Chapter Text
Chapitre un – Familiar Strangers
Once there was a tree…
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday that little boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
-Shel Silverstein, “The Giving Tree”
The cold seeped into his old bones as he strode down the beaten path. It was safer now – safety being the relative term for it – now that the war was long over and soldiers were heading home. Occasionally, he would have a run in with a group of thieves, but they quickly dispersed at the sight of other travelers.
And he didn’t blame those thieves. The war had been hard on the country. Many young men died, and many more young women had taken up the laborious positions those men once occupied.
Things were changing. A revolution was near. How soon would their world crumble? How soon would they rise from the flames?
In his old age, he had seen it happen many times before, and he would see it many times again. Such was the life for a creature like him.
Human enough he was, however. He was able to pass through the centuries, unchanged and unnoticed by many. No one hardly paid any mind to a frail, old man – his preferred form, the one he would never let go or glamour.
He was a rare kind – one of the few willing to live among the humans – which was why he was surprised to see one of Them sitting at a tavern on the old beaten path leading to the city.
The tavern wasn’t exactly an old place, but it wasn’t a new one either. It had been around for quite a while. The main dining room smelled of autumn and burned wood – even in the rising spring outside – and of foods more delicious than words could ever describe. It was warm, a comfort compared to the world.
She sat near the back, draped in worn green fabric to hide the shimmering dress beneath. Her feet were bare and caked with mud from the woods. Summer gold hair spilled down her shoulders, framing a delicate face and haunting eyes perfectly lined with kohl.
She greeted him with a smile.
“Hello, old friend,” she said in that honey-sweet voice only one of Them could produce.
“Hello, granddaughter,” he said in turn, taking the seat next to her. She had no biological connection to him – that he knew of – but he had a tendency to call all young Things his own. Besides, it was better than speaking their name. Names, after all, have power, and who knew what the humans would do if they learned that she was one of Them?
She didn’t speak to him again until after he ordered food from the innkeeper’s daughter – a pretty thing with a nose too big for her face and ears that stuck out at an odd angle.
“Strange times to be traveling this way,” she said, her fingers fidgeting on the table.
“What do you mean?”
“Shadows are growing longer, and darkness is falling. It will consume all of those who stand in the way to completeness.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with our kin.”
“You’ve been spending too little. You’d know that he has a plan that has already been set in motion if you were at Court more often.”
“I don’t want to be at Court. They’re nothing more than overzealous gluttons with too much power and control over those who cannot protect themselves. After what happened last time –”
“That was a fault of my own, not theirs.”
“He was controlling you.”
“And a blessing it was.”
“I don’t see how that’s a blessing.”
She sighed, annoyed. The saliva on her pale, white teeth – sharp and dangerous – glinted in the light filtering in through the open windows. A menace she was now was not who she had been all those years ago. They had changed her.
Off to their left, the wood in the hearth popped and hissed as they fire chewed away at it. A pleasant warmth crept to them, and the scent of pine weighed down heavily on their shoulders while they sat there.
“Do you see that boy over there?” she said, an edge to her voice. She nodded to a young man sitting at a table by himself. His eyebrows raised as he took in the details of the young man.
“What’s special about him, other than, well, you know?” he said.
They paused their conversation while the innkeeper’s daughter brought them their food. Carrots glazed in honey with thyme, smoked lamb, cheesy bread with roasted garlic baked in, and brussel sprouts and red onions that were caramelized in a skillet with browned butter. He tried not to allow his stomach to growl too much. It had been a while since he last ate anything.
“That boy,” she said while he broke the bread – offering her half, which she rejected – and started to eat, “is special. Don’t you see it?”
“What do you need him for?” He dredged the bread in the honey sauce puddling around the carrots.
“I don’t need him. He does.”
“What does he want with the boy?”
“He’s afraid that he’ll ruin his plans – the one’s he has been working so hard on this past year.”
“Of course the boy would.”
“I need him to ruin those plans.”
He stopped chewing and looked at her. She did not look at him – they stayed firmly on the boy eating a smaller meal, though he looked like he could eat a lot more.
“So, hire him to ruin them.”
“But then he’ll smell me on the boy and know that I stepped in.”
“He’ll know that you’ve managed to escape again,” he said. She nodded, grimly.
“We both know I can’t hire the boy to do it.”
“You want me to intervene and act as his mentor.”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, I mind. I mind a great deal. I don’t like getting involved in these petty things any more. They waste so much potential in the humans.”
“But he –”
“Would kill them regardless, I know.”
“No, it’s not that. If he knew who that boy was, he would have him killed.”
“Why?”
“You can’t see it, can you?”
“See what?”
She shook her head, dismissing it.
“I need you to give him this,” she said, digging something small out of her pocket. She dropped it on the table as softly as she was capable of. It sounded heavy and made of some sort of metal – not iron, as she wouldn’t be able to handle it. “He’ll need it where he’s going.”
“And where’s he going?”
“The Damocles School for Young Ladies.”
“A girls’ school? You have gone mad being around Them. He's, well, a he .”
She shot him a look. Old prejudices die hard.
“He's not going to attend the school, though I don’t see why that would really matter” she said. “There are some girls there that need help.”
“Oh, and what do they need help with?”
“They are prisoners of the Midnight Ball.”
For the first time since he signed up for the war, Adrien was alone. It was… odd. He wasn't quite sure if he liked it or not. Perhaps he'd look into getting a cat. Yeah, a cat would be nice.
Almost as nice as the food that was brought out to him. And he was hungry — famished, really. Just as he had been for years. For as long as he could recall, nothing ever seemed to sate the empty feeling in his stomach. He'd had to learn to live with it.
One couldn't always filch apples or pears or vegetables from the neighbors’ gardens, after all.
The war had given him something to do, something to take his mind off his empty stomach and the hurt and the persistent loneliness that had surrounded him before. He had been given a reason in life.
And now, it was over.
He was being rewarded, true, by the kindness of the people, but he felt sorry for them. They had to deal with his massive appetite. He had to chalk it up to the food being horrible while out fighting. Most innkeepers would chuckle at that and leave him be — as this one did.
Their daughters, on the other hand, had other things in mind. They were lovely girls, true, but he had little interest in them. And they just didn't meld right with his roving lifestyle.
They had work to do, and he was just… He was a nobody. He had no family to call his own — his family killed in a house fire while he was out gathering firewood, like a hero in a faerie tale. Yes, that was what his life was like.
He scoffed at the idea — covering it up with a cough, as if he'd been choking on the… soup. That was possible, right?
“D’you mind if I join you?”
Adrien was startled out of his thoughts by the elderly man who'd walked in some time ago. He was wearing a red tunic that was such a vibrant hue it was quite noticeable. He wondered how the man had acquired it. Fabric that bright a shade was nigh impossible for common folk to get, and the man did not look like he came with a lot of coin in his purse.
The elderly man smiled up at him widely, his well-groomed facial hair framing a wizened face. Kind, amber eyes glittered up at him beneath bushy eyebrows.
“Be my guest,” Adrien said, gesturing to the bench across from him. He was certain that he'd seen the man eat with the cloaked woman by the fire, but perhaps he was still hungry? Adrien knew he was.
“Brave young man such as yourself returning home from war?” the elderly man said.
“Yes,” he said. It was quite obvious with his uniform — dirty and patched as it was. Maybe the man was partially blind. “It was an honor to fulfill my duty to my kingdom. I'm humbled and thankful to have served.”
“Bah, no one is ‘thankful to have served’. War is terrible. So much blood and death and loss of innocence.”
“But it's worth it to protect those who can't protect themselves.”
The elderly man eyed him for a moment before chuckling.
“You are an honorable soul,” he said. “So vastly different from what I'm used to.”
“And what are you used to?” Adrien said.
“Tricksters and liars and thieves. Not bad people, just people who make very bad decisions.”
“I… I suppose I'll have to take your word for it.”
“How about some more food for you, hm?” The elderly man flagged down the innkeeper’s daughter. “I'll pay for his food and room for his stay.”
“You really don't —”
“It's the least I can do.”
Adrien wasn't used to people doing kind things for him. Wait until the elderly man finds out how much he's actually eaten… Surely he wouldn't pay then.
More food was brought to him. Adrien slowed down his consumption, eyeing the old man while he simply sipped his tea and munched on some oatcakes dripping with honey and melted butter.
“I bet a young man like you had a little lady waiting for him to return home.”
“Hm? Oh no.”
“No? Surely you do!”
“I… No one wants me.”
“Now, that's a lie if I ever saw one.”
Adrien shrugged, continuing to eat. No female in their right mind wants to be connected to someone who has no money or land or anything but the clothes on his back. It was… safer that way, he supposed.
“How about a job then?”
“If you're looking to hire me as protection —”
“Oh no, I don't need any. I'm quite safe traveling on my own.”
“If you're certain.”
“But,” the elderly man said, “I do know of a place hiring young men, such as yourself, to protect young ladies.”
“I don't think —”
“It'll be fine. Just go to the Damocles School for Young Ladies in Paris. Ask to speak with Madame Cheng and tell her Uncle Fu sent you. Show her this ring —” He slid a silver ring across the table to Adrien. “— and she'll help you out.”
“I really couldn't…”
“At least think about it. The school needs people like you. The students there are in danger. Who else but a soldier with no war to fight could take on such a task?”