Chapter Text
Garth had gone to sleep buzzing with excitement. Ever since he had signed up, he had been counting the days until he would be taken to the royal palace to work as a soldier. He was counting down the days til his sixteenth birthday. Maybe if he was strong enough, they’d make him a knight straight away instead!
He had already memorised his code of honour to live by, as well as an acceptance speech, but he probably won’t get to use that one. Maybe when he was knighted.
In the past few weeks the urge to tell his parents had gotten stronger and stronger, but he wanted to keep it as a surprise. There were multiple occasions where he was about to say something, and forced himself to leave the room so he didn’t blurt it out. It was especially hard when it was him and his uncle working out in the field, but he managed to hide himself in some maize. He even sent himself to bed early tonight so he wouldn’t get second thoughts and tell everybody.
His dreams were full of teary goodbyes and the promise of a brand new life ahead of him.
Garth woke up with hands roaming across his body, tugging and jerking roughly as they tugged him out of bed. His muscles locked up tightly and his eyes shot open wide. His body wasn’t fully awake yet, but he forced the words out of his mouth anyway.
“Geroff me!” He slurred, fighting off the sleep in his throat.
He was upright now, but he was suspended in mid air. There was a grip on both of his arms and legs. He thrashed and started to yell, but instead an odd peace fell over him, and he started to snore.
—
Garth bolted up, panting from the nightmare. His eyes blinked into focus as he tried to find the door of his bedroom. It wasn’t there. He whipped around. There was no door in this room.
“What the fuck…?” He muttered, but his voice was so coarse, he barely heard himself.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed that the walls were not made of the familiar wood and brick of his own bedroom, but darkly-washed, cobblestone.
He tried to sit up, but his ankles caught on something cold and sharp. He couldn’t move his feet. Shackles. He leaned down to feel around, but his wrists caught as well. From what he could tell, they were chained to the floor behind him. He was essentially forced to either lay down or sit up, and nothing further.
He had never felt more awake before. Adrenaline forced its way through him, mixed with panic and fear, causing his breathing to quicken and his body to shake. It forced him to realise the cuts and scrapes that stung on his body, and it made him even tenser, gritting his teeth through the pain.
He didn’t know how long he sat there like that, but soon exhaustion was forcing him to drift off again.
—
A large clanking sounded above Garth, and he jerked awake. Without any warning, light flooded into his room and a ladder dropped down, just inches from his head. He squinted. The legs of the ladder were sharpened to a dull point, but it would’ve impaled him had he moved too much in his sleep.
More noises came from above, and soon a figure was descending the ladder, hopping to the floor with a thunk.
“Up you get, boy.” The person said, presumably male due to their gruff voice.
Garth shuddered, the coldness of the stones seeping into him. “I— I’m chained.”
The man huffed like this was a personal offence, but approached the shackles at his wrists anyways. “Of course you are. I keep telling ‘em to stop chaining the recruits, it only creates more work. Ye wouldn’t have run. There was nowhere to run to. Would ye have run, boy?”
It took Garth a second to realise the man actually wanted his response. He swallowed thickly. “No… I wouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The man released Garth’s wrists, and Garth immediately brought them to his chest to massage.
The man started moving to unchain his ankles, and Garth caught sight of his face. His greying hair was strictly on the back of his head, the top being completely bald. His face was worn and ragged, lines set in deeply. If he had to guess, he’d be in his 40s, but he seemed much older anyway.
His ankles were released, and Garth wiggled and stretched out his limbs.
The man turned around, heading for the ladder. “Alright, come on.”
Again, it took a bit for Garth to recognise that the order was for him. He scrambled to a standing position, ignoring how his legs wobbled, and followed the man up the ladder.
“So,” The man started, “Yer goin’ to be livin’ in the guards’ chambers, but yer’ll be working as an executioner mostly.”
Garth blanched. He couldn’t be talking to him this time. That wasn’t right. Maybe Garth was taken to the wrong palace by the wrong people. But the man pressed on.
“Since yer new, you’ll only be workin’ a couple days a week, since we wanna train ye up first before ye go full time.” The man hummed. It was a gross noise. “Yer’ll prob’ly just be a guard for the first couple eh weeks.”
The man turned around abruptly, and Garth almost ran into him. “Yer a big strong boy, quite tall, ye’ll do well.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” Garth had cleared his throat, but his words were thick with fear anyway.
The man turned around and continued walking. “And what idea do ye think I have, boy?”
Garth almost tripped catching up with the man again, who moved surprisingly fast. “I— I’m supposed to be a soldier. Or a knight. Not a guard, or an… executioner. I think you’ve taken me to the wrong place.”
The man pursed his lips, throwing a grimace over his shoulder. “Tsk. Ye poor boy. That was a trick.”
Garth blinked. “What?”
“They tricked ye!” The man spat. “Yer not to be a soldier, yer a prison guard now. Well, executioner soon.”
Garth stumbled again, his heart dropping down to his stomach. “What do you mean?”
The man ignored him. “I understand why they picked ye, ye’ve got quite the intimidatin’ stature, as I’m sure ye know.”
“Wait— wait, I’m to be… an— executioner? Like I kill people?” Garth forced out, bringing back the stutter he thought he kicked at nine-years-old.
“Yep. Better get used to it. Here, the leader will be right through there to walk ye through yer new job.” The man stepped aside and pushed Garth through a large open door, reinforced with iron. He didn’t even have to duck his head.
Something cold washed over him as he stepped inside.
—
Garth broke into a run as soon as the doors behind him closed and he was out of the leader’s eyesight. There was nowhere to run to as there were guards stationed at either end of the hall, but they didn’t bother him as he began to run back and forth and back again.
He didn’t stop until his knees gave out and sent him sprawling to the floor. He began to cry, nose smushing against the cold concrete.
A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he flinched. The hand stayed. A warm voice followed.
“We were all the same, kid. It’s best not to fight it. You can’t escape, you can only avoid getting in trouble.”
Garth let out a sob. “This is—” He choked for a second. “This is a living, fucking, nightmare.”
The voice continued. “Yeah. It is. When you get through the day, you can fall asleep and dream that you’re back home.”
Garth sniffled.
“How long is your service, kid? This place, oddly enough, keeps its promises. They’ll release you once the time is up.”
“Sure they won’t just kill me and everyone I love then?” Garth laughed humourlessly. “My service is ten years.”
The voice chuckled. “Lucky, I’ve still got five years left to go for a twenty-year service. Get up, kid. Before someone sees you.”
Garth lifted his head, and saw a hand reaching out to him. He took it, hoisting himself up with the little strength that remained in his body.
The voice belonged to a woman who looked just as aged as the man from before, but at least the lines etched into her face were kind. Garth almost fell over again, but the woman helped him stay up.
“It’ll get easier. I promise.”
Garth sniffled again, uncaring as to how gross he must sound. “My job hasn’t even started yet. But I’m hoping that you’re right.”
The woman smiled weakly. “Let’s get you to your barracks. Don’t want anyone asking questions, do we?”
Garth shook his head. “No. Thank you for helping me.”
The woman waved him off. “I’m just doing what I wish someone would’ve done for me when I first arrived.”
“Still. Thank you.”
She nodded, and led Garth through the halls of his new home.
—
Trix bit at his extended claws as he handed a flyer to yet another shopkeeper.
“Oh no,” The man said, reading over the parchment, “That’s not the Garth boy from the south farm, is it?”
Trix sheathed his claws. “That’s him.”
The man held a hand to his chest. “That’s horrible. I hope you find him. He’s lucky to have a friend like you campaigning for him.”
“Thank you, sir.” Trix nodded, threatening to drop the remaining stack of parchment in his arms. “Please let me know if you see or hear anything. And— would you mind taking some more flyers to hand out?’
The man nodded. “Not at all.”
Trix handed the man ten more flyers, and he kindly said nothing about the puncture marks where his paw had been holding onto. “Thank you. Thank you, sir.”
“No problem, kid.”
—
Trix was rudely awoken by the door in his— not his— room slamming open.
“Trix!” Mrs. D’Anton yelped.
Trix jumped up with a squeak, fur standing on end.
“Gods, cat, you nearly scared me half to death. I thought you were a thief.”
Trix quickly sat up. “I’m so sorry, Garth’s mum! I— I would’ve asked if I could stay over, but I was out too late, and just snuck in, I’m sorry.”
Mrs. D’Anton sat down on the bed next to Trix, head in her hands. “Oh, it’s alright, Trix. I understand how much you miss Garth. How much we all do. But some good folks are doing everything they can to find him. Our job is to hope and pray.”
Trix held his tongue at the mention of prayer and faith, recognising that it was how Mrs. D’Anton must be coping. “Yeah. Here’s to hoping.”
Mrs. D’Anton looked up with a weak smile, but her eye was caught by the bedding underneath Trix. She eyed it curiously.
Trix followed her gaze, and saw the amount of feathers on the bed that should be in the mattress. There were clear scratches on the pillows and blankets, pointing to the perpetrator. “Eek! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to! I think I did it in my sleep or something— so sorry.”
Mrs. D’Anton shook her head. She stood up, lingering at the door. “Get a good night’s sleep, Trix.”
Trix sighed. “Only if you have one, too.”
Mrs. D’Anton disappeared from sight.
Trix settled back in bed, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight. Luckily it was only a few minutes of some thoughts he wished would go away before two new people entered Garth’s room.
“Hi, Trix.” Kiah whispered.
“Oh, hey Kiah,” Trix craned his neck to see the person hovering behind Kiah’s soldier, “and hi Rand. What are you two doing awake?”
Kiah pressed forward into the room, Rand trailing behind her. “Same thing you’re doing awake, no doubt.”
“You’re a mouthy eleven-year-old.” Trix huffed. Kiah shrugged, hopping onto the bed and getting under the covers.
Rand idled at the foot of the bed.
“You can come in as well, Rand.” Trix assured, petting the spot on the other side of him.
Rand nodded and quickly scrambled into the bed as well. It was hard to believe he was older than Kiah sometimes, although he was fourteen-years, the same as Trix.
Garth’s siblings curled up against Trix’s warm body, and were asleep within minutes. No doubt they were here because they were missing— that’s not a good word— they were thinking about Garth as well. Trix appreciated it, because soon he was floating away to sleep as well.