other side of the war

Sirius does not need a guard. He could fight for himself, thank you very much. He spends practically all of his time in the green hills behind the grand stone castle he calls home, tossing spears and daggers, swinging swords and shooting arrows (his personal favorite). He is perfectly competent. Guards are stupid, anyways. He’s smart.

Regulus doesn’t need a guard, either. He’s terrifying with a dagger and even more so with his poisons, but even if he wasn’t, he has Sirius. They’re fine. Better than that.

But, well, a secret romance with a hot guard would be very fun. Also, it would piss off his parents, the king and queen.

Sirius has been debating on whether or not to like the whole guard thing for hours. He finds it is easiest to think in battle, so he and Regulus have been sparring on and off all day, sometimes with weapons and sometimes hand to hand on the mats. 

It’s difficult, because Regulus is a quick motherfucker. He’s graceful, but sharp, all angles and lines, which Sirius thinks is probably courtesy of Regulus’s ballet training. Every time Sirius tries to get a shot in, Regulus dodges, turning into a swipe of paint on a page, a smudge of black curls and pale skin on a canvas painted with green.

Sirius is good, but Regulus is, annoyingly, better.

“Je ne comprends pas,” Regulus says, bending backward to avoid another punch from Sirius. “Pourquoi maman pense-t-elle que nous avons besoin d'un garde? Nous sommes tous les deux forts et intelligents. Nous pouvons nous protéger.”

Regulus swipes at Sirius’s legs, but he jumps backwards, taking the opportunity to shove Regulus towards the ground, and he lands on his chest, quickly rolling over. “Il est évident qu'elle le sait,” he says, as Regulus hooks a leg around Sirius’s knee and yanks so it gives out and he falls next to Regulus, who scrambles up to pin a knee on his back and grab his wrists to keep them in place. “Je parie que c'est parce que le nouveau conseiller de papa lui a dit que nous en avions besoin.” Sirius says from the floor, muffled slightly since his cheek is squished on the mat. After a bit of struggling, he sighs and taps Regulus’s hand, a sign he had given up. Regulus let go of him and stood up, and Sirius follows suit. 

“You mean the man you’ve dubbed ‘creep’ who’s been following father around the palace?” Regulus asks, arching a perfect, sculpted brow. Sirius grins.

“He is a creep!” he exclaims, stepping off the mat and decisively heading for the bow and arrows he had carefully set leaning against the dummy where Regulus and him practiced their aim with their respective weapons. There were bullseyes as well, and other dummies, but Sirius preferred this one. It’s the one he had first landed a solid bullseye on when he was thirteen. “His name is Tom Riddle, Reggie. He’s like, the creepiest creep ever.”

Regulus shrugged, which Sirius decided to take as agreement. He took his place at the dummy right next to Sirius, picking up a few sets of daggers and knives. “He seems fine. Just a bit… off. No worse than any other man with power in the palace.” Sirius feigns offense, nocking his arrow. 

“You did not just compare me to that weirdo.” Regulus smirks and lets the knife fly, hitting the dummy square in the chest. Sirius pulls his arm back, then lets go of the arrow, and it flies forward and lands on the dummy's forehead.

This is a normal occurrence for the brothers. Escaping the palace walls for a bit and exploring the gardens or sparring in the fields. It’s their little form of freedom. Although, both of them know it’s quite the opposite of that.

The proof? When Regulus sets his weight on his left leg, he winces slightly. When Sirius lifts his sleeve above his elbow or wears tank tops, he has dark bruises all along his arms.

Walpurga and Orion are horrible parents. He has always known that. It isn’t a secret to anyone in the palace. They belittle and berate them openly and loudly in front of servants, cooks, and guards. Wherever they are, the moment one of them deems something Sirius or Regulus did ‘defiant’ or ‘improper’, they strike. It doesn’t matter that Sirius is twenty and Regulus is nineteen. They are their kids, and they’re princes, and they have to act like it. 

Speaking of, their little outing probably won’t bode well with their parents, especially if they end up late to the guard initiation for the guard he doesn’t even want. Sirius sighs internally. I’ll take the blame. Regulus dealt with enough yesterday.

Sirius shakes the thought from his mind. You can think about that later. Right now, it’s you and your arrows.

After a little over thirty minutes of throwing and shooting, Sirius is getting ready to wrap up, shooting his last arrow. In turn, Regulus throws his last dagger and goes to retrieve the ones he had already thrown. 

“Meet in the hall?” Sirius asks Regulus when they finally reach the palace, smiling. Regulus nods, gives him a small smile, and walks away. Sirius beams. 

Then, his smile drops. 

“Sirius, where have you been?” Walpurga asks, arching a brow at him, and she looks almost identical to Regulus just half an hour ago. Almost, because Regulus has that lively look in his eyes, and it makes him so much less… cold. That’s all Walpurga Black is, these days. 

Cold.

“I was training in the fields. I wanted to get a bit of archery in before the initiation. I apologise, mother,” Sirius says, bowing his head in a bow-like gesture to try to come across as respectful. Walpurga only glares at him, a permanent sort of meanness etched onto her face and her soul.

“Head up, shoulders back,” Walpurga says. “You know better than this now, Sirius, I’m sure.” Sirius raises his head with every inch a fake smile, and rolls his shoulders back. “If you are to be king, you are to act like one.” Sirius has to hold back a grimace at the word king, because that is genuinely his worst nightmare. No, he wishes that Regulus were the older brother, so that he could be something else. Anything else.

Everyone in the palace, in the whole kingdom, knows that Regulus would be the better king. He’s so much more decisive, more precise, more efficient. Sirius is messier. Sloppier. More impulsive. They are different, and Regulus, like he is at hand-to-hand, is better. (Only barely, though, and Sirius wishes Regulus would just take a day off so he’d be sloppy and Sirius would get a win.) 

Sirius nods his head for a moment in a goodbye, then swerves slightly around Walpurga to get to his room. When he finally grasps the cold metal of the doorknob, he hears her call, “Sirius?” Her voice is chilling, like snow cutting through skin and going right to your bones. He looks over at her where she still stands in the hallway, looking at her expectantly. “Make the smart choice.”

Well, that’s not imposing at all.

--

James is doing this as a dare. He wasn’t supposed to actually be selected for the final round of initiation. He didn’t think he would have even made it past round one, which might have been a bit dumb of him, because yeah, okay. Fair. He’s strong. He knows how to fight, how to wield a weapon. He can work well with others. He’s actually very qualified for the position. But he doesn’t particularly want to spend practically all day shadowing some fancy, obnoxious prince that he’d be stuck with if he is selected.

What surprised him even more is that Remus, who’s been so against this whole idea, had made it to the final round. Not because Remus isn’t qualified, because he is. Extremely. But because Remus hated rich and spoiled people even more than James. 

James and Remus had grown up together on the outskirts of the kingdom, playing in the dirt and drinking cups of cocoa by the fire. At the beginning, they hated each other. They would throw mud at each other in the schoolyard and fight for the teacher’s attention. The year Remus and James turned eleven was when everything changed.

Remus’s parents couldn’t take care of him anymore. They were barely getting by, and they only had enough money to support two. They knew that Remus deserved better, so they sent him away to a boarding school his parents had given their every last dime for Remus to attend. Coincidentally, James was supposed to attend the very same one. He had been instructed by his mother and father to cut Remus some slack, because he was going through a rough time. James understood. 

When they arrived, they were assigned to the same dorm. James greeted him and gave him a chocolate, and from then on, they were best friends.

Now, Remus and James are twenty, and they’re standing in the palace courtyard on a dare from their friend Mary, waiting to see if they’ll become the prince’s personal guard.

God, that sounds so fancy. James grimaces internally, and immediately straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin when he hears footsteps coming from the entrance to the courtyard. Three men walk out in front of them. One of them he recognises to be the General, Lucius Malfoy. James dislikes him. He’s always seemed unkind.

Next to him are two men. One of them he guesses is Sirius Black, given that he’s taller. He has long, wavy black hair that frames his face quite nicely. His features are sharp, but they look slightly softened, kinder than his parents. He shifts his eyes to the boy who must be Regulus Black and–

James sucks in a sharp breath. Fuck. 

Well, if he wasn’t interested in being a guard before, he sure as hell is now.

Regulus Black is beautiful like a blade. He is sharp, cold, deadly and silver, somehow. James has no idea how one can be silver, but here Regulus is, being it. His eyes are a dark, forest-y shade of green, and they’re calculating. They are framed by dark, thick eyelashes that kiss his cheeks when he blinks. He has a light dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks, and James shoves back the thought that says he wants to know if there are any more where he can’t see. He’s thin, but strong, and it’s clear. James can tell. Regulus looks like a genius somehow. Typically, a person can’t tell if somebody is smart just by how they look, but James thinks that Regulus is the exception. He looks ruthless. He looks breathtaking. James wants to steal him away and live with him in a cottage in the woods.

Vaguely, he remembers that this is royalty. He’s supposed to be bowing. He looks around, and people are already dipping their heads. But he literally can’t take his eyes off the prince. They just… won’t move. So, he dips his head for about half a second, but it looks a bit awkward since he keeps his eyes up. Holy shit. Why is he so hot? This should be illegal. James feels like he’s sweating. Is he sweating? God, he hopes not. For just a moment, James gives Remus a glance, but he’s entranced too. Not by Regulus, but by Sirius. Yeah, figures.

General Lucius is speaking, but respectfully, James isn’t listening at all. How can he when Regulus Black exists? When Regulus Black’s eyes are flitting around the room, sizing up each individual, and then Regulus’s eyes are on his, and James’s skin is on fire. He thinks he might be burning. Because Regulus is meeting his eyes and they aren’t tearing away either.

The sounds of feet on a dirt road snaps him out of his trance, and he realizes– people are walking. So by correlation, he should probably walk too, right? Yes, right. That makes sense.

He takes one step, and his foot catches on the ground, and oh fuck oh fuck of fuck. His stomach drops a second before he falls face-first into the dirt. Instantly, all thoughts of the beautiful, silver prince vanish and are replaced by the sudden realization that the earth is whooshing up to greet him as he slams face-first into the dirt. Oh fuck, that really hurt. He feels a dull pain on the bridge of his nose, and scrambles up to stand. 

Every single eye in the courtyard is on him, completely silent. James’s cheeks burn, but he grins and reaches up to straighten his glasses. He doesn’t bother to try and fix his hair- it’s in a perpetual state of unruliness. “I’m okay,” James says to no one, brushing off the dirt on his chest.

James can practically hear crickets with how silent it is.

Then, laughter. Full-bellied laughter, ringing in his ears and throughout the otherwise silent courtyard. To James’s relief, all eyes turn away from him and to the prince, doubled over in pure, genuine laughter. James’s heart sings. Regulus is laughing. It’s the most beautiful sound James has ever heard.

Sirius smiles at his brother, then says something to him in French. “Reggie, tu dois le choisir. S’il vous plaît. Je vous en supplie.” Regulus’s laughter fades slightly into a scoff.

“Il a littéralement trébuché et est tombé sur rien. Absolument pas,” Regulus says, and James’s knees go weak. He speaks french. 

“Come on, Reggie. You won’t even need him to protect you. He’ll just be there. Eventually Mother will get tired of having him around and kick him out.” Sirius pleaded, his hands clasped together. James was very confused, partly because he didn’t speak French and partly because he didn’t understand what the older prince meant. It was phrased as if Regulus wouldn’t want a guard around, but Mary had made it sound like it had been their idea. James brushed it off when Regulus let out a resigned sigh.

“Unfortunately, you have a point. Come here,” Regulus said, waving James over in a lazy gesture like he didn’t just explode James’s insides in a fire. He practically skips over, absolutely delighted and smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. He opens his mouth to say something, but Regulus speaks before him. “I’m picking you because I don’t care about you or what happens to you. I can protect myself.” James only shrugs, and god. His voice is like silk, and James wants to fall asleep in it.

“I’m James. Nice to meet you, your highness,” he says, giving a little salute. He is, again distantly aware that people are moving, shuffling past them and over to a different area, but James could care less. He’s too focused on the beautiful boy standing in front of him.

“Well, James, don’t get used to me. You’ll be gone in a matter of weeks,” Regulus says, smirking, and James’s whole body turns to cooked spaghetti. He feels like he could lay down on the floor and seep into the soil and become a sunflower, because what is even happening? 

“I doubt that. You’ll get used to me, seeing as I’m supposed to be your shadow,” James chirps, rocking back and forth slightly on his feet. Regulus looks like he’s fighting a smile, and James doesn’t even try to hide his joy.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Regulus says, and turns around and walks away. James can’t help but follow.

He has a feeling he’d be following the prince around a lot, these days.