Castiel's Dragon (boyxboy)

11

Summary: OMG we're following Alfie! So precious, Holmes (big bro Mycroft) and Moriarty, Raphael is an evil little shit, Gabriel playing , who's sword-fighting? (Hint, hint, nudge, nudge), Alfie lies, Benny and Garth?

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His muscles ached, but Samandriel powered through, as he always did.

His body was lanky and thin, which made it harder to do his job for the royalty in the castle, as running around and carrying heavy workload items for the Lords and Ladies, not to mention the Highnesses, took a lot of energy.

He was holding four trays of food in  his arms, two on each, all with either tea or finger sandwiches and other snack foods under their lids that cramped his muscles. The silver trays were covered, but the smell still sneaked into his nostrils, making his stomach growl. It was the afternoon already, and he'd barely eaten any breakfast, but forced himself to find the energy to keep moving anyways.

Samandriel passed by the halls, door by door of each of the royal rooms, and he paused for a bit when his eyes caught the sight of the heir prince.

His Highness was clad in his formal wear, sitting at a table with his cousins, Lady Anna and Lady Hannah, at his side. They were in the small ballroom, having a social gathering of sorts with the visiting royals and bride candidates for the throne, almost celebrating but not quite. But Samandriel found that royalty treated most every occasion with what commoners would call celebration, with the loads of food and drink and music available. This was mild, as it was just average socializing, not necessarily a party even if it was in the ballroom.

Prince Castiel James Novak smiled awkwardly, eyes struggling to keep contact with anyone he was conversing with, mouth moving in that stuttering fashion that happened so often these days. He looked so saddened.

A twinge of sympathy touched Samandriel's heart. His Highness had always been somewhat of a misfit with the other high class folk.

Samandriel gave himself the reminder to ask the maids to leave His Highness extra dessert today as he walked past the ballroom, returning to his duty to deliver the trays to the nobles before they became impatient. He wished they were as patient as His Majesty-to-be.

The first tray was to be dropped off in the war room. Samandriel hated this room the most.

An oval center table with the map of the kingdoms carved into the wood was at the center of the war room, decorated with countless official documents, witness accounts, dozens of things Samandriel couldn't even imagine, and big, burly men with stern faces all looking down at the table as if it was even difficult for them to understand what it was.

The King's High General, Raphael, stood at the back, skin dark as burnt umber being illuminated by the fire lanterns hanging on the walls. "The dragon scourge to the east seem to be approaching closer and closer to the villages," he said, and Samandriel pretended that he wasn't listening as he entered.

"I have reports that say the southern dragons are nearly all hunted down, we could relocate some villages there until we can send enough troops against the eastern dragons," General Moriarty added. His voice made chills of fear run down Samandriel's spine, remembering his infamy of slaughtering any army that came against his soldiers. The other generals and counselors seemed to agree with his point of view despite that reputation. Or maybe because of it.

Samandriel placed their tray down as quietly as he could at the end of the table, making sure not to spill the teapot or clang together the separate China teacups. Just as much as he tried to be ignored, the dignitaries tried to ignore him.