Chapter Text
The Watcher known as the runaway trickster was once just a boy. A stable hand in the palace of a royal family on a server locked from the main hubs. An orphan with no family and a single jumper in his belonging.
He may have had a name at some point, but it was lost through disuse and fading memories. So he answers to “boy” and “hey” and averts his eyes whenever someone makes direct eye contact.
He hides the wings on his back with his clothing and the wings by his ears with his hair. He hides the scarring on his arms and the twitching of his ears, and the long, feathery tail of his. He hides and hides and hides.
He doesn’t have many friends in this poor excuse for a home, and no one bothers to spare a second glance at the scrawny stablehand struggling to make ends meet. The royal family pays enough to live off of, but never enough to leave. So he starves and saves pennies on the dime. He steals, snatching loose change and scraps of food.
There’s a restlessness in his soul, a need to move and move and move until he can finally settle down. He needs to go somewhere, to do something. He yearns for a home, one where he can freely be himself.
There’s a rumor among the poor that there’s a way to leave this world. That there’s a ferryman you can pay, and they’ll open a portal to a world outside of this kingdom. It’s forbidden talk, just like how hybrids and magic are outlawed, but he hides the hope inside his chest and counts the loose change he’s collected over the years.
He keeps his head down low during the day, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut every time he’s yelled at and, dragging heavy buckets of water the half-mile to the well and back. He sweeps the stalls, shovels the poop, and grooms the horses. He works himself to the bone.
He takes the horses out, one by one, to the pens, giving them light exercise and a chance to graze. Most are unnamed, so he gives them ones as well as carrots and apples he snatches from the kitchens.
The royals are stingy, choosing only to hire a single stablehand for the forty-odd horses in their care. So he spends more time with the horses than people, avoiding the jockeys and the farmers who would jump at any chance to offload work and assert domination over someone beneath them.
He’s disposable. The surrounding villages are so overpopulated that willing workers are a dime a dozen. He got this job through sweet-talking and lies, hiding his inexperience behind a saccharine smile and innocent, bright blue eyes. And while he’s become much more experienced now, he’s still young, baby fat clinging onto his cheeks, voice still cracking and deepening.
The routine is dehumanizing and exhausting. He goes to sleep long after midnight and wakes at the crack of dawn. His room is a pallet of hay on the floor of an empty horse stall. So he showers before he gets to work in the mornings, trying to avoid smelling horrid in case some smug noble or rich kid decides to come and kick him out of his job.
It’s a lonely existence, being the sole stablehand. Sometimes he wishes for a buddy, but then he thinks of all the possibilities of them being an ass-hole or being absolutely horrid at their job, and he likes things the way they are now.
He meets his first friend in the middle of a slow day, when most of the horses are out for races and jousting. There isn’t much to do, so he’s pretending to be busy, brushing Califly for the third time that day. She’s an older horse, one that doesn’t get used too often but has sentimental value to the queen, even though she doesn’t have a name. He named her Califly because she likes cauliflowers, and well, naming a horse cauliflower isn’t the best. He’s startled out of his stupor by a confident accented voice calling out to him.
“Hey mate, do you know where the king’s chambers are?” He turns to see a figure in a red hood. He frowns, not recognizing this figure. If it were a noble, they’d rather die than ask for help from a shit-covered stableboy, but a normal commoner wouldn’t be visiting the king of all people. He doesn’t know what to think about the person in front of him, and his opinion is being mildly influenced by the fact that he dropped his brush.
“Mate? You good there?” The figure comes closer, and, as the light hits their face, he notices more details. Brown eyes, dark and soft, almond-shaped, meet his piercingly pale blue ones. He narrows his eyes in suspicion, but is afraid to say anything in case this is someone with authority who won’t take kindly to being questioned.
The figure seems to sense his hesitation and takes off their hood, revealing soft, long brown hair and a face that looks younger than his own. He also notices two thin, lighter strands of what is decidedly not hair, but looks vaguely like antennae.
“I’m Pearl.” They say, “I’m trying to look for a job here.” A smile graces their face, soft, warm, inviting. It's out of place in the harshness of the palace.
“Won’t be in the King’s chambers.” He mutters gruffly, resigning to keep his answers short so he can get back to his tasks. This ‘Pearl’ is too confident, too soft. They wouldn’t survive the oppressive atmosphere of the castle.
Pearl’s face wrenches into confusion. “I was told to go there.” They mutter, fiddling with their fingers. “Would you mind… showing me where I’m supposed to go?”
He has nothing better to do. Nothing at all. But he’s tempted to lie, to say he’s busy and hide in the safe confines of loneliness and boredom. But the yawning hole in his heart begs to be closer to someone, to have a confidant or even a friend. So he concedes.
“Alright.” He motions for them to follow. He catches the edge of their smile. It’s soft, just like every other part of them. Pearl is soft, soft but assured. They pull her hood up as they follow, definitely antennae, he thinks. Or at least something they don’t want to show someone with authority.
Hybrids don't seek jobs in places where they will die the second they are exposed. They must be either desperate or stupid. Despite knowing Pearl for all of ten minutes, he doesn’t think they’re that stupid.
“I’m new to this town, really, just got in the other day.” Pearl starts to ramble as they walk. “Asked around for where to get a job, most of the options were farmhand or lumberjack. Really, why is it so hard to get hired as a woman around here?”
‘Ah,’ he thinks, ‘Pearl’s fem.’ He files that piece of information away into his brain.
“Eventually, some bloke pointed me here. Said that the King was hiring and to head to his chambers. Guess they lied.” Pearl shrugs, seemingly brushing off the incident as a minor inconvenience. He doesn’t get her; he would’ve seethed internally and probably curled up into a ball and cried a little. Not that he’d admit it.
They walk in a rather awkward silence after that, moving through the cold stone halls of the big, ugly building. The building really could’ve done with at least some variation; straight stone walls are really ugly.
“In here,” he motions at a door, stopping suddenly. “The head maid deals with all the hiring. She’s stressed because of the tournament, so you might be able to get an easy job without an interview. Act innocent and open your eyes wide open, she likes that for her maids. Listen to every word and refrain from talking back. Act meek. You’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t know why he’s telling her all this, but well, he’s put so much effort into bringing her here that he might as well give her some advice. Besides, he likes her, even through the softness. There’s an easy confidence to her that reassures him.
He doesn’t expect Pearl to beam at him, nothing like the soft smile from earlier, but something warm and inviting that reminded him of a faint ghost of a hug. He gives a small smile back, pulling his muscles in a way that feels unfamiliar to him.
“Where can I find you later?” She asks. “If I get the job that is…. If not well, I don’t think I’ll be welcome here.”
“The stables. Bring apples if you come.”
The day is a lot less bright without Pearl nearby, and busier due to his little unplanned break. He preps the stalls for the horses coming back from the tournament, knowing full well that none of the nobles have fed or groomed these horses all day. It’s monotonous work, cleaning out the stalls and placing fresh hay. Most of the farmers have left for the day, so the storage barn is free of any distractions or offensive slurs. It’s a small mercy before the flood of work comes rushing in.
He’s just about finished filling all the water and food troughs when he hears the sound of the carriages coming back in. So he heads out, watching as the horses come back in. They all look exhausted and hungry, definitely not fed or brushed yet. He nods at the person leading the horses and gestures for them to just leave the horses in the pen.
There are twenty-seven horses, and he’s dreading the feat of leading them one by one, but it’s his job, so he’ll do what he must. Even if he doesn’t get paid for the overtime.
He starts with the prized stallion that the King calls Thunder, but really, should be Daydream, with how much this horse stares off into the distance. Daydream follows easily, clearly tuckered out by a long day of whatever nobles do at such large events, secures the horse into his stall, before beginning to brush. It's methodical work, slow and mindless, and he can drift off in his head after a while.
Sometimes, he likes his job. He gets lost in the confines of his head while caring for animals that don't care about him as long as they have food. The horses are visibly exhausted, their coats matted with sweat and foam at their mouths. He winces internally. These horses will be unable to run after a year, far shorter than their normal running lifespan. But, when you’re the king and basically taxing your people to the bone, you can get away with ‘small’ expenses like these.
It’s almost midnight, and there are about ten horses left when Pearl comes to visit him. He sees her before she sees him, her burgundy hood almost blending into the night. He doesn’t know when it’s normally possible to see someone, so he waits for her to approach him first.
“Hey mate!” Pearl sounds a touch more exhausted, but still cheerful. Something he’s already come to expect with a Pearl interaction.
“Hey, Pearl.” His voice is gravely, clearly showing his exhaustion. He manages a small wave as he leads Indigo into the stables. She follows him, her cloak fluttering in the wind. He catches a glimpse of something membraned and thin underneath the fabric before Pearl snatches it and pulls it closer to her.
“I brought apples!” Pearl smiles, holding out a basket he hadn’t noticed earlier. It’s filled to the brim with shiny red apples.
“I stole them from the kitchen after they sent me there to clean.” She giggles conspiratorially, and he smiles in return. The horses will love the extra treats, and they deserve it after such a long day.
“That’s perfect. You wanna feed that to Indigo while I brush them down?”
“Oh my goodness, yes!” Pearl excitedly holds an apple to Indigo’s face, but he quickly stops her.
“Flat hand, or your fingers are going to get eaten.” He uncurls Pearl’s fingers with care, rolling the apple close to her fingertips.
He nods at her, and she pushes her hand forward, offering the apple to Indigo. Indigo crunches the apple with the force of a starved horse, and Pearl jumps back in surprise. He laughs, and Pearl glares at him.
He moves to groom Indigo while Pearl continues to feed the apple. It’s a sort of quiet companionship; it's nice and soft, a sort of warmth he’s never encountered before.
After he finishes with Indigo, he continues to lead horses in, and Pearl continues to feed the horses apples. Time passes faster with a companion, even if the two of them don’t say much during the excursion. The silence is only broken when they're brushing down the last horse.
“Hey.” Pearl’s more hesitant with her words now. “I… uh never asked. What’s your name?”
‘Ah, the dreaded question has come.’ He absentmindedly pets Peanut as he thinks of a suitable answer.
“I don’t have one.” He’s a little more blunt than he meant to be and is about to apologize before Pearl juts in.
“Oh. Well, let’s get you one!” She’s more enthusiastic about this than he expected. So enthusiastic that Peanut picks up on it and gives a little whinny. “Hmmmm, what should it be?”
He’s a little confused, but he’ll entertain this conversation. It’s about time he got one, too.
“I don’t really care,” He shrugs. He stopped caring about his name a long while ago.
While Pearl thinks, he calms Peanut down. It’s far too late in the night for a horse to be so energetic.
“Well, your hair looks like grain. We could call you that.” He almost drops his brush in surprise and gives her a deadpan stare. He’s unimpressed by the name.
“When I said I don’t care, I didn’t mean give me a stupid name.” He crosses his arms and gives a little huff. Ok, maybe he does care a little bit.
“Fineeeeee….” Pearl drags the word out, pouting a little. He gives her a giggle. She’s adorable and sounds like a baby bird when she’s like this.
“I’ll rearrange the letters for you. Giran or Grian? I’m too lazy to make up anymore names.” He can tell she’s stifling a laugh. But, he doesn’t care all that much about names, and so he just picks the one he likes the sound of more.
“Grian sounds alright.” He shrugs again. Names have never meant much to him either way. Besides, no one besides Pearl will use it anyway.
They talk for a short while longer before Pearl yawns.
“You should go find your room before people steal your bed.” He gives a soft chuckle at the thought. He’s known her for a sum of a day, and he knows that Pearl is absolutely not someone to be messed with. Pearl gives him one of her beaming smiles, and he gives her a small one in return.
He’s a little confused when he heads to be, but he thinks he has a friend now. The thought makes him feel warm and soft, just like Pearl. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.