And so is a beloved character. Dirk prompt coming atcha. Please rip it apart.
(( Dirk's a bird. No but really, Dirk is part of a race of shapeshifters with the ability to turn into birds, along with other animals like snakes, tigers, and everything under the sun. Please don't match length or I'll cry. Have your character as another avian or some other type of animal, feel free to get creative. I'm particularly interested in human kids, guardians, and cherubs, but other characters are just as welcome, so feel free to suggest some and let me know if there are any questions that need answering. Thanks! ))
After a lifetime spent with every breath another moment closer to the day he would eventually lose everything he had, Dirk feels he should be better equipped to handle death when it comes knocking at his door, slips its way into his bed, and wraps its arms around his neck in a grip that restricts his airways and makes it so that he can't even take in a gasp of air.
Dirk wakes knowing something is wrong.
It's a feeling that settles itself in the confines of his ribcage, expanding and contracting with each shallow breath he gulps down, hair damp with sweat, heart pounding as if he'd just finished the flight of his life. He fights his way out of bed, tangled sheets tripping him up as he struggles to rise, and doesn't bother changing from his nightclothes before he's out the door and in the corridor separating his chambers from the rest of the palace suites.
Dawn hasn't yet arrived, but it feels like he's overslept because the sounds of servants bustling from place to place just beyond his private rooms is apparent. Dirk hears a wail from somewhere distant and can't tell whether it's real or something his racing mind and paranoia spurred on by nightmares made up. There are no guards stationed at his doors, and that's worrying. No matter how much he maintained that he was fully capable of defending himself, there had always been a pair of shadows looming long after he'd retired for the night, steady, silent, and watchful of any threats that might catch the youngest prince unaware.
The Hawk's Keep is in mourning.
It was an arrow that went wide, made for punching through air resistance and finding its mark of feathers and flesh. Despite the danger of flying in the open where a squad of raven guards could only be half as effective should something go amiss, the avian king had insisted on flying to the border between their lands and the Serpiente territory personally. When their charge had been shot down, it was up to the accompanying ravens to shift back to human form and find safety at the Hawk's Keep, where he spent the night fighting for his life. Dirk might have found it in him to admire that sense of responsibility once, but look where it had gotten him.
Now Dirk has just lost a brother, a father, and a mentor in the span of a few desperate hours.
His people are restrained as a matter of course; outward displays of emotion are seen as a dishonour to the dead and a disgrace to the living, but in that moment, Dirk thinks he could forget every belief of avian reserve drilled into his head as a child who wept his way through every tumble of flight practise and yelled himself hoarse at each lost contest of strength. Still, he isn't that child anymore, and it's the knowledge that there is more left on his shoulders in the wake of this terrible certainty that keeps his expression in place where it belongs.
Inhale. The king is dead. Exhale. Long live the king. Dirk closes his eyes and shifts into a form whose every feather is as familiar to him as the feel of his own skin. The process is quick, natural as breathing. It's said in tales meant to frighten children that there exists a race of people whose transformation is an abomination, their punishment in the form of unwilling shifts and gruesome, painful transition, a horrific in-between state that one will suffer forever if they don't brush their teeth or stay away from strangers.
The golden hawk puts that thought out of its head completely and thinks only of the air current beneath its wings. The Keep is designed for air to flow in from outside, providing enough of a lift to keep Dirk buoyant as he glides past the many suites set aside for guests the royal family favours and into an area populated by palace staff. His avian form isn't missed, now that there is one less member able to take a hawk's shape.
The reminder is enough to make his bird's heart beat in a frenzy even louder than before. He needs to stop. The sudden shift back, too quick for him to get any true enjoyment out of flying, only serves to disorient him further but this time, there are witnesses. Dirk braces himself against a wall, the stone cool against the elevated heat of his palms, and waves away the concern of Keep servants. He's got this. He just needs to take a moment to put himself back in order.
Unfortunately he isn't allowed that much, since before he can truly get his wits together, he catches a sparrow waffling over whether to approach him when he's obviously distressed. Weary beyond belief but still no shirker, Dirk waves her over and listens as she tells him that his presence is needed in the receiving chambers. Guests, at this hour, and after so much chaos? At least it explains the lack of guards; the Keep's soldiers must be on high alert and eager to prove their competence in the wake of a failure that had cost them their ruler's life.
Dirk the man will have to grieve later. Right now, Dirk the avian heir to the throne is needed on the welcoming committee.
Some distant part of him wonders what could await him, whether it was another avian rushing to pay their respects, a serpent soldier captured and held for questioning, or perhaps a member of another race like the Mistari tigers. Whatever the case, Dirk is hardly in the mood, but a good little nestling needs to bow his head and keep calm like all is right with the world no matter the circumstances.
The Hawk's Keep boasts a spacious area for receiving guests, the chambers bright and airy even now that the sun is only just beginning its ascent. Dirk sweeps in, refusing to let his eyes jump to the pair empty thrones set in the middle of the room, preferring to stand and looking for all the world like he hadn't just rushed in wearing only his pajamas.
Score one for avian hospitality. Dirk's gaze is as keen-eyed as his second form, giving all occupants of the chambers a once-over. The guards are stone-faced, the perfect example of their race's famed reserve, maids are waiting in the wings with the hopes that he'll have need of them, Dirk himself is looking rumpled and unprofessional, and the reason for this abrupt meeting... Well. They're another story entirely.
"Welcome to the Keep." His voice is still hoarse from sleep and from grief, but he's pleased to note that it's kept even. That would have to be good enough. "I'm sorry that we couldn't offer better accommodations, but given recent events..." Dirk trails off there, unable to articulate the enormity of it all. Pressing forward and ignoring that train of thought completely, he instead changes tactics. "What brings you here?"
