Work Text:
Ruddy knew something was wrong when Michael didn’t show up for lunch.
Prince Michael, who constantly pulled nuts and berries out of thin air to snack on, missing a meal? Sure, it had only been – what, a full moon cycle, maybe two? – since they first met in the library (which Ruddy will NEVER admit to sneaking into, nu-uh, that was some other harpy) but they were supposed to meet up and talk. Like they normally did. So where was he?
Ruddy finished her plum, tossing the pit off the side of her branch to leave it to its fate and took to the sky, keeping an eye out for anything green and orange and suspiciously prince-shaped.
Her search led her to the first-circle housing, behind the Great Sequoia, to the royal’s living quarters. A large plank pavilion housed a hut twice the size of her own but otherwise normal compared to the grandiose vision Ruddy had in her head. Hammocks hung around the perimeter. Ruddy glided around the clearing, looking for one more full of feathers and less stray leaves. She found nothing and landed in the center of the pavilion, getting the distinct feeling that she wasn’t supposed to be there and decidedly ignored it. Rules were for royals.
“Michael!” She called, staring pointedly at the hammock he usually resided in. “MICHAEL! YOU BETTER SHOW YOUR STUPID FACE AND TELL ME WHY YOU AREN’T EATING!”
“Why are we yelling for me?” Grumbled a sleepy voice behind her.
Ruddy jumped, feathers ruffled, and spun to see Michael draped on the windowsill of his family’s hut.
“THERE you are!” Ruddy stomped over as Michael yawned, looking supremely rumpled and un-royal. “We were supposed to meet up for lunch! What have you been doing up here?”
“Napping,” he complained, resting his head on his crossed arms and blinking sluggishly. From the height and size of the window, Ruddy could only see his head, shoulders, and parts of his wings.
“At noon?”
Michael leaned out a little further, looking for the sun, which Ruddy doubted he could see from his position. “Is it noon already? Hm.”
Ruddy waited for an explanation - or an apology - or something - but Michael remained staring lifelessly at her, slouched over the windowsill, as if he couldn’t think of anything worth saying.
Ruddy studied the bags under his eyes. “Were you actually sleeping?” she asked, more concerned at his blasé answer.
“Just one of those days,” he answered, as if that meant anything. Ruddy stared at him with her best stern look until he sighed and added, “Yes, mostly I was sleeping.”
“What was the other part?”
Michael glanced away, the light disappearing from his gaze. “Considering throwing myself in the lake. You know, the usual.”
Oh. One of these days.
Michael had mentioned to her, exactly once, that he sometimes felt like he couldn’t get out of bed, and that those were usually days he thought the worst of himself, and the world, and during those days he saw nothing worth getting up for, so he rotted in his hammock. That story didn’t quite prepare Ruddy for the pure desolation in his voice, or the way he looked and sounded so devoid of life.
Ruddy thought about the one scroll she found that mentioned anything about this type of ailment – in the Healer’s Hut, one of the scrolls listed unusual ailments, including one named depression. It detailed how a harpy was sad for prolonged periods of time because they had no hope. The paragraph was frustratingly short, with no recommendations for cures or treatments, but Ruddy supposed most harpies didn’t get that sad when the rainforest life was amazing.
She had wanted to tell Michael about her findings. Later, she decided. Michael needed somebody now.
Ruddy hesitated before stepping closer, her hands hovering, wanting to do something but not knowing what – Michael usually froze whenever she touched him, drawing back and becoming quiet like he didn’t know how to tell her he didn’t like it. But how else could she effectively provide comfort? Would his opinions on physical contact change due to the circumstance?
She decided to try. Ruddy cupped Michael’s face and lifted it, holding his head to make him look at her. His eyes moved like they weighed as much as the Sequoia.
“You’re not allowed to throw yourself in the lake,” she whispered, trying to make her tone soft and understanding and not as harsh as he was used to hearing from her or his family. “And not off the canopy of the Sequoia, or any other place your mind is thinking of. Okay? You’re not allowed to do that.”
Michael stayed quiet, accepting the new rule, so she continued.
“Whatever your brain is telling you is wrong. People care about you. There are things to look forward to – like – like lunch.” Man that sounded sad. “And – flying, and bathing in sunbeams, and me –” Michael’s crest feathers lifted from their limp, dejected position, so Ruddy stumbled down that direction, because she was the only one who could do anything for him, and by God Above she would try. “Me! You like spending time with me. And I like spending time with you. If you drown in the lake you can’t see me again!” A lump formed in her throat. “Wouldn’t that be tragic? I… I don’t want to lose you to a lie you’ve conjured up, I like hanging out with you. You can’t leave me to keep the library running on my own, can you?”
Beyond the panic rising in her chest, Ruddy felt Michael lean his head into her hands, pressing his warm face against her cool talons.
“Mmm not that far gone yet,” he croaked, closing his eyes. Ruddy gently stroked her thumbs over his cheek bones. “I’ll let you know if I am.”
“You better,” Ruddy huffed out a small laugh, relief crashing over her. “I’ll come flying, any time you need me. Promise.”
Michael hummed. Ruddy spent an awkwardly long time standing there, holding his head upright, before asking if she could come inside. Michael glanced up at her with slightly more clarity in his eyes.
“Uh. I mean, sure, but I am profusely undressed at the moment.”
“... You’re telling me you’re naked.”
“Yes?”
“You’re leaning half way out the window, talking with me, and I’m holding your face – and you’re naked.”
“I was napping. Who’s gonna disturb my napping?”
“Go get dressed,” Ruddy scolded, shoving his face back inside as he squawked indignantly.
Ruddy turned around with a huff as she waited for Michael to get his loincloth on, ignoring his snickering (because that was a good sign? Maybe this wasn’t the worst of his bad days. But then that thought scared her, because if this wasn’t the worst of it, what was? How could it get worse than this?). But soon enough she heard the tell-tale rustle of leaf curtains opening, and Michael announced he was dressed, so she silently pushed past him through the entrance.
The royal’s hut wasn’t much fancier on the inside than it was the outside. Large flasks and vases stood up against one side, next to bowls and bags of fruits and nuts; two nests made up half the floor space, and a child-sized hammock hung between two outcroppings of a perching branch. Three perfectly woven baskets held folded garments. The fancy-looking rugs covering the bottoms of the nests were the only suggestion that this hut belonged to important people.
“I assume these are filled with water?” Ruddy guessed, flicking a wing at the flasks.
“Most of ‘em at least, yeah. I wouldn’t be surprised if King Azrael had a few filled with wine, but all the ones I’ve opened are water. Why?”
“I’m also assuming you haven’t drank anything today.” Ruddy picked up one of the hand held flasks and checked that it was filled with water. “Here, drink,” she ordered, pressing it against Michael’s chest. He sighed again before taking a large swig from it.
“For the record,” he grouched, “ordering the prince around is bound to get you in trouble. Nobody else gets to do that except the king.”
“Cool. Don’t care. Drink some more.” Ruddy waited until he chugged more water and came up gasping before speaking again. “Now how are you feeling?”
“Still awful,” he informed, “just wet on the inside. Can I get back to my nap now? You should really be getting back to your apprenticeship.”
“I’m staying with you until you feel better,” Ruddy declared, crossing her arms. One more scolding from the elder healer meant nothing in the face of the prince’s distress! Ruddy wondered if she could lie and tell them Michael had called for her assistance, and that she was doing her due diligence to make sure he was taken care of. That was only half a lie. Would they believe her? Would Michael back her up if she asked him to lie for her? He was such a rule follower; Ruddy wasn’t sure he would, but they were friends, so maybe?
Michael tried staring her down in the same way she did to him. When he lost, he sighed, visibly deflating into a pathetic lump of feathers with water dribbling out the sides of his beak. “Fine, fine, you can stay as long as you’d like.”
Ruddy huffed and took the offered flask back, closing the lid and tossing it haphazardly into the pile. “So what do we need to do?” she asked, hoping that getting him up and moving would help improve his mood.
To her dismay, Michael dragged himself back over to the smaller of the two nests, which coincidentally was the closest to the window, and plopped himself down. Several small green feathers drifted down around him.
“Up,” Ruddy said, shaking his shoulder with her foot.
“Hrn.”
“C’mon, let’s go for a flight, that’ll help get your mind off things.”
“Not happening.”
Ruddy clucked disapprovingly. Michael turned his back to her. His orange crest feathers flared up.
Huh. I don’t think I’ve seen him irritated over anything other than his father. That’s weird, Michael loves flying with me. Maybe he’s just too tired? I can’t exactly feel what he’s feeling, and he’s not exactly being open about it right now.
Ruddy sighed and stopped halfway so she wouldn’t sound like him or his unforgiving father. Getting huffy about it wasn’t going to help.
“Okay, okay, we’re napping, then, that’s fine. Scooch.”
Michael blinked astonishedly at her as she nudged him to the side and crawled in next to him. Their wings bumped together until Ruddy got comfortable enough to fold them over her back. She laid on her side so she could study him.
“What are you doing?” Michael grumped.
“Napping. Same as you. I told you I wasn’t leaving until you feel better.”
Michael huffed again before relaxing back into the rugs and blankets making up the bottom of the nest. He hid his face in his arms. Ruddy assumed he wanted her to think he was asleep.
Ruddy silently studied the patterns of the rugs, in awe at the bright colors twisting and turning into flowers and vines. One of them had little harpies soaring through a pale blue sky; another pictured the rainforest, a third had simple orange flowers patterned across a green background that matched Michael’s darker green feathers. They felt impossibly soft under Ruddy’s hands, yet tightly and impeccably woven. She would never own something this nice.
She glanced up and watched Michael’s orange crest feathers sway with his breathing, feeling tied between jealousy that he had so much at his fingertips, between the softest of yarns to have blankets made out of to having first pick at food, and sympathy mixed with rage for the consequence of being born when he did to the harpies he had to call family. Were soft carpets really worth it, if your father made life so miserable you could barely stand to get out of bed? Just because he made a choice that labeled him a traitor by his own son?
She wouldn’t choose this life if she could. Too many rules and responsibilities. Not enough freedom or joy. Michael looked miserable in his predicament, and Ruddy was sure she only knew half of it.
She wanted to carry Michael far, far away from this life. Maybe that would make him happier. It had only been a couple days since she last saw him, and she already missed his smile and witty comebacks.
“Hey, Michael…?” she started to ask.
“Hm?”
“... Would you like it if I stroked your face some more?” she diverted, not wanting to ask her original question when he already sounded half-asleep. “It looked like you liked that.”
Michael groaned but stretched himself out so his cheek feathers brushed against Ruddy’s talons. Ruddy took that as a yes and started gently running her hand from his cheek down the side of his neck, running her claws through his feathers. Michael’s face twisted into something longing and tragic, even with his eyes still closed, but before long his features relaxed again, and Ruddy was certain he was asleep this time.
What would happen as a result of staying with this very sleepy harpy would be something to deal with later.