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2024-09-12
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2025-06-21
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5/?
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i did not mean to be cruel

Summary:

Holland doesn't know why he and Alox are going to the castle.

He understands too late.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“Holland, it’s time to get up.”

He struggled to lift his head, vision blurry. The herbal mixture his brother had given him the evening before was supposed to help him sleep through the night, yet here he was with his gaze not quite able to focus on Alox.

 “It’s early,” he managed to say, tongue heavy in his mouth. That was the clearest thought he could muster. No sunlight shone between the shutters.

“Obviously. We need to leave before dawn, draw less attention that way.”

He looked down at his feet while Alox finished packing a bag. He didn’t understand but more questions would just make Alox mad at him. He fisted the cotton sheets under his hands.

 Close your eyes. Slow, deep breaths. Focus.

Alox gripped his arm, dragging him on unsteady feet to the door.

“My shoes,” he protested.

“You’ll get new ones.”

So he followed because Alox was insisting. The coldness of the stone streets seeped through his wool socks, his brother’s grip keeping him on his feet. At least the chill woke him up a bit more.

Before he realized it, they were at the edge of the Kosik. A man stood there as if waiting for them. Average height, brown hair.

Metal armor and silver sword.

Holland lurched back, clumsy fingers reaching for his brother’s dagger. If he could just draw a few drops of blood-

“Knock it off!” Alox hissed.

He froze. Alox wasn’t afraid and the castle guard wasn’t attacking, though his hand rested on the pommel of his sword. There was something he was missing. He turned to Alox.

“We are going to the castle.” The words came slow and pronounced. “Now behave.”

Holland glanced at the guard. Still not attacking. At least with Alox’s old gang he had an idea of what he was supposed to do.

"He's younger than I expected," the guard noted. There was something in his voice he couldn’t parse.

"C'mon, Holland." Alox picked him up before he could ask why his age mattered. His brother hadn’t carried him in a long time, claiming he was too old to be that dependent.

They walked in silence, the guard a few paces behind. Holland kept his gaze on him, just in case; the guard pretended not to notice.

Alox dropped him to his feet before they entered the castle, the guards standing at attention. He kept his head down; he didn’t like how they watched him. Footsteps echoing on marble floor. Not as cold as outside. Finely designed furniture and faded tapestries on stone walls.

It felt so much more hollow than their home in the Kosik.

“Go on, they will escort you to your room,” Alox said, giving him a little push forward. Thin lips, dismissive tone. “You can get some more sleep there.”

Your room, not our room.

“I’m not tired.” Holland dug his feet in stubbornly. He turned his head sharply in the direction of the hand reaching for him and the guard flinched back; at least there was one benefit to the black eye.

“Holland,” his brother warned. A nervous glance at the guards.

He returned to Alox’s side though his brother shook off his attempt to reach for his hand. “I want to stay with you! I want to go home.”

His brother just looked at the guard who had walked them in, as if expecting him to solve the problem.

Holland glared at the approaching guard; they must have threatened his brother, convinced him to bring the child Antari here without a fight. That must be why Alox was acting like this.

He didn’t expect the man to kneel down in front of him. His tone was soft, almost friendly when he asked, “can you read?”

Holland gave a hesitant nod. Alox had made sure he learned his letters.

“We have books you can borrow, ones I doubt you could easily find in the Kosik.” He had warm brown eyes, the skin around them crinkling when he smiled.

“We have things at home.” Holland wasn’t used to being talked to like this.

“So I gathered from the small pack. It will take us a few trips to get the rest.” The guard pointedly looked down at his feet, cold and wet from the frost that had seeped through the wool. “I imagine sitting by a fireplace with a proper meal and an interesting book will tide you over until then.”

This wasn’t how he expected guards to act. They had never seemed human in his imagination, more like statues wielding swords.

“My name is Vortalis.” He held his hand out, showing it was covered in runes. “I can take you to the bedrooms where you can pick one for you and your brother.”

Holland stared at the offered hand. The moment stretched on. Vortalis waited.

Alox had brought him here. If there was danger, wouldn’t his brother have warned him? Wouldn’t they have run instead?

So he accepted the offer, reaching out.

As fast as a viper, that hand closed around his wrist. He tried to jerk back but there was nowhere to go. Something leathery wrapped around his mouth from behind, a guard standing where Alox was supposed to be. His free hand clawed at the strap tightening under his jaw, the thing trying to steal his voice and power from him.

But Vortalis just sighed and grabbed his other hand, trapping both in a cuff that was tossed over by another guard. “This was supposed to be straightforward.”

Rendered mute and bound, Holland reached for his magic, struggling to latch onto any element. He yanked. A loose stone responded.

He heard a thud behind him, then a litany of colorful swears as the guard stumbled back.

Holland tried to run but didn’t get far, being easily pinned to the ground. Vortalis’ hand rested against his throat.

“I could choke you unconscious,” the man said calmly. “But I would rather walk you to your room. I’m sure you have a preference.”

A child Antari with voice and hands bound was just like any other child, different only in the amount of damage they could survive. Alox wasn’t more durable than him.

He couldn’t see Alox from his place on the ground. He hadn’t heard his voice in the commotion. Had they hurt him? Had he escaped? If he could just-

Holland forced himself to stay still, throat tight and heart pounding. He didn’t fight when Vortalis dragged him to his feet.

And Alox-

Alox wasn’t doing anything. He stood a few paces away, fidgeting with the strap of the travel pack, not looking at him, just waiting. His voice held the usual bravado when speaking with adults, trying to hide his youth. “I kept my end of the bargain.”

He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t tried to intervene when Holland was muzzled.

The night before, Alox had told him the story of the Someday King. They had played the usual game of Holland being that king.

A guard tossed over a small leather pouch clinking with coin.

Holland wanted to ask when this had happened, why it had changed. He wanted to beg his brother to just look at him.

Alox didn’t watch as he was pulled away. Holland didn’t stop looking back at him until the door shut.

It was only after that that the tears came.

Chapter 2

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I thik it went well, all things considered."

Lane scoffed. "You aren't the one with a nearly dislocated shoulder."

It probably would have dislocated or broken if not for the armor; it left a notable dent in the metal. The Antari had plenty of strength, a shame he didn't have the temperament of a fighter.

"And how is... our guest settling in anyways? Set anyone on fire yet?"

Vortalis shrugged as they walked. "Too distressed to do much of anything except sit in a corner. Yoko is standing watch."

He had known the boy was young, at least younger than the fourteen year old who had approached him to bargain. He had hoped for a twelve year old, just self-sufficient enough to not be a burden and just dangerous enough to be an effective tool. 

Instead they had a distressed eight year old who had done no worse than throw a rock and was having an emotional breakdown in his assigned room. If they were fortunate, the child would fall asleep out of exhaustion within the hour.

"We'll need to send someone back for personal belongings." The next part was half a joke. "Not to mention acquiring more suitable clothes. I don't suppose you could handle that?"

"Ah, well," Lane cleared his throat. "You're going to have to specify the kind of clothes."

"Suitable for the queen to see."

"Not quite what I was asking." Lane wasn't looking directly at him, acting almost embarrassed. 

He stared at Lane for a long moment before it clicked and he grinned. "You don't know if Holland is a boy or a girl, do you?"

"No one mentioned it," he defended. "And children all look the same at this age, especially with hair that length."

"As much as I would love to mock you relentlessly for it," Vortalis stopped at the door to the Queen's private waiting room.

Lane turned away with a huff. "Try not to commit a regicide."

One could hope.

Even after three months, Vortalis had not quite adjusted to the circumstances. Bowing to another. Bowing to her. 

He inclined his head. "Kotovna."

Stol did not acknowledge him immediately, moving pieces on the ost board with a gloved hand. The crown she wore was of burnished bronze, the short points standing out against her pale hair; he had joked that it looked like a crown of thorns when he first saw it, something that felt darkly ironic now. The heavy white cloak helped disguise her thinning frame.

"Take a seat, Ros. The rest of you are dismissed."

The guards shuffled out with a few wary glances at him. He took a seat across from her, taking the white pieces.

"The Antari has been contained?"

"Muzzled and bound in his room," Vortalis said simply. "He threw a rock at Lane but otherwise no injuries."

He wasn't sure she knew who Lane was or even the names of her personal guards. 

"And how stable is the Antari? Do we need to put it down?" Her hands used to fidget when she talked; she must have learned to suppress it.

He shook his head. He moved game pieces without much thought, she was bound to win anyways. "The boy isn't feral, he isn't even aggressive. He's grieving and feels betrayed by what is brother did."

"A boy abandoning his only kin to go sailing," Stol mused. Then with casual, vicious precision, she asked, "does this bring back memories?"

Gods, this was why he hated talking to her. "I never tried to sell any of you!"

"No, abandonment was enough for you." Stol had always been cold, always had the tight control over her temper that he'd had to learn. "It must soothe your conscious that Jin and Luse didn't turn out worse."

"Yet here we both are in this fucking castle." Was fratricide or regicide a greater crime in the eyes of the gods? He was tempted to find out. "Now returning to the matter at hand-"

"Can the Antari be controlled?" And just like that, she was the Queen again.

"Yes, within reason."

"Then control it." Stol moved the queen piece into a prime winning position. "The Antari is your responsibility. Find a way to make it useful."

"Of course," Vortalis said with a chilly tone. "I would hate to disappoint my queen."

He turned and left before his sister could command him to do so. The game was left half-finished.

Notes:

So you know that offhand comment in book 3 that Vortalis was present when Queen Stol killed the previous Antari? And he didn't explain why he was there when Holland asked?

There's more reasonable interpretations than "Vor was trying to help his sister rule" but I think this one is fun. :)

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Holland startled awake at the sound of an opening door, mind sluggish and still half-asleep. For a moment, he thought he was back at home, Alox coming in late as usual.

But he wasn’t on his cot but under a bed, one that was far too large with heavy plush blankets. At least under the bed it was dark and quiet and he couldn’t feel the guard’s eyes on him.

The muzzle was snug around his face, leather straps keeping his jaw firmly in place. Voiceless and slowly suffocating. His hands still bound tightly together, as helpless as a small child.

“Holland?”

He flinched at the voice, wishing he could curl deeper into the darkness. Sleep wasn’t safe but at least he wouldn’t be able to think about it.

Alox had brought him here without explanation. He had stood by as Holland was muzzled and dragged away. He hadn’t even turned to look.

“Holland, please come out. The kitchen servants made something for you.”

He’d been offered free food before only to receive a blade instead. This guard with friendly words and false smiles was no different. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

(He’d survived because Alox dragged him out of there. His eye had only just started to turn black.)

“I’ll take the muzzle off if you come here.”

It was a trick, it had to be. They would drag him off and kill him or worse. Everyone hungered for an Antari’s power. And yet.

They already had him trapped, they didn’t need more trickery. Once they lost patience, one of the guards would reach under to yank him out. Alox would have fought every minute of it but he’d always told Holland to run. Until he had abandoned him that is.

Cattle chosen as sacrifices often had their eyes covered so they wouldn’t see the blade coming.

Holland wasn’t a dumb calf or a frightened mutt. If they were going to torture him and there was no hope of escape, then he might as well go to it with some dignity.

So he awkwardly crawled out from under the bed, getting up on unsteady feet.

Rays of sun filtered through the room’s narrow window, a sign that it was already noon. Vortalis stood by the room’s corner desk, a chair pulled out and a plate waiting for him. Another guard by the door, one Holland ignored as he approached, gaze focused on his feet.

Holland stayed very still as a hand went to the straps behind his head; he wouldn’t let this bastard see him flinch. It stung as it was removed, the straps had tangled into his hair. His jaw ached at the sudden lack of pressure.

He refused to look directly at the man as he took a seat. It was some kind of fish, maybe a sea bream, stuffed with mushroom chunks and some kind of herbs. Probably more pleasing than half the food in the Kosik.

A few months back after the spring festival, Alox had gotten a fried fish from the Shal markets. Though he hadn’t admitted it, Holland had suspected it had been stolen, and just to improve his mood.

Had that been when Alox decided he was becoming too much of a burden? Was his brother still even in the city?

Vision blurring as his stomach turned to lead. If he ate, he was sure to get sick.

“I’m not going to leave this here for you to eat when you feel like it.” There it was, too impatient to maintain the mask with an inconvenient captive. “I promise it isn’t poisoned, there would be no purpose to it now. Queen Stol won’t have you killed if you make yourself useful.”

Holland stared down at his still bound hands. His voice came out pathetically small. “I want to go home.”

“You can’t do that.” Tone a little softer, he couldn’t tell if it was genuine. “Better to accept the new order of things and adjust. There are worst fates than this.”

He wanted to throw the plate at him. He wanted to run and escape from this awful place. But he could barely stop himself from crying.

Holland didn’t end up eating anything. He didn’t speak again, waiting until Vortalis finally left. At least the collar wasn't forced back on him. 

Curled up under the bed and with his eyes closed, Holland could almost trick himself into believing he was home, Alox within reach.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Holland is given a fancy variation of Korean sagyusam to wear.

Also tapping into the fanon idea that's been bouncing around of Holland (and the Kosik to an extent) being an ethnic/religious minority.

Chapter Text

Eventually, Vortalis managed to find something the boy would eat (any relatively large meals as well as meat in general seemed dissatisfactory). They reached a diplomatic resolution with simple rice cakes that Holland still mumbled were overly spicy before choking them down. 

He had plenty of reason to be moody, Vor reminded himself. Too much power that others called monstrous. A guest in a castle so often soaked in blood. A young child abruptly abandoned by his only remaining kin.

Stol had known exactly what she was doing in giving him this job. 

Regardless, the Antari couldn't hide in this room forever. "Queen Stol wants to see you."

Holland shook his head, gripping the offered old book of fairy tales tighter. A more than understandable reaction. Even so. 

"I know this isn't fair." Vortalis crouched down in front of him, trying to remember how he'd handled Jin and Luse when they were upset. "But the queen will meet you, and that will either happen at the throne or in your room. Do you understand?"

Holland mumbled an agreement. 

"Good boy." He cleared his throat. "Alright, time to get you dressed properly."

Dressed properly just meant a fancier than average overcoat from the Shal and the return of the muzzle. The overcoat was a deep maroon with gold detailing, a color combination that didn't quite suit Holland. Besides, it didn't fit right, nearly sliding off his shoulders; it seemed an appointment with a tailor was in the near future, another thing for the boy to suffer through. 

Holland silently sulked the whole way to the throne room, then switching to dragging his feet. Resistent as he could be without outright running away, requiring Vortalis to push him forward. 

Stol reclined on the throne, watching their approach with eyes the same shade of brown as Vor's. "The muzzle will not be necessary, I have no desire for another mute dog."

Vor could guess at what her game was. But he could only ask so many questions; in this room, she was queen and he was her knight above all else. So he removed the muzzle, taking a moment to untangle the few strands of dark hair that had gotten caught in the strap. 

He gave the boy a little push but he only dug his feet in, as if delaying it would be enough to keep the inevitable from happening. Stol only sighed as her fingers curled into a fist.

A startled yelp as the boy's body jerked forward without his consent, stumbling in an unnatural manner until he was within arm's reach of the monarch. There had once been a time when the idea of using bone magic on an unarmed child would have seemed absurd. Vortalis didn't allow himself to flinch.

Stol rose from her seat, clothed in white robes and bronze armor, towering over the young Antari. A gloved hand under the boy's chin forced him to meet her gaze. To Holland's credit, he did not try to recoil or cower. 

"Open your mouth." When Holland didn't immediately comply, she forced it open. 

Lane's eyes darted to him with an obvious question: what the hell is wrong with your sister?

Vortalis couldn't answer that. A small hand gesture, just wait.

"I half-expected to see fangs, natural or otherwise," Stol said dryly. "People in the Kosik like to file their teeth down into needles, don't they?"

Vortalis didn't expect him to jerk out of her grasp. Holland's jaw tightened, a trace of defiance slipping through. "We are not animals."

"What should they be called then?"

Holland didn't so much as stutter. "Forest Folk."

The translation rune on Vor's neck tingled the way it always did when recognizing an unfamiliar language. At his sister's questioning look, he repeated the words; she really ought to have a rune of her own.

"Oh, you're one of those. Like I said." Again the mood changed as Stol returned to her throne. An imperius wave of her hand. "Cut open his arm." 

As expected, Holland tried to recoil but he didn't let him go far. A pointed look summoned Lane with a knife. 

Vortalis tightened his grip on the Antari's shoulders, holding him still as Lane drew blood into the goblet. At least he was quick and professional about it, quickly looping a bandage around the cut. The boy made a muffled noise like a whine, swaying a little.

Vortalis kept his gaze on him, preferable to look at him than what his sister was doing. He knew the raw magical power in an Antari's blood, knew it might be enough to keep her healthy. Had they used the other known Antari, an actual adult whose hands were already stained by violence, this would not weigh on him so.

He looked up briefly to see Stol's bloody mouth. "If he is no longer needed, I will escort Holland back to his room."

"Court will be held soon," she scoffed. "It is important that visitors see our strength."

"Right up until our Antari collapses out of exhaustion and shock," Vor said flatly. "He needs rest before he can be used again."

For a moment he thought Stol might argue; it was poor form for an inferior to argue with the queen. Common sense prevailed and dismissed them with a twitch of her hand. "I'm sure you know best, Ros. Oh, and make sure to cut his hair soon, it would be a waste to hide that black eye."

Vortalis didn't respond as he tugged the trembling boy away. 

"You did well," he said quietly once they were out of sight and earshot. He really hoped Holland wouldn't faint, he wasn't eager to be witnessed carrying an unconscious child around. "It will be easier next time."

And then Holland threw up on the floor. In the middle of the hallway. With guards awkwardly watching. 

Oh for crows' sake. He ignored Lane's look of dismay as he said, "make sure someone cleans up the mess." 

Holland, as expected, didn't say another word until they reached his assigned room, not even responding to an offer to show him around the castle later. Only when they were in the quiet room did he jerk away from him, overcoat ripped off as if it were tainted. 

"She doesn't look much like you," the boy said quietly as he pressed himself back against the far wall. It felt like an accusation, identifying a link between two people who could hurt him; blood would always tell.

"We had different mothers." He had caught on quicker than most. Born within barely a month of each other, they ought to have been twins. Not that it was any of this child's business.

But there was nothing to be said with Holland's resentful gaze on him. It was clear the boy wouldn't be at rest with any guard present in what was currently the only safe space for him. So he left, closing the door behind him.

A step forward and a step back. Vortalis would have to work harder to gain his trust lest they remain at an impasse.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

This place must have been a garden generations ago. Cold stone where he sat and dead dirt he ached to sink his fingers into. Magic murmured from a corner of his being, assuring him there was a word to make things grow if only he wanted to expend the energy.

But Holland was surrounded by guards and with cuffs around his wrists and the same confining fancy clothes, only lacking the muzzle in a display of compromise. If he used any magic, they would surely toss him in a prison cell muzzled and bound. Or maybe they would just kill him, drain him of blood to hydrate the queen. And why wouldn’t they?

Vortalis, the one person here who had made the attempt to be kind, had let him be cut open to feed a monster with the same eyes as him. They probably had their reasons, just like Alox must have had a reason to leave him behind.

Holland scuffed his shoe along the ground, the scratching sound overlaying that of the guards’ mutterings. It didn’t lessen the pounding in his head.

Tossing him outside in this failed garden had been framed as a kindness or a reward for good behavior. Really, they just wanted him to act normal and compliant. Apparently the lack of eating and sleeping wasn’t what they wanted out of him. Was fresh air supposed to fix him if he was still within castle walls?

He’d gone a full day and night without rest before. The pangs of hunger were familiar, and there was no point in eating if he was just going to get sick again. The cut on his arm still stung, even if it was healing quickly.

“…should bring him back inside?”

Holland wasn’t trying to be difficult, aside from not talking. It probably would be easier to sleep half the day away instead of stewing in his running thoughts and exhaustion. He didn’t want to feel this weak and slow, struggling to keep his eyes open but not able to rest.

Another thing that wasn’t up to him.

“Lane, wait-“

Holland recoiled from the grasping hand, losing his balance and falling off his seat, cringing under the shadow. Half by instinct, his magic flashed out, trying to reach for something useful. The threads didn’t weave the way they were supposed to, clumsily tossing a hand-sized stone.

Unfortunately, the guard stepped out of range. It wouldn’t have landed with much force anyways. And now the bastard was just staring at him with annoyance.

Holland stayed sitting on the cold ground, silently daring him to try that again. They hadn’t put the muzzle on this time; he hadn’t bitten someone before but there’s a first time for everything.

Vortalis stepped forward, putting himself between them. His tone was soft. “The sun’s going down, Holland. Don’t you want to be warm inside?”

And there it was, the affectation of patient understanding that only sounded condescending.

Holland glared back. Vortalis waited.

As tempting as it was to just keel over here out of spite and make them feel guilty for it all…

It took longer than normal to get to his feet, limbs and stiff. He moved past the queen’s knight, not wanting to give him the excuse to just drag him there.

The night before Holland had dragged all the sheets and pillows off the bed in a fit of restlessness, shaping it into something resembling a nest under the bedframe. During the hour in the garden, it had all been reassembled.

They intended to cut his hair, something that Alox was supposed to do when he was old enough. They were going to measure him to make fancy clothing to charm the queen’s court. He wasn’t even allowed to sleep on the floor if they didn’t want it.

His box of belongings had been pushed against the wall, only half unpacked. He had looked through it the night it was brought in. The practical things, a pair of simple shoes and spare socks, had been put aside.

Everything that had been Alox’s was gone. The small knife that had been given to him for self-defense had been confiscated. Mother’s opal necklace was likewise gone, taken by Alox or seized by one of the nameless guards. Whatever Alox hadn’t brought with him must have been left behind by his captors, no doubt in use by another, more intact family now.

It made sense, he supposed. Everything he had now belonged to the queen and a dog had little need for possessions beyond a collar.

At least the toy boat from the festival and his music box had been kept for him. Small and unnoticeable, chapped paint trying to cover cracked animal carvings, and a whistling song that had always sounded a little off-key. He had set them on the bedside table next to the book of fairy tales. Neither had been touched since.

“Try to get some sleep.” Vortalis said. “Food will be brought in later.”

How was he supposed to sleep when they could drag him out at any time? It alternated between too quiet and too loud, too unfamiliar to feel safe enough to peacefully sleep. He must have crawled into Alox’s bed a couple dozen times over the past year when the nightmares were at their worst; Alox had kicked him back to his bed more frequently in the past month.

As if he was already trying to get rid of him. As if he was preparing him to be alone.

“Was it because of the spring festival?” Holland asked quietly. “Did one of them tell you and that’s how you found me and Alox?”

Nothing had happened at the festival, no violence or intrusion from gangs or guards. Only Yara’s mother demanding he leave before the presence of an Antari drew the attention of the crown; there had been similar murmurs from those around them.

Staring down at his hands, he couldn’t see the man’s expression. He only had the simple words. “Your brother approached us first a week ago. He said he wanted to make a deal.”

Holland didn’t reply, just turned away. He waited until the door closed before forcing off the fancy clothes and changing into sleepwear that was soft and smooth and felt utterly wrong against his skin. He crawled under the bed, curling on the wool blanket that had been left for him, the music box placed on a nearby patch of floor. Listening to that off-key tune, he waited for the darkness to claim him.

At least Vortalis had been honest with him.