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five

The sun cast golden hues over the land as it began to set, dipping slightly below the enormous parapets and spires of the King's towering castle, which stood grandly in the center of the sprawling city of Camelot. As the day's activities began to wind to a close, merchants returned home with their unsold products, chambermaids and servants chatted aimlessly as they drifted out of the castle for their quarters, and a young, dark-haired boy played on the grounds just within the castle walls.

The boy, whose name was George, wasn't using much more than a few crudely-designed sticks and twigs for his play, and he was alone; but his enthusiasm and imagination made up for those shortcomings. A flat, broad piece of wood served as his shield and a few cleverly fashioned twigs made up his sword as he slashed and parried the air, letting out small cries of victory every time he defeated an imaginary opponent.

"Take that, take that!" he muttered, his eyes glimmering in the orange light cast by the setting sun. He was no older than five or six years old, gangly and short, his head a little too big for the rest of his body. Though he was inside the castle walls, his clothes looked no better than the average commoner's; they were made of rough material, well-worn and slightly dirty, and only collected more dust as he rolled on the ground, wrestling with the air.

"For Camelot!" George roared bravely before charging forward and immediately tripping over a clod of earth.

He hit the ground with an oof and his sword flew out of his hands. Groaning, George pulled himself up and started scanning the ground for his prized possession, rubbing his shoulder where it had made contact with the earth.

"Looking for this?" came an unexpected voice from his left.

George jumped and whirled around, where he saw another boy, his age, standing a few paces away and inspecting his toy sword with amusement. The newcomer had lighter hair and hazelly green eyes, and his clothes were much nicer, colored with expensive dyes and obviously made with much finer materials. Unlike George, this was a child that seemed to belong within the walls of the castle.

George felt a jolt of nervousness at being caught on the castle grounds, but after quickly looking around and seeing no adults nearby to shoo him away, that emotion was quickly overtaken by the urge to retrieve his favorite sword. "That's mine," he said, stepping forward and holding his hand out. "Give it back, please?"

The newcomer sort of laughed, though not meanly, turning the twigs over in his hand. "Did you make this?"

"Yes," George said, shifting nervously. He knew it wasn't very good, but he was proud of it; it had taken him ages to figure out the knots that tied the twigs together in the vague form of a sword.

"I like it," the other boy said, and George blinked in surprise. "What's your name?"

George felt nervous, thinking he probably shouldn't give his real name in case he was getting in trouble, and scrambled for the first different name he could think of. "Uh.... um.... it's Clay," he stumbled, his face immediately burning in embarrassment.

The other boy threw his head back and laughed uproariously. "No, it's not," he giggled. "You are a really bad liar."

"Okay, fine, it's George," said the dark-haired boy, rubbing the back of his head. "Now can I please have that back?"

"Hmm," the boy said, thinking about it. "That depends. You think you can take it from me?" He held the handle of the sword with two hands, his eyes glinting mischievously.

George stood awkwardly for a second. He wasn't even sure if he was allowed to do this, to be talking to – to a royal's son, or whoever this boy was. But on the other hand, he was being really annoying.

"I don't know," George said slowly, waiting for the other boy to relax a little, looking disappointed. "Maybe... I will," and then he lunged for the sword.

The light-haired boy pulled back just in time, pealing with delighted laughter, and took off across the lawn. George took chase and they raced around the castle grounds, wrestling over the sword and pushing each other around playfully. As fast as George could run, the other boy always seemed just a tiny bit faster, and he clearly knew the castle grounds like the back of his hand.

Finally, George managed to tackle him to the ground and pinned him there, practically sitting on top of him as he wrenched the sword from his hands.

"There," he panted, sticky with the summer humidity, and pointing his makeshift sword directly at the other boy's chest. "I win. HA."

For a second, the other boy actually looked surprised, or maybe angry? and George felt his blood run a little cold, wondered if he had just made a big mistake. If he should have let the other boy win.

But then his face split into a big smile, and he pushed George off of him cheerily, pulling himself up and then extending a hand. "Good one, George," he said. "That was fun."

George relaxed and took his hand, letting him pull him up. With his target in hand and the sun almost totally set by now, he started shuffling to the side. "...um, well, I should probably go home now, it's getting sort of late..."

"Yeah, me too... but hey, George?"

"What?" George asked, turning back towards the light-haired boy.

Before he could even think to react, the boy had lunged in and snatched the sword from his grip. He ran a few paces away, holding it in the air triumphantly and grinning.

"I win!" the other boy smirked, jogging backwards towards the castle.

"Hey, not fair!" George protested, starting after him again.

"Sorry, gotta go inside now. You have to come back tomorrow if you want it," the other boy said in a sing-song voice.

"Ugh, fine, you're so annoying," George groaned, causing the other kid to laugh. He watched him nearly reach the castle before thinking to call, "wait, how will I find you? What's your name?"

Right as the boy reached one of the castle's side doors, he turned and flashed that enormous grin once again. "It's Clay," he said before disappearing from sight.

George walked home in stunned silence, his face permanently red so that even by the time he reached the small cottage where he lived with his grandmother, she could see the color and asked him if something was wrong. He shook his head mutely, unable to explain that he was torn between wondering if his new friend had merely played a trick on him, or if he had really spent the afternoon tackling the Crown Prince of Camelot to the ground.

eight

Clay's hands gripped tightly onto a branch of the willow tree where he was crouched in a fork amongst its branches. He peered out from his favorite hiding place through the shifting leaves, looking for a sign of his pursuers.

"Oh, Clayyy..." came a familiar sing-song, making him snicker and crouch lower in the branches. "Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

Through the leaves, he could see two figures passing by: one dark-haired, stocky and devious-looking, the other tall and gangly with reddish hair. They were his castle friends, Sapnap and Bad, prowling the grounds in search of him.

Even at eight years old, Clay knew the grounds better than most adults, and could often stay hidden for hours before being caught by his friends. But as he hunched lower in the tree, watching Sapnap and Bad pass him by unwittingly, something made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, as though –

"GOT YOU!" came a high-pitched scream from right behind him, and Clay just barely turned around in time to see George pouncing at him through the branches.

"AH!" Clay shouted as George tackled him, and they tumbled out of the tree together, laughing hysterically.

"How did you know I was there?!" Clay asked incredulously, picking himself up and dusting off his clothes.

"You always hide in that stupid tree," George grinned as Sapnap and Bad came running up to them.

"Nice work, George," Sapnap said triumphantly while Bad jumped up and down in excitement, saying "our plan worked perfectly!!"

"Okay, you guys are getting better at this, I admit it," Clay said sheepishly, shaking his head. "I'll just have to find better places to hide next time..."

"Nah, I like beating you," Sapnap said as the four boys started to walk across the castle grounds. It was the middle of the day, and the castle was alive with activity. Servants rushed in and out with their chores, the chimneys from the kitchen poured out smoke as the cooks prepared the evening meal, and just coming over the horizon...

"The knights!" Bad shouted in excitement as the boys caught sight of the King's guard going through their training paces. Sapnap and Bad raced off to watch, while Clay and George followed at a walk.

"Do those two ever run out of energy?" George asked as they watched the other two boys sprint towards the training grounds.

"You should see them during school," Clay responded dryly, and George giggled.

"Prince Clay?" came a sudden exclamation, and Clay winced as he stopped, turning to see Miriam, his... 'guardian,' rushing towards him. Miriam was an older woman, tall and severe in her black dress, her graying hair tied back perfectly in a bun, and her face was pinched and displeased as she rushed towards him.

"Prince Clay," she said again in shock and disapproval, "whatever happened to your clothes?"

Clay looked down and saw that his day clothes had been dirtied and scratched by his romp through the branches and sighed, his stomach sinking. "I'm sorry, Miriam. I was just playing."

"I'm sure you were," Miriam said, shooting a piercing look over Clay's head and towards George, who Clay could practically feel shrinking away. Clay scowled and stepped further in front of George, making Miriam return her focus to him. "And your lessons, Prince Clay? Did you bother with any of those today?"

"I finished them all earlier, Miriam," Clay said in annoyance, biting back harsher words. "Now, I'm going to watch my father's knights."

Miriam sighed. "I suppose their training would be good for you to observe.... fine. But you're washing up before dinner. No Crown Prince should be seen in society wearing clothes like that," she said pointedly, casting one last withering look at George before swishing away in her long robes.

Clay let out an enormous groan as she vanished, pressing his small hands into his face. "Oh my god she is so annoying."

"She's your guardian," George said hesitantly, his voice much smaller than usual. "Isn't she sort of supposed to annoy you...?"

"She's not my guardian, that's such a stupid word," Clay insisted as they resumed their walk towards the training ground. "She's a babysitter, and I hate it."

George stuffed his hands in his pockets before admitting, "her voice is pretty horrible."

"Prince Clay," Clay mocked, using a high, nasally voice, and George snorted. "How dare you place your royal feet upon such disgusting grass?!"

"Prince Clay," George joined in, "dost thou knowest that the air you breathe contains DUST?!! What shall the royal lungs think?!"

Clay burst into laughter as they finally reached the training grounds, but once they were close enough to see the crowd of nobles gathered to watch the knights, George pulled to a halt.

"I think I'll probably leave," George said, shifting from side to side.

"Why?" Clay asked curiously.

"Um..." George shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Just don't want to watch the knights."

Clay furrowed his brow as he looked back at the training grounds, then shrugged and walked back towards George. "Okay. I've seen it at least a million times. I'll go with you."

George looked surprised, but grinned, and the two boys walked away from the crowd, taking a random, meandering path back through the castle grounds. The two of them often did this after playing their games with Sapnap and Bad; as close as the four of them were, Clay and George seemed to stick together a little tighter. For one thing, Clay always felt like the other two kids would let him win sometimes, like everyone else in the castle always did. Being Crown Prince sometimes felt like everyone treated him with gloves, afraid to break him as though he were made of glass. George never made him feel like that, even if it involved getting his nose rubbed in the dirt every now and then. When they talked, as they did often, Clay felt like he could tell George anything, especially things that Sapnap and Bad, as the sons of nobles, might not have liked to hear.

"What do you even learn about in those stupid lessons, anyway?" George asked when their conversation returned back to Miriam's appearance.

"Mostly boring stuff, like history and math and things," Clay said, kicking a rock as they passed it. They walked past a fallen log, which Clay jumped onto and walked on while balancing.

"Ah, so Prince Clay can someday run the kingdom?" George asked with a crooked grin, clearly not knowing the way Clay's stomach always flipped when someone said something like that.

"I hate that name," he said, choosing to ignore the rest of the sentence.

"What? Prince Clay?" George asked, affecting the same high-pitched tone as earlier. Clay shot him a look as he jumped off the log.

"Yes," he responded honestly. "It's all I hear, day in, day out. Prince Clay, your presence is requested. Prince Clay, stop eating tarts before dinner, Prince Clay, get inside so we can lock you back up in your tower like a lonely princess..."

George giggled and asked, "well, what would you like to be called instead?"

"Probably... George," Clay responded, then laughed as George shoved him with his shoulder. "Just kidding."

They walked in companionable silence for a little while, listening to the bugs whir in the grass and the trees, before Clay spoke again. "I do have one idea."

"Oh yeah?" George asked.

"Yeah," and Clay suddenly felt embarrassed, like the whole thing was silly. He looked at George, though, and the other boy didn't look like he was mocking or making fun. He just had that earnest, interested look he usually had on his face, the one that made Clay feel like George actually listened to him.

"So, you know how some knights choose new names for themselves when they're knighted? It's like, you leave your old identity, and you take on a new one, in service to Camelot. You know?"

"I didn't know, but it sounds interesting."

"It's awesome," Clay said with genuine admiration. "It's like – it's like saying you don't really matter, you know? Not even your name. What matters is that you're a knight and you're there to protect the kingdom, no matter the cost. I think it's very cool."

George's forehead furrowed a little. "Is that something you'll do when you become a knight?"

"I can't," Clay said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Sapnap and Bad could if they want, when they become knights. But you can't if you're a Prince. Which is why it sucks."

George hummed in understanding. "Well... if you could choose a new name, what would it be?"

Clay hesitated again, even though he knew his answer. "Uhm... well, that part is actually kind of stupid."

"Why?" George asked, as their path took them into a small grove of trees where they often spent time. The trees provided shade and a cool breeze rustled the leaves as the boys started to clamber on top of a pile of broad, smooth rocks that stood in the middle of the small clearing.

"It's something my mother used to talk about," Clay mumbled. "Before."

George went quiet for a little while. "That's definitely not stupid," he finally said as they sat down on the highest rock, sitting cross-legged across from each other, and Clay glanced at him in relief. The dark-haired boy's face was serious and contemplative. Of course, Clay thought. George had never treated him awkwardly when Clay talked about his mother. George had lost his mother, too, and his father as well, to the same war that had taken Clay's.

"She used to say that dreams were this powerful weapon," Clay started rushing, the words just pouring out of him, the ones he had thought over a hundred times before. "That they were the closest thing you could get to good magic, and probably more powerful. And I've just – I've always really liked that. I like the idea of taking something away from the sorcerers, and using it against them." At this point he hit his fist against his knee with enthusiasm, getting angry, as he always did, at the thought of magic. "So if I could. I think that's the name I'd choose. Dream."

George had gone even quieter, and more still, than he had before, looking down at his hands and away from Clay. Clay glanced away as well and felt bad. He knew magic was a sore spot for George, too. When the sorcerers had attacked Camelot years ago, dozens of villagers and nobles alike had died under the onslaught. There were no sorcerers in Camelot anymore, thanks to Clay's father, but even saying the word 'magic' could be enough to scare and anger those who had been burned by it.

"What do you think?" Clay prompted after a little while, and George looked up in surprise, blinking in the dappled sunlight, as though he had been pulled into his thoughts. "About the name?"

"Dream," George tried out, humming thoughtfully. Then he flashed his lopsided smile. "I like it. Dreeeeaaamm," he exaggerated in a sing-song voice, and Clay laughed.

"Well, it'll never happen, anyway," Clay said, picking up a twig off the top of the stone and throwing it away absently. "To everyone in the whole entire world, I'll be Prince Clay forever."

"Well, I could call you Dream, if you want me to," George said, seeming a bit like his old self again.

"Really?" Clay asked, feeling himself grin.

"Sure. It's like a nickname, or, or, like a secret code name," George said, jumping to his feet and striking a knightly pose. "To the whole rest of the world, you're Clay, but between you and me, and maybe those other two jokers, we know your real name is... Dream, defender of Camelot!" he shouted triumphantly into the forest, launching himself off the rock and landing on his feet.