Chapter Text
“Don’t do this!”
His pleas meant nothing to the man, Julek can see it in the strangers eyes as he stalks towards his father, a coldness he had never quite seen in anyone before. Even in the nobles who seemed untroubled and care-free, there had always been a certain lust within them, a gluttony. This man before them seemed empty, like his insides were all carved out and never replaced.
“I have money, more than whoever is paying you!” The Viscount was shaking as he took a step back, his hands coming in contact with the desk. The stranger remained silent, approaching at a snail’s pace, blade in his hand dripping with blood. Julek stood silently to the side, head tilted, not entirely sure what was happening or who this man was that struck such fear into his father. The father that had always been hard-hearted, the father who had no problem striking Julek or the servants - anyone weaker than him really - yet he cowered in front of this stranger.
“I don’t need money,” The man finally spoke, his voice cold and rough with disuse.
“There must be something I can-” The Viscount stopped mid-sentence, eyes drawn to Julek who stood in the corner, blinking mildly as his young mind tried to comprehend what was happening. “The boy! You can take the boy. I know your order, I recognize the symbol on your hand. Your kind is always looking for fresh bodies!”
“I can find a recruit on the streets,” The man continued, hand now fisting into the Viscounts silken shirt, blade raised.
“He’s different! He’s not- not human! He’d be better. I can give you the boy and money if you let me live,” The Viscount’s eyes were squeezed shut, flinching away from the blade inches from his face. The movements stilled as the stranger turned to look at Julek, icy eyes flicking over the boy a few times before returning back to the Viscount.
“You’d hand over your son for your life?”
A slight sneer came to the Viscounts face as he looked at Julek. “He’s not mine. Not really.”
“Interesting,” The man hummed and in one quick movement he had brought his blade across the Viscounts throat, the only sound in the room was the gurgling of a dying man and the sound of his body hitting the floor.
The stranger turned to Julek. He was a tall, taller than his father had been and his face was covered by a mask, though his dark hair was cropped short, specks of blood spattered through it. He wore leather armor, different from the bulk that Julek’s family’s guards wore, lighter and darker stained, though this too was splattered with blood and viscera. The man leaned down so that he was eye-to-eye with Julek and pulled his mask down, showing sharp features and eerie blue eyes.
Julek blinked a few times, a sort of shimmer coming over him as his eyes, green to emulate the Viscount, now swirled and changed to the same icy blue the stranger had. This earned him only a quirked eyebrow in response. Soon his soft brown locks changed to a similar shade of black to the strangers, the pair of them looking almost related now.
“Very interesting,” the Stranger spoke in his deep rumble. “What’s your name?”
“Julek,” He replied.
The stranger gave him another once over, pointing to the fading green bruise that bloomed on Julek’s jaw. “Did the Viscount do that?”
Julek peered around him at the body of his father, something in his innocent mind trying to reconcile the bloody corpse on the floor with his lack of experience with death and the image of his furious father, always seeming bigger than anyone. He looked back at the stranger. “It was ‘cause I talk too much.”
The strangers expression turned pinched and he stood up, pulling the mask back to cover the lower half of his face while he stretched out his hand, fingers wiggling in offer. Julek looked between the Viscount’s body and the stranger in front of him, hand outstretched like a lifeline.
His little hand clasped into the much larger one, his now blue eyes looking up at the stranger. “What’s your name?”
“Ciaran,” The stranger answered as he put his blade away in a sheath on his hip and led the boy out of the office.
The manner was silent, completely still. There was no hustle of skirts as servants rushed by, no clanking of armor as guards patrolled, no shrieks of his mother and whatever it was she was displeased with. There was only silence and the acrid scent of something like copper that reminded Jaskier of when he had scraped his knees on the front steps of the manner.
His eyes searched around, occasionally noticing someone lying on the floor, though he wasn’t sure why. The stranger, Ciaran, ignored it all as he tugged him towards the front of the manor, the pair of them walking out of the large doors and into the moonlight. They trailed away from the property towards the woods nearby that Julek’s mother had made him swear he would never go towards. He could very distinctly remember the pain in his arm as she squeezed it, eyes frantic and words even harsher than usual. The bruise had lasted weeks.
For the first time in the whole evening, the boy felt fear. His footsteps faltered and he resisted the pull of Ciaran’s hand, causing the man to twist to look at him. He half expected the man to strike him for his disobedience, like his father always had. Instead, he looked down at Julek, eyes flicking over him once again, appraising.
“Are you afraid, boy?” Ciaran asked, leaning down once again to be within eyeline. He received a slight nod as an answer. “It’s fine. You won’t always be afraid. But we’re going into the forest. You can be afraid, but you still have to go.”
“My mother said-”
“Your mother’s not here,” Ciaran chided, his voice coming out firm. Julek blinked, looking back at the manor behind him and the strange man in front of him. He nodded slightly and Ciaran put his hands under the boy’s armpits, lifting him up and carrying him into the forest.
He looked over the man’s shoulder at his home, the estate fading away as they entered the forest and trees began to block his way. They stalked through the greenery for a while longer before they stopped and Julek twisted in Ciaran’s grasp to look in front of them once again. In a small clearing was a pair of horses, one black and another grey, illuminated by the moonlight. Atop the grey mare was another boy perhaps a couple years older than Julek. He was thin and tired looking.
“Done then?” the boy asked, looking towards the pair. His brows furrowed as the moonlight revealed Julek being carried by Ciaran. “Who’s that?”
“Julek,” Ciaran answered, approaching the boy on the grey mare and handing him over to the boy. “He’s coming with us.”
“Oh,” the boy scooted back, helping Julek settle in the saddle while awkwardly trying to keep him up right. Julek had yet to begin his riding lessons, so he was unsure of how to sit on the horse, but the older boy kept a hold of the back of his shirt to steady him. “I’m Damir.”
“Enough with the pleasantries,” Ciaran chided as he hauled himself onto the black horse, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. “Be silent and be quick. It’s a long trip.”
“Where are we going?” Julek asked, his voice as soft as he could make it, having never been one for whispering.
“I’m taking you boys home,” Ciarain answered.
This caused Julek to wrinkle his nose, confused at the implication. “But this is my home.”
“Not anymore.”