Chapter Text
Legundo should've known he wouldn't make it far.
He hadn't exactly been thinking or plotting out a safe route when he'd ran away from the burning ruins of Thistle Hill, but a part of him had still been surprised to discover that his surroundings had completely turned into snow.
One moment, Legundo had been stumbling away from a broken town choked by fires and the suffocating smell of chemicals, and the next, he was climbing what appeared to be a snowy mountain with no civilization or safety in sight.
And yet, Legundo kept running.
What else could he do?
After discovering the truth, after realizing that Olsted had used Legundo's experiments to bomb the town and kill so many people, how could he stay? Even if Olsted and his group of rebels had been the one to pull the trigger, Legundo was also at fault for all those deaths.
Legundo had always known he was an unwanted failure and gutter rat... but it felt entirely different to be a killer now too.
So even if Thistle Hill was the only place Legundo had ever known, even though he knew that his master would be very angry at him for leaving without permission, he had ran.
Ran from the smoking ruins and corpses of Thistle Hill.
Ran from Olsted and his band of laughing rebels.
Ran from the blood that now stained his hands.
And yet, it was only now, when he was in the middle of nowhere after running for who knows how long (he may have dissociated a bit), that Legundo realized that he had no clue what to do now.
He knew he couldn't return to Olsted. He knew he couldn’t let his inventions and cowardice be used to cause even more harm, more pain, more death... but that was it.
Unfortunately, the snowstorm around him didn't care about Legundo's guilt.
Nor his lack of a plan.
The winds picked up, forming a savage blizzard that swallowed the horizon and any trace of his former path. Even steps he'd just made were quickly covered up by a fresh layer of snow, making it impossible to tell what direction he'd come from originally.
If Legundo had wanted to return, there was no doing so now.
The harsh winds tore ruthlessly through the thin fabric of his clothing. He hadn't exactly dressed for the elements before leaving, and the weather was absolutely letting him know now. The frost was biting deep into his bones, turning his breathing into shallow, rattling gasps.
Ice caked his eyelashes, blinding him further as the temperature plummeted into something even more lethal. His legs grew impossibly heavy, caked with snow, sweat, and weighing his body down like lead bricks. He tried to keep walking, or find some sort of shelter, but there was nothing no matter where he looked.
The numbness creeped through his body, making every movement awkward and painful. Until, finally, it was inevitable that he'd completely lose his footing.
Legundo tripped, letting out a sharp cry as he collapsed face-first into a massive, frigid snowdrift.
He tried to push himself up, but his fingers wouldn't respond the way he wanted. They were locked stiff, a useless pair of broken cogs (much like the rest of him). He somehow managed to turn to his side, but all it let him do was allow him to view the endless snow all around him.
Legundo lay there, shivering violently, as he tried to think of some way to escape this. But at the seconds ticked on, he became more and more certain that, once again, he'd messed up.
Only this time... there would be no coming back, would there?
With that thought, the panic strangely began to fade. Replaced by a defeated exhaustion and emotional numbness that, honestly, felt better than the fear he'd lived with for as long as he could remember.
Legundo didn't want to die.
And yet... the creeping chill and certainty hypothermia was beginning to feel dangerously sweet.
Peaceful, even.
I don't want to die, Legundo thought, trying to fight the urge to go to sleep. I know that I deserve to, after what I let happen to Thistle Hill, but I... I don't–
A desperate plea rose in his throat, but even as he opened his mouth, no sound came out. Or if it did, it was swallowed by the roaring winds around him.
...which was probably for the best.
After all, even if Legundo had been able to call for help... who could come? There didn't seem to be anyone around for miles, and even if there was, why would they help him?
He was a killer. A mistake. A war orphan. A gutter rat no one else had wanted. A broken tool that had never worked properly in the first place.
The world didn’t have a place for someone like him.
No one's coming, Legundo accepted, tears leaking from his eyes. He could almost feel each tear freezing on his face as they fell. If I just disappear here... if I just go to sleep... it'll be better for everyone. I'll never make another mistake again. I'll never be able to hurt someone ever again.
Legundo exhaled, feeling his breaths beginning to slow. His body relaxed, the snow starting to feel more like a comfortable bed – way more comfortable than the mat on the ground that Olsted had allowed him to have in his cellar – than his inevitable grave.
This... is what I deserve, Legundo thought, darkness creeping into the edges of his failing vision. It's a far better death than the people in Thistle Hill got. I just... need to close my eyes, don't I?
Legundo slowly let his eyes close, finally surrendering his shivering body to the numb embrace of nothingness–
Then, something appeared in his vision.
Through the veil of swirling snow, a massive shape materialized. It was huge. Humanoid. It moved through the relentless storm like an unbreakable pillar, cutting through the howling gaze with terrifying ease. The wind continued to scream, but the figure didn't waver, stepping closer and closer until it was suddenly above him.
Legundo's vision was too blurry to see properly, but he could see the way the figure knelt beside him, strong arms slipping beneath his frozen frame. He let out a soft gasp as he was softly pressed into what felt like a warm, broad chest.
Legundo instinctively huddled into the warmth, shivering as the figure's massive frame managed to block out the biting winds.
Blinking weakly, Legundo struggled to see whatever was holding him.
The only thing he could make out was a pair of beautiful lilac eyes.
Eyes that looked so gentle and worried that it made Legundo want to cry even more.
This must be a pre-death hallucination, Legundo thought to himself with tired certainty. Because there's no way that an angel would guide me to the afterlife. Not a murderer and failure like me. And yet... I can't imagine anyone but an angel having such beautiful and kind eyes.
"Hold on," a voice rumbled, as steady as stone against Legundo's ear. The arms around his body tightened, protecting him from the storm. "I've got you."
That was the last thing Legundo could register before he slipped into darkness.
o0o0o0o
Hot.
Why was it hot?
Hadn't it just been cold?
It was too hot–
Thistle Hill burned around Legundo.
Screams and cries filled the air, voices pleading for help amongst the chaos.
The air smelled of woodsmoke and chemicals, choking his lungs–
"H-Help," Legundo choked out, tears leaking down his face as he tried to scramble away from the fires exploding around him. "I-I, please, someone–"
"YOU KILLED US!" the townspeople screamed, their eyes empty and hollow as they burned.
They viciously reached for him, grabbing at him to drag him down into their graves.
"WE SHOULD'VE NEVER LET A BURDEN LIKE YOU LIVE–"
"N-No," Legundo begged, trying to pull away from the hands holding him down. "I-I didn't mean to, I-I–"
"Look at what you did, boy," Olsted's voice rumbled, stabbing at him like a rusty dagger. "I put all this work into crafting you, and you're still so useless–"
"–shhh," a new voice rang out through the screams. "It's okay... you'll be okay..."
Legundo paused, sweat dripping down his face as the fires continued to consume him.
That's... not Olsted, Legundo's mind whispered in confusion, the sounds of screams quieting just a fraction. Or the townspeople. This voice is... different. Steady. With an accent I don't recognize...
More than that... the voice was kind.
No matter how badly Legundo was injured, no matter how he cried, he couldn't remember a time when someone had spoken to him with such a kind voice. Or comforted him.
Why would they? Legundo was an unwanted leech. A gutter rat who had been blessed to be taken in by Master Olsted after losing his parents, only to constantly prove himself a failure over and over again.
So why... who... would be saying these things to Legundo?
Maybe it was just a delusion, a sign that his years of misery and loneliness had finally cracked his mind, but Legundo wanted more than anything to hear the voice speak more. To save him, even though he knew he didn't deserve it.
"P-Please," Legundo sobbed, his chest heaving with desperate, breathless panic. "I-I'll do whatever you want. I'll be better. J-Just don't let him find me, d-don't throw me out–"
"We won't," the voice responded, tone becoming firm, yet still so gentle. "You're safe here in Tegrith. But you need more sleep if you want the fever to break."
Something cold pressed against Legundo's forehead, making him whimper in relief. There was also what felt like cool fingers brushing through his hair, but he knew that was probably a hallucination too. It felt amazing though, making Legundo instinctively curl towards the source even as his body ached from the effort.
"Sleep..." the voice repeated, the gentle caressing continuing. "I'll watch over you. I promise."
Legundo whimpered. He was scared. He didn't want to return to his nightmares – or worse, to his memories. But he didn't want to disappoint the kind voice. He was terrified it'd abandon him if he didn't listen, but no matter how he clenched his eyes, sleep just wouldn't come–
There was a pause.
Then, a soft humming filled the room. It was an unfamiliar melody, sounding similar to some of the northern songs that Legundo had overheard from traders while traveling around with Olsted, but otherwise was completely foreign. That, however, only made it easier to cling to. Legundo's curious and greedy mind, as always, wanting to dissect anything new he could.
A low, long sigh escaped Legundo's lips. The terrifying silhouette of Olsted and the burning Thistle Hill retreating into the shadows. Still there, still trying to grab at him... but not as close as before.
For the first time, Legundo felt himself sinking into a deep, dreamless quiet. Only the humming and memory of kind lilac eyes remaining with him as he slept.
o0o0o0o0o
When Legundo finally woke up for real, the phantom fires were gone, replaced by a heavy stillness.
He didn't bolt upright. He couldn't. His body felt completely drained, hollowed out by the familiar lingering feeling of a fever and full-body sickness. Even lying still, he could feel his head swimming.
For a long, disorienting minute, Legundo just stared at the ceiling.
Then he realized it wasn't a ceiling he recognized.
Instead of the soot-stained rafters and exposed stone of Olsted's cellar or workshop, his eyes traced the clean, interlocking lines of massive pine logs. The wood was rich, golden honey in color, and completely different from the architecture style used in Thistle Hill.
Slowly, carefully, Legundo turned his head. The panic creeping further in as he confirmed that he was in a completely unfamiliar room.
However, instead of a prison – which would've been his first guess for where he'd be if he ever woke up again – it looked like he was in some sort of... bedroom?
It spacious with a deeply cozy and rugged, rustic charm. Thick, hand-woven wool tapestry hung on the walls, dyed in deep blue and icy blue tones. On the far side of the room stood a heavy oak wardrobe, its door carved with simple geometric patterns. Beside it was a sturdy desk with various books, whittled wooden figures, and glass jars containing what looked to be some sort of herbs.
The air itself tasted foreign. It was crisp and clean, nothing like the polluted air that had surrounded Thistle Hill after Olsted had set off the explosions. Each breath felt a bit too cold for his aching throat, but it wasn't unpleasant.
Legundo moved his fingers, feeling the unmistakable cloth of blankets beneath them. He appeared to be on some sort of bed? A very large bed that was far too big for someone of his size, from the looks of it. His body was also buried beneath a literal mountain of thick, heavy wool quilts and plush furs. They smelled faintly of cedar, cold winter air, and a sweet smell that he couldn’t quite place. It was almost like ice cream?
Definitely not in Thistle Hill, Legundo confirmed again. But then... where am I? Who would... was I actually rescued from the snow? Or did I dream it somehow?
With a deep breath, Legundo tried to prop himself up on his elbows to get a better look around. However, the sudden movement sent a violent wave of vertigo through his head.
"Ow," Legundo whimpered pathetically, shrinking back into the bed. "B-Bad idea..."
"Whoa, easy there!"
Legundo flinched, forcing the vertigo down to look towards the door.
Standing in the doorway was a giant of a person. Even though they didn't appear to be holding a weapon, Legundo couldn't help but tremble and sink back as far as he could.
"I-I–" Legundo trembled, his voice raw and ruined. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire childhood conditioning making him brace for a reprimand, a strike, or a demand to know what a gutter rat like him was doing in bed as nice as this. "I–I didn't mean to, I-I don't know how I got here, I-I'm sorry–"
Silence.
Then, the sound of slow steps moving forward.
Legundo flinched, shaking harder as he waited for his punishment–
"...hey, it's okay," a voice said, impossibly gentle. "I'm sorry. This must be a lot for you, right? But I promise... no one's going to hurt you here. You're safe."
Legundo's eyes shot open. He recognized that voice. It was the one that had driven the nightmares away. But hadn't he imagined it? Was he still dreaming?
But as his eyes tentatively opened, he was met with a pair of kind lilac eyes.
The same ones that he'd seen in the snow.
"Y-You," Legundo swallowed, taking in what he now realized to be a young man, perhaps a bit older than him, with blonde hair and pale skin. "You're... you're the one from the storm? Y-You... rescued me?"
The gentle giant smiled, nodding slowly. As if worried about scaring a frightened animal (which, admittedly, Legundo knew he probably resembled – and not just from the difference in size), the tall stranger kept his moves steady and controlled.
"I did," the young man said, voice dropping into that same, soft comforting rumble from Legundo's dreams. "You were in pretty bad shape when I found you, so I took you back here."
Legundo stared at his savior who, now that he was looking, was actually quite beautiful. Not just his mesmerizing lilac eyes, but every part of his appearance wherever the mechanic looked. He swallowed, eyes quickly darting down to avoid being caught staring.
"W-Where is here?" Legundo asked tentatively, hoping he didn't sound rude or ungrateful. "I-If you don't mind telling me, I mean?"
"Tegrith," the young man replied, offering a warm, easy smile that made Legundo's face flush further – a sudden spike of heat that had nothing to do with his lingering fever. "The Mayor's house, to be exact. I'm Scott Boralith, the mayor's son."
"O-Oh," Legundo said, for lack of anything better to say. He swallowed. "I-I'm sorry for the trouble."
"It's no trouble," the newly named Scott said, shaking his head. "You'd be surprised how often travelers get lost in the snow. I'm just glad that I stumbled upon you before it was too late." He paused. "Did you get lost from your caravan? Or a group of traders? I didn't see anyone nearby and none of the travelers who've come to Tegrith recognized your description."
Legundo looked down at the quilt, his fingers twitching in the fabric. The memory of the explosions, Olsted's betrayal, and his own blood-covered hands burned like a brand in the back of his mind.
I can't let him find out who I am, Legundo thought frantically. Not only would he throw me out, Olsted might find me. I, I don't want to lie, especially to the one who saved me, but...
"...something like that," Legundo mumbled finally, keeping his eyes glued to the quilt as guilt filled him to the core.
Frankly, he wouldn't blame Scott for immediately throwing out a non-cooperative stranger like him. He'd already saved Legundo's dumb life, after all, there was no need to do anything else if Legundo wouldn't even share basic information.
But to Legundo's surprise, Scott didn't press. He merely nodded, accepting the boundary without a single hint of suspicion or irritation.
"Well, you've been asleep on and off for a few days, so you need food. And water." Scott gestured towards a lightly steaming bowl of broth in his hands that Legundo had failed to notice until now. "Do you feel up for it? The soup also has crushed medicine and herbs in it, so I promise you'll feel better if you do. It's my Dad's recipe, so I assure you it'll be tasty."
Legundo stared for a few moments before managing a small, tentative nod. But when he tried to reach for the bowl, his hands shook so violently that they looked like loose gears rattling in a broken machine.
However, instead of looking disgusted, rolling his eyes, or rightfully laughing at his pathetic state, Scott only pulled over a nearby chair and moved it so he could sit right next to the bed. The motions were practiced, as if he had repeated the action dozens of times.
"Don't strain yourself," Scott murmured, lifting the spoon. "Let me help you."
It was the most humiliating moment of Legundo's (estimated) seventeen years of life. He sat there, his cheeks burning a furious crimson, as this beautiful, incredibly strong stranger gently spoon-fed him broth (which was admittedly very delicious, compliments to Scott's father for the recipe).
It felt very slow going, but Scott was meticulously patient, blowing gently on each mouthful to ensure it wasn't too hot before guiding the spoon to Legundo's lips. The only thing that made this more bearable was the way Scott would smile every time Legundo swallowed.
This is so embarrassing, Legundo thought, but the sudden ravenous hunger in his stomach wouldn't let him reject. As well as the contentment in Scott's eyes. Am I sure I'm not dead? Someone this beautiful cannot be feeding me right now. It's just not mathematically or logically possible.
And yet, the gentle routine continued until the bowl was empty. However, Legundo was left feeling far more tired than he should from such a small task.
Scott set the empty bowl on the nightstand, looking at Legundo with a pleased and proud expression that the mechanic had no clue how he could deserve.
"Thank you," Scott said, as if he wasn't the one who had just to feed him like an infant. "I know you're probably wanting to sleep again, but is there anyone we should write to tell that you're here? A family member? A guardian? Someone who should know you're safe?"
Legundo flinched, the warmth from the soup suddenly churning in his stoamch.
"Remember your place, boy," Olsted's voice boomed in the back of his head. "I am not your father. You are nothing more than a gutter rat I picked up because I thought you could be useful. Ever cry in front of me again, and I'll give you something to cry about."
"N-No," Legundo whispered, body trembling as he tried to avoid Scott's kind lilac eyes. "There's... there's no one. I'm alone."
Legundo braced his shoulders, waiting for the shift in Scott's demeanor. This was where he was kicked out, right? After all, Scott had probably rescued him thinking that there was someone who cared about whether or not Legundo lived or died.
But now? Legundo had basically confirmed that he was nothing more than a worthless parasite. Without any guarantee that Legundo could pay back for the lodging, medicine, water, and the food he'd undoubtedly consumed the past few days while sick, why would anyone keep him around?
He was dead weight.
It was only fair to get rid of him.
"Do you have anywhere to stay?"
Legundo startled, blinking up at Scott in confusion. "What?"
"Do you have anywhere to go?" Scott repeated patiently, his lilac eyes somehow softening even more. "I'm not sure where you were trying to get to before the storm hit, but... you're welcome to stay here in Tegrith for as long as you want."
Legundo gaped at him. He couldn't mean that, could he? But what reason would he have to lie? If Scott wanted to detain Legundo, if he knew about his previous crimes, why not just put him in a prison? Why give him this massive bed, comfortable furs, and even feed him?
"I... I don't have any money," Legundo blurted out, an intense, suffocating shame filling him. "I'm sorry! B-But I can work! I-If, if you're willing to put up with me, I-I promise that I'll find a way to repay you–"
Scott's brow furrowed, a look of genuine confusion crossing his handsome features.
"Repay?" Scott hummed, glancing towards the window and snow falling steadily outside. "Well, I suppose it is the leaner part of the year, but you don't have to worry about repaying us. You're not the first traveler we've rescued from the snow, and you won’t be the last, I assure you. Besides, you look like you're only a kid–"
"I-I'm seventeen!" Legundo protested before wincing. Technically, he didn't know that was true, given his lack of a birthday and all, but he was pretty sure he was around there? "I-I mean, I'm old enough to work. I've been working for years, I promise! I-I'm... good with fixing stuff? I was... a mechanic's apprentice, s-so if there's anything broken, m-maybe I can do something? Tools, heaters, wagons... j-just give me a chance, please!"
"...a mechanic would be very useful, actually," Scott said with a slow nod. "Especially this time of year. But we can worry about that after you've recovered. Right now, your health is the priority."
Legundo stared, wondering if he was hallucinating again.
No one had ever said something like that to him before.
For Olsted, Legundo's health was only important if he could stand at the anvil or the alchemy table for fifteen hours or more straight. The people of Thistle Hill either ignored Legundo's pitiful existence or spat at him for 'skulking' around like a thief.
Yet here was this beautiful man, a complete stranger, treating Legundo's existence as something that... mattered?
It's only because he doesn't know you, a dark voice whispered in his head. Once he does, it'll only be a matter of time before he kicks you out. You're unwanted for a reason.
Strangely enough, the thought settled something inside of Legundo.
He'd be kicked out eventually, but until then? He would do everything in his power to repay his debt. He wasn't sure how he would repay Scott for literally saving his life, but if nothing else, Legundo was good at coming up with ideas.
"O-Okay," Legundo said with a nod. "Th-Then I'll be in your care? I'm sorry again for making you take care of me."
Scott looked torn between a smile and a frown.
"You really don't have to apologize. I'm happy to help however I can," Scott said. He paused. "Though, can I ask for your name? Or just something I can call you?"
Legundo froze, his mind racing. While he sometimes doubted that Olsted even remembered any other name for him besides "boy" and "gutter rat", he didn't want to take any chances. Sure, he was in Tegrith, which was very far north if Legundo was remembering its position on the map correctly, but there was no saying who could say what and how that could get back to Olsted's ears eventually.
But if Legundo chose a completely new name, he could easily mess up. Not answer properly when he should. Make people start questioning his story and origins.
Not to mention... his name was the only thing he had left from his parents.
It may be foolish, but he couldn't bear to part with it. At least not completely.
"...Legs," Legundo whispered finally. "C-Can you call me Legs?"
A far too beautiful smile filled Scott's face, his lilac eyes sparkling as he nodded.
"It's nice to meet you, Legs."