Chapter Text
“People don’t like us.”
Ulysses remembered what his mother once told him when they were walking alone in the forest around their home. She was teaching him about the paths and markers she had made so she wouldn’t get lost, and, when Ulysses grew older, so he wouldn’t get lost either. But the answer was in response to his question of why he had to hide his ability to shapeshift from others.
“They like it when they think they know things. When they see us change into someone they recognize, everything they thought that they knew for certain becomes a question.” His mother paused for a second. “Although, if you were talking to someone who wasn’t who they said they were, you would be scared, or angry, or hurt too.”
He nodded along as if he understood, but he did not. How could he? He only went to town a few times a year with his parents, and he did not know just how irrational and deep those feelings of fear and anger were. At the time, Ulysses also didn’t understand that because he was the thing they were scared of, he wasn’t allowed to feel the same way back at them. All this was made abundantly clear when he woke up in the temple as two clerics were discussing how two dead changelings were better for the world.
They, of course, did not realize that Ulysses was one too, or that those were his parents — not the murderers and arsonists that actually committed the crime. When they saw him crying and shaking in his bed, they cooed over him about how he was a brave soul, and that he was safe. Safe with the people who wished him dead.
So, what choice did he have but to hide? Twenty years had passed and yet he stayed in this human form for every second, too scared to be himself, and too anxious to be someone new. Even when he joined an adventuring party, he stayed as that facade of someone normal — someone they did not have to fear.
Not that it did anything for him in this moment.
“Is it true?” Faera demanded. The elf stood at a distance, eyes fixed on him in a look he recognized but never received. Not until today apparently. Between her fingers, energy sparked and buzzed, but there was nothing summoned yet.
Coral, Jasper, and Bellthorne were a little closer, but they all had their weapons out, and at the ready. For what? They knew he was not a strong physical fighter, they knew it would only take one of them to win.
“Is what true?” he asked. His voice trembled as he dodged the question. Perhaps they would think his natural caution was coming through at the sight of his friends turning against him.
Faera looked at him with an even gaze. She spoke first, but she was not their leader. No. Ulysses turned to look at Jasper who hadn’t taken his eyes off him at all during this.
Finally, he asked, “Ulysses. Are you a shape-changer? A doppelganger?”
His heart froze in its place as his worst fears were confirmed. Then, quickly, he scoffed, “Is that all? What…” he shrugged and summoned whatever courage he had to continue, “This sounds crazy.”
“That’s what I said too,” Jasper said. “But this proved it.”
A scroll was tossed at his feet. Ulysses kept his eyes on the others as he picked it up. Then, he quickly read through what was on it and felt his hands starting to shake. It was a detection spell that would show the caster if those around them were not from this plane of existence. It was used up, so someone had already cast it. The way Faera was acting around him at the campfire the previous night flashed through his head. That night, Ulysses had wondered if she was unwell. Apparently, he had grown so comfortable that he could no longer sense the difference between friend and foe.
“I thought so,” Jasper said, voice hardening. “Did you kill that family in the woods and take their identity? You said your parents died in the fire, but that was a lie, wasn’t it? Or a half truth since they did find dead changelings there?”
For as intimidating the man could be, Jasper was always the protector. More than once, he’s chased off hecklers for Ulysses, letting him hide behind the knight in shinning armour. And now, on the other side of the shield, Ulysses could confirm that he just wanted to die. When Jasper was convinced of something, as he was now, there was nothing except the clearest, most indisputable proof saying otherwise. And Ulysses just had his word. But was that not enough? He had bled for Jasper, been the shoulder for him to collapse on, and stood at his side no matter what. Why did this change things?
He looked at Coral instead. They danced together just a few days ago at the festival, and she said that if she ever married, she hoped it would be to him. His heart nearly fell out of his chest from how sudden the surge of returning emotions was. Now, she seemed to have built a wall between those emotions and him because there was no warmth from her anymore.
“That was my house, my parents. We were the victims,” Ulysses said. On those words, his voice did not shake. Jasper narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything else.
They all picked up on the unspoken parts. He did not deny his true nature. That was when Faera finally cast whatever spell she had been preparing. A column of moonlight stretched from the sky down onto him. At first, it seared his skin, and Ulysses thrashed around trying to put out what he assumed was a fire cast on him. Then, he finally calmed down as he realized the pain was fading and caught a look down at his hands and saw that they were snow white with fingers that were too long to be human. He looked down his arms, seeing his form that he had denied for twenty years, now forced on him. Even if this was him, it was alien. He didn’t remember the last time he looked at himself and didn’t see his brown skin and short limbs. His own frame pushed and strained against his clothes that were now too tight for his longer body.
“What…” He looked at Faera who was still openly glaring at him. “What is this?”
He tried to change back to the person he remembered being, but the searing pain stopped him from shifting back into his human form.
“Stay as you are, you monster,” Faera muttered from across the clearing.
He turned as he heard footsteps approaching him and was met with Jasper’s axe at his throat. It pressed into his neck, and he watched helplessly as Jasper’s gaze seemed to darken. When he sliced at Ulysses, he nicked part of his jaw but otherwise did not harm him. Instead, Ulysses’s mask, the faithful cover he hid behind, fell to the ground, strap sliced clean through.
Around them, he saw and heard all their reactions. Bellthorne grimaced, Faera seemed so shocked that her spell flickered for a moment, and even Jasper turned slightly away from him. Only Coral looked at him, for she had seen his face before, and when Ulysses shyly turned towards her back then, she just held him tighter than she ever had before.
He didn’t need to peer into a mirror to know that his skin never grew over the worst of the scars, and that the fibrous tissues there now looked more like diseased flesh rather than the product of magical healing. He also knew that parts of his lips were melted off from when the burning debris landed on his face and that his eye on that side seemed to droop a little because the eyelid was burned off as well. Even the parts of him that didn’t melt off in the fire were dotted and discoloured, like oil and dirt spots on a fresh sheet of snow. He was hideous, and though he was a shape-changer, he could not change this. His weak heart and fragile stability shattered at their reactions, even if he expected it all. It was hard to predict just how painful it was to be shunned by people he thought were friends.
“Are the scars real then?” Jasper asked Faera, who shrugged in return.
Ulysses spoke up to remind them of what he had told them a hundred times regarding his mask. “The roof collapsed in the fire, and it fell on me while I slept. It will stay with me no matter what.”
“He could be lying,” Faera suggested.
Ulysses couldn’t help but sigh. Still, he reached for the fallen mask, and while he was still on his knees, he tied the two sliced ends into a knot so he could slip the mask back on. It was tighter than he would like, but he didn’t have another option right now. If he survived this excommunication, he would make a new one to replace this.
Feeling the leather on his face was like a soother to him, and he paused to consider what was going on. He still shaking, though he couldn’t tell if it was shock, fear, grief, of all of those and more. Then, warmth on his hand reminded him that Jasper did nick him, even if that wasn’t what he meant to do. The red of his blood looked human, at least there was that he supposed. Not that it made a difference to anyone here.
“You’ve seen what you want, can you stop this spell? I didn’t realize how much taller I would be in in this form.” His voice shook as he asked Faera for this. Even by the last word of the sentence, he failed to pull his confidence together.
“Let him,” Coral finally spoke. “We have what we want right? We know he was telling the truth now.”
Faera glared at Coral as well, but then ended her spell. “Fine. He’s dead anyways. This can be his final wish granted.”
Without wasting a moment, Ulysses turned back into his human form, relaxing just a little as his clothes fit better again. Though he didn’t miss what she had said about his last wish, he was still too frozen to do much about it. It was as if all his fear and suspense over the years that he had pushed down were now paralyzing him.
Coral ignored the shift and argued with Faera, saying, “He’s done nothing wrong! He’s… he’s a monster, yes, but he has been good to us and to the people we help.”
Ulysses looked up at Coral, hoping that he could see some speck of acceptance from her. When she looked back down at him though, that hope was squashed as her upper lip curled slightly.
“He’s a monster. They are innately evil, do I need to explain that to you?” Faera argued back.
“She’s right about that,” Bellthorne added, the first words the stoic man uttered since they cornered him.
“See?” Faera motioned at Bellthorne.
“But nature is not nurture, and Ulysses is kind, even if he has to work to make it so,” Bellthorne continued. He even stood up straight and stowed his glaive away.
Faera turned on Bellthorne. It was almost funny watching the smaller elf try to size up the large fighter. “Get your weapon out. Would you have travelled with Ulysses knowing he’s some changeling?”
At that, Bellthorne shook his head, though he did give Ulysses what seemed to be an apologetic look. “That does not mean death though. We let him go back to his life in the city—”
“We can’t let him loose in the city anymore,” Faera interrupted him. “So, say he didn’t cause the fire or kill the real people in the forest, which we still can’t prove either way. He has the power to take over anybody and assume all levels of power.”
“Oh, come off it!” Coral shouted. “You saw how even your spell didn’t change his face. His burn scars will follow him forever. He can’t take over anyone’s life while looking like a freak.”
She was defending him. Ulysses had to remind himself of that fact. It didn’t take away the sting of her words though. The group continued to argue a little, forgetting that Ulysses was unbound and just kneeling on the cool soil, listening to all they said about him.
‘Monster’ was thrown around to insult him. ‘Unnatural’ was used to describe him. ‘Dangerous’ was said to accuse him of all potential future crimes that Ulysses was sure he would not commit. He had done good though, he told himself. He fought creatures that tormented cities. He helped talk two rival gangs into a truce. He protected those kids at risk of his life. Did his efforts mean nothing?
Ulysses made himself small. Arms around his legs, knees to his chest. In his head, his memories of those clerics were merging with his current reality. Monster. Unnatural. Dangerous. If he could be a good person and work towards goodness for all, never even setting a single finger out of place, how come he couldn’t leave those labels behind?
He looked up at Jasper who might’ve been looking at Ulysses this whole time. Perhaps in one last act of pity, Jasper stepped between the other three and physically separated them all.
“Enough. We know the truth now, and I agree with Bellthorne and Coral. Ulysses wasn’t old enough to commit those crimes, and these scars on his face prevent him from changing into anyone important. Let’s pack up and keep moving.” Jasper turned one more time to look at Ulysses. “Our paths will not cross again.”
Faera started to protest but was quickly shushed by Jasper. The three of them kept arguing but they moved away from him and back towards where they kept their camp. He did move from where he was sitting with his head resting on his knees and his arms wrapped around himself.
Tears stung at his eyes, but his scars somewhat prevented him from crying normally, and the mask would block him from wiping anything away. That was all assuming that he would want to cry too, and other than the teary sensation, he felt nothing inside. Just ice-cold realization that this was it, and the people he thought were his friends didn’t see past his birthright.
A book landed by his feet. It was his thick journal with papers sticking out here and there. Recipes, notes, interesting combinations for his potions and tinctures were kept there. He looked up and met gazes with Jasper. In the distance, he could see the last tuff of Bellthorne’s jacket disappearing behind the trees. Ulysses warily reached for the book. When he saw that Jasper was not about to play some cruel tug of war game with him, he grabbed it. His stupid heart again hoped that it was to apologize and take him back. Perhaps it deserved to break a little more as Jasper stomped on Ulysses’s wrist, pinning him there as he all but snarled his last warning.
“You do something to hurt the people in that city, and we’ll know it was you.”
Ulysses shrunk back a little, unused to this level of ferocity from anyone, let alone someone who he once called friend.
“But this belongs to Anica at least. She doesn’t deserve to have her secrets spread by Faera.” Jasper kicked Ulysses’s arm away from where he stood. Ulysses gently rubbed his wrist but then snatched his book back.
This journal was Ulysses’s. He had held onto it ever since he first worked as an apprentice as part of the Alchemy Guild. The handwriting, the notes, even all the added pages with little pencil sketches of plants were him. Did Jasper assume that because Ulysses was a monster that he could not be useful? Be good?
Well, he had the answer to that last part.
Jasper left to join the rest of the party in the woods, leaving Ulysses alone again. Again. Twenty years later, and again, Ulysses was frozen in the woods as everything he thought he knew, and the comfortable life he thought he had, burned around him. There was no fire though. He could be thankful for that.
Eventually, his joints began to ache from the cold, and he got up to go pack his things. Perhaps as he should’ve predicted, Faera must’ve demolished his items in search of anything magical or useful. His alchemy kit, the nice mahogany one enchanted to never break, a gift from his mentor when he passed his final exam, was missing – along with all his nearly finished healing potions and salves. Even his reagents were gone, carefully picked and dried flowers were all missing. She robbed him. She in this one action had done more evil than Ulysses ever did, and yet she didn’t see herself as the monster.
He almost resented her for it, but he was too exhausted and too full of grief to muster the energy required. Ulysses took a deep breath, trying to chase the shakiness out of his voice but failing.
To the open forest, where his party once stood, he said, “For what it is worth, you were all the best friends and companions I could have asked for.”
Then, Ulysses turned his back on the empty tent and began the long walk back home.