Private Barracks/Imperial Condos Comrade in Harms

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil took a deep breath as he looked up at the condo at the south end of the city. Like all those in the district, the building itself was the kind of inoffensive brownstone that possessed a uniquely soulless charm. That almost all of these units were largely undecorated struck Daniil as poetic in a way. The architecture was so soul-crushing, not even the prospect of a fresh coat of paint could restore the light of individuality.

This unit, at least, stood out for the myriad potted herbs and flowers along the front steps. It was actually quite charming, in a way; a spot of green amidst the drab urban sprawl did wonders for the place. Daniil wondered if that was Caden's doing, or perhaps a domestic partner of some sort. Caden didn't seem the gardening type to Daniil, but then again, he didn't seem the poetry type to most. In general, he found that beasts contained multitudes unto themselves.

Taking a deep breath, Daniil steeled himself before knocking on the door. He tightened his grip on the paper box between his paws, trying to ignore the sweet scent of blueberry pie within. He wasn't a big fan of blueberries or of sweets in general, but while he'd been in recovery, Mileya had come to visit and, upon hearing of Caden's heroic rescue, insisted that her brother had to thank his rescuer with sweets. That had been the end of that; when Mileya declared that something had to be done, arguing the point with her was a fool's errand. He'd reluctantly dragged himself to a bakery as soon as he was permitted out of bed, and from there to the barracks, to the door of the beast who Daniil now owed for his life.

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

It did not take long for the door to unlatch and swing open. Asta stood in the doorway, a floury apron over her light green dress. From within the condo, the smells of baking bread and cardamom wafted, along with the sound of halting piano scales being played. The young marteness smiled brightly at the fox.

"Hallo," she said, then held up a finger and continued in broken, accented Vulpinsulan. "Uh, I get Caden. Come in."

She gave a slight bow of her head and moved further into the house, leaving the door open for Daniil. In the entryway, where typically somebeast would hang coats or umbrellas, two arming swords hung in their scabbards, as well as a bow and quiver, accompanied by several jackets and cloaks. A bundle of dried lavender in a woven basket hung from the opposite wall.

Asta ducked into the lounge where Caden sat at the piano bench in front of an old upright, laboring over an E minor scale. The sleeves of his loose black shirt were rolled up, and his headfur was tousled in its usual fashion for a day when he had no intention of leaving the house. Beside him, an old rattess occupied a chair and watched his paws raptly. His right paw missed the thumb crossover on his way up the scale, and he flubbed the note, swearing as he stopped, frustrated. The rattess made a hmph sound.

"Swearing at the keys won't make you play it right, laddie," the rattess said with a slight Northlands brogue. "Try with your right paw only, just slower."

"I know, I know." Caden laughed. "I'm sorry. It's just been hard with my right paw while my shoulder is healing up."

"Have you tried not getting shot? You're supposed to be staying alive for Asta, aren't ye? Can't go about rescuing strangers in the Slups and getting shot at if you're supposed to be taking care of your lass."

Caden slowly began the scale again with just his right paw. His tone was slightly defensive. "I don't intend to make a habit of it. But the beast I rescued isn't a stranger. He's somebeast I have a responsibility to--" He stopped and flicked an ear, then turned, seeing Asta in the doorway. She smiled and waved.

"Sorry," she said in Northern Varangian. "I don't mean to interrupt your lesson, but there's a fox here."

Caden glanced at the rattess. "Give me a moment, Elsie." He stood and followed Asta into the hallway, speaking in Varangian with her as they went to the entryway.

"It's fine. I wasn't getting anywhere with that scale, anyway. A break would probably be good. Though I don't know who would be calling on me today. Maybe someone from the Guard?"

He paused so abruptly when he saw Daniil in the entryway that Asta bumped into his elbow. Caden recovered and steadied her with a paw on her shoulder.

"Daniil, what a surprise. I'm glad to see you up and about. To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit?"

 

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil stepped inside at the marteness's invitation, standing awkwardly in the hallway with pie in paw. His ears flickered as he heard the sounds of the piano lesson, and the reference to Caden's 'lass'. Ah. So, that must be who the marteness was. She seemed very young for Caden, bordering on the unsettling, but then again, Daniil had seen bigger age gaps in his time. He felt his spirit sink slightly as he thought back on their time on the practice grounds, the rescue that Caden had perpetuated. I had thought...

Daniil dismissed the thought with a small shake of the head. It wasn't worth considering; he'd been mistaken, that was all. Now that he thought about it, this all seemed foolish. A pie for his life? What sort of trade was that? By old Fyadorian custom, Daniil would be sworn to serve Caden for the rest of his days, or until he rescued Caden in turn. He was considering setting down the pie and leaving when Caden and Asta, as the rat had named her, came back into the hallway. Daniil felt like melting into the floor as he saw how stiffly Caden still moved. That was all Daniil's fault; if he hadn't been so reckless, hadn't rushed those miscreants...

"Sir," he addressed the marten, then amended, "er, Caden. My apologies for disturbing the serenity of your home, and your time with your family. I... My only intent was to thank you for your noble rescue of my person, and to present you with a small... insufficient, really... token of my gratitude." He awkwardly extended his arms, offering the box. "It is pie," he stated a bit lamely. "I have been told that sweets are commonly given to express positive sentiments. In retrospect, that advice failed to capture the scale of the debt I owe to you for your actions."

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

Caden took the box, trying to keep his tail from swishing with the diverse array of emotions coursing through his body. "Thank you, Daniil. Truly, I appreciate the kind thought and gesture." There was an awkward pause. Asta looked between the pair, eyes narrowing in the slightest and a small smile hovering on her lips.

In the kitchen, a timer rang out. Asta prodded Caden in the side. "The bread is done. Invite him in. He's adorable. You must keep him."

She dashed off to the kitchen, leaving her adoptive father standing in the entryway, holding the pie and fumbling over his next words.

"Ah yes, that's Asta, by the way, my daughter. We just arrived from Varangia last month, so she's still learning Vulpinsulan. She's just made a loaf of pulla bread, her mother's recipe." He tilted his head towards the lounge and lifted the pie in his paws with a shy smile. "Would you care to come in, perhaps have some bread and pie? I could put on some tea as well."

 

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil's eyes widened at the revelation, and he blurted out before he could think, "Oh, your daughter!" He blushed as he realized that had been out loud. "My apologies. I appear to have misunderstood the nature of your family structure." He hesitated, the prickling on the back of his fur, the constant fear of never being enough driving him toward the door, but... His stomach rumbled abruptly, making the decision for him. "That sounds lovely, thank you," Daniil remarked gratefully. "I've never had pulla bread. Will Asta's mother be joining us as well?" He was still testing the waters, trying to work out exactly what Caden's family looked like in full.

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

"No, she--" Caden seemed to be searching for the words as he guided Daniil towards the lounge where Elsie had begun playing a simple tune on the piano. The apartment was decorated in a sparse, austere fashion. White walls with small splashes of color in various simple paintings or floral hangings, simple and practical furniture exactly where it was needed, and open space allowed to stay open without the need to clutter it with superfluous indicators of wealth or status.

Caden finally found his explanation. "Asta's mother died some time ago, long before I came into Asta's life. I worked as a mercenary on the Varangian continent for some time, and that's where I met her father. I owe him my life, really. I'd still be carving a bloody swath through whatever ranks a well-paying job put me in front of if it weren't for him." He smiled sadly and tapped at his chest. "Love of the sort we shared can change a beast. I lost him, though. He was killed, and the circumstances around his death are what brought Asta and I here to start a new life. The Imperium never felt truly like home to me when I was younger, but I hope we can make it into as much of a home as we had in Varangia."

They had stepped into the lounge, and Caden indicated for Daniil to have a seat in one of the chairs at a low, round table in the center of the room. He set the pie on the table beside a small painting of a young Asta with her mother and father.

"Elsie, my apologies, but I'm going to have to cut my lesson short today," Caden said to the rat. "I promise I'll get those scales down for the next week, though. Asta should have some bread for you in the kitchen if you'd like any."

As the rat took her leave, Caden closed the keyboard cover on the piano and stacked his music on the bench with nervous paws. He came to sit on the edge of the couch opposite Daniil, removing his glasses and wiping away a smudge with the hem of his shirt. Typically, he would have inquired after Daniil's family relations as a gesture of reciprocity, but Caden felt it prudent to keep the conversation from that particular topic. As it was, he was having a difficult time avoiding looking at the knife in the todd's belt.

"So, you're up and about, seem to be moving well enough. How is the wound faring?" The question felt stilted, and Caden found himself wishing he had asked Daniil a more personal question against his better judgement. He tried to quash that line of emotional reasoning, reminding himself just who this todd was and how much more harm Caden could inflict on him if he wasn't careful.

 

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil sat awkwardly, still moving quite gingerly as he lowered himself into the seat. His eyes scanned the room, taking note of the picture of Asta with her birth family, mulling over Caden's explanation. So, the marten did have more expansive preferences, but... He felt a small burbling of guilt in his gut at the rising hope in his chest. Caden had lost the beast who mattered most to him in the world. Daniil knew very well how that pain could change a beast, could make them irreplaceable. He'd had plenty in his life who had tried to mother him after Vaelora's murder, even his aunt Dusk, fumbling and awkward as she was when it came to maternal sentiment. He'd quietly resented how they were trying to make themselves feel better by removing his sadness from their environment. He'd needed space to grieve, and to have that respected. Trying to cheer up Caden, much less to step into the hole left by that wound, would be deeply inappropriate.

"It is progressing," Daniil allowed, wincing slightly as he shifted. "The doctors have at least cleared me to move about under my own power. I fear it may still be a bit before I am cleared for active duty once more. In the meantime, si- Caden," he amended, "I'll be quite happy to do anything I can for the Guard, even if it's just administrative work. Being confined to bed for so long was... uncomfortable."

He hesitated before quietly addressing Caden's previous point. "I am sorry for your loss," he murmured. "I understand that pain very well, in addition to the need to care for those who mattered most to the deceased. I'm sure your partner would be greatly relieved to see how devoted a father you are to Asta. I hope it brings him peace, wherever he is."

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

Caden slid his glasses back on. He rubbed the side of his neck, nodding along with Daniil's words. "Thank you, Daniil, truly. It means quite a lot to me to hear that. I-I'm sorry, too, that you have experienced that kind of pain as well." His throat tightened, the fox's expression of care for his loss and his own apology to Daniil hitting him harder than he expected. He realized that his soul was crying out to apologize more directly to the todd, but he had to push the desire away. Blinking away tears that had suddenly welled up and clearing his throat, he looked across the room out the window to gather himself.

Thankfully Asta chose that moment to enter the room with a warm, golden loaf of woven bread that smelled of subtle yet fragrant spices. She set it down beside the pie along with a tray of plates and utensils. Caden jumped to his footpaws to help her.

"Oh that's right, I was going to put on tea. One moment."

Asta pressed him back down to the couch. "You sit. I take care." She turned to Daniil with a smile. "I hope you like."

As she swept back out of the room, ostensibly to prepare tea, Caden swallowed uncomfortably and unstacked the plates before opening the box containing the pie. "This looks wonderful. I can't remember the last time I had blueberry pie." He began to cut into it.

"I'm glad, at least, that your recovery has been going well." Caden lifted a piece of pie onto a plate and slid it across the table to Daniil. "A wound like the one you took, that can go sideways quickly if you're not careful. You'll have quite the scar to show for it, at least. I know the vixens love that sort of thing--or the todds, if that's your preference."

The marten had never found deftness or subtlety to be his strong suit in determining the inclinations of a beast, perhaps that was why he had never tried to hide his own preferences. It seemed simpler and easier to have such things known in order to better interact and avoid misunderstandings. Or at least, that is what he told himself in this instance where he found himself waiting for the fox's response with perhaps more interest than he would admit to having.

 

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil accepted the plate and a small dessert fork, carefully picking at the edges of the pie, evening out a small bit of crust that had clung to it. He always had to make sure his food was symmetrical before he ate; it was one of those strange childhood quirks that hadn't faded with adulthood. He remembered Vaelora very carefully arranging his plate for maximum symmetry; she'd indulged his preferences, treating him with a care that few other adults in his life had shown. Oh, he'd been handled gently after her death, but more like he was fragile, either a vase that would break if mishandled, or a bomb on the verge of going off. The only way he could keep his sanity, he'd found, was to learn to do for himself what his mother was no longer there to do for him.

He started at the question about preferences. It was such a direct statement, one that, for a moment, made him flash back to panic. In Westisle and Fyador in general, such things were kept very quiet; even his Uncle Talinn, permissive as he was toward his court's general indiscretions, tended toward the more conservative in his attitudes, less from prejudice and more from ignorance and tradition. Alwyn had figured it out eventually, or maybe Valin had told him, Daniil wasn't quite sure. Mileya had been actively supportive, flitting about the court gathering rumors and secrets, trying to set Daniil up with todds of a similar inclination. He'd had a few awkward dinner dates, even gone with his sister to a small underground club in the lower city where beasts like him gathered, but he'd always left early, too uncomfortable to loosen up. Being in the Imperium, where attitudes, it seemed, were far more permissive and free, was still a new and a bit unnerving experience for him.

"I've found," he said quietly, "that it's a very rare todd - or jack, for that matter - who would look at such a scar as anything more than a mark of stupidity." He finally pulled the tip off the pie with his fork, careful to keep the cut even, and raised it to his lips. It was sickly sweet, and his stomach revolted after one bite. "My apologies," he murmured, setting the dessert plate back down, "I've forgotten my manners. Your daughter's lovely bread deserves our attention. The smell is truly divine. Is that rosemary I'm detecting?" The line of inquiry was safe enough, at least, and covered for his tastes. Would it be bad form if he declined to eat the pie he himself had brought? He didn't understand all these social rules. Mileya understood them intuitively, thrived on navigating the complexities of etiquette and social interaction, while he could barely handle lurking at the edge of a crowd, listening and observing from a position at which he he was unlikely to be addressed.

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

"You know, I'm not sure what goes into a loaf of pulla," Caden admitted with a chuckle as he set down his own piece of pie--already half devoured--and cut several slices from the fragrant loaf. "I think it varies based on who is making it. Recipes seem to be passed down from mother to daughter."

Bread cut, and taking a piece for himself on his plate, the marten tilted his head and shrugged. "Stupidity, though? I don't know about that. All scars have a story, and yours has more nuance than simple stupidity, I'd wager. If you don't mind me asking, what happened? Aiken told me why he was in the Slups, but the laudanum had taken you...ah, elsewhere, by the time I was of any mind to inquire as to how you both ended up in such dire circumstances."

 

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil accepted a slice of the bread, grimacing less at the pain of leaning forward than at the question. "It was foolish," he admitted. "Aiken - that was his name, was it? - he was being chased by some ruffians, weapons smugglers perhaps, armed with crossbows. We took shelter in an alley, but they cornered us. Aiken took a bolt distracting them, while I charged them at close range. I took one down," he winced as he recalled the messiness of that kill, "but in engaging the other, I took a blade to the side. It was foolish, I was outmatched and I knew it. I should have kept to cover, waited until they moved in to engage."

He shook his head, then tasted the bread. "This is delicious," he mused. He looked up at Caden, furrowing his brows. "How did you find me, anyway? The laudenum made that whole day a bit fuzzy in my mind. Everything from getting wounded onward is a bit blurry." He'd been so certain that he was going to die, so waking up in a hospital bed had been a pleasant surprise, followed by a long, painful recovery.

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

Caden swallowed his last bite of pie. "It's quite good, isn't it? Asta is a marvelous cook. I've had to make sure I'm strict with my weapons drilling, or else I wouldn't be capable of training or fighting anybeast with how well she keeps me fed." He patted at his svelte midsection and winked at the todd. 'Gates, he was getting far too close to dropping his guard with Daniil completely. He knew his type, and it seemed Daniil was checking more and more of the boxes as Caden interacted with him. This was going to be more difficult than he expected. Caden set down his pie plate and composed himself.

"As far as your showing with your opponents, you made it out alive, and they did not. That's what matters in the end. You can learn what you could have done better because you lived through it. That accounts for quite a bit." Picking up a piece of the bread, he turned it over in his paws, thinking. "And how I found you? That's a bit of a story that starts back when I was a teenager still living in the Imperium. Suffice to say, I made some mistakes back then, harmed somebeasts, and now that I've returned I'm making it a point to make amends where I can. I was coming from having done such a task in the Slups when the Fates would have it that I came across you. Couldn't leave a fellow Guardsbeast bleeding out in an alley in the Slups, could I?"

Though he tried for levity in his last statement, Caden found his tone came out more serious and somber than intended. He was never particularly good at lying. Even if he was not telling a complete untruth, the lie of omission weighed on him.

 

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil listened to the account of his own rescue, noting the ambiguities in the marten's statements and choosing to leave them be. He well understood that everyone had a past, often one they would just as soon leave behind them. Even digging into the life of his mother had turned up certain inconsistencies that, to this day, left him wondering what of Vaelora's story might have been left unsaid. If Caden wasn't comfortable talking about this aspect of his life, then, curious as Daniil might be, he could certainly respect his desire for silence.

"I certainly can appreciate the sentiment," he remarked, "and the result." His expression turned somber as he stated, "I owe you my life, Caden. Even if you had to..." His paw strayed toward the dagger at his side. He was still mulling over how it felt, to know the same weapon that claimed his mother's life had saved his own. He didn't think he had an answer to that yet. "Well," he managed, "I don't think I can ever fully repay that debt... no matter how many pies I bring to your door." It was a small attempt at self-effacing humor.

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

Caden visibly winced as he saw Daniil's paw move to the dagger. He tried to play it off as a twinge in his shoulder, and he lifted a paw to gingerly press against the still-healing limb.

"I've saved the lives of fellow comrades and have been saved just as many, if not more, times. It is part of what beasts like us do when faced with these kinds of situations. I don't consider you in my debt, my friend. I was simply in the right place at the right time and had the skills to ensure you made it through with your life. I am sure you'd do the same for me given the chance."

Asta re-entered the room, bearing a tray with a steaming tea pot and two cups. She set it down on the table and filled each cup. Lifting one to Daniil, she smiled. After he took it, she raised her brow at Caden.

"How are you faring? Are you being nice?"

"Of course I'm being nice. What would you expect me to be?"

"I remember how you were with Dad when you first met him."

"Yes, well, I had mostly lived with mercenaries as an adult before I met him, and I didn't know how to flirt with--" he stopped, realizing he was scowling deeply and felt heat rising in his cheeks. "And look, I am not flirting with Daniil, all right? He's a friend from work."

"Who brought you a pie, and who you are most definitely blushing about right now. You can't hide it very well, white fur and all. Just keep being nice." She grinned and patted Caden on the head before turning back to the fox. "I hope bread is good. I play in other room."

The young marteness picked up her lute from its stand beside the piano and waved to the pair as she exited. Caden chewed on a large bite of bread, watching her go. He sighed and turned back to Daniil, trying to wipe the scowl from his expression.

"Sorry, ah, just an inside family joke between us." He did not want the fox to be uncomfortable, thinking they were talking about him. Which, they had been, but not directly, and Caden could not tell him exactly what they had said, for obvious reasons. 'Gates he wished he was better at lying. He sipped at his tea, trying to think of how to move the conversation elsewhere. From the other room, Asta began finger picking through a series of arpeggios.

 

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil listened to the conversation between Caden and his daughter, regretting that he'd never learned Varangian. It was a beautiful language, certainly, and while he could pick up on a few cognates here or there, he was mostly reduced to sitting back and enjoying the tea, which was truly excellent. He did feel an awkward prickle on the back of his neck; whenever someone was talking in his vicinity but he couldn't hear or understand them, his paranoia always assumed they were talking about him. It had gotten him into a very bad habit of eavesdropping on folks, trying to discern what (usually innocent) topic was being discussed.

"It's fine," he lied, waving away Caden's apology. He listened to Asta performing in the next group, knowing enough from Mileya's many years of piano lessons to detect the ease of a talented performer. "Your daughter performs very well," he remarked, "especially for her age. I think she is better at the lute than my sister was with the piano at the same age." He was only guessing at Asta's age, of course, and Mileya had been a reluctant student of music in her teenage years, often skimping on her practice in favor of sneaking off to watch the guards training, shirtless and sweaty, on the practice grounds (a form of espionage which Daniil admittedly had engaged in from time to time as well, leading to Mileya's discovery of his preferences), so comparing Asta's clear passion for music with Mileya's rote performances was hardly fair. Passion, he'd learned, was truly the difference between the mediocre and the masterful.

Daniil took another sip of the tea before inquiring quietly, "If I may ask, why the Imperium? You said you never felt like it was home in your youth. Surely with your mastery of Varangian, you could have found work elsewhere just as easily - Callispar, Felmar, probably even Alkamar. It seems a great leap of faith, to return to a locale laced with so many memories."

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

"Both her parents were professional musicians before they were farmers," Caden commented as he tilted an ear towards Asta's playing. "She comes by it naturally. I'm hoping I can learn piano enough to accompany her at some point."

He swirled his tea, mulling his answer to Daniil's question as he stared into the bottom of his cup. "To put it bluntly, this was the least likely place that I would be tracked down by those who wish to see me dead. Even if somebeast does find me here, I have what you might call some political insulation to protect myself and Asta." When he looked up at the fox, meeting and holding his gaze, Daniil saw a flash of pained resolve in the marten's red eyes.

"My mother was Nuori Sken, the Minister of War who fought and died in the Winter War. I was only a kit when she died, but her legacy offers me some leverage and protection with those in the Imperium who still honor her memory."

 

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil's tea cup clattered slightly on the saucer as Caden revealed his political lineage. He quickly returned it to the table, only a small bit of spilled tea on the saucer evidence of the near miss, though Daniil's paw trembled nearly as bad as his voice. "Your mother was the famed Sken?" His eyes grew wide, and then, surprisingly, they started to fill with tears of guilt as he looked down. "I am so sorry," he apologized. "I... It seems I owe you a great many apologies, not just for myself but my family. I... I did not understand at the time what was occurring, nor could I appreciate the gravity of your mother's sacrifice, but with time and study, I've come to appreciate the incredible sacrifice she made, standing against the invading Coalition." He hesitated before stating, "My mother kept a diary in those days, perhaps to practice her Vulpinsulan. She wrote much about your mother, of how deeply she personally respected the Minister of War, your mother, as a leader and a beast, and expressed regret after her death that she had never approached your mother to express that admiration. She... she also expressed guilt that House Ryalor was not there to back her up in the battle. I know she mostly blamed my uncle, Duke Talinn, for that, but she seemed to internalize at least some of that guilt herself. If she was at all correct in her assessments, then my family owe you and yours a debt that can never be repaid. The sacrifice of your mother is one that we can never match."

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

Caden had not expected the tumult of words that tumbled rapidly out of Daniil. Thus far he had only revealed his parentage when necessary. He was beginning to realize his mother's legacy had perhaps outstripped who she actually was, and he did not know how he felt about this development. And he could not even begin to unpack what Daniil had said about Vaelora. Guilt and shame settled into his gut, churning like a sullen ember.

"Oh, uh, it--it's, I mean, Daniil, you have no need to apologize; you were even younger than me when it all happened, weren't you?" Caden nearly bit his tongue as he let slip what may have been too much information regarding what he knew of the todd. He continued quickly, hoping Daniil hadn't noticed. "You had no agency in the matter. Your family's actions were their own, not yours, just as my mother's were hers, not mine. I do appreciate the acknowledgment, but know that I hold no ill will against the Ryalors for what happened. It was another time, another life, really."

He leaned back on the couch, clutching the tea cup with both his paws and trying to focus on the heat of the tea for several moments to center himself. "I am finding that a great many beasts admired my mother." 'Gates, this was hard. He swallowed and found his mouth had gone dry. "Thank you for sharing your mother's sentiments. It seems perhaps that, had things been different, we may have even had the opportunity to know each other when we were younger."

 

[Daniil Ryalor]

Daniil's expression turned to abashment as he realized he had overshared and made matters awkward. "I'm so sorry," he apologized. "That was inappropriate to the occasion, and I deeply regret ruining the lovely atmosphere that you and your daughter have cultivated here. I hope you can forgive my social ineptitude." He attempted a small bow of shame and found that his injured stomach muscles would not countenance it. He instead settled into sipping at his own cup of tea, mulling over another comment.

"It would certainly have been interesting," he reflected, "had we grown up together. Despite the age gap to which you alluded, we might well have been playmates - perhaps even friends. More likely, though, you would have befriended my brother Valin. His age is closer to yours, and at a young age, such matters more. He also was the more physically inclined, which is ironic, given he now works as a governor and I as a soldier. It seems none of us ever quite live up to the expectations of us from when we were young."

 

[Caden S. Freemont]

"It's not a problem at all. I appreciate your candor. It's refreshing, really." Caden fought the desire to get up and give Daniil a hug to comfort him. Asta's right. He is adorable, and so earnest. Instead he took a long sip of tea and reflected on Daniil's words. He was glad to move the subject away from his mother, and Daniil's mother, for that matter.

"Expectations. I can imagine you had quite a few on you, being a Ryalor. From what I know of your family, matters are fairly...intense in House Ryalor." He took a sliver of pie from the box, smaller than his first piece. "What led you to being a soldier?"