The chocobos have never cared about Edgar's, or anyone else's, status; back when they were children it was always his father who'd cared for the beasts, and they followed him cheerfully, greeting him with warks as he approached and letting him groom their sand-filled feathers and clip down their razor-sharp talons.
Sabin had been nervous around them, for some reason – Edgar had never understood, as large as the beasts were they could be so playful and gentle, but Sabin had been a small child and a fearful one, a completely different man from the one who had come back from the mountains not long ago, and he had run away and hid from the giant birds and let his father and brother be the one who cared for them.
Edgar had liked spending time around them, though; they didn't care that he was king or that he was important, they didn't bother him with policy questions or ask him to be someone that he wasn't sure he could be, and – most important – they were always so happy to see him that he couldn't help but grin.