Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Binx Choppley, Weaver of Fate, sole survivor and leader of the Court of Craft, savior of the Feywild, most definitely did not find herself hiding in pantries.

Binx, the fey who had recently gone from having a full family to none to a completely brand new one, wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

She sighed and dropped her head to her knees. Here, tucked away in between last season’s potatoes and a massive stack of cans with labels that had rubbed off a year ago, she was relatively out of sight.

Thank the gods.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy with the way things were going, or that she wanted to stay away from her new friends–-the opposite, in fact! She loved them all so much, and she knew that they loved her in return. In fact, if she left this pantry right now and found any one of them, she could probably tell them everything she was feeling without any fear of judgment, and they would probably be able to figure out exactly what she needed to feel better. Yeah. Finding them was the best thing she could do for herself right now.

She didn’t move.

“Ugh.” Binx groaned in frustration. She absentmindedly picked at a loose thread on her shirt. Another thing to fix, she thought.

Another thing, along with Hob’s new glasses, and Chirp’s ring needed tightening, and Scratch needed spells for a mission he and Gwen were going on, and the letters from other courts were piling up in a corner of her room, and there were reports coming in every day about new portals–

A lot. There was a lot.

And it was fine. Binx was fine, she could handle it, she had been handling it for a long time before everything. And even if she couldn’t handle it, she was surrounded by people who loved and supported her and would gladly pick up some of the slack if she asked.

They still didn’t move.

The thing was, she thought absentmindedly, she had never been very good with change.

Her court was all about creation, about that which was tossed to the wayside and found again. Change was, in a way, part of the nature of the Court of Craft. And in that way, Binx was perfectly happy with change—as part of a larger force that she was simply an agent of.

Change happening to Binx was very, very different, and very, very difficult.

She liked things the way they were. They liked their routine. She liked her family, and her home, and curling up next to a fire with blankets and cocoa and talking about her day. And she still did that now! It was just–different.

Different wasn’t bad. These people she had found at the Bloom, they were some of the strangest fey Binx had ever met, and she loved that about them ferociously. Binx herself had changed in innumerable ways since their court began to disappear. No, different wasn’t bad at all, but it was–

It was–

It was just a lot.

So she was here. In the pantry. Not–hiding, exactly, just taking a second for herself. In a dark room that nobody else knew existed. Without telling anybody where she was.

They just needed a second, she told herself. Just a second to just be Binx, and not to be anybody else. Just a second, and then she would go back outside and find her new family.

Yeah. She was fine.

…had they always kept this many dustpans back here?

The creak of the pantry door broke through the silence like an ax through wood.

Binx jumped. Fuck, how long had they been back here?

She had meant to go back out as soon as she got herself together, but then she started looking through all the weird things that had collected in this forgotten space, and it had been so nice being by herself for a little bit that she must have lost track of time.

“Binx?” Somebody asked. Their voice was low and deep, but not hesitant like Andhera’s, so it was definitely Hob’s.

Binx tucked herself further into the corner, praying that she hadn’t been seen.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong, she reasoned with herself, but Hob was so used to being duty-bound that he might not understand why she was hiding from hers right now.

They heard shifting as Hob stepped into the pantry, presumably looking around. She held her breath as if it would make her invisible.

“Binx, are you in here?” He called out. She didn’t respond.

A terrible, excruciating silence filled the room. Then Hob stepped back and called out, “I don’t believe she’s here. Perhaps outside, in the wood shed?”

All the breath left her body in relief, and she instantly felt guilty. On the one hand, it sounded like people were looking for her, and if that was the case, she absolutely had a responsibility to ease their worries—and on the other, no part of her felt like talking to people right now.

Her relief was short lived as Hob stepped even further into the pantry, closing the door behind him, leaving it just ajar enough for a thin strip of light to fall right at Binx’s feet.

“Are you alright?” Hob asked quietly after a moment.

Maybe he was talking to the potatoes.

“Binx.”

Damn it.

She shifted nervously. This was it. The jig was up—not that there was even a jig in the first place, because she wasn’t doing anything, because she was completely fine.

And because she was completely fine, they were going to step out of the shadows and look Hob right in the eyes and explain that she had been doing very official court leader things and had just lost track of time.

And because she was completely fine, there was no reason for that to sound excruciatingly painful. There was no part of them that wanted to stay hidden away in the dark and quiet.

So why wasn’t she moving?

Hob cleared his throat. “I understand if you don’t want to talk, but I do need some proof of your wellbeing. If you are of able body and mind, could you perhaps knock once on the wall near you?”

Binx blinked as sudden tears sprang to their eyes. Gods, was it possible that Hob actually understood? Could it be that she wasn’t going to be forced out of here?

Slowly, she raised her fist to the wall and knocked.

Thump.

Hob nodded. With no ceremony, he dropped to the floor and crossed his legs.

Binx mirrored him, watching warily.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “it’s been a strange few weeks.”

Binx snorted before she could stop herself. Hob smiled as well, and the light glinted off of his fangs.

“I would imagine you know that better than anybody.”

Thump.

Hob’s ear twitched in the direction of her knock, but he still didn’t move.

“The Goblin Court,” he said gently, “was not the place for me. I know that now. But it was all I knew for a very long time. It was structure, it was security, it was—well. It was home. And although I have found better, part of me misses it, because part of me is not well equipped to deal with this much change.”

He paused. “Does this sound like something you might resonate with?”

Binx’s chest grew uncomfortably tight.

Thump.

Hob nodded. “I thought as much. I owe you an apology, Binx, for making you carry this burden alone. I have learned recently that I am ‘allowed to feel however I feel’,” and Binx couldn’t help but grin at what were obviously Rue’s words, “and I am of utmost certainty that this applies to you as well. You are allowed to take as much time as you need with this.”

As he talked, Binx felt something that had been building in the pit of her stomach for the past few days begin to calm. A tear leaked down her cheek and she sniffed, not caring if Hob heard anymore, because somebody understood.

She wasn’t strange. She wasn’t wrong for feeling this way. She was just taking the time she needed.

Lost for a way to express all this to Hob, she quickly rapped her knuckles against the wood floor in a staccato beat. I love you, I love you, I love you. She didn’t know if he would get it, but she wanted to say it anyway.

Hob smiled again. It looked more natural on him these days. He paused, then rose halfway. His voice held no judgment when he said “If you wish to be alone, please knock twice. Should you be comfortable with my staying here, once.”

Silence. Then, thump.

“Very well.” Hob sat back down, paying no mind to the dirt that was getting on his shirt.

“I shall stay as long as you need.”

Chapter Text

Lord Airavis was behaving strangely.

Well, that was a bit of an understatement. Hardly anything the Lords of the Wing did could be counted as normal, even by fey standards. Rue had stopped pretending to expect it from them ages ago. 

So perhaps it was more appropriate to say that Lord Airavis was behaving stranger than usual.

The shift had been going on for a few days now. Rue had been content not to notice at first; after all, if Squak slept through most of the day he was probably just hungover, and if he turned up his nose at all food offered to him it was probably just not suited to his high-class tastes. Rue wasn’t overjoyed about it, but it was no cause for concern, especially since Chirp was there to validate every idiosyncrasy.

But then, two days ago, Chirp had left with Binx for the human realm to see her daughter, and things had taken a turn for the worse. The absence of his cousin always ignited some sort of nervous energy in Squak. He seemed miserable without his other half, and he had taken to hibernating in his room, only coming out at witching hours.

Which led Rue to where they were now: seated at the kitchen table in the early hours of the morning, cup of tea forgotten, eyeing Squak scrutinously as he stumbled through the doorway.

The bird didn’t even seem to notice that Rue was there. He was muttering something to himself under his breath, rummaging through cabinets sluggishly. They watched as he knocked over a glass and flinched at the noise.

“Gah! Stupid…need to rework that scene…dialogue all wrong, all wrong, stupid Jeremy.” He muttered, voice rising just enough for Rue to hear.

Well, that settles it. They thought. He was either drunk or high, likely both, and likely from last night. Not great, but standard for the earl. Perfectly normal, they told themselves firmly as they took a sip of tea. Nothing to worry about.

But deep in their gut, a sense they’d let go dormant since leaving the Court of Wonder flared up with a warning: something was wrong.

They sighed, put down their cup, and took a closer look at Squak. He looked remarkable as always on the surface– face glowing, hair perfectly coiled, outfit impeccable. There was a strange tenseness to his shoulders, however, a tightness to his entire body that suggested some sort of discomfort. His movements were slow, but rigidly controlled.

Rue tilted their head. Why did this scene seem vaguely familiar?

“Lord Airavis.” They called out, making their presence known. Squak jumped a full foot in the air and stayed there.

“Rue!” He, well, squawked, recovering quickly. “And how are you this fine morning?”

He smiled brilliantly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Perfectly fine.” They said, squinting. “And yourself?”

“Simply—wonderful.” He turned sharply while talking, and his voice seemed to catch in his throat.

“Are you sure?” They asked, unable to push down the concern that was beginning to rise. Why did he sound pained?

Squak was quiet for a minute, staring at the wall with his back to Rue. Then, with a shaky breath, “Of course, Mistrex. Just tired, that's all.”

The same feeling of familiarity slammed into Rue. They knew this, their entire body screamed at them, this was them, this was–

They blinked, and suddenly they were back at one of their early Blooms, when they had first perfected their glamor. Everything came back to them at once; the racing, searing pain that seemed to be underneath their skin, the complete lack of appetite, the immense fatigue, and putting on a show anyway.

“Are you alright, Rue?” Wuvvy had asked.

They smiled. “Of course, Wuvvy. Just tired, that’s all.”

They stood up before they even realized what was happening.

“Squak.” Their voice came out unintentionally sharp, and Squak jerked away from them, fear flashing across his face before he had a chance to hide it. The pit of worry in Rue’s stomach grew.

They held up their hands placatingly. “I apologize, Lord Airavis. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just—” They cast about for words, but seeing the glaze forming over Squak’s eyes, settled on a direct approach. “Are you molting?”

Squak gaped. “I—wha—it–how dare you!”

He let himself drop back down to the floor—gingerly, Rue noticed—and crossed his arms in indignation.

“How dare you insinuate—I mean, the mere idea—I would never—“

Rue raised an eyebrow. Squak’s shoulders slumped.

“Yes.” He muttered in defeat before his head shot up again. “You can’t tell anyone!”

“It’s perfectly natural.” Rue said mildly. “After all, I do it, and I’m sure Chirp does as well.”

“Well of course it’s natural, it was designed by Grandfather.” Squak snapped. “That doesn’t mean that one can just go around shedding feathers all over the place! After all, I have a reputation.”

I have a reputation, Delloso, and I won’t have it besmirched by your mess.

Rue winced at the same time as Squak. They bit their lip until it stung, willing the memory away.

“I won’t tell anyone.” They murmured.

“Good.” Squak said. He relaxed incrementally. “Thank you.”

The words sounded like they pained him just to say. He sniffed disdainfully, as if trying to regain his composure, and turned to leave, still moving in that horrible stiff way, as if every step brought pain.

Rue knew that it did. Something awful tugged in their chest, some horrible feeling from before they were Delloso de la Rue that they had long tried to forget.

“Hang on.” They called out.

Squak froze. Slowly, he turned back to Rue. His face was full of suspicion, but Rue saw the apprehension underneath.

“I can help.” They said carefully. “Nobody has to know. I just–if you need.”

Squak jutted his chin up. “The Lords of the Wing,” he said pompously, “do not need anyone.”

Rue eyed him. “Very well.” they said. “I suppose numbing cream I have in my room will just have to sit on the shelf, then.”

“Please help me.”

Rue snorted before they could help themselves. “Yes, I thought as much.”

They turned and left the room before Squak could answer, confident that he would follow. Once in their own quarters, they pulled out their dressing table chair and pointed to it.

“Sit.”

Squawk, who had indeed been following, squinted at them distrustfully. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to help brush out your old feathers.” Rue said, then looked Squak up and down critically. “And because you look simply dreadful.”

“Rude.” The younger muttered, but he collapsed into the chair all the same.

Rue started on a routine that had become very familiar to them–shaking out old feathers, working out tight muscles, smoothing ointment over irritated skin. It was just like they did for themselves every year, but also so, so different. This time, they weren’t pushing through agony, and they weren’t hidden away in the tallest tower of the Court of Wonder, and they weren’t alone. As they repeated their movements, a strange peace fell over the room, and Rue was gratified to see the tension slowly leak out of Squak’s body as the pain left him boneless.

They were snapped out of their reverie by a sniff from below.

“Are you alright?” They asked quietly, not wanting to break the spell that had been created.

He jerked. “Fine, fine. Just…it’s nice.”

“Surely you and Chirp do this for each other?”

“Of course.” Squak said immediately. “But we don’t…we always just—just got through it together. There was never such a big to-do about it. That is, all of this–this routine you have, we, ah, never learned.”

Rue’s hands stilled. This was strange, the way Lord Airavis was speaking without any sort of dramatics. And the suggestion that either bird wouldn’t make a big to-do about anything? Something was off, and they had a horrible suspicion as to what.

“Your grandfather never taught you?” They asked, swallowing the terrible taste in their mouth.

Squak snorted. “Of course not. Grandfather is far too busy to worry about—that is, it’s our responsibility to ensure that we look appropriate at all times.”

Delloso, I am far too busy to worry about something that should be your responsibility. This is something that comes with being a monster, darling, and you’ll have to learn to handle it yourself.

White hot rage washed over Rue, and they accidentally yanked on a feather.

“Ow!” Squawk shot forward indignantly. “What was that for?”

Rue wasn’t listening. Their mind was racing with memories of being a small cub, alone in a new world and scared, not knowing what was happening to their body, and begging for help, for compassion, for anything, and the swift and cruel dismissal that followed—curling up in their room in agony, crying themselves to sleep—feeling like they were disgusting for something they couldn’t control, feeling so horribly ugly and monstrous, feeling like a mistake—

—and then the image shifted to two young birds in a palace of splendor, who had everything they wanted at their fingertips, being shunted off at the first signs of trouble. Their mind flashed with the image of Squak and Chirp, in pain and confused, trying desperately to help each other through it while their grandfather just sat there with all the fucking answers, too caught up in his reputation to give a damn—

“Rue?”

They blinked.

Squak was looking up at them warily, body tensing away from them as if he expected—Rue didn’t know what he expected, but they didn’t like it.

They swallowed. “Apologies, Lord Airavis. I just…”

I just think we both deserved so much better than we were given. I just wish you didn’t have to feel like you need to hide. I just want you to know that I don’t think you’re a mistake.

“...I just hope you feel as if you can come to me for help the next time this happens.”

They cleared their throat, which had gotten suspiciously tight, and hurriedly smoothed over where they had yanked the feather. Squak relaxed.

“A most gracious offer, Mistrex. Although we’re going to have to get you new creams if this is to be a recurring event—nothing that costs less than four thousand gold touches this skin.”

Rue rolled their eyes before they could stop themselves. “I should’ve known.”

“Yes, you should’ve, but that’s alright. I believe Chirp still has some dove milk somewhere…”

Rue zoned out again as Squak prattled on. Things could’ve been so much better, they thought to themselves, for both of us.

Then they looked down at Squak, who was gesturing wildly, with the light back in his eyes and the soreness slowly fading from his body, and smiled.

But this is good too.

Chapter Text

K.P. Hob was not pretty.

The thought was, for once, less self-detrimental and more a fact of life. There was a conventional idea of what “pretty” was and how one could achieve “prettiness,” and according to all the social rules he had memorized over the years, he did not fit into it. In many ways, in fact, he was the antithesis of pretty, and that was fine.

It didn’t matter that he still thought back to the feeling low in his stomach the night of the masquerade, when Rue slipped a flower behind his ear. It was inconsequential that he looked at the ease with which Andhera and Squak decorated themselves with a strange twinge of envy. It was irrelevant that when he paused to admire his beloved Rue—which was quite often—he was sometimes unsure if the catch in his chest was because of how stricken he was by their beauty, or because part of him wished that he could have the same.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because no matter how much he might long otherwise—and he didn’t—he was still hulkingly tall, with shoulders broader than most tree trunks and fur that matted at the smallest inconvenience, and fangs that could never be anything but terrifying. He was still a soldier, and a worker, and most days, if he wasn’t covered in blood, he was covered in sweat. He had claws, for pete’s sake. And that—everything that he was—couldn’t possibly be pretty. Right?

Pretty was….well.

Hob supposed he didn’t know.

His first instinct was to say that pretty was small and dainty, but Rue was almost his size, and they were the most breathtakingly beautiful creature to ever exist (and he would exterminate anyone who dared to say otherwise). So then he supposed that pretty was light and soft—but that couldn’t be right, because young Andhera was literally made of darkness, and they were still effortlessly elegant. And Squak couldn’t be counted as soft in any manner of the word, but he was objectively gorgeous. So maybe pretty was gentle, and casual, like flowers blooming after spring. But Binx and Chirp were two of the strongest, fiercest warriors he had ever seen, and they were exquisite.

All of his friends, in some way or another, broke through every preconceived notion he had about the concept of “pretty” and yet he would never deign to call them anything other than stunning.

So then what was it?

Maybe pretty was the way Binx furrowed her brow and kept pins in her mouth when they were sewing. Maybe it was the way Andhera threw his hands about when he was excited. Maybe it was the confidence in the way Squak held himself, or the gracefulness with which Chirp cast magic. Maybe it was anything and everything that made up Delloso de la Rue.

Yes, that sounded right.

And Hob still did not have a place in that. He couldn’t. It would go against everything he had ever been told about himself, and that idea was inconceivable. It was enough to be in the presence of so many pretty things, he told himself firmly. If he tried to turn himself into something he was not, he would become a laughingstock. Any hypothetical desires he might have were to be suppressed and subdued so as to not bring humiliation to his new court. This, to Hob, was an excellent plan.

The plan fell apart the minute Binx found the skirts.

The newly minted Court of Craft was gathered around the breakfast table, early morning light just breaking over the horizon, when Binx tumbled downstairs in excitement, talking so fast that Hob could barely understand a word. It was only after Rue put one paw on their shoulder and told them quite firmly to take a breath that she gasped, “Look what I found in the attic!”

Rue glanced at Hob amusedly. He shrugged and moved to open the box Binx had brought down. “I’m sure it is of most interest, Lady–”

He looked down at its contents and froze.

Piles and piles of skirts lay untouched in the box. All sizes, all colors, long ones, short ones, loud and plain alike, some with sequins that glinted in the sun, others with ribbons and bows drifting away.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Binx was saying somewhere next to him. “I think they were all of our old clothes before–well, before. There’s some in here to fit everybody!”

One of the cousins gasped dramatically. “Are you insinuating we have a fashion show?”

“Oh my fucking gods, yes, please.”

“Oooooh, I want the pink one–”

“Look at the cut of this, cousin!”

Hob felt like he was going to be sick.

How incredibly foolish.

It’s clothing. He told himself firmly. It’s nothing more than pieces of cloth stitched together in a specific way to form a garment, and it makes your friends happy, so you have nothing to be afraid of. Pull yourself together, Knickolas.

“Knickolas?” His head shot up. Rue was staring at him from across the table in concern. “Is everything alright?”

The excited chatter around the table fell silent as everyone turned to him. Damn.

He cleared his throat. “Perfectly fine, my love. I am—incredibly excited to see what you all create with these.”

“You won’t be joining us, Hob?” Chirp said, and damn her, she knew exactly what she was doing. Her head tilted as she carefully evaluated Hob.

Hob felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “I-I-”

“Not if he’s not comfortable, Chirp.” Rue said firmly.

“No!” Hob blurted out. “I–that is–I don’t wish to be insulting to Binx’s generosity. Of–of course I will be joining.”

He said it without thinking, and his eyes widened as he was hit with the impact of his own words. What had he done?

“Wonderful!” Squak said loudly. “Family fashion show! Oh, this is going to be such fun!”

All Hob could do was nod and avoid Rue’s eyes. “Yes. Fun.”

He was going to throw up.

He, K.P Hob, formerly a Major of the Goblin Army, hero of the Battle of Briar Falls, savior of the Bloom, was going to lose his lunch at the idea of wearing a skirt.

If he hadn’t been so terrified, he might’ve laughed.

Hob stared himself down in the bathroom mirror, not trusting himself to look at anything other than his eyes.

The fashion show had started about an hour ago. It was fun. Things were fun. Hob knew that this was supposed to be fun.

But while everyone else had been arguing over who got to wear what, and what color went best with what top, he had stood silently in the corner, paralyzed with choice, until finally he grabbed an armful of skirts without looking at them and locked himself in the bathroom.

That had been 45 minutes ago. The first fifteen had been spent convincing himself to even look through the pile. The next two were spent on the first skirt, a short blue piece that spun out like the petals of a flower. It was—it was pretty.

Until Hob put it on his body, and then it suddenly became wrong, warped, and monstrous.

He couldn’t even pick out anything specific that was wrong with it. It was simply the idea of this gorgeous, elegant piece of clothing on his lumbering body that was just—

He had almost torn it trying to get it off.

The others hadn’t gone much better. There was the soft pink one that was too short in a way that made him feel vulnerable. There was the sleek black one that hugged his hips and legs uncomfortably. There was the polka-dotted wraparound number that almost made him laugh out loud, and the electric green one with a bow that he couldn’t figure out how to tie, and the purple one that flared out at the bottom that seemed almost bearable—until he realized that he had no fucking idea how to walk in it.

Hob sighed, watching the way his chest rose and fell in the mirror.

This had been a bad idea.

He had one more option, but it still sat crumpled in a corner on the other side of the bathroom. It had been the one skirt out of them all that he had actually dared to let himself like, that he was secretly excited to try on. If that one looked as horrendous as all the others, he’d never be able to handle it.

Hob hung his head. How could this the thing to bring him so low?

A knock at the door shattered his soliloquy.

“Hob, I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but it’s been a very long time, and my cousin needs the ample mirror space to apply his highlighter. Should I tell him to go somewhere else?”

Chirp. Damn.

Hurriedly, he ran a hand over his face and flung the door open. “Apologies, Lady Featherfowl. I will be right…”

He trailed off. Chirp stood in front of him, smirking. Squak was nowhere to be seen.

“I knew it.” She announced proudly. Hob swallowed.

“Knew what, exactly, my lady?”

She leaned against the doorway. “Hob, I have coaxed my cousin out of more outfit-related breakdowns than you have hairs on your entire head. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the signs?”

“I–er–what signs?”

“Hob, really, it’s fine.” Chirp sighed and pushed past him into the room like nothing was wrong. “I’m perfectly capable of helping you just the once. Besides, I’m sure you’ll look wonderful in whatever we put you in.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Hob said automatically.

Chirp stopped and turned to look at him quizzically. “Is that what this is about, then?”

“This isn’t about anything, Lady Featherfowl.” Hob all but snapped. “I assure you, I am perfectly fine. It was simply foolish for me to entertain this idea, that’s all. It is—not my place to…”

To be beautiful hung unsaid in the air. Chirp narrowed her eyes.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” She said with an air of realization.

His shoulders slumped. “No.”

The truth tasted bitter on his tongue.

“It is not—this kind of thing is not made for one like me.” He continued.

“One like you?”

He gestured uselessly. “There’s no need to pretend, Lady Featherfowl. I am clearly not someone you would associate with dress as-” pretty “-fine as this. I don’t wish to embarrass myself any further.”

Chirp raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think I understand, Major.”

Hob winced. “I–I am not of the words to explain.”

“Well, why don’t you let me try?” Chirp turned back to face herself in the mirror, fluffing and preening. “You’ve only ever dressed and behaved a certain way, so now you feel like you can’t be anything else. You’ve never even thought to try, because somewhere along the way you got used to having someone else tell you who you are, and now you’re too scared of what they’ll say about you to be anything else.”

Hob’s mouth fell open. “I–it—how did you—”

Chirp plucked out a loose feather. “Because it’s horseshit, Hob.”

She turned back to him coolly. “Yes, the rest of the world will think it’s ridiculous that a 6-foot tall bugbear wants to wear skirts. So what? The rest of the world also thinks I’m nothing more than a spoiled, vain, airheaded drunk, but if they knew how many interplanar wars I’ve prevented, they’d be saying something different.”

“How many what?”

“Exactly. Hob, if you want my opinion, which you should, fuck the rest of the world. They’re all idiots, and you should do whatever the fuck you want. If that means being a big strong goblin, then do it. If that means getting your ass into a skirt and strutting the shit out of that runway, then fucking do it.”

Chirp finished her rant and promptly snatched the last skirt from its place into the corner. She shoved it into Hob’s empty arms and breezed past him. “You have three minutes to put that on. If you hate it, then you hate it. But if you like it, you’re walking out of this fucking door with your held high. Got it?”

“Got it.” Hob responded automatically to the order. “Wait, Chirp–”

The door slammed shut.

Hob stared down at the skirt in his arms, head swirling.

He would look ridiculous. Chirp said it herself.

He was a goblin. Goblins didn’t wear skirts.

He wasn’t graceful. He wasn’t elegant. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t—he could not be pretty.

But gods, how he wanted to.

Slowly, Hob shook out the skirt.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slipped it on.

The first thing he noticed was that it didn’t feel wrong.

The band sat comfortably at his waist, and the rest of it draped down his body loosely, not hugging his legs like the others. The hemline just barely brushed his feet.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Hob cracked open his eyes.

And stared.

And stared.

The damned thing hugged his waist in a way that accentuated his broad chest and shoulders. The white cotton shirt he had taken to wearing tucked into the band like it was made to. The pleats moved like water when he shifted. And the color, the beautiful deep green, the reason he had chosen it in the first place, was the exact shade of Rue’s fur.

Hob looked beautiful, and he couldn’t look away.

Suddenly, the door banged open. “Three minutes is up! I—oh.”

He turned shyly.

Chirp gazed at him approvingly. “Look at you,” she hummed breathlessly. “Oh, darling, Rue isn’t going to be able to keep their paws off of you.”

Hob flushed. “I admit, it is nice.”

Chirp stepped forward. “And do you like it?”

Hob cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I–I do.”

The admission made something catch in his chest. Chirp looked at him for a second, then stepped forward and cupped his cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn’t realized was there.

“None of that, Hob.” She said gently. “You’re far too pretty to cry.”

Before he could respond, she stepped away, and yanked him out of the bathroom.

“Everyone!” She called out. Hob stumbled against her, not realizing that the entire court had assembled around a makeshift runway. “Look what Hob found!”

And as he was shoved forward into the praise and applause of his family, as he was cajoled into doing a spin to even more ooohs and aaaahs, as Rue caught his gaze with a wink that suggested that the skirt might be coming off soon after all, the truth finally sank in:

K.P. Hob was not pretty. He might never be. But he was himself, and that was beautiful, and that was so much better.

Chapter Text

The Bloom was very strange, Andhera decided.

Very, very strange.

He peeked out from behind his pillar. An endless stretch of adult archfey spun around before him, swirling in a mix of color and magic and conversation that he didn’t understand.

He ducked back behind his pillar.

Advisor could make him come to this ball, he thought, even though he was the only kid here and hated dancing and noise and crowds, but he couldn’t make Andhera talk to anyone.

“Oh, pillar boy!”

Andhera looked up with trepidation.

Oh, right. He wasn’t the only kid here.

The Lords of the Wing were approaching him with twin smiles, darting through the throng of adults with ease. Andhera’s stomach dropped.

It wasn’t that he disliked Lord Airavis and Lady Featherfowl. He just wasn’t sure what to make of them yet. The problem was that they seemed to know exactly what to make of him, and each other, and everyone else, and every time Andhera was around them, he felt like he was on the outside of an inside joke.

Not that he had ever been on the inside of one, but whatever. The point still stood.

He pressed himself up against the stone, trying his hardest to look inconspicuous. It didn’t work.

“Hello, pillar boy!” Lord Airavis said boisterously. “How are you tonight?”

“My-my name is Andhera.” He stuttered.

Lady Featherfowl snorted. “Of course it is, pillar boy. Say, pillar boy, why do you hide behind this pillar so much?”

“Maybe it’s because he’s shy, cousin.”

“Ooh, yes, cousin. Or maybe he’s been cursed so that if he gets too far away from his pillar, he dies.”

“Maybe he’s secretly a spy from the human realm and he’s trying not to get caught watching us all!”

They turned back to him expectantly. “Well, pillar boy, which is it?” Squak asked.

Andhera, who had been watching helplessly, could only shrug. The cousins glanced at each other, then back to him. “Well, no matter.” Chirp said importantly. “I’m sure you know who we are.”

They both struck grandiose poses.

Andhera blinked. “Oh–right! You’re Lady Featherfowl and Lord Airavis. It’s, uh, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He bowed a beat too late. The birds broke into trilling laughter.

“Oh, please, pillar boy, there’s no need for such formality.” Lady Featherfowl said. “That’s my cousin Squak–”

“---and that’s my cousin Chirp—”

“And given that we’re the only people here under a millennium, we thought you might want to join us in having a little bit of fun.”

Andhera looked between the two of them. Advisor had warned them about this. He said the Lords of the Wing were notorious troublemakers, and that any prince who wanted to keep his court’s approval would do well to stay away from them.

But…Lady Featherfowl and Lord Airavis—that was, Chirp and Squak—were the only people being nice to him so far, and they were so cool and confident, and they were a few years older than him, so whatever they were doing couldn’t be that bad, right?

“What kind of fun?” He asked carefully.

Chirp and Squak glanced at each other mysteriously, then around the room. Chirp beckoned Andhera closer and opened her bag.

Inside were what looked like several hundred brightly colored spheres. Andhera squinted in confusion. Were they stealing potions?

“They’re paint bombs.”

His head shot up. Chirp was grinning like a cat that had just spotted a mouse hiding in a corner. “We’re going to climb up on the roof and then, at the pinnacle of the ball, when everyone is at their most distracted, boom!”

“A torrent of paint!” Squak exclaimed. “Unable to be removed by magic! Instant chaos, instant panic! Oh, pillar boy, can’t you just see it now?”

Andhera looked between the cousins nervously. “Isn’t that—isn’t that not allowed?”

Squak rolled his eyes. “It’ll be fine, pillar boy. The only way we could get in trouble is if Mistrex de la Rue finds out, and they never catch us. They’re too busy with their horribly boring grown-up things to worry about what we do.”

“But–”

“Relax, pillar boy.” Chirp slung an arm over his shoulder. “If we need to, we can blame it on Gobble. Besides, you need to have some fun for once. It’s incredibly sad watching you just stand in corners all night.”

“I agree, cousin.” Squak wrapped his arm around Andhera’s other side, and together, the cousins began marching him away from the festivities. Andhera’s panic spiked, and he quickly turned to look for Advisor, but was stopped by Squak.

“And of course,” he said cheerfully, “if you tell any grown-ups any of our plans, that makes you a snitch. And you don’t want to be a snitch, do you, pillar boy?”

Andhera didn’t know what a snitch was, but Squak didn’t make it sound like a very good thing. “Um, no?”

“That’s right! Now, pillar boy, do you know how to pick a window lock from the outside?”

As it turned out, Andhera didn’t know how to pick a window lock from the outside. In fact, he was pretty useless at it—just like he was useless at being a lookout, and at holding Squak on his shoulders so he could reach the trapdoor to the roof, and at closing said trapdoor open quietly.

BANG!

“Pillar boy!” Both cousins hissed at the same time.

“Sorry!” He whispered, face going an even darker shade of purple. “It was slippery!”

Squak sighed exasperatedly and turned away from him. Andhera flooded with shame, which was weird, because he didn’t even like breaking rules like Squak and Chirp did, and yet he desperately wanted their approval.

He scampered up next to them, wiggling in between the cousins to peer down at the ball below.

“What’s the plan?” He asked. His voice reverberated across the stone roof.

“Shh!” Chirp hushed him. “Pillar boy, be quiet!”

“Sorry, sorry, I–sorry.” He clamped his mouth closed.

Squak rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, pillar boy. Just don’t mess up this next part.”

As he spoke, Chirp started unloading the paint bombs from her sack, stacking them in piles between the three of them. “Now, all we have to do is wait until the last song of the evening, then on my signal, throw your bombs and run like hell. Got it?”

“Wait a minute, cousin, why do you have more than me?” Squak interrupted before Andhera could say anything.

“Because I have better aim, cousin.”

“That’s bull and you know it!”

“It is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“What exactly is going on here?”

Andhera, Squak, and Chirp all froze.

Andhera squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to sink into the floor and disappear forever.

No such luck.

He glanced up at the cousins. Chirp was frozen like a statue, paint bombs still in hand, and Squak looked like he was about to throw up. None of them dared look behind to the source of the voice.

“I won’t ask again, children.”

Andhera cringed. He had only talked to Mistrex de la Rue a few times, just enough to introduce himself and then hide behind Advisor again, but he knew enough to know when they were angry.

Hurriedly, Squak turned and cleared his throat. “Mistrex de la Rue! It is a pleasure to–to see you again. I hope the Bloom has been treating you well.”

The words were obviously rehearsed, like Andhera’s introduction had been, but Squak’s voice was so high-pitched that it was almost comical. Chirp ducked down behind her cousin and started surreptitiously shoving as many paint bombs as she could back into the bag.

“It has, Lord Airavis. Now, are you going to answer my question, or should I go find your grandfather and ask him?”

Andhera whipped around in horror at the same time that Squak and Chirp both yelped, “No!”

Mistrex de la Rue towered over the three young archfey, lit by the moon behind them, and even at his young age Andhera could tell that they were devastatingly beautiful. They caught Andhera’s eye the minute he turned around and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. He flushed.

Surely they wouldn’t contact Advisor, or worse, his mother. They wouldn’t.

“We weren’t doing anything, Mistrex, we swear!” Chirp said. “We were just–um—”

The cousins glanced at each other, obviously messaging something. Andhera caught hushed whispers of “Ditch the kid!” and “Squak, no.” before both birds turned back, faces smooth. He tried to shrink in on himself even more, which was proving impossible.

“We were just showing Andhera around!” Chirp said with a gap-toothed smile. “He’s never been to the Bloom before, and we just wanted to make sure he saw how beautiful everybody looked, and we thought this would be the best view of the ball!”

Mistrex de la Rue hummed suspiciously. “Andhera, is this true?”

Andhera opened his mouth to say no, actually, it wasn’t, that he was being kept here almost against his will and that Squak and Chirp were breaking the rules, which was very Not Allowed, and that he was very sorry but he was quite ready to go home, please, when he made the mistake of looking back over at the cousins.

Both of them were standing tall in front of Rue, hands clasped behind their backs, the picture of innocence, but they both sent Andhera matching looks of—not scorn, or warning, but of pleading.

It was at this moment that Andhera realized a few crucial things. One, that Mistrex de la Rue seemed like a reasonable person, but they were still an adult, and one could rarely count on adults to do reasonable things like not tell a person’s mother when he broke the rules. Second, that Squak and Chirp seemed just as afraid of their grandfather as Andhera was of his mother. Third, and the most pressing, Andhera really was in desperate need of friends.

He cleared his throat. “It’s true, Mistrex. I’ve just been having such a good time watching all the dancing that I wanted to see it from higher up, and Squak and Chirp offered to help me out. I didn’t know we weren’t allowed up here, and I’m really, really, really sorry.”

Andhera had never lied before, so he didn’t know if he was doing a good job or not, but the cousins relaxed fractionally, so it must have been alright.

Mistrex de la Rue kept them in their piercing stare for one more agonizing moment before they sighed and relented. “If you wish to see more of the festivities, Prince Andhera, you are more than welcome to participate in them. But I would ask that all of you stay within the confines of the ballroom.”

“Technically, we are still in the ballroom.” Squak said tentatively.

Mistrex de la Rue raised an eyebrow sternly. “Do you know why the roof is off-limits, Lord Airavis?”

“Because you hate fun.” Chirp muttered.

“Because it would be all too easy for some young fey to get too excited and slip and hurt themselves. It’s dangerous. That’s why I would prefer for you to stay where plenty of adults can keep an eye on you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistrex.” The three reluctantly chorused.

“Good. Come along, now.”

Mistrex de la Rue’s voice held no argument, so Andhera chose not to mention that it seemed like a room with plenty of adults watching them sounded like the cousins’ worst nightmare. Instead, he fell into line behind them, solidly in between Squak and Chirp, who kicked the bag of paint bombs behind a nearby column inconspicuously.

She sidled up behind him and said under her breath, “Pretty smooth, pillar boy.”

Andhera didn’t dare move his head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You could’ve ratted us out.” Squak murmured in front. “And you didn’t. Why didn’t you, pillar boy?”

A couple of responses flashed through Andhera’s head—because I didn’t want you to get in trouble, because I think you’re cool and want to be friends, because I didn’t want to get in trouble—and he quickly took a blind guess at the best one.

“Because I’m not a snitch?”

Chirp snorted. “Oh, you’re definitely not. In fact, cousin,” and he could hear the devilish grin in her voice, “I think Andhera might just be fun after all.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but then her words caught up with him. “You know my name!”

“Of course we know your name, Andhera.” Squak said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “You’re our new partner in crime!”

“Oh–I don’t think—I’m not really—”

He was saved by a cough from Mistrex de la Rue. All three turned dutifully.

“Please, enjoy the rest of the party.” They said gracefully. “And please, please, behave.”

As if on cue, Chirp and Squak bowed and simultaneously said “Of course, Mistrex!”

Squak elbowed Andhera and he hurriedly dropped his head and said, “Uh–of course, Mistrex.”

They stared at them for one more moment, the barest hint of a smile tugging at their lips, before bowing low in return and disappearing back into the crowd.

Andhera watched them go in confusion. They didn’t look like they were going to go find Advisor, but there was no way he was getting off scot-free, right?

He turned back to the cousins to ask, but they were already deep in a whispered conversation with each other. When they saw him, they straightened up.

“Well, Prince Andhera,” Chirp said, “It’s been absolutely lovely, but my cousin and I have other matters to attend to. I’m sure you understand.”

“Er–of course, Lady Featherfowl.” He absolutely didn’t. “When you say other matters, do you mean—”

“Shh!” Squak said, then, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re suggesting, your highness.”

He winked once, and then they were gone in a flurry of feathers.

Andhera just watched them go.

The Bloom was proving to be very, very, very strange.

He would retreat back to his pillar for the remainder of the ball, he decided, so as to avoid any more strangeness.

And if it was the only place in the entire ballroom that ended up being safe from the rain of paint, well—nobody had to know why.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean you knew?!”

“I always know, Squak. And besides, you weren’t very good at hiding it.”

Squak gasped indignantly, with Chirp right behind him. Andhera just gaped.

“Does this mean that you knew about every scandal? Every prank? Are all of my accomplishments a lie, Delloso?”

Rue just took a sip of their tea, looking far too calm. “Well, not every time. The firebees were a surprise—one that I’m still mad about, by the way.”

Chirp waved her hand dismissively. “But all the others?”

“Most of them, yes. I will say it was quite a task for Wuvvy to track you down each time.”

Squak looked morally offended. He slammed his cup of tea down. “Every time?!”

“Cousin, this is a travesty.”

Rue rolled their eyes. “Please, you two. Did you really think I would have let you get away with that much without preparing for it? And Andhera, dear, close your mouth. It can’t be that shocking.”

Andhera shut his mouth automatically, but then opened it again as a question pressed. “Why did you let us get away with that?”

Rue paused. Squak and Chirp, who were halfway on top of their chairs in indignation, paused as well.

“I thought,” Rue said slowly, “that there wasn’t a lot for a young child to do at the Bloom that could be as entertaining as pulling harmless pranks. And as long as they stayed harmless, and you stayed safe, well…they were fun.”

They finished their tea and stood, ignoring the gobsmacked faces of the other three.

“You thought,” Chirp said incredulously, “that we were fun?”

“Even when we ruined the ball for four years in a row?” Squak asked.

“Or when I got lost in the woods and an entire scavenger hunt had to be canceled to find me?” Andhera chimed in.

“Or when we set the whole Court of Hoof and Claw on fire?” Chirp demanded.

Rue sighed. “Is it really so hard to fathom that somebody was fond of you as a child?”

Silence.

“I keep forgetting to send your parents those duel challenges.” Rue muttered. “I’ll have to get to that later today.”

They straightened up. “But yes, I quite looked forward to seeing you all at each Bloom. You made my job much more enjoyable. And now you make my life more enjoyable. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

They left without another word. Andhera and the cousins stared at each other. “What the fuck, pillar boy?” Squak said in wonder. Andhera was too shocked to even respond to the old nickname.

“Do you think they know,” Chirp said slowly, “about the time we let the beholder loose in the–”

“Yes, I do!”

“Fuck!”

Chapter Text

In a cozy cottage at the edge of the Feywild that was actually much bigger on the inside than it appeared on the outside, the morning sun crept in slowly, brushing each of its inhabitants with gentle rays.

One such inhabitant was Delloso de la Rue, who was perhaps more grateful for the slowness than they had been for anything else in their long life.

Everything was slow now, they mused as they began to wake, and wasn’t that spectacular, that they could afford to wake up gradually in a warm and comfortable bed without the panic of immense responsibility?

They sighed contentedly, and the warmth behind them shifted. A rumble sounded from it, reverberating through Rue’s entire body.

Rue turned to come face to face with their beloved, their husband–Knickolas Pnackolas Hob of no particular court.

The bugbear in question was already awake, because of course he was. He made no move to get up, however, satisfied to lie still and hold Rue in his arms.

“Good morning, my love.” he said quietly. His voice was deep and gravely with sleep, and Rue fought back a shiver.

“Good morning.” They replied softly, bringing a claw up to trace his face.

He rumbled again. Rue smiled, and pressed their forehead to his, happy just to breathe with him for a moment.

After an all-too brief stretch of time, Hob sighed, and moved to sit up and leave the bed. Rue grumbled their dissent and grabbed onto his wrist.

“My love,” Hob started with absolutely zero reproach in his tone, “I have chores.”

Rue stared at him, unimpressed, for a minute before a wicked smirk came over their face.

“If you must,” they sighed, doing their best to appear chagrined. “Might I have a kiss before you go, though?”

They didn’t wait for an answer before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a long, deep kiss, slowly moving their other hand up his leg to wrap around his waist.

When they finally pulled apart, Hob blinked dumbly. He looked adorable like this–hair a mess, lost for words, absent of so many of the strict walls he put up. He opened and closed his mouth futilely.

“Five more minutes?” Rue whispered, cupping his cheek once more.

“Five more.” He agreed before diving back down to kiss them again.

“Cousin?”

“Yes, Cousin?”

“Kill me.”

“Cousin, I swear, if I could move, I would.”

Chirp groaned. “What the hell happened last night?”

“Must you ask?” Squak said tiredly from somewhere below her. “Is it not enough to simply feel the repercussions?”

Chirp pushed herself up on one elbow. Her brow furrowed as she looked around the room for the source of the voice. “Cousin, where are you?”

A thump sounded off to her left. She looked over the side of the bed to see Squawk’s arm flung out from underneath the bedskirt.

“Ah.”

She watched as the rest of Squawk’s body emerged from under the bed like a butterfly crawling out of a cocoon. He tried to push himself up to a standing position, but it was evidently far too much work, and he settled for lying face-down on the floor.

“Gods, cousin,” he moaned, “I can’t even recall the last time I was this hungover.”

“It was last week, cousin.”

“Fuck.”

They fell into silence–decidedly not a comfortable silence, but a familiar one nonetheless. Chirp stared up at the ceiling, feeling like someone had hung sandbags from her eyelids.

She would never admit it, but these moments with her cousin–hungover and exhausted–were some of her favorites. She would always love their sheer fuckery, but the mornings after, when it was just her and Squawk and the results of actions neither of them remembered, always brought with them comfort.

A horrifying thought broke through her serenity, and she sat up suddenly.

“Cousin?”

Squawk made a sound that could’ve been “Yes, cousin?”

“You were…alone under the bed, right?”

Silence from below. Then, “Cousin, I’m going to be honest with you here; the odds are not great.”

Chirp sighed. “I figured. Well, I’ll call Gobble to clear them out if you find us some breakfast–unless you would like to send them off yourself?”

Squawk pushed himself up once again. “No, no, not necessary. Just–gods.”

He doubled over, hands on his knees. “Cousin, I don’t believe I’m making it through the morning. Bury me in the sky.”

“That’s what you said last week, cousin.”

“Fuck.”

Andhera woke up with a foot in his face, which was not exactly great, but also not the worst morning they’d ever had.

“Binx.” He managed to get out.

“Hhhhhrngmph.”

“Binx!” He said louder, trying to shift away. He pushed up, but Binx’s entire body weight was on his. Eventually, he resigned himself to his fate and dropped back down into the pillows.

“What?” The tired voice finally came from the other end of the bed. “What’s the matter?”

Binx rolled over and, thankfully, off of Andhera.

“It—nothing.” When it came down to it, there really wasn’t any point in complaining about waking up with Binx starfished on top of him when it meant that he got to be with her. He quickly switched tracks. “Why are you sleeping down there?”

“What do you mean ‘down there’?” Binx sat up groggily. Their hair was pushed to one side of their head like they had just walked through one of his wind tunnels back home. Her face was creased from the pillow, and she was squinting at Andhera like a blind bat.

His heart melted just a little bit more. He reached out to them wordlessly, sighing in contentment as Binx burrowed herself into his chest.

“I think you got turned around in your sleep again.” He murmured into her hair.

“Mmm. My bad.”

“It’s not bad. It’s just interesting.”

“You’re interesting.”

“No, I’m tired. And interesting, I suppose. That is–I guess it’s up to other people to determine what’s interesting and what’s not, isn’t it? I mean, I would never just assume—not to be insulting—”

Binx tossed a hand up to blindly grope at Andhera’s face until she found his mouth and pressed a finger to his lips. “Andhera. Shush.”

“Not a problem.” They closed their eyes again, happy to sink into the blissful relief of sleep, happy just to stay here with his best friend in his arms and no storms above him, happy just to live in this moment for now.

“Don’t you have official court leader business to get to?” He asked sleepily.

Binx hummed. “It can wait another hour.”

If his gem was still in his neck, Andhera was sure he would have been drenched in a fresh spring shower right now. But he wasn’t, because the gem was gone, because he didn’t have to hurt anymore, because he was with his family now, because finally he was happy.

“I absolutely agree.” He said, and his eyes slipped shut.

Chapter Text

Stifling, smothering heat beating against his fur, matting it together. Screams from all around, of pain, of anger, of fear. The smell of blood sitting thickly wherever he goes, too much of it to follow a particular direction.

Rage.

Hob feels rage burn inside of him like a supernova, blazing through his heart, his lungs, his ribs, his skin, until everything that he is falls away and all that is left is a vibrant wrath.

He smashes through an unseelie warrior with his halberd—of what rank he doesn’t know, it’s no longer important—and rips Corporal Gallbladder off of another. He hurls the salt goblin towards a section of enemy ranks that had started to regroup and lets out a blood-curdling howl. 

The scene around him is tinged with red, and his vision blurs. He views himself as if far away, as if looking down on the carnage from high above, like some sort of gruesome play.

He sees himself ripping apart an unseelie with his bare claws—

Another salt goblin falling—

A spell screaming above him—

And then the scene shifts, and Hob sees himself racing towards the Unseelie general who sits proudly atop his horse.

Fury fills Hob’s body at the idea of this pompous general sitting, unmoving, observing the slaughter from a distance, uncaring as his men die for him, and his halberd is swung off of his back before he even realizes what’s happening.

“Coward!” He roars, and the force of it almost tears his throat raw. “COWARD!”

The general startles, and tries to move backwards, but it is far too late. Clumsily, he draws his curved sword, but he is either too inexperienced or too startled, and Hob knocks it out of his hands without effort.

“How dare you?!” Hob yells again, voice barely audible over the wailing and clashing in the back. “Come down from there and fight like a man!”

He grabs the man’s collar and wrenches him to the ground. The unseelie yelps and tumbles across the blood soaked earth.

But no, something is wrong, he was far lighter than he should have been in that armor—

Hob’s body doesn’t seem to care, and he stalks forward, slashing at the pathetic general, who just barely dodges.

“Wait!” he yells, panicked, but Hob just presses on.

Wait, no, that’s not right, I didn’t, I would never—

He swipes again.

No, no, no, what are you doing, something is wrong—!

Again. The unseelie cries out as his arm begins to bleed.

No, stop it, stop it, this isn’t—

Again. Again. Again. He won’t be stopped. He can’t be stopped.

You can, you must, he doesn’t deserve this, you are better than this—

He knocks the soldier’s helmet off, and is met with the terrified face of a boy no older than seventeen, eyes blown wide, chest heaving.

“Please!”

Please!

The halberd sinks into the boy’s chest with a terrible crunch.

A gasp.

The world goes quiet.

Hob looks up again, but the face has changed, and Andhera as he knows him looks back at him, eyes full of tears.

Blood slowly trickles from the corner of their mouth, and he gasps for air with none to be found.

“Brother.” He says brokenly. “Why?”

Why?

Why?

WHY?

Hob wakes with a gasp.

Distantly, he registers that he is soaked with sweat, and that every muscle he has is trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

The darkness around him is suffocating, and he tries desperately to suck in air, but nothing is working, and his chest is caving in on him—

“Knickolas?” He hears from far away. Something next to him shifts, moving to sit up. “Love, whatever is the matter?”

He tries to answer, but he is far too busy hyperventilating.

There’s a soft murmur of incantation, and then softly bobbing spheres of light fill the room, illuminating the concerned expression on Rue’s face.

“Dearest.” They say, clearly concerned. “What is it?”

“Andhera.” He chokes out. “Andhera was—and I—”

The thought of what he had done to the young prince is so terrible that he can’t even dare to speak it out loud.

Rue shifts so that they are looking at him, careful not to touch, as they had learned recently that it only startled him more. “Knickolas, Andhera is fine. They are safe next door with Binx. You are in the Court of Craft. You are safe.”

His heartbeat slows, but only minutely. He nods.

“I need you to say it, darling.” Rue prompts gently.

“Andhera is–is safe. We are in the Court of Craft. I…am safe.”

He knows the words to be true, but he feels suddenly that he doesn’t deserve them.

“Very good, love. What else do you need?” Rue asks.

Hob feels his limbs go limp as the adrenaline slowly drains from his body and his heartbeat begins to return to its normal pace. “I don’t—I do not know.”

He reaches up and scrubs at his eyes in frustration. “I do not know why this keeps happening.”

Rue hums sympathetically. “Briar Falls again?”

Hob doesn’t say anything in response. There is no need—Rue already knows the answer. This is the third night this week he has so rudely awoken them with his horrified whispers and paltry emotional weaknesses.

(He knows what's happening, really---knows what anniversary is fast approaching---but that doesn't make it any better.) 

Gingerly, Rue moves to place a claw on his back, rubbing it up and down when he relaxes into the touch. “Have you…I don’t mean to push, of course, but have you thought about talking to Andhera at all?”

Hob chuckles wetly. “No. No, this isn’t—that is, it should not be their responsibility to console me, not after I—”

He shudders.

“It could help.” Rue says simply, but then leaves the issue where it is, letting silence fall across their little room as Hob regains further control of his breathing.

Gods, how he loves them.

“Do you want to try to go back to sleep?” They ask finally, after what seems like ages.

Hob looks back at the pillow. By the Bloom, he’s exhausted.

“Brother, why?”

He flinches. Hard.

“I–I apologize, my love, but I think slumber might evade my grasp for the rest of the evening.” He says. “If you are tired, however, you should—”

“Nonsense.” Rue says, sliding out of bed.

“---go to—Delloso?”

They stand up and look at him expectantly. “Well? Let’s go check on them.”

Hob stares at them for a moment, then flushes.

This, too, has become routine in the past few weeks, and he hates that it’s been enough times that Rue can predict what he needs down to the minute. Wordlessly, he slides out of bed and takes Delloso’s hand, and together, they tread silently out the door and across the hall to Binx and Andhera’s room.

Hob has gotten very good lately at sliding the door open silently, at making no noise as he peers into the younger feys’ room, at assessing their sleeping forms for signs of breathing before slipping out again, and that’s just what he intends to do tonight. Except–

Except tonight, Binx is starfished across the bed by themselves, snoring gently.

Hob’s entire body turns to ice.

A tug on his hand stops him from spiraling in the knick of time, and he turns to see Rue gently pulling him out of the room.

“We don’t know that he’s in trouble.” They whisper. “Let’s check downstairs first.”

Dumbly, he must agree, because they lead him down the stairs, ignoring how he stumbles. The blood begins to pound in his ears.

Andhera isn’t in the kitchen, or the hearth, or Binx’s crafting room, and Hob is about to start breaking down doors when Rue calls his name suddenly.

He’s by their side in a matter of seconds. Always.

They gesture silently to the open back door. Hob squints.

He can just barely make out a dark silhouette on the porch, hunched over on a chair, but—

But breathing.

All the air leaves Hob’s lungs in one relieved sigh.

“Knickolas.” Rue says quietly. “Go talk to him.”

He shakes his head. “I would…only make things worse.”

“Knickolas.” They say, more urgently. He turns to face them, and their big dark eyes bore into his. “He needs you, darling. He needs to hear what you have to say. You can do it.”

Hob stares, blinking stupidly until the important part hits his sleep-deprived brain.

He needs you.

And, well. Hob doubts very strongly that that is true, but all the same, Andhera most likely needs someone to talk to about the horrors he’s experienced. And gods help the poor boy, Hob is the closest available.

He squares his shoulders and presses a kiss to Rue’s cheek. “Thank you, my love.”

“Let me know when you’re done.” They say, brushing a hand against his cheek, and then they are gone.

Hob allows himself one more moment of cowardice before turning around sharply and catapulting himself through the door.

He means to confidently stride out, but his paw catches on the trick step, and he falls through the doorway like a sack of bricks.

Andhera startles to their feet.

“Fuck! I mean, Hob!”

“No, no, I’m fine, we’re all good—” He says, getting to his feet.

“Are you sure? Are you—”

“Yup, everything’s great. Nothing to see here.”

“Oh. Okay. Great.”

“Good.”

“Wonderful.”

They both stop talking.

Andhera sits down carefully, and Hob notices that he’s holding some sort of steaming drink, which he seems to sip on completely absentmindedly. He looks out into the night air with a thousand-yard stare that Hob recognizes very well.

Damn it, he can’t do this.

Hob can handle any sort of battle, any logistical problem, anything that requires his two hands and a lot of hard work. Hell, give him enough time, he can even handle an appropriate amount of rumpus.

But vulnerability?

He’s about as adept at that as the cousins are at sobriety.

Hob stares off the back porch into the feywild. What he would give to let his problems disappear into the mist, never to be spoken of again.

But that’s not how the world works, and he owes it to Andhera to give openness an attempt.

“Your highness,” He begins, “Are you—”

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“---Alright?”

They speak over each other, and Hob coughs awkwardly.

“Oh, sorry.” Andhera says, flushing. “You go first.”

“No, no, it’s alright.”

“No, really, you can—”

“Andhera.” The prince falls silent. With a twist in his gut, Hob realizes that Andhera hasn’t met his eyes once this entire conversation.

He takes a deep breath and says, quite simply, “I had a nightmare.”

Andhera’s head shoots up. “You get them too? I mean, uh, you get—I don’t have, that is, I’m fine, not that you’re not fine, I just—”

He stops himself. Hob bites back a fond smile. Slowly, he moves to sit in the chair next to Andhera’s.

“I do.” He says, words stilted. He pauses, trying to think of the best way to say what he knows needs to come next. “It was…it was about Briar Falls.”

Andhera curls in on themselves. “Oh.”

“In it, I was…possessed of less control over my body than I normally retain, and I made choices that were…that is to say that I…” He stops, takes a deep breath, and carries on. “Andhera, are you alright?”

The prince smiles, but it fails to reach his eyes. “Of course, Hob.”

“Are you certain?”

“I…yes. Yes, I’m certain. I’m absolutely fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I am not.” Admitting it feels like taking the weight of the world onto his shoulders. “I am constantly terrified at the thought of what I could have done to you, and I…am so ashamed—”

“Stop.” Andhera stands up abruptly, slamming down his mug. “We don’t–we don’t need to talk about this.”

“I think we do.”

“No, we don’t. Because if we talk about it, then it becomes real and I have to think about how my best friend almost killed me, and I don’t want to do that. So let’s just—let’s just not talk about it, and then it isn’t a problem, and everything can be fine.”

Hob’s heart constricts as he watches Andhera repeat everything he’s told himself in the past few weeks. With a sinking feeling, he realizes that this is exactly what Rue was talking about.

They were right, as always.

“But it isn't fine.” He says gently. “And how are things going to get better if we refuse to acknowledge that there is a problem?”

Andhera begins to pace, running a hand through his hair. “There’s no problem, Hob.”

“Right. So we two are just out here when we should be sleeping for…fun?”

Andhera laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Maybe. I don’t know why you do the things you do.”

Hob winces. The truth of their words hits him harder than expected. “It’s perfectly alright to be upset.”

“No, it’s not.”

The fire in Andhera’s voice shocks them both for a second. Hob recovers quicker. “You were little more than a child, and I attacked you. It is fully within your rights to be aggrieved.”

“No, it’s not! Not with you, anyway.” Andhera throws his hands up. Hob stands to mirror him.

“And why, pray tell, not?” He means to go on, to tell Andhera that he is furious with himself anyway, and that he is no stranger to self-flagellation if the situation requires it, but Andhera explodes like a bottle without a cork.

“Because I don’t want to be!” He cries indignantly. “Because it wasn’t even your fault! You didn’t know who you were fighting, you had no idea that they would send a—it’s not even your fault, so I have no reason to be so fucking angry!”

“Yes, you do.” Hob says. “I hurt you, Andhera. And I am—”

“Don’t.”

Their voice is steel. Hob straightens almost automatically. Andhera flinches, then collapses in on himself, face in his hands.

“You didn’t.” He says, the sound muffled. “That’s the worst fucking part about this whole thing. You didn’t hurt me. You had the chance to, and you walked away instead. And the horrible part is that that is probably the kindest thing anyone did for me out of my entire fucking childhood.”

He shudders, and a sound that is eerily similar to a sob rings out from the young prince.

Hob moves in on instinct, but stops himself. There's a good chance Andhera will not want to be touched by him in this instant. 

“I am…sorry.”

He lets the words fall into empty air, and almost crumples underneath their weight. They are not enough, he knows, nothing will ever be enough, but in this moment, he realizes just how damn important they are.

Andhera doesn’t lift their head. “You almost killed me.”

“I know. I am sorry.”

“My mother sent me to die.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry.”

Andhera whirls around suddenly, and Hob automatically moves to put his hands up to protect from an attack before he realizes that the prince is just wrapping his hands around his middle.

Andhera is hugging him.

Even after everything, he is coming to Hob for comfort.

K.P. Hob is a man often struck by the undeserved fortune he has come across in gaining the love of the fey he has chosen to surround himself with, but in this moment, he is struck too by the honor awarded to him by virtue of their trust.

And he knows as surely as he knows that his heart beats that he will spend the rest of his life attempting to earn it.

He wraps his arms around Andhera in turn and squeezes tightly.

“I’m sorry,” He says again, words spilling out of his mouth like water, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Andhera squeezes back, cutting him off. “Thank you.”

Hob stops then, and just rests, taking the time to be still for the first time since waking up. He stares off into the mists again, feeling Andhera’s chest rise and fall.

It’s not enough. It could never be enough. It’s only the first step in what he is sure will be an incredibly long journey.

But over Andhera’s shoulder, the sun begins to rise.