Chapter Text
Lydia felt something tugging at her blanket. She rolled over, pulling at her sheet, pausing when she heard a whispered "Lydia! Psst!"
She ignored the voice, feigning sleep, till the voice started up again, even louder, "Lydia!"
She let out a small groan when the body that voice belonged to fell down on her, moving to make itself comfortable.
"Lydia!" Stiles said. "Wake up, wake up!"
"Stiles," Lydia groaned out, not opening her eyes, "go back to sleep."
"I just cant!" Stiles said as dramatically as a 6 year-old could, flopping onto his back and waving a hand over his head. "The skies awake, so I'm awake, so we have to play!"
"Go play by yourself," Lydia grumbles, shoving the small boy off her bed and snuggling back into her warm blankets.
Stiles lands on the floor with a soft thump, looking around, till an idea comes to him. He smiles a toothy grin and climbs back onto Lydia's bed, shaking her awake. He leans in close to her ear, pulling up one of her eyelids.
"Do you wanna' build a snow man?" he says slowly, and Lydia opens her eyes sleepily, smiling.
They race down the stairs to the ballroom, Stiles continually shouting "come on, come on come on," and Lydia shushing him, though knowing it would be of no use.
They shove open the large doors together, giggling, and Stiles runs in front of Lydia.
"Do the magic! Do the magic!" he cries, and watches in awe as Lydia slowly rotates her hands, small icicles forming in gaps between.
"Ready?" Lydia asks the 6 year old, and Stiles nods his head, eyes wide and excited. Lydia thrusts her arms up into the air, the small ball of ice she formed shooting up and out till the whole room was painted in ice, small snowflakes falling down from the ceiling.
"This is amazing!" Stiles shouts, hands waving around eagerly and screaming with childish delight. He skips around, hands skimming through the building up piles of snow, till Lydia leans close.
"Watch this," she says, and stamps her foot on the ground, frozen ice shooting out from under her foot and expanding to cover the floor. Stiles giggles with childish glee, spreading his arms out as he slowly slides along the ice, before running and sliding back over to Lydia, knocking her over.
Lydia laughs, small and girly, and starts rolling up a ball of snow, spinning it in the snow till she had it big enough, and dumps it in between her and Stiles.
Stiles does the same, attempting to mimic Lydia, and gathers enough snow, putting it on top of Lydia's larger ball. He goes to sit down and puts his hands on his cheeks, squishing them in and laughing as he watched Lydia add a third layer, then eyes, a nose, and hands to their snowman. She turns them both around and stands behind the snowman, taking its' hands in hers and moving them around.
"Hi, I'm Scott," she says, trying to lower her voice, wiggling the stick arms around, "and I like warm hugs." Stiles rubs his hands together before scrambling up and throwing his arms around the snowman.
"I love you Scott," he giggles, looking into its' eyes and then over to his sister. Stiles grabs onto Olaf's hands, pulling him along, and Lydia stands up behind it, pushes her hands out in front of her and moves them around on the ice, propelling them by shooting streams of ice out her hands.
Stiles soon stops, and moves to climb up a large pile of snow gathering near the side of the room. Lydia picks him up and moves to the top, sits him in her lap and slides down the snow. Stiles squeals, clutching onto Lydia's arms, and leaps up when they get to the bottom of the 'hill' into another pile of snow.
Stiles jumps out, and Lydia says "hang on" before forming another pile of snow for Stile to jump on to.
"Catch me!" Stiles laughs, jumping from pile to pile of snow that Lydia forms.
"Again! Again!" Stiles shouts, jumping higher and higher, and Lydia's eyes grow wide.
"Wait! Slow down!" she shouts, but it's too late. Stiles jumps from the pile of snow, and Lydia's too slow, can't make another in time for Stiles to land. She shoots out, trying to soften his landing, but slips on the ice behind her, her aim going off and hitting him instead.
"Stiles!" she shouts and he falls to the ground, rolling down a small pile of snow. She rushes over to him, and he's not moving.
"St-Stiles," she whispers, clutching at his shoulders, moving his head to face her. She watches as a small section of his brunette hair fades to white, and starts to cry.
"Mama! Papa!" she cries out, clutching Stiles close to her. The floor around her freezes, and descends to the rest of the room and up the walls, tinting it in icy blue.
"You're okay, Stiles," she says quietly as tears stream down her face, "I got you." She pulls him closer as the doors slam open, her parents stopping at the sight in front of them.
"Lydia, what've you done," her father says as he and his wife rush over to them. "This is getting out of hand!"
"It was an accident," she whimpers, turning to look down at Stiles face, pulling him closer to her. "I'm sorry Stiles."
Their mother reaches out to Stiles, quickly pulling him into her arms.
"He's ice cold," she whispers, looking up at her husband.
"I know where we have to go," he murmurs, looking down at Stiles.
They rush into the library, sweeping down books, thumbing through others, until they find one they need. With Stiles clutched to his mother's chest, his father opens up to the middle, pictures of wolves and glowing eyes staring back out at them. He nods, turning the page and pulling out the map.
His father calls out for a horse, please, hurry, and they run down the hall to the front door. Map clutched in hand, Stiles' father climbs onto one of the horses, Lydia holding onto his back with shaking hands, and his wife goes on the other, Stiles cradled in her arms.
They race along, a trail of frozen land appearing behind them, until they arrive at a clearing, red, blue and yellow eyes staring at them from the dark.
"Please," the man shouts voice breaking, "help! My son!"
Lydia clings onto her father's pants as the eyes move in slowly, unblinking. They hear shifting, and a lady of approximately 30 walks out, loose brown and dirtied clothing hanging onto her thin frame.
Wolves circle around her as she walks forward, as if protecting her, and the king pulls his wife and Lydia closer.
"Your majesty," she says slowly, voice rough with disuse. She kneels slowly, head bowed, before turning to face Lydia, taking Lydia's hand in hers.
"Born with the powers or cursed?" she asks, looking at the king.
"Uh, born," the king stutters, "but they're getting stronger."
The lady stands up and moves to the queen. The queen moves her arms out slowly, holding Stiles wrapped up in a red, fading blanket. The others look on with anxious eyes as the lady reaches her hand out, placing it gently on Stiles head.
"You're lucky it wasn't his heart," she whispers, pulling her hand back. "The heart is not so easily changed. But," she continued, moving her head around, "the head can be persuaded."
"Do what you must," the king insists, voice desperate, hand clutching at Lydia's shoulder.
"I recommend we remove all magic," she says, hands twisting around Stiles' head, "even memories of magic to be safe. But don't worry," she says, smiling sadly at the parents. "I'll leave the fun."
The family watches as the small light of Stiles' memories is lifted, manipulated, and placed back.
They look up at the lady, and she murmurs, "don't worry, he'll be safe."
"But he won't remember I have powers?" Lydia questions, voice wobbly with unshed tears.
The king places a consoling hand on Lydia's shoulder. "It's for the best," he responds.
The lady makes to move, before turning back, eyes on Lydia.
"Listen to me," she breathes, hands moving again to clasp Lydia's. "There is beauty in your powers, but also great danger. You must learn to control it. Fear will be your enemy."
Lydia gasps, turning into her father, hears him take in a shaky breath.
"We'll protect her," he consoles his wife, then looks back at the wolf with gleaming red eyes. "She can learn to control it, I'm sure. Until then, we'll lock the gates. We'll reduce the staff. We will limit her contract with people, keep her powers hidden, from everyone. Including Stiles."
❅~*❅*~❅
Stiles ran down the hall, slipping on the rug. He jumps up, looking out the frosted windows, and smiles, giggling.
He runs back down the hall to Lydia's new room, twisting on the spot in front of her door, before leaning in.
"Lydia?" he calls out, scuffing his shoe on the floor. When no response comes, he knocks on the door.
"Do you want to build a snowman?" he asks, pouting when he gets no response. He leans in, smooshing his face against the keyhole. "It doesn't have to be a snowman!"
"Go away Stiles," he hears Lydia mutter, and he frowns, tears welling in his eyes.
"Okay, bye." Stiles murmurs, walking away with his head held low.
Inside her room, Lydia looks at the door, lips turned down. She turns back to the window, hands resting on the frame, but jerks back with a gasp when the metal starts to freeze.
She confronts her father, eyes shining with tears, and he pulls something from his pocket.
"The gloves will help," he assures her, pulling the white material over her hands. "See? Conceal it"
"Don't feel it," Lydia says after him.
"Don't let it show," they whisper together, looking into each others' eyes. She nods and turns away from her father, walking back up to sit at the window and stare out at the snow.
Lydia's powers grow stronger, uncontrollable. She's lonely, the forced isolation tearing away at her heart, just as it does Stiles'.
❅~*10 Years Later*~❅
Stiles rushes into his parents room, clinging to his mothers and fathers' frame, pulling them in.
"See you in two weeks," he smiles, hugging them tightly, before moving back. They smile back at him, lifting up their bags, and move out the room.
Stiles follows them out till he comes to his room and turns back, giving them a small wave and entering his room.
The king and queen move down the stairs slowly, and see Lydia waiting, hair pinned up and long green dress complimenting her striking orange hair
She curtsies when they come to her, head bowed, before looking back up, asking "do you have to go?"
"You'll be fine, Lydia," her father smiles at her, before reaching over to take his wife's hand in his and walking out the front door.
They board the ship, a purple and pink sunset lighting the sky.
❅~*❅*~❅
The news comes a week later. Stiles is in the library reading, Lydia in her room.
The man starts talking to Stiles, but after the first few sentences, only a few words get through. Their parents ship sunk. A storm. Waves. It's enough though, he gets the idea, and his he shakes his head. No, it can't be. His parents can't be dead. He can't be alone.
He sits there hours after the messenger leaves, shoulders shaking, eyes filled with tears that slowly fall down his face. He slowly rises after the tears stop running, hand sweeping his hoodie sleeve roughly over his wet face and running nose.
He makes his way slowly to Lydia’s room, staring at the door, before nodding slightly to himself. He raises his fist, pausing, before knocking 3 times. He pulls his hand back slowly, staring at the door.
"Lydia?" he questions quietly, waiting a few moments before continuing. "Please, Lydia. I know you're in there. Let me in." He turns his back to the door, sliding down and sitting on the floor, head in his hands. "Please. We're all we've got."