The Kingdom of Stark
Several years passed in non eventful peace. Natasha built herself a small cottage outside of the Kingdom of Stark. Believe it or not but Clint helped too. The siblings discovered early on that Clint would revert back to his human form for one hour at sunrise everyday. They chalked it up to the weakness of the spell on the spring and was thankful that with this they truly were not alone. Life together was pleasant.
Sometimes they would talk his hour away. Clint loved to talk and would shoot his bow while telling Natasha silly and amazing things he remembered seeing in his daily flights. Other times he would hunt for her, chop wood, or help make or construct whatever she needed help with.
They built traps and caught many animals to skin, butcher, and sell. Clint would often make those trades and deliveries within the hour he was human. He had grown into a well built man over the years and passed for more of a huntsman than Natasha after all. He was less likely to be swindled and while Natasha never admitted it, he could tell she feared being mistaken for a witch or somehow thrown into a situation that would further her possible transformation into one.
This worked out perfectly well until a morning on one such delivery where the butcher was late, hung over or otherwise sick, he had kept Clint waiting. By the time the slaughtered animals Clint had brought had finished being inspected, haggled over, and exchanged for several silver coins, Clint knew he was going to be in trouble.
Phillip Coulson wasn't royalty but his exacting way about things could cause you to be forgiven for thinking so. The Knights of Stark Kingdom were divided among those that would stay and protect the Kingdom, called Shield, and those that would quest and adventure for the Kingdom glory or need in warfare, called Sword. Phil was one of the highest ranked Knights of the Shield and found his niche with planning and strategy, a right hand to the Shield director and adviser to the royal family both.
Such a position was an honor of course but more often than not Phil would find his position and workload pushed aside for what amounted to little more than babysitting and pacifying the crown Prince, Tony Stark. Not that Phil objected to the role (at least not too often) or disliked the Prince.
Prince Tony was brilliant and kind, even if he tended to be a bit oblivious and aloof. A man at odds with himself that Phil Coulson had grown to respect during his stay at Castle Stark. That respect tripled when Prince Tony refused the kingship and passed the reigns of the kingdom to his childhood friend, Virginia Potts who was far more suited to the role. The ensuing uproar was immediately quieted with the Stark charm and an off handed comment that implied his longtime friend Pepper Potts and new Queen might be a half sister. Queen Virginia took over from there, distracting from the memory of the former King Stark’s well known philandering and onward to plans she had to expand the southern farmlands and upgrade the wells and irrigation systems.
Everyone had pretty much agreed they were better off with their smart and beloved Queen Pepper (as she preferred to be called by those in the know) and Phil was often delighted to work and plan alongside a fellow analytic mind out to better the kingdom. The only problem was sometimes the best way to help the Queen accomplish her goals was to make sure Prince Tony didn't blow up the castle with his tinkering schemes.
The efforts to keep Prince Stark occupied and not diving head first into trouble with his obsession of Alchemy and mechanics sometimes meant helping calm the raging curiosity of the Prince by investigating rather inane matters. It was an annoyance but one he performed with his quick and elegant efficiency all the same.
Today was one such task. All he had to do was ride into the village, make a simple inquiry to the butcher, and he could be back in time to spar with his fellow knight Jasper and play a game of chess with Director Fury.
He hadn't expected to come upon a small group of children throwing rocks at a beautiful bird with glossy brown and white speckled feathers. A hawk, from the looks of it. Large enough to be a female of the species but decidedly not. A strap of worn leather was tied to his leg and to that a money pouch heavy with coins.
The hawk was cawing in distress as the rocks pelted it, but raised it’s unencumbered leg in threat when a child dared to dart forward and take it’s treasure. The way the bird hopped about, with such an unnatural wing movement told Phil that while the coin purse was heavy, an injury to its wing was the true reason the bird had yet to flee his tormentors.
He trotted his horse (a beautiful dark chestnut Palomino named Lola) up to the pack of hooligans and cleared his throat loudly.
“Excuse me.” He said with the pomp and authority that could make Prince Tony squirm (and wasn't the prince so much like a rambunctious child at times?). “What are you children doing?” The children froze and turned, giving Phil their full attention. Strangely, the hawk did too, evaluating the newest threat.
One scruffy little boy Phil vaguely recognized as the millers son, Bradley, dropped a rock he had been about to throw before putting on an innocent expression. Another boy Phil didn't recognize was the one to speak.
“Someone tied money to the bird.” He explained tossing a thumb back toward the hawk.
“And you think it’s for you, do you? If a man is lying injured on the street that means his things are yours if you beat him and take them?”
"No? But it wasn't injured before. Darren had to hit it hard with a rock or it would have taken off right away."
Phil's eyes cut to the little girl that spoke and then to a rather uncomfortable looking child named as Darren.
"And that makes it more sporting? You earned the man's things because you're the one to beat him and caused him to fall to the ground to begin with?" With a swift motion Phil swung off Lola's saddle and leaned in. "Are you telling a Knight in the highest order of Shield under the Kingdom of Stark that it is preferable to attack and rob someone with cruel intent as opposed to a thief that just riffles the pockets of someone who can’t defend themselves? Are you telling me that as children you doing such a cruel thing to an animal shouldn't speak highly of what you all may do in the future?" Most of the children winced or cowered at that, realizing their mistake. Several began to babble apologies at him.
Coulson took a breath and let his face fall back into a friendly and nonthreatening blandness he tried to adopt when dealing with those who didn't know better.
"Really it's not me you owe the apologies to." He adjusted his leather gloves with care as he nodded toward the hawk. "But since he'd rather have care for that wing than your apologies, I'd imagine if you go to your chores right now I will overlook this incident."
The hawk shrieked in apparent protest and Phil grinned.
"I don't speak for the bird of course. Any revenge he may take will most likely be justified." He clarified with chuckle. To his astonishment it looked like the hawk was nodding in agreement.
Phil had never seen a Hawk or any bird this expressive actually. True, he'd only started the art of falconry a short while ago but he'd studied the matter in depth and this birds size wasn't the only unusual thing about him.
Now that he was taking a closer look; large, intelligent eyes were drawing him in, evaluating him sharper than all of the squires in Phil's acquaintance and some of his colleagues. They were beautifully deep and expressive, those eyes.
He hadn't realized he had been locked into a staring contest with the bird until Lola nudged him, slightly put out to be idle during their morning ride. At some point the children had dispersed around them too. Phil took a breath. Alright. Things to do today.
The bird hopped back even as Phil stepped forward towards it. Then again.
"Listen, I'm not going to hurt you." God help him. The look the bird was giving him was dripping with skepticism.
Another step followed by another hopped back hawk.
"You heard me with the kids, right? I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to take you back to the castle and have a friend take a look at that wing." The bird shook it's head and scratched the ground, bringing Phil's attention to the coin purse strapped there. Could that really be it? Coulson couldn't help the snort that escaped him at the idea.
"Really? Alright. I, Sir Philip Coulson of Shield, knight of the noble realm of Stark promise not to let harm come to you nor theft of your obviously precious cargo." Silently he was very glad knights Fury, Sitwell, or Hill weren't observing this pledge. Or dear god, Prince Stark!
The hawk seemed to be considering and maybe amused. He looked down to the coin purse and then at Phil again, eyes narrowing.
"I won't be taking a fee nor gratuity. I just want to help you. Trust me." He answered, strangely understanding the birds silent question.
Phil wondered how a bird could be so clever for a moment but figured an even cleverer master and trainer was probably to credit.
The hawk reached its decision and bowed, still looking Phil in the eye.
I'm trusting you to keep your word, it seemed to say. Coulson could only feel proudly honored at that. He hadn't actually thought reasoning with a bird would work let alone convincing one to trust him.
He moved forward and gently picked up the hawk, careful of the injured wing, and pulled them both back up on Lola one handed. Coulson made sure the bird was securely pocketed between the crook of his arm and his soft, dark leather vest as he gripped the reins.
It would probably be foolish to continue talking to the bird and ask if it was ready, lord knows what any nosy villagers might already be thinking about his escapades so far, but he found himself looking down regardless. The hawks eyes were already looking at him, wondering what the hold up was apparently.
“Alright then.” Phil chuckled to himself as he had Lola start them back toward the Castle. It was already turning out to be an interesting morning.
The ride back to the castle was faster than Coulson had expected. That was entirely his fault. The feeling of the fresh morning breeze combing through his hair felt nice and when he checked the bird against his chest to make sure his guest wasn't being too jostled, the near identical look of serene contentment on the birds face surprised him. This animal that could fly above the clouds was in this moment with Phil and enjoying it seemingly as much as he was.
He had nudged Lola faster just to see the birds reaction play out on it’s face. The hawk sensed the gaze on him after a moment and caught Phil in the act, cawed once in mirth, and then closed it’s eyes again. Phil didn't know what to make of that.
He brought Lola to the stables himself (no one touches Lola.) and slid off with an elegance that many often tried to duplicate. Upon looking to check on the bird again he was surprised as it squawked indignantly at him and hopped up to latch firmly to the knight’s forearm.
“Wow. Clever, talented, and likes a good ride. Can I keep you?” Coulson joked, impressed and quite fond despite himself. The hawk made an odd noise and turned away to suddenly take an invested interest in the pruning of any wayward feathers.
“Right, well. It was only a joke. Obviously you have someone that cares for you very much.” Coulson huffed as he put Lola’s tack away and started taking them around deeper into the castle proper.
“Whoever it is, they are very lucky to have you. Not only smart and talented but majestically beautiful and loyal too.” The bird that had been slyly checking out the castles immense and sprawling architecture cocked it’s head back to Phil in apparent confusion.
“It’s a slip knot on your bag of treasure, right?” Phil nudged the bag hanging below his arm with a finger. “You could have left the money behind and gotten away from any rock throwing hooligans, what does a bird need money for? But your owner needs it for something?”
“What is it this? Do my royal ears deceive me or is Sir Knight talking to himself?” Prince Anthony Stark appeared from around an adjacent corridor swinging a pair of goggles between the fingers of his right hand as he obnoxiously faked a gasp with his left.
“My liege.” Phil greeted with respect before letting his eyes roll naturally in respect to their long time ‘not so formal when alone’ agreement. Looked like Prince Tony was headed back down to the alchemy labs he had built years ago in one of the unused dungeons if his princely garb smeared with soot and grime was any indication. “No, I was merely explaining to this hawk that he owed me a flight since he got to ride Lola.”
“Doubtful but he’s rather an unusually big one.” The Prince leaned in for a better look and smirked with amusement when the bird took a step further up Phil’s arm and away from the Prince. “Interesting.” He took a step back as he recalled something.
“Still I caught you, Sir Knight!” He waggled a finger at Coulson. “This means you can’t make fun of me for talking to Jarvis, anymore.”
“Talking to a bird with enough intelligence to understand isn't the same as insisting the royal staff respect your imaginary friend.” Coulson returned with annoyance.
“Is he imaginary? What does good old Sir Cyclops say about that?” Tony hummed smugly, stroking his beard.
Shield Knight Commander Fury had in fact told his knights that Prince Stark was getting secret information that he shouldn't otherwise have, brilliant intellect included. There was a betting game among the knights and squires as to whether Jarvis was a ghost, an elf, a gnome, a golem, or stealthy manufactured auto-man. Coulson figured that when Prince Tony was bored and done sending Phil on useless quests he just went snooping into every empty (and sometimes locked) room in the castle to help create more interesting nicknames for people or for blackmail potential.
“He says even the Crown Prince shouldn't know all the kingdoms secrets.” Point of fact he also said if it seemed to continue they might have to bring it up with the Queen.
“Bah. I’m a curious person, Sir Coulson. “ He flapped a hand dismissively in the air. “Your boss is totally boring. You on the other hand...Jarvis told me you keep a very interesting scrapbook. Articles, parchment, notices, and even cards with certain hero’s likenesses on them, eh?” Prince Stark chuckled.
Coulson felt his face heat with embarrassment, no wait, rage. Yes rage.
“That scrapbook is very personal. I think I may go have a word with Queen Pepper about how much I appreciate your royal self knowing about it.” He answered politely enough and perfectly proper because there was a reason why the bastard prince had nicknamed him Sir Knight, after all. Also a reason why the Queen entrusted her half brother to Knight Coulson’s care.
“No! No! No! No! No need to be like that! Personal, I get that. I have a collection of that kind of stuff too. That’s why Jarvis told me, knew I would be interested. Don’t take offense I only wanted to get to know you better. No need to tell Pepper, really.” The Prince winced at the thought and sent Phil a beseeching look.
“You don’t want to know me better.” Phil sighed as his anger slipped away. Not that he would ever admit it but hearing Prince Tony say he was also a fan helped.
“I do so! For one you’re the only knight I actually like. You know what you’re doing and I like it. And then you bring interesting things back to me. Large seemingly injured mysterious hawks and maybe also information for instance?” He raised his eyebrow hopefully in Phil’s direction.
“The hawk isn't a toy. I came back to have Bruce take a look at his wing. I think I can wait to interrogate the butcher until later...”
“And the trader!” Prince Tony piped In. "Don’t forget him! I need to know, well you have the list of questions. Tomorrow is fine, my Iron Alchemy Suit is nearly ready for testing but this is important too. Bruce is in his dungeon, give him my regards.” The Stark heir started back down the way he had been going and threw an arm up in goodbye.
“Oh by the way, I met him once you know, when he passed through the village.”
Phil absently pet the hawks head as he lost himself in his own memory.
“Yes. I met him then too.” He answered absently, remembering.
“Ha! That explains it then.” Prince Stark laughed and disappeared around another corner, his laugh echoing slightly behind him.
“His wing is a little swollen here.. “ Bruce Banner pointed out the crux of the problem with the tip of the pencil he was holding. “He seems pretty resilient and not the type to remain grounded so I would say tomorrow he’d be fine to fly provided he was careful.”
“Thank you, uh...” Phil paused, feeling both urged on to use Mr. Banner’s proper title and reluctant to do so. His new bird friend had been washed, fed, and bandaged under Bruce’s kind care. Still he wasn't sure if the man’s title was more of an insult.
“Bruce is fine, Sir Coulson.” Bruce smiled self deprecatingly as he returned to puttering about his make shift alchemy studio from behind the bars of his locked dungeon cell...
The hawk was on edge and kept glancing around the dungeon and back to Bruce in confusion. Phil gave the bird a reassuring pat and bid Bruce goodbye before heading back up the stone staircases to eventually reach his quarters.
“As you may have gathered, Prince Tony is a very wise tinkerer and alchemist. He is mostly skilled in the use of metal and stone to make contraptions and machines although his interests are varied. Bruce is his equal in using his intelligence and alchemy but more focused in studying how living things can be altered.” Phil explained along the way as the hawk listened intently.
“He was in a remote village back then but one of our former military leaders had heard of his growing renown, apprenticing to become a doctor at the time. The general gave him a previously confiscated witches spell book and asked him to research the options for possible applications. Long story short, things went wrong, the former King Stark had the military commander banished, and Bruce now becomes the official Royal Troll when he gets angry. Literally a large green troll that likes smashing things. Friendly enough once you get to know him. The Prince loves him and is the one who gave him his own ridiculous title. Technically he’s not even a prisoner here. He has a title and a room like myself but he feels more secure locking himself in the dungeon/Alchemist lab the Prince made for him. Afraid he’s going to hurt someone accidentally, I suspect, but Prince Stark is working on making him feel more secure.”
The hawk who seemed to be in thought at this tapped his foot, sending his money purse swinging gently against Coulson’s arm.
Phil reached his room and let the hawk settle on his windows ledge while he pulled out his chair and began his daily reports for the Queen. From time to time the bird would caw at something happening in the view of his window and Coulson would lean back from his desk to enjoy and make commentary about the scene unfolding. Seeing Sir Sitwell leading the best and brightest squires through some training drills and the high stakes archery contest afterward held the birds interest in particular.
After a hefty stack of reports and recommendations were complete he let the hawk settle back on his arm and they set about to returning them to Sir Fury. Fury looked suspiciously at the bird like he suspected it might take his other eye if he wasn't careful enough and replaced Sir Coulsons completed stack with a smaller stack filled with missions, briefings, and reports to be completed for the next day.
A quick lunch (with his bird friend sharing of course) and it was back to babysitting the Crown Prince and gently suggesting he do more smaller tests with his newly acquired eastern explosive powder before adding it to everything in sight and documenting the results. Bruce was with him in Prince Tony’s lab surprisingly enough and had agreed, making the convincing so much more painless than usual. It confirmed to Phil that the two made excellent partners the more Bruce came out of his shell.
He made arrangements for the dining staff to deliver food down for the duo the many hours later, snagging his own meal (and again extra to share), before a meeting with Lady Hill, and his own session of training among knights and squires both.
The hawk was with him throughout the day, pleasantly keeping him company and meeting his eyes in agreement when one of the people he dealt with was being particularly obtuse. When Sir Blake tripped over his own feet trying to keep up with Sir Coulson’s swordplay he was pretty sure he had heard whatever the bird equivalent of laughing was over where he had left the bird to watch.
The bird was strangely modest at bath time, not looking as the knight disrobed but eventually giving in and evaluating him with those same sharp eyes as Coulson slipped into the warm water.
“I've never had a partner besides Lola.” Coulson told the bird casually as he reached for the soap. “My friends have made fun of me a bit but I never felt that right connection.” He confessed, washing the day's dirt from his legs. “The queen thinks I'm courting a member of the orchestra and I’m not discouraging this rumor. In reality, I suspect I shall die upon the blade or old and alone. It’s a sacrifice but worth it. It’s an important job, protecting and fostering the good.”
Phil ran his soapy hands across his thighs, groin, and belly as he sighed and tried to relax his muscles and his mind.
“I get lonely sometimes though.” He admitted. “So if something happens...” Phil looked up to the bird only to find it staring down into the tub before guiltily meeting his eyes. “If your home mistreats you or something happens please feel free to come keep me company. I would name you Hawkeye. We could go riding together. Hunting too. I would be good to you.” The hawk looked surprised but otherwise made no response.
Phil felt strangely disappointed and more than a little stupid. He finished washing up in silence, stepped out, and buried his face in his soft white towel and cursed to himself. How pathetic. To feel more friendship and connection with a bird than any human in recent memory. It was ridiculous.
The bird was smart, yes, but there was definite possibility that Phil was just projecting this fun personality he was quickly becoming attached to on to it. The hawk would fly away tomorrow and he would muddle through being alone again just as he had yesterday. ONE DAY! One day and this bird was inspiring this much frustration. Maybe he should try to actually start something with the cellist, it would have to inspire more sanity at least.
Coulson slipped on his sleep clothes and cast another glance at the bird as he settled into his bed. The hawk just watched him, considering.
“See you in the morning.” He mumbled more to himself than the bird as he fell into a deep slumber.
The light of dawn streaming through his window and onto Coulson’s face caused him to blink his eyes open. The dream on the edges of his memory escaped him but as his eyes focused he doubted he was actually awake at all.
“Oh...you’re awake. I was just leaving a note.”
Coulson blinked again. Nope. Still a very attractive and very naked young man was leaning against his desk and smiling at him and this just could not be what was actually happening. Another moment of staring and Phil thought he recognized the young man.
“Hansel?” He started, but then again wait. No, the math was wrong for that. Still, here he was. Or wasn't if he in fact was still dreaming, which really HAD to be the case because one doesn't just wake up with one of your childhood heroes and prepubescent fantasies naked in your bedroom.
“What?” The man seemed suddenly just as confused as Phil felt. “Still dreaming?” The stranger guessed with a shrug. A movement that drew Coulson’s attention to a rather nasty bruise around the man’s elbow moving up the side of his arm.
“Uh...” Phil started as the thoughts of what this could mean since the bird he was taking care of was now suddenly no where in sight. Unfortunately his thoughts were a little muddled by his sight still being glued to those arms.
MY GOD. How can anyone have arms like that? It just didn't seem possible. The muscle definition was incredible and definitely didn't come from any form of swordplay or wrestling he was familiar with.
The chuckle brought him back to the mans face and yes those eyes were eerily familiar from yesterday.
“It’s alright to look. Turn about is fair play, after all.” He grinned. Coulson blushed and forced himself to look away.
“So no feathers this morning?” Phil tried, hoping to get some answers to save his sanity.
“Well not at the moment. They’ll come back. It’s a thing that happens.” He sighed, bemused. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for your help. I can’t grant you wishes or anything like that. I’m not really a magical bird so much as a cursed human but yesterday was...nice.” He decided after a pause.
“Well, uh. I’m glad to help. You’re cursed?” Phil quickly pushed off his covers and jumped out of bed only to stumble forward when he was rewarded with a better view of the naked mans very rugged physique. “Would you like some clothes?” He tried again once he got himself under control.
The young man shrugged and Coulson felt like screaming.
“Please put something on. A sheet. Something. I don’t think I can talk to you like this.” He felt the tips of his ears turn pink and resolutely tried not to commit the image before him to memory lest his rather thin bed clothes give away just how much he would like to revisit that idea more thoroughly later.
“Yeah, sure.” The man grinned, watching him with amusement. “Any requests?” He wiggled his eyebrows and Coulson quickly turned away throwing his bed covers at the man in panic. A few moments later and the man had opted for a rather come hither toga effect in Phil’s thin white sheet and Coulson was reevaluating if this was really any better at all. When it occurred to him that his body had just been all over that sheet the night before and now the young man was wearing it against his bare skin, it proved indeed to be a bad idea as he felt his blood get diverted to areas he’d prefer they rather not.
“Better?” The man asked and Coulson just took a breath and nodded, despite the lie. “Anyway. Right, yesterday.” The man collected his thoughts and aimed a smile right for Coulson. “It was incredible. Not only did you save me, you showed me lots of interesting things I’d never seen before.”
Phil tried not to think too hard about that comment referring to his time in the bath and coughed.
“Well I’m glad. The castle is an interesting place. It’s quite beautiful here and...”
“You called me beautiful too. No one has ever done that before.” He smirked.
“No one?” Phil lost his train of thought somewhere and tried to stall best he could. “How?”
“Ha, no. My sister has called me brave but not much else. OH! And you called me Hawkeye. That was my name in the traveling circus, when I was younger. Well, Amazing Hawkeye, technically. I was pretty shocked you came up with that.”
“It just fit you.” Phil replied honestly.
“Like beautiful?” He returned slyly, running his fingers through his messy, dirty blond hair.
“Well...maybe handsome would be better. Dashing?” Phil considered as his mind reeled trying to remember what else he might have told the hawk.
“I don’t see why I can’t be all those things. You like beautiful, handsome, dashing men, right?” The shit eating grin the man wore was daring him to disagree. Not that Coulson could.
“They happen to be some of my very favorite kinds.”
“More than cellists?” The man teased.
“Definitely more.” Phil nodded.
“More than Lola?” The man pushed, cocky smile like he already knew the answer.
Phil rose an eyebrow at the man and gave him his best deadpan expression.
“Well I have known Lola a long time...but I think she’d understand. Not my type.”
“Ah...Not into girls.”
“Or horses.” Phil added. Seemed like an important part of that.
“But flirting with a bird is more your style?” The man raised his eyebrow and slid off the desk, making the fabric raise a few inches up his thigh. Coulson was embarrassed at just how much he was suddenly focused on that movement and the new skin it revealed.
“You’re the one naked in my bedroom.”
“Not anymore, but you sound jealous. If you wish to get out of your night clothes I won’t stop you. If you ask nicely, I might even help.”
“You can’t be serious!” Phil exploded in frustration. “You...!”
“Are cursed.” The man suddenly interrupted as he gestured to himself. “A bird for almost the whole day, everyday. Not going to leave my sister alone. They’re all me and I’m not going to mess up your life with the weirdness of mine. No matter how much I...yesterday was really good. Okay? I get lonely too Sir Phil Coulson, Knight of Shield in the Kingdom of Stark. Being your partner, spending the day with you is tempting but you’re right, I can’t.”
“Why not?” Phil asked suddenly desperate, but not sure what for. The look the man gave him was heart breaking as he cracked open the window.
“Lots of reasons, Sir. But mostly, my hour is up.” The man let the sheet slide down his body as he surged forward to gently rest his forehead against Coulson’s in a moment of sweet connection and perhaps regret. “You’re a good man, Phil. “ He whispered before catching a shocked Coulson’s lips in a heated kiss.
All thought seemed to freeze for Coulson from the moment the sheet hit the floor. This gorgeous man stepping into his space, his life, and singing his virtues made his heart race. It had to be some buried instinct that caused him to raise his arms and keep the man in place while returning the kiss for all that he had. He was strangely breathless when those lips pulled away and his arms shaky as they reached out for him once more only to be met with air.
“I hope you have a good life.” The mans voice was husky, filled with desire and longing as he took a step backwards with each spoken word coming to a final stop in front of the window. With one last heated gaze at Phil, he dove through the opening.
Even though he knew what was going to happen Phil ran to the ledge to indeed see a familiar hawk fly gracefully away.
It was a few minutes later when Phil came back to himself and found the note the man had written on his desk beside the bird’s prized change purse. He felt hollowed out as he read the messy scrawl thanking him for the kindness Phil had shown him and his regret at not being able to return the ride on Lola with a flight of his own like Phil had implied to the Prince. It said that he hadn't felt so safe in a long time. That he had fun. It was signed Hawkeye and Phil felt his hand nearly crumple the note at that. Hawkeye. Phil took a breath.
There was a short postscript that explained that he had been saving his money for a long time to find and pay a wizard or the right alchemist commissioned to research the turning of a witches spell, a commission he now saw to be fool hardy thing seeing as it has already been attempted and resulted in the nice troll in the dungeon. Instead this money should go to Phil as a reward, a thanks, and even an apology for causing him trouble and not even saying good bye.
Phil pressed a finger to his lips, remembering the actual good bye. He hadn't even gotten the man’s name! It all happened so fast and he had been stupidly distracted through most of it, but it was Hansel, right?
Spurred into motion Phil quickly reached under his bed and pulled his scrapbook from its secret location. He bit his lip as he carefully turned the pages. His secret book of heroes started with snippets he had collected when he had just been a boy, back then it had been Sir Rogers, the bravest knight of Stark that was his unquestionable hero but he had quickly collected the small amount of recorded material and stories. New tales of evil witches spread not too soon after and a new set of heroes became immortalized in his book. The witch hunters!
Page upon page of exploits, missing people postings, and articles of fierce battles. Finally Phil came to the pages he wanted, where likenesses were captured. Hansel and his sister Gretel with weapons drawn, looking reassuringly heroic even as they smirked with confidence.
Hansel was the spitting image of the man that had just kissed him. Some things fit, the mention of a close sister most of all and being cursed sounded like a likely end to someone who hunted witches. Other things didn’t. He hadn’t answered to Hansel. There was no record of Hansel ever being called Hawkeye or having any kind of circus history. Also Phil had met the real Hansel once when he had been thirteen or so, he and his sister had come to the kingdom for information and goods to trade with the former King Stark in return for better and more advanced weapons. That Hansel had been older than the one in his room and a lot more interested in the pretty barmaids than his counterpart.
Still this was magic and curses and that could certainly affect memory and form, right?
Phil closed his scrapbook with a groan, letting his head fall against it in frustration. What did it matter? It was over now. He would probably never see him again in either form and would just have to accept that.
With a heavy heart, Phil got out his clothes and started his day the same as he always did, even if he feared it would never be quite the same again.
The butcher looked over at Sir Coulson with all the confidence he was looking at a true blithering idiot and not one of the most respected knights in the realm.
“Say what about my meat?”
Coulson sighed, yes this is exactly how he wanted his morning to go.
“It’s a simple question, really. Have you noticed more exotic animals being brought to the shop recently?”
“Nope.”
“Really? I have an invoice here saying that our castle chefs bought a side of tiger here a few days ago.” Phil rattled off, not really caring at what was most likely a joke or a labeling error.
“That’s not unusual. Been getting tigers and wolves for years. “
“Say what now?” Phil startled back into paying attention. Was this nonsense Prince Stark sending him on actually something other than a way to get him out of the castle and leaving the Prince unsupervised for a few brief hours? “How come the castle is just hearing about this?”
The butcher crossed his arms with a glare.
“Not my fault the castle didn't do their business with the right butcher until old Ben died.”
“Right, of course not.” Coulson nodded, backpedaling slightly. “So how often do you get a delivery? And from where?”
“Couple times a week maybe. Depends. It’s always the god damn break of dawn though. Came yesterday, was real impatient. He never gave a name but he’s let it slip he lives in the woods outside the village with his sister. No one in the village has ever met her, the brother must be the real protective type.”
Phil’s mind was already reeling. Could it really be that easy? Hansel cursed into doing some witches bidding, getting on the wrong end of his morning hour yesterday where Phil stumbled upon his situation with the kids? It was easy enough to prove.
“Thank you for your time. I maybe back at another time with more questions.” He nodded at the butcher as he headed for the door.
“No rush.” Grumbled the butcher after him.
Phil found what he was looking for almost immediately beneath some shrubs just beyond the treeline of the butcher’s shop. A pile of hastily folded clothes, plain enough but with leather accents and he could practically picture Hansel putting them on...and taking them off and oh god. Phil smacked a hand to his face and shook it slightly. He definitely didn't have time for thoughts like that, he needed to get back to the castle and request back up.
As Lola sprinted back toward the castle, Phil worked on putting it all together. Hansel and Gretel, years ago get into some kind of trouble. Perhaps immediately upon leaving the Stark Kingdom back when he was a child! The witch does something with Gretel, holding her over Hansel’s head, should he not obey or return in an allotted time. She further curses Hansel to make him more pliable to her will and have equal hold over Gretel should she try to escape. She could use magic to blank out whatever memories she didn't want them to have (hunting witches for a start!) and uses Hansel to deliver tiger and wolf meat to the butcher for....some reason? Some plot?
Phil quickly thought back to what had made Prince Stark want to have him investigate in the first place. Meat tasting more of a game animal that fed previously on grass, he had said. A tiger would taste different, not as if it were a deer or a chipmunk. Was that what was happening here?
Was the meat bespelled?! Was the castle already infected with this treachery!? And the butcher has been selling it for years! Wait...shouldn't that mean the spell has already taken hold on most of the village? For what purpose?
Hansel, his Hansel. Childhood hero and first illuminating crush. The man who stopped even as his slightly scarier sister kept moving not noticing how her brother helped the fallen thirteen year old Phil up and handed him a lucky coin. His Hansel came to the butcher shop and due to some delay ran out of time, ditched his clothes, and went to return home to the witch as a bird only to pegged by some nasty kids the witch would have probably wanted to eat.
Phil felt his body thrum with purpose. He had a chance here to save his hero, and he was going to do it!
“Where were you!? Do you know how worried I was?” Natasha hissed angrily. “I was seconds away from going into town myself.”
Clint blinked at her. What did she want him to do? Apologize? He was a freaking bird again. For what it was worth he gave a pitiful caw in apology and flew up to land on her shoulder.
“Yes, well. I guess I’m going to have to wait for an explanation till tomorrow.” She sighed. Clint played with a curl of her red hair because he could and cawed with glee as he flew off her shoulder, waiting as she went to smack him out of the air, missing as he usual.
“Looks like you have an injury as well. Were you not going to tell me about that?” The fact she noticed by the barest of hesitation in his movement didn't surprise him. Just another thing that made Tasha, Tasha.
Again he blinked at her. STILL a bird. Not like any explanations were going to be immediately coming, that hadn't kept her from questioning him all morning though.
“Hmph. Don’t give me that look. I’m half tempted to give you a stick and have you write me a damn essay about what delayed you and apparently left you without your things, and injured.” They had tried that once early on and while it was moderately successful it was hard as hell and not at all fun.
He made an elongated whine of a noise to let her know his disapproval of that.
“Fine. If you aren't too tired from your adventure, want to check the traps? I think I heard some wolves on the western hill last night. I’m willing to bet we at least got one.”
Clint gave a nod and took to the air.
Natasha waited two beats, pulled her knife, and eased into the shadows. One intruder with several more on their heels, to be dealt with.
The knight was well armored but came off his horse easily and two seconds later was struggling with her on the ground, taking blows that would protect the vulnerable bits from her knife as he tried to press what size advantage he had.
It wouldn't do him much good for long against her speed and endurance, she gave him a mental pat on the back for being a thinker though.
“What have you done with Hansel!?” The knight called angrily.
“The witch hunter?” Natasha hissed back. “Are he and his sister around because they definitely missed one!”
“Don’t lie! You know what you've done, witch!” He called as he dodged another thrust, twisting her around with brute strength. Natasha’s eyes hardened.
“So you know and you’re here to kill me.” She rolled, sending her attacker flying with the momentum into a nearby pine tree. “ I may deserve it but I won’t go easily.”
He looked dazed. It would take three seconds to cross the space between them and slit his throat before he could take a breath. A whirling noise clicked on behind her ear and she dodged just as a beam of light tore through where her head had been, making a hole in several trees beyond it.
A giant red metal...thing! Person? Monster? Was attacking her now? Since when did knights have access to such weapons?
The blade of a sword appeared against her throat in silent threat. A flick of her eyes told her the knight had recovered while she had been distracted.
“Fine. Kill me and leave.” She growled at them. “You and your monster both.”
“Monster!?” An outraged mismatched voice echoed from inside the red thing.
“That’s the plan. Any last words?” The knight sneered. Natasha held her head up high.
“No.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “No, Clint!” She yelled as the large hawk flew down, diving right for the knights face. In an action too fast to see the knight jumped back slightly to dodge out of the way as Natasha took instant advantage of the knights diverted attention and swung her leg out in a full sweep sending the metal thing and the knight both crashing to the ground.
“Get them!” Came the voice from the fallen red thing. The knight was flailing his hands in confusion at the bird attacking.
“Hansel? What are you doing? I'm here to save you!”
“Clint, fly away!” Natasha screamed as she spotted several other knights swarming around them.
“Prince Anthony Stark! WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!” All action froze as the commanding voice boomed around them. The knight jumped up first as the red thing continued to flail on the ground like an upturned turtle.
“Your majesty! What are you doing here?!” He glanced to a knight at her side. “Why did you let the Queen come onto the field where we are fighting a witch? Do you know how dangerous...”
The Queen looked sharply to the knight.
“Is that what is going on here Sir Coulson? I've been watching this foolishness from the start. How many evil spells has she launched at you? How many times did she fly or summon her broomstick? From where I was standing, the total was not once. TONY! For Gods sake, get the hell off the ground! I don’t care if you need to get out of your new toy to do it. You look ridiculous!”
Natasha looked at the Queen in disbelief. She had never thought she would get to see Queen Virginia Potts in person and looking at her now she found it so odd that she could be even more beautiful than the rumors claimed. So sensible too, she looked everything like a Queen while still being dressed for travel in the woods. It was an envious skill.
“Queen Potts. Welcome to my cottage?” Natasha greeted in a quick and respectful curtsy. The Queen looked over Natasha and nodded approvingly.
“Well met, my lady. Would you do me the honor of telling me your name?” The Queen grinned, letting her mantle of charming diplomacy settle over her.
“Natasha Romanoff, my Queen.”
“That’s all well and good, but a little help please?!” Prince Stark called from his contraption. A stiff nod from the Queen and two knights peeled off to help the Prince still flailing on the ground.
“Very good, Ms. Romanoff. Normally I would have my most trusted knights inform me but in this instance I think I might like to hear from you as to what you perceive to be going on.”
“It’s a confusing and rather unbelievable tale to tell out loud.” She began with an apology.
“I think I’d like to hear it even more now then. I will give you a chance. I can’t even believe some of the people and things living in my own castle, believing you shouldn't be too difficult.”
Natasha took a deep breath and began. She told of how she was long ago trained by Babba Yaga to be a witches servant and killer. How she met Clint and his witch. Clint flew away from the knight and landed on her shoulder as she continued, stroking his feathers. The rest of it poured out, the things she was made to do and her and Clint’s daring escape. The bond that made them siblings. The cursed waters that had been avoided until Clint became a hawk and all the rest until her brother went missing yesterday and she was being attacked today.
When she was done she was exhausted but felt as if a large burden had been lifted.
“Such a tale!” The Queen remarked. She looked like she might cry or rush to give Natasha a hug.
“THAT’S where the tigers and wolves came from!” The Prince exclaimed slapping his newly freed hands together. He spotted a distinct not knight in the crowd and shouted over at him. “Bruce! You came too? We should start out at once and go investigate! The samples...”
“YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING!” The Queen roared back at the Prince. “At least not until you fix this mess.” She took a moment to compose herself and turned to the knight that attacked Natasha.
“Now that leaves why you thought she was a witch in the first place.” She rose an eyebrow, expecting an answer.
“Well your Majesty, I discovered...uh Clint...the hawk outside the butcher shop yesterday being stoned by some children. I brought him back to the castle for treatment. I suppose you could say I grew quite fond of him during our brief time together. Then this morning he was a man and we talked a little. He...was amazing...and he looked exactly like Hansel. He told me he had been cursed and how he had a sister. When I discovered it had been him delivering the magical animal meat to the butcher, I grievously fell to the wrong conclusion.”
“It’s true! He looks EXACTLY like Hansel!” Prince Tony proclaimed as he finally wriggled free from the suit. “Sir Coulson certainly has a type! Sister complex and all!”
“How would you know?” The Queen turned to him. The Prince just grinned.
“Jarvis told me. Saw the guy fall out the window and turn into a bird and everything. A very good looking NAKED guy I might add, must have been some talk, eh...OW!” The Prince cried and rubbed his cheek where a large pinecone had painfully bounced off. The Queen, Sir Coulson, and Clint all turned to Natasha as she innocently dropped a second pine cone back to the ground.
“Nice shot.” The Queen grinned.
“You should see Clint. He never misses.” Natasha nodded in return. Clint let out a caw in victory.
“Hey! I am the Royal Prince, no one is supposed to be attacking me!”
“You’re a royal pain in the ass is what you are.” Muttered the Queen and Natasha burst out laughing, surprising herself and definitely Clint.
“I'm really sorry, Natasha. Clint...I really was just trying to save you but I ended up attacking your sister. I almost killed her.” Sir Coulson winced, horrified and embarrassed by his actions. “I don’t know how to make it up to either of you."
“I do. I think we should all go back to the castle where we can give a proper apology. What do you say? You both want to come and stay with us at the castle for a while?” The Queen smiled. Natasha grinned and looked at Clint before looking back.
“We would love to, your majesty but I feel you should know. Sir Coulson wasn't entirely wrong about me. I could hear the spells on the water. I’ll become a witch someday.” Natasha grimaced. “I’d understand if you wouldn't want me in your castle.”
“No you won’t.” Bruce piped up, taking a step behind the Prince as all eyes swung to him. He nervously adjusted his glasses. “You won’t become a witch I mean. You already are one.” There was an explosion of noise as everyone started talking at once. The Queen gestured for everyone to quiet down and looked to Bruce with a serious expression.
“Perhaps you’d better explain Bruce.”
“Ah, yes your Majesty. This is just a theory but from what I heard here it stands to be a good one. First- I submit that if Clint Barton looks so much like Hansel the famous witch hunter, it is not too crazy to imagine that they are somehow related. An unknown son or nephew perhaps? Second- It is a little known fact but in Hansel and Gretel's bloodline there was a series of so called ‘white witches’. Not really witches how we know them but tapping into that same knowledge and power for good and positive reasons. Third- Natasha and Clint mingled their blood, that night in the woods. The next day, Natasha could understand supernatural phenomena that she previously could not. Finally-The magic in the witch bloodline passes more strongly to women. Clint would never even be aware of it except he would be more resistant to spells and magic than most. That’s probably why he’s able to become human occasionally and keep his sense of self. Natasha though...she should have the capabilities of a white witch already, if she wanted to explore and learn them that is.”
The group silently worked through what the man was saying in disbelief. Natasha couldn't believe it. All this time she thought she had this evil inside her ready to betray her. To think Clint’s blood had cured her of it and that she could actually be something good now. Clint nuzzled her neck and she pulled him into a hug.
“Ha...he had told me there were good witches. I didn't believe him.” Natasha sighed. Clint cawed happily in confirmation, glad that Natasha was hearing this news.
“Oh!” Natasha’s eyes widened in realization. “That’s why the witch didn't eat him as a boy! She must have suspected what was in his blood....or who he was related to.”
“So, Castle then? I think I could go for some wolf meat myself this time.” The Prince snarked looking around at the group. “Maybe with a nice glass of wine.” The group broke out into nods and grins as they headed toward their horses. Natasha was invited to ride next to the Queen and Sir Coulson was pleasantly surprised when the hawk left his sisters side and chose to accompany him for the ride back to the castle, showing he was forgiven, in part at least.
As the group dispersed leaving him behind, Prince Tony looked down at his red iron creation and sighed. “On second thought, make that a lot of wine.” Bruce patted him on the shoulder and offered his sympathies.
“I'm sure the next one will be better.”