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you are what you love (not who loves you)

Having managed to capture and imprison Claudia, Ezran decides to speak with her before making a decision about her fate. The horrible thing she says his father did is just to taunt him and turn his attention away from her. ...Right?

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The safety of being home in Katolis castle did little to soothe Ezran’s unease when he knew who was down in the dungeon.

It had been nearly a week since they had returned with Claudia and her boyfriend in tow, and Ezran hadn't been able to bring himself to go and talk to them. When they brought her back, her hair only had a few streaks of black left. One of her legs was gone, replaced by what looked to have been a combination of Earthblood and dark magic—a wooden leg with streaks of purple running through it, and seemingly winding itself into her skin. It looked painful.

The light in her eyes was gone. He hated that the most.

Rayla had gone down to talk to Claudia and Terry once, and come back with angry tears on her cheeks. Opeli had been down there a few times. Soren went and talked to his sister every day, for better or worse.

Neither Ezran nor Callum had gone to talk to the girl who used to be one of their best friends.

And Ezran knew, if he went to see her, then he would have to make a decision about her. Opeli, in her righteous anger, insisted that Claudia couldn’t be allowed to live. Corvus had urged him not to lose his merciful spirit. Callum and Soren had both said that they trusted him to do whatever was best—but the looks in their eyes conveyed that they had opposite ideas of what the best thing to do was.

He wasn’t going to order her death unless he absolutely had to. But he couldn’t just let her go. And if he let her rot in the dungeon her whole life…. Well, Ezran had spent a very short amount of time in a cell himself. If he had to live the rest of his life like that, then maybe a death sentence would’ve been more merciful.

How was he supposed to decide? He couldn’t help but think that maybe he simply wasn’t the right person to make that choice. Claudia had been his friend—he was far too close to the situation. Someone else should’ve been taking care of this. Someone older, with more leadership experience, more wisdom, someone like—

Ezran’s heart sank. Someone like his dad. His dad would have figured out what to do.

“Your Majesty,” Opeli began, her tone gentler than it usually was when discussing this topic. “You know what I think about it. But I understand that this isn’t an easy position to be in. I will give you any support you need.”

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he sighed. “I…I need to talk to her. Before I can make any decision, I need to talk to her. Maybe…maybe something good can come out of this whole mess.”

Opeli nodded. “Understandable, Your Majesty.”

“Would you come with me?”

With a hand on his shoulder that felt more like a mother’s than a royal cleric’s, she said, “Of course, Ezran.”

The journey down to the dungeon seemed longer than it used to. Neither he nor Opeli said a word as they descended the spiral staircase. Hands balled into fists, jaw set, Ezran focused his attention on getting down the stairs, rather than the person whose face he would see at the bottom. At the guarded door at the end of the stairs, he paused, hesitant.

From behind him, Opeli placed a hand on his back, and quietly assured, “I’m right here with you.”

He sucked in a breath. Nodded. And opened the door, stepping into the dungeon.

The midday sunlight was spilling into the cell from above, but Claudia seemed to prefer the only corner that was in shadow. She was curled in on herself, her head down, her new leg sticking out at an odd angle. White hair draped around her like a burial shroud. As she slowly lifted her head, that deathly hair fell into her grayed face, obscuring eyes that had gone dark.

“Your Majesty,” she slurred, her voice a mere rasp. “Come to flaunt your righteousness? Show me the error of my ways?” With a snort at her own joke, she said, “Save it. I don’t care.”

Ezran tensed. “You should care. I’m responsible for deciding what happens to you.”

“Do whatever you want,” she murmured.

“Whatever I want? Claudia, you committed treason, and then some. With all you’ve done, it’s not a matter of what I want, it’s a matter of justice. And it’s not looking good for you.”

“I just wanted my dad back,” she said, her voice a little too even. “If it’s a crime to want my dad to be alive, then I guess you and I are both guilty.”

Breathe, Ezran reminded himself. “I’m not saying it’s wrong to want him back. I’m saying that what you did is not going to earn you a light sentence.”

She wobbled to her feet, manacles clanking. “What, are you going to have me killed? Will you, sweet, compassionate little Ezran, do it yourself? Give the word for someone else to kill me? Or will you let me die slowly down here, while you live your perfect little kingly life up above?”

“You will not speak to the king that way!” Opeli cut in, stepping forward.

“Or what?” Claudia tilted her head in a way that made his stomach turn. “I’m already chained up in your dungeon. I’ve lost everything. There’s nothing more you can take away from me.”

Ezran could feel Opeli glancing to the second cell, where Claudia’s boyfriend was being held.

“Just try it,” Claudia laughed. “Try to take him from me. I'll tear you apart.”

“Uh, Claudia,” came Terry's concerned voice. “Maybe don't threaten the king that's got our lives in his hands?”

“And why not? It's not like he'll do anything to us. He's just a scared little boy who thinks he's special just because he wears a crown.” Her glare fixed on him, boring holes through him. “He thinks he's so high above us, because he can’t admit how alike he is to us.”

“I'm not like you,” Ezran snapped. “When my dad died, it hurt, and I grieved—I'm still grieving—but I don’t grieve by doing the horrible things you’ve done. I haven’t grieved by killing people.”

Snickering, she said, “Oh, you’ve never been responsible for someone’s death? Not your soldiers? Not my dad, twice now? What about other criminals you’ve sentenced? Decisions you make or don’t make get people killed every day. But sure, you can keep living in your make-believe world, if it makes you feel better.”

Not many things in life could spark true rage inside of Ezran. An ember of anger had been planted in his chest two years prior, but he kept it covered. He didn’t allow it to ignite. There were moments he slipped, if only for a moment, when making impossible decisions as a king, or any time someone dared to speak negatively about his father. Usually, being directly insulted wasn’t something that got under his skin.

This conversation didn’t just create a spark from the ember. He felt his insides blazing.

“Do you think being a king is easy?” he shouted, approaching the cell bars. “It’s impossible to do anything without someone getting hurt! You think I don’t know that? I do everything in my power to protect all the lives I can!”

“Right,” she sighed, leaning against the stone wall, “which is why you banned everyone who serves you from using dark magic. All those little animal lives that could’ve been used to save even more human lives.”

“What, like I shouldn’t care about the lives that are lost to dark magic? The sacrifice is never worth it. Dark magic always costs more than will ever be worth it.” He paused for a moment before adding, “You’re proof of that.”

WIth a laugh, she lilted, “And you’re proof of the opposite.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged. “Exactly what I said. Your life is proof that dark magic works wonders. It may take life, but it gives even more.” A smirk was playing on her face, and it only made him angrier.

“Like I said,” he began through grit teeth, “I’m not like you. I’ve never used dark magic, let alone allowed myself to be consumed by it.”

Her continued laughter sent a chill down his spine. “Consumed by dark magic? Ezran, you are dark magic.”

“That’s enough!” Opeli put a protective arm out in front of him, despite the bars separating them from Claudia.

“What are you talking about?” Ezran demanded, swatting Opeli’s arm away.

The reverberating cackles gave way to a wicked grin. “Of course they never told you what you really are. I doubt your mom even knew. The only reason you were ever born is because of my father. Yours couldn't have children. He needed help. Dark magic help.”

She was lying. She had to be lying. His dad would never do that.

“If you’re going to lie to my face, then I’m done listening to you,” Ezran said, turning to leave.

“Haven’t you wondered why you can speak to animals?”

That stopped him. He…had wondered. As far as he knew, he was the only person in his family who had that ability. Part of him had questioned if he had some elven ancestry, or if he had been given a magical gift, or any reason behind it. But…dark magic?

No. No, it couldn’t be.

He itched to press her for answers. But the rational part of him knew that she was the least trustworthy person to listen to.

“Let’s go, Opeli,” he forced himself to say, prying his feet from where they felt fused to the stone floor.

Opeli followed him out of the dungeon as Claudia’s taunting laughter chased behind them. A guard closed the door, cutting off the sound, and he stalked up the stairs, saying nothing. Screaming silence collided with the deafening echo of footsteps as Ezran’s own pulse hammered in his ears.

He grit his teeth. Clenched his fists.

You are dark magic.

Tears stung at his eyes.

She had to have just been trying to get a rise out of him. She would say anything to hurt him right now. He couldn’t let it get to him. It was so obviously a lie. It had to be a lie.

As they reached the top of the stairs and turned into the hallway, Opeli said, in the tone that she used when she tried to act too much like a comforting mother, “King Ezran…”

“If it was true,” he interrupted, “I would’ve found out a long time ago. It’s not like that’s an easy secret to keep. She’s obviously just saying anything she feels like saying.”

He was met with silence.

He stopped, turning to face her. Her eyes were downcast and shoulders tense.

“Opeli. It’s a lie, right?”

Guilt. Guilt all over her face.

White-hot fury overtook him.

No amount of breathing exercises, grounding techniques, and trying to understand other points of view were going to have any effect. She might as well have told him that she was the one to deliver the killing blow to both of his parents.

This might even be worse.

He turned on his heel and ran down the corridor. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't much care.

The stinging tears blurred his vision as he ran past guards, servants, and all different people who tried to catch his attention. Among the voices calling for him, he thought he heard Callum, but he had no intention of stopping for anyone.

His feet tore through the castle, carried him up several flights of stairs, and across the parapeted bridge. Until his body slammed against something, and he tumbled to the stone floor. Scrambling, his limbs wouldn’t cooperate with him as he desperately tried to get back to his feet and keep running.

“Whoa, hang on, there.”

A strong hand pulled him to his feet, but didn’t let go when he attempted to run again.

Soren continued, “A king shouldn’t be running like that without the head of the crownguard knowing what’s going on.” Through the tears streaming down his face, Ezran could almost see an empathetic smile on his face. “So why don’t I go with you, so you can tell me what’s happened?”

All Ezran could do was nod and cling to Soren’s arm. Soren led him into a seldom-used study, closing the door behind them. Instead of prompting, he let Ezran throw his arms around him and sob into his chest. He asked no questions—simply hugged him tightly as he cried.

The tears seemed to have no end in sight. They kept coming until Ezran was trembling, dizzy, and hiccupping. Soren helped ease him down to sit on the floor, and quietly sat against the wall with him. He’d procured a handkerchief from somewhere. So Ezran sat, mopping up the last of his tears as he hiccupped.

He couldn’t help but wonder if his tears were somehow imbued with dark magic.

Another sob escaped him, but his eyes were dry.

For however long they sat, Soren asked no questions. He didn’t pressure him to talk. He was simply there, with a compassionate hand on Ezran’s back.

When Ezran’s cries finally subsided, leaving him a shaking, hiccupping mess, Soren held out a water skin and said, “Here.”

Ezran had never been more appreciative that Soren was insistent that crown guards were to carry water with them at all times. He accepted the water, and only felt a small twinge of guilt when he drank all of it in one go.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Ezran handed back the empty skin and whispered, “Do you know about what happened for me to be born?”

Soren stilled, and a heavy silence hung between them.

He choked, “Claudia…told you?”

“What?” Ezran exclaimed, turning to stare at him. “I…I didn’t expect the answer to be yes! What do you know?”

Floundering for words, Soren babbled, “I don’t…I mean, I’m not really…. Nobody told me much about it, so I don’t know—”

“Soren,” he cut him off. “I order you to tell me what you know about the circumstances of my birth.”

Jaw set, his conflict with himself was showing on his face. Eventually, he dropped his face into his hands and began, his words muffled, “Nobody was supposed to know. Claudia found out by accident, and told me. Our dad made us promise not to tell anyone else.” After scrubbing his hands over his face, he took a breath and leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “About a year after your parents got married, they were pretty sure that they couldn’t have kids together. And since your mom already had Callum, that, uh…meant it was a problem on your dad’s end. Like I said, I don’t know all the details, but I do know that he accepted magic help from my dad. Claudia found his notes on a spell for helping conception. And then…there you were.”

Slowly, numb to his limbs, Ezran pulled his knees to his chest, hugging his legs to himself.

“I’m sorry,” Soren murmured.

He shook his head, leaning his forehead against his knees.

What was the cost of his birth? What awful things had been used to create him? How much good did he need to put into the world to atone for his father’s sin? Was there an amount of good that could make up for his very existence?

A long while passed before Soren began, “You know, my dad wasn’t born into nobility. Neither was your mom. But they became a high mage and a queen, because of the way they lived their lives.”

“I know.” What their socioeconomic status had to do with the current conversation, Ezran had no idea. But he listened, if only to get his mind off of everything else.

“They got to their stations in different ways. A dark mage who wanted power, and an earnest, headstrong woman who was the most amazing fighter I’d ever known. They both tried to help people, but their methods were different. They did both help people. Way more people than they could’ve helped if they had let the way they were born determine who they could be. I’m not saying that my dad’s methods were good, but we can’t deny that the end results of a lot of those things were good. What I’m saying is…the circumstances of one’s birth are irrelevant. It’s what we do with the gift of life that determines who we are.”

Sitting up, Ezran blinked at him. “Did…did you just come up with that?”

He shrugged. “No, I saw it in a book Callum was reading. Some great mage of the past said it, but I thought it was good.”

“It is.” Tension began to leave his body as he leaned back against the wall.

A cry session and a nice quote from Soren certainly didn’t fix anything. But at least he was able to think a bit more clearly.

And a clearer head made way for the simmering fury to make its way back to the front of his mind.

His own father had secretly gotten dark magic help to have a child. He’d made the decision in secret for the whole family—for the whole kingdom. It didn’t matter that he liked existing, and preferred to not stop existing any time soon. His dad had made that decision for so many people, without consulting even his wife, as far as anyone seemed to know. They could have named Callum the crown prince, or adopted, or anything other than using dark magic to create the next monarch of the kingdom. Anything other than make an abomination. And the abomination had been discouraging the use of dark magic, begging mages to find other solutions to their problems, to be kind, to embrace humanity, even though it meant no natural connection to magic.

Who was he to ask people not to use dark magic? He had no right. No room to speak about it. He wouldn’t exist without it.

Standing, Ezran had to resist the urge to kick the leg of an unused desk. Instead, he began to pace. Hands clenched behind his back. Glaring at the floor.

“It doesn’t even matter what I do,” he snapped without prompting. “What my dad did is already done. I can’t change it. I can’t even try to convince him to change his ways, to make different choices in the future, because he’s dead, and he’s saddled me to deal with all the terrible things he did in his life. It’s his fault that I’m more dark magic than I am human!”

He did kick the leg of the desk, promptly crying out in pain.

“Ezran!” Soren jumped to his feet and took hold of Ezran’s arms, keeping him in place.

“And you knew the whole time!” He yanked himself away. “You knew that the only reason I could even communicate with some of my closest friends is because I am dark magic.” The realization tumbling out of his mouth, his knees buckled under him, and he crumpled to the floor. The sudden weight of grief crushed his body into the floor, squeezing out the only thing he had left. A scream erupted from him.

Large hands straightened him up as Soren repeated, “Ezran!”

“Don’t touch me!”

Despite his struggling and attempts to slap him away, Soren’s grasp on him only tightened, until he was being pulled into a suffocating hug.

“Stop it,” Ezran insisted, his voice and struggling growing weaker. Going limp, he leaned his head against Soren’s shoulder. “Stop.”

“I can’t do that, my king.”

Trembling, all he wanted—all he needed—to do was keep crying, but the tears wouldn’t come.

“I know how you feel.” Before Ezran had the chance to argue, he continued, “When I was little, I got really sick. I was going to die. And the only reason I’m still here is because of my dad’s dark magic. Then, way back when Claudia and I shot down Pyrrah, I got paralyzed. Claudia did a big spell, and I can walk again. I’m grateful for my life, but I know just how hard it is to owe your life to something so awful. I know how much it hurts to not be able to stop someone from doing something like that for you. It's done. But it doesn't have to define you. It doesn't have to control you.” When he loosened his embrace, he held Ezran at arm's length. There were tears in his eyes. “You're not dark magic. It may have been used to help make you, but that is not all you are. You're Ezran. You're my king. And a really good one, at that.”

“I…” Head falling to his chest, he murmured, “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I can't make that choice for you. But you can't let your life be determined by one choice your dad made. Nobody else needs to know about it. All that matters is that you keep doing what you know is right.”

His voice wavered as he said, “But what if I don’t know what’s right anymore?” Things he knew to be right seemed to be a rapidly shrinking category.

“Then you ask for help. Nobody can be expected to know the right thing to do all the time. That’s why we help each other. That’s the whole purpose of your council: pointing each other toward what’s right.”

With some effort, Ezran managed to lift his head and meet Soren’s eyes. He searched his expression. Part of him expected to see hesitation or nervousness—things that would give away if Soren was just telling him what he wanted to hear, rather than saying anything he actually believed. But he saw honesty. Earnestness. Surety.

He took a slow, shuddering breath, and simply said, “Thank you, Soren.”

An encouraging smile crossed his face. “Anything for my king.”

It only took a few more minutes before Ezran felt brave enough to leave the study and face the castle once more. Good thing too, as Callum found him only moments later.

“There you are!” he exclaimed, running over to them. “I was worried when I saw you earlier. Opeli said that you two went to see Claudia. What happened?”

Soren’s hand fell onto his shoulder. He took a second to draw courage from him before saying, “I know that a decision needs to be made about Claudia. For the moment, we’re going to keep her here in Katolis, unharmed. She won’t stay locked up for the rest of her life. I believe that, despite everything bad that she’s done, some good can still come of it.”

The way Callum searched his eyes told him that he knew Ezran was withholding something. But he didn’t press.

“Sure,” he agreed. “And…if anything else happened, you can tell me. Whenever you're ready.”

Ezran nodded. He would tell Callum. Someday. He deserved to know.

First, Ezran needed some time to sit with the new information. And in the meantime, maybe some good could come of it.

#the dragon prince #tdp ezran #tdp soren #like this was amazing #oh my gosh #what an interesting take on Ezran being able to talk to animals but omg wow #i am so impressed!!

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