Quietus

ephemeral

"Your highness, all the horses are back in their stables for the night. Each stall has been cleaned, fresh water placed in all, and every horse brushed and fed," said Dream, bowing to the mighty king that sat before him.

George tapped his fingers against the arms of his golden throne. It was made of the finest metals from France; polished each and every day to maintain the elegant look. It matched the silver floors—so clean a person could see their own reflection in the tiles. Dream's green eyes glared back into his soul as he looked down at the floor while he spoke to his trusty king.

George sighed before speaking in a low, tired voice. "Good. That'll be all for tonight. I'll pass night duties to Sapnap." He was clearly bored and worn out from the previous long day.

Dream nodded and got to his feet. God, his shoes were worn out. A person would think living in a castle meant you'd have nice clothing... His hands were covered in dried up mud, matching the spots all over his sweater, pants, and boots. He had those brown boots since he was a kid. George bought them for him. They hadn't actually fit him until a few years ago. They're his favorite pair, and he refused to wear any other pair of shoes.

The king rose from his throne, his large cape falling behind him as he walked towards the tall knight. "I've told you. You don't have to call me 'Your Highness'. I dont like it."

"I'm only being respectful, your highness." Dream didn't move, but his eyes followed George as he pranced around the room slowly. It was an empty room. Curtains covering empty corridors, a painting here and there, one was of George and an owl perched on his shoulder. Dream liked that one. A little table next to the door with a flower pot on it and a picture frame that was flipped the wrong way. Dream never questioned it. Never question the emptiness.

George shook his head with a impish scoff. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to Dream—who turned to face him as well. "You did it again."

"Well it's a habit! You can't blame me!" Dreams voice rose an octave when he was being playfully defensive. Georges signature smirk took the place of a neutral look on his face.

"You grew up calling me George, it can't be that bad of a habit."

Dream lightened up more. His shoulders fell forward, finally relaxing after a long day. He never realized how tense he was throughout each day until he was off. "Well, that changed when I became your number one knight."

George rolled his eyes. His feet moved again and took him to stand in front of the dirty knight. "You could always ask for something better to wear."

"What? Too dirty for your liking, your majesty?" Dream chuckled, shoving the king gently. Dream liked his attire. His ripped black jeans with custom made knee pads over them. The leather strap across his chest that held a sword or a bow (it depended on the day, really). The metal chest pad over his green sweater—the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muddy and scarred arms after each day. The black cloak tied around his neck. It was just him, and he couldn't imagine himself in anything else.

It was very different from George. The king didn't wear typical "king wear" besides a cape. His boots went up to his knees that caused the saggy black pants he wore to bunch up at the ends. A baby blue shirt with a white long sleeve under it tucked into those pants. Usually he didn't hear his big, red cape that treaded behind him a few feet. The fur around his neck was owl fur. The same one from that painting—George loved that owl. Dream would always walk by during the day to see George just sitting with his owl, enjoying his time... He wore a smaller one that went to the small of his back most of the time. Dream liked it though. He thought it was pretty. He thought George was pretty.

"You're not burning up under there?" Dream cocked a brow, weakly pointing up and down at the cape tied around him.

"Yes, I am...but I'm always burning up aren't I? Too hot for my own good," George gave Dream a wink. Dream just laughed and shoved his friend again.