Chapter Text
Arthur loves afternoons.
He loves it when the sun dips low, casting golden light over the rolling fields that surround his village. He loves it when the air thickens with the scent of tilled earth and when the sky fills with the calls of birds settling for the evening.
The best part of all, however, is that he’s allowed to slip away during the afternoons. Away from the shouting, the gruff demands of his brothers and father, the tension that seems to thrum through their home like an ever-present storm cloud.
His family is neither rich nor destitute, living in that odd space between hardship and comfort. Their farm provides enough to keep them fed, their work keeps them occupied, but there is never an abundance. His father wakes with the sun, and his mother works tirelessly to keep their home running, ensuring that every scrap of food is used and that every stitch in her boys’ clothing holds.
So far, Arthur’s been allowed to dream and wander. His three older brothers, all Alphas, bear heavier burdens. As the fourth son, Arthur knows he is expected to present as an Alpha as well, but… he's not sure if he wants to be an Alpha.
His brothers are loud, confident, always pushing and posturing. Their voices fill every room, their presence taking up all the space until Arthur feels like little more than a shadow at their heels. He’s too young to present yet, but that doesn’t stop the expectation from looming over him like a weight he can’t yet lift.
Would he be like them? Would he be expected to shove and snap and fight for his place at the table? Or worse… what if he wasn’t like them at all?
As much as Arthur doesn’t want to be an Alpha, he knows he doesn’t want to be an Omega either. He’s seen how male Omegas are treated, how they are spoken about in hushed tones or with dismissive sneers. A male Omega is less, less even than a female Omega. Less important, less respected, less listened to.
They aren’t expected to lead, to push back, to claim space the way Alphas do. Instead, they are meant to be soft, to yield, to accept the place the world gives them without complaint. Arthur has watched how people look at the few male Omegas in the village, how they are treated like delicate things, like something that needs to be kept rather than heard.
The farmers talk about them like they talk about livestock, as if their worth is measured not by who they are but by what they are. The older boys snicker behind their backs, whispering things Arthur only half understands but knows aren’t kind. Even his father, who rarely speaks of such things, shakes his head when one is mentioned, muttering things like waste of a strong frame or shame he was born that way.
Arthur doesn’t want that, either.
He doesn’t want to be something his father pities. He doesn’t want to be the person others assume is weak, someone they think they can push or mold into something convenient. He doesn’t want to be like the old shopkeeper’s son, who never speaks louder than a murmur, who flinches when his father calls his name. He doesn’t want to be like the baker’s brother, who was sent away to live with distant relatives because there was no place for him here.
He doesn’t want to be less.
But he doesn’t want to be like his brothers either, doesn’t want to be loud for the sake of being loud, doesn’t want to spend his days fighting to be heard, doesn’t want to be another version of them.
He just wants to be Arthur.
He tries not to think about it, but it’s always there, lingering in the back of his mind.
For now, he exists in the in-between. Old enough to work, to carry water and tend to the animals, but not important enough to be considered. Not strong enough to be included in his brothers’ scuffles, not skilled enough for his father to rely on him the way he does the others.
His mother sees him, at least. She lets him wander, lets him slip away into the forest when his chores are done, and doesn't expect him to be something he’s not yet ready to be.
His feet barely make a sound against the soft grass as Arthur runs across the fields, toward the treeline. The forest is dark and cool as it welcomes him into its vast depths, and for the first time that day, he relaxes.
Here, among the trees and tangled underbrush, he can pretend the rest of his admittedly small world doesn’t exist. His mother had given him her usual warning before allowing him to venture out.
"Stay near the paths, don’t cross the river, and stay away from the fairy rings."
The words are drilled into him like the kind of lesson meant to keep a child safe. Not to keep him from adventure, just from danger.
To twelve-year-old Arthur, this is fine. The forest is huge, far bigger than his little world of fields and farms, and there’s still so much he hasn’t explored, even without crossing the river. It stretches on forever, or at least it feels that way, full of secrets just waiting for him to uncover them.
Still, boys will be boys, as his mother often says when his brothers get too rough, when a clay pot ends up shattered or a wooden stool is knocked over in their wrestling. Arthur knows what she means when she says it: that boys are curious, restless, eager to push the edges of the world around them.
And lately, Arthur has been pushing.
A little at first, just stepping off the beaten paths, daring to wander into the underbrush, his feet light and careful. Always with good intentions, of course, he’s not a bad kid, not reckless like his brothers can be.
He only strays when he has a reason, like finding berries for his mother to use in her baking, or searching for fallen bird eggs to bring home and marvel at before placing them back where he found them.
But each time, he lingers a little longer. Strays a little farther.
There’s something about the forest, something that makes it feels like his place, a world apart from the noise and the expectations of home. And if he wanders just a little too far sometimes…
Well, no one has noticed yet.
Today, something catches his attention. A small brown rabbit darts just ahead, its white tail flashing like a beacon as he gets spooked by Arthur’s presence and flees. Arthur’s curiosity sparks, and he follows, weaving through the undergrowth and stepping over gnarled roots as he attempts to chase the quick creature.
He doesn’t realize how far he’s wandered until the trees thin and he steps into a clearing. The rabbit is nowhere to be seen, but that’s not what causes Arthur to falter.
In front of him, the ground is dappled with mushrooms, perfectly arranged in a large circle.
A fairy ring.
Arthur freezes, his mother’s voice echoing in his mind.
She often tells him stories about the fairies, their playful and mischievous nature, the dangers they pose to those who stray too close.
Fairies, she says, can be as charming as they are nefarious, their laughter sweet and their tricks cruel. They are known to swap little children for one of their own, leaving behind strange and eerie children who never quite fit.
Even worse, they could capture those who step inside a fairy ring, trapping them in their world, a place where time flows differently and where one could lose decades in the blink of an eye.
Slowly, Arthur takes a step backward, but nothing happens. The air doesn’t shimmer, there are no hands reaching out to pull him in. A frown creases his brow.
What if these stories are just that? Stories?
His mother had once convinced him that mountains were giants, too, and that proved to be nothing more than a tale.
His fingers twitch. One small touch can’t hurt. Just a little tap, just to see…
His fingertip brushes the soft cap of a mushroom.
“You shouldn’t touch those with your bare hands.”
The voice is deep and smooth, like warm honey laced with warning. Arthur stumbles back, his heart hammering in his chest as he trips and falls on his rear.
Looking up, he sees a man standing inside the ring in front of him, tall and dressed in black. Dark smoke curls at his feet, as if he’d risen from the earth itself. His hair is as black as a raven’s wing, and his skin is as pale as moonlight. But it’s his eyes that unsettle Arthur the most: icy blue, almost glowing, watching him with curiosity and amusement.
And then there are the horns. Twisting black ram’s horns that curve back over his head.
Arthur’s mouth goes dry.
A fairy. A real one.
The fairy steps closer to the edge of the ring and leans forward, his gaze settling on Arthur like a cat watching a particularly interesting mouse. Trying to look braver than he feels, Arthur quickly climbs back to his feet and takes a cautious step back, just in case.
“Why not come a little closer?” He coaxes. “I’ll tell you more.”
Arthur stiffens, his heart hammering against his ribs as the fairy lifts a hand, palm up, beckoning him forward. The smoky tendrils curling from his fingertips dance in the air, slow and enticing.
“Come on.” The fairy’s voice is gentle, coaxing, and now Arthur can see that he has fangs. “I promise, nothing bad will happen.”
Arthur scowls and takes a step back instead. “You promise? That’s exactly what a monster like you would say before stealing someone away!”
The fairy laughs, low and rich, the sound curling around Arthur like smoke. “Do I look like I need to steal anything? If I wanted you, wouldn’t I have taken you already?”
Arthur hesitates. “Maybe you’re waiting for me to be foolish enough to step inside first.”
The fairy’s grin widens. “Oh? And what would happen if you did?”
Arthur straightens. “You’d kidnap me and take me away to your world, and I’d never see my family again.”
The fairy sighs, pressing a hand over his heart as though Arthur had wounded him.
“Kidnap is such an ugly word. “He laments. “I prefer invite. But alright, I suppose if you’re too scared…”
“I’m not scared!” Arthur snaps, bristling.
The fairy’s smirk deepens. “Then what’s stopping you?”
Arthur hesitates only for a moment before stomping his foot. “Because my mother told me not to! She says fairies lie, and they trick people into stepping inside! That’s the only reason you want me to do it!”
“Fairies, huh?” The fairy lets out a dramatic sigh, rubbing his temples as though Arthur’s stubbornness is giving him a headache. “Mothers do have a way of spoiling all the fun.”
Then, with an air of lazy indifference, he takes a single step back from the edge of the fairy ring.
Arthur’s heart leaps. His chest puffs out with confidence: his mother had been right! Fairies can’t leave the rings. He had been cautious before, unsure of the truth, but now armed with proof, curiosity wins over fear.
He plants his feet more firmly on the ground, shoulders squaring as he eyes the figure before him. “Who are you?”
The man tilts his head, his pale blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Alfred.”
Arthur frowns. That doesn’t sound like a very fairy-like name. He crosses his arms, determined to get answers. “Where are you from?”
Alfred’s lips twitch into an amused smile. “A magical place.”
Arthur isn’t satisfied.
“Do you live in this ring?” He presses, his gaze flicking to the mushrooms surrounding Alfred’s feet.
Alfred hums, his expression one of quiet amusement. “I travel between rings.”
Arthur narrows his eyes. His mother never mentioned that fairies could do that. He makes a mental note to look for more fairy rings in the future, to see if he can catch another one. “You are a fairy, right?”
Alfred chuckles, the sound low and rich, curling through the air like smoke. “Something like that.”
Arthur isn’t sure if he should believe anything Alfred tells him. But Alfred isn’t trying to drag him into the ring, isn’t laughing wickedly or casting spells. He just stands there, watching with that same faint amusement, as if Arthur himself is the curious thing in this exchange.
Arthur straightens. “I have a lot of questions.”
Alfred exhales, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Do you, now?”
Arthur nods, stepping just close enough that the tips of his boots brush the edge of the ring, but never over. He isn’t foolish. “Like… where do you go when you travel? How did you get here? And why do you have horns?”
“Curious little thing, aren’t you?” He studies Arthur for a moment, then shrugs, as if resigning himself to the interrogation. “What is your name?”
Arthur hesitates. Never tell a fairy your full name, his mother had warned him once before bed. Names hold power. To give yours freely is to hand them a thread to weave into their magic, a tether they can use to pull you into their realm.
Just his first name, then. That should be safe.
“…Arthur.”
Alfred’s smile widens just slightly. “Nice to meet you, Arthur.”
Arthur shifts from foot to foot, unsure what to think. Alfred doesn’t seem dangerous, not in the way his mother had described fairies. He isn’t laughing wickedly, nor is he trying to drag Arthur into the ring. He just stands there, watching, like Arthur is the strange and fascinating creature in this scenario. He clears his throat, curiosity overpowering his discomfort. “So, where do you go when you travel?”
Alfred gives a slow, knowing smile. “Many places.”
“That’s not an answer.” Arthur accuses with a scowl.
The fairy chuckles, rich and warm, like embers crackling in a fire. It raises the little hairs on Arthur’s arms. “It is, if you know how to hear it.”
Arthur huffs. “And how did you get here? If you travel between rings, does that mean you can disappear whenever you want?”
Alfred lifts a hand, and for a moment, dark smoke curls between his fingers before dissipating like it had never been there at all. “More or less. Coming and going isn’t as simple as you might think.”
Arthur watches the smoke fade, fascinated. He doesn’t know what Alfred is, but he knows he’s not like the fairies his mother described. Still, just in case, he remains cautious: Alfred might not be able to leave the ring, but he might still be able to cast a spell on Arthur.
“Do all fairies have horns?” Arthur asks, narrowing his eyes. Alfred tilts his head slightly, as if giving Arthur a better look.
“No. They’re a gift.” He pauses, then smirks. “Or a curse, depending on how you look at it.”
Arthur considers this. “Did you grow them or were you born with them?”
“Ah, now that’s a good question.” Alfred laughs and folds his arms. “Let’s just say, I didn’t always have them.”
Arthur’s brow furrows. “Did it hurt?”
Alfred raises an eyebrow. “Why? Are you planning on growing horns?”
“No! But it looks like it would hurt.”
“Pain is relative.” Alfred says mysteriously, with a lazy shrugs, and Arthur frowns. He doesn't like that answer, nor does he really understand what Alfred means, but he decides it's not worth finding out so he changes the subject.
“If you don’t live here, where do you live?”
Alfred smiles again, and for the first time, it looks almost genuine. “Somewhere far from here.”
Arthur narrows his eyes. “That’s another one of those answers that isn’t really an answer.”
“You catch on quickly.”
Arthur squints at him. “...Do you eat people?”
Alfred blinks before throwing his head back and laughing a full, genuine laugh, not just an amused chuckle. “Do I eat people?”
Arthur folds his arms, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. “It’s a valid question!”
“No, Arthur, I don’t eat people.” Alfred answers, sounding somewhat exasperated.
Arthur relaxes slightly, then squints again. “But could you?”
“You’re awfully concerned about whether or not I’m planning to eat you.” Alfred says, appearing genuinely amused as he looks down at Arthur with a smirk, and Arthur shifts uncomfortably.
“Well… it’s just that you do have fangs.”
Alfred taps one of his pointed canines with his fingertip, as if considering. “Fair enough.”
Arthur studies him for a moment. “Can you fly?”
“Do I look like I have wings?” Alfred asks, his lips curling into another grin.
Leaning to his side, Arthur attempts to peek at Alfred's back. He thinks he sees something shimmer in the air, but it could be a trick of the light, so he shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re invisible.”
Alfred lets out another chuckle, shaking his head. “You really do ask a lot of questions, Arthur.”
“I like knowing things.” Arthur mutters, suddenly a little embarrassed.
Alfred watches him for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he nods, as if to himself. “A dangerous habit. But admirable.”
Arthur considers this. If Alfred admires Arthur for asking questions, then it must mean he does not mind. What else can he ask? Oh, he knows! “Are fairies really afraid of iron?”
Alfred lets out another low laugh. “Well, that depends on who you ask.”
“What about salt? My mom says salt keeps fairies away.” Arthur asks, his eyes lighting up, but his excitement deflates quickly when Alfred gives him an unimpressed look. “So it doesn’t work?”
“Maybe.” Alfred says as he shrugs. “Maybe not.”
Arthur crosses his arms. “You’re really bad at answering questions.”
“And yet, you keep asking them.”
Arthur has no response to that. He huffs, scuffing his boot against the dirt before glancing up at the sky. The sun is sinking lower. He really has to go, his mother will expect him home soon.
“I have to go.” He says with some reluctance. “But… I’ll come back. If you’re still here.”
Alfred raises a brow. “Is that so?”
“You don’t seem so bad.” Arthur admits, pursing his lips as he looks Alfred over once more.
“High praise.” Alfred says with another chuckle. Then, his expression shifts slightly, something more serious clouding his features. “But if you do return, Arthur, don’t tell anyone about me.”
Arthur blinks. “Why not?”
Alfred smiles, but it wasn’t as teasing as before. “Because if you do, I’ll never come back.”
Arthur’s stomach twists. It’s not a threat, but there is a finality in Alfred’s tone that makes him uneasy. He doesn’t want Alfred to disappear, not when he still has so many questions.
“…Alright.” Arthur agrees. “I won’t tell anyone. But you’ll be here?”
Alfred nods once, satisfied. “Oh, I’ll be here.”
Arthur hesitates before turning on his heel. But just as he starts walking away, Alfred’s voice reaches him one last time.
“Remember.” Alfred calls, voice almost too soft for Arthur to hear. “If you tell anyone about me… I’ll never come back.”
When Arthur arrives home, the scent of simmering stew fills the air, warm and familiar. His mother stands by the hearth, stirring the pot with a practiced hand, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. A strand of hair has fallen loose from her braid, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on her work.
His brothers are crowded around the table, shoving at one another between bites of bread. Alistair grumbles as he elbows Dylan hard in the ribs. “Move over!”
“I was here first!” Dylan snaps, shoving him back.
“Both of you, stop it!” Seamus groans, trying to keep hold of the loaf in his hands before one of them snatches it away. “Or at least wait until after we’ve eaten to beat each other up.”
Arthur lingers by the door, watching them with mild amusement. It’s always like this, his brothers are always filling the house with noise, always roughhousing, always taking up space. But today, Arthur feels apart from it, carrying something entirely his own.
A secret.
His mother glances over her shoulder, wiping her hands on her apron. “Arthur, you’re late coming home.”
Arthur hesitates, gripping the strap of his satchel. The words sit on the tip of his tongue (I met a fairy) but instead, he swallows them down.
“I saw a rabbit!” He exclaims instead, stepping forward quickly to distract from his moment of hesitation.
His mother hums, raising an eyebrow at him as if she senses something unsaid. “Did it get away?”
Arthur nods, shifting on his feet. “Yeah. But I think I’ll see it again.”
Dylan snorts. “You always say that.”
Arthur scowls. “Well, maybe I will this time.”
“Maybe he’ll bring it home like that dumb bird he tried to keep last spring.” Seamus teases. “What was its name again?”
Arthur glares. “His name was Mint and he wasn’t dumb!”
Alistair snickers. “He was dumb. He flew straight into the house.”
“And straight into Mother’s soup pot.” Dylan adds with a grin.
Arthur gasps, appalled. “He did not! ”
His mother shakes her head, exasperated. “Mint was set free, and if you all don’t settle down, none of you will be eating tonight.”
The boys groan but quiet just enough to satisfy her.
Arthur moves to his usual seat at the table, but his mind is elsewhere. As his brothers bicker and their mother sets out bowls, he wonders what Alfred is doing now. Is he still standing in the ring, waiting? Would he disappear the moment Arthur left? Or was he watching, somehow, from wherever it was he really came from?
A shiver prickles down his spine, but he shakes it off quickly.
For now, his secret is safe.