Fae Mischief
Lilia’s eyes popped open to quiet darkness. The introduction was quick, the woman and field of lilies there and gone in seconds. He blinked up at his wings, not truly seeing them, only barely aware of the cooling weight of the child on top of him. Truly, it seemed no matter how old he got, there was always more for him to learn. Never in all the centuries he’d lived had he ever encountered something like that woman. She wasn’t a living being nor was she a parasite attached to the boy. No, she was something more like a patron, something he himself had never seen before though he’d read of them in the past.
He looked down at the boy, the orphan, meeting jewel-like green eyes identical to the woman’s.
“Huh,” he breathed out softly. An ancestral spirit, likely a parent, attached to a child. Now that right there was a difficult piece of magic. Old, ancient, magic. Sacrificial magic. Now that he was looking, truly looking, he could see faint remnants of a ritual swirling around in pale golden streams. It was young, powerful, perhaps only a decade old. Impressive for a human, especially one so young. Very impressive if he was right about the woman’s age, though he’d never been very good with human ages. If he had to guess, he’d place her only a year or two older than an NRC fourth year.
It was extraordinary that a human that young could ever even get close to this sort of magic. It was the same sort of magic that protected Silver before Lilia had found the then-infant, something that stumped him even 16 years later. He knew for a fact he’d be hard-pressed to achieve a similar feat at 700, much less in his younger years. A smile grew as he examined the golden strands twinning through the child’s skin.
There was no doubt in his mind that the protection would’ve attempted to kill him if he’d meant the child any harm. Whether the enchantments would’ve been able to kill him was something he didn’t quite want to ponder, though he did acknowledge that he should probably not prod at potentially deadly magic in the future. He’d leave those habits to his younger, far more reckless, self.
Soft snickering drew his attention to the child. The boy’s eyes strayed past Lilia as he grinned up at him weakly, baring bloody little teeth, tiny fangs just barely visible through the muck.
So. Fucking. Cute. Lilia’s heart twinged in his chest and he fought down the urge to pinch and pull at the child’s gaunt cheeks. By Mab’s grace, he was so weak. He’d loved Malleus before his eldest had even hatched and bawled like a wimp the day he’d broken from his shell. He’d fallen completely in love with Silver the moment the infant squeezed his finger, from that moment on there was absolutely no question about whether or not he’d adopt the baby. Sebek had taken a bit longer. At first Baul’s grandson had simply been a student, a way to repay Baul for all he’d done to help Lilia with Silver, but slowly over the years, he’d come to view Sebek as his own.
He was so, so, weak. He almost wanted to sob. Fatherhood had made him so soft, even if only for his boys, and perhaps that was a good thing. None of his boys had a mean bone between them, not even Malleus. His eldest could be snarky and arrogant but mean? No, but that was what Lilia was there for. Sebek was an insecure little thing, his skin was as strong as untempered glass. His family had sheltered the boy as much as they could from the attitudes of the Fae within the valley, though it would never be enough.
His people had long lives and even longer memories. Sebek and Silver had both been exposed to far more animosity than he felt any child should be. Sebek had been spared the full hate of their people due to his half-fae status but Silver had not. Foundling or not, Silver was still very human despite Lilia’s various attempts to push him closer to immortality. The Fae of the Valley had not taken well to his second son, and Silver had grown a thick barrier against their contempt. Despite that contempt, Silver still saw the good in the world in a way Lilia almost envied.
This child was different from any of his sons though. Pain was evident in every expression, in every breath, but he still smiled. He suffered but he still smiled and maybe that was why Lilia felt so drawn to the poor boy. Because Lilia could see a reflection of himself in those vibrant, luminescent, so very bright eyes. It was almost like looking into a mirror of the past. Lilia could scarcely remember a time before his own adoption, but those few memories were dark. He’d been so angry at the world back then before Queen Maleficia had taken him in.
He’d learnt young how to smile through the pain, how to keep himself from drowning in it, but seven hundred years was a long time to smile. He’d found his happiness where he could, made it during the war, during those dark, dark, decades after Maleanor and Revan’s deaths. Now he had a reason, one other than to distract himself from the pain, to smile.
“What about you,” the boy asked softly, wheezily, his lungs struggling all the while. The child’s smile glowed in the darkness, “What are you?”
Lilia smiled softly down at him, unable to help himself before that innocent mirror of himself. This child had experienced such pain in his short life and it hurt for Lilia to think of it. He could see the past in too-gaunt cheeks and too-thin wrists. The bony elbows digging into his stomach told a story of lean times with too little food. A human child, barely even a decade, had already learnt what had taken Lilia nearly forty years to learn. He’d learnt something Lilia dearly wished no child would ever have to learn. Lilia did not under any circumstance want any child to be like him.
What could he give to apologize for the world’s cruelty? For life’s cruelty?
He cupped the child’s gaunt, far too-thin cheek. How many nights had this child cradled an aching stomach? How long had he gone without food, without the warmth of a hearth? Had the boy learnt to eat anything and everything put before him, regardless of age or taste as long as it filled an empty stomach?
The child’s skin was damp and cold against his palm. He dragged his thumb ever so gently beneath the child’s eye. He felt the thin-thin-so-veryfragile skin there, the way his nail skimmed the surface. The child didn’t look away, didn’t draw back, if anything he leaned closer.
Oh, you poor naive little thing.
He’d never really considered his adoption of Silver as theft but this, this was stealing wasn’t it? The humans would try to stop him, but they’d tried with Silver too. Maybe he could just take this one in for a little while? Just long enough to find him a good family? “Stealing” implied there were owners and the child had none, it was only right for him to find him somewhere permanent to stay. He could take the boy as a ward, just a temporary ward.
But for now, he needed to give the child something, an introduction just as valuable as the boy’s. Oh, that was difficult, but Lilia was sure he had something. No matter what he gave, he wanted to keep track of this little one. He’d saved the child, after all, their continued life was his responsibility. He’d not have the child suffer even further after this.
“Oh, what a dangerous game you play, you clever child,” he whispered. So very dangerous indeed. Was he willing to dance across the treaties that kept such a tenuous peace between his beloved home and his previous enemies for the second time in sixteen years?
“What am I, indeed?” He muttered more to himself than the child. He was a greedy, greedy being. He was a lot of things, but most of all at that moment, as he gazed into fearless verdant eyes, he was certain he’d love nothing more than to fight for this little one’s right to safety.
Something was stirring in his chest, a creature long buried beneath age and responsibility began to wake. Would the child fear him if he saw? If the boy knew just what he was tangling with? They were disastrously alike, the two of them, and not many people liked being confronted with their faults. Lilia chuckled at himself, at his utter foolishness. No, the child wouldn’t be afraid, because for creatures like them finding another wasn’t something to fear. The child likely thought himself alone in the world, just like Lilia had felt as a youngling, and for beings like them, being alone was the worst form of torture.
“I, child,” He began, finally deciding on his introduction. The child had bared himself, his soul, his loneliness, his pain and that was not something easily repaid, “am Lilia Vanrouge, Fae of the Autumn Court.”
Lilia watched as the little monster in his arms fell to the magic of his Name, tightening his arms so the child wouldn’t roll. He’d have to move soon, no doubt the medics were on their way by this point. He could imagine the utter chaos they’d cause if they found him and the child so close. As it was, simply being in the room was already pushing the boundaries of legality. Not that he cared overmuch. The Isle of Sages was not his country and therefore he owed the Isle no obedience. Granted, once the child was taken to the Land of Dawning for medical care, he’d have to abide by the treaty, but until then he could do whatever he wanted. He would be subject to his Queen’s laws and no other.
With a long-suffering sigh, Lilia reluctantly pulled his wings back, wincing at the bright fluorescent lights of the nurse’s office and the tugging burn in his bones. He really was getting too old. What he would give for time to just stop, just pause for a little bit, but not even he had that power.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted the boy onto the bed, rolling himself off the mattress to stand. His geas fell back over his wings, hiding them from human sight and touch. His arms popped obscenely as he stretched them over his head with a groan. He didn’t have much time until the medics arrived if his estimate was right, but he had enough to figure out how to wrangle a way for him to accompany the child to the hospital. He had the distinct feeling the child would not be at all happy if he woke up surrounded by complete strangers. Lilia knew for a fact he’d be more than a bit displeased if he were in the child’s place without a familiar face. Even if they’d only exchanged a word or two, trauma tended to make people latch onto the slightest bit of safety.
He glanced at the door as he took a seat on one of the other beds. Was it really so bad that he wanted to make sure the boy was properly cared for? It was only natural, as a father. He was not getting attached, not this quickly, but his boys were almost fully grown and he missed the chaos of a youngling. Soon enough Malleus, Silver, and Sebek would all be off to make their own lives and he’d be left alone to watch them from afar.
He hummed absently as he scratched at the dry blood on his shirt, a small frown tugging at his lips. He hated being alone, hated silence and stillness too much. He had his moments where he enjoyed a bit of peace and quiet, but if life had taught him anything it was that silence was something to be suspicious of. Even now that his boys were older he still found himself going still, ears twitching for any hint of mischief. When one had as boisterous boys as he did, silence began to mean trouble.
He’d been horrified the first time Silver came home hiding a broken wrist. He and Sebek had tried to hide it from him, but his youngest were truly horrible at subtlety. Fae children did not get injured as easily as human children, especially once they were a few decades old. No, with Fae children it was sickness that proved far more of a threat. A Fae’s worst fear was their child growing sick. Illness and disease took far more of their children than any amount of bloodshed ever would. It was the reason so many Fae found themselves so very desperate for a child and why a select few had sworn to never have any of their own.
Even as old as he was, Lilia couldn’t help the lurch in his stomach, the utter dread that tried to overcome him, at the sight of the boy’s too-pale skin and grey-blue lips. The sweat that stuck to the child’s forehead made panic swirl in his chest, but he pushed that dread and panic down with all the experience of a man who had lived far too many lifetimes to be ruled by emotion. This wasn’t sickness, it was an injury dyeing the child’s skin grey.
“Right through here. We took them straight to the nurse’s office the moment we could.”
His eyes snapped away from the boy as the door swung open. Crowley fluttered in with his usual extravagance followed by a contingent of stern-faced white mages. Almost as one the mages froze as they caught sight of him and Lilia grinned, fangs on open display and a very visible threat. One of them, a boy with pale blond hair and crystalline blue eyes flinched back, eyes lowering to the floor with stiff raised shoulders. Bubbly amusement roiled in his veins, pushing at him with the near-irresistible temptation of mischief.
A woman with calico cat ears and a twitching, swishing, tail barked out orders in rapid-paced Corali. That would be a bit of an issue. He hadn’t taken the time to listen past the translation spell that had been woven around the boy by the Night Raven College gates, but he knew well enough that it wasn’t a language he’d heard before. It had similarities to a few languages he’d heard around the world, but other than sounding vaguely familiar he hadn’t thought much of it. NRC’s translation spells were centered around the students and staff, linked to the gates all students arrived in. There was absolutely no way the child was going to understand any of them unless one of them had their own enchantments.
His eyes lingered on the beastfolk woman, or more specifically, the enchantments woven through her coat. The crimson lining stood out against the white, nearly hiding the gold stitching of the crescent moon on her sleeve. A combat medic then? Interesting indeed. Lilia stifled a giggle. Oh, she was going to hate him.
His ear twitched as the little heartbeat on the bed picked up again. Subtly, he moved closer to the bed, keeping an eye on the medics as he settled on the edge of the mattress. The magic of their introduction still lay heavily around the boy, layering itself on his skin, pressing knowledge into his soul. It wouldn’t be too much longer until the boy woke. Gently, he stroked the child’s bloody, damp hair.
The woman kept a stern eye on him, placing herself between him and the other medics. Her hesitance was completely understandable and rather flattering. It was so very pleasing to see he was remembered even centuries later. He was pretty sure there was still a warning about him in textbooks. He certainly remembered defacing more than a few with his picture in them.
Lilia hummed softly as the child drew closer to the surface. The boy would be frazzled for sure when he came out of the stupor brought on by the Fae magic, but Lilia hoped he could curtail any potential panic. He watched closely, humming all the while before the child jerked with a dragging gasp. Green eyes flashed golden as the boy finally surfaced, lurching against the cushions with trembling, choking breaths. The boy nearly rolled off the bed, if it hadn’t been for Lilia grabbing his shoulder.
“Be at ease, Littlest One. The white mages are here now, they’ll be taking you to a hospital shortly,” he murmured soothingly, staring into the hawk-yellow eyes of the beastwoman with a condescending smile.
The medics were frozen in place, each of them looking between him and the combat medic, waiting for orders. The beastwoman’s eyes snapped between Lilia and the boy, her jaw flexing. He raised an eyebrow at her subtly, a silent “What are you gonna do about it?”
And what could she do about it? Both she and Lilia knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him if he truly wanted to do anything. How was she going to handle this situation? How would she approach an enemy she couldn’t hope to fight while protecting her underlings and her patient?
Lilia bared his teeth in a testing smile, pleasure sparking through him when she didn’t flinch or back down. Good, very good. That earned her just a tad bit of his respect. It took guts and a not-insignificant amount of bravery to stare him down. He’d met centuries-old Fae incapable of the feat. Part of him ached to see how far he could push her, how far she could go, and what she would do. How did her training hold up against that of her centuries passed predecessors?
The boy twisted, a hand reaching out for him, hazy eyes half open and searching. The beastwoman’s eyes widened and with a twitch of her tail, the other medics surged forward. Lilia held back a laugh as he danced away from the child, pushing down the instinctive discomfort that came from leaving the boy’s side. He held his hands up in mock surrender as the woman approached him, her ears pinned to her head and her tail fluffing up with every step.
Hate and caution bled from her as she stood before him, her chin ducked just enough to cover her vulnerable neck. He almost wanted to nod in approval. Many had underestimated him due to his height, that caution would do her very well, especially dealing with him. That caution was simple self-preservation when it came to interacting with him. Every human king and queendom knew about his past exploits, he’d made sure of that. There was a reason his picture was featured prominently in textbooks and even more reason why a modern-day combat medic recognized him on sight.
With the deaths of Maleanor and Revan, it’d been left to him to instill fear into the Land of Brairs’ enemies and he had done so with enthusiasm.
He’d made a game out of hunting down every single medic that graced the battlefields.
He’d made the world balk at his rage, he’d made empires feel fear and he enjoyed every single second of it.
It didn’t matter to him if they wielded a weapon or not, if they helped the enemy then they could die with the enemy. Countries had outcried at his so-called “depravity”, his “cruelty”, and his Queen had laughed as she burned them to the ground along with their petty complaints of war crimes.
He was Fae. What did mortal morality mean to someone who had seen that morality change with the centuries? What did depravity, cruelty, mean to the Unseelie Queen? Why the fuck would a species known for their wrath give two shits about their enemies?
Lilia giggled with malicious satisfaction. Fear lurked in the beastwoman’s eyes, rancid and miasmal. Yes, he had earned that fear and it was so very satisfying to see it alive and well four hundred years later.