"To begin with, you're too much of a roughneck!"

"What's with that, you sissy, wanna fight? I'll send you flying!"

"One second's all it takes for me to stop your heart, you weed!"

"Are ya fightin'? let me in!"

Lord White Dragon pouts, finding himself ignored by the two bickering dragons before him. His oversized claw, brimming with glistening white scales, are bared and extended in an impatient sort of ferocity. His grin is kind and humorous, but holding back a bursting glee.

The blood of the Green Dragon roars irritably, fists shuddering in the other's face as he handles his spear with withheld aggression. His teeth, strangely sharp canines, grind in displeasure, and a growl akin to a mountain beast rumbles from his throat.

Most alarmingly, the eyes of the Blue Dragon are one flicker away from a thunderstorm. His brows furrow in a way that they never do out of battle, his hand poised before the other in a defensive stance for war. His usual bird companions have vacated the location, sensing the danger moments prior.

Through it all, the youngest of the pack laughs. Yellow sways his feet over the ledge he's perched on, bursting into shamelessly amused guffaws. In the midst of chaos, he is much promptly disregarded.

Very appropriately, King Hiryuu (who has apparently been there, who was undeniably the cause of this madness in the first place) giggles, leaning by the Yellow Dragon's side, taking in the scene in such gentle affection for the four children he looks upon dearly.

"Aren't you going to try and stop them?"

"I gave up trying a long time ago."

ー

"Oh, it's Tea Boy!"

Squeaking at the sudden attention, the tray leapt out of the teen's hands. Stabilizing it quickly, he stiffened in time for Zeno to hop down from his spot, beaming.

"Abi, Shuten, there's tea!" he announces to the two, "and cakes!"

The two whirled around like windmills, deathly glares fired in the direction of the poor tea carrier, who was shuddering under the hostile glances.

"Yay, tea!" King Hiryuu sparkled into the scene, "thanks as always, Sang."

The boy, Sang, jerks in a nod, holding up the tray of served tea for the group. He didn't say anything, but his eyes gaze expectantly at the King as he took a cup and sipped.

"You're a soldier, yet all you do is serve tea," Abi scoffed, taking the tea that was although rather lukewarm, had a pleasant aroma. Abi may not enjoy the boy's ever-terrible timing, but he had to admit the boy could brew some great tea.

Unable to deny the harsh words, Sang chuckled dryly, casting his gaze to the corner of his vision. He tapped restlessly on the edge of the tray, not meeting any eyes.

"Reminds me of a certain someone," Guen swiped a glance at Zeno, who made a whine in response, starting somewhere with 'I told you, I'm not a fighting type--'

"As usual, this tea stinks," Shuten snorted, sipping his tea gratefully but spitting crude words.

"You just don't understand how to appreciate good tea, wild animal," Abi snarled.

"Oh, that's it, you and I are taking this outside!" Shuten tossed down his cup of half-finished tea, leaping up and raging with his glaive in hand--

"And there they go again," Zeno threw his hands up in defeat. "Are you sure you should be here instead of joining the rest of Shuten's faction in training drills?"

At that, Sang curled his lips in almost guiltily.

"How is it that you're always here with us," Guen dropped a rough forearm on top of 'tea boy', lolling his head around like a toy, "and King Hiryuu apparently doesn't mind?"

King Hiryuu smiled, "it's fine, isn't it? Sang hurt his wrist the other day, so he needs a break."

The boy in question only managed an awkward smile, raising his left hand from the tea pot. Under the sleeve of his plain green clothing, his hand, from the edge of his knuckles to the middle of his forearm, was wrapped in bandages, smelling faintly of medicine.

"Tea boy!" abruptly Shuten and Abi yelled, "cake!"

Actually jumping in fright, Sang almost dropped the tea tray he held on the ledge, then reached clumsily for the other tray he'd put aside, uncovering a dish of tea cakes the chef had baked in the morning.

Hesitantly he held it toward the two raging dragon warriors who swoomped it right out of the plate so quickly they'd barely even tasted it.

...were they having an eating battle now?

"Are you sure you should be carrying trays and stuff with that wrist?" Zeno asked, concerned, "the palace dishes and ornaments are all pretty heavy."

At the concern, Sang managed a smile, and shook his head, bowing in thanks for the consideration. He shook his injured wrist around a few times, twisting it around to assure the dragon warrior that it was fine.

"Hah?!" Shuten shot around with a rather annoyed groan, spear forgotten and cake choked out, "haven't you heard the protocol for injuries? Get healed or get out! If you're in my faction, ya should've'd that drilled into ya on day one, moron!"

Sang squirmed under the reprimand, Shuten's face coming uncomfortably close to him as he all but talked him to the ground.

"He's right," Abi added in (although the tea boy was literally a kicked puppy at this point,) "Shuten's faction are a bunch of musclebrains, but they get the work done. If you fail to keep up, you will end up nothing less than a burden on the field."

Finishing the last bit of his tea, Abi demanded seconds on his cake.

"You two never agree on anything other than the king, but tea boy's the exception, eh?" Guen teased, earning a few snappy retorts from the two.

"Don't bully him, he's not a fighting type too," Zeno stood protectively over the boy, puffing up his cheeks in protest, "and Tea boy gave us cake! Where's your thank you?"

ー

Sang, without a last name.

Simply Sang, with a strange flair for making tea and serving guests-- these were women jobs at the time, but in the time of war, there was no one around to mockingly point it out.

One strange thing-- was that this boy, peculiar as he was, was accepted dearly by the four Dragon Warriors and their King. Despite being a weak, wimpy oddball with no military strength to boast of, they guarded him as a symbol of home.

He was their Tea Boy, and strangely enough, they wanted to keep it that way.

While the countries drafted for soldiers, Sang was just one of many that were ripped from his village, shelved into armor, and arranged for an army.

However, Tea Boy was weak, and no amount of tea-making would change that.

From a nameless village in the corner of the country, packaged and shipped to become a soldier he wasn't suited to be. He was cowardly-- his hands were thin and bony and never made for battle. As a result, he wallowed in the defense, never fitting well.

In certain battles Sang would find himself near the King as the Red Dragon returned-- today was the same. Greeting Hiryuu as he made his way through the front gates, Sang greeted him on his knees, then stood up to help the king from his steed.

King Hiryuu flashed only the most esteemed of smiles (regal, dignified, manly, and only a little curt, it's the smile of a king dismissing his servant) in his direction-- because his childlike, genuine giggles were a privilege reserved only for his little dragons.

Sang is but a soldier, who should never meet his King in the eye. So he never did. It may or may not be insolence, and he wouldn't understand because of his country bumpkin origins.

He kept his eyes to the King's steed as the man himself began to walk toward the palace. He would then pass this horse to a servant, who would lead it back to the stables, that was routine.

But as the leash falls into the servant's hands, Sang sensed movement.

Abrupt movement, from a soldier of their own.

Cutting through the file of servants, a figure without a helmet nor a scent seamed through with a sword in hand.

He was moving fast, he was a trained soldier, but not quite a trained assassin-- (he didn't smell of fire or blood or smoke. He had come here for one purpose only,) a sharp roar ripped from his throat as he plunged his blade forward.

Hiryuu swirled around at the noise, barely in time to see blood spray across the palace walls.

Sang choked on the blood that bloated in his throat. A sword embedded in his chest, gouging through his left side from the shoulder and devastatingly close to the heart.

His hands were firm on the other's, one hand gripped steely on the man's wrist, the other at the hilt of the weapon, pushing back uselessly in attempt to buffer the attack.

Hiryuu hesitated, "Sang--?!"

The next moment, Guen's hand breaks into the scene, shoveling across the assailant, and flinging him into a wall so harshly there couldn't have been bones left unbroken.

The sword ripped out of him, Sang collapsed. Doubling over, he retched up the blood that filled his mouth, but his pipes, swollen from infection, failed to ease.

For a long moment, there was nothing but his heartbeat, strong, long, slow. Thrumming in every nerve agonizingly, he barely noticed his lack of breath.

There was also the bright, eerie liquid that gleamed a bright red across his hands. It reminded him of King Hiryuu's beautiful hair, and he almost marvelled at it before it sank it that this was blood, and it was his own.

The sunlight is too bright for him, flashes of white and black blinking in and out of vision. The cacophony of panic is too loud for him. There's a crow screaming in his ear, and he almost tells it to shut up, only to find out he can't.

He can't-- move, at all.

It's like his limbs have fallen aside, draped to the ground like a marionette on broken strings. His mouth gurgles with blood he no longer has the strength to hack out.

The noise around him sounds oddly like his name.

"Sang, hold on, don't give up yet! Stay with me! Stay awake!"

He's not too sure why.

His vision swings as someone seems to shake him, but his eyes drift to close before he can think better of it.

"Sang!!"