Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Hendrik was a man who was loyal to a fault. He himself acknowledged that perhaps this was not such a good thing, to blindly follow orders without question. Yet, he was unsure of how to approach his king to voice his concerns, the very man who had plucked him from the burned remains of his homeland and has given him shelter and a new lease on life. Particularly when Hendrik's concern was the result of the situation caused by the hand of the king himself.
Jasper, cut down before his very eyes, already unarmed and defeated, without so much as a second thought before King Carnelian turned his attention towards the Luminary and his companions, the death of the blonde knight seemingly already gone from his mind.
And now, from the moment they'd stepped foot back in Heliodor Castle, the king had ordered the guards to clear out Jasper's room immediately, while at the same time calling for preparations to be made to celebrate the Luminary.
It all just felt...wrong.
While Hendrik had staunchly and unwaveringly carried out each and every order of his king, something in this gave him pause. Was this truly the king he served? The man, so devoted to law and order and serving justice, to kill one of his knights, one who was already down on the ground and begging, without even the mention of a trial? The very same man who once called them sons when he presented them with the twin tokens of fealty? A man who now seemed so cold and callous in his orders and actions.
Perhaps time had changed things. The fall of Dundrasil had affected thousands, and even King Carnelian had not been spared when Princess Jade had been all but assumed lost.
The Princess. Alive and well, yet, again, the king had not reacted quite as Hendrik had expected. He'd acknowledged her presence, stated he was pleased, though the emotion did not appear to reach his eyes. Then...he'd simply walked away, Hendrik not far behind. It is not the reaction he'd thought one might have after discovering their child, and heir to an entire kingdom, was alive. He wondered if he was in any position to judge though. After all, he was neither a king nor a parent.
A loud banging brought Hendrik out of his thoughts and he looked towards the soldiers who were clearing out Jasper's desk. After the king had given the order, Hendrik had decided to oversee the command being carried out. Or rather, he wanted to be present before everything of Jasper was stripped away, trying to find some solace amongst his old friend's things, to find...something, anything, that would tell him why the other knight had made the decision to betray his kingdom.
Bang!
He moved closer, watching a soldier attempt to pry open on of the bottom drawers of the desk.
"Move." He practically growled the word at the other man, who seemed to sense that the knight was not in a pleasant mood and all but jumped aside as Hendrik approached and knelt down in front of the drawer.
It was scuffed, but unyielding, which was unsurprising to Hendrik. It was ironwood after all, a rare wood from the Manglegrove, yet a common material found in the palace and the homes of the upper class. Sturdy, heavy, and near unbreakable using simple tools. Even fire had difficulty burning such wood. Never mind the dangers of just harvesting it in the monster infested region, only expert woodsmen and carpenters using enchantments could even begin to mold it into something usable.
Which made the resulting furniture, particularly desks, a favorite for those looking to protect their possessions.
Or hide them.
A small keyhole peeked out from below the handle.
A key...
Hendrik's eyes widened slightly as he recalled the the other day at Yggdrasil. He reached into the pouch at his side where he kept a bit of gold, and other small things, and withdrew the token of fealty that was all that had remained of his fallen comrade after he'd vanished in a cloud of smoke. Dangling alongside the golden pendant was a small key. Perhaps...? He took it and slid it into the keyhole, a perfect fit. A click, and he slowly opened the drawer.
Inside, nestled amidst the folds of a worn cloth, lay a small orb. It glowed a disturbing dark purple and black, swirls of it dancing around on the surface. Tentatively, Hendrik reached out, pushing back the fabric to further expose the object. He could almost feel the darkness rolling off of it in waves, and yet, there was something strangely familiar about it. He looked deeper into the orb, and at it's very center, was a faint glow of gold. It flickered, seeming to struggle against the darkness, but not extinguishing.
Against his better judgement, Hendrik picked it up, the dark tendrils receding into the orb where his hands touched, and Hendrik almost swore that the light at it's core shone a bit brighter than before.
"Sir? Shall we destroy it?"
He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone. Eyes still fixated on the object, Hendrik gave a partial shake of his head. Part of him, the fiercely loyal part, wanted to hand it over, let it be destroyed like all of Jasper's other possessions as the king had ordered, but the other part of him, the questioning, perhaps maybe even naive part of him, was telling him he needed to protect the orb at all costs. "I-" He attempted to find the right words. "I will take care of it myself." He stood abruptly, sliding the orb out of sight. "As you were."
He knew the soldiers would not question him, and they didn't, returning to their task without hesitation. Hendrik left them to it.
Protect it. Keep it safe.
Hendrik retreated to his quarters across the hall, and carefully set the orb on his bed, fearing it would roll off the surface if he placed it anywhere else.
It was definitely not his imagination; the tiny light at the orb's center was certainly bigger than before, and there was a tingle of warmth as he traced his gloved fingertips over it.
Would a dark object cause this sort of reaction? Hendrik didn't know. He'd seen his fair share of evil magicks and cursed items over the years, but not one had had any semblance of light to be found. He was no expert though, simply a man of brawn who was a master of the battlefield. The critical thinking he'd always left to Jasper, who had much more preferred his nose in a book.
Which begged the question: why had Jasper been in possession of such a peculiar item?
Unfortunately he'd never be able to ask his comrade about it, and the orb simply sat on his bed, the light pulsating like a candle flame in the night, unable to give the grieving knight any answers.