Chapter Text
The banging on his door was, quite frankly, annoying. King Smajor is a servant to his people through and through, however he has a meeting at House Blossom in a day's time and really needs to begin his journey if he wants to safely reach The Overgrown in the daylight he has left.
Still, his people above himself. He answers the door, coat left aside and dressed in far less than one should consider safe for the frosty weather. A rattled looking elf is standing on the other side, bundled up appropriately and eyes wide. Immediately the king steels himself, tensing his posture, his ears flicking in alert.
“Are you alright?” He asks hastily. The elf nods quickly.
“I am fine, your majesty. There is a-” They hesitate a moment, looking back behind them momentarily where Smajor cannot see. “A person , not Rivendellian. They were found in a snow drift and no one is sure what to do with them.”
Smajor’s expression shifts a moment, rapidly from alarm to curiosity, and pulls neutral again. He nods, opening his door wider to step out.
“Have them brought here, and send for healers and a messenger.”
The next moments are that of alarm and tension as the elf runs off. Soon enough a small group of his citizens are approaching with a humanoid figure lying in their arms. He feels brief pride in his people for their kindness, clearly having forfeited a few of their spare blankets or coats to bundle the person up.
Rivendell’s people are isolated, and so often thought cold to outsiders. Smajor knows better than anyone that is not the truth. His people are resilient and realistic in what they do. They are not a culture of frivolous overstepping that so many other nations seem to thrive on. They are practical and much of that practicality is spent on themselves. It would be rude to be disingenuous or careless with words as many outsiders are.
He puts the thought aside, instead ushering his citizens inside where they lay the stranger along the couch of his sitting room. They are polite, keeping their attention on task even within their king's abode. Many of them leave briskly, returning home. Some stay, healers and servants of his majesty ready to do their jobs.
It's a few hours, ones where Smajor knows he will be making an unsavoury journey the next morning if he wants to be remotely on time to his meeting. He has a messenger write up his apologies to Lady Katherine, informing her politely of the emergency. Other servants rush to warm the stranger up, keeping watch for frostbite.
Smajor hears the commotion before he sees it. The stranger finally waking up, the king sees them clearly for the first time.
The stranger is sitting upright, pushing away violently from the healers only doing their job. He is panicked, that much is clear. Smajor manages to intervene only moments before the stranger nearly clocks one of his healers, a wall of ice sharply jutting up from the floor, separating the stranger on the couch from all those around. The only line of sight stays between the stranger and the king, and them alone.
“Leave us, if they refuse help then that is their choice.” Smajor commands carefully. His elves listen, curtly reserving themselves to step away and mind themselves until they are called on again. Then Smajor looks at the stranger, truly, for the first time.
Icy blue eyes flecked with gold meet sunken sea blue. Dark pin-pricked in their focus right back at the king. Very little has made the elvenking stumble. The world deserves nothing less than certainty and devotion from him, and so he chooses not to make hesitance known. But this stranger makes him falter.
Their eyes are shaped like his own, even with the shades so wildly different. Even as sunken and dark as they are there is the familiarity of a mirror. Their nose is the same, a reflection of the kings. There is something dark along the skin above their lip, dirty as if the stranger's nose had been bleeding. Or their face has been drug through dirt. Their lip is split and cracked, unused to the dry cold air- or maybe just damaged from the altercation that left their face so dirtied. Still the shape of his lips are the same as the kings, despite their cracks. Their faces are squared a way Smajor finds familiar. As if his own round cheeks had been stripped of their fullness. Like the first time he’d seen a mirror after being carried from the Mythland dungeons. It makes the king shiver.
“Who are you,” Smajor asks, as commanding as he can be with his own face staring back at him. It’s not quite right. The ears are not elven for one, not visible through their dirty and near matted hair, longer than the king's own in a way that suggests being unkempt, and not stylistic. They also have more of a tan than the king who so often hides from the sun to labour over his desk.
The stranger’s expression warps from standoffish glaring to confusion rapidly and openly. Not a hint of Rivendellian neutrality in sight. There was no question this person wasn’t of the mountains, but the readability of their expression, even as guarded as they are, make it clearer than ever.
Smajor takes a slight step forward in approach. The strangers eyes widen further, confusion forgotten as they scramble to kick off the various blankets weighing them down. They look up, trying to grab at anything and only coming back more alarmed with the walls of ice caging them on the couch.
Smajor stops in his approach, watching with a cringing expression as pitifully human fingernails drive against his divine ice. He feels his gaze soften just slightly. He sighs, changing tactics.
“Do you know where you are?” He asks, this time not in Elvish but in Mangrovian in hopes a more common tongue may help. He turns out to be right as the stranger’s struggles pause.
“No,” The stranger's eyes steel against his own. “Why would I know that?” They snark defensively.
“You are in Rivendell,” Smajor chooses tactfully to ignore the dopplegangers attitude. “My citizens found you in the snow and have brought you to me. I understand you are out of sorts, but I will ask you to think carefully about your treatment of people here. You owe them your life.”
The strangers' nose wrinkles, eyes squinting as they seem to study Smajor. He allows it, standing firm and staring the stranger down right back. Now that they have discarded the blankets, sitting properly on the couch with their feet planted, there is far more to the man's appearance that draws questions.
His outfit, while just as dirty as he is, is certainly foreign. The fabrics and cuts aren't anything Smajor can easily identify. A jacket of some sort of a tough looking blue material, their pants are the same. Odd, short, laced shoes, and a simple shirt with a colour pattern dyed with precision onto the cloth.
“What are you, another king?” The stranger huffs. “I don’t owe you or your citizens anything.” They bite out sharply, mockingly even. As if they don’t believe his status.
It's startling, to say the least. But Smajor keeps his composure, wings ruffling at his back as he meets the stranger glare. Something rotten spreading over his tongue at the blatant disrespect.
“You do not know who I am?” The stranger scoffs at the question.
“No, which is actually super weird.” They push themself from the couch, stumbling just slightly as they approach Smajor. The king stands his ground, wings spreading warningly even as the stranger comes far into his personal space.
Smajor doesn’t do anything, his hands formal at his side, his magic ready if the stranger were to try anything. They are weak and weaponless, there is little to fear.
“I suggest being careful in the next thing you do.” Smajor’s expression cringes as his guest’s face comes close to his own, glaring hard as he meets Smajor’s gaze.
“Or you’ll what, kill me?” They roll their eyes, then lean back a bit, expression twisting into confusion. “What the- What does blue mean?”
“Excuse me?” What in the world is this stranger talking about?
“...I guess there's yellow in there. You're on yellow then? You can’t do anything to me.” The stranger ignores the king's question, stepping back again- still shaky on his feet.
“I’m red, you can’t do a thing to me yet,” They scoff a disinterested laugh. “You would need to die before you can even think of touching me.”
Smajor’s eyes widened at the threat, because what else could it be. Telling a king he must die. His pupils shrink scarily, his wings fanning out to make himself bigger as he puts as much intensity into his posture as he may.
“I am king of Rivendell, one of the richest and oldest of the twelve Empires. Champion of Aeor,” Smajor steps forward, the temperature dropping around him. The stranger stumbles back in surprise, eyes wide before shuttering back into a glare. “I will ask again that you think on your words before you speak them.”
The stranger had tripped as he stumbled back and away from the king, falling hard into the floor. He stares up with wide blue eyes, breath caught in his throat . His arms don’t catch him as his back hits the floor, instead dirt stained and scarred arms throwing themselves up in protection. For the first time there is no snarky reply or commentary, only instinctual fear and defence.
Smajor doesn’t take pride in being a threat, being feared. That is never something he has wanted. That is something his brother, corrupted as he was, wanted. That is something leaders like Emperor Joey or Lord Sausage had succumbed to. But fear has never made Smajor powerful. Staring down at the ornery stranger he feels only shame that it had come to this. That he felt threatened enough to turn it around.
Smajor studies the scars, dirty along the strangers skin. He grimaces to realise there may be wounds still, small as they are, beneath the grime. All the ways in which the stranger has tensed up, locked down against the floorboards in their panic… Well they remind the king more of a caged animal than a person. Smajor takes a step back, still standing tall over the other and taking a breath to himself as he debates his options.
Careful, despite perhaps better judgement, Smajor takes pity, allowing the ice caging them in to draw back into his power. The stranger seems alarmed by this for a moment, startled as they look around for a source seemingly. Then taken aback by the room around them. Their gaze doesn’t completely leave Smajor, but it opens in a way it hasn't since they awoke.
“This is… your home?” They ask, voice small, not looking at the king. Their eyes flicker to him, their arms leave their head, pushing back achingly to set themself upright. Looking around the room but not making any bold movements.
“Yes, and if you are ready to be cooperative I can help you return home as well.”
Smajor studies the strangers reaction carefully. Watching something soft and unguarded pass their features before a darkness crosses their eyes. Their lips downturning and pressing together for a moment as they return their attention fully to the king.
“I’m not sure where it is. It’s probably not even safe anymore.” They frown, their brows pinching together. “I’m not- I don’t think-” They stammer briefly in thought, before reaching up to the couch armrest and painfully pulling themself upright.
“There was no Rivendell faction within the borders, and we would have known if there was another person there.” They murmur absolutely nonsense to Smajor.
“Do you want to go home?” Smajor asks instead, more carefully.
The stranger stays quite a long moment. Then they lean back into the edge of the couch behind them, taking weight off their hands to come wrap near their chest. Smajor doesn’t catch exactly what they are doing, too suddenly watching the way something within the stranger's hair suddenly moves.
Amidst the blue locks, as dirty and matted as they are, small seedlings seem to suddenly sprout. Rapidly the brightest, most gorgeous red poppies Smajor has ever seen bloom like a crown along the man's head. Smajor can only stare in bewilderment, even while his guest remains indifferent.
Fae, he thinks presumptuously. They must be from The Overgrown. The power so comfortably reminiscent of Lady Katherine’s magic. Though the stranger seems far less deliberate about it. They finally look back up at Smajor, a soft hesitant look on their features.
“I would like to go home. If it is still there.” They say. “If The Red King and his army is gone.” They say even softer, not meant for anyone to hear. Underestimation of Elven senses.
“The Red King?” Smajor asks carefully, as the stranger gets to their feet. The title doesn’t sound at all familiar. “What empire do you refer to?”
The stranger scowls quickly, the flowers in their hair wilting suddenly and violently, but they do not fall. A crown of death and dread.
“No empire.” They state curtly, bewilderingly to Smajor. “He is a false king, with a few followers. He took my yellow and-” The stranger stops sharply, as if suddenly realising something.
Hurriedly they twist their arm around to their back. Smajor tenses ever briefly before watching with confusion as they begin hurriedly shrugging off their odd jacket. Stumbling and falling back onto their knees as they do so. Smajor can’t imagine why they would want that, they must still be cold-
Smajor watches as the stranger turns their jacket around and their thoughts fall short. Across the back is a gash Smajor hadn’t noticed before, wide and drenched in dried blood. Smajor snaps his gaze towards the other's face, looking for explanation. But they only seem more confused and alarmed by the second.
They murmur something, and Smajor understands something must be done. So he puts his elven reservations aside, and moves to kneel beside the presumed fae.
“Is something the matter?” They shake their head, gaze snapping to meet the kings openly. The guarded nature and a paranoia of before gone in a sudden instant.
“Where am I?” Smajor's brow furrows, suddenly wondering if they have a concussion.
“Rivendell, I have told you this.”
“No, no- You said that before!” They resist. “You weren’t there, there isn’t any place called Rivendell.” They sound panicked, and Aeor knows Smajor doesn’t deal well with that.
“You are in Rivendell. It is in the snowy southern mountains of-”
“There aren't any mountains! Not like this! These places shouldn’t exist! You shouldn't exist! We already saw everything, we looked everywhere for more but there wasn’t. ” They lean suddenly towards the king, an open pleading expression.
“What colour are my eyes?”
“Excuse me?”
“My eyes-” They snap hurriedly. “What colour are they? What life am I on?”
“What- Your eyes are blue. What do you mean-”
“You’re lying!” They scowl, dropping the jacket into their lap and reaching up towards their hair. They grasp tightly at the blooms still wilted and yank so violently Smajor fears for a moment they’ve pulled out some hair.
They seem only to become more frustrated as the petals in their grasp dissolve. Smajor watches in small horror as those left around their head wither at rapid speeds. This doesn’t seem to assure the stranger as they plant their face in their hands and scream frustration.
Extremely hesitantly, Smajor reaches a hand to lay on the stranger's arm. They startle, bringing their hands away to peer up at Smajor scrutinising.
“What are you trying to do?” The king inquires as calmly as he can. If he can help, then he can de-escalate. The stranger stays silent, taking a long breath and turning back to look at their jacket. At the bloody gash ripped through the tough fabric. They pick it up with shaky hands, tilting it for Smajor to see.
“I remember dying. The Red King took my last life. Hunted me down with His Hand . I’m supposed to be dead.” Their voice grows quieter as they speak, at the same time Smajor brows furrow further.
“Well, you are very much alive, I can attest to that.” Smajor offers calmly. The other grimaces.
“I don’t know you. I don’t know where I am. This place doesn’t exist and neither do you,” They huff. “For all I know I am dead. Maybe that's what blue means, zero .”
Smajor takes a long drawn breath as he thinks over his options. He spots his clock over the stranger's head, and realises rapidly that he does not have time for this. His citizens come before himself. But this stranger is no citizen of his, and he has a meeting.
“I am going to make you an offer.” Smajor begins slowly. Immediately the stranger cages up under his touch, looking at him with an intensity Smajor doesn’t feel the need to match.
“I must travel in several hours for a meeting in The Overgrown. If you come with me I can try and help you return home.”
The stranger peers at him again, and Smajor is beginning to understand this is simply a distrustful man, and it is not so personal as it feels.
“And if I don’t.”
“Then you will find your own way through or out of Rivendell, and where you end up is out of my hands.” The king says curtly. The stranger huffs, rolling their eyes lightly. They look back down at their jacket, before a hand reaches for their chest again, and this time Smajor sees it. A string reaching under their shirt. Drawn out it holds a ring made of stem and twine.
“Alright,” The stranger shrugs their jacket back on, looking up to meet the king's gaze. “I will go with you.”
“I’m not calling you king, so you better tell me your name.” They raise an eyebrow and offer their hand, a slight smile on their face. It clearly takes effort.
“You may call me, Smajor.” Smajor phrases carefully, curious if the stranger takes him to be a fool, or if he is truly bold enough to try and steal the king's name so plainly. Regardless, Smajor decides to take the wins he has gotten instead of arguing. “What shall I be calling you?”
Hearing “Scott,” leave the stranger's mouth is like electricity up Smajor’s spine. The alarm of hearing his own private name on another's tongue just as unnerving as the pinging realisation that who he had presumed to be fae had just passed over his own True Name.
The next several hours pass oddly. Smajor ushered Scott towards the washroom and left him to clean up. He sets up two servants outside the door. Mostly because Scott is a loose canon and Smajor would like supervision on him, but also in case he needs anything.
Smajor is both relieved and horrified by Scott's appearance once he’s escorted back rather uncomfortably to Smajor’s presence. Cleaned of grime and blood Scott looks much healthier. There are a few wounds to be wrapped but nothing terribly pertinent. His hair turns out to not be nearly as forgone a hope as Smajor thought, drawn neatly back into a short, low ponytail tied up with twine. The flowers once withered from his hair have bloomed again, a colourful array of tulips. Most curiously the man's ears are visible, poking through his hair. Small and sharp like Smajor expected (and Smajor has realised now that Scott is at least from somewhere that understands gendered language, far more than he expected of a fae).
Unfortunately, despite his lack of wings and smaller ears, now that the man is cleaned up his features only seem to resemble the king more. It begins to ring uncomfortably close to that of a changeling, but Scott insists he has never heard of Smajor. So really there is no reason to want to impersonate him, let alone imperfectly.
Smajor, Scott, and a small entourage set out from Rivendell in the early morning the following day. If they hurry, they should make it to House Blossom in time for the meeting. Scott has proven to be even more difficult, refusing a change of clothes and insisting on keeping the disgusting ones he already has. Smajor has, at the very least, convinced him of a coat. Not everyone has his frost immunity and considering how blue the man looked when he first was laid on the couch Scott is no different.
They reach The Overgrown and Smajor can feel the notable difference in Scott’s demeanour. Where he has been fairly openly curious about the world leaving Rivendell, he has stayed guarded and alert. Even with Rivendellian soldiers protecting their travel, perhaps because of such. The only King Scott has mentioned supposedly killed him. Smajor isn’t quite sure how that works, he has to assume where Scott is from they have access to totems. Though he doesn’t look at all like he is from the Lost Empire, it would frankly explain a lot of his behaviour.
Regardless, the sight of flowers and beauty that House Blossom boasts seems to astound Scott, his gaze open and mouth agape as he takes it in. Smajor nearly trips as Scott pushes ahead of him in his haste to look around, tulips springing from beneath his step into the king's path.
Smajor bites his tongue from ridiculing the man. There is something so desperately not adding up about everything he has described, and Smajor cannot figure it out.
The elven king slows the party as they get into House Blossom, greeting the fae politely and his entourage ushering away with the group's luggage to their stay. Smajor has only an hour before the meeting. So he makes his way towards the room within the palace, Scott in tow. As ornery as he has been, Scott’s delighted affection for the bright and beautiful palace is nice to see. It reminds him of a child, seeing something so grand for the first time and unable to contain themselves.
Smajor reaches the meeting room where Lady Katherine is, thankfully early to set up.
“Katherine!” Smajor smiles, as he approaches his friend. Katherine’s gaze looks up in surprise, a sharp grin spreading her features as she approaches.
“Smajor! Welcome! I was expecting you late, not early-” She stops short, peering around Smajor. Smajor follows her gaze to where Scott has stopped short in the doorway.
“Katherine, this is the issue I had informed you of via letter” He gestures. “ Scott , here is a far way from home it seems. I was hoping you could help me return him.”
Katherine’s eyes widen in understanding, he doesn’t miss the flare in her gaze as she catches the True Name. She turns to look at Scott, still stood standoffishly.
“Scott,” Smajor addresses with more emphasis. “This is Lady Katherine. She is a good friend of mine, and Protector of The Overgrown. If you would come in , we can hopefully discuss how to get you home before the others arrive.”
Scott's expression shifts, and he approaches quickly to close the door behind him. Smajor hates the idea that more people would put Scott on edge, but given their demeanour with the Rivendellian travelling party he already knows the answer.
Katherine ushers them to the table. Both her and Smajor are sitting in their typical seats. Scott sits across from Smajor, a seat normally taken by the High Wizard Gem, but she isn’t here at the moment to complain.
“You’re home is very pretty,” Scott compliments plainly, still clearly enamoured with the building despite his hesitance.
“Oh, thank you! We all work hard to keep everything as beautiful as we can here!” Her laugh is like bell chimes on the wind, so normal to Smajor he only barely notices the way Scott reacts startled. Everything about him screams fae, but all of his behaviour feels so othered…
“I’m sure we can convince your Emperor to allow you to accompany them back to your home! Where exactly are you headed?” Katherine asks.
“We’re not sure,” Smajor cuts in, before Scotts says something out of line. “Scott has described very little to me of his home, but he doesn’t seem to recognize Rivendell as existing at all.”
“Oh, an extremely rural place then? You didn’t travel much before I suppose?” Katherine tilts her head, questioningly. Scott’s expression flickers.
“There was nowhere to travel. We mapped from wall to wall, there was nothing more to find.” Scott huffed.
“Wall to wall?” Katherine prods further. “Your nation has fortified borders?” She turns to look at Smajor again. “Mythland then? Or perhaps The Grimlands?”
“Are these more factions?” Scott cuts in again, visibly confused. His arms are crossed, fingernails picking at his jacket sleeve though his gaze hasn’t left the faerie. Katherine falters.
“You do not… You do not know of Mythland or The Grimlands?” Scott shakes his head.
“You mentioned factions,” Smajor says instead of letting them dwell. “What factions existed where you are from? We can reverse back from what you know instead.”
Scott stays quiet for a moment. When he speaks his voice is deliberate and soft.
“There were a few groups. The desert folk, the Crastle, Dogwarts, and-” Scott stammers his words softly. “The valley-folk.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter, when I was killed there were only two real groups left. The Red King's army, and everyone else.”
Katherine makes sharp eye contact with Smajor, and he wishes he had answers for her but he knows about as much as she does. So he just shrugs, and makes clear this is not something he was willing to get into.
“Could you, maybe, describe your home? What it looked like? We might be able to place a landscape or flora?” Katherine tries again to ask.
“The valley.” Scott says, with such surety it startles Smajor. “The flower valley, in the corner of the walls.”
“A flower valley?” Katherine's eyes widened. “I didn’t want to assume just because of how you look, but are you from here? The Overgrown then?”
Smajor makes a face looking around briefly and huffing. “If I had ever seen a place like this I’d hope I wouldn’t forget it.”
“The Overgrown is more than just House Blossom,” She smiles, almost apologetically. “I hate to admit it, but plenty of folk are turned around and wind up lost in the fringes of the lands thanks to The Spring’s wild magic. I’d have assumed since you’re fair folk you may have been immune to such things, but if not then-”
“Fair folk?” Scott's lips twist in an exaggerated and frankly frustrated confusion. Katherine stops short of her explanation, delicate brows furrowing slightly. Her sharp smile straining.
“Yes? Are you not? I didn’t think anyone but the fae had ears so sharp?”
Scott blinks, uncrossing his arms and bringing a hand to his ear curiously, as if he himself had no idea his own makeup.
“I’m not- I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is just how my ears look,” He huffs, letting his hand drop back to his lap.
“Oh- well- '' Katherine stammers. “Then my apologies, I suppose. Still if you're not fae then getting turned around by The Spring’s magic would be plausible! Perhaps closer to the borders of Gilded Helianthia-”
“Have you ever seen the walls?” Scott cuts her off, rudely. Smajor finds himself cringing at the audacity, only barely restrained from putting a hand to his face.
“Pardon me?”
“The walls. If you think I’m from your land, then surely you know what's in it.” Scott challenges, staring down The Springs Protector. “Have you seen blue translucent walls, separating what's inside from what is out. Is that in your- Overgrown. ”
“Blue- what?” Katherine stammers. “No, I have never heard of such a thing. Blue walls-”
“Like a magic barrier?” Smajor cuts in, interest renewed. Scott's gaze cuts to his sharply. “The Crystal Cliffs has the most magic in its borders-”
“But The Crystal Cliffs are far too crowded. There wouldn’t be enough open space to fit something like that without notice. Not to mention that is even farther from the desert-” Katherine looks at Scott again. “You did mention a desert?”
“I-” Scott doesn’t get a word in before Smajor has begun speaking over him.
“If there was desert land then it has to border Pixandria. So north-western Mythland-”
“I still don’t know what Mythland is-” Scott growls.
“There may be desert-like lands on Mezalea’s borders. The Undergrove and Lost Empire are largely unaccounted for-”
“Enough!” Scott stands, throwing his chair back hard against the pristine floor. “You’re both speaking nonsense!”
Scott paces backwards, fuming. The crown of flowers around his head wilts and regrows in rapid succession, blooms are deep bloody roses laced with overwhelming briar. Smajor stands quickly, as does Katherine, eyes tracking the outsider.
“Scott, if you would remember my advisement-”
“I don’t care!” Scott barks angrily. Smajor's wings flare out in warning, enlarging his silhouette. Scott only scoffs. “Oh put your feathers away, you're not scary!”
“Scott, we are just trying to help. King Smajor has been very kind to bring you here-” Katherine tries to de-escalate to no avail.
“I don’t care! We’re getting nowhere! I don’t know you! I don’t know where I am! I just-” Scott huffs, bringing his hands to his head, uncaring for the way the briar thorns cut up his palms. He screams, something guttural in his throat- frustrated and afraid and confused all the same. Smajor might feel bad if the man wasn’t making such a scene in front of Katherine who is only here to help. Who owes him nothing.
“I’m done with kings and castles and factions- I just want to go home . I just want my-”
Scott stops so sharply his tantrum that Smajor double takes. Afraid for a moment a spell had been cast, or perhaps that Smajor himself had frozen the man in his panic. Scott’s head snaps upright, his body language rigid but his hands, cut as they are, fall away from his head.
“Do you hear that-” Scott asks, softer than anything Smajor has heard from him. He turns towards the door, putting his back towards Katherine and allowing Smajor into only his peripherals. It's jarring how suddenly he seems to stop guarding himself.
Smajor and Katherine look at one another warily. The elvenking's long ears flick slightly as he listens, watching his peer tilt her own head in curiosity. He finds himself almost surprised when he does hear something. Vibrant chatter carried by the voices of The Ocean Queen, The Copper King, The Mezalean King, and The Codfather from down the corridor beyond the room's doors.
“Ah, The Codfather Alliance is here,” Smajor grimaces. “Thank you for your help Lady Katherine, I will escort Scott-”
Smajor finds himself coming up short as his attention is suddenly drawn by Scott stumbling. The king's brow furrows and he watches in his peripherals as Katherine reaches out from where she stands, equally baffled.
Neither has time to comprehend before Scott is sprinting across the room and throwing the doors to the meeting room open with surprising strength and a booming sound. The noise of voices draws silent and Smajor can see over Scott’s head The Codfather alliance as they stop their approach, looking up in alarm.
Smajor was really hoping a scene wouldn’t be made. He hisses some command to Scott, trying to reach for him but isn’t quite fast enough as the man staggers out into the corridor.
“Jimmy-?” The man breathes, tender and heartbroken in ways Smajor is astounded to hear. He looks up again, over the outsiders head, meeting the eyes of The Codfather’s mask and looking for answers or forgiveness for the embarrassment being wrought- he isn’t sure. What he finds is something far more startling.
A man with canary yellow wings, and feathered ears pushes his way from where he was hidden between the Codfathers' allies.
Everything in the corridor stands still for a moment, and no more as each group takes each other in, and more importantly, the strangers.
“Scott?” The winged man speaks, light and hopeful and jarringly similar to The Codfathers own voice. “... Petal ?
The sheer affection in the nickname seems to be the final straw as Scott stumbles forward into a sprint. Smajor cannot see his face, but he watches as the man with canary wings matches his movement, a smile growing wide and warm across his features. Watches as the two meet and there is no hesitation as Scott full body throws himself at the stranger. As the man catches Scott and swings them in a circle, wings flaring out haphazardly for balance in ways Smajor finds reminiscent of children who have yet learned to fly.
The canary ( Jimmy? Is that what Scott had called him? ) laughs, bright and wet with something far more gut wrenching than his expression lets on. The briars and roses in Scott’s hair all fall away in a flurry of petals, replaced again by the bright heart red of gorgeous blooming poppies as Jimmy finally sets him down.
The two stumble, arms still wrapped around one another and pulling the other off balance but neither seems to care. Smajor averts his gaze suddenly as Scott grabs at Jimmy's face, pulling him hard into a kiss. As he looks away he is startled to find poppies blooming through any stray crack in the walls or floor, replacing any of the previous flora decorating House Blossom’s palace.
Smajor chances to look up again, to find that the two lovers had fallen into one another, kneeling on the floor and simply holding tight. Something cold swells in him to hear the muffled sound of sobs as Scott pushes his face into Jimmy's neck. Jimmy doesn’t seem to be faring much better, grip bruisingly tight around Scott as he holds him close. Still, despite the rapid flurry of feelings, the poppies throughout the corridor don't wilt or change.
Someone clears their throat, and Smajor looks up to find The Mezalean King still stood at the other end of the corridor with his allies, making a rather immature face in response to the ordeal before them… Not that Smajor can necessarily blame him. It was a wildly public display of affection. Though he does believe the Mezalean King is hypocritical in his reaction.
Katherine brushes past Smajor, side stepping carefully around the lovers in her approach towards the Codfathers Alliance.
“Ah, welcome! You all are here quite early as well! I am guessing it is for… similar reasons to King Smajor?” She smiles carefully, side eyeing Scott and Jimmy again. The two seem to have shut everyone else out, though they’ve thankfully stopped being quite so loud. Still holding tight, Smajor sees Jimmy looking with furrowed brows at Scott’s briar cut palms, Scott smiling softly and leaning into him, tears still freely flowing his face. They are speaking in hushed whispers, not so hushed that Smajor can’t hear. But frankly what they say makes about as much sense as everything else Scott has said, which is to say, none at all.
“uh, yeah- yeah!” The Codfather clears his throat, stepping forward to greet Katherine. “This guy was found in The Codland’s a couple days ago! He seemed pretty lost and the swamp isn’t that good for winged folk so I figured he could tag along to the meeting and we could help him get home?”
“If he’s from the same place as Scott-” Smajor doesn’t dare approach the couple, so he merely calls over the corridor, gesturing slightly at the duo. “- then I doubt he will be going home. We have been unable to identify any empire that fits the descriptions given.”
Scott looks up at the sound of his name, sharp and guarded like before, his fingers clutch bloody onto Jimmy's at the sudden attention. Jimmy blinks, following his gaze towards Smajor where the canary’s eyes widen.
“Oh that is- that is weird!” Jimmy laughs, a bit disjointedly in its wariness but kind all the same. He shuffles, moving to stand up with Scott in tow. “It's like a warped mirror of- Who are you?”
Smajor raises an eyebrow, sighing dramatically. The Copper King, who in his silence Smajor had yet to notice, cuts in from across the way.
“I can assure Jimmy means no offence. He seems to not recognize any of the emperors.” Smajor rolls his eyes.
“I’m well aware, Scott has the same issue.” He states plainly, ignoring whatever biting remark Scott mutters.
“Oh, another king-” Jimmy says, though clearly more to himself than anyone present. He seems to awkwardly bite back on a discomforted laugh.
“How about we all return to the meeting room!” Katherine chirps, though it's hardly an offer. No one with reason refuses a suggestion from her ladyship. “We can further discuss Scott and Jimmy’s predicament at the table before others arrive. Perhaps with more heads we can figure out a solution.”
Smajor agrees immediately, knowing better than to refuse. The Codfather Alliance follows similarly. He watches carefully as Scott frowns, holding close to Jimmy, but the feathered man smiles down at Scott. Something small and reassuring, and the two follow without retort.
Seated around the table, Smajor almost feels at ease, back in a place of familiarity and structure. That is interrupted by the bold way that instead of simply sitting next to one another Scott and Jimmy have clambered into the same chair. Scott guides Jimmy to sit pliantly and then plunking himself in the winged ones lap.
Try as he might to avoid looking at them, they are directly across from him where Scott sat before. Smajor tries to keep a neutral expression, but if the way The Ocean Queen is chuckling and teasing is any indication, he is given away but the absolute heat of his face. PDA, ew.
“Alright, so- Short Smajor and bird Jimmy dopplegangers-” The Mezalean King begins, kicking his feet up on the table carelessly. “Where are you headed? Because we have a meeting to suffer through in like, 20 minutes, and it sounds like no one knows where you came from still?”
“Ah, yeah I already told you guys what I knew! But I think the world border has gotten bigger since I… died,” Jimmy chuckles awkwardly, eyes flickering about the table. Smajor had been keen to label him as the more clear headed of the foreign duo, but he might have to reconsider that. If the rigid posture, arms tight around Scott, and paranoid eyes are any suspicion.
“We could just leave,” Scott murmurs, soft against Jimmy's skin. “I don’t need to go home. You’re back, you’re alive- We can start over somewhere else. Away from kings and fighting and people.”
Jimmy frowns, glancing nervously at the rulers surrounding them, his arms around Scott tighten slightly, protectively at the wayward looks sent their way. But he doesn’t rise to insults as his partner had. Earning yet another point in Smajor’s favour.
“You don’t mean that, Scott,.” he insists, wings coming up as if to shield them. “You were always the one trying to be friendly. I was the one who had a go of it with Dogwarts. You were always chatting with people, like Grian and Cleo-”
“And where did that land us?” Scott growls. Smajor sees the way Jimmy startles at the demeanour the elvenking himself has been so used to with Scott. It's odd, for as close as the two are Jimmy seems surprised Scott would say such a thing.
“Scott-”
“Jimmy, I’m serious. Where did that get us? Maybe if we’d killed Ren right then and there we wouldn’t have had to team up with the desert folk,” Scotts spat, voice venomous. “We wouldn’t have been in that fight. They wouldn’t have killed you.”
Jimmy looks lost, meeting the intensity of Scott's eyes on him. He gapes a moment before his lips press into a tense frown.
“Martyn would have hunted us down.” Jimmy eventually says. “If we had killed his king.”
Evidently Jimmy has found a sore spot with Scott, though in Smajor’s fine opinion everything seems to be a sore spot for the man. The room is silent, and Smajor is doing his best despite the fact that there are a total of six other people in the room besides the couple to avert his gaze and give them privacy. He makes eye contact with The Copper King by chance, and he isn’t quite sure what he finds in the man's gaze. Contemplation of some kind, intrigue maybe? Hm.
There are small murmurings Smajor doesn’t care to listen in on between The Codfather’s entourage. Instead he averts his gaze once more to find Katherine’s. Her ladyship is staring, biting the inside of her cheek with a slight pout as she thinks. Smajor doesn’t intervene, watching carefully as she stands, clearing her throat and clapping her hands together. Effectively silencing what remains of noise, all focus on her.
Jimmy and Scott tense in their chair. Their eyes dart to the faerie, united in wariness that is starting to leave something bitter tasting in Smajor’s mouth. It’s been annoying, of course, to deal with Scott up till now. But evidently something has gone clearly wrong for them.
“I’m afraid other emperors will be arriving soon, and as much as I would love to help you two I will not waste their time by moving the meeting.” She declares, as kindly as she can. “There are numerous guest rooms within the palace. I can find two for you to stay in for the meeting duration, guarded of course, and we can pick up where we left later.”
The two lovers are still in their seat. Smajor doesn’t miss the way Jimmy looks to Scott, for direction no doubt. Scott’s gaze stays pointedly on Katherine.
“One room,” he says, carefully slipping off Jimmy’s lap. “No soldiers.”
“Oh!” Katherine’s brows furrow. “No! The Overgrown is safe! We don’t have soldiers. ” She waves the concern away with a flippant hand as Jimmy stands from the chair close behind Scott. “My guards are servants, don’t let the armour fool you.” She chuckles good naturedly.
Scott doesn’t seem any more pleased by this answer, given the way his expression darkens and the flowers atop his head wilt. But a subtle squeeze from Jimmy's hand to his own has him backing down before he says anything brash.
Smajor abstains from comment or movement as Katherine ushers the duo to the doors. Watches the way both lovers' hands tighten to one another, knuckles white and tense as Katherine's noble guards in their (honestly purely aesthetical) purple armour begin to escort the duo away. At just the same moment Emperor Graceffa struts past into the room with all the self importance of a peacock, Queen Shrub closes behind with only a curious glance to the foreigners before she is being greeted warmly by Katherine.
Smajor settles more properly into his seat, carefully making sure his feathers aren't terribly ruffled, lest the Lost Emperor clock it. He makes passing eye contact with each member of the Codfathers alliance, a silent understanding that their strange guests' issues are far from over. But for now, they may focus on themselves, and their empires.
As the rest of the emperors filter in to varying degrees of readiness and attention, Smajor puts Scott and Jimmy out of mind, readying himself instead for a rather boring fruitless meeting, as they all are. Pleasantries, small insights, and continued trade. Unprepared for the plans being put together only corridors away, in one of House Blossom’s many classy guest rooms…