Chapter Text
Once upon a time, there was a little prince born under the light of a waning crescent moon. He was second-born to the Briar throne, and thus the future king. The queen was ailing in her chambers, blood still hot from bringing her second son into the world, and so she asked the king to invite the kingdom to her son’s debut in seven days’ time.
The king, you see, was a forgetful man. At each house he stopped with invitations, the kind people of the kingdom would offer him a glass of cordial. At each house, he drank the cordial with his empty smile, and his mind became more and more addled with drink.
By the time the king reached the land of the faeries—a dark place, kept safe under the canopies of an ancient forest, lit only by fireflies—he could hardly remember his own name. He scattered seven invitations in the moss before returning to his castle and falling into slumber.
The end of the week arrived. The queen, having regained her strength, brought her first-born son to her chambers to meet the babe. His name was Jonathan, and he knelt at the side of the bassinet, his young face overcome with tears. He loved his brother dearly, and from that moment pledged himself to his safety.
He was only four, so his pledge meant little.
The queen dressed in her grandest court attire, Jonathan made to match her, the newborn swaddled in a fabric of the same bespoke green. Shortly thereafter, they descended to the throne room. The doors of the castle were opened to all in the kingdom.
The crowd had only begun to settle for dinner when the doors to the throne room opened again with a sudden gust of wind. A cruel voice echoed out and silenced everyone in the room.
“All the people of your kingdom you invited, from barmaid to barrister.” It was Vecna who spoke, oldest of the faeries, and oft forgotten by them. He bared his teeth at the king and queen as he approached their table. “You invited each of my brethren. Laid the letters on their doorstep. But was it not worth visiting the ancient oaks to invite me, your majesties? Does Vecna have no place at your table?”
“It was a mistake,” the King began to say. But the queen stopped him. She fell to her knees and dared to look Vecna in the eyes.
“Forgive us, ancient one. We never meant to cause offense. Please, sit at our tables and eat of our food. You are welcome, tonight and always.”
Vecna looked down at her with no sympathy in his inhuman eyes. He conjured himself a chair at the table of the king and queen themselves, where all the other faeries of the ancient forest sat. None dared look him in the eye. The queen had one of the servants bring out a set of dishes for Vecna. Their meal began.
One would have thought that the queen’s quick wit and apologies would be enough to still the ancient faerie’s wrath. And one would have been right—were it not for King Leonard’s boastfulness at the table.
His attention was not on his queen, nor on his children. He looked at the young courtiers and regaled them with stories of his hunts. He spoke of himself as the greatest hunter in all the land. He spilled wine from his goblet that splashed against the mahogany table. Red droplets stained Vecna’s sleeves.
The king did not notice. He lowered his voice and continued his tale.
“Once,” he said, “I tracked a great beast of legend. A Demogorgon. I hunted him through the vales and hills for a fortnight. Under the light of a full moon, I caught him at a stream, drinking his fill. With both of my hands I raised my sword high—”
King Leonard raised his hands to the heavens, clasped around the hilt of an imaginary sword. Vecna watched with a mournful eye.
“—and split his body from his head in one fell swoop.”
His hands smacked against the table.
The other faeries never listened to the king and his boasting. It was only Kali, the youngest of the faeries, who turned her head to the display of might. And it was only Kali who noticed how Vecna frowned and ate no more of his meal.
Kali did not have time to warn the other faeries. They may not have listened—after all, she was human-borne. Shortly, the queen called for the attention of all in attendance. With gentle hands, she raised her newborn son out of his bassinet and presented him to the hall.
“May I present the future king of Bellwood,” the queen declared. “Prince Wilhelm Briar.”
The customary gift giving began shortly after. As they finished their meals, all the nobles and peasants in the land lined up to bestow something upon Prince Wilhelm. For many, their gift was only well-wishes. For others, their gifts were coin purses, land deeds, foreign tomes, or well-made tapestries.
The faeries fell into the majority. They approached the prince and whispered well-wishes into his bassinet. But unlike the majority, their words held power behind them. Upon Prince Wilhelm, the faeries bestowed beauty, wisdom, creativity, hope, enthusiasm, and grace.
Kali, the seventh faerie, hid behind a pillar in the great hall. She watched Vecna approach the bassinet and feared what he might do. She could never challenge him herself, this she knew, and so she could only hope that whatever harm she caused she could undo.
“You have a beautiful son,” Vecna said. He spoke to King Leonard alone. “I am sure you care for him deeply. I have my own gift for the child. You shall rule Bellwood in peace and prosperity for many years.”
Vecna raised his hands towards the heavens, arms spread wide. He called upon the dark powers that were beholden to him. Every torch on the wall was snuffed out in a gust of cold wind. Kali put a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.
“But before the sun sets on the eve of Wilhelm’s sixteenth birthday, he shall place the crown of Bellwood upon his head and die.”
Queen Joyce cried out. The crowd gasped. King Leonard said nothing. His mouth hung open in surprise as Vecna stalked closer and closer to him. The shadows grew darker.
“You shall know what it is to be unable to protect your son as the monsters in the woods tear his head from his body, crown and all.”
The shadows swallowed Vecna up. He disappeared from the hall, leaving the dumbfounded king staring into the air while his wife wept behind him. The torches lit themselves again
The six elder faeries stood to the side. The queen looked at them with desperation.
“We are sorry,” the eldest of them said before she could make her plea, “but we cannot undo his curse. We have already given our gifts to the princeling. To grant another would be casting favor onto a mortal and would upset the balance in the world of fey.”
Kali came out from behind the pillar and approached the royal family.
“I have not yet given my gift,” she said.
Every head in the hall turned to look at her.
“We cannot stop you,” the eldest of the faeries said, “but we cannot give you guidance, either. Choose your words carefully, young Kali.”
Kali approached the queen, who cradled her newborn son close to her chest. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm. She did not command as much magic as the older faeries did. She was a child in their eyes. She did not know which thread of the curse to pull on to unravel Vecna’s power. She could only begin to loosen the seam.
“Before the sun sets on the eve of Wilhelm’s sixteenth birthday,” Kali began. From the shadows came whispers of the spell tightly weaved around the prince’s soul. Her voice harmonized with them, placating the spell into something she could change. “He shall place the crown of Bellwood upon his head and fall into a deep sleep.”
Something in the air snapped.
“I am not powerful enough to undo his spell, your majesties. I hope this shall give you time to find a way to undo it yourselves.”
*
That evening in their chambers, the queen begged her husband to relinquish the throne. She appealed to all the emotion and logic the world she could muster. If Leonard was no longer king, his second-borne would no longer be heir. Perhaps the curse could be escaped by that action alone. But he did not listen to her wisdom. He refused to sacrifice anything for the safety of his son.
“The faerie said you will die before his sixteenth year,” she reminded him.
“The curse is on Wilhelm, not on myself,” the king countered. “Vecna’s magic falls not on me.”
Leonard considered the matter settled. He retired to his bed with less unease than the situation demanded. Joyce joined him, but she did not sleep. As soon as his breath evened out, she threw off her covers and left their chambers.
From the nursery, she gathered her newborn son. From his rooms, she gathered her eldest son. With both of them in hand and only a small bag of belongings, she descended to the stables. She placed Jonathan and the bag on one horse, herself and the baby on another, the reigns tied together for stability.
Jonathan did not ask any questions as his mother led them from the kingdom he lived his last four years within. He did as his mother asked and held the reigns tight.
They rode all through the night and the next day. They rested at an inn, where Joyce bartered her wedding ring for a room and a hot meal. They left early the next morning and kept riding until they reached the neighboring kingdom of Hawkin.
The former queen sold off her royal jewels, and one of the horses, until she secured her family a small cottage at the edge of the capital, safe among the woods. She traded a court gown for a wardrobe of working-woman clothes, and some sets for Jonathan as well.
She had enough riches remaining to nurse Wilhelm until he was old enough to be left with his brother. But she knew those riches would not last forever. A retiring hunter sold her a pup from his prize tracker’s last litter. She purchased a license to hunt the crown’s woods. At first, this was only to feed her and her children, to squirrel away savings not spent on the butcher’s shop. But she had a skill for it. Jonathan named the dog Chester.
With her skill came renown. By the time her second son was ten years old, even the Queen of Hawkin knew Joyce’s name. Joyce came to work for the crown itself, her children named squires of the royal family to give them something to do in the meantime.
Jonathan barely remembered the gilded life his family came from before the kingdom of Hawkin. Wilhelm, of course, knew nothing. He did not even know his birth name. It was Will who swore his allegiance to the Hawkin throne.
It was that first day in the castle, kneeling before Queen Karina, that Will noticed the prince.