Chapter Text
Once upon a time, there lived a prince in a shining manor. And although the prince had everything that he could ever want, he was misguided and temperamental and he only wanted more. One evening, a beggar man came upon his doorstep baring a weather worn sunflower as a gift for the prince in return for food and shelter. But the prince had no need for the sunflower, broken and battered as it was and he sent the beggar man away. Again, the beggar man pleaded. So taken with himself, and so narcissistic was the prince that he decided for a second time that the trade that the beggar offered was unfair. The beggar did not have and could not be anything of use to him, and thus the prince sent him away once more.
It was then that the beggar revealed himself to be a handsome sorcerer, and try as the prince might to redeem himself and offer a place in his manor for the enchanter, the sorcerer cursed the prince to live as a horrid beast. All those who resided in the prince's manor were enchanted as well, and the prince was left to himself, angry and in despair.
Unless he could find someone that truly loved him by the time that the last sunflower petal fell on his 18th birthday, the curse would never be broken and the prince and his servants would be doomed for eternity.
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In a small, quaint town in Finland, just on the Russian border, there lived a boy named Tino. Tino was sweet and kind, and he always helped the other townsfolk with what he could. His dear guardian, Berwald, had brought him up to be polite and kind and to offer aid whenever he could. He was a sweet boy, and sometimes Tino wondered if the townspeople took advantage of that.
When he wasn't helping out the baker or butcher, Tino's nose would be buried in a book, only surfacing to eat sweets. Sometimes he would indulge in the practices of drinking heavily (when they could afford it), and hunting for game with Berwald.
For the most part, Tino lived life without a care in the world, frolicking in the fields and forest surrounding the town and playing with his lively little Maltese, Hanatamago. Berwald laboured throughout the year to carve furniture to sell in the neighbouring towns; they were able to live in comfort in a small cottage on the outskirts of their village. The townsfolk disapproved heavily of Tino's carefree living, and as he passed them in the cobblestone streets he would hear them murmur such things as "That boy has his head in the clouds." and "That's no way for a man to be acting.". Tino found this all quite amusing considering how much time he spent loading up their carts and weeding their lawns and finding their neglected pet cats who had dashed out the door. But he would simply grimace and bite his tongue as he walked by, giving a friendly wave to the fake smiles sent his way.
His favourite of the gossiping questions by far though was "Why isn't he pursuing any of the girls in town?" and all variations of said question.
Truth be told, Tino found no interest in any of the town girls, nor in any of the girls he met while visiting other townships with Berwald. He found them boring and pesky. And besides, none of them liked to drink vodka. It was a shame really.
All they wanted to do was chatter and gossip and do needlework.
All Tino wanted was an adventure!
He could picture himself fighting monsters, befriending beasts, encountering magical beings. The thought brought a smile to his face. He wished to meet someone interesting and exciting, just like in his books. The idea of some grand escapade thrilled him. But alas, everyday was the same; wake up, walk Hanatamago into town for groceries, go to the book store, read, go home to cook food for himself and Berwald, read more, go exploring if he had the time, eat, finish his book, sleep, repeat.
Berwald would leave on day trips every so often, and sometimes Tino would accompany him, but that was the most variation present in their otherwise monotonous lives. Not that his life was bad! Tino really didn't have anything to complain about. He flipped through another fantastical, reread book and sighed. It was just...boring.
Though as fate would have it, life wouldn't be boring for long.
Tino stood at his guardian's side, shivering and bundled up as he handed pieces of furniture to Berwald to load onto the horse drawn cart. " 'll be gone f'r a few days, 'cross the border. 'll bring ya back a gift. What d'ya want?" Berwald secured the last of the hand carved wooden tables and turned to face his charge. Tino looked ecstatic at the mention of a gift, and he only had to think about it for a moment before responding.
"A bottle of Russian vodka! Please." His excited words were accompanied by little clouds of hot breath. Tino buried his face back into his scarf, though his cheeks were still pleasantly rounded from the smile he wore beneath.
Berwald nodded, the smallest of fond smiles tugging at his lips. "Be a good boy."
"I always am." Tino bounced on his toes and tried to straighten up his downcast shoulders. They both hated to be away from one another, but this was a necessity. They had done this a thousand times before.
The man got down on one knee, ruffling the boy's dirty blond hair and pulling him into a quick, wordless hug. He stood again and dusted off the patch of frozen dirt from his pant leg. "There's cabbage, rice, an' hirvenliha in th' cellar." Tino nodded and watched as Berwald tugged his jacket and scarf tighter and mounted the horse. He sauntered over, to be near Berwald for just a little longer. "An' keep warm. There're fire logs in th' back."
The boy patted Hevo's head, still smiling. "You worry too much."
Both of them knew it was true.
Tino watched Hevo carry Berwald off with the routine ache of loneliness weighing heavily on his chest. He remained standing in the chill of impending winter, waving to his guardian until the trees swallowed him whole.
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Through the forest Berwald went, down familiar roads and past familiar trees. He figured that he had crossed the Russian border a short while back and was making good time to be able to deliver his goods the following morning. The wind was starting to pick up, snow whipping against his face. He wasn't bothered by it. Berwald whistled to himself to pass the time, and the wind whistled back a tuneless tune through the trees. He really wasn't worried... He shouldn't have to be worried...But even with the trees providing cover, the storm worsened as they went along. Berwald whispered words of encouragement to Hevo as she pushed on.
“Bra häst. Du är så stark. Bra Hevo.”
He hoped that his soothing voice would calm the increasingly jittery mare. But something in the snowstorm spooked her badly. She reared back and tossed Berwald off. The man hit the unforgiving ground and could do nothing but listen to her gallop away, the old wooden cart creaking and screeching behind her.
Distress hit Berwald like a ton of bricks as he took in his current situation. He was cold and blinded by the storm, and without horse or direction. Berwald had no choice but to walk on and try to find shelter for the night. He could only hope that Hevo would find her way home safely. Though the path he had been following was lost to him beneath the whipping snowsquall, Berwald trudged on through the quickly piling snow.
A cave would do, or even a ditch would work for some coverage. Berwald kept himself as alert as he could through the chill that had dulled his senses, and by some stroke of luck he thought he saw shimmering lights in the distance. He squinted his eyes and saw the same flicker of lights. Figuring it would do no harm to chase them at this point, he followed the faint glow and came upon a vast manor behind iron gates. Truly the Gods were looking down upon him. Quickly, he pushed through them and went inside, cutting off the gusting winds with a strong shove of the door. Snow melted off of the bespectacled man, leaving puddled prints on the marble floors. Berwald called out to the owner of the establishment, hoping to minimize the mess he was creating by staying in one spot just inside the doorway.
"Got lost in th' blizzar'."
There was no response, and was hungry, tired and frozen, and there was a tantalizing, savoury smell wafting towards him. Warmth flowed outwards from beyond the foyer, inviting him into the manor with promises of hospitality and shelter. It didn't take long for Berwald to give in to temptation and he slipped off his shoes and walked in, finding a beautiful feast and an unopened bottle of vodka laid out on a dining table. His stomach grumbled, and Berwald called out once more. "If I coul' spend th' night an' have some of yer food, I'd repay ya."
Again, there was no response. Thinking this all awfully strange and not knowing what else to do, Berwald sat down and drank and ate his fill. When he was done, he continued to walk around, trying to find someone that he could talk to. Upstairs he went, down an ornate corridor leading to magnificent rooms. To his right, a door lay cracked open with a crackling fire lit inside. Yet when he peered into the room there was no one there. So warm and inviting was the fire that fatigue overtook Berwald, and he crawled into the warmed bed. Sleep came quickly to him.
When he awoke in the morning, there was coffee and breakfast waiting by his bedside. His clothes had dried overnight, and he could see that the terrible storm outside had died down.
As he went downstairs, readying himself to leave, he called out one last time and hoped that the manor's owner and servants would hear. Thankful for the gracious generosity, Berwald told himself that he would come back to find the master of the house another time to thank him properly.
Berwald walked through the living room towards the front door, taking in the ornamentation and furniture of the now daylit manor. As his eyes wandered, he spotted a glass cabinet filled with hundreds and hundreds of bottles of vodka, the same which he had drank the night before. He remembered his promise to Tino and he couldn't go home empty handed. At least they could share a drink tonight and go about fixing any damages caused to his wagon and goods tomorrow. Surely the master of the house wouldn't miss a single bottle after all that he had been given the night prior, and he could pay back him for it when he returned. Berwald reached for the cabinet handle.
As his fingers brushed the caged glass doors, a beast of a man came calmly walking into the room. Large curled horns and sharp fangs and wild purple eyes graced his features. Berwald froze in his tracks, confusion and nervousness startling him out of his goal. The two men stood there in silence, looking upon one another and sizing the other up. Berwald found it incredibly peculiar that this...being was dressed in the finest of clothing, torn and aged as they might be. The scarf that was wrapped around the beast's neck swayed in a nonexistent breeze, as if it had a life of its own. A shiver ran down the length of Berwald's spine.
The horned being's voice cut through the thick silence. "I gave you food and shelter, and even some of my favourite vodka." His was strangely calm, curious even, yet there was an underlying threat that made Berwald step away, his back pressing to the tall cupboard. The glass shook, the cabinet teetering with the soft force of the impact. The beast's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment. The cupboard settled and he cleared his throat to speak once again.
"You have given me nothing and yet you try to take more from me. More of my vodka nonetheless." The smile that the beast wore was unnerving, and it rendered Berwald speechless.
"A thief should be locked away, да?" The beast caught Berwald's jacket as the man pushed away from the cabinet and tried to flee. The horned creature simply clucked his tongue in disapproval as he dragged Berwald down into the depths of the manor.
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From his perch in the window seat in the kitchen of their little cottage, Tino could hear the pounding of hooves muffled by a thin layer of fresh snow against the dirt road leading to their house. He kept his page using his index finger and peered outside. It had been barely a day and yet Berwald was back? Maybe it was a visitor of some sorts?
Or maybe it was some prince from a far off land that had lost his way and had stumbled upon his humble little cottage by accident! Tino haphazardly set down his book in all of his excitement and ushered Hanatamago off of his lap. It was difficult to see past the overgrown elm grove in front of the window.
Tino rushed out onto the porch, shading his eyes from the glaring sun so he might see a little better. He recognized Hevo's chestnut brown coat glinting in the sunlight. But something was clearly wrong. She was lacking some of the furniture that she had been carting, and she was missing all of her rider. Tino's stomach sank as ran to meet her. He tried to calm the mare as he tried to keep his own head level. For all his effort, it didn't seem to be working for either of them.
"Hevo! What's wrong? Where's Berwald?" Tino felt sick with anxiety as his hands ran over Hevo's glossy mane, working in tandem with his eyes to try and find signs of injury or attack. There was nothing. He glanced back to the cart, battered and lopsided from a cracked axle. His fingers continued to comb through Hevo's coat absentmindedly. The furniture that Berwald had put so much time and attention into making looked worse for wear and was just as beaten up as the cart. Tino had sat and watched his guardian make every single chair leg, sand and plane every table top. His breath caught in his chest and emotions tightened his throat painfully.
Hevo whinnied beside him, and not knowing what is else to do, Tino ran inside to fetch his cloak and gloves, quickly detaching the cart from Hevo and mounting the mare. He pleaded with her to take him to Berwald, and off she went back into the woods with her new rider. Images flashed through Tino's mind of his guardian lying on the forest floor, injured and cold, dead-
Tino shook his head and wiped the threatening tears away with his gloved hands. He had to keep his cool so he could find Berwald.
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When Hevo trotted to a stop in the darkest, densest part of the woods, there was no sign of Berwald. The mare tossed her head back and forth with unease and Tino tried to soothe her with his words. What had happened here for the normally serene mare to act this way? Tino hopped down off of Hevo, into a small buildup of snow. He observed their surroundings with uncertainty. The snow wasn't deep enough that the man could be buried, and any footprints or tracks had been covered by the whiteout conditions.
Tino worried at his lower lip, releasing Hevo's reigns to take a closer look. Nothing on the ground gave hints as to where Berwald had gone, but...he looked a little higher up. There were snapped branches leading away from the main path that he had travelled upon, too high up for any passing animal to have broken. With no other lead than the small disturbance, he carefully lead Hevo through the denser part of the woods.
The walk was slow and winding, though the snow was thinner between the trees. Numerous times, Tino had to stop and look carefully to see where the broken branches led, relying on everything that Berwald had taught him about hunting to find the almost buried path.
Time seemed to lose all sense there in the woods. It felt like they had been searching and trudging through the snow covered thicket and bramble for hours, and the cold had seeped into Tino's bones. He wasn't used to his trusted cloak and gloves betraying him so.
Just as the fatigue and frost were becoming an unbearable weight upon his shoulders, the forest cleared to reveal grand iron gates and a magnificent manor. It was huge, and in all of his life he had never seen such a splendid building. Thrilled by the possibility of Berwald having found shelter in such an intriguing place, Tino quickly regained his will and lead Hevo through the already open gate, tying her out of harm's way in the interior yard.
“I'll be back soon, girl.” He placed a chilled kiss to her muzzle before quickly making his way up the steps. The door was heavy and stiff with the cold, but once opened, warmth greeted him instantly. He slipped inside and hastily shut it once more, happily taking off his gloves and bringing down the hood of his cloak to take a better look around. It was eerily quiet now that the whistling wind had been banished by the heavy shutters.
"Moi! Is anyone here? Berwald?" Tino's voice echoed through the manor and he shivered. He rubbed his hands together and breathed into them before pressing them to his frozen ears, willing the heat to transfer.
"Anyone?"
There was the distinct noise of something scuttling behind him and Tino jumped, nervousness tightening his chest. But this manor was his best lead on Berwald's whereabouts. He wasn't about to leave because of some silly noise!
“Where's your sense of adventure, Tino.” He tried to encourage himself. With false bravado, he straightened his shoulders and went into the manor. The familiar pair of boots went unnoticed, tucked into the dark corner of the foyer.
As Tino walked through the halls, he called out every now and again when he had built up enough courage, hoping for some sort of reply and receiving none. Every so often, a door would slowly creak open on its own, jolting the Finn's composure. Tino, having no other sense of where to go in the vast manor, would steady his frayed nerves and follow the invisible guide. Down he went, hoping to the Gods that he was being lead to Berwald.
Flames gently swayed in little nooks along the crumbling steps, guiding him downwards. The stone walls kept away all of the pleasant warmth from the upper floors and Tino tugged on his gloves once more as the chill soaked into his bones. In the flickering light of the torches, Tino made it to the floor below; he could barely make out wooden doors in the dim lighting. Iron bars barricaded a small window cut into each door...
They were cells. The colour drained from Tino's face.
Perkele!
The shadows thrown by the minimal fire light swayed and cast strange, horrifying shapes over the dungeon walls as Tino forced himself to go further into the room. He called out for his guardian again, his voice soft and shaky. The darkness felt thick and alive, as if it might rear up and crash over him like a tidal wave, swallowing him whole should he be too loud.
"Berwald?" He went to each cell, repeating his quiet plea.
At the very last door, a soft groan came back in response and Tino gasped. He stood on his toes, hands gripping the bars as he peered into the heavy darkness enveloping the prison. There was definitely someone in there! Through the iron bars of the wooden door he could see a moving lump on a cot. The door to the cell was locked, yet Tino tried to open it over and over again, desperately attempting to make out the features of the figure sprawled in the corner.
"Berwald? Berwald! Is that you? Who did this to you? Where's the key?"
Tino could hear the man moving about. Frantically, Tino banged his fists against the door.
"Please, answer me!"
When the older man finally came to the door, Tino could see that it really was Berwald. Thank the Gods that he had found him! But the suspended terror on the older man's face made the younger worry. Nothing scared Berwald. His guardian was fearless.
"What....what happened to you?" Cautiously reaching a hand up, Tino gently rubbed a patch of dirt from Berwald's face from between the bars; the sentiment seemed to snap Berwald out of his dream-like state. He grabbed the smaller hand in his own, turning it over and studying it for a moment as if questioning if Tino was really there.
“Berwald, it's me. I came to find you-” Tino's words were cut off as Berwald pushed his away suddenly.
"Tino, ya must leave! Now!"
The boy shook his head. "Not without you. Tell me what happened. Who did this to you?" Anger began to bubble up through his unease. His words were no longer frail and quiet with fear. Someone had had the gall to throw his beloved guardian in jail! Berwald was in trouble and...he had to man up. He had to save Berwald!
"There's a horrid beast here!" From behind askew glasses, Tino watched Berwald's eyes dart wildly around the dark basement. It made him oh so nervous to see Berwald in this state, but he had to be brave now more than ever.
Turning from the cell door, the Finn began to look around for signs of the offending 'beast' only to stand stock still as a large shadow passed over him. For all of the bravado he had accumulated a moment prior, he couldn't make himself turn around to face whatever was behind him. He wanted to curl up, but maybe if he didn't move, he wouldn't be noticed. His muscles were so tightly wound up, and he was ready to spring if the need arose. Tino imagined that this was much like a trapped, hunted animal felt like. The all to real realization that he was prey hit him hard.
Berwald was yelling again from somewhere to his left (For him to run? For whatever was casting that shadow to leave him alone?). Tino couldn't make out the words of his guardian as his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He was, however, hyper aware of whatever was behind him.
"Well, what do we have here?" Tino jumped and bit his bottom lip to stop the scream that had bubbled up in his throat. Whatever was behind him spoke with a heavy Russian accent, yet the voice was childish, soft, and dangerously curious. Tino's blood ran cold with icy terror. Looking at his frantic guardian from the corner of his eye, Tino found some slight strength. He took a deep breath before closing his eyes and turning to face what Berwald had deftly named 'the beast'.
"Why did you lock Berwald up? You have no right to do that!!"
His voice shook as he spoke. Tino could hear a soft chuckle in front of him, a mocking little laugh. His conviction wavered but...but had to stand up to whomever was in front of him, for Berwald's sake! Slowly he opened his eyes, fearing the unknown.
In the dim lighting, Tino could begin make out the features of a large man, a very tall, broad, intimidating man... And were those horns on his head? The boy took a step back, and the beast took a step forward.
"Your Berwald-" The voice was way too calm. Tino took another step back towards the wall.
"tried to steal something-" And another. The beast continued to close the space between them.
"very precious from me."
Tino's back hit a cell door and he panicked. He was shaking terribly, staring directly into the beast's cold, violet eyes. The boy clenched his fists. "You have the wrong man! Berwald would never steal from anyone-"
"He tried to steal bottle of my vodka." The too cheerful voice interrupted smoothly. Tino's face flushed in shame and guilt, and he quickly looked down at the ground. A bottle of vodka. He had asked for one. So ...was it his fault that Berwald was locked up? If he had said no to a gift from his guardian, or if he had asked for something else-
"Then it's me who you should have locked up. I asked Berwald to bring me back a bottle of vodka. Let him go free!" The little Finn could hear his guardian yelling at him again through the haze of adrenaline. He looked up once more into the beast's eyes, trying to remain steadfast and strong even as his knees knocked together and the horned man began to laugh.
"Very well."
Everything seemed to happen all at once, and all so quickly that Tino's head spun. He found himself steadying his body against the stone floor with Berwald's voice ringing through the basement, pounding through his dizzied mind. He was in a different cell than his guardian, and he could hear the slam of another door before Berwald's cries got softer and further away. Tino could only hope that the beast had taken Berwald outside of the manor to let him free when the yelling stopped altogether. It was some time before the room stopped spinning and he was able to stand up to check the door of his small prison.
Locked. Of course.
Tino crawled onto his very own moth eaten cot in the corner, feeling oddly calm and detached as he curled against the damp walls. He began to contemplate Berwald's freedom (he hoped) and his own imprisonment, and kept the threatening tears at bay with thoughts of a daring escape. Tino wasn't sure how much time had passed before the soft pattering of footsteps alerted him to another's presence in the dungeon. He promptly curled in on himself tighter, hugging his arms with his white cloak pulled tight against him. He hoped that the soft white cloth would be able to shield him from the horror of his current situation. But the lock on the door still clicked open, the metal hinges creaked far too loudly with disuse as the door slowly swung inwards. Tino glanced up from under the comfortably heavy cloak. It was hard to make out details in the dark, but Tino could see that the silhouette was that of the beast.
"You do not have to stay in dungeon. There is room for you upstairs with warm fire."
Tino glared up at the figure defiantly, though he doubted his fiery look could be seen under such circumstances. He chose not to move from his spot and watched as the beast looked confused for a moment before shrugging and turning his back to cell's interior. "You may join me for dinner when you are ready." With that, the beast left once more, leaving the old, wooden door open.
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It was getting unbearably cold, even curled up under the thick, wool cloak. And on top of that, Tino's stomach began to grumble, betraying his will to not dine with the beast. He wouldn't eat with him, no matter what! But his fingers and toes were starting to numb, and his teeth began to chatter, and he finally pushed himself to sit up.
He didn't have to eat the dinner his captor provided, but he sure as heck wasn't going to freeze to death down here. With that thought of (minor) defiance lending him fortitude, Tino walked up the stone stairwell. Even as he ascended from the basement, the difference in temperature was startling. He couldn't help but feel a little grateful that he had even been given the option to not be confined to the damp dungeons.
Though, why should he be grateful when he was being kept prisoner in the manor to begin with! Perkele!
He pouted and walked in a huff across the dark wooden floors of the manor, rubbing at his arms to get them working properly. The glowing light of a fire place was like a guiding lantern in the distance, and Tino thanked the Gods that it was made more visible and pronounced by the darkness that had fallen outside. The manor was far too big and too cold for someone so used to the small living space of a thatch roofed cottage on the edge of town.
Tino followed the light of the fireplace led to a cozy, unoccupied sitting room; there were couches and armchairs scattered around the room, a few small tables with little trinkets and glassware on their surfaces, and an old gramophone that sat in the corner, looking as if it hadn't had much use in ages. A small bowl of toffee candies caught his wandering eyes and the Finn quickly took the chance to grab a handful of the tiny sweets before he sat himself on the warmed hearth in front of the fire. Candy wasn't technically dinner, and he wasn't eating with the beast. So he could allow himself to eat these sweets without catering to the beast's whims. He told himself that the more of them he ate, the less the beast would have to eat for himself, and there was some small amount of satisfaction in that thought.
Small piles of candy wrappers began to form around him. The fireplace spoke of home and comfort. It crackled merrily and warmed the chill that had buried itself in his bones as he sucked on the Russian candies. As Tino's stomach settled its protestation, his eyelids grew heavy. That had been more than enough adventure for one afternoon. He was exhausted from the day's endeavours and his body told him that it would be lovely to sleep right where he was. His mind couldn't help but agree.
He curled up under his cloak, and the comforting crackling lulled him to sleep.