Chapter Text
The council room was one of the most beautiful in the palace, in Mike’s humble opinion. The ceiling was elevated far above his head, windows scattered across the rounded stone walls and the large arch doorway leading to the gardens made it feel open and freeing. Where the sun didn’t poke through were large woven multicolor tapestries of landscapes and places around the world.
There was a large marble circle in the center of the floor posing as a table, papers and candles and stationary scattered about its surface. And engraved into the floor was a mosaic of a red wyrm, coiled around the circular room and mouth agape.
As Mike shadowed his mother into the room, six heads turned to look at the source of footsteps. The speedster and ranger, who faced the door on the far end of the room, looked at him fairly, like they seemed to remember him from earlier.
The speedster had fiery hair and piercing azure eyes, wearing a bronze tunic and pants the color of the sky. While the ranger donned a verdant hooded overcoat and leather undershirt, dark hosen and shin-high boots.
Mike saw the brilliant point of the bow and strap around his waist of a quiver, noticed the many furs on his belt, and was made acutely aware of how serious this personnel was.
The sorcerer (–sorceress? He wasn’t entirely sure how to regard her,) turned to look at him with a severe look, like they had been talking about something she wasn’t too keen about. Her mousy hair was pulled back, and she had a dark surcoat under a lighter gray top, despite not even having shoes. She was parked on the far west of the table, next to a tall man with a swoop of chestnut hair.
He didn’t look too out of the ordinary.
He wore an outfit similar to his. Casual.
Maybe he was a knight that Mike hadn’t seen yet, clumped in with the council. (Mike fought down the bitter jealousy that rose in his chest. Why hadn’t he gotten a chance to even meet them?)
The bard looked friendlier, with a plumper, rounder feel to him. A fur hat, emerald cape, cream poplin blouse, scarlet vest, and beige pantaloons. His lute strung to his back, hidden under dark curls as he turned around to get a look at Mike.
But the figure that truly caught his eye stood directly in front of him five feet away.
His focus zeroed in onto the cleric and the bright purple robes, they snagged on the small silver chain around his neck, a small bird skull of some sort dangling off of it. His gaze found the welcoming, hospitable, soft sanctuary sight of his face, suddenly closer than last time. The mole just above his lips, the way his eyes were mostly a leafy green molten into brown near his pupil, the way his eyelids folded over half his eye, the way his neck was twisted on his shoulders to look over at Mike–
Until he realized he was ogling. He quickly averted his study to briskly skim over everyone else, feeling his face ultimately heat up.
His mother looked down at him, an expectant look on her own face. He quickly cleared his throat, stood up straighter, and completely avoided turning to the cleric again.
“Salutations,” he started in an all-too-formal voice that didn’t suit him at all, based on how the bard smiled at him pitifully, and the speedster knowingly bumped her shoulder into the ranger’s. “I am Sir Michael Wheeler, third heir in line to the Wheeler’s throne.” And was promptly met with silence.
Until the sorceress spoke.
“I am Jane Hopper,” she began in a monotonous voice, expression flat. Somehow, Mike could tell she didn’t like him. Just as he was going to respond ceremonially, she continued. Jane held out an upturned palm towards the bard. “This is Dustin,” he grinned in response and waved enthusiastically over to Mike.
The latter took a mental note of the lack of front teeth. But, he couldn’t hold back a smile in turn.
Jane turned her torso to face the cleric. “William,” she offered. Mike swallowed nervously, meeting the other man’s gaze, feeling the slight heat rise to his face shamefully.
Mike tore his eyes from William’s before he could do anything embarrassing.
Jane turned to the ranger and speedster. “Lucas and Maxine,” who respectfully waved and smiled, before Jane turned to the final stranger in the room. “And, Steven. I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess?” Said man said in a mildly outraged tone, arms outstretched. Jane was simply trying in vain to smother a smile.
Mike suddenly felt the weighing reality of things crash down on him. He was in a room with a bunch of notable figures, the feeling of his significance suddenly deflating. He had introduced himself in a way that seemed way too important for a knight who had only just got his name yesterday. All of these names seemed too casual. And they had been doing this for years.
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
A comforting touch from his mother. He had done something right.
Mike folded his hands over his lap, forcing his expression placid and rigid. He could feel the prying eyes of everyone peeling under his skin.
Dustin spoke up. “Anyways, Sir Michael Wheeler,” Mike didn’t appreciate the mocking edge in his voice. “We have come up with a task for you.” He said with another smile and a snap of his fingers, immediately indulging into the map in front of him.
Mike felt his heart flutter. A real knightly task for him. A real knight.
“Jane did not like it, though.” Lucas snorted, leaning over the marble on his elbows.
Mike tried to stay stoney. Ignore the urge to ask about their jobs and recent escapades. What it was, if it was going to be hard, if he would be accompanied by anyone.
But William spoke. “I thought it was convenient. It doesn’t matter the ‘practicality’,” raising and bending his pointer and middle fingers. His voice was soft and rumbly. Mike denied the likeability of it.
“It’s not about it being practical, Will, it’s about your safety.” The sorceress spoke up, hands on her hips. “We don’t know if this… kid can protect you.” Her eyebrows furrowed and he felt her eyes fiercely.
“He literally looks as old as all of us.” Maxine scoffed, arms folded over her chest.
Mike felt like an observer. He didn’t feel compelled to even respond. He didn’t know if it was his place even to do so. These people were so out of his league.
“He doesn’t have the slightest ounce of muscle on him!” Jane responded scornfully.
And he felt it again. Everyone inspecting him. He felt his shoulders slacken and ears redden. He bit down fury bubbling in his gut. What did they know? Of course he had muscle. He just didn’t have any… definition. Yeah.
He knew he was a skinny guy. Lanky. Gangly. Whatever you wanted to call it. There were a lot of cons to his appearance. He was pale, and his midnight hair and raven eyes didn’t contribute at all. But in some ways, he knew he was lucky. At least he didn’t turn out looking like his father.
He could call himself handsome and wouldn’t be looked at sideways. He was pretty, for a guy, in the same way a fox or crow could be pretty. Unconventional. But he could see why they didn’t really trust him. It was unheard of for knights to have hair as long as he did. Still, Mike refused to cut it. He never wanted to. It was a sentiment. Not all knights had to be as cutthroat and unfeeling.
He wanted to be, y'know, unique.
Then they turned away.
“Maybe he’s good with a sword.” William offered weakly.
Ouch.
Not even a word of defense uttered from anyone’s mouths.
“He better be,” Jane muttered scornfully.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he suddenly spoke. He didn’t at all think about his actions before. He should have, based on how he heard a sharp inhale of disapproval from his mother near his ear. “What exactly am I doing?” His palms were raised by his chest, feeling his heart race like a trapped mouse.
Eyes turned to him. A tense breath from behind him. “Michael.” Said the teeth-clenched voice.
But nobody seemed to realize the authority they had, the disrespect he had put on his name. Because at their age, they frankly didn’t care. He knew a thing or two about that.
“I was going to get to that.” Dustin said patiently. He looked excited. He pointed to the map in front of him, and Mike leaned over to look closer. Dustin was pointing to the mountains far North, a distance Mike had never gone. “You will escort William here to… there! To retrieve the Lazulite Elixir!”
He had a lot of experience travelling. This should be no biggie. He had gone miles and miles east, west, south, north, for things of all varieties. He had gone to neighboring kingdoms, vast lands beyond his normal borders, foreign provinces. Met people so different from he, talked in tongues he didn’t understand completely, wore outfits too tight and loose and heavy and revealing all at once. He arrived to celebrations he didn’t want to show up to, donned fake smiles and forced out laughs that felt like glass in his throat. Mingled with the richer and poorer, fought and wagered with peasants.
He held relics older than his own kingdom. He witnessed and studied sorcery and witchcraft and magic and necromancy. But this was a whole nother ball park. Mike had sat hours in the library, basking in the golden hour rays, a book that could deteriorate with too harsh of a breath in his grasp, studying the legendary potion.
Seekers had been lost in the forest bordering the mountains, or ripped to shreds by drakes lurking in the snow caps. Blinded by even the sight of the bluest blue sloshing around in the bottle. Died from starvation, dehydration, or exhaustion in the rolling hills that never seemed to end.
The thought of searching for something like the Lazulite Elixir was suicide.
It was entirely pointless, unless you wished to reign dictatorship on all the lands.
It was rumored to give you the powers of all-seeing. To be able to peer into the underworld, overworld, and everything in between. In the wrong hands, it was sure to bring despair.
But this entirely riveting boy in violet robes in front of him seemed anything but.
They met gazes.
And Mike knew what he was to do.