Exactly what it looks like. Just a selection of my art. If you follow my Aminos, you will see some of that art reappear.
If you want to borrow my art here for ANY reason, please be nice and give me some credit. I work hard on these drawings, ya know...
Lavertus could only stare at his nephew, seated on the stairs with an open letter in his hands. Laval hadn't said anything, but the silent tears rolling down his cheeks indicated the pain within.
It had been exactly three weeks since the ball and Laval was still as silent and somber as ever. Lavertus had half-hoped the spunky Lion he briefly glimpsed at Leonitarus' mansion would surface.
And sometimes he saw it, such as his over-exuberant joy at the Speedor race this past week. Sure, he didn't win, but he finished within the top five.
Still, it was what he said afterwards that both saddened and infuriated Lavertus.
"I wasn't good enough. I should've done better."
Lavertus felt his fists clench in anger. Leonitarus had done so much to his precious nephew. Now Lagravis and the entire tribe had to figure out a way to help Laval.
But Laval always seemed so out of reach, by his choice. Heck, he'd stated that he didn't want anyone's help.
Lagravis had bemoaned over this just this morning. "I've tried reaching out to him. But he's like a stone. I don't know what else I can do."
Lavertus sighed. There had to be a way to reach Laval.
Then his eyes widened as he remembered something.
"Want to see my paintings?"
Lavertus hurried back into the throne room, an idea formulating in his mind.
Laval took one look at the double mahogany doors with skepticism. Did Dad pull him from training just for this?
Dad laid a hand on the door for a minute before eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, one more thing. You have to close your eyes."
"Why?" Laval asked, tone a little sharper than usual. He flinched at the mistake, as per usual.
If Dad noticed the flinch, he didn't say anything. "It's a surprise." He reached out for Laval's hands, but stopped as Laval drew them back. "Laval, do you trust me?"
Laval blinked at this.
Trust. What a powerful and dangerous word. Having his father figure be so cruel and callous and then going to one that loved without limit, regardless of a mistake......it was so different that it left Laval so twisted on the inside.
But Lagravis was different from Leonitarus. When Lagravis spoke, Laval could feel warmth and light, a stark contrast to the cold pit of Leonitarus' insults. Lagravis made each and every effort to help Laval, whereas Leonitarus told Laval to "figure it out" before harming him.
Laval's trust was brittle at best. But he felt safe enough to trust the king before....
'Back then, you were a guard. Now you're his son.'
The comforting thought gave Laval a bit of solace. If he could trust the king then, he could do so now.
"Yes," he smiled brightly, closing his eyes and gently taking his father's hands. "I trust you."
Dad opened the door and gently led Laval inside, the redhead snickering a little. "Can I open them?"
"Not yet." Dad stopped walking and realized Laval's hands. "Wait here." Footsteps shuffled quickly and Laval's eyelids were hit with light on all sides. What was this place?
"Now can I open?" Laval asked.
"All right. Now."
At his father's voice, Laval opened his eyes.....and felt his jaw smack the stone.
The walls were lined with shelves full of paper and canvases, jars of brushes and pencils, neatly sorted by size and style, containers of paint with each color taking up a different shelf and sorted by shade, starting with the darkest and working toward the lightest. On another shelf, tools useful for carving and sculpting, along with little colored tiles. There was even a shelf full of empty jars, just itching to be used. An easel sat in the middle of the room with an end table and a stool nearby. Several other easels stood along the wall. The long and wide windows soaked in the mid-morning light and brought in the jungle border of the Arena, with the mountains in the distance.
"It's amazing!" Laval gasped. "I've never seen anything like this in my whole life!" This definitely put his old art supplies to shame.
"Do you like this?" Dad asked.
"Yes, yes of course!" Laval exclaimed, struggling to keep his mind from launching into different projects.
"And it's yours."
Say what?
Laval didn't realize he'd spoken until Dad approached him, holding a tiny, slender cherry wood box. "This room is your sanctuary, Laval. As is this." He held it out to Laval, who promptly opened it.
Inside lay a silver paintbrush. Laval's golden amber eyes glittered as he picked it up, catching sight of the inscription.
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"For I am convinced that nothing in the universe will take the love I have for you away. To my son, Laval, on his first birthday. Love always......." Laval's eyes widened. ".....Mom."
"She always wanted to teach you how to draw." Dad's eyes softened. "She could paint and draw like nothing I'd ever seen. And I think you inherited that from her."
Laval stared at the brush again. "D-Do you think she'd mind if I was in here?"
"Not at all," Dad smiled. "And I don't mind either. This place is your domain."
Laval smiled as he tentatively approached his dad. "Uh, may I?"
Dad spread his arms wide. "You don't have to ask."
Laval was used to being hugged by Lion-O, Helena, and Scomper. And while those hugs were nice, nothing could compare to what Laval was feeling as his dad held him close.
Safe. Warm. Loved. Protected.
He didn't even realize he was crying a little until his dad spoke. "Laval? Are you okay?"
"Thank you," Laval whispered. "Thank you."
"Of course, my son." Dad nodded.
They stayed in the embrace for a second more before Laval broke the hug with a smile. "I-I think I know what I want to do now."
"Then do it," Dad smiled approvingly.
Laval wasted no time. Still holding the silver paintbrush, Laval approached the canvases before selecting a medium-sized one. After setting it up, he grabbed a pencil jar and a brush jar before prepping a palette. Returning to his canvas and supplies, he quickly began sketching and painting.
While he worked, he could feel Dad smiling at him. Laval didn't mind, though.
As he slipped into that special zone he had whenever he worked on art, Laval let one thing dominate his mind:
A pair of hands with a silver paintbrush reaching out for his own.
