Arvid is headed to try out the mead, to get drunk. His father’s dead, after all and what a perfect time for it - the celebration wasn’t a total bust, but rather the opposite, and now that he’s said his peace, he can relax while scouting out potential for his Royal Court and his Regent.

Ah sir! Sir? There’s an unfamiliar, female voice calling behind him and the king slows, turning his head to look over his shoulder as the darker female approaches him. She comes from the south, Elysium, she tells him. He bows his head to her, although he’s the one who’s the king.

She is a Shadows.. Bane? He arches a brow, allowing citrus eyes to linger over her form. Patches of white, here and there, upon her shoulder; her ankle, her toes. Her other shoulder is brown, like some of the other colors in his own coat.

She’s a warrior, for Elysium? What an interesting rank name. He nods his head, ears swiveling. Elysium and Northfall have been allies for quite sometime now, though, have they not, Misses.. Fleetwood? He says softly, twitching his nose. My wife to be comes from your pack, after all, and I’m sure my father.. His voice trails off as a sudden wave of sadness and grief slams into him like a mac truck, and he takes a sharp inhale, but he feels like he's drowning, and -

.. and he realizes a bit too late that she was only trying to be nice. In her own way. Oh. But uh - yes. T-thank you. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This was supposed to be my childhood. He looks at her with a longing expression, like someone’s stolen from him. His voice cracks, and he flattens his ears. He'd been keeping it together so well, up until now.

I-I've said too much. I.. I should go. Drown his sorrows in mead, or a woman, or something.

It was, perhaps a good thing he was not yet made aware of the brutal passing of his mother, nor of Levi - not that he and Levi had ever shared a private moment together, despite being the label as brothers. He would have been the closest thing that Arvid would have considered for a Regent, based on his age alone, though - and did find it odd that he was not present, especially lately, but did Arvid assume that meant Lord Pissy Pants was dead? No. Of course not.

Fleetwood steps forward, throwing him in the same age group as her own children, extending her paw, and Arvid looks to her paw and then to her eyes. She’s in agreement, but now he feels foolish for saying something. He’s supposed to be the king! His ears flatten, but he can’t tell if he’s seeing things or if she’s crying.

Did he make her cry? Shit. She offers him to be a kid. A kid? He scoffs, and looks away, embarrassed, still. Not really rejecting her - but not knowing how to accept her without making it look like he doesn’t want this life, too. Because he does, in some way - because it’s the life his Dad wanted for him, and it’s all he’s got left, of his dad.

It’s all he knows. I don’t know… if I know how to be one anymore, and you live so far away, now. I can’t ask you to forsake Elysium for Northfall. And he certainly couldn’t make regular trips to Elysium just for a fake childhood.

Besides what would that short, tall lady think?