Chapter Text
When the Prince is a child, he has many dreams.
Dreams of adventure, as befitting any child, of any tribe and any station. Dreams of friends, the lonely wishes of a child already facing anger from grown men and women that should have known better. And dreams for a country that he really believes can one day be like the ones he reads about in his favorite book, where everyone is treated with respect, and everyone is valued for whoever they happen to be.
And then, all at once, the Prince is no longer a child. He is cursed, and if not killed outright than at least set on the long, slow path toward his own death, which is almost worse. At six years old, he is told that an intruder into the castle—a terrifying experience on its own—has infected him with a tangle of thorns and briars that will, one day in the not too distant future, kill him.
It's hard to keep dreaming, with that dark promise there to loom over him. It's hard to think of adventure when there are thorns wrapping themselves around his chest, choking him, keeping him from running and climbing and doing all the things he wants to do. Hard to wish for friends, when he's been whisked off and hidden away, and everyone treats him like a fragile, broken thing that could crumble to nothing if anyone were to get too close.
Hardest of all to dream of a future for his country, now that he knows he doesn't even have a future for himself.
The Prince grows up too soon and too fast, and with all the strength he has in him he forces himself to put away his dreams. They hurt too much to even look at, and so he seals them somewhere deep and dark in the bottom of his mind, somewhere that the curse can't touch them, but neither can he.
Sometimes he is reminded of those dusty old dreams. More and more rarely, as he grows older, but it does happen. It's always painful to be reminded of the times when he'd thought his life would be different and better, and the Prince finds that those dreams no longer bring him anything but pain. He pushes them back, pushes them away, feels hopelessness and deep sadness instead of joy at the memories of those times. Sometimes he even feels angry—an utterly helpless kind of anger, rooted in frustration and loss and a dark, lonely fear. Angry at his younger self, at the things he used to be able to believe…
(Angry at himself for not being able to, anymore)
(For the sheer, painful loss of those dreams)
He pushes the memories back, and buries them deep, and bristles and tenses and doesn't let even a single glimmer of hope through the wall he's bricked up between himself and his dreams. Which is fine.
It's.
Fine.
And then the curse creeps its way up into his heart, and he falls into a sleep that no one—himself included—expects him to wake from.
The only thing left of the Prince in the world is his dreams, and it has been a very long time since he let those dreams be free.
They have not really been given a chance to grow.
-//-
There is an elda boy sharing a carriage with Hulkenberg.
A very young elda boy, she can't help noticing. As young as the Prince had been on that long ago day when she had failed to protect him, so small that his feet don't quite touch the floor of the carriage, on the rare occasions he remembers to sit up properly. More often he pulls his legs onto the seat, sitting cross legged or folding them around himself in the seamlessly awkward way of all small children, staring out the window with a starry eyed awe at a landscape Hulkenberg herself has long since ceased to notice.
In the two days since Hulkenberg has boarded the carriage and taken note of both the boy and the irritated, occasionally angry looks their fellow passengers keep giving him, she has made the conscious, deliberate choice to bring him under her protection. His name is Will, he has already told her. He is six years old, and he is traveling to the capital to help a friend. He won't tell her who the friend is, or how he expects to be able to help them, but he does tell her that he isn't travelling alone because he has a friend named Gallica, who is a fairy, and also that he thinks that Hulkenberg is… cool.
(He tells her this three times, in quick succession, when she happens to mention that she has tried many interesting cuisines in her travels, including several types of bugs)
Hulkenberg assumes the fairy is an imaginary friend at first, until she starts paying attention. When she starts to see him as a person, as Will, a small child on a journey he is far too young to be attempting alone, and not as merely an elda, she realizes fairly quickly that there is in fact a fairy in his bag.
Very curious.
But Will isn't actually any of Hulkenberg's business, she reluctantly acknowledges, and when the carriage reaches Grand Trad, they'll go their separate ways. She tells herself very firmly that he isn't her charge the way the Prince had been, that she can keep an eye on him from a distance without becoming overly attached, right up until the moment that bandits descend on the carriage. It's not the first time she's had to defend herself from some danger while travelling, but it has been quite some time since she had reason to fight for the safety of someone else.
It's amazing how quickly it all comes back. The extra little jump of her heart as she realizes someone helpless is in danger, the odd split in her attention between the bandits threatening her, and the ones near Will. She stands with her back to him, facing the threat, and in the short, sharp fight that follows, she makes sure that not one person gets close enough to him to hurt him.
"Are you alright, Will?" she asks in the aftermath, as the shaken carriage driver makes a check for damages.
(For a moment, when she first turns around and looks at him, he reminds her so strongly of the Prince that it almost hurts)
"Yes!" he says, but his voice is a little higher than what she's heard from him so far, and she thinks he might be scared. "I'm okay. They didn't even get close to me."
"Good," Hulkenberg says. "I'm—glad to hear it."
Will fidgets for a moment, then says, "Thank you for keeping me safe."
He says it completely earnestly, flustering Hulkenberg, making her unsure what to do next. In the end she pats him on the head, which makes him laugh, and reassures Hulkenberg that there hasn't been any lasting trauma for him.
After that, Will completely relaxes around Hulkenberg. He's a very polite child, she's noticed already. Many children of the so-called lesser tribes are, out of necessity—it's an unfortunate reality, she's noticed, that the two options available to many of those children is to learn their manners well, or to learn to fight instead. They very rarely have the luxury that young roussainte and clemar children do, to be rude or insubordinate to their elders, because the punishment for missteps is harsher for them.
But it's as if Hulkenberg's willingness to protect him against bandits has convinced him that she won't hold it against him if that politeness slips. Perhaps it has. Perhaps he can see as well as she can that she's not going to let him be hurt, at this point. Either way, she starts to see more and more of his eager, adventurous personality, in the endless stream of thoughts and questions he presents her with, about every single sight they travel past.
The carriage makes good time in the aftermath of the bandits, no doubt trying to put distance between their group and the ambush site, and when they do finally stop, it's only because the darkness makes it impossible for the carriage to keep traveling safely. There, Will approaches Hulkenberg where she sits at the fireside of the impromptu little camp, holding something tight in both arms.
"What do you have there?" Hulkenberg asks, as he seems to hesitate over what to say.
"I don't know how to say thank you," Will says slowly. "For… during the bandits."
"No need for thanks," Hulkenberg assures him. "It is the duty of those who can fight to protect those who can't."
"But you did it even though I'm elda," Will says, and Hulkenberg wants to pat him on the head again, because it had made him smile before, and he there is no smile on his face at all as he says this. "And I thought you might… maybe you want to see my book?"
He holds it out to her, very solemnly, and so Hulkenberg feels she has no choice but to take it and flip through the pages. It's not a text she recognizes, although in fairness she has never held a particular fondness for books. But she stops on a page at random, and reads through a passage of—
"It's about another world," Will blurts out, and Hulkenberg has to stifle a smile to see he's crept up close to her, crouching at her side so he can see the book too. "And everyone's happier there. No one cares about tribe, everyone gets taken care of anyway."
"That sounds like a very nice place," Hulkenberg tells him.
"Mmhm," Will says, eyes bright even in the darkness. "I want to live in a world like that someday."
"It would be nice," Hulkenberg allows. She glances down at Will's book again, and asks, "Can you read all this?"
"Um…" His enthusiasm slips a little, and he says, "Well—yes."
"That's very impressive for a child of your age," Hulkenberg says. She means the words encouragingly, but he doesn't seem to take it the same way.
"My friend used to read it to me," Will says, voice quiet. "Um. It was a really long time ago. He doesn't—he's been sick for a long time. He doesn't read with me anymore. But I can read by myself so… so it's okay." There's a moment of silence, and then, heartbreakingly, a sniff.
This time, Hulkenberg does give into the urge to pat him on the head again.
"I love this book," Will whispers, leaning into the touch. It might just be Hulkenberg's imagination, but somewhere behind the words she can almost hear him say, "I love my friend."
"I can see that," Hulkenberg says, as gently as she is capable of.
"It's my friend's," Will says. "But he can't read it right now, so I'm borrowing it. I think he'd—he'd want me to have it."
"I'm sure he would."
"I have his sword too," Will says. "With the luggage on the carriage." His expression is something Hulkenberg can only describe as impish as he looks up at her. "I'm going to learn to fly on it."
Ah, Hulkenberg muses to herself. The imaginations of children. "Maybe you're safer keeping to the book for now," she says. Words are a kind of dangerous, but not the same way as a sword. "I know I'm not the friend you're missing, but I can read a bit to you, if you want."
Will does want, it turns out. He doesn't listen for very long, because before she can make it through two pages, the lengthy day catches up to him. Will falls asleep curled up on the ground next to her, and for a long while Hulkenberg sits there with his book in her hands, looking down at him and thinking.
It's a hard world for people that look like him. She very much wishes that she, or that anyone, could be there for him to protect him.
Hulkenberg makes to shut the book, but happens to catch sight of something unexpected as she does so. On the inside of the front cover, in ink that has faded over time, is the name of the Prince. She stares at it for a long moment, breath frozen in her lungs, heart beating too quickly. Then, in a quick movement, she stands, reaches down to scoop the sleeping child up off the ground, and carries him out of the thin circle of firelight.
"Hey!" a voice calls, and Hulkenberg freezes in place, instinctively shifting her arm around Will to a more protective position, and only relaxes when she picks out Will's fairy friend in the darkness behind her.
"You've no need to worry for your friend," she says, keeping her voice low so as not to attract the attention of anyone else. "I intend only to ask him some questions."
"What kind of questions?" the fairy asks. It's hard to read nuance on her when she's so small, and the night is so dark around them, but Hulkenberg has the vague impression that she's crossed her arms. "He's just a kid. He hasn't done anything."
"I don't intend to imply that he has," Hulkenberg says. "But this book of his once belonged to the Prince, and I have been searching for him for over ten years." There's desperation in her voice, she is very aware of it, and assumes the fairy will be able to as well. Even so, there's nothing she can do to stop it. "Please. If either of you knows anything, please tell me."
The fairy continues to look skeptical.
"I failed him once," Hulkenberg says. "I was meant to guard him that night, and I failed. He was cursed and taken because I was not fast enough, or skilled enough. I intend to find him, and to make up for my mistakes."
Will stirs, and Hulkenberg realizes that either the discomfort of being carried or the whispered conversation has woken him. Must have woken him a while ago, in fact, because he asks, "The Prince is your friend too?"
"He was my charge," Hulkenberg says quietly.
Will considers this. Then he says, "We're going to help him."
Hulkenberg's anxious heart skips a beat. "Are you, now?" she asks.
"Will," the fairy says. "I don't know—"
"She's nice, Gallica," Will says earnestly. "We can trust her."
And despite the fairy's—Gallica's—initial reluctance, they tell her everything.
Hulkenberg is surprised to realize, about halfway through the story, that she is incredibly relieved to have a reason to be able to stay with Will for the foreseeable future.
That conversation begins to change things. Over the next few days, she reaches the capital with Will and Gallica, arranges for transport to the northern fort where they've been sent to find an ally called Grius, and travels there with them.
They reach the fort, and Hulkenberg receives the shock of learning that Grius is a man she knows as Alces, and hasn't seen in many years. With him there to vouch for her, and Will still obsessed (it is in fact the first thing he tells Alces when the four of them do introductions) with the fact that she eats bugs, Hulkenberg begins to feel much more at ease in this new situation.
And then the human attacks.
-//-
When Leon Strohl joins the army, he does not particularly intend to survive his deployment.
It has been a very long time since he's felt at home anywhere. A very long time since he's had anyone that wanted him around, a very long time since he has felt anything but the numbing, all over grief of losing the center of his world.
The army seems as good a way to end that as any other.
What he is not expecting to find, at his very first deployment, is exactly the kind of threat that had torn his life into pieces when he was a teenager. He charges into the fort without thinking, before he can even see the threat for himself, because as soon as he hears the dying soldiers moaning that word, human, human, human, he can see the monster in his mind's eye, and it's like he's back in Halia, and the world is burning again.
Strohl doesn't even think of not rushing in. He's already written off his own life, so the strongest feeling he has in this moment is that he can do better, this time. Can buy someone else's survival through his own sacrifice, maybe, and so he goes charging up the seemingly endless stairs, past more dead and dying. There are monsters everywhere, humans and beast, and Strohl fights those he can't avoid until he reaches the top at last.
The humans he'd met on his way here are nothing compared to what he sees now. This is simultaneously more similar to the human that had destroyed his home, and entirely unique from what Strohl remembers back then. It's just as much of a monster, though, and Strohl has already fully mentally committed himself to charging at it even before he realizes that the monster is already in combat.
On the other side of its horrifying body are two strangers, who from Strohl's distant and partially blocked perspective seem to be a rhoag and… maybe a roussainte? It's hard to tell, and far more important to Strohl is that behind them, even farther away, is a child.
There had been many children, that day in Halia.
(Strohl had been fifteen)
(He had felt himself a child, but looking back, he shouldn't have been such a child, shouldn't have ran, should have been able to fight to protect something that actually mattered)
He doesn't think. It's like his brain just stops working, and his anxiety spikes and spirals and all he can do is run forward, sword drawn, ready to fight. His pulse is pounding through him, a frantic drumbeat, and he realizes as he makes contact with the human for the first time, sword rending its horrible, unnatural flesh, that this can't be a suicide run.
It can't be because there's a child here. And if Strohl runs into his death, as he'd joined the army to do, then the human is going to turn its attentions on the other people here, including the child.
He fights, desperate and afraid, until the human whips at him with its long, branchy limbs, and Strohl flies back and rolls several feet along rocky, broken ground, collecting new bruises and gashes as he does so. In the end he blacks out, and…
Well, it should have been the end for him.
The human should have been able to finish him off then and there.
Instead, he opens his eyes to a room he's never seen before, lit in dappled green and yellows, and the pounding in his chest feels like something different now.
O thou anguished traveler, a woman's voice murmurs.
Strohl's heart hardens in his chest, and he places his hands over it. The woman's voice offers him a choice, but Strohl has already made it.
The rest of the fight passes in a blur. The new magic, the archetype. New allies as the rhoag and roussainte he'd noticed before join the fight on his side, and then finally a new emotion. Something he hasn't felt in a very long time.
Relief.
He hasn't…
He hasn't felt anything close to relief, anything close to pride at a job well done, in so many years that he can't even remember the last occasion.
The human falls and Strohl does too, pain and the loss of adrenaline driving him to his knees as soon as the danger has passed.
"What was that?" the roussainte—a woman with incredibly red hair demands of him, as he struggles to keep from swaying. She and her rhoag companion draw closer to speak with him, but stop short of being close enough to touch, or to fight if it comes to it. They're obviously still wary, either of him or of the archetype magic he'd awoken during the fight. "That magic, 'tis like nothing I've ever seen before."
"I don't…" He has no idea. Can't even begin to explain.
Running footsteps draw everyone's attention, and Strohl blinks at the final person, the child, dashes over to join them.
"Will," the roussainte says. "Alces and I told you to stay back, remember?"
"But the fight's done!" Will protests. "It's safe now."
"Potentially," the rhoag says. "But we still don't know what—no, child, don't—"
It's too late. The boy, Will, a very small elda with mismatched blue and golden eyes and a sword as long as he is strapped to his back, has darted right up to Strohl. With Strohl on his knees, they're more or less the same height, and Will studies him with an intensity that seems out of place for someone his age.
"Hi," he says. "I'm Will. It's nice to meet you."
So Strohl has gathered, but he notes the intentionally polite way Will has made his introduction. It reminds him of his own childhood, carefully reciting the polite greetings his parents had taught him, as his mother looked on approvingly. He responds in kind. "It's nice to meet you, Will," he says. "My name is Leon Strohl da Haliaetus."
"Wow," Will says, impressed. "That's a really long name."
"Lad," the rhoag says, sounding slightly embarrassed. "Don't pester him."
"But he's coming with us," Will says, turning to look up at the other two. "So we have to know who he is, right?"
Absolutely no one, Strohl included, looks like they had expected this.
But the very last of Strohl's energy is failing him now, and as the two adults look at each other in obvious confusion, he blacks out for a second time in fifteen minutes.
-//-
…
…
…
-//-
When he wakes up, an indeterminate amount of time later, it's dark. He's no longer at the fort, but in a camp somewhere, with a small fire lit a few feet away, and trees around them. The other three are there as well, Will asleep on the ground, and the two adults talking in low voices from the other side of the fire.
(There is also, Strohl realizes after several seconds of staring at Will, trying to decide if he's truly awake or if this is some kind of a hallucination, a fairy on the boy's shoulder, sitting there as if on watch)
"Ah," the rhoag says. "You're awake."
Strohl drags himself into a sitting position, regretting the choice with every movement, and says, "I seem to be. I suppose you were the ones that brought me from the fort?"
"There's no arguing with the lad when he gets an idea into his head, we're learning," the man says wryly. Still, there's a note of fondness in his voice, and a small smile on his face, as he says, "Wouldn't hear of us leaving you behind."
"Then I suppose I owe all three of you my thanks," Strohl says.
"We can call it even," the roussainte woman says. "We would not have survived that encounter had you and your magic not arrived when you did."
"The archetype," Strohl says. "I'm—not sure what that was, but I'm glad I was able to help."
The rhoag studies him thoughtfully, but doesn't say anything. Instead, the roussainte says, "However we came together, it seems to be in all our best interest if we continue as traveling companions for now. Traveling alone can be difficult."
And Strohl can still feel every bruise the human had left on him. Even if he does have that archetype magic now, somehow, he recognizes that her statement is as true for him as it is for the others. "That seems fair," he says.
"Will is going to be glad to hear that," the rhoag says, craggy expression melting for a moment into a smile. "And as he said back at the fort, if we're travelling together we should all know who we're travelling with. My name is Grius. This is Hulkenberg." He gestures to the roussainte, then jerks his head back toward Will's sleeping form. "And the boy's fairy is called Gallica."
Strohl opens his mouth to ask questions about how Will had managed to get a fairy as a companion, but then closes it again. Will seems to have a talent for gathering unlikely allies around him. Instead, he asks, "Didn't someone call you Alces back at the fort?"
"It's Grius," the man says, tone inviting no more questions. He changes the subject as well, for good measure. "We'll be leaving for Grand Trad in the morning, traveling through the mines to avoid anything that might have survived to flee the fort. You should get some sleep in the meantime."
Strohl is really in no condition to argue. He doesn't think the human had done any permanent damage, but a good night's rest can only help with his many aches and pains. He lays back down, and for the first time in years falls asleep among friends.
The next morning, he wakes to the excited chatter of a child who is truly, genuinely happy to have him there, and some of the cold, lonely darkness that has crept into his heart since the destruction of his home begins to melt.