Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Oh, Mordred! Do come here, my friend!" The queen motioned for the head mage, smiling brightly.

"Your Highness," Mordred greeted, smiling back at her. He always had time for his queen and whatever she wished of him. This time, though, she was hauling him along to meet a newcomer. He hated new people. The man, younger than him by perhaps 10 years, had blond hair and vivid amber eyes that refused to meet his own bright green. What a timid thing this boy was. Mordred hated him even more on principle. The only thing worse than new people in the castle was cute new people. Ugh.

"This is Arthur. Sir Aloysius brought him to the castle three days ago. He's an inventor! Already, he's made the lives of the baker and head cook easier!" The queen said, beaming. "Arthur, this is Mordred. He's the head mage of the castle. I do hope the two of you get along. Perhaps you can even help each other!"

"It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Arthur," Mordred said, faking niceties for the queen's sake. The blond still wouldn't meet his eyes.

"L-likewise..." Arthur mumbled, bowing slightly. The queen looked happy, at least.

As soon as she was gone, leaving the two men to their own devices, Arthur tried to make his escape. "U-um... I should... get back to my workshop..." he nearly whispered. Mordred scowled, lunging forward to pin the blond to the wall.

"Let me make things clear to you, little Arthur. You're nobody. Don't be getting all friendly with Queen Royse or King Wymond. I promise you, you'll regret it if you do," Mordred hissed, then turned and stalked away.

Chapter Text

Mordred smirked from behind the guards as they grabbed Arthur. "H-hey!" The blond protested, the gadget he was working on falling from his hands as the guards wrenched him up from his seat.

"No hard feelings, Arthur. King Wymond has ordered us to apprehend you," one of the guards said, clapping a hand on Arthur's shoulder. They all liked him, but orders were orders. "You're to be brought before the king. Please, don't struggle."

"Why would I? I haven't done anything wrong... have I? Can... can I at least walk on my own?" Arthur asked. The guard nodded and the two holding Arthur released him. The inventor rolled his shoulders and fell into step with the guards as they turned to walk him out, though he froze when he spotted the mage. "M-Mordred? What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you aren't going to run, little Arthur. I warned you back then," Mordred said cryptically.

"Come on, Arthur. I'm trusting you not to run. Let's go," the lead guard said, nudging the blond.

"...yeah, okay..." Arthur said quietly, now worried, though he wasn't sure what the green-eyed man was talking about. Warned him? Back then? Back when? He'd been here for several years now, and the mage was prickly at best with him. He tried to keep his head down and keep his interactions with Mordred to a minimum. He didn't even know why Mordred hated him so much.

----

The dungeon was cold and dank and Arthur hunched in on himself, shivering as he bit back a sob. He'd thought the king liked him. But he'd still been accused of... of trying to seduce the queen. Him, Arthur, who was more interested in tinkering with wood and tools and bits of metal than he was in interacting with people. Him, who'd only had friends for the past couple of years. He'd sooner try to seduce his knight friend, Aloysius than try to seduce Queen Royse... which was to say, it'd never happen. And yet, the king had decided he was guilty of the crime and refused to hear a word Arthur tried to say. The knights looked at him with pity, but they still threw him in the dungeon, though he begged them to let him leave. He'd go back to his village and never set foot here again if only they'd let him leave. Going back to that lonely existence was better than being hung and letting countless people watch him die as a spectacle, an example for the masses as to what the king would do to those who tried to steal his wife's heart and get her into their bed. But Arthur had done none of that.

"I told you, Arthur." Mordred's voice startled him out of his despairing thoughts and Arthur looked up, confused. Mordred's smirk was a cold, twisted thing. "Oh, you poor thing. Don't you remember what I told you when we first met?" the mage asked and Arthur slowly shook his head. Mordred laughed. "Poor, stupid little Arthur... I told you not to get close with the king and queen. I promised you'd regret it. And you didn't listen, did you, little Arthur? Well, I never, ever break my promises, boy. And now, you'll have the rest of forever to regret it."

"W-what?" Arthur asked, but Mordred didn't respond, eyes glowing a bright, unnatural green as the man spoke words in the language of spellcasters. However, Arthur had heard the other castle mages cast before and nothing had sounded or felt like this. Where the others left a warm, tingly feeling in the spaces around them, Mordred's spell left Arthur feeling like he was being stabbed by shards of ice. It hurt and was so unbearably cold that when it finally ended, the dank, cold dungeon felt warm in comparison. Arthur collapsed to the ground in the wake of it, shivering and terrified. He felt hollow, like Mordred's spell had gutted him and torn something vital away from him.

The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Mordred's sickly, glowing green eyes.

----

"Arthur?" The blond groaned, weakly lifting his head to look up at the person calling out to him. Aloysius. But how? Wasn't his friend supposed to be out on patrol around the kingdom? As far as he knew, the hulking knight wasn't due back until close to the new moon, and it had been full the day he'd been thrown in here. "...you look half-dead, my friend... I couldn't believe it when I heard the news..." He paused, magenta eyes sad. "Why would you do something like that?"

"...I d-didn't d-do any-anything..." Arthur managed, voice trembling. "The- the accu-accusation w-was fa-false. I a-am not int-interested i-in any-anyone th-that w-way," he finished, letting his head fall back to the ground, closing his eyes. Even that small interaction was exhausting. Whatever Mordred had done to him had left him weak and sick. He was almost looking forward to dying now. The cell door creaked open, but Arthur didn't react.

"Honestly, I really hoped you had, so I didn't have to feel so terrible about this," Aloysius said softly. "I've been ordered to escort you. Come on, get up. It's time to go." Ah, so this was the final attack Mordred had perpetrated. If Aloysius didn't follow orders, he'd likely be branded as a traitor to the crown. Letting out a shivery breath, Arthur tried to get his arms under him to push himself up, but his body refused to cooperate, only giving anaemic twitches to his attempts.

"...I... I c-can't..." he whispered. Aloysius' big hands took his arms, hauling him up off the damp floor and he slumped, limp in his friend's grip, unable to work up enough strength to even hold himself upright with help. He'd hoped to at least go to his death with dignity, but it seemed even that was out of his grasp.

"Arthur? Come on, I know this is a bad situation, but-..." Aloysius' voice sounded distant. Arthur was going to faint again, he knew it. Deciding it was probably for the best, he decided not to fight it, letting himself go under to the sound of Aloysius' voice.

----

"Arthur?" The blond was limp in his grip, his breath coming in wet, wheezing gasps. There was blood running down his chin, barely visible in the dim lighting of the damp prison. Arthur had been down here for a few days, but there was no reason he should be sick like this. He shook the blond a little when he didn't respond and his head lolled, limp. Was his breathing weaker? "Hey, come on. Wake up, Arthur. If you wake up, I'll get you out of here. To hell with the king. He's always been a spineless yellowbelly," he whispered, pulling the blond close. He didn't want to lose his friend. Not like this and not to the rope... but it seemed it was too late. Arthur's breathing slowed, then stopped entirely.

Gently, he scooped the blond's limp form up, cradling him in his arms as he stood up. At least he wouldn't have to suffer the noose. He'd seen real criminals hang, had seen them struggle and thrash before eventually falling still. The noose was a terrible way to go, in his opinion. Mordred was waiting outside the prison, a smug look on his face until he saw that Arthur was being carried. "What do you think you're doing, Sir Aloysius. Make him walk," the mage ordered, green eyes narrowed.

"I cannot, Master Mage," Aloysius replied. "Arthur will never walk again. He died down there. Sickness took him," the knight explained, shaking his head. Mordred looked furious, but he didn't say anything, just snarled and turned around, robes flaring out dramatically and billowing behind him as he stalked off in a huff. Aloysius shook his head, steeling his expression as he headed for where the king, the hangman, and a soon-to-be-disappointed crowd were waiting.

Chapter Text

The kitsune cackled away in his tree as he watched his darling daughter face off against some warrior or another. Shiromori was a vicious warrior and intensely protective of the forest that she'd deemed to be theirs. Humans who dared to violate the sanctity of their forest were punished with death. Of course, neither of them were heartless monsters. Humans who paid respect to the forest were granted safe passage. It was just unfortunate that so many were intent on cutting down trees to make room for their fields and homes.

Since, between the two of them, the kitsune and the tree spirit had wiped out nearly half a village, hunters had begun coming. Men with armour and swords, men garbed like monks but who fought like warriors... thrill-seekers and glory seekers... all dead now, be it to Shiromori's vines or his own teeth and claws. Shiromori ended the life of the man who'd come to try and kill them this time, then dove into the ground, a vicious smile on her face. The kitsune left his tree to dispose of the body of the man, leaving only another set of armour in his wake.

----

No warrior came for a long time after. Humans who knew the forest to be safe as long as they paid their respects came and went. Humans who wanted only to steal from the forest or make way for their own territory died. The guardians of the forest offered no mercy to violators.

Eventually, another warrior came. She was like no other the kitsune and his daughter had ever seen. The warrior was a woman in blue, magic radiating from her in chill waves. She held a sword with a snowflake guard and her eyes were as chill as her magic. The kitsune hid his concern with a grin as Shiromori faced off against the warrior woman. "Stand down and submit, tree demon," the warrior commanded, sword held level, cold magic spilling from her and her blade, forming a mist in the warmer air around her.

"I am no demon, warrior. I will not stand down while your kind threaten my home," Shiromori replied, grinning viciously. The warrior canted her head, frowning deeper.

"Mayhap you were not a demon when you were born, but your actions have turned you and the kitsune into demons. I will purify you both by my blade," she said, almost sounding remorseful. And then she sprung. Shiromori launched herself at the warrior, clawed hands extended. It happened so fast the kitsune barely saw it. Shiromori's hands flew to the sides and she shrieked in shock and pain as the warrior's sword pierced her. Ice began forming over Shiromori's bark before the kitsune could react, but he could still save his daughter. He snarled, lips curling away from his mawful of fangs as he lept from his tree. The warrior pulled her blade free of Shiromori's middle, launching herself backwards before the kitsune could make contact, unfortunately.

<"Shiromori, are you alright?"> he asked. Shiromori whimpered, shaking her head as she clutched at her wound. Her pale blue bark was turning ashen wherever the ice touched... and it was still spreading. The kitsune coiled all nine of his tails around her as he glared daggers at the warrior, who seemed to be respectful enough to let him tend to his daughter. <"How dare you, human. If my daughter dies, so too shall the forest,"> he snarled.

"She shall not die. I said I would purify her. Her spirit will be returned to the forest, bereft of the taint that corrupts her," the warrior said, calmly. "I am aware that you two only kill those who threaten the forest or attack its guardians. Still, your actions have corrupted the both of you. The tree spirit can be returned to the forest... however... you are not a natural part of these woods. Come with me, Kitsune. I will cleanse your spirit and give you a new purpose."

<"I will not leave my daughter,"> the kitsune growled, huddling protectively around Shiromori.

"I would not propose to ask you to. I live not far from the forest. You will be able to come and go whenever you are not doing your new duties. However, I cannot allow you to remain a permanent fixture of this forest as you are a corrupting influence. If you decline to come with me, I shall have to end your life here and now," she warned, pointing her blade at the kitsune.

The kitsune hunkered down as Shiromori sagged against his bracing tails. With him protecting Shiromori, he couldn't fight the warrior. He may have been a ninetails, but he was just as surely at a disadvantage as his daughter had been. The warrior was fast. "I will give you until this time tomorrow, kitsune," the warrior said, then turned and walked away.

<"What is your name, warrior?"> he called after her.

"My name is Mushi," she replied, and then she was gone, taking her chill with her.

<"...Mushi, huh..."> he muttered, then turned his attention on Shiromori, who was now covered in a thin layer of ice. She should have been able to break free, but it seemed like all her strength had left her. <"Oh, Shiro...">

"Father... I..." Shiromori said, voice faint. The kitsune nuzzled her, flaking a bit of ice away from grey-blue bark. She looked almost burnt and her bark was splitting in places. It looked painful and all he could do was offer her comfort and his own warmth. It helped little as once pristine white leaves and delicate pink flowers withered and fell, leaving bare branches. Her eyes closed as her body began to crumble. Eventually, all that was left of his daughter was a seed pod. The kitsune let out a mournful cry, then picked up the pod and carried it to the heart of the forest.

Deep in the heart of the forest was an ancient shrine. The kitsune placed the pod inside, then coiled around it and closed his eyes.

----

"I thought I would find you here," Mushi's voice startled the kitsune and he lifted his head. "A grand place for the rebirth of a true forest guardian," she said, face much softer than it had been the day before. Her sword was nowhere to be seen and instead of her warrior garb, she was dressed in an ice-blue kimono and her hair was loose, resting against her back.

<"You come before me unarmed?"> the kitsune demanded, bristling. Mushi smiled.

"Of course not, kitsune. I am never unarmed. However, today, I expect to take you home with me. The guardian will be alright, and you shall be permitted to come here daily to tend to the shrine. I know you care for her," she said, approaching despite the clear threat to her person. From the small bag she carried, she pulled a peach and a single red flower. "An offering to the shrine of the forest guardian, if you don't mind," she stated and the kitsune backed off a touch, allowing Mushi access, though it was clear he was ready to bite her head off if she dared do anything else. She placed the offering at the doors to the shrine, then knelt before it, bowing her head in respect.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry I needed to reduce the guardian to her core. She had built up too much malice in her, though. It was impossible to purify her otherwise," Mushi said once she'd lifted her head to look at the kitsune.

<"And what of me? How do you intend on purifying me? I won't be reduced to a core like my daughter if you stab me and freeze me to death.">

"No, that won't work. You are not a forest spirit," Mushi said, standing up and placing a hand on the Kitsune's head. "What's your name, Kitsune?"

<"I have no name,"> the kitsune replied.

"Would you mind if I gave you one?" Mushi asked, scratching lightly behind the kitsune's right ear. He made a soft sound and allowed it, closing his right eye as he pressed slightly into it.

<"It matters not to me. I have never needed a name in the past,"> he said.

"Hm. Well then..." she trailed off, distractedly continuing the gentle scritches as she thought. The kitsune could probably kill her right then and there. Spill her blood for Shiromori to drink, right here in the heart of her forest... but he didn't. For some reason, he just sat there, letting the human think. "...Shirata...?" she finally said, thoughtful. "Using the kanji for 'white' and 'mystery'..."

<"Shirata, huh? Very well,"> the kitsune, Shirata said, dipping his head in a nod. Unfortunately, that stopped Mushi from scratching his ear, which he quickly found himself missing as her hand dropped to her side and she smiled sweetly. It reminded him of when Shiromori was young.

"Are you ready to go, Shirata?" Mushi asked. The kitsune cast a glance at the shrine, then sighed and stood.

<"I suppose so. Shiromori won't wake for a long time yet,"> he said, falling into step with Mushi when the warrior began walking.