This isn't isn't even a fic really, it's more of a character study. I wrote this ages ago as like an exploration of the characters of the Princes during books 4-6 and realized that I actually really like reading explorations of characters from other people - and so hopefully if you're reading this you will too!

Also, I just wanted to update something. I've been insanely busy with work and Uni but I miss writing things. Just wanted to put something up here to show that I haven't completely disappeared and I'll be back at some point!

"Vancha would approve of the boy, I think," Arrow commented, ghosting his thick fingers over his armrest. The thrones in the Hall of Princes were not grand as they might have been if they were designed for humans. They were made of huge slabs of seemingly impenetrable rock, all rough around the edges. Briefly, he wondered how much Kurda would complain when he became a Prince and faced the eternal difficulty of not snagging his sleeves. The thought made the corners of his mouth twitch.

Mika, subtly examining his hair in the reflection of a knife blade, scoffed.

"Probably," he agreed. "But Vancha always liked an underdog."

Darren Shan had been a regular feature of all conversations around the Mountain for a couple of nights now. The Princes had sent for the child and his mentor early in the night and were still awaiting their arrival.

The younger Prince began twirling the dagger between his fingers expertly. The Hall of Princes didn't offer much in the way of entertainment during their rare breaks from meetings with the Generals. Paris was as focused and quiet as ever, contemplating with closed eyes on the other side of Vancha's empty throne. Either he was contemplating, or he was asleep – either way, the other two wouldn't say a word about it. The sly elder Prince was certainly not losing his hearing in his old age.

"Whether we approve of the boy is neither here nor there, though," Mika continued, shifting in his seat to face Arrow with a little more ease. "I haven't approved of any of the recent additions, especially not that insufferable bookworm Ausric Karn brought up to see us at last Council –"

"– Might be the next Kurda Smahlt," Arrow chuckled. Mika quirked an eyebrow.

"One of those is enough," he remarked dryly, and then continued with his previous train of thought. "But none of those other assistants were actually children, and so none warranted our interest. Darren is actually quite horrifically prepubescent."

Arrow laughed out loud at that. He was rarely openly cheerful around others, but he couldn't help finding Mika's dry humour amusing.

"Blooding children used to be quite common," he contributed, still smirking at Mika's look of disgust. Without saying anything to alert the old man to their conversation, Arrow cocked his head towards Paris, and then looked back at his brother. "You weren't particularly old yourself either, as I remember."

Mika shrugged one shoulder. "I was older," he stressed. There was no need between the two of them to detail all the reasons Mika's blooding as a teenager had been necessary. Arrow, as usual, was playing devil's advocate. He wasn't a man of many words and often preferred action to discussion and deliberation – but he enjoyed sometimes acting as Mika's soundboard, if only to gain some understanding of how his bizarre mind worked.

"Besides, the same sort of circumstances might not apply – and times have certainly changed since then. From what I've heard, humans tend to take rather better care of their children these days."

Arrow hummed in agreement. "Kurda's taken a shine to Darren, by all accounts."

Mika rolled his eyes. That didn't do anything to particularly lift his opinion of Larten Crepsley's child assistant. Kurda was a noble man and a worthy Prince, but Mika was a stickler for the rulebook and the two of them rarely saw eye-to-eye about much as a result. Mika had voted in favour of Kurda becoming a Prince following Paris' nomination – Arrow had predictably objected, simply out of distrust of the Vampaneze and disinterest in negotiating with them further – but only out of respect for his unquestionable achievements. He didn't trust him as a judge of character.

"He's a plucky one too, apparently. Did you hear about his fight on the bars?"

Mika chuckled. There were conflicting accounts of what had happened that night. Some vampires were (bravely) saying that the youngster almost had the beating of Arra until she'd regained her senses, and some were saying she'd had him pinned from the beginning. Mika was quietly inclined to believe the former. Arra was too cocky against an opponent she didn't consider a threat, and one day he thought that might prove to be her fatal flaw.

"Vanez probably forced him into it," Mika argued. The one-eyed games master had sometimes demonstrated shades of a sadistic streak. "He couldn't very well just say no, especially if he cares to impress us."

Growing tired of sitting on the fence, Arrow finally just smiled. "I like the sound of him," he admitted, unsurprised by Mika's look of disbelief and subsequent groan. "The best new recruits are always the most controversial."

"That's not the point," his brother snapped. Mika was bored now of discussing the strength of the boy's character based on nothing but rumours. Unlike Arrow, his judgements were rarely made based upon a feeling – until he was presented with cold, hard facts about the boy's suitability he wouldn't be able to successfully decide whether he might make a worthy vampire one night. Besides that, he felt all discussion about Darren, however interesting, was somewhat irrelevant. He sighed and his brow creased while he thought.

"How many children do you think we'll have to pass judgement on by the end of the century if we just accept the boy?"

Arrow didn't have much of a comeback for that. He wasn't as clever as Mika and couldn't think through all the possible consequences of everything as thoroughly as his brother could – if it didn't relate to the Vampaneze, often Arrow was inclined to turn a blind eye to some minor mistakes and indiscretions, like the one Larten had made in blooding a child. Mika, however, did not suffer fools gladly – and, for him, fools included whimsical rule-breakers.

Some Generals had still been milling around inside the Hall from the recent conclusion of their talks with the mysterious Harkat Mulds, and now a few more started filing back in and taking seats around the sides of the room, eager to find out more about the child vampire and whether Larten Crepsley, the old rogue, had any reasonable excuses for himself.

"Larten must have had a reason," Arrow stated, keeping his voice low. The two Princes learned much from their private discussions with one another, away from the ears of the Generals and from their unwelcome opinions and additions. Arrow was inclined to do his best at all times to see the good in the clan, in all matters not involving treason or Vampaneze negotiations, so his hope that Larten had made a sensible decision – or at least, had come up with a plausible pack of lies to excuse himself since – was unsurprising. Mika was the opposite; he couldn't help but find the bad in everyone. Without Paris as a mediator, the two polar opposites would never have been successful and fair rulers.

As the Generals continued to file in, Mika made sure to speak in no more than a whisper.

"Has he ever had a reason for anything?" he asked rhetorically.

Larten was a loose cannon – a noble man, but a dangerous and unpredictable one too. Mika remembered him as a young rogue who had made decisions in the blink of an eye, too fast for anyone else to process, and too quickly to be sure he was making the right one. He was one of the only vampires ever to turn down the chance to become a Prince. For Mika, this was just another example of his rushed and flawed reasoning. Crawling back into the arms of the clan after so many years, it was clear that at least part of him regretted the decision to walk away in the first place.

Arrow was more sparing with his smiles now that the Generals were gathered again, but he shot Mika a look and there was a spark of amusement and a shade of kindness in his eyes.

"Your memories shouldn't cloud your judgement," he reminded gently.

It was clear that Arrow was thinking of something else, and Mika didn't have the time or the privacy he needed to set him straight. A century ago he had been jealous of Larten – over locating the tomb of Petra Vin Grahl, over his ability to live his life in the human world and stroll back into Vampire Mountain and be welcomed with open arms, and over Arra. Those feelings were dead and gone now, but Arrow was a great listener and always remembered those things as though they were only yesterday.

The appearance of one of the guards at the entrance to the Hall signaled the arrival of Larten and his assistant, too early for the liking of the two Princes who hadn't finished their analysis. As usual, without any noise to indicate him of the arrival of visitors, Paris' eyes opened just as the guard disappeared. If they hadn't known better, Mika and Arrow would have sworn the old man was magical somehow.

"You are both foolish sometimes," Paris commented quietly, careful not to let the congregation of Generals overhear. The heads of his two former assistants spun around towards him. It had been centuries since either of them had acted as assistants to Paris, but the feeling of being reprimanded never completely disappeared from memory.

They both stared towards the older Prince, waiting for him to say more. He was precise over his words, and never said anything that he didn't mean – though that was admirable, it was also sometimes frustratingly slow.

"Anyone can see that Darren is special," he commented eventually. Mika resisted the urge to disagree – Paris was widely acknowledged as the wisest of them all, and somehow or another he always turned out to be right in his judgements and his predictions. "Larten has made an unwise choice, but the boy was destined for this."

The guards reappeared at the entrance to the Hall and the Generals fell silent. Kurda, Gavner Purl and Harkat shuffled in awkwardly and joined one of the rows of Generals, leaving Larten and his young assistant, looking quite the bizarre pair, standing alone in the middle of the large central platform.

"Still," Paris continued out of the corner of his mouth, eyes glinting mischievously. "We cannot let them off too easily."