Work Text:
There was no better place to test what Flins was capable of than a small clearing covered in snow and surrounded by walls of ice. Above, the moon peered in through trees, casting ever-shifting slivers of light down on him. It was lonely—that’s what Flins liked most about the location. But it was also dark and slippery. However, all places in Snezhnaya were bound to be anyway. Except indoors. And Flins couldn’t practice indoors. What if someone were to see him?
He was kneeling now, knees pressed into the snow. His hand laid flush against a wall of ice. His fingers twitched and curled hoping to find friction somewhere. There was no friction. It was ice. And his legs started to numb from both the cold and his awkward position. But there was no friction. He worried that if he waited any longer his legs would stop working altogether. However, there was no friction. He was surrounded by ice. Flins remained silent as his heart rattled in his chest. Wait, what am I supposed to do?
The moonlight shifted and a pale hand in front of him was brought to Flins’s attention. His hand, supposedly. Flins’s nose wrinkled as he looked upon it with disgust. If he flexed it one way, his fingers would open; another, and they’d close. Flins did that for a while: opening closing opening closing opening closing. It reminded him of the crabs water imps would keep as pets: closing opening closing opening closing opening. He stopped to investigate his palm. Veins and creases upon veins and creases, interrupted by more veins and creases, smaller than the points of a snowflake. Now Flins’s brows furrowed along with his wrinkled nose. Some fae were just crazy, to willingly choose this form.
And the whole thing was just plain ridiculous anyway, he thought. Vatroslav was a stunning lantern fae, with flames the color of sunlight glittering down on the pelt of a fox, yet even he was insistent on this dull, alternate form. “Kyryll,” he’d say. “It’s high time you joined the rest of us in court. What? No, you can’t show up like that. Humans will be there, and they’d never take you seriously.”
“Since when have we ever taken humans seriously?” is what Flins always retorted. He liked his body how it was: azure and weightless: a far cry from the bulky thing he currently inhabited.
Every time, Vatroslav always ended the conversation with that you-have-zero-idea-what-you’re-talking-about smile that never failed to make Flins’s flames flare and crackle. “It’s just politics, dear—just politics.”
And, thankfully, Flins’s parents were accommodating to his distaste…for a time. At galas, Flins would ride as a spark on his father’s coat, digging into his collar as he shyly watched the world pass them by, only ever enthusiastic for the single moment—several hours later—at the end of the festivities when his father would regain his senses and join him again in flame-dom. But that patience didn’t last. The older Flins got, the less endearing his stubbornness became, and the nagging ensued.
“You ought to get practice on a more humanoid form—”
“—What are you going to do when you need to talk to non-fae?”
“Are you planning to ride my shoulder forever—?”
That last one especially hurt. Why did growing up always mean changing everything about yourself? Flins’s father, sensing his child’s anxiety, offered clever solutions that fell on deaf ears.
“It’ll be an adjustment. I never claimed it would be easy.” His father curled up beside him, their fires intertwinning as Flins hid his face in his core, concealing his tearful eyes. “We could get you a tutor. Plenty of fae are born with the visage of a human already. They can help you get used to your new form.”
Why do you talk like the whole thing is already set in stone? Flins wanted to sob back. Instead, he let his sorrow burn to anger, and he pointedly responded, “I don’t need a tutor—I’m not stupid! It’s just a lousy human body, how hard could it be to control?” Then, with a burst of pride, he declared this: “Give me a single night out on my own with it and I’ll be walking around on two legs like I’ve been doing it my whole life. You’ll see!”
Tonight was that night. Flins looked around desperately. Walls of ice still surrounded him, his legs were still numbing from the cold snow, and there was still no friction. Think—think! What did humanoids do when they needed to get off the ground and there was nothing to grab onto? Flins wracked his brain, but it came up empty. Was it even possible? His face paled and his throat itched. Oh, God. What if it wasn’t possible? What if they knew better than to sit on the ground without leverage around? Of course, of course! How could he overlook such a thing? And it wasn’t as if he could just switch back to his original body, either. His mother had helped him into his new form and strolled off to give him space, and he wasn’t sure how to reverse what she had done.
Flins forced himself to take deep breaths, though he hated the way his lungs felt in his chest. If she came back and found him like this, a tutor was certainly inbound. There had to be another way. Awkwardly, Flins shuffled backward until he was on all fours. Then, he placed both hands unsteadily on the ice wall. Though the muscles felt weak and strange, he unfurled his legs until they straightened up just enough to slide his hands upward, gliding on the ice, until he was in a position that could barely be considered upright. Flins’s heart soared. Tutor? Who needs a tutor?
But Flins had not passed his greatest hurdle: the dreaded walking. After a minute or two of resting in his doubled over state, he took another uncomfortable breath and pushed and slid harder until he was nearly straight. He clenched his teeth and lifted up off the wall.
For an amazing moment he was standing—standing. And Flins felt taller than he ever had before. But suddenly his head felt much too heavy, his body much too light, and his spine much too crooked. He felt flat on his back into the snow with a sharp gasp.
The moonlight highlighted his failure. Flins stared at it as dizziness crept in and out of his vision, along with the beginning of tears that he blinked away. He wanted to go home, wanted to curl up in his lamp, and most urgently, wanted out of this body. As a child, everyone would praise him for his swiftness. They said that when he leapt from branch to branch, it seemed as if he were flying. All this form seemed to do was fall and stumble.
Suddenly, the moon was eclipsed by a silhouette that peered down at Flins, its head and shoulders looming over the clearing. He immediately froze. A tidal wave of fear replaced his sorrow. A human? Flins’s hands flailed around as he dragged himself up off the ground. His limbs felt colder and more numb than ever. Chest heaving, Flins cursed his situation. He was no more formidable an opponent than an infant. And, much like an infant, Flins was just about to cry for his mother’s help before the silhouette spoke to him:
“Are you alright?”
Shocked, Flins narrowed his eyes as he took a closer look at the figure. It was a man. The moonlight reflected off various golden accents on his coat; he looked noble, which only meant one thing. A fae. Flins felt relief blossom from deep within him before it wilted into embarrassment. He must look like such a fool.
Flins cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he said in the clearest and most self-assured way he could. “I just slipped, that's all.”
He hoped that the noble would be satisfied enough with that answer to leave, but he simply vaulted down into the clearing and landed right in front of Flins, which ballooned a puff of snow into the night air. “You’re stuck, aren’t you?” the stranger said.
Despite being used to fire, Flins hated the heat that crept up his neck and cheeks. Now face-to-face, Flins could see better the appearance of the noble. He had piercing blue eyes and long blond hair. And he was very, very familiar. He knew him from somewhere undoubtedly. For the first time that night Flins found himself thankful for his human body, hoping that it would prevent the noble from recognizing him in turn. It would certainly save him some dignity.
“I, uh, well I…” Flins struggled to find an explanation that made himself look good. “I guess so. I just didn’t expect everything to be so slippery when I came down here.”
The noble nodded. “The tundra is full of these little pockets of ice. You must be careful. For an unprepared traveler, falling into one can easily be a death sentence.”
Trust me I know, Flins wanted to grumble back, but his manners got the best of him. He returned to that same clear and self-assured voice. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll certainly remember it for…next time.” God help him if there ever was a next time.
Again, the noble nodded. It was a short, quick nod. Then, he gestured to a side of the clearing where the ice wall had splintered back and worn down, forming something that resembled a steep path made of ice, snow, and rock. Flins’s stomach lurched and sickened immediately. Oh no.
“Come along, you can get up from here.” The noble beckoned him with a gloved hand. “It’s even enough to walk on.”
Walk. Flins watched intently as the noble demonstrated the path, easily climbing it until he was once again above the clearing and the ice walls. A tinge of jealousy stabbed Flins. It must be so easy to have simply been born in the ‘agreeable’ form already. It wasn’t fair that he was forced to crawl around like some sort of baby bird that fell out of its nest to just please others—especially humans.
The noble was looking at him from above, his head slightly cocked with confusion. It was then Flins realized that he had not moved an inch. He debated trying to stand up, imagining a word where he suddenly mastered the art of bipedalism in an instant. But Flins knew that all he would achieve is another bout of soreness as he crashed onto the snowy ground again. Perhaps…I can just crawl? he realized, pleased. He was okay at crawling. And surely crawling wasn’t unnatural for humans? Why give them four appendages like any old mammal if so? Shifting himself around, Flins began to steadily pad forward on his hands and knees. After several seconds of awkwardly dragging himself through the snow, Flins finally reached the steep path carved into the ice wall and caught his breath, proud of his stamina and endurance.
The noble, however, looked at him with wide and troubled eyes. He leaped back down into the clearing, urging Flins to stop crawling with a wave of his hand. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt? Nothing broken?”
“Broken? Why would anything be broken?” Flins responded, suddenly feeling very defensive. He was doing good! “I’m moving, aren’t I?”
“Can you not walk?”
There it was. Flins’s face scrunched up in shame as he sat down to face the other man. He wanted so desperately to lie, but he was never too good of a liar, and perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad to tell the truth? The noble was a fae, after all. He’d understand. Flins would just have to be careful to not give too much information away, lest—God forbid—any of this circled back to his parents.
“Well, I can’t walk…yet,” Flins admitted sheepishly. “You see, this isn’t my normal form. I’m just testing it out. Er, for fun, of course.”
The noble’s blue eyes snapped to Flins’s azure hair, his face, his manner of dress, then back to his hair again. Without missing a beat, he stated simply, “Ah. You’re Chudomir and Prizraka’s boy, aren’t you?”
Flins froze, then melted pitifully. Gone was any trace of mystery or intrigue he could’ve held over the noble, replaced with the revelation that he was just a foolish child. The gossip that would ensue! His father would never let him hear the end of it. Flins had to stop his voice from shaking as he answered, “Yes. That’s me.”
“This must be your first time like this. I’m surprised they didn’t hire someone to help you.”
That blasted tutor! Flins frowned, suddenly feeling protective of his parents. “I’m the one that didn’t want a tutor, honestly,” he admitted. “I think I learn better on my own.” Clearly not.
The noble’s eyes softened with sympathy. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help. I, for instance, have some time to spare.”
“Oh, please no,” Flins stammered. “I mean—thank you, but I couldn’t possibly bother you with something like this.”
“Nonsense.” The noble smiled. “Don’t you think a good king should help his subjects?”
Flins couldn't help but roll his eyes, frustration overtaking him. “Yes, but you’re not…”
Familiar. Very familiar. Yes, that noble was familiar. Cold seized Flins in an instant, his vision blanking at the edges as his head spun. He felt a strange prickling at his flesh and thought for a moment that he would revert to his preferred form due to pure mortification. A pity that didn’t happen! With his body of flames, he could soar out the clearing, past the ice walls, past the snowy banks, into the trees, and into his warm abode; this experience just one bad dream he was primed to forget. Instead, he was both beached and stupid all in one go.
Flins dropped his hands into the snow, lowering his head in a bow. “Your Majesty! I’m so, so, so sorry for my impudence.”
Trembling, he did not have the courage to meet his gaze, but the sudden and gentle laughter of the Tsar coaxed him into at least lifting his head.
“Oh, enough of that,” he chided. “Sometimes, even I can’t recognize myself in the mirror.”
“Yes, but…” Flins’s eyes widened. Was he really going to let him get away with his blatant disrespect? His parents would rake him over the coals! “There’s really no excuse. I’m soon to be a member of your court.”
“And that’s the very reason you’re out here practicing a humanoid form, I presume?” the Tsar gave him a measured once-over. Flins felt self-conscious under his gaze. Could he tell from merely a glance how amateurishly he wore his new body? “I ask again: let me help?”
“You’re too busy,” declared Flins. “I’ll figure it out…eventually. Don’t waste any time on me—please.”
“It’s a difficult task to undertake on your lonesome,” the Tsar said, pointedly ignoring him. “Trust me when I say that I understand your pain. Walking gave me the most trouble, too. I've always felt that there were one too many a joint in the leg.”
Hope flared in Flins’s chest. He didn’t realize that the Tsar had not always looked so human; he wore the form exceptionally well. He wanted to ask him what type of fae he was, but something about the Tsar’s reminiscing gaze when he spoke did not begot questioning. Though Flins couldn’t help but wonder: if their very own king did not even normally look human, who was fae-kind putting on the masquerade for?
“I, well, um, if you truly have the time,” murmured Flins, “then I suppose I could use the help. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. First, it’s imperative that you find your inner balance.”
Before he could wave him off, the Tsar bent down and cupped Flins’s arms in his own. He stood up straight, taking Flins with him as the surprised lantern fae struggled to find his footing in the fluffy snow. Biting his tongue, Flins tried not to make it obvious how desperately he clung onto the Tsar’s grasp, willing himself not to fall back down. Embarrassment mixed with frustration; why did everything have to be so cumbersome?
The Tsar watched him scrabble around on his legs for a couple of seconds, simply observing. Then, after Flins had barely come to a standstill, the Tsar shared his deduction: “You’re lifting your heels off the ground. They should be flat.”
Flins’s head whipped downward. He was on his tip toes. “They should be flat?”
“They should be flat.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Shifting his head, Flins made sure to hide his disbelieving expression. “Well, that’s just confusing. Deers walk on their toes, don’t they?”
The Tsar gave him a sympathetic look. “You are not a deer.”
Thankfully the darkness hid the color that bloomed on Flins’s face. “I-I guess you’re right.” He shifted his heels downward so they were parallel to the ground. “Now what?”
“Your knees, try not to sickle them.” The Tsar reached down and grasped at Flins’s legs, prying them open slightly as he shifted his knees to face forward. The latter tried to ignore the strange sensation of being touched that his new skin felt ten times more than his normal body. He shivered as he darted his eyes aimlessly around the clearing, trying not to think about it. “There,” said the Tsar after a couple of more pokes and prods. “Keep your chin up and don’t look down. I’m going to let go. We’ll see if you can balance by yourself.”
Heaven help me! Flins’s throat felt dry as the warmth of the Tsar’s grasp slowly started to slip away. He stared helplessly forward, utterly paralyzed. The Tsar relinquished his hold entirely. Flins’s heart beat filled his eardrums and his flesh cooled. Any moment now and I’ll kiss the ground in front of the king of all things…just my luck. But that moment never came, and Flins found himself standing—actually standing!
“Wonderful.” The Tsar nodded his head approvingly. “Try to feel your inner core. Allow it to hold you steady.”
Flins couldn't stop himself from smiling. This…wasn’t so bad. He probably could’ve got it himself if he were given more time. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he faltered, causing the Tsar to rush in and set him back straight. After a few more minutes of (humble) silence, Flins found himself standing sturdier and sturdier. Was this what balance felt like?
“You’re starting to get it. We can move onto walking.”
Flins’s smile fell off his face at once. The Tsar hesitated before saying, “I will be guiding you. I won’t let you fall.”
The lantern fae wasn’t convinced. He allowed the Tsar to come up in front of him and grasp his arms from underneath with his own until all four ran parallel together. In their position, the Tsar’s face was mere inches away from Flins’s. His hands twitched nervously.
“The best tip I can give you is that you want your heel to touch the ground first.” The Tsar stuck out a leg, rolling his foot front and down from heel to toe in demonstration. “A seamless transition from where you put pressure first on the foot is the key to a good walk cycle.”
Flins couldn’t say that he understood, but his pride didn’t let him admit it. The Tsar’s hold on his arms tightened, and without warning, he stepped back, forcing Flins to stumble forward to avoid falling. The muscles in his leg felt tense and weak as he opened its hinges and dug it into the snow below. Wobbling, his knee buckled under the strange sensation, but the Tsar’s grasp refused to let him be thrown off balance. Again, the Tsar moved. Flins held his breath and focused on his movements: heel toe heel toe heel toe heel toe. He managed to progress three feet forward within a whole minute, and pointedly resisted the urge to whine and bemoan his situation. His mind kept wandering to flame and fire…and to a place where the king of Snezhnaya was not cradling him as he blundered around.
“You’ve got it,” the Tsar murmured. He boldly lifted Flins’s chin up with his hand. “Look straight, not at your feet.”
But that’s just straight at you! Flins wanted to sob, but he didn’t want to argue, both desperately wanting to improve his walking and not wanting to offend the other man by implying he didn’t wish to look at him. The Tsar’s very presence—even when not in court, evidently—was not hard to gaze upon. Flins at least had an excuse not to look away. His eyes wandered the man’s face, watching the moonlight and the shadows dance around his features as they walked. At some point, the Tsar’s hands slipped down to Flins’s waist, but Flins didn’t think he noticed. And he wasn’t going to say anything about it, either, internally claiming that he didn’t want to distract him. Totally. Though it didn’t stop his flesh from heating with embarrassment. Flins felt as though he were one half of a dancing pair that he and his father always used to watch at galas. Could you imagine, dancing in front of everyone with the Tsar?
Flins violently snapped out of his trance, renouncing the very thought until his cheeks burned. If his family knew how improper he was being, he’d be snuffed out before daylight.
Thankfully, the Tsar was not a mindreader; Flins didn’t doubt there was some fae out there that could do that—God forbid he ever meet them. Suddenly, Flins noticed a myriad of footprints that littered the snow beneath them in circles. He looked around wildly. How much progress had he made while daydreaming?
The Tsar smiled softly as he watched Flins’s surprise. “Good. Very good,” he praised. “I think you’re ready for the climb.”
The splintered and worn down path of ice sat ominously in Flins’s peripheral vision. He shuddered at the mere thought of looking at it. Must he push him so far? Perhaps the Tsar’s help was even worse than a tutor, at least with the latter he’d have the courage to be a little bit snippy back. The Tsar was not fazed by Flins’s sourness. He took a gloved hand and pushed Flins toward the vertical path using the small of his back. The icewall looked steeper than ever, Flins gave it a begrudging staredown.
“I wouldn’t encourage you to try if I didn’t think you could do it,” the Tsar offered comfortingly out into the air. But Flins didn’t allow himself the pleasure of encouragement. His already wobbly legs felt even more unsturdy. He looked pleadingly at the Tsar with large, round eyes. “Step here first.” The Tsar pointed to a flat rock jutting out of the ice wall. His voice sounded slightly apologetic this time, which made Flins feel a little better.
Breathing in, Flins started his ascent. Each step he took felt more unassured than the last as he scuffled from ice to rock to snow. Your core, focus on your core, Flins commanded to himself, holding his gut in so tight that a small wave of pain radiated from the area. His foot skidded sideways after a bad step, and Flins yelped loudly before catching it in time on a snowy patch of ice. He could feel the Tsar’s heat from close behind him. Though he didn’t speak, the lantern fae sensed his encouragement.
Flins paused halfway up, legs trembling with exhaustion. Flat and safe ground was only a few steps away. I can do this. Leaning forward, Flins used his hands to pull himself up the rest of the way. Jagged ice tugged at his stomach uncomfortably, yet with one final push, he slid onto the pure white snow above—above the blasted clearing.
Then, whether from skill or pure exhilaration alone, Flins stood—really stood! On his own!
The Tsar was quick to show off by hurdling over the clearing’s edge with one solid leap, landing right next to Flins. However, he did not care: he was the pinnacle of a lantern fae’s pride.
“Did you see?” asked Flins excitedly. “Don’t you think I was kind of quick, too? I mean, I’d like to see a human climb something as steep as that as easily as I did.”
The Tsar’s eyes creased where his lips turned up into a smile, which was the first time Flins had seen them do that. He reached out and smoothed the tufts of hair on Flins’s head that had puffed out with exertion. “You’re a fast learner. Practice every day and you’ll be able to debut in court without a hitch.”
Flins’s energy dissipated. Oh, right. This clunky body was not going to be rid of so easily. An intense sensation of homesickness and nostalgia washed over Flins. Even though nobody was expecting him to completely give him his true form, he still felt that, by just inhabiting it for a short time, something within him was forever changed. “I can’t wait,” responded Flins absentmindedly.
The Tsar had sensed his bout of grief. “Take pride in what you have accomplished today, fae. I know it may not feel like it right now, but a time will come where you come to accept this body as just another extension of yourself rather than just a tool for politics.”
Flins looked up. “Do you feel that way?”
The Tsar smiled, not creasing his eyes. There was no response.
A burst of winter wind hit the two men, and Flins shivered. The clearing, though hellish in its own way, at least shielded them from the gales of Snezhnaya. The Tsar looked up at the moon, its light reflecting silver off his eyes. Sighing, he turned to Flins: “I must go. I’m expected elsewhere.”
Flins felt a burst of surprise, though he didn’t know why. It was so easy to forget he was the king. Was he expecting him to babysit him forever? Flins blushed at his own foolishness. He hung his head, bowing lower than he ever bowed before. “Thank you, your Majesty. From the bottom of my heart.”
The Tsar responded with a regal nod. “I hope to see you more frequently.”
Then, with as much grace as he entered, the Snezhnayan king left.
Flins didn’t know how long he spent standing there, watching the spot where the Tsar used to occupy. His limbs felt heavy and his skin began to numb, and he was overcome with that same longing as before to get back into his normal body; its weightlessness and warmth much missed. Now, if only he could—
“Kyryll? Kyryll!”
A woman's voice called his name frantically into the night air. Flins’s heart leapt at the sound. “I’m up here!” he called back.
Suddenly he was met with a flash of bright light, and the flickering will-o’-whisp form of his mother leapt up from the clearing to rest beside him. Her flames fluttered with anxiety.
“Kyryll!” she gave a sigh of relief. “Don’t frighten me like that! When I came back and I didn’t see you in the clearing, I thought the worst.”
Flins smiled, sheepish under his mother’s gaze. “S-sorry, I just—”
“Oh, but look at you!” his mother circled him like a rabbit before jumping up to his shoulder. Her familiar warmth tickled his cheek. “You’re standing.”
“I know.” Flins couldn’t hide his giddiness. “Can you believe I climbed out, too?”
His mother’s fire billowed higher with pride and happiness. “Your father’s going to be so, so pleased! Do I have the smartest kid ever or what? I mean, you got this far by yourself?”
Flins looked up at the moon. Not every private moment had to be shared…right?
“Yep. All by myself.”