"Daydreaming, I see."
King Ororer Ballister flipped another page, staring at his son, a boy of ten-and-eight gazing upon the landscape of permafrost layered with snow. "Thinking," the boy corrected. "Of plenty things."
Another page was set aside. "Don't leave me waiting. Let it out, boy."
"You're quite old now, father. Don't you think? Not only so, but I've become older as well." Impulsively, he tapped upon the wood inside the carriage they rode in, thinking of what to say. "Would you see me a fit king?"
"What else but so?"
"Anything else."
Finally, the king raised his head, his own hair of gold, like that of his son, flowing down his head and neck. "You take yourself unworthy. I knew you would."
"And you think the same, father?"
"The contrary."
Slowly, the boy stared at the carriage floor, lifting his head back to set his eyes once more on the cold desert. No answer was given but a long sigh, forming steam as the cold took hold.
"I know I have within me no power to change your mind, but at least
"I do." I reply.
With a light chuckle, he speaks once more. "You never know who you will become... perhaps like Orevion, yes?"
Our conversation is interrupted by the carriage halting to a stop. The left-hand side door opens as a royal guard stands in front of it. "Your grace..." he says as he bows to my father, "...and my prince..." he says as he bows to me, "...we have arrived at the tunnels, the entrance that leads past the mountains of Nortenhein and into the lands of Northrest, where we will arrive."
"Wonderful!" my father exclaims, "Follow me, son. I believe you'd want to see this since you never go beyond the Weslands." he says and goes outside the carriage.
I slowly follow suit, going down from the carriage, tripping down the last step and almost falling on my face. I look at the large gates in front of us. The surroundings are nothing but snow, with the occasional village here and there. The weather is fierce, but not like a blizzard. The sun's rays are not to be seen, as the clouds covered the sun all year. The mountains were larger than expected, and like in the myths, they did, in fact, reach higher than the clouds.
The gates were tall and large, around five hundred meters at height, and two hundred meters at width. The gate had a rim of stone, carved with sculptures depicting myths and legends. I spot one particular piece of stone art at the right side, showing two men fending off a giant with a crown on its head. "The legend of Orevion and Oranus... carved into stone..." I said to my father.
"You are right... well spotted." he remarks, patting me on the back. The large gate that towers over me feels intimidating, like any moment it could crumble down and fall on me, like the responsibilities I would soon face... My chest becomes heavier as I think about it more, so I change the topic. "It's all really... impressive. Who knew man could make such a large structure with centuries of history carved into its very walls..." I say with a laugh and a smile.
"Of course they are... these gates were built by our ancestors from the west, with Westhold as their seat... House Gryphith- surely you know them." he remarked with a warm smile.
Impressive, how our ancestors were able to construct such a work of intellect. Now the pressure on me is stronger. As prince and heir to my father, how could I single-handedly keep our kingdom alive? I am not like my father, nor Orevion. Unlike them, who rule the kingdom with ease, I alone struggle with the simple struggles of life, even getting off a carriage almost led to me having a crooked nose.
I remember all of my mistakes vividly, like that time I almost got myself killed by a wild wolf because I wanted to pet it. I was always the somewhat weakling in the family. I can't imagine it, a family of warriors and kings, strong they were, would lead to a weakling.
What has House Ballister become but a young scrawny lad struggling to keep himself together?