Chapter Text
Scott’s eighteen when his world comes crumbling down.
There’s a lot he can deal with – he was raised to endure hardship, after all – but the one thing he cannot stand is the pity on everyone’s faces. The council, the guards, the servants, even his own family look at him like he’s some broken thing, a lamb come begging for a slaughter.
He can avoid them well enough. He can ask for meals to be left outside his room. He can lock the door when Xornoth comes looking. He can hide in the snowbank on his balcony when his mother comes by. The problem is that he cannot go anywhere, as every last member of his personal guard had known Muireadhach. He cannot escape the pity there.
Even then, the city of Rivendell had known him too, possibly even better than Scott ever had.
On a cold autumn morning he decides it. He’s eighteen now, an adult by Rivendell’s standards, and therefore old enough to hire his own staff. He’s a prince, after all. So, he pulls out a map of the empire, splays it out on the main table, and lets his eyes glide along it to its northernmost point.
There, right where Rivendell crosses into eternal wilderness, stands a guard tower. Scott knows it because it’s commonplace for the imperial family to banish people to it. Cleo’s sons’ father lives there now, incapable of causing more problems.
He thinks about Cleo for a moment. She’ll never forgive him for bringing Etho back to the castle, he reckons. But Cleo’s in the Crystal Cliffs with her sons – both Bubs, as she’s taken to call the toddler, and her newborn – recovering from a very difficult birth. Scott’s not allowed to leave the empire alone, so fleeing to her is no option. Still, he thinks he would find no pity in her, only anger.
He writes three letters that day. The first, he hands off to an owl sat on his balcony, with a whisper to bring it to the Crystal Cliffs’ infirmary. The second, he leaves at his brother’s door. He plans to leave before they get back from lunch. The third is left in his own rooms, though it is addressed to his parents. They will not get to read it until he is half a day’s ride away.
Though it’s been a while, Scott still remembers the path to climb down from his balcony, suspended over a major street of Rivendell. There’s a trick to it that hides him from the elves below by shadowing along the rooftops. It’s Muir who taught him this. He doesn’t dwell on it.
He sneaks his way down to the stables, stealthing past a stablehand. As he reaches his horse, however, someone approaches behind him.
“Prince Smajor,” the elf behind him says, “do you need help saddling your horse? Or was this trip meant to be a secret.”
He turns around slowly. The stablemaster, a lady he knows as Tessor, looks down at him without a trace of sorrow. He lets out a sigh. She’d held him as a baby, once. She’d known Muireadhach well.
“I’m not leaving the Empire, Tessor, I promise. I just need to be away from here for a bit.”
She accepts his explanation with a curt nod. There’s a brief moment where she seems to size him up. Then, she walks over to where his horse’s tack is kept.
“Do you have supplies?” she asks.
“Yes,” Scott replies, “I’ve been stockpiling food, and I’ve got enough warm clothes.”
“Do you have a route planned out?” She knocks away his hands as he tries to help in readying his horse.
“I do. I know where the inns are along it, too.”
“Will you be traveling alone?” she asks finally. His horse is almost ready to go.
“I will be traveling to my destination alone. I shouldn’t be coming back lone if this goes well.”
Before he can even get the chance to ask her, she’s pulling a supply pack from the stockpile and attaching it to the saddle.
“It’s enough to last the girl a day. You should restock at an inn,” Tessor says.
“Thank you, Tessor,” Scott says, and he means it from the bottom of his heart. Tessor just grunts at him.
“You take care of old Kenna now, yeah?” she says with another nod to his horse, “And yourself too, I suppose. I’d like to not end up in jail for this.”
“I will, Tessor. I’ll come home.” He bows at her, hair falling over his eyes, “I promise you.”
Scott leaves the city of Rivendell bundled up under a cloak through a back exit. He’s timed it exactly with the changing of the guard and uses that ten-second window to slip out the gates. As soon as he round the corner, he’s free. Ahead of him lies the mountain pass away from the city. After that, it’s the open plains of Northern Rivendell all the way until his destination. He starts riding.
The first half-day is tough going. Kenna doesn’t particularly like the mountainous terrain, though she’s thankfully plenty used to it. Still, he can sense her disdain for the situation he’s put her in.
To appease her, Scott occasionally sticks his hand into the supply pack to fish out some hay for her, which she eats with a slight nip to his fingers every now and then. He decides not to laugh at her. In the end, he finishes the mountain pass on foot, Kenna trailing behind him.
When it’s getting dark enough that Scott’s starting to get worried, they reach one final bend in the pass. Behind it, only fifteen minutes straight ahead, lies the town of Pas Rìoghal, the first town Scott’s intending to stop in. He walks Kenna through the streets.
There’s an inn along the main road through the town, and it’s as he’s about to enter that Scott realizes he has no idea what to do here. Sure, he’d been to plenty of inns with Muir over the past little while, all while heavily disguised, but it had always been Muireadhach doing the talking. Scott just sat in a corner and waited for his lover to come back with drinks, afraid of exposing his identity.
Now, he has to go in himself and manage to procure food and a bed for the night, as well as a spot in the stables for Kenna. Not to mention getting supplies tomorrow.
He ties Kenna’s lead to a post outside the door. There are no other horses stood outside at the moment, but Scott can tell from the noise that that does not mean the inn is empty. He pushes open the door gently, resisting the urge to pull down his disguise as the inside heat hits him.
The inn is rather standard, and Scott’s been in a dozen like it. Still, he’s not in Rivendell anymore, and he’s all alone this time. He walks to the bar.
It’s not a particularly busy night, he supposes. Some of the tables are occupied, with a waitress flitting between them to hand out more drinks, and about half the barstools are filled, all in clusters talking to each other. Only one or two travellers sit alone. Scott quietly joins their ranks.
It takes a while for the bartender to notice Scott, hunched in on himself as he is, but when he does he immediately comes over.
“And what can I get for you, Sweetface?” the man asks, and Scott manages to suppress a blush.
“I- uh- just a-“ he takes a moment to sigh, “Just a mead would be fine, please, thank you,” he manages to get out with a little head-bow. The bartender laughs at him, though not unkindly, and looks him up and down once.
“Look, kid, if you’re going to try to drink before you should, at least practice ordering in the mirror once or twice, yeah?” he says with a wink. Scott would like the floor to swallow him up.
“No, I- I’m eighteen, I swear. I’ll promise on it if you’d like,” Scott offers, which seems to convince the bartender.
“Alright then, I’ll get you your mead. Anything else?” Someone further down the bar calls for the bartender, who holds up one finger as he keeps his attention on Scott.
“I’m looking for a room for the night, as well,” Scott supplies, “and I’ve got a horse out front.”
“Well I can help you with the mead. You’ll have to talk to the innkeeper for the rest.” The bartender turns to pull a mug of mead from the barrel behind him. Scott notices that the other patrons are being served far larger pints.
“Where can I find the innkeeper?” he asks as the bartender sets the mug down.
“I’ll call him down for you in a moment, sweetface. I’ve got customers waiting.” With that, the bartender hurries off to where a small crowd has gathered to order another round.
Scott watches the bartender work for a moment before the traveller next to him pulls him out of his thoughts by yelling past him.
“Keralis, can you get me another?” she calls while setting down her pint glass. The bartender – Keralis, apparently – finishes up with the crowd and walks back over to where Scott’s sat.
“Another, Falsie? Anything for you,” he flutters his lashes at the traveller, who rolls her eyes with a fond smile.
“He always does this,” she stage-whispers as she leans over to Scott, “thinks it’ll get him a better tip.”
“You come here a lot, then?” Scott asks.
“Oh yeah, Falsie is in and out of Rivendell like a bad relationship,” Keralis says as he sets down the traveller’s drink.
“Rather out than in,” Falsie says while she raises her pint in a mock-toast.
“Isn’t that the truth,” Keralis comments, and Scott’s brow furrows a little.
“I’ve never been out of Rivendell before,” he says, though he’s not sure why he does. The other two are quiet for a moment before Falsie speaks up again.
“K, put the kid’s mead on my tab. He should celebrate his freedom properly,” she turns to him right as he’s about to tell Keralis not to.
“Cheers me, kid. Welcome to the rest of your life.”
Scott hesitates for a moment. Then, he cheers Falsie.