Chapter Text
A boy had two loaves of bread under his arms, with another in a small pouch he was carrying against his chest. Ashe huddled behind a barrel in the busy marketplace, his mouth watering at the sight of the food. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and his stomach was on threatening to digest itself if it did not get fed soon.
The little thief saw the boy with the bread turn his back to buy something else from the stands. Ashe could tell he was a rich noble, for his clothing was made of a thick, warm-looking material with the hems of his cloak lined with furs. His blonde hair was neatly combed though untrimmed, though it seemed to be that way by choice. He would not be bothered by the cold of the winter morning, and certainly not by one less loaf of bread.
While the boy and the woman behind the stand were busy picking out pastries, Ashe darted out from his hiding place, weaving through the warm bodies packed against one another in the busy marketplace, and shoved the boy against the stand.
The boy yelped and dropped one of his purchases on the ground, and Ashe grabbed it and whipped around to run; to his horror, he found that the crowds of people had seen him, and were yelling and packing around him so he could not escape. Petty thievery was frowned upon in Faerghus. Terror seized Ashe’s muscles and rooted him in place, and he clutched his loaf of bread against his empty stomach, trembling as a big butcher reached for him to probably snap his neck in half.
“Stop!”
The crowd immediately drew back, and Ashe whipped around to stare at the boy he’d stolen from. His blue eyes glistened in the pale morning with a fierce light, but the anger was directed towards the people who had been shouting at Ashe. He stood in front of the littler boy protectively, saying, “Leave him alone. He’s starving.”
“But Your Highness,” someone spluttered in the crowd, and Ashe nearly fainted. Had he stolen from—
“I said leave him alone. Winter is harsh to many families, and I’m sure he just wants to feed his.” The boy turned back to Ashe and smiled, and his blue eyes were suddenly warm and inviting. “What’s your name?” he asked, in the kindest voice Ashe had ever heard in his life.
“...Ashe,” Ashe mumbled, staring down at his shoes. They were in tatters from years of running and growing, and he could see the tips of his toes curling in the icy cold.
“Here, Ashe. You can have the rest of this bread, if you’d like.” The boy placed the rest of his purchases carefully in Ashe’s arms. “I know you need it more than me.”
“Oh—oh, thank you,” Ashe gasped, struggling to hold all the bread. It was warm and fragrant, and its warmth bloomed in his chest as he clutched it there, his eyes stinging with gratitude. Why was this boy so...nice?
“I’m Dimitri, by the way,” the boy introduced himself, and Ashe’s eyes flicked up to stare up at him. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Prince Dimitri? Of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus?
Ashe opened and closed his mouth, trying to speak but lacking words in his head. Of all the people he decided to steal from, it had to be the crown prince. Excuses and apologies and half-brewed formalities buzzed around in Ashe’s head like gnats, and in the end, he replaced the prince’s bread in his arms, much to Dimitri’s confusion.
“Refusing the prince’s gifts? How ungrateful!” another person watching yelled, and they all started berating Ashe, and the little thief tried to squirm through the crowd but was pushed back against the pastry stand. Everyone towered over him like giant goliaths; so many faces screwed up in contempt glowered down at Ashe, mouths open and spitting and shouting. Panic rose up in his chest, and he found himself crying with Dimitri’s arm around him.
“I said to leave him alone!” the young prince ordered, clutching Ashe’s tangled silver-gray hair against his shoulder. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves! He’s just a child!” Ashe was scared to hug the prince, so his arms were curled against his chest, a barrier between nobility and nothing.
“He tried to steal bread from you, Your Highness,” one of the marketgoers pointed out desperately, as if fishing for an excuse to keep scolding Ashe. The little thief felt a faint rumble in Dimitri’s chest, like a growling lion.
“I know that.” He shifted all the bread in his arms to one of them, and he found one of Ashe’s hands and took it, squeezing it gently. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
Ashe stumbled after the prince, wiping away his tears as Dimitri lead him away through the marketplace, and the people parted for him like a crowd making way for a king. Dimitri did not speak until they had made it to the outskirts of the marketplace, sitting on a small section of mossy, crumbling cobble wall.
“Are you okay?” he asked, when Ashe awkwardly joined him. He didn’t know how far away from the prince he was supposed to sit.
“Yeah,” Ashe whispered. “...Thanks.”
“Of course,” Dimitri smiled, and that smile seemed to quell the chill in the atmosphere outside the marketplace, replacing it with a summer warmth Ashe was not used to. The prince gave him his bread, and rummaged in his pocket to produce a small fruit pastry neatly wrapped in blue paper. “Want to share?”