Chapter Text
He wasn't exactly sure what to think about the situation that was laid bare before him. Never would he have thought, in no lifetime in this one or next, that he would be standing before a young God. He was a god, wasn't he? His presence was gentle, his aura was bright, almost golden. He has never seen such finery on... A young child much like himself. They stood maybe at the same height, a crooked smile upon his chubby cheeks, honey golden eyes beaming with a brilliance that, if he kept looking, the only eye he had worth showing would be blinded. He was sure he would become blind if he kept on staring and maybe offended the young god if that was the case.
He would have turned away, in a normal situation. Running off would have been the next step and no one would know the wiser. But he felt compelled to be blinded by this light. Perhaps one could say he didn’t care much for his sight because he was seeing something that couldn’t compare to anything else in this lifetime. He thought he was going to melt in his bones at this rate.
He wasn't worthy of it, grungy and covered in dirt he was. His clothes were in tatters, barely hanging on for life. What once was a subtle maroon-colored robe was dinged to a near greyer tint. The edges of his trousers were frayed and greyed even further; they were once a gentle beige color once upon a time. Yet the other boy's clothes were silken, bright, as if just fresh from the finest seamstress in all the land if not slightly smeared by the dirt from holding a stick from earlier. Soft gentle blues and whites adorn his soft frame, and his lone rusted color eye was sure this boy had fallen from the heavens.
Maybe he was a God, he just beat his tormentors away... With nothing more than a stick. Now he was self-conscious; his show of bravery was only to yell and cry for no one in particular while he took on the abuse. Having a good set of lungs did him no good at the end of the day. No one listened to him... Not until now. Embarrassment was an understatement and he didn’t think he could feel such a feeling at this point in his life. However, right now before him, he was every single bit of just that. Full embarrassment to the highest degree that his strongest face was tears and mud.
“Are you okay?”
No, not really. He didn't think he would ever be okay. He's aware that being beaten daily wasn't a normal state of living. He shouldn’t have memorized where it was softer to land, the mud, the dry dirt, or cobblestone though that took no genius. If he went further, nor was skipping meals, making him weak, and choosing to conserve his energy by taking blows his way. So he didn’t fight back unless he knew he could do some damage. He does recall a decently good swing that he’s sure he broke some boy’s nose. But he returned it in kind. He’s certain his nose isn’t broken but it does hurt, stings at every small movement he makes. He tries not to grimace or make any other ugly face that could move the tender area. He might look silly at, whatever his face is plastered at in the moment.
So he kept thinking, was he okay? Nothing at home was great, but that place wasn’t a home. It stopped being a home once he stepped out the door and vowed not to go back. That choice was only this morning though, his family's attitude towards him if... No, they weren't his family, he was still trying to get that through his small head. They weren’t of blood, not that it much mattered. He was simmering more in his thoughts than he was trying to answer his young savior. He should probably answer the boy, though he was nervous. No one was kind, that was impossible. The young boy was searching for any amount of deceit he could trace from the other, but he came up empty. Empty as his hands clenched into fists and as empty as his stomach that was only now clenching to make him aware of his hunger.
He hadn't even addressed his bruising just yet.
It wasn’t too important, he had worse.
“I–” a pitiful, wet, small voice that even he wanted to wince from, “-yes.”
The honey golden eyes, round saucers widening took in his monstrous features certainly. He wondered if he was some being worth being banished. The boy in front of him became too much, was so blinding but his one solid eye on view couldn’t peel away even though his body was fighting to run off in shame. He wasn’t worthy of being in the boy’s presence much less speak to him! With his wits even coming to him, he felt a creeping, lurking danger conversing with someone so highly dressed. He’s heard beggars getting executed in the street simply from looking at a noble wrong.
He didn’t want to end up dead. But for a slim second, he thought it probably wouldn’t be too bad if he was. All his problems would melt away and he wouldn’t–
“You’re clearly not! You’re already swelling up–”
This filthy little urchin couldn’t make sense of the boy’s words. He knew he would swell and look even more hideous than he already was but he wasn’t sure why this kid cared. Wait, cared? Is that what was happening right before him? Before he registered it, his dirty hand being grabbed by such comforting warmth? His breath hitched, finally being brought to the reality of sharing the same space as this god. He wasn’t worthy of this treatment if his thoughts were anything to go by.
What he hadn’t expected however was the sudden grip the boy had the moment the urchin tried to pull back, and that brought a spike of fear though he knew better than to show it on his face. “Let me take you to the healers, come come. It’s only right, after all, that your wounds be taken care of.”
Oh… The urchin gained some sort of understanding. He was a charity case and he wasn’t sure if that made this situation worse than it already was. But he was down rolling in the mud before, he supposed that he was already at the lowest. What’s a little more humiliation? He’ll get tended to by disapproving adults, talked about under their breaths, then dumped out in the street with a “Good riddance!” in the cheer of his departure.
The rich don’t care for the needy beggars, much less the children born from them. He swallowed a lump in his throat and cotton filled his mouth. He parted his lips to protest but the little lord was already tugging him along. Now that his mind was blanking, what he was going to say only came out as a pitiful dead puff of air. He shut up for the time being as eyes from strangers grew wide and stared at the two young boys traveling hand-in-hand to the urchin’s unassuming whim of his savior.
His words have long died in the time he realized he was being brought straight to his death. The two guards posted at the grand entrance were already enough to wish he had fought his savior and protested but he was so damn weak. He should have fought, should have screamed and cried–he was good at that. The guard's eyes bulged and tentatively let the, now young prince, pass. Righteous as he was, seemed like no one could say no to him.
The urchin couldn’t have before and even now.
How bold that the young prince had even the gall to move through the front gates as well, announcing that he more than likely slipped past his personal guards and roamed the streets freely too, only to pick up some stray on the way back.
He turned to stone with shock he barely registered what was happening around him. Was it terrible luck or a cruel joke, he couldn’t quite tell. The young prince seemed to have his own temper when dealing with others. Adults gave way to him, his puffed cheeks in pouts seemed to scare them the most. It scared the urchin boy more. Who in their right mind would want to speak back to royalty and deny them anything? It was different when dealing with a nobleman, but a prince? Protesting against one was just as dangerous.
His hands felt suddenly sweaty, his earlier thoughts to fight this prince before were certain death wishes… It was all death right, no matter what he picked? He was trying to grapple with all this sudden information flooding into his small mind and needed to start from the top.
He remembers for the unknown time since his young life he was being bullied over his accursed appearance. If it wasn’t a one-eyed freak that day, it was certainly some other variation of it. The words wouldn’t have bothered him honestly, just when things got physical did everything spiral down to screaming and yelling, tussling in the mud. Most times it was him on the ground, smeared with rotting food and mud, kicked or tugged at. Try as he always does in fruitlessness, he fights back but malnourishment and consistent hunger make him weak.
It doesn’t mean he didn’t do damage, however.
He was certain he broke a boy’s nose today since the blood on his clothes said so, but that changed with a well-timed punch to his nose. Whether his nose broke or not, he didn’t care but it was enough fuel to throw some more before he ended back on the ground due to his adrenaline giving out when it was crucial. That was when this young prince–or bringer of death–showed himself to scare the boys away with what seemed to be sword moves he’d seen from royal guards from the outskirts of the grand capital. It was too fast to recall what exactly got the boys to run off since he was on the ground covering his head from further injury but was he glad for the temporary cease-fire.
Now he was here, resting in one of the many beds in the infirmary. Not any, mind you, but the best of the best in the royal palace and he was an ‘ esteemed guest of the prince ’, and treated… Tentatively as such. It was a strained, tense, awkward sensation that filled the air for multiple parties. Surely word about him being here would reach the King and Queen that their son brought in some mangey stray.
The urchin pondered for a moment if royalty were even allowed to leave the grounds. He’s never seen the family before, he recalls, though it wasn’t like he was able to attend festivals or attend royal decrees. He… was just a kid and wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t even read the letters sent out announcing such events or posted up on walls. And now here he was, legitimately in their home. How should he be acting? He was thinking too much. He was still going to die right? He was thinking too much. He was spiraling on this thought as the young prince beside him pipped up finally.
“What’s your name?”
The urchin was startled and stared at the young prince silently. Did he care to learn his name? Maybe, at some point, he could learn to stop doubting the boy who was to be his end, perhaps. Right, no that wasn’t going to happen if his thunderous heart was anything to go by.
The young prince studied him a while longer, golden eyes eager to hear what he had to say as that crooked smile started to grow on his patient-looking peach face. The urchin couldn’t stop himself from staring a bit longer before finally breaking the connection by staring at his tightly clenched hands pillowed on soft white blankets in his lap. They were probably forever stained with his grubby hands as well as the boy’s hand.
“...Hong.” he finally mentioned.
Now why the prince seemed so happy to learn his name, especially that he hadn’t given a family name, he couldn’t say. His radiance couldn’t be any brighter than what was coming off in waves. Hong almost felt sick from taking in this newfound energy. Maybe something was wrong with him perhaps?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you! My family name is Xie, given name is Lian.”
Xie Lian? It was a pretty name. Hong looked up at Xie Lian for a moment, avoiding his eyes to stare at his forehead. What looked like a red lotus was painted on his forehead. Little lotus? It seemed fitting for a little prince with such a name. And he had tainted that with his grimy little hands. The air between them settled in silence and the prince squirmed. Hong supposed he wouldn’t be in the graces to talk with other kids his age, much less from the outside. Even less so with a boy like him so reluctant to speak. Oddly though, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not yet.
It wasn’t until the door opened that Hong’s guard suddenly went up and swiveled his head to healers coming to approach. The first healer looked over the boy and slightly upturned his lip before schooling his face. Hong was very aware of that look but noted the bare minimum attempt to hide it so as to not upset the prince who had taken an interest in this charity case.
The prince’s company seems to afford him a small bit of safety from adults under his station.
Hong seems to be used to being in his little head as others talk around him. He doesn’t exactly know what it is, but he’s very skilled in tuning people out. He already made his expectations and judgments. When all he’s known is pain, he expects more of the same. The only enigma however was Xie Lian sitting so happily beside him, talking as a spoiled prince does to demand attention to a broken toy. Oh.
He could very well be a toy, to this prince. Young lordlings would be infatuated with a toy, break it, beg, and cry to have it fixed then abandon it later.
If that's the case, the thought puts a bitter taste in his mouth. A young boy his age shouldn’t even be having these thoughts but he had them, under lock and key with a guarded and nearly glazed blank expression to keep himself in check. Xie Lian was weird and unpredictable, all he had was his thoughts and theories surrounding this lotus. He came to flinch the moment he saw an imposing large hand come in front of his eye and on instinct he opened his jaws and clamped on the offending hand in defense. It surprised Xie Lian, seeing how wide his eyes got and the slight yelp of the healer who used all his power to not swat the boy for the sudden attack.
Oh.
Hong only just registered what he did and promptly let go but now he was terrified to the bone of the retribution coming his way. Defending against kids was one thing, but full-grown adults, especially men, is where he lost every time. Maybe he’d get a new scar or a new broken bone that wouldn’t set right if he got the chance to heal. He started to pale, however, as he registered that it wasn’t some drunk man like his ‘father’ was he attacked, but a royal healer, stations far above Hong’s pitiful rank. He was going to die, die a quick death and he was starting to–
“We can’t even begin to asses this if he’s going to be.. feral .”
“Maybe a meal would settle his nerves, look at his clothes.”
Xie Lian looked at Hong with a worried expression before cautiously reaching for his hand and holding it again. “Hong-er, they just want to help.”
Hong-er? They were suddenly familiar? It was news to him.
Hong stared at the prince longer than needed while the two healers spoke to each other before one left off for the mentioned meal. It probably won’t be anything fantastic–congee would be on the menu–but it was better than having nothing in the dull ache of his belly. His jaw clenched a moment and tightened before becoming loose. When he looks to the healer once more he finds his bite didn’t break skin. The healer gently cups his hand as if the act would smooth over the dull sting.
He has mixed feelings about not drawing blood but it could have saved him. What it does tell him though, is that he was weak.
The healer exhales for a moment to compose himself and tries his approach again, now that the boy is paying attention. He notes that perhaps he spooked the boy who zoned out when he was talking to the prince. “Young Hong, I wanted to remove the bandage around your head. It seems old and if you’re wounded, it would be important to check under.”
The healer gives pause. Hong is listening but he looks like he would rather die than have the bandages taken off. He hates the thought of exposing the single worst thing that the stars aligned and gave him in his birth. The cursed thing he has to live with. Covered or not, makes little difference to those who know. He rather be bullied for having one eye than be cursed for showing both. Yet he finds his throat failing him when in other situations he would have run off and said something cheeky. He doesn’t have the strength, he reasons. His eye peered down at his right hand being held by Xie Lian.
This god drains him, he thinks. Mentally he starts to complain about becoming pilant with the hand holding his then becomes hyperaware that this prince is holding his hand.
He opts to pretend just to get him out of it.
He retracts his hand, the prince frowning and immediately Hong feels regret. A frown doesn’t belong on the face. Then he panics wondering if he sped up his demise. His thoughts were becoming too much. Focus. With nervous hands he reaches up to his head and starts unraveling the bandages, some clumps of it fall on their own and he takes note of the ragged state they’re in and filthy. When he put the bandages on ages ago they had been white but now they were a dark grey color with some splattering of mud. He was filthy and he knew but he never often thought to think to change his bandages. Once down, he keeps his right eye closed as if to pretend he didn’t have it and knows his trained but messy hair helped cover the view.
The healer seemed pleased and didn’t comment on why the boy kept his eye closed and the other open but he wasn’t going to fuss about it. Sure he was suspicious, but the boy was being compliant so he wasn’t going to ruin his chances to do his job.
He did fuss about everything else.
This was perhaps Hong’s first attempt at full-on care–even if ordained by the young prince–and he didn’t know really how to handle what he was given. He had hands over him but they weren’t out of malice but duty to search and treat his wounds. He tried to take in the big long words they used but couldn’t make sense of the terms when the healers spoke to each other. He stopped paying attention truly when the gentle scent of food wafted in with the second healer from earlier returning with what seemed to be a palace servant left behind the other side of the door.
After a full meal, they got him out of bed, stripped him down, and bathed. It was a fight for both the healer and Hong and the healer swore the boy somehow got stronger once he was removed from the prince. Then it took another healer to take note of all his injuries while the other dried him and got him in new clothes. A change of bedsheets later and the boy was put on bedrest. The prince, happier to see his new friend cleaned up, was suddenly saddened by the news of needing to leave.
The healer tried his best but informed the boy that his parents would like a word with him. Hong notes it’s probably because the prince was out in public without a guard and brought trash home.
“I’ll come back Hong-er! Be nice, the healers are really good I promise!”
The prince might promise nicety but Hong decides to ignore the promise. He’s not so trusting… It’s easier to live his pathetic life like that. Hong does know that now he’s alone and smelling of ointments and pressed to clean fresh clothes. Any energy he had is long been spent and soon finds himself slipping under the warmth of comforting yet dreadful sleep in a foreign space. He wants to understand the whirlwind of events that happened but he finds his eye slowly dipping. It’s not before he makes sure to grab the extra bandaging on the side table to hide his eye once more that he finally drifts off to sleep.
His first step in the dream world is fretful, filled with him trying to wake himself back up. Soon, however, with the warmth lulling him, he finds that perhaps it’s not so bad. He hadn’t planned his running away well, so he was sure he was going to be on the streets or lucky to sneak into a stable to rest on hay. But this bed, with the smell of ointment and silence, grips his tired body to drag him into a deep slumber.
Perhaps, it isn’t that bad of a situation. Maybe, just maybe, he lives for another day with a better start than this one had.