A Court of Shorts and Storys

Warrior

I had Demons for Rhys, and now Warriors for Cassian (have found one for Azriel, but it's not ready to post.) Will only be this one today, have not had the time to check the spelling of the others. (Barely that I have check the spelling on this one)

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He had started just like every one else, as a child, but his journey had not been the same. While the others boys at the camp had a home at night, Cassian had a tent, while the others had a chase to get a stomach full of food after a hard day, Cassian was glad if he could get a mouthful by the end of the day. Maybe two if he was lucky. Always hungry, always alone. A bastard born... They told him he should be lucky if he had a tent roof over his head at night. But ne never complained. He didn't have the time to complain.

Instead he would watch the older boys train, taking in how they moved, how they used there wings for balance. All the things he saw Cassian made note of, when they got some feedback Cassian noted it, good or bad didn't matter. Making sure he knew them before every one else. For he was going to succeed here, he knew it. And to do that he needed to work extra hard, he had no time for games like the others. He needed to train, to work on being better then every one else, and maybe. Only maybe, would he be allowed in the ranks. A bastard like him... He needed to work, the others... They could play.

At night when the rings was quiet he trained there, practicing extra to have an advantage over the others. But it made him tired, and weak. To much training, to little food. But he still did it, all to be worthy of a place in the ranks. To hold the sheilds, to fight for this land, for this court. For his mother. He wanted to go back to her and show her how her son had grown.

He had been there for years the day that new boy came. New leathers, new shoes, a full face, and a mother that dropped him of at the rings. Cassian wasn't sure why that last bit was the thing that hurt the most, not the clothes, or shoes, but the fact that the boy had a mother. By the end of the dat he and the boy had been in far to manny fights. And Cass had managed to get a hold of a new jacket from a different boy, one who also had a new one and made Cassian fight for the old. That night he was limping back to his tent, the place he called his home. It wasn't much, it was a home. A tent, a fireplace, a blanket as madres and cover, a pot for warming snow for water, and the two weapons he had managed to take. A dagar that was so dull that it worked better as a stone. And a small sword, It was old, rust covered part of the blade after being left out in the weather for far to long at the rings. Cassian had taken it to his tent for him to train with. That night, someone entered his tent, the boy with the full face, the violet eyes, anda friendly hand outstretch towards him.

That night Cassian slept in a bed for the first time, he had gotten a warm meal, that night he lay awake, and wondered if things now would change, or if this was just a dream. But no, things did change, For with more then a mouthful of food a day he got stronger and faster. When he was warm at night he could rest, and have more energy to the training, and he got one step closer to being the warrior he wanted to be. Even if he and Rhys often argued and ended up in fights, he was still allowed back to the house, to the warm beed, some times only to cold food, but those times it was the same for Rhys too. And then the other boy came, Azriel hiding in his shadows.

Rhys mother helped him, taught him to read, to write. She made sure he had clothes. And he learned who Rhys was, the son of the High Lord, The next in line. And Cass could only hope that he could get a place in the ranks, that being unter the lady of the Nights house and Wing gave him a chance.

He got older, stronger. They had tried one Siphon, only for him to break it to dust. They tried two. And it was to little. Three, four, five... Six.... Seven. Seven stones... Cassian couldn't belive it. He had held his head high, and maybe, maybe he had hold back tears on that day. He wanted his mother to see. But he was not allowed to leave just yet. But as he got stronger he started to rise in the camp lords eyes. While Azriel also needed seven stones, he split his time between the camps and Hewn city, training with the High Lords Spymaster. So Cassian worked to be the best, to earn the stones, to earn a secure place in the ranks. His wishes, his dream to be one of the soldiers in the army never died, it only grew.

He was 23 when he was allowed to return to his old camp and home, hoping to see his mother, to tell her of who he had become, how far he had gone. He hoped she recognized him, and that she would follow him back to Windhaven, to meet Rhys and Azriel. To meet the female that had taken care of him. To give her the love she deserved. But she was gone. A dream was crushed that day. No grave, no one even knew of she had been buried or just left in the forest to be taken by the animals. No. One. Knew.

When the fires started to go down, and the screams died out he let out a cry loud enough to be heard in all if the mountains, he wept for his mother, for what he had done. And he made a promise to himself, to never let a female in his surinding be treated the same as she had been treated. That was the promise he made to his mother. For the short time of love she had given him, he would act to make sure no one else experienced this. He never made a tattoo for that promise, for he never needed a visible reminder to know whet he needed to do. He needed to be the best, the fastest, the greatest Illyrian Warrior, the one who would change the ways of the Illyrians.

And as he looked up at the mountain before him. How brothers at his side. Ramier called them, dared them to define it. They where illyrian Warriors, and he would walk the long road ahead, there was no turning back now. They are warriors, and with Rhys next in line to the title, they could build something new. They would tear the old ways down to dust, and replace them. For his mother, for Azriels, for Rhys. For all the clipped females. For all bastards that slept in tents with no food.

Cassian was a dreamer, a warrior and a dreamer. And as he placed his hand on the monolith, He became a Carynthian. There was no turing back, there was no one who could deny him a place in the ranks. Even if he was just a warrior and soldier like every one else. Despite his seven Siphones. In the first war against hybern, he was just a soldier, and later, when his brother asked him to join his Court of Dreames, as his General over the Illyrian forces. Cassian had not only accepted the offer, he had looked at his brother and told him one thing.

"We will build a better world, from dust if we need to, and I will be by your side through all of it." And the words was a part of the tattoo he carried over his shoulder chest and arms. The words filed with a promise, and Cassian would never forget it.

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As I said, there will only be 1 headcanon today. Have not had time to write after work as I wanted. But an working on some fun ones (an Imagen Dragons song for Azriel,  Azriel X Gwyn fluff, Feysand Fluff)

 Do you have any wishes for cupels, themes, events you want to read? Any "What If" ideas? Leave a comment!

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/Mymymoon