Chapter Text
Prince Ambrosius Goldenloin was no stranger to the grand balls thrown by his parents.
Despite his young age, he’d lost count of the number of extravagant parties thrown for an array of different reasons – his parents’ anniversary, New Year’s Eve, Christmas. He usually enjoyed them, though, with the music filling his head and guiding his feet along the gorgeous dance floor as he danced with his mother, the ballroom decorated in gorgeous colors with flowers on every table and delicious food cooked by the kitchen staff. Fancy gowns swirling as couples danced away, and the sounds of quiet conversations coming from the outskirts of the dance floor.
Though, the ones they threw for his birthday were always his favorite.
He got to choose the colors and the decorations and the type of music and the flavor of cake. It was always how he liked it, and he enjoyed every second of them. Plus, it was always nice to see his gifts – there was a boy who worked in the kitchens that always made him something special.
Tonight was one such ball, the Prince’s ninth birthday. The ballroom was decorated in beautiful gold, blue, and white decorations. Dark blue ribbons trimmed with gold hanging from the rafters, gorgeous golden and white flowers placed in vases on the tables towards the back of the room. The cakes towered above the rest of the food, both of them gorgeous. Both were red velvet – his favorite. One was decorated in gold with a waterfall design of navy blue and white flowers, and the other looked nearly identical, the only difference was it was navy blue with gold and white flowers. The gift table already had some gifts wrapped in gold wrapping paper, gifts from his parents now doubt. That pile would only grow higher with each guest that arrived.
Ambrosius himself would be the center of attention, and as such his mother had gotten a new outfit made specifically for the occasion. A white button up with a golden AG embroidered on the cuffs of both sleeves, paired with a gold vest that had embroidered dark blue vines stretching up the front and curling around his sides to climb up the back of the piece. It was paired with black slacks that had blue and gold flowers with intertwined, white stems winding up the sides, and a pair of simple dress shoes.
He stares at himself in the mirror as his mother finishes braiding flowers into his long, golden hair.
“You look beautiful, Ambrosius.” His mom places her hands on his small shoulders, and he beams up at her. He giggles as she presses a kiss to his hair. “You’ll be the star of the show.”
“Of course I will!” He puffs out his chest a bit, “It’s my birthday!” She laughs at that, pulling him into a hug.
“Alright, buttercup, come on. It’s almost time for the party to start.” She pulls back, placing her hands on his shoulders once again and guiding him out to the grand ballroom.
-
Ambrosius grins as he hears the music begin to flow throughout the ballroom, inviting the guests that were slowly trickling in onto the dance floor.
He sits by the window, his face pressed into the cool glass as he watches the large carriages pull into the front of the palace, leaving neat lines and hoofprints in the snow that dusted the ground. One of his favorite parts of any party was seeing the outfits of all the guests; flowing, elaborate gowns of rich shades and sharp, smooth suits made of the finest fabrics. Flowing hair woven into tight braids and pulled into intricate buns, or shorter hair that’s combed back and smooth to keep it out of the face. Eye-catching makeup that accentuates the face and pairs perfectly with their selected outfit. All of it was so beautiful.
Ambrosius waves excitedly at people as they step out of their carriages bearing gifts for him, and they laugh brightly and wave back as they make their way up to the large doors that lead into the ballroom. As they pass the young Prince, they wish him a happy birthday and he grins brightly and nods in thanks as he continues staring out the window, breath fogging up the glass.
Eventually, the last of the guests arrive and Ambrosius pulls away from the window to go join the festivities. He dances around the ballroom by himself, some guests spinning him along as he makes his way towards the back of the room. He gets caught by his mother, who smiles and pulls him into a longer dance. She lets him go as the music changes and he continues spinning through the guests.
When he exits the crowd of guests near the food tables, smiling and giggling like he was a schoolgirl, he feels a hand tap his shoulder. Much to his embarrassment, he lets out a small shriek and whips around in surprise. Ballister, the boy from the kitchens, giggles a bit at his expression.
“What the heck, Bal?” He pouts, but he ruins the effect by bursting into a laugh. Ballister laughs too, holding something behind his back.
“Not my fault you weren’t paying attention.” The darker haired boy giggles, “Anyway, happy birthday, Ambrosius!” He holds out a small white box for Ambrosius to take. “I made you something with some scrap metal I found!” The blonde smiles and opens the box, watching in awe as a small butterfly made from metal comes fluttering out of it, circling around his head.
“Bal! I love it!” Ambrosius’s grin widens as the thing continues to circle around his head.
“It’ll stay near you as long as you have this.” Ballister reaches into the small box and pulls out a chain with a sun charm on the end of it. Turning it over revealed that the words we’re better together was engraved on it. “I put a little chip in it that synced to the butterfly's circuitry. It also doubles as a charger for it!” Ambrosius couldn’t quite decipher the emotion in the other boy’s eyes from behind his long, dark hair, but he was sure it was a happy one as he took the necklace and put it on.
“It’s awesome, Bal!” Ballister smiles brightly as he shows Ambrosius how to turn the butterfly off. Once it was back in the box, Ambrosius notices the song fade and change into a different one. “Oh! Oh! I love this song.” He grabs Ballister’s hands with little hesitation. “Come dance with me!” Ballister bites his lip, clearly a bit hesitant.
“Won’t they stare at you if you dance with a commoner?” He asks, so quietly Ambrosius nearly doesn’t hear it.
“I mean, who cares? I want to dance with you!”
“I-I don’t even know how.”
“I’ll teach you! It’s easy!” Without another word, Ambrosius shows Ballister where to place his hands. He guides the shorter boy in simple waltz. 1 2 3. 1 2 3. 1 2 3. Ballister is a quick learner, easily picking up the dance. Soon enough, they were waltzing around with the other dancers on the dance floor.
(In the shadows, a presence lurks. Watching. Waiting.)
The world seems to melt away, trapping the two boys in their own little bubble. The only things that mattered were each other and the music guiding their footsteps across the floor. Ballister smiles shyly up at Ambrosius as they dance, who returns the smile in earnest, twirling the older boy around the ballroom.
Eventually, they break out of the crowd and break apart, panting heavily but giggling, nonetheless.
“That was fun.” Ballister beams, “We should do that again sometime!”
“Yeah.” Ambrosius grins. “Yeah, we should.” He was about to say something else, but then he hears his mother calling him from across the ballroom. At the same time, one of the older kitchen staff comes and yanks Ballister away.
“Stop bothering the prince, Ballister. Get back to the kitchens.” He scolds the boy, who rolls his eyes and shoots Ambrosius a small smile as he’s dragged away. The blonde boy waves goodbye to his friend and navigates the crowd of dancers to get to his mother.
“Momma!” He grins. “I was dancing with Ballister.” He says proudly, puffing out his chest.
“I saw.” His mother’s eyes were warm, full of amusement as she pats her son’s head. “You were wonderful.” Ambrosius beams as his mother pulls a small box out of her pocket. “Now, buttercup, I got this for you. I wanted to give it to you before you opened your other gifts.”
The box was blue with a white ribbon, and when he took the lid off he pulled out a beautiful gold and silver music box. It was round, with red gems inlaid in the sides. When he wound it with the key from the box, it played a beautiful melody that he recognized as the lullaby his mother and grandmother sang to him.
“Oh, momma, I love it!”
“I’m glad you do, buttercup.” She fastens the necklace chain that holds the key around his neck. “Maybe you can show it to Ballister later.”
“Oh! You’re right!” He grins. “I’ll go find him!” And before she can say a word more, he’s running back off into the crowd, music box in hand.
(The presence in the shadows bristles, but keeps away for now. The time would come for them to strike, but not now.
…
No. Now was the best time for them to strike.)
The sharp whack of a staff on the floor of the ballroom brings the party to a halt. The music fades out and partygoers hold their breath as the sudden silence is broken only by the sharp clicking of heels walking through the crowd. Emerging from the tightly packed sea of guests was the Director. Her face is set in a sharp glare as she comes to a stop a few feet from the Queen, who returns her gaze with fervor. Ambrosius comes running out of the crowd, clutching the music box and hiding behind his mother.
“What are you doing here?” The Queen demands, holding one arm out to protect her son. “You know you aren’t welcome in the palace anymore.” Her voice is as stern as ever, echoing in the silent ballroom. The Director merely rolls her eyes.
“That will not stop me. You made a mistake when you attempted to Exile me beyond the Wall.” Her glare only sharpens as she speaks. “I’ve come back to make sure you and your entire family pay for what you did.”
“You are not my advisor anymore. Leave the premises at once, or I’ll have my guards remove you forcefully.” The Queen warns, a challenge evident in her voice. The Director scoffs, holding up her staff.
“A band of silly guards aren’t going to stop me, either.”
Everything happens much too fast.
One moment, the Director and the Queen are staring each other down, and the next there’s a flash of green light from the Director’s staff and the crystal chandelier is falling to the ground. Guests scramble out of the way as it shatters and sends shards sailing across the floor. Ambrosius grips his mother’s skirt in fear as the Director laughs.
“Shame. I’m sure that will cost a lot to replace.” Her voice was cold, no emotion except malice evident in her tone. “Too bad you won’t be around to pay for it.” There was another green flash, and a spark, and then suddenly the decorations were ablaze. The guests screamed and darted for the doors that led out into the snow covered night, flames licking at their heels as they did so. The Queen turns to her son, whose eyes were full of tears.
“We need to run. Now. Come on.” Ambrosius nods and allows his mother to take his hand, leading through the hallways he had grown up in. The flames were moving quickly, engulfing everything in their path as the Goldenloins rushed to find an exit that wasn’t blocked off.
(Ambrosius can’t breathe. He chokes on the thick smoke every time he inhales, even with his shirt pulled over his nose.
He can’t see. Smoke and ash are clouding his vision, the heat is making his eyes water. The only thing that keeps him going is his mother’s hand tugging him along, and the thoughts that scream at him to run.
He drops his music box.
He can’t leave that behind, he can’t let it be destroyed along with everything else. He tugs out of his mother’s grip and darts back to where it lay on the ground.
“Ambrosius!” His mother shouts, panic gripping her as her son runs towards the flames.
“My music box! I-I need my music box!” He scoops it off the ground and freezes as he stares back at the flames that were destroying the only home he’s ever known. The hallways, the garden, the kitchens–
The kitchens.
Ballister.
Was Ballister okay? Was he trapped by the flames, unable to get out? Was he scared? Or alone? Oh, stars, what if he died? Ambrosius wouldn’t be able to handle that–
There’s a hand on his arm and he’s being yanked forward again.
He yelps, but calms down once he realizes that Ballister is the one yanking him forward.
“Come on. The Director has minions looking for you guys. You can escape through the servants’ quarters.”
“What about you?” Ambrosius feels like he might cry, but he blinks back the tears so he doesn’t trip over his own feet.
“I’ll be fine. I know how to handle myself.” They stop in a room not yet touched by the flames, and Ballister pulls open one of the panels to reveal a passageway. “In here. Go.” Ambrosius goes to follow his mother into the passage when he again drops his music box. He attempts to turn back for it, but Ballister shoves him into the passage and shuts the panel without another word.
He turns back around just as some of the Director’s minions burst into the room.
“Where are they, boy?” One of them demands. Ballister doesn’t say anything, he just folds his arms in protest.
And then he’s on the ground, pain blossoming in his gut and his sides and his back as hard, steel-toed boots hit him from every angle. That’s the last thing he remembers before passing out.
-
Everything hurts.
Ambrosius can barely keep himself running, snow crunching under his shoes as his mother urges him forward. His lungs are full of cold night air, his heart is beating out of his chest. Adrenaline is coursing through his veins, his head is pounding.
A foot grabs his ankle.
He shrieks, falling into the snow as his mother stops to help him back up. The Director is standing there, dragging him towards her. Tears prick his eyes and all he can force out of his dry throat is a guttural sob as he’s dragged towards his death.
And then his mother pulls him free.
Ambrosius scrambles to his feet, shaking and crying as his mother steps in between him and the Director. The Director doesn’t quit, taking a deliberate step towards her with a wicked grin on her face.
There’s a crack, and then another, and suddenly the taller woman fell into the freezing water below the ice. The Queen turns back to her son, only to fall through the ice herself. She breaks the surface, managing to scream one word.
“Run!”
Then she gets pulled into the icy depths below.
Ambrosius turns and runs, tripping over his own feet and slipping on packed snow. He follows the few family members that survived the fire to the train station, breathing harder than he ever thought he could. It felt like his whole body was on fire.
Fire.
Much like the one that just took his home from him.
He shakes those thoughts off as his grandmother reaches for him from the back of the train car.
“Ambrosius, come on! You can do it!” She calls out to him. He tries, he really does, but he loses his footing and slips back. Their grip on each other’s hands is severed and he falls onto the ground, head hitting the hard concrete as the train speeds away.
The last thing he remembers is the cold snow pressed against his face.
-
The sun rises as it always does the day after a tragedy.
The world spins on. Nature doesn’t care for human events. It cannot be stopped; it will not pause its routine because of a disaster that does not affect it.
The day after a tragedy, the morning sun illuminates the face of a nine-year-old boy passed out in the snow on a train platform. His breaths are shallow, his golden hair mussed and tangled, his nose bloodied.
The day after a tragedy, the boy stirs and clutches at his head where it throbs, wincing at the resulting ache. His mind is completely void of any memories. Not a name, not the face of family, not yesterday’s events.
(There’s a flash of green light. There’s faint echoes of screaming. There’s intense heat that makes his eyes water.
There’s cracking ice and a loud splash and a woman’s voice yelling something he can’t make out.)
The day after a tragedy, a boy with golden hair and a throbbing head stumbles about the city. His torn, wet clothes allow for the chill to bite at him as he shivers, hugging himself to stave off the cold. He didn’t know anything; he didn’t remember anything. He wasn’t sure where he should go, either.
His head was swimming so bad he felt he might tip over at any moment.
Eventually, he stops and leans against a wall for support, looking up when a pair of boots come to a stop in front of him.
“What are you doing out here all alone, kid?” A woman stood in front of him, with ginger hair that cascaded to her shoulders in ringlets and inquisitive green eyes.
“I-I don’t know.” He rasps, still leaning against the wall. His entire body ached, and he shivered so severely he felt his teeth chatter. “I woke u-up on the- the train p-platform.”
“In the snow? Oh, you poor dear.” She pulls off her puffy coat, and wastes no time wrapping it around him. He sinks into the warmth, collapsing against the woman from how badly his body hurts. “Looks like you’ve been roughed up a bit.” She scoops him up with minimal effort, and he makes a startled noise as she does so.
“W-Where are you taking me?” He asks, the fear seeping into his voice.
“Don’t worry, kid. I run an orphanage on the outer fringes of the city. It’s not much, but it’s tons better than staying out in the snow.” He's silent, but gives confirmation with a nod of his head as he’s carried out of the bustling city center. He sinks into the comforting presence of the woman as they step inside a shabby old building.
He peeks through his hands and sees a bunch of kids staring curiously at him.
“Kids,” The woman starts, “We have another member joining us.” She sets him down gently, and he stumbles a bit, gripping onto her arm to steady himself. “What’s your name?” She asks softly.
What’s your name?
The question echoes in his head, but it calls no information to mind. The memory of his name slips through his fingers like sand, and he can’t provide her with an answer. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, before deciding on what to say.
“I-I don’t remember…” He says quietly, fidgeting with his hands. The woman hums, gently moving his hair away from his face.
“That’s alright. We’ll give you a name.” She purses her lips in thought, before smiling. “How does Rosi sound?” The newly named Rosi perks up a bit, smiling and nodding. “Alright. Kids, meet Rosi.”
(The new name scratched at something in the back of his mind, a memory begging to be pulled to the surface. It was just out of his reach, though. Held behind a thick sheet of fog that he couldn’t traverse.)
-
Ballister wakes to a searing ache all over his body.
He groans, attempting to sit up, only to find his right arm was trapped under a pile of rubble. He panics as he attempts to pull it free, the feeling only worsening when realizes that he can’t feel the arm at all. After a few agonizing moments of struggling, he manages to yank his arm out from underneath the debris. He sucks in a breath at what he sees.
His arm is coated in dried blood, mangled and bent in ways that shouldn’t be possible. He was positive it was broken in several places, and he grits his teeth as he attempts to move it.
He’s about to book it out of the remains of the palace when he catches something glinting in the morning sun.
Ballister walks over and kneels next to it, gingerly scooping it off the ground with his good hand. It was a gold and silver music box with shimmering red gems inlaid in the sides. He recalls, at that moment, the words desperately shouted by Ambrosius the previous night.
My music box.
This must be the music box he was talking about. He clutches it close to his chest, glancing up at one of the shattered stained glass windows.
“I’ll find you, Ambrosius. I’ll bring your music box back.” He promises, staring down at the object.
“I’ll give it back if it’s the last thing I do.”