Ro'meave's Lament [MCD AU]

Chapter 1

"...I am the lowly second born- yes, I get the burden of NOT inheriting the [kingdom] from our father among other things..." -Zane Ro'Meave, MCD S1 E52
___

The air was cold as Zane left the church; his father close behind him. It was incredibly dark despite being midday, lanterns were already being lit! A winter storm was forming, and those of O'Khasis were preparing.
Even bundled in his warmest fur coat, the six year old felt impossibly cold, like the heat was being sapped from him.

It probably was being sapped from him. No matter how hard the boy tried, he was the smallest of his age.
'The runt,' Zane's father called him. Garte wasn't wrong, though his actions probably weren't right. The actions behind the king's words were what drove Zane to be the man he is today. It's certainly what made this particular day special, at the very least.

The child was miserable, though the pride on his dad's face made it worth it. So rare was it, that King Garte was proud of Zane. It seemed like the expression was reserved for Garroth alone.
Today, Zane truly had something to rejoice about!
Excitement twinkled in the child's icey blue eyes. Father was proud of him.

As the pair walked down the steps which lead into the church, King Garte looked down at Zane. "I'm so proud of you, Zane," he said warmly, "my son, the next High Priest! I never thought I'd see the day one of my children devoted themselves to Irene!" The man laughs, ruffling Zane's raven hair, much to his annoyance.

There are no complaints from the boy. No, he didn't dare risk ruining this moment. The joy which radiated off his father felt unreal. His usually dull, and cold blue eyes held real joy!
Zane clasped his hands behind his back to calm himself. His nails slightly dug into the skin of his palm.
The best part? None of father's pride was aimed at Garroth. Every last drop was for Zane, and for Zane alone.

"High Priest Erik's word's moved me, father. I just hope I can follow in his footsteps." Zane smiles as he speaks, unable to hide the joy he felt at recieving his father's praise. Even at six years old, the lie flowed effortlessly from his lips. He barely even understood the words spoken at church. Zane was far too young to fully grasp the complexity of Irene and her story.
He'd do anything to please his father though. Anything to make King Garte proud of him.

He tried so hard to please Garte, to follow in Garroth's footsteps. From the moment the petite boy was cursed with 'awareness', he'd had to compete with his older brother and his perfection. Zane barely even had time to be a kid, with how hard he was forced to fight for any semblance of affection from his father.
Standing up before the church and declaring he wanted to become the next High Priest was merely one of hundreds of tactics Zane had tried just for this single moment.

Zane had mastered the sword by the age of four. He'd learned to read in two languages by the age of five. None of it had been enough, until this glorious, glorious day.

Garte says something, though Zane doesn't hear, too caught up in his excitement and thoughts. The words were blown away with the cold wind.

A swift blow to the back of the head fixes that right up.
Zane became painfully aware of how cold it was. He yelped, rubbing a hand over the back of his head to soothe the sting.

"Zane Ro'Meave! Did you hear a thing I just said?" King Garte said through tight lips, already pink in the face with frustration.
Just how long had the pale skinned boy been zoned out?
It couldn't have been more than a minute. Zane was smarter than that.