(Xul)

Joren had expected a much more exciting life than watching a couple of kids sleep fitfully. Joren silently crossed over to stand by Deo’s bedside and peer down at the two boys. They had pushed their beds together, their hands clasped tightly on top of the blankets.

All Joren could see of Deo’s face were bandages. He was fairly certain that the burns were mostly healed but no one wanted to look at the ugly disfigurement on the child’s face and so the bandages remained.

A twitch dragged Joren’s eyes back to the boys’ clasped hands as Deo squeezed the Prince’s hand.

Was some Fol magic really such a big deal?

*

Apparently... it was.

Cold, damp, stale air seeped in through the gaps in Joren’s armor and he crossed his arms to help suppress a shiver. On the other side of the rust covered bars sat Deo, his bandages stripped from him, exposing his freshly healed scars to the disgusting air of his brand new jail cell. His nice clothes ‘borrowed’ from the prince were torn and dirty and that soft, furrowed-brow smile that had taken up residence on his face was once more replaced with the apathetic boredom and annoyance he wore on his face when he first arrived. “He wasn’t even that hurt,” Deo finally pouted, like he was in timeout for a playground spat and not awaiting judgment for injuring the Prince of Xul.

So Joren took the opportunity to remind him, “you hurt a prince, Deo. Actions like that have consequences. Dire consequences.”

Deo averted his eyes, pouting, “I didn’t mean to. And he asked me to-”

“The King isn’t going to fucking care about your excuses!” Joren snapped, striding forward. He grabbed one of the bars, the metal of his gauntlet ringing against it and making Deo flinch. “My brother and I’s lives are on the same line yours is. We put our necks out, vouching that you were clearly just some kid and then you go and use Fol magic to hurt the prince!”

Deo’s good eye slowly widened with each word Joren shouted. 

Then the walls began to shake.