the danger."
"At least Bhelen's skill with a tax book and abacus will not give me as much grief," Trian sighed, burying his head. It was the natural conclusion. It had to be.
"Don't scoff, trade with the surface is what keeps our soldiers strong and our nobles happy." Endrin smiled. "And Bhelen is a sharp mind there." And the sharp mind that Trian had knew that Endrin was playing all of them.
He, Sereda, and Bhelen all had meetings like this, talks where they were told they were the heir, and how their siblings would fit into the plan. The headache tightened, like the grim smile he gave his father.
"Say that again," Bhelen's fist curled up, pulling the collar up to lift the Helmi girl from the ground. Her boots swung in the air, the clattering of chairs as her second leapt to her feet, the furniture thrown back across the mosaic tiles. The horns dwindled, dying tunes as the band stopped, the entire hall focusing on the spectacle of a prince.
"Your casteless whore of a mother-" The Helmi woman didn't know when to quit, but neither did his brother. Sereda was at his side, always thick as thieves those two; her hand on her blade as Bhelen's shoulder flung back, the noble woman slammed into the ground.
The crisp slink of blades drawn, the clatter of more chairs thrown back, the sad deflating noise of a bagpipe dropped to the ground, but the stillness between his younger siblings and their adversaries was deafening. Crowds started forming on either side, enough space to let them fight, but close enough to jump in.
"ENOUGH," Trian bellowed over the hall, using the elevated position of the throne to assist. Endrin lifted a hand, passive approval, and Trian marched down to the middle of the room, pushing his siblings back away with one hand, and another out to help up the Helmi girl.
"This, This is over." He pulled the girl up and directed her away. With his other hand, he gestured to the band, who took their cue. A harsh sideways nod, and the younger siblings followed after him; it took all of Trian's willpower to keep his face still.
Pretend he was one of the statues in the Hall of Heroes, just like he did as a little kid, enduring another of his mother's drunken ramblings.
Out of sight and out of mind, they pooled into the hallway of the private apartments, Trian slamming the door behind them. "What was that?"
"She was insulting my mother-"
"Your mother is a casteless noble hunter." Trian hissed, the aching pain in his jaw returning, the stress headache at the band of his head, the only crown he could claim so far.
"She wasn't a whore-" Sereda interjected, but Trian's hand flew up.
"A good commander doesn't take every battle. There's a strategy to retreat or wait. And yet you flew to arms at the slightest provocation." Trian hissed. "Your men will not follow you if they think you'll fight wasted battles."
"Is my honor not a worthy battle?" Bhelen hissed.
"Your honor is from House Aeducan, not your mother." Trian sighed. "I know she is your mother, it is a sore spot that she cannot join the hall-"
"If she's worthy to give birth to a Prince of House Aeducan-"
"She was privileged to join this House, but the honor is yours, Bhelen." Trian clapped his shoulder, "She can only borrow from you. And when you fight these battles, you tarnish it, and our house."
"You refuse to even entertain the notion that there could be more to this, that it could be a better way-" Bhelen hissed.
"Brother," Sereda said softly, "This is a larger conversation, not one for tipsy hallway chats."
"You're just bored." Bhelen rounded on her, "You didn't care until you thought there was a fight to be had."
"I mean… yeah?" Sereda shrugged, "I figured you were also bored and wanted a fight-"
"Sereda," Trian ordered, "Leave. Go back to the hall and play nice."
"Ugh, fine, whatever." Sereda's clunky armor clanged down the hall long after she left; even the closed door didn't fully block out the sound.
"What you suggest is heresy, an insult to the Ancestors themselves," Trian whispered. "Be careful how you tread."
"We both know that the economic proposals I've drawn up would benefit everyone if the casteless-"
"Your bias is so blatant." Trian rolled his eyes. "The branded ginger girl is pretty, but don't overstep your role. Revise the economic proposal, and stop picking fights."
Trian left, leaving Bhelen behind in the family wing. There was only so much he could do to protect his brother from himself. Ancestors, Bhelen seemed intent on digging his own grave.
"Brother," Sereda knocked on his door, the same rooms he'd taken since his sixteenth summer, "Have a moment?"
"What now, Sereda?" Trian didn't bother looking up from his work. The exercise Endrin ordered him to do tomorrow was taxing enough. It was rare for him to grace the battlefield at all, rarer still the Deep Roads, but most of all, he had so much work to do. He rarely got more than four hours of sleep at night; the constant demands from nobles, merchants, warriors, and the shaperate meant his to-do list grew faster than he could remove a single item.
The idea of taking a full day off to go traipse about the old Aeducan Thaig, one that Sereda had still failed to fully reclaim have how many campaigns, drove him insane. How many more things would pile up on his desk in the meantime? And now she wanted his time before they even left, too.
"I wanted to ask you about Bhelen-"
"If this is Bhelen's ridiculous proposal, tell him that I'm still waiting on the final proposal, his draft isn't good enough, and I won't be considering it."
"No, I'm getting worried about him; he's getting desperate." Sereda's voice felt smaller; it always was when it came to her brother. They weren't twins, and their different mothers created a crevice that they couldn't span, but the two of them were closer to each other than he was to them.
Different mothers were nothing when the burden of leadership fell.
"He's desperately going to be looking for a new role when I take the crown if he doesn't start coming up with a decent capital gains tax proposal." Trian rolled his eyes.
"Could you just listen to me for ten minutes?"
"I have so much to do - can this wait until the three of us are in the Deep Roads tomorrow. That's how you warrior types like to deal with emotions right?"
"I tried to help you Trian." Sereda bristled. "That's what I get for trying to protect you."
"Ha protect me," Trian murmured as she left, his door left ajar as the bright light of the hall cast its beam to the corkboard behind him. The bright glitter had fallen off over the years, the paint faded, but the cards, nearly twenty five years old now, still hung right in the center.