Chapter Text
Click! Click! Click! Click!
Lilith Clawthorne’s heels echoed loudly in the empty chambers of the castle hallway. The palace was a labyrinth to those who hadn’t spent years wandering it; she’d pointed many a green Scout in the right direction after a wrong turn over the years. As a teenager, she’d marveled at every sconce, every tile, every oil painting that adorned the walls. She spent hours upon hours roaming the halls up and down, committing every detail to memory.
Now, as the head of the Coven she’d so desperately admired, she found that even the most eye-catching flourishes soon lose their whimsy. Every day she marched passed the same sconces, trampled the same tiles, stared at the same paintings. Giving tours to young children had become more tiring than ever; she was barely able to muster the energy to match their enthusiasm at the sights that had become a permanent fixture to the inside of her eyelids.
The clicking stopped as she reached her destination; the same heavy, golden doors she entered every day around the same time loomed over her. Her morning meetings with the Emperor were little different than the ones with the Coven Heads, yet she still found herself hesitating more often than not these days. She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth before reaching to push the doors open, only to pause as they swung toward her instead. She stepped back and put her hands behind her back, the look of surprise on her face melting into a scowl as she saw who emerged.
The Golden Guard.
To say this child irked her would be a kindness to him. He was a know-it-all, pompous, big-headed brat who received his title through pure nepotism. Though, begrudgingly, that was not to say he was unskilled; quite the opposite. She’d often found herself enthralled in watching him as she passed the training grounds each day. He fought and worked diligently; in another world, Lilith may see herself growing to like him.
If it weren’t for that Titan-damned mouth on him. He swore, he interrupted, he talked back to her and the other Coven Heads. He loved correcting people with that snide cadance to his voice that never seemed to leave, and what made it all the more aggravating was that he was usually right.
Ohh, she couldn’t stand him.
Lilith forced her features to lie flat and cleared her throat as he emerged fully. She gave him a nod. “Golden Guard,” she greeted cooly.
The doors closed behind him with a thunk. He didn’t look in her direction as he replied, breathlessly, “Clawthorne.”
Lilith frowned, eyeing him. There was something different about the way he was carrying himself, both figuratively and not. He usually strode the halls with perfect posture and sure steps, cloak billowing behind him, but there was none of that confidence today. He was hunched slightly and appeared to be clutching his right side with one arm, his cloak was practically in ribbons, and as she looked closer…
Blood. Lots of it.
His armor plate was cracked, the destroyed metal tinged with scarlet and she could see fresh blood traveling down his pant leg at an alarming rate, soaking through completely. She moved on instinct, reaching her hands out to steady him as he stumbled, only to freeze when he moved. It was a subtle movement, so small she wouldn’t have noticed it if she weren’t already analyzing.
He flinched from her.
“Sir, are you okay?” she asked, cringing inwardly. The question sounded clumsy on her tongue.
The Golden Guard scoffed, muffled by the mask. “I’m fine,” he replied. With obvious effort he forced himself to stand straight, leaning subtly on his staff for support. “Don’t you have a meeting to be at?” he spat.
Annoyance sparked in Lilith’s chest, drowning out her concern momentarily. “I’m trying to help you, brat. If you’re hurt, you need to see a heal–”
“No.” The Golden Guard turned away from her and began to walk down the hallway from where she came. He halted suddenly, looking over his shoulder at her. “The Emperor’s waiting for you,” he prompted stiffly before raising his staff and, in a flash or red, he was gone.
Unease squirmed in her belly. She looked down at her feet, at the small pool of blood in place of where the Golden Guard had stood. She drew a quick circle to get rid of it before looking back up at the doors. She took another deep breath and squared her shoulders. If the Golden Brat was going to let himself bleed to death, that was his problem. She had other things to worry about.
She pushed open the doors and stepped inside, suppressing a shiver. The throne room was always so much chillier than the rest of the castle. She looked ahead to see Belos had his back to her, stood at the bottom of the stairs that lead to his throne. She approached him and knelt a few feet away, her head bowed. Her finger landed in something warm as she rested her hand on the floor and she lifted it at once to examine what she’d touched.
More blood. Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked down at where her hand had made contact to see thick drops of blood on the carpet. She swept her her gaze forward, following the swelling trail up to where Belos stood; in front of him seemed to be the largest puddle, seeping sluggishly into the green fabric of the carpet. Belos turned to greet her and her entire body went cold; his gauntlet was covered in it.
“Ah, Lilith. I’d forgotten about our morning meeting. I do apologize for the mess,” he said casually as he waved his staff. A red aura wrapped itself around every blood stain and it dissolved into thin air, including the bit on her finger, leaving no trail.
Like it never even happened.
“Oh, um–” she stammered, turning her eyes back to the floor where the first spot had been. “No need to apologize, my Lord. Are you injured? That was quite a lot of blood.”
Belos chuckled, a dangerous rumble deep in his chest. “Oh, no. I am quite fine, believe me.”
She believed him, alright. He was just fine, and she knew now who wasn’t.
Belos beckoned with his now-spotless hand and she rose to her feet, hands primly behind her back. He stalked up to his throne and sat down with a sigh.
“I truly tire of these meetings, don’t you?” he said, not expecting an answer. “The same day in and day out, rather routine. But I suppose they are necessary to keep a Coven running smoothly.”
Lilith swallowed down the lump of anxiety in her throat and nodded. “Yes, well… our commitment to communication is why we are the best of the Isles,” she said, surprised how easily she slipped back on the confident veil she’d fashioned years ago.
An approving hum came from the mask. “Indeed. That being said, let’s discuss your plans for the day.”
Lilith nodded again and as she launched into her well-rehearsed spiel, she managed to put the bleeding Golden Guard out of her mind.
Darius Deamonne could not sleep.
Which was, frankly, irritating. And impossible, after the night he had. An argument with the most confrontational brat of the Isles, followed by his day off being ruined by that very same brat, and now he was unable to sleep because of that damn same. Damn. Brat.
The Golden Guard had flinched.
Which shouldn’t be bothering him; Darius had held an Abomination sickle above his head in an attack, anyone in their right mind would flinch at that. But this wasn’tjust anyone, this was the Golden Guard. The same Golden Guard he’d once witnessed throw Kikimora across a room because she’d sneezed on him. The same Golden Guard he’d watched take down witches twice his size, the same Golden Guard he’d seen cackle in the face of death itself in the form of a rabid Unicorn attempting to spear him. When Darius had made the move to act like he was about to attack him, he’d expected a fight. He expected the Golden Guard to teleport away, he’d expected a smartass comment that would freeze the Coven Head in his tracks.
He didn’t expect him to flinch and hold still, waiting for the blow to come without so much as an arm over his head in defense. And there was only person on the Isles that the Golden Guard would bend to every whim of.
Darius had seen the Emperor interact with his nephew before. Belos doted on the boy, leading him around with a firm hand on his shoulder, and the Golden Guard was always happy to tag along. He’d always seemed a little tense in the presence of his uncle, but Darius had always assumed it to be because of the status difference; family or not, it was still an Emperor and his Guard. But the Golden Guard had waited for Darius to hit him. No complaints, no attempt at escape, no move to defend. Obedient. Quiet. Trained.
He’d often wondered where the scar on the boy’s face had come from, what creature could possibly be quick enough to land a hit on a flash-stepping child who weighed ninety pounds soaking wet. He’d wondered why it scarred when the best healers on the Isles resided right there in the castle. He assumed the boy let it scar as a trophy to show off to anyone who didn’t ask or care in the first place.
… he had a different theory now, and it made his stomach twist.
With a frustrated groan, Darius threw off the comforter and dragged himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes. Perhaps some tea would lull him to sleep and get the bothersome brat out of his mind. He was thankful his room had a miniature kitchen; the thought of having to trudge down to the community kitchen in his pajamas made him sick. He was just about to fill the kettple when a light tapping on his door caught his attention. He cocked an eyebrow, eyeing the clock above his sink.
2:3oAM. Who in the Titan’s name could be at his door at this hour? He set down the kettle with a huff and made his way to the door and flung it open with a yawn, ready to give whoever was bothering him a piece of his mind.
“What in the hell could poss– oh. Little Prince?”
The Golden Guard stood before him, the sight of him making the witch freeze. He was clad in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants, both bearing the emblem of the Emperor’s Coven. Both garments were far too big on him and hanging from him like tarp on a stick, giving Darius access to seeing more of him than he ever had and– had he always been this skinny? He knew that the Golden Guard was lithe and agile, it was what gave him the advantage in a fight, it complimented his fighting style, but… this boy wasn’t just thin, he was malnourished. Out of armor, in light sleep clothes, and anxiously wringing his gloved hands at his chest, he looked like a child.
Titan. He really was just a child, wasn’t he? A child in a soldier’s uniform.
All irritation melted from Darius, replaced with gentle concern. “Little Prince?” he said again. “Are you alright?”
“I’m…” he trailed off, clenching his jaw with what sounded like a low growl. He sighed and looked at the floor, shaking his head. “Nevermind. This was stupid.” He turned to walk away when the little cardinal Palisman Darius had seen before fluttered out of the front of his shirt, gripping the boy’s forelock in its beak and giving a sharp tug.
“Ow! Okay, okay!” The Golden Guard whisper-shouted, swatting half heartedly at the bird. The Palisman settled itself on his shoulder, a smug look on its face. The blond took a deep breath before looking up at Darius, anywhere but in the eye. “I, uh, is that offer for… a lesson… still… y’know?” he stammered, the last syllable a barely-audible squeak.
Darius stared, mouth agape, his gaze flitting to the clock again. 2:33AM. “A lesson? A sewing lesson? At 2:30 in the morning?” he asked incredulously.
The Guard’s eyes widened and he peeked his head in to look where Darius had, his gaze finding the clock. He backed up immediately, hands going palm-out in front of his chest. “Oh shit, would ya look at the time! Well, I guess I’ll be on my way, sorry to bother y–”
“No, no, Little Prince,” Darius held up a hand to cut off the boy’s rambling. A surprising warmth bloomed in his chest; he was actually kind of endearing when he wasn’t being a nuisance. “I’m happy to teach you, but… don’t you need to get to bed? You have to get up rather early, if I remember correctly.”
The child snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “Please, I usually function on two to three hours of sleep anyway.”
Well, that explained the eyebags, Darius supposed. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “That’s not something to brag about, you know.”
The Guard rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Can you teach me or not?”
Darius glanced at the clock again. Aside from the morning meeting, he didn’t have any pressing matters in the AM. The CATTS always met at night, and he would be free to nap in the hideout anyway. He looked back down at the child again, who was trying to appear indifferent but was failing miserably at hiding the hope on his face. Darius huffed a laugh and stepped aside, inviting him in with a sweep of his hand.
As the boy walked into the room with a bewildered expression, Darius closed the door behind him and leaned against it, watching the Golden Guard take in his new surroundings as his little bird perched on a windowsill. Darius couldn’t help but grin; it was like watching a direwolf pup experience its first snowfall. He gazed around with wise, curious eyes, expecting every trinket and piece of decor he could. He spied the kitchen and his eyes lit up before facing Darius.
“You have a kitchen!?”
“You don’t?” Darius asked, surprised. “I thought all Coven Heads were given the same living quarters.”
The blond shook his head. “I’m in the same room I’ve always been in,” he replied, finding Darius’s rumpled bed and plopping down. He scooted back to allow his lanky legs the freedom to swing idly as he continued to explore the room with his eyes.
Titan… he’d watched Jasper do the same thing on a stool multiple times. He always knew deep down why he’d never liked this child. He’d never wronged him personally, not in a way he was aware of, at least. He also knew that it wasn’t fair to resent the current Golden Guard for something he’d had no part in, but Darius couldn’t help but take his every appearance as an insult. Jasper disappears and two days later Belos just happens to find a child that looks so much like him it could very well be him? It felt like a slap in the face, as if Belos had dangled the baby in front of him as some sort of sick “gotcha”.
Darius knew that Jasper didn’t just turn traitor one day and vanish like Belos had told them, he knew it was Belos’s doing. It had to be; Jasper worshiped the ground Belos walked on, even moreso than Hunter. He wouldn’t just leave Belos.
Or him.
Darius gave his head a firm shake, willing away Jasper’s memories, and turned his attention back to the boy. He made his way to his dresser and dug out a few supplies before sitting next to him on the bed.
“Now, this won’t be the most thorough lesson, I warn you. It is almost three o’clock in the morning and I do require some beauty sleep. You think looking like this is natural?” Darius joked, brushing his shoulder.
The Guard scoffed. “‘Beauty’? Is that what you call it?”
Darius snorted and rolled his eyes. “Rich, coming from you. The bags under your eyes are big enough to hold a pocketbook. You could use a little beauty sleep in your life.”
The shit-eating grin melted away into a small frown and the boy crossed his arms, looking at his lap. “I don’t… sleep the best. It’s easier to not do it at all.”
Alarm prickled along Darius’s skin like stinging nettle. What the hell did that mean? Did the Golden Guard suffer from insomnia? Or, perhaps worse, nightmares? Eager to change the subject, Darius thought up a question.
“Okay, can you at least tell me your name so I can call you something other than ‘brat’ or ‘Little Prince’?”
Fear flashed through the Guard’s eyes for a split second, his hands gripping the comforter under him. “I… you won’t tell anyone?”
“Is no one allowed to know?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t know why, it’s just… Uncle’s rule. But the human knows, and I’m sure she’ll tell the others, so…”
Of course. Darius swallowed down a groan. “It’ll be between us. I swear.”
The boy’s grip relaxed slightly as he searched Darius’s face. After a few moments he let out a long sigh and put his hands in lap, threading them together as they trembled slightly.
“Hunter.”
Hunter. Darius could work with that; it actually suited him quite well. Darius gave him a nod and a friendly smile. “Okay then, Hunter, show me what you know. You clearly know something, from what I saw earlier.”
Hunter rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
Darius watched him fumble with threading the needle for a few seconds, his movements clumsy under the thick leather gloves he wore. “You might want to take those off,” Darius said, nodding to his hands. “It’ll make the precise movements a lot easier.”
Hunter frowned, looking up at Darius and then back at his hands. “Welll… Okay. Just… don’t judge, okay?”
Darius’s eyebrows rose, watching in silence as Hunter set down the needle and removed the gloves, and Darius’s curiosity turned to horror. The boy’s hands were strewn with scars, multiple jagged cuts criss-crossing over each other. The scars stretched over his wrists, going no further than where his gloves usually sat.
Hunter set the gloves down and shook out his hands with a wince and Darius frowned sympathetically. He held out his hands in an offer and the boy eyed him suspiciously before accepting, setting his hands in Darius’s. The skin was rough, dry, and cracked, the scars stretched uncomfortably over muscle and bone. He rubbed a spot on his palm experimentally where a few of the scars overlapped, leaving a large section of coarse scar tissue. He watched Hunter’s face contort and he sucked air in through his teeth in a hiss.
“This hurts?” Darius asked.
The blond nodded. “I can’t feel the sensation of you touching it. Just the pain that comes with it… if that makes sense?”
Darius nodded in understanding, Jasper had experienced something similar. He turned his hands over and frowned; the backs of them looked no better. He bit back a sigh and got to his feet before disappearing into his bathroom, reemerging with a healing salve.
“May I?” he asked as he sat down.
“You… wanna treat my hands?” Darius nodded and jumped, startled, as Hunter snatched his hands away, pressing them to his chest. “No! Y-you can’t, I’m not allowed to–” he cut himself off with a gulp.
Not allowed…?
“What do you mean, Little Prince? You’re not allowed to… treat your wounds?” Hunter nodded hesitantly. “Why?”
A thick beat of silence passed before the child spoke. “Uncle… Uncle says that scars are a reminder of my failures. Motivation to do better.”
Darius’s blood froze in his veins. “Did… did he give you these scars?”
Another small nod. “They’re my punishments.”
For a moment, Darius forgot how to breathe. Belos raised this boy, doted on him like a father to his child… and he was slicing open his hands.
As punishment.
“...Darius?”