My Right Hand

When Ealin was 15, like all of his fathers before him, he was bonded to his knight. Despite it being so long ago, he still remembered the ceremony well. Every tiny detail had been planned months in advance, everything from the tuning of the lutes to the color of the curtains set in meticulous detail. The full October moon shone brightly through the skylight, lighting up the ballroom floor as Ealin stood watching the guests. Usually, this hall was filled with people, but tonight there were only a few, standing at the edges and helping themselves to the extravagant buffet. It was far too much food for a group of only nine, but no expenses were to be spared on an occasion such as this.

Standing next to Ealin was Jormund, who had been charged with the unenviable task of making sure Ealin's intricate robes were worn correctly. All of the kings since the invention of the bonding ceremony had worn the same pair of robes, so they smelled quite strongly of mildew, as well as the absurd amount of cologne that Jormund had doused him with just moments prior. Ealin wrinkled his nose. As assistants went, he supposed that Jormund was not so bad, but being constantly surrounded by people who were obligated to worship you was something that had gotten old very fast.

"Hold still, please, your highness, the robes aren't sitting right."

At 15, Ealin had not yet learned how to hold still, but did his best as Jormund shifted and smoothed the thick fabric. The man's flitting about had always reminded Ealin of a hummingbird, and the garish attire he had been given for tonight made the comparison even more apt. Though Ealin supposed he didn't look much better at the moment, his rotund and awkward form squeezed into midnight blue robes several sizes too small.

"They're not sitting right because they don't fit, Jormund. No amount of fiddling is going to make that any better."

Jormund said nothing. Backtalk directed at members of the royal family was strictly forbidden, but Ealin had long ago learned to read the way his assistant's lips thinned whenever something displeased him.

After a beat of silence, Jormund let the veneer of professionalism drop for just a moment to say, "Look, I know you hate ceremonies, but this won't take very long, and then it will be over. Plus, you'll have a knight. Won't that be nice?"

Before Ealin could respond, the music shifted from gentle strings to proud horns, and Almar's crisp announcement voice rose above the small gathered crowd. "And now, gracing you with his presence for His Royal Highness Prince Ealin's Bonding Ceremony, is His Majesty himself, King Grume II!"

Ealin and the rest of the room politely clapped as a tall man draped in extravagant furs clicked gently into the room, his charisma commanding what his reedy and sallow appearance could not. He smiled his best kingly smile, and Ealin noticed not for the first time how different it was from his genuine smile, a shy and warm thing presented during family meals and his favorite concertos. Ealin's father learned long ago that he did not fit the visual for what a king should be, so he adjusted his personality to fit the bill.

The king started in on one of his famously long and boring speeches, and Ealin glanced around the room, unable to keep even his eyes still. The small assembly of people looked rather plain; Ealin was used to lavish parties filled with far-off dukes and wealthy oligarchs, but this crowd was far from it. In fact, aside from a couple more castle staff, there was only a single family present. Despite their gaudy attire, they all still looked a bit worn of face and stature, the look of a family who has been aged by the type of financial insecurity that Ealin could hardly comprehend. His eyes caught on the middle child immediately, a person about his age wearing the inverse of his robe: gentle gold, with dark blue trim. Their nose sloped down towards their chin as if pulled by gravity, but they held their head high, compensating for the downwards turn of their face. They fit into their robes much better than Ealin did.

"...our guests of honor! Nilra, please step forward." Ealin tuned back in to what his father was saying just in time to notice the middle child - Nilra - gracefully step into the intricate circular design chalked on the ballroom floor. Ealin stood looking at Nilra for a second as his father continued talking, and then felt a nudge in the back from Jormund. The young prince glanced around, and noticed the room looking at him expectantly.

"That's your cue," Jormund muttered to him, and Ealin shakily stepped forward. Why was he suddenly nervous? He had not been nervous a moment ago.

"Tonight is the night that we bond two souls as one. Ealin Grumeson, prince of the land, heir to the throne, and Nilra Farmer, top of their class in combat, pledged forever as the Prince's sword."

A priest came forward then, and Ealin watched as the little man handed Nilra a heavy-looking sword, which they somehow managed not to drop. It looked far too large for their slight frame, but they held it valiantly all the same. After receiving it, they looked up at Ealin, and their eyes met. Ealin felt a spear of dangerous excitement pierce his heart as he met their piercing blue gaze. For quite possibly the first time ever, Ealin had absolutely no clue what the person opposite him was feeling.

The room began to darken, as several of the castle staff walked around snuffing out the candles that had previously been illuminating the ballroom. As his eyes adjusted, Ealin looked up to the skylight above him, and saw the fat white moon staring back at him. It bathed him and Nilra in an unearthly glow.

The priest began to speak, then, old words from a tongue no longer used except for ceremonies like this. Nilra had their eyes closed, the picture of grace, and so Ealin shut his as well. He allowed the priest's words to wash over him, and as he did, became aware of a dull throbbing in his right eye. The throbbing intensified into a sharp pain, and he almost cried out, but he could feel the watchful eyes of the room staring daggers into his back. The priest's speech culminated in a loud shout of the common tongue, the only thing Ealin understood: "You are bound!"

The pain faded from his eye, but Ealin could tell that it left something else in its wake. Opening his eyes once more, he looked over at Nilra, and saw two different colored eyes staring back at him. Replacing the startling blue iris he had stared into just moments prior was a deep brown eye staring out from Nilra's right socket. His own eye, Ealin realized with a start. 

Nilra was looking at him strangely, their expression mirroring Ealin's, and the prince noticed a strange discrepancy in his own eyesight. He closed and opened each eye a couple times just to confirm his suspicions, and sure enough, he was correct: Ealin could now see better out of his right eye than his left. Everything was in sharp focus, and he noticed how much more clearly he could see Nilra's face, as he looked at them again. His eye in their face, their eye in his own.

The priest coughed discreetly, and suddenly Ealin remembered the purpose of the evening. Trying his best not to stumble over his lines, he raised his voice and said "Nilra Farmer, present your sword."

They did as he commanded, taking a knee and presenting the large sword above their head. Ealin grasped the hilt firmly, and doing his best not to struggle against the weight of it, he rested the blade against Nilra's shoulder.

"My right hand is yours. My life is yours. You shall serve me until the end. Nilra Farmer, you are my knight." Even back then, as young as he was, the words felt wrong in Ealin's mouth.

Still kneeling, Nilra spoke, and Ealin heard their voice for the first time. It was smooth and gentle, a voice without any hard edges, but it carried far more weight than Ealin had been expecting. For a brief moment, the thought came unbidden that their places should have been switched, and Nilra should have been the one giving the orders.

"Prince Ealin Grumeson, you honor me. I am yours."

***

The moon was new in the August sky as Ealin made his way to the clearing. He'd loved the spot ever since he was a small boy, and his mother had shown it to him on one of their rare unsupervised trips out of the castle. But that was decades ago now. He knew after tonight, the place would bring him nothing but pain; a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of it all, but salt in the wound nonetheless. Ealin figured that he'd had enough salt in enough wounds to last a lifetime.

He set up the candles, painstakingly lighting each one, and then set to work on the markings. They were difficult to recreate on the dry forest floor, but he brought one of the old priest's books to reference, and soon there was a passable white ritual circle gleaming in the candlelight. Ealin stood back to admire his work, and turned at the sound of a voice behind him.

"Is that… flour?" Nilra was never quite able to sneak up on him - the bond made that impossible - but their capability of stalking quietly through the night never ceased to impress him. Their heterochromatic eyes were filled with mirth as they looked at the ritual circle on the ground.

Ealin felt his face flush. "I took some from the kitchen. Usually, they use chalk, but that really only works on solid floors. Flour is easier to sprinkle."

"And of course, we couldn't just do this inside." To any outsider, it would have sounded like a genuine confirmation, but Ealin could feel their mild teasing tone.

"I didn't want anyone else to be around. This is…" Ealin trailed off, but Nilra caught the meaning.

"I wasn't sure you would show up," Ealin tried again.

"You are my king. I come when you call." They said it simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Ealin knew tonight would change that.

They held each other's eyes for a moment, and a wordless conversation passed between them. The ability to communicate effectively by reading each other's facial expressions was something strengthened by their bond, but after 15 years of knowing someone, you can still read them pretty well without the assistance of magic.

Nilra's thin eyebrows furrowed slightly inward, a question. They never allowed themself to outwardly doubt Ealin, but their Are you sure about this? look was an expression they had worn many, many times in the past.

Ealin smiled sadly, willing himself not to cry, not yet. If he cried, Nilra might be able to get him to change his mind, and he couldn't back down now. I'm doing this for you.

Nilra smiled in return and shook their head slightly, in a clear display of I never could get you to change your mind about anything, could I? They strode gracefully across the clearing, and stood in the center of the rune. "Your wish is my command, Your Majesty."

It always stung Ealin to hear Nilra refer to him with his proper title. It was one thing at an official ceremony or a diplomatic event, but when they were alone, there was no sound sweeter to Ealin than hearing his name in Nilra's smooth voice. He did not get that privilege tonight, though, evidently.

As Ealin grabbed his book to look over the memorized words one last time, he wondered if Nilra was mad at him. He was doing this for them, of course - they didn't choose this life. They were good with a sword, and apparently that was enough for a scout to decide that they were to be bound to Ealin for the rest of their life. It was a duty that Nilra clearly took very seriously - seemed to enjoy, even - but Ealin could never be sure. He couldn't go on like this, knowing that it was possible that Nilra was only his best friend because they had to be. He needed to let them finally make that decision for themself.

Ealin took a deep breath to steady himself, and shut the book. He walked around the edge of the rune circle, and pinched out each candle flame, one by one by one. There was no going back now.

The air was warm and dark as Ealin began to chant. His tongue fit strangely around the unfamiliar words, hoping that he was saying them correctly. Hoping that it was enough. As far as he could tell, nobody had tried to undo a knight bond before. Most knights died before the decision could be made, and other kings before him had apparently held their assets tighter to their chests than Ealin did. He no longer wanted Nilra to be just an asset to him. The moon was nothing more than just a patch of starless sky, and Ealin looked over at his knight, tears filling his eyes as he realized he couldn't see their face. He had looked at his own eye in their socket for the last time.

His voice began to shake as it rose in intensity, and he could feel pain blooming behind his right eye once more. It was almost a tug, as if some unseen entity was trying to yank it out of his head. The pressure grew and grew, until Ealin practically shouted the last words of the ritual, the only words he had changed deliberately, hoping against all hope that it would somehow sever the ancient connection.

"You are unbound!"

The world went red. Ealin felt empty, torn apart, ripped to shreds. It was worse than being hit with an arrow, it was worse than the death of his father. It was a tooth being pulled, a limb being removed, the sudden absence of something that had been there so long it became a part of him. He fell to his knees as his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he noticed with a pang that the sharp vision in his right eye was gone.

As Ealin took several shaky breaths to steady himself, he heard another set of shuddering exhalations, interspersed with quiet sobs. He looked over to Nilra, a terrible amazement dawning on him. In all the years they'd spent together, Ealin didn't think he'd ever seen Nilra cry before.

Hands shaking, he managed to relight one of the candles, crawling over to where their lithe form lay shuddering in the dirt.

"...Nilra?" he asked tentatively. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't feel them in his head anymore, and it terrified him.

They looked at him, expression just barely visible through their curtain of hair. Ealin knew what he would see, but the reality of looking into two matching bright blue eyes was like a knife to the heart. He reached out a hand, slowly, slowly, to see how they'd react.

Nilra grabbed it like a lifeline, and Ealin felt a surge of relief as they leaned into his chest. They stopped trying to hold in their sobs, and Ealin could feel damp tears through the thin cotton of his shirt. He ran a hand up and down Nilra's back, just holding them.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry Nilra. I'm so sorry I made you go through that." Regret had begun to course through Ealin's veins, so thick he had no idea what to do with it.

"Ealin," they said, once they had their breathing under better control. "You're so stupid, you know that?"

It was an insult. Ealin felt nothing but relief. He was stupid. He was stupid, and Nilra had never been able to tell him. He'd never been so happy in his stupid life.

"You're my best friend, and my better half, and I can't believe you would ever think otherwise. I'm bound to you whether you like it or not, and it's not because you're the king. You're my right hand, Ealin."

He felt fingers weaving in between his own, and held Nilra's hand tightly. There were so many questions to be answered, and so many decisions to be made, but they could figure it out together, just as they always had. For now, Ealin was content to sit in the dirt with Nilra at his side, the two of them meeting for the first time as equals.