Real Person Fic - CW: Pharmakon [Part 1/4]
PART ONE
The sun is barely a sliver on the horizon by the time Jared is making his way home. He's exhausted. With the harvest at peak, it's been sixteen days now of this constant strain, and his muscles are all aching.
He doubts he'll make it to the river for a rinse before he falls asleep, but he hopes there's at least something warm ready to eat when he gets home. One more day on an empty stomach, and he might actually collapse.
It's not that Jared isn't grateful for the work. Lord Jeffrey is not an unjust employer; he pays fair wages for fair labor. He treats his hands like people, unlike most lords from what Jared can tell, and was enough of an improvement on his late father's rule that Jared's older brother was named in the young lord's honor.
On market days, if there are things left unsold that will expire before the next chance to sell them, Lord Jeffrey allows the hands to divvy it up, free of charge, and take the food home to their families. There are even times, if there's not as much to do on the farm, when Lord Jeffrey invites Jared up to his manor, and they do a different kind of work.
Jared likes those days-Lord Jeffrey is an attractive man, and it's not like he can risk acting out his desires with just anyone. The Lord of Morgan has a lot more to lose than Jared does, however, and his motivation to ensure no one catches them allows Jared some measure of safety.
No, he won't complain about the work. But the noble does expect his money's worth, and Jared can't afford to go even a day without wages to rest his weary body.
It was easier before his father's injury, before his brother's wife fell ill-ill and with child, and he can't ask Jeff to come work in the fields when Sandy might slip away while he's gone. Now Jared is the only one who can support a household that is becoming increasingly full.
Unless you count Megan, but she's never going to bring in coin with her needlework. To say that his rough-and-tumble little sister would earn more if the lord allowed women in the fields rather than expecting her to mend clothes for a living is an understatement. She and Jared used to trade chores when they were still young enough, with Megan chopping wood and hunting game and Jared staying at the cabin to mend or embroider the clothes wealthier women from the village brought by.
But once Jared was old enough to work in the fields, that's where he was expected, and Megan had to take up the sewing their mother couldn't do while struggling to keep the house in order and food on the table. Even Sandy hasn't been able to help any, not since the fever started.
Still, there's good news tonight, a slight spring in his step. Lord Jeffrey had agreed to pay his wages for the week two days early, and with some tight living, they will be able to buy some adder's tongue from the local apothecary. The last ingredient for the potion that will save his sister-in-law's life, if anything will.
He approaches his family's cabin and immediately notices that everything is dark inside. It's not anything to worry about on its own. Candles cost money, and there's still just enough light for his mother to see what she's stirring over the fire. It's not like Megan's needlework can really get much worse in the dark than it is when done under broad daylight.
What unsettles him is the door, left ajar, even though the house is empty when he sticks his head in and inspects the one crowded room his family shares. No mother standing by the fireplace, but the large pot overturned, perfectly good food spilled onto the floor. No father sitting at the table, chopping vegetables as well as he can with his shaking hands. Sandy isn't in her bed with Jeff sitting up next to her, attending to her fever.
The entire hut is abandoned, except for signs of struggle and white feathers scattered all throughout the room.
"You won't be finding them inside."
Jared jumps, surprised to hear anyone at all, and then an icy sensation slips down his spine. That heavy accent is one he's all too familiar with, even if he hasn't heard it very many times in person. Jeff and his friends used to tell stories about Ruth, the witch who lives in the woods, to scare Jared and Megan, and they always imitated her voice just before she ate whatever unhappy child had stumbled into her path.
He turns and, sure enough, she's standing there, leaning in the doorway as if this was her home instead of his. Her long black dress touches the dirt floor but remains clean, and Jared knows better than to take her slight figure for granted. Ruth has been the same small, red-headed woman for as long as Jared can remember, years and years passing without her having appeared to age a single day. There are rumors as to how she stays like that. Jared has always believed them to be true.
She smiles, looking weirdly sweet, as she steps into Jared's house. "You seem worried, child. I thought I'd save you the trouble of looking."
"What did you do to them?" Jared asks. "Where's my family?"
The witch shrugs as she crosses her arms over her chest. "Where? I couldn't tell you. Not troubling me anymore, that's all my concern."
"What did you do to them?" Jared repeats, each word its own sentence.
"The question is, really, what was done to me? I'm not the sort to go looking for trouble. Good way to end up on a pyre, that. But I don't abide insults."
"My family never insulted you," Jared assures her. "We're not important enough to be worth hurting."
"That's true, but your brother seems to think you are." Her sweet expression turns biting. "You see, I have this lovely garden. It's the most dear thing I have. Oh, you should see it in the spring, how the flowers bloom. I just adore it."
He feels his stomach sink, a sudden, nasty conviction that he already knows what happened. Jeff had mentioned something about the wicked witch's garden. He'd said it like that. Like a joke. Thrown in with all the other millions of crazy ideas he'd thought up to try and save Sandy's life. Jared had assumed he wasn't taking any of them seriously.
"He was desperate," Jared says. "His wife-"
"And unborn child, dying, I know, terrible story." Ruth waves her hand dismissively. "I'm not a heartless woman, I would have happily given him the herb had he knocked on my door and told me why he needed it."
Jared sighs, knowing his brother well enough to know that never would have even occurred to him. "He can be impulsive," Jared says. "But he meant no insult."
"I don't care much what he meant when he crushed my azaleas," she replies. "He thought his baby was so important that he killed mine."
By some miracle, Jared manages not to say the words bubbling up on his lips. That flowers aren't exactly on the same level as children. Instead he just swallows hard and looks down at the mess of feathers on the floor.
"Did you-did you kill his, too? Sandy and the baby?"
She startles him with a laugh. "No, no, I'm not a monster. I let him think he got away with it long enough to bring the herb home and heal her."
"But they aren't here anymore. You let him save her just to punish them all?"
"I only came for him, honestly. But your little sister had such a feisty tongue on her. Didn't know when to leave well enough alone."
Jared doesn't say anything, just waits to hear the rest of the story.
Ruth smiles after a long pause. "Oh, but you do. Smart boy, I like you."
"Please," he says. "Please, tell me what happened to my family."
"Oh, lighten up. Your family's just fine. In fact, you may be the unlucky one, out all day, missed the excitement." She smirks. "I didn't hurt them. Just gave them a chance to stretch their wings a bit."
"Meaning?"
"If you plan to hunt birds, I'd aim for the ducks and pheasants, and be careful not to shoot any swans."
Jared's eyebrows draw together, and he looks around the room again, sees the feathers littering the ground and the randomly knocked-over objects, as if something was flying all over the house.
"You turned my brother and sister into swans?" Jared asks incredulously.
The witch bites her bottom lip to keep her laugh in. "All six of them. Your mother and father, Sandy, the baby girl. Oh, by the way. She had the baby. Perfectly healthy little hatchling. A girl. You're an uncle, isn't that something?"
Jared just shakes his head, blinking too fast and trying to process the fact that his niece was apparently born as a bird. His whole family are currently birds. All he wanted was a bowl of soup and to fall asleep on the floor.
"I have money," he says, stupidly reaching into his pockets for the coins he'd begged Lord Jeffrey to pay him. "It's not much, but it's yours. Just change them back. I'm sure he's learned his lesson. We'll never go near your garden again."
The witch curls her hand around Jared's, pushing the money back toward him. "If I wanted money, I would grow money. Funny how magic can do that." She tsks and shakes her head. "I wouldn't live in a little hut if I wanted money. What I want is a nice garden and to be left alone."
"I can help you fix whatever he did to the garden," Jared offers. "I'm good with plants. And then you can change them back."
"I don't want you stomping around anymore than I wanted your brother! I want you well out of my way, just like the rest of your flock. Why, I should change you into a bird as well, complete the set."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because you don't annoy me as much as the rest of your family did," she says, patting Jared's cheek condescendingly. "Didn't say the thing you were thinking about my flowers not mattering as much as the baby. I like a boy who knows when to shut up."
"I don't want to play games. Can I have my family back or not?" he asks.
"They flew off of their own volition." Ruth shoots a look over her shoulder and then lifts an eyebrow. "You sure they want to come back and live in this filth? I gave them the sky."
"They're all I have," Jared answers. He doesn't try to hide anything from her. He's just hardly not begging on his knees. "Please, tell me how to fix this."
"Alright, alright, because I'm such a kind and gentle woman. I'll make a deal with you."
"Anything," Jared promises. "I'll do anything."
"Deep in the forest, there are bright orange nettle bushes."
Jared nods. He's seen them before, passing through the woods to reach the river when there hasn't been rain and the well has dried up.
Ruth smiles. "Good, you know them. They're very bad plants. I don't usually speak this way about plants, but they are. They don't mean well, and they upset all the trees and bushes around them. I don't like to see my forest being bullied."
"You want me to pull them? I can pull them."
"It's not that simple, you see." Ruth rolls her eyes. "They grow right back if you pull them. I've tried. Or, rather, I've sent others to try. They're quite poisonous little bushes."
"Burn them, then?" Jared offers.
The witch's eyes widen. "And risk settling the whole forest on fire? Don't be rash like your brother, boy. It wouldn't work anyway. They're protected. Earth magic. Hard to get around."
Of course it's not going to be easy. "What can I do, then?"
"The only way to get rid of one of the bushes and keep it away is if you put it to some kind of practical use once you've taken it out of the ground. They only die if they have a good reason. I suppose I can sympathize with that."
The witch points to Jared. "I believe there are six bushes exactly. If you plucked them and turned the leaves into fabric and knitted a shirt out of one, that would be good enough to keep it from growing back. I'll see to it that there's magic in each shirt. If you can turn all six bushes into shirts in-what do you say? Three years should be plenty of time?-three years, six shirts, and get them onto your flighty family members once you're done with all of them, they'll turn back into humans."
Jared could knit six shirts in a fraction of that time, but he hesitates before agreeing. "Those plants are toxic. I've seen people get sick from brushing against them. There's no way I can handle them long enough to turn them into yarn."
"I did tell you they were prickly little bastards," she says indifferently.
"I'll die," Jared says. "I'll be dead before I can even begin. This isn't a real offer, it's murder."
The witch's eyes flash with anger, and Jared realizes he did exactly what he told himself he wouldn't. He forgot how dangerous she is, just because she spoke sweetly.
"I liked you better when you knew how to hold your tongue. Let's do something about that. If you accept my offer and you want to see your family as anything other than a white dot in the sky, you can't speak a word, can't make a sound, until the spell is broken. Can't even write anything down. Not that I expect you would know how."
Jared opens his mouth to respond to that, but instead he just lets his shoulders drop. The terms aren't fair. If the poison doesn't kill him, it'll leave him too weak, his hands too blistered, for him to dream of earning enough to keep himself fed. But what choice does he have? He can't abandon his family without even trying.
"Fine," Jared says. "I accept."
Ruth grins and rises to the tips of her toes, pressing a brief kiss against Jared's mouth. He feels a sharp sensation and sees a bright pink spark explode between them when she pulls away.
"That means the spell is in place," she explains. She turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway, throwing a look back at Jared. "And one more thing: don't even think of getting anyone to help. This is your family's mess to clean, and you'll be the one to do it. The nettles will cut your hands when you work with them, and if it isn't your blood sewn into the shirts, all you'll have is a swan in an ugly outfit."
Jared watches her leave with narrowed eyes. He has no one to ask for help, even if he could speak. Everyone who cares for him is currently somewhere out in the sky, far away from Jared. He feels a strange envy. At least they're together. At least they can fly. When he dies trying to save them and they get stuck as swans, maybe they really will be better off.
But Jared will die alone. He'll never see them again. He'll never know the little girl his brother cursed them all to save.
_______________________________________________________________
He decides to take his task one shirt at a time, hoping that he manages to survive the first batch and that by the time he's turned the nettles into yarn and woven them into something wearable, he'll have healed enough to do it over again.
The plants are much worse than he anticipated. Touching them burns, and they sway away from his hands if he tries wearing gloves to protect his skin. They spit and hiss, their poison all the more potent when untempered by the leaves, and Jared's already thin gloves are eaten through by noon.
It takes a full day to remove the first bush from the ground and lay the leaves out in the sun to dry.
His brain is buzzing with the fever the poison has caused, and he wonders if this is what happened to Sandy when she got so sick. If she stepped on one of the bushes during a walk through the woods, that might have been enough. Whatever was in her was killing her slowly, but it was certainly killing her.
When the sun begins to set, he goes into the village, seeking some kind of charity. Not help with his task; he knows that would be cheating. But any mercy at all-herbs to sooth the burning or a meal.
He finds no help at all. Friends and fellow laborers, past employers, people his family have done favors for, an entire town full of people he has known his whole life-they all take one look and close the door on him, explaining that they're sorry, they like Jared and wish they could help, but they know a curse when they see it, and they won't risk bringing the wrath of whatever is after him on themselves.
Explaining why he's ill and that it's not a curse or a plague is out of the question without being able to yell through the door. Jared knows that this at least is his own fault. If he'd just kept his mouth shut, accepted the witch's terms without insulting her, he would at least have a chance of getting through to someone.
He spends the money he had on bread from the only baker who is desperate enough to accept it, his hands bleeding and blistered and oozing pus, and Jared knows he'll be starving again by this time tomorrow with no coin and no hope at working in any field, not when he can hardly move his fingers.
The next day is even worse. He's already half out of his mind when he awakens, his whole body shaking and his blood feeling like it's boiling. Whatever poison didn't go into his hands while plucking the bush yesterday, he takes it into his feet, stomping on the dried leaves until they’re flax. He just hardly manages to finish before he stumbles from the pain, his busted hands the only thing to catch him.
That's the state he's in when he feels the earth shaking, and he thinks it's the fever causing him to hallucinate until he hears the stomping, realizes that it's the sound of horses. Horses in the middle of this forest are a rare sight, and Jared knows he's lost his mind when the approaching party stops next to him. Five men on gallant steads, one holding a coat of arms. All of them dressed in clothes so fine Jared has never seen their like.
He has limited experience with nobility, and even Lord Jeffrey must far below the ranks of these riders. Jared doesn't know much, but he would know enough to bow before them were he not already on the ground, his hands the only thing keeping him from lying face down in the soil.
"Hello," says one of the riders. He hears a clanking of metal as the speaker dismounts. "This is horribly embarrassing, but my guard and I seem to have lost the path. We, uh. Well. We don't ride through this forest…ever, really, and I thought I'd found a short cut. That was hours ago. I've fully accepted that I was wrong. I'm not proud, but there it is."
Jared tries to stand, but all he manages is to lift his head.
The man standing in front of him is tall, too tall for Jared to see much of him from where he is. Sprawled on all fours, practically lying in a puddle of his own blood and sweat.
"You can rise," the stranger says. "Really, there's no need to kneel. You’re the first person we’ve seen who may know the way out, and if you do, I'll be the one to bow to you. That's a promise!"
"Your grace," says one of the others. "That is not appropriate to your station."
His 'grace' lifts a hand, making the order for silence implicit with just that gesture.
Jared raises himself so that he's on his knees, and the man gasps, falling to one knee to grasp Jared's shoulder and hold him up before he can fall again. "You're hurt," he says. He looks down, taking Jared's hands in his own leather-clad fingers, sucking a breath between his teeth. "You're horribly hurt. What happened? Were you attacked?"
Jared shakes his head. That's the best he can do. He looks at the man in front of him and wonders if this isn't the poison playing tricks on his mind, as well. Whoever he is, he's not just rich and powerful and oddly concerned about the state of Jared's palms. He's beautiful beyond Jared's comprehension.
The eyes gazing into his are greener than anything in this forest, sharp and intense and framed by long, fanning lashes. His cheeks are bridged by a light smattering of freckles, the same golden color as the sunlight catching in his light brown hair. And his mouth. His mouth is something else entirely.
"Are you okay?" he asks, even though Jared is clearly not, and the man must know it. He's just trying to engage Jared, keep him from collapsing.
The man has a bearing about him that's effortlessly regal. Not like any of the affected mannerisms he's observed in the minor lords and ladies he's worked for. This is somebody important.
Jared should really make himself useful.
Shakily, and almost entirely by holding onto the stranger, Jared manages to stand up. His feet slip under him, and the man immediately puts one of Jared's arms around his shoulder, carrying him a foot or so back so he can lean against the nearest tree.
Jared points left. That's all he can really do: point. Pathetic.
"Your majesty," says the same rider who had been silenced before. "You should not be touching him so. He's filthy. Probably diseased. And clearly a peasant. There's no hope he'll be able to help us."
"He's a subject," the man replies, as if that's that.
"You're the prince."
The prince turns to face his party. "He's one of our subjects. One of my subjects, and he's practically dying. There are more important things at stake than decorum."
Jared sees the man open his mouth to reply, but his master preempts him. "And if you have another word to say on this matter that isn't a suggestion of how we can help him, Lord Beaver, you'll be finding your way out of here on foot, and he'll be riding to the castle on your steed."
Apparently, that's enough to keep the rider quiet.
"I'm Jensen," says the man holding Jared up. "Can you tell me your name?"
Jared shakes his head. He hears someone snicker from above them, but Jensen cuts a glare that quickly shuts them up.
"That's okay," he tells Jared, pressing a hand to Jared's chest. It holds him up, true, but the weight also helps center him. Jared focuses on that touch instead of the aching of his limbs, and once his mind is clear enough, he points again.
Jensen looks in the way Jared is indicating, and then turns back to him.
"The boy is clearly an idiot." This time, it's a different rider, and the tone isn't as snide as the first had been. Whoever this person is at least sounds like they feel sorry for Jared.
"Dismount," Jensen says.
"What? But I-"
Jensen sighs and imitates Jared's gesture. "I'm not taking your horse away, Chris. Just go down that way and see if you can find a path."
Chris hops off of his steed, handing the reins to one of the others before doing as instructed.
"Will you tell me what happened?" Jensen asks, his voice soft, like he's trying to make sure only Jared can hear him. "We have good healers. They can take care of you if they know what's wrong."
Jared shakes Jensen's hold away enough to bend down and pick up some of the crushed nettles he'd been trying to turn into flax.
"Don't touch that, your highness!" says a woman, the first time Jared realizes there's a woman in the party. "The poison is deadly, even in small doses."
"He's been handling it," Jensen says, his eyebrows drawing together as he looks at Jared. "Is that it?"
Jared nods.
"Why?"
The last rider, the only one who has yet to speak, lets out a nasty laugh. "I think Chris was right, your grace. He's clearly an idiot."
Just then, Chris returns. "Actually, I take it back." He looks to Jensen. "There is a path up ahead, my liege. Not far at all."
Jensen's grin overwhelms Jared. "You know the way out, don't you?"
Again, all Jared can do is nod. Jensen picks up on it, grazing Jared's throat lightly. "You can’t speak?"
Jared reaches up, his fingers squeezing Jensen's in confirmation before he realizes he's touching a royal hand with his broken skin.
"Do you know how to ride a horse?"
He shakes his head. Horses are a luxury his family could never have dreamed of. Even on the farm, they had been reserved for work that was far above Jared's station. He can clean a stable and feed a horse just fine, but riding one is too fine a privilege.
Jensen nods. "Okay, that's okay. You lead the way. I'll walk with you."
Jared is too stunned by what's happening to argue. So he gathers the nettles he'd spread out on the ground and puts them into his sack, and then begins to stagger forward, his weight supported by someone who should by rights have sooner spat on him than helped.
_______________________________________________________________
By the time they reach the village, there are stars swimming in front of Jared's eyes. He's only really able to find the way by instinct, the familiar feel of this twist in the path and that tree root in the ground. He's been wandering this forest his whole life.
There's a carriage waiting for them, one of the riders in their party (he doesn't know which; Jared is much too far gone to make observations about anyone except the prince pressing up against his side, whispering reassuring promises after every step Jared manages) having already ridden ahead to arrange it.
Jensen and Steve, the last of the horsemen, help lift Jared into the seat, and then the door closes, leaving him and Jensen alone inside. Jensen takes his hand, again undeterred by the foul state it's in. "You can rest now," he says. "I'll make sure you're taken care of as soon as we reach the palace. I promise."
His voice is kind and, although none of this makes much sense, Jared doesn't have the presence of mind to question it. He lets himself slip away.
_______________________________________________________________
When Jared next awakens, he thinks he's died, and he feels like he's resting on a cloud. The pain is gone. His hands are still sore, the skin still broken, and when he tries to move his feet, he finds that they're just the same. But the fever is gone. His only wounds are superficial.
"Very potent type of poison," he hears someone saying. "But easy to grow an immunity to. If you can get it medicated in time and neutralize it, it can't hurt you again. Most people die before then, but your guide got lucky. You found him just in time. It's not slow-working poison when there's as much in the system as he had."
Jared shifts, realizing that this is a bed, not a cloud, and that the stranger is explaining that he's alive, not dying at all. If all those things are true, he must not have imagined the horses or the beautiful prince that saved him. He's in a palace.
"Thank you, Aldis." The voice is rich and deep and already familiar. Jared is rousing slowly, so it takes him some effort to turn his face toward Jensen and open his eyes. "Thank you for saving him. I was so sure he was going to…"
"Of course, my liege. That's what healers are for." There's a pause and then what sounds like someone slapping a hand down on someone else's shoulder. "Don't forget to drink your potion as well."
"Yeah, yeah," Jensen replies.
"It looks like he's waking up."
Jared's vision finds its focus just in time to see Jensen make a sour face as he swallows something and sets the vial aside. Then he smiles at Jared. "Good morning, Sammy."
He shakes his head, trying to make it clear that that's not his name. Whoever Jensen thinks he is, he's mistaken, and Jared will be thrown back out when he realizes it.
"Hey, relax. Relax, it's okay. You're still weak, you can't freak out like that." Jensen laughs softly, pressing him back down into the bed. "I know that's not your name. Had to call you something, though, didn't I?"
Jared allows himself to be soothed out of sheer confusion. He wants to ask the prince if he really doesn't have anything better to do than attend to Jared, but of course he can't say that. Or anything. Which is probably for the best, actually. Apparently saying idiotic things to people with far more power and not stopping to think about it until after it backfires is some kind of family trait.
"Maybe you could write you name down for me," Jensen says, tucking another pillow behind Jared's head so that he can sit up. "I can have some parchment and a quill brought down."
Jared can feel how red his cheeks are burning as he averts his eyes, staring down at the bandages on his hands instead of at Jensen. Even if the witch's spell hadn't ruled writing out, Jared wouldn't know how to spell even his own name. It's the kind of thing Jensen takes for granted, and when Jared looks at a written word, all he sees are lines and dots, entirely void of meaning.
And the worst part is, Jensen knows it. It only takes a second before the prince says, "Of course you don't know how to write, how stupid of me."
Jared looks up at that. Not sure why it stings, but it stings.
"No, I mean. I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't trying to assume you could, that's all. I-" Jensen scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I've never spoken to a…" He searches a few moments for a word that isn't peasant, and when it's clear that he can’t find one, he leaves the thought unfinished. "I hope you know that I am fully aware of how terrible everything coming out of my mouth right now sounds."
Jensen looks genuinely worried that Jared will be upset, and that surprises a soundless laugh out of him. He's charmed by the inexplicable concern the prince has for him, by the fact that the second most powerful man in Padacktopia is tongue-tied and flustered over what Jared thinks.
Upon seeing Jared's smile, Jensen relaxes some. "I could teach you," he offers. "To read, I mean. And write. If you want. Or, not me. One of the bards might be better at it."
Jared's smile dims some at the knowledge that he won't be able to learn how to write. But reading…that's something he never would have dared to dream of, and he can't help that he's nodding excitedly before he lets himself consider that he won't be here long enough for all that. Whatever it is that has the prince at his bedside-gratitude for helping him out of the forest or pity or just plain curiosity, it won't take long to wear off.
"Maybe I'll just go through the alphabet until I reach your name," Jensen says, ducking his head so that no one in the world can see his smile except for Jared. Jared's never owned anything so precious before in his life. "Aaron?"
Jared huffs and shakes his head, and Jensen shrugs. "We'll get there, Adam? Adrian? Nah, you don't look like an Adrian. Alan? My father's name was Alan. Good, sturdy name."
Alright, so he'll probably be back on his ass by this time tomorrow. Jared decides to enjoy Jensen's attention while he has it.
_______________________________________________________________
It takes several days for Jared's wounds to heal enough for him to walk comfortably. He spends four days and nights in the infirmary. Although a part of him is anxious, his mind always on the shirts he should be knitting to save his family, there's no denying that these are the best days of his life.
Not only is the bed softer than any Jared has ever slept in, the clothes he's given are woven from silk that would cost a year of his wages. He's fed regularly: fresh, warm soups and juice squeezed from plump fruits. Nothing left over or half-spoilt, no one else he's expected to share with.
The healer, Aldis, tends to his wounds daily. He explains that his magic removed the poison from Jared's system, but aside from some ointments to sooth the cuts and scrapes on his hands and feet, the rest of the healing is up to Jared's body.
Aldis wears a grey tunic over his dark skin, a yellow sash across one shoulder signifying both his rank and that his magic is focused in medicine. He's no village apothecary or superstitious faith healer. Aldis is a sage, the kind Jared only ever heard of in the stories his brother used to tell.
He's as real as Jared is, just a regular person who mocks Jared good-naturedly for cutting himself up on a bush and complains about the weather. No one could tell he's a full-blown wizard until he's resting his hands over the other patients in the infirmary, life-threatening injuries reduced to healed scars in moments.
When Aldis is busy looking after others, there are several attendants who see to Jared's needs. But the most important part of Jared's recovery is the prince who sits by his bedside, talking to him about nothing in particular, fussing over whether his bandages are too tight or if he's growing restless from being trapped inside.
Jensen visits every day. Sometimes for hours, some days only in short bursts, half an hour grabbed before and after meals. But he comes without fail, the brightest thing in Jared's universe after only a few days of knowing him.
On the fifth day, Jared awakes to fingers running gently through his hair, a soft humming in his ears. He pretends to be asleep for a few minutes before stretching, feeling his body crack in several places.
"You awake, Sammy?"
Jared just gives Jensen a small smile and half of a nod. Jensen is still convinced he'll guess Jared's name eventually if he goes alphabetically, but that strange nickname is one he always comes back to.
"Aldis says you should be able to go today," Jensen tells him. His hand stops in Jared's hair and he frowns just enough for Jared to see it. "I guess that's good news, right?"
Jared shrugs, moves so that he's sitting up against the head of the bed and his arms are resting on top of the blanket. A part of him aches to reach out, take Jensen's hand between his own. But that would be madness.
"Your family must be very worried about you. If you want us to send them a message…I'm sure we can figure out some way to find them." Jensen smirks. "Though I suppose it'll be hard to tell them we found you without your name."
Jared shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively, trying to explain that there's no family waiting for him. No one.
"Where did we leave off?" Jensen asks. "Was it Cedric? Oh, no. Your name's not Chad, right?"
Jared thinks of Chad, the butcher's boy, his first friend. Last he heard, Chad had spent half a month of his father's earning at a tavern to impress a maiden who, it turned out once he sobered up, was in fact a goat in a dress.
He shudders, and Jensen laughs. "There's something off about guys named Chad."
Jared smiles and to his surprise, the prince takes his hand. He looks up to find those green eyes watching him, all the mirth dropped and an uncharacteristically earnest expression on his face.
"I'm sure you have somewhere to be. And people who care about you. But you don't have to go if not. You can stay. I can talk to Josh-to the king, I mean. I'm sure he'll let you stay." Jensen swallows hard and looks down at their hands. "You don't have to go back to-the way I found you. I can't stand the thought of that."
Jared bites his bottom lip and shrugs. Jensen found him in a definite rock bottom, but the life he's so afraid Jared will return to is the only one he's ever known. This-the palace and servants looking after him, three full meals a day and nothing to do except rest-this is not real to him. He can't imagine how anything this good could ever be real.
But, Jensen did offer. Now that he's immune to the poison in the nettles he has to work with, he actually has a chance at saving his family. If his hands will be bleeding every time he touches them, he still won't be able to earn any money while he does it. Staying here could make all the difference.
It's dangerous, Jared knows that. The way Jensen looks at him feels like a death sentence, like Jared will wither away if he loses him and will perish just as surely if he stays. He knows himself well enough to know that what is an easy infatuation today will be all-consuming affection in just a few months. If he slips someday, if he touches Jensen or kisses him, Jared will be thrown to literal wolves. He's nobody and Jensen is a prince, and yet he won't be able to keep his hands to himself forever.
Maybe just long enough to knit six shirts. He'll stay and he'll behave until his family is free, and then who knows? There's a strong chance Jensen will change his mind soon, throw Jared out with an apology and a yawn. But for now, he wants Jared here, and Jared can deny him nothing.
He reaches out, pressing his bound hand against Jensen's chest, just over his heart. The way Jensen had touched him the first time they met. That hold that centered Jared, helped bring him back when the fever had nearly swallowed him. It had been like home, and Jared hopes with everything he has in him that Jensen will understand that's what he's trying to say. This is his home now. As long as Jensen will let it be.
The prince looks down at Jared's hand before covering it with his own, and then he lets out a heavy breath. Relief shows on his face as clear as anything. "We'll speak to the king today."
Jared shakes his head, gesturing to himself wildly. He can't speak to a king. He shouldn't even be looking at a king. He's a farmhand, for crying out loud.
"Yeah, I guess you have a point," Jensen says. "We'd better clean you up before we present you to anyone. Chandler?"
Jared gives him a flat look.
"Lucky save. Charles? Charles is much better than Chandler."
Jared shakes his head, and Jensen pats him on the back as he helps Jared out of bed. "We'll get there eventually."
_______________________________________________________________
It's not until they step into the long, narrow hallway outside the infirmary that Jared realizes he hasn't seen anything of the castle he's called home for nearly a week. The floors are made of black and white marble and there are suits of armor on either side. Jensen takes his hand and pulls him along excitedly, occasionally stopping to reprimand himself for making Jared walk too quickly on his sore feet.
As is often the case with them, Jensen overcompensates for Jared's silence, and Jared follows behind him, utterly enchanted by his chatty prince and happy to listen to anything as he drinks in the history and random facts about all the strange objects and adornments they pass by.
"This is going to be your room for now," Jensen says as he finally stops in the hall, letting Jared's hand drop so he can reach for the door handle. "It's one of the smaller bedchambers, I know, but it's close to mine. I thought that might help if you find yourself lost and then, once you're more comfortable with the castle, you can pick any room you want."
Jared's mouth drops when the door opens to reveal a room that his family's cottage could fit inside four times. The bed in the center alone seems larger than all the living space they had. It's all his. And Jensen thinks he needs something bigger?
He shakes his head and takes a step back, farther into the hallway, but Jensen turns to look at him, reaching for his hand. "What's wrong, Sammy? You don't like it?"
That name…Jared folds every time. He doesn't know what it means or why Jensen insists on using it, but the softness in his tone when he does pulls Jared in like a spell.
So he follows Jensen into the room, looks around at all the gold and silver, the velvet-lined furniture and wide canopy on the bed that is, apparently, supposed to be his. Jared is careful not to touch anything, terrified he'll break it. That if his skin makes contact with the wrong thing, this whole fairytale will melt away and Jensen won't be standing in front of him, rambling on about the long-dead family members in the paintings.
"Come now, your bath is this way."
The bath is connected to his room-for his private use, Jensen assures him. There are pools in the floor with steam rising from them, a wall along the side lined with scented soaps and assorted ointments.
"Use anything you want," Jensen is saying. "The water is supplied and heated by magic, so all you need to do is think about it if you want the temperature to change."
It's been over a week since Jared had a proper bath, and that was a dip in the river, the water too cold and his body too tired from working in the fields to do much more than rinse off the dirt and sweat and return home. He's been bedridden since he arrived here, the nurses all cleaning him up and Jared hardly able to support himself long enough to make it to the chamberpot on his own.
So, a warm bath in a magically heated pool sounds better than just about anything, and Jared doesn't hesitate before pulling his loose sleep shirt off over his head, his hands about to push his pants down when Jensen turns and lets out a sound of surprise.
Jared stops himself, giving Jensen a confused look, but the prince isn't looking at his expression.
"Oh. You. Uh. Right, you must be very eager to, um. Take a bath." His voice seems to shrink with every word, and his eyes are fixed on Jared's chest.
His whole life, Jared has bathed in the same river that all the families in his village shared. It would have been silly to expect any measure of privacy, and Jared has never once stopped to worry who was around before disrobing.
Now, he's just started stripping in front of a prince, and Jensen is clearly scandalized, his eyes still wide, his cheeks red and becoming redder by the second. Jared feels foolish; for the first time in his life and despite the fact that half of him is still covered, he feels exposed.
He tries to cover his chest with his arms, and that helps Jensen shake off his discomfort at Jared's rough manners. He clears his throat and tries to school his face as if this is all perfectly normal to him.
"I should…" Jensen licks his lips, lifts one hand as if he's going to touch Jared with it, but then he yanks it away and takes a step back. "I've just realized that you'll want assistance. From someone who isn't me. I'm intruding. I'll call some servants for you. I should. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…to…I'll go."
Jared watches him flee as if there are lions on his tail and wonders if he hasn't just ruined everything.
_______________________________________________________________
When Jared finishes his bath, there's a knock outside his bathroom door. He at least has the sense to wrap one of the towels from the nearest shelf around his hips before a middle-aged woman in a simple lavender dress enters.
"Well, damn, today's my lucky day, huh?" The woman gives Jared an unapologetic look over before even pretending to do anything else. Then she smiles up at him. "I'm Kim. The prince sent me to bring you some clothes. Hopefully they'll fit alright. He told me you were big, but honey, those shoulders I was just not prepared for."
Jared laughs silently and follows her back out into his room. There are clothes laid out on the bed as promised, and Kim turns to pick something up to put on Jared. He takes it from her with an appreciative nod and drops the towel so he can pull the first layer of fabric on.
Kim mutters "definitely my lucky day" under her breath, but she doesn't register any of the shock or disgust Jensen had. Jared figures a chambermaid probably grew up in conditions much closer to Jared's than Jensen's, and he's surprisingly relieved to have her here, even if it feels downright ridiculous to have someone dress him at his age. There are pieces of the ensemble that Jared would not know what to do with were she not here, however, so he appreciates the assistance, even if he can't say 'thank you.'
They're just about finished when there's a knock on the door, and Jensen sticks his head in. "Is everybody decent in here?"
Kim snorts. "I'm not, but we're both wearing clothing." She pauses for a long beat and then adds a teasing, "My lord."
Jensen rolls his eyes. "Very convincing," he says. "I'm sure our guest is really impressed with how respectful you are of my position."
Kim stops on her way out the door, reaches up, and ruffles the prince's hair. Jensen lets her, swatting her away and acting annoyed, but unable to contain his laughter. Jared just watches the whole display in awe. He's never seen a noble allow a servant to treat them in such a matter. But then, he's never known anyone to be anything at all like Jensen.
He waits until Kim is gone before he steps into the room, closer to Jared. Jensen's eyes track down for a long time before he looks up, into Jared's face, and he smiles brightly. "The clothes are a little small for you. But you look…they suit you. We'll have some tailored for you once Josh has given permission for you to stay."
Jared boggles a bit at Jensen's casual use of the king's name, especially in the presence of someone as low as he is, and the prince laughs immediately, as if he's reading Jared's mind. "What, do you not have a brother?"
Jared nods to say he does, and Jensen's grin turns wicked. "And you mean to tell me there's any circumstance at all under which you would be able to refer to him as anything other than a royal pain in the ass with a straight face?"
That almost shocks a full out laugh out of Jared, but he tries to imagine it. If Jeff had been a king and Jared a prince…Jensen has a point. There's no crown hallowed enough to make Jeff more or less than the big jerk who used to embarrass Jared in front of the entire town whenever possible.
Jensen takes his hand and squeezes it between his own. "Don't be nervous, okay? This is just a formality."
If Jared could speak, he might mention that he doesn't know anything about formalities, let alone ones that involve actual royalty, but things being as they are, he follows Jensen quietly and lets events play out as they will.
They walk through the castle for what seems like an unrealistically long time to still be in the same building, until finally they cross a great hall and reach a door flanked on both sides by armed guards. It makes Jared nervous, but Jensen simply breezes by, nodding at the guards as they open the door for him.
Inside, the first thing Jared sees is a large throne, ornate beyond Jared's wildest imaginings, directly in the middle of the room and situated at the top of two small steps so as to ensure every eye is drawn up to the person sitting upon it.
The king is there, dressed in robes so elaborate he makes Jensen look like a pauper, and Jared thought he was overdressed, but now he has that naked feeling again. He's a handsome man, though nothing compared to his brother, looking not much older but decidedly more worn.
On his left, there's a slightly smaller throne with an astonishingly beautiful woman sitting on it. She's blonde and looks as if she would be tall standing, and her bright blue eyes are focused on the velvet-swaddled infant in her arms.
She must be the queen, Jared thinks.
There's a similarly toned-down throne on the king's right, which Jared realizes must be for Jensen. Jensen doesn't take his seat, however. He stands on the floor with the rest of the petitioners, and gestures Jared over to stand by his side.
The king is hearing someone argue his case for a fence to be built between his and someone else's property. Something about cows not staying on their side of the property line. He looks astoundingly bored, but is clearly making an effort not to.
Standing just behind his throne, Jared recognizes the old man who had tried to convince Jensen to leave him in the woods, Lord Beaver, and his stomach drops. He doubts his chances are as good as Jensen believes them to be if that's the adviser whispering in the king's ear.
After the lord is finished speaking, the king agrees to have some men sent out to the noble's estate to build a new fence. The man thanks the king for a full two minutes, until finally Lord Beaver gestures to one of the guards to escort him out.
"That's all for now," the king announces.
A large crowd huddled off to the side all begin to argue, and Lord Beaver steps forward. "The king will hear more cases after he has met with his council and broken his fast. All of your problems will be addressed in due course. Please file out in the direction the guards indicate until such a time as you are allowed back into the chamber."
Jared watches the grumbling mass of people walk out through the door he and Jensen just entered from, and he turns to follow them. Jensen catches his arm and shakes his head.
After the room has been emptied of everyone except for the king, queen, Jensen, four guards, Lord Beaver, and Jared and the doors are closed behind them, the king's expression drops.
"We hate open petition days," he says.
At his side, the queen doesn't even look up from her child before admonishing, "They're your subjects. The least you can do is hear them out once a week."
"They're some of our subjects," the king responds, and Jared sees the family resemblance right then and there. Jensen has the same pout when he's feeling grumpy, which isn't entirely rare. Jared finds it incredibly endearing, but Jared is beyond biased. "The ones who can afford to have their names added to the list."
"We've spoken about this, your grace, it would be impossible to get through even a fraction of the people who have grievances to air if we let just anyone in."
"So we hear out the ones with the pettiest complaints instead of those who are actually suffering?" He sighs. "That man spoke for half an hour of our life about the patch of grass his neighbor's cow ate and how it would affect profits. As if it's him and not his farmhands that will be covering his losses."
"My lord, these are the people with armies at their disposal. These are the ones who you need on your side to help you rule. Not the commoners. This is just how politics work."
"Yes, Jim, so we have been told every day since we took the throne." He rubs his temple for a few seconds and then shifts in his seat. "We're just not in a great mood. It'll pass."
"You're never in a good mood," Jensen says. "And it never really passes."
The king grins when he hears his brother's voice, and Jensen steps forward so he can be seen. "Ah, great. Just what we needed today. Our bratty little brother."
"Drop the royal we thing, Josh. You have no idea how stupid you sound," Jensen replies. "We're all family here."
The king looks at Jared pointedly, and Jensen turns to gesture him forward.
"He's mute. I promise he won't tell anyone you deigned to stop being pretentious in front of him."
The king laughs. "Fuck it, you know I hate it as much as you do, but there-"
"There are rules," Lord Beaver says. Interrupting the king, and Jared almost fears for him, but no one bats an eye. "That peasant is not permitted in this room. He should never be in the king's presence. It's an insult to-"
"I think I'll determine what insults me," the king says, lifting a hand. He looks down at Jensen. "Explain?"
"He saved our lives, me and my men, Jim included. We were lost in the forest and-"
"He didn't save our lives," Jim cuts in. "We weren't going to die out there. He made an unpleasant day end slightly earlier than it might have otherwise. And by introducing new unpleasantness, at that. In fact, we saved his life."
"I didn't see you helping him," Jensen replies, and then he blanches. "I'm sorry, Jim. That was out of line."
Jim waves it off.
"The mute forest guide, yes. I think I heard something about this." The king looks over at Jared and smiles. "I didn't realize you were still in the castle, or I would have come to thank you for assisting my brother."
Jared isn't sure what to do. He tries to bow but he doesn't really know how to do it right, and he knows he screwed up when he lifts his head again, sees the king's smile is clearly trying to hold back laughter. It doesn't look unkind, though, so Jared just ducks his head in embarrassment.
"He was poisoned," Jensen explains. "Aldis saved him but…I actually came with a petition of my own. I want to have him stay here in the castle, if that's alright with you. Indefinitely."
Jim scoffs. "Your highness, he's a peasant. The fact that he was brought here at all is thanks enough. Letting him stay would be a humiliation."
"You said you wanted to help people who really needed help," Jensen tells the king. "Sammy doesn't have anywhere else to go."
"Sammy?" the king repeats, a look on his face as if he's never had so much fun in his life. "I see how it is."
Jared really wishes he knew what that damn word means. He feels like there's an entire conversation going on without him. Whatever it means, Jensen is instantly flustered by his brother picking it out.
"No, I just." Jared can see the tips of the prince's ears turning bright pink. "Well, I…I had to call him something."
"Of course, of course," the king replies, still looking like he might fall off his throne laughing any moment. He waits until he has himself under control, and then he speaks, putting a strong emphasis on the nickname. "And Sammy just so happens to be what you picked out."
"Yes!" Jensen answers defensively.
"Glad we settled that," the queen says, and Jensen looks oddly grateful to her for interrupting. "Josh, your brother asked for a favor."
"I don't have a problem with it," the king responds, his lips twisting with mirth again. "Sammy can stay as long as he wants."
"But your grace, he's-"
"Queen Adrianne, do you have a problem with a commoner in your home?"
The queen looks up for the first time and smirks at Jared. "Not if they look like that."
The king crosses his arms over his chest. "Wife!"
Unlike her husband, she doesn't bother trying to cover her laugh. "Does he watch babies? I could use a night to myself."
"My lady, you would leave the heir to the throne in the hands of a stranger? And a commoner, at that?"
"Mostly, Jim," she says, and the way she stresses Lord Beaver's name makes Jared think she's about as fond of him as Jared is, "I was joking. But honestly, if it'll get me a few good hours of sleep, I'll leave the heir to the throne with the rampaging cow if it promises to behave."
"Alright, that's enough of that," the king says, shaking his head but with no real edge to his words. "Jensen, your friend is granted permission to roam the palace as he wishes and to stay as long as you want him to be here."
Jared can see Lord Beaver wanting to step in again, but to his great relief, the man stays quiet, giving Jared a sulky look.
"Thank you, brother," Jensen says. "Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah," the king says, waving off Jensen's gratitude. "Now get out of my face. I'm starving."
Jensen steers him out into the hallway with a grin lighting up his features. He must see that there's still some hesitation in Jared's expression, because he leans in close. "Don't worry about Jim, okay? He can be…prejudiced. But he means well. He practically raised my brother and I after our parents passed away. Taught Josh everything he knows about ruling. He's a good guy. You'll win him over."
Jared gives him a thin lipped smile, unsure if that was supposed to make him feel better, because it did just the opposite. The king's closest adviser, and Jensen's surrogate father, wants him thrown back into the woods, and Jared is already certain he won't be winning the lord over as easily as Jensen believes.
ON TO PART TWO
or
BACK TO MASTERPOST
The sun is barely a sliver on the horizon by the time Jared is making his way home. He's exhausted. With the harvest at peak, it's been sixteen days now of this constant strain, and his muscles are all aching.
He doubts he'll make it to the river for a rinse before he falls asleep, but he hopes there's at least something warm ready to eat when he gets home. One more day on an empty stomach, and he might actually collapse.
It's not that Jared isn't grateful for the work. Lord Jeffrey is not an unjust employer; he pays fair wages for fair labor. He treats his hands like people, unlike most lords from what Jared can tell, and was enough of an improvement on his late father's rule that Jared's older brother was named in the young lord's honor.
On market days, if there are things left unsold that will expire before the next chance to sell them, Lord Jeffrey allows the hands to divvy it up, free of charge, and take the food home to their families. There are even times, if there's not as much to do on the farm, when Lord Jeffrey invites Jared up to his manor, and they do a different kind of work.
Jared likes those days-Lord Jeffrey is an attractive man, and it's not like he can risk acting out his desires with just anyone. The Lord of Morgan has a lot more to lose than Jared does, however, and his motivation to ensure no one catches them allows Jared some measure of safety.
No, he won't complain about the work. But the noble does expect his money's worth, and Jared can't afford to go even a day without wages to rest his weary body.
It was easier before his father's injury, before his brother's wife fell ill-ill and with child, and he can't ask Jeff to come work in the fields when Sandy might slip away while he's gone. Now Jared is the only one who can support a household that is becoming increasingly full.
Unless you count Megan, but she's never going to bring in coin with her needlework. To say that his rough-and-tumble little sister would earn more if the lord allowed women in the fields rather than expecting her to mend clothes for a living is an understatement. She and Jared used to trade chores when they were still young enough, with Megan chopping wood and hunting game and Jared staying at the cabin to mend or embroider the clothes wealthier women from the village brought by.
But once Jared was old enough to work in the fields, that's where he was expected, and Megan had to take up the sewing their mother couldn't do while struggling to keep the house in order and food on the table. Even Sandy hasn't been able to help any, not since the fever started.
Still, there's good news tonight, a slight spring in his step. Lord Jeffrey had agreed to pay his wages for the week two days early, and with some tight living, they will be able to buy some adder's tongue from the local apothecary. The last ingredient for the potion that will save his sister-in-law's life, if anything will.
He approaches his family's cabin and immediately notices that everything is dark inside. It's not anything to worry about on its own. Candles cost money, and there's still just enough light for his mother to see what she's stirring over the fire. It's not like Megan's needlework can really get much worse in the dark than it is when done under broad daylight.
What unsettles him is the door, left ajar, even though the house is empty when he sticks his head in and inspects the one crowded room his family shares. No mother standing by the fireplace, but the large pot overturned, perfectly good food spilled onto the floor. No father sitting at the table, chopping vegetables as well as he can with his shaking hands. Sandy isn't in her bed with Jeff sitting up next to her, attending to her fever.
The entire hut is abandoned, except for signs of struggle and white feathers scattered all throughout the room.
"You won't be finding them inside."
Jared jumps, surprised to hear anyone at all, and then an icy sensation slips down his spine. That heavy accent is one he's all too familiar with, even if he hasn't heard it very many times in person. Jeff and his friends used to tell stories about Ruth, the witch who lives in the woods, to scare Jared and Megan, and they always imitated her voice just before she ate whatever unhappy child had stumbled into her path.
He turns and, sure enough, she's standing there, leaning in the doorway as if this was her home instead of his. Her long black dress touches the dirt floor but remains clean, and Jared knows better than to take her slight figure for granted. Ruth has been the same small, red-headed woman for as long as Jared can remember, years and years passing without her having appeared to age a single day. There are rumors as to how she stays like that. Jared has always believed them to be true.
She smiles, looking weirdly sweet, as she steps into Jared's house. "You seem worried, child. I thought I'd save you the trouble of looking."
"What did you do to them?" Jared asks. "Where's my family?"
The witch shrugs as she crosses her arms over her chest. "Where? I couldn't tell you. Not troubling me anymore, that's all my concern."
"What did you do to them?" Jared repeats, each word its own sentence.
"The question is, really, what was done to me? I'm not the sort to go looking for trouble. Good way to end up on a pyre, that. But I don't abide insults."
"My family never insulted you," Jared assures her. "We're not important enough to be worth hurting."
"That's true, but your brother seems to think you are." Her sweet expression turns biting. "You see, I have this lovely garden. It's the most dear thing I have. Oh, you should see it in the spring, how the flowers bloom. I just adore it."
He feels his stomach sink, a sudden, nasty conviction that he already knows what happened. Jeff had mentioned something about the wicked witch's garden. He'd said it like that. Like a joke. Thrown in with all the other millions of crazy ideas he'd thought up to try and save Sandy's life. Jared had assumed he wasn't taking any of them seriously.
"He was desperate," Jared says. "His wife-"
"And unborn child, dying, I know, terrible story." Ruth waves her hand dismissively. "I'm not a heartless woman, I would have happily given him the herb had he knocked on my door and told me why he needed it."
Jared sighs, knowing his brother well enough to know that never would have even occurred to him. "He can be impulsive," Jared says. "But he meant no insult."
"I don't care much what he meant when he crushed my azaleas," she replies. "He thought his baby was so important that he killed mine."
By some miracle, Jared manages not to say the words bubbling up on his lips. That flowers aren't exactly on the same level as children. Instead he just swallows hard and looks down at the mess of feathers on the floor.
"Did you-did you kill his, too? Sandy and the baby?"
She startles him with a laugh. "No, no, I'm not a monster. I let him think he got away with it long enough to bring the herb home and heal her."
"But they aren't here anymore. You let him save her just to punish them all?"
"I only came for him, honestly. But your little sister had such a feisty tongue on her. Didn't know when to leave well enough alone."
Jared doesn't say anything, just waits to hear the rest of the story.
Ruth smiles after a long pause. "Oh, but you do. Smart boy, I like you."
"Please," he says. "Please, tell me what happened to my family."
"Oh, lighten up. Your family's just fine. In fact, you may be the unlucky one, out all day, missed the excitement." She smirks. "I didn't hurt them. Just gave them a chance to stretch their wings a bit."
"Meaning?"
"If you plan to hunt birds, I'd aim for the ducks and pheasants, and be careful not to shoot any swans."
Jared's eyebrows draw together, and he looks around the room again, sees the feathers littering the ground and the randomly knocked-over objects, as if something was flying all over the house.
"You turned my brother and sister into swans?" Jared asks incredulously.
The witch bites her bottom lip to keep her laugh in. "All six of them. Your mother and father, Sandy, the baby girl. Oh, by the way. She had the baby. Perfectly healthy little hatchling. A girl. You're an uncle, isn't that something?"
Jared just shakes his head, blinking too fast and trying to process the fact that his niece was apparently born as a bird. His whole family are currently birds. All he wanted was a bowl of soup and to fall asleep on the floor.
"I have money," he says, stupidly reaching into his pockets for the coins he'd begged Lord Jeffrey to pay him. "It's not much, but it's yours. Just change them back. I'm sure he's learned his lesson. We'll never go near your garden again."
The witch curls her hand around Jared's, pushing the money back toward him. "If I wanted money, I would grow money. Funny how magic can do that." She tsks and shakes her head. "I wouldn't live in a little hut if I wanted money. What I want is a nice garden and to be left alone."
"I can help you fix whatever he did to the garden," Jared offers. "I'm good with plants. And then you can change them back."
"I don't want you stomping around anymore than I wanted your brother! I want you well out of my way, just like the rest of your flock. Why, I should change you into a bird as well, complete the set."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because you don't annoy me as much as the rest of your family did," she says, patting Jared's cheek condescendingly. "Didn't say the thing you were thinking about my flowers not mattering as much as the baby. I like a boy who knows when to shut up."
"I don't want to play games. Can I have my family back or not?" he asks.
"They flew off of their own volition." Ruth shoots a look over her shoulder and then lifts an eyebrow. "You sure they want to come back and live in this filth? I gave them the sky."
"They're all I have," Jared answers. He doesn't try to hide anything from her. He's just hardly not begging on his knees. "Please, tell me how to fix this."
"Alright, alright, because I'm such a kind and gentle woman. I'll make a deal with you."
"Anything," Jared promises. "I'll do anything."
"Deep in the forest, there are bright orange nettle bushes."
Jared nods. He's seen them before, passing through the woods to reach the river when there hasn't been rain and the well has dried up.
Ruth smiles. "Good, you know them. They're very bad plants. I don't usually speak this way about plants, but they are. They don't mean well, and they upset all the trees and bushes around them. I don't like to see my forest being bullied."
"You want me to pull them? I can pull them."
"It's not that simple, you see." Ruth rolls her eyes. "They grow right back if you pull them. I've tried. Or, rather, I've sent others to try. They're quite poisonous little bushes."
"Burn them, then?" Jared offers.
The witch's eyes widen. "And risk settling the whole forest on fire? Don't be rash like your brother, boy. It wouldn't work anyway. They're protected. Earth magic. Hard to get around."
Of course it's not going to be easy. "What can I do, then?"
"The only way to get rid of one of the bushes and keep it away is if you put it to some kind of practical use once you've taken it out of the ground. They only die if they have a good reason. I suppose I can sympathize with that."
The witch points to Jared. "I believe there are six bushes exactly. If you plucked them and turned the leaves into fabric and knitted a shirt out of one, that would be good enough to keep it from growing back. I'll see to it that there's magic in each shirt. If you can turn all six bushes into shirts in-what do you say? Three years should be plenty of time?-three years, six shirts, and get them onto your flighty family members once you're done with all of them, they'll turn back into humans."
Jared could knit six shirts in a fraction of that time, but he hesitates before agreeing. "Those plants are toxic. I've seen people get sick from brushing against them. There's no way I can handle them long enough to turn them into yarn."
"I did tell you they were prickly little bastards," she says indifferently.
"I'll die," Jared says. "I'll be dead before I can even begin. This isn't a real offer, it's murder."
The witch's eyes flash with anger, and Jared realizes he did exactly what he told himself he wouldn't. He forgot how dangerous she is, just because she spoke sweetly.
"I liked you better when you knew how to hold your tongue. Let's do something about that. If you accept my offer and you want to see your family as anything other than a white dot in the sky, you can't speak a word, can't make a sound, until the spell is broken. Can't even write anything down. Not that I expect you would know how."
Jared opens his mouth to respond to that, but instead he just lets his shoulders drop. The terms aren't fair. If the poison doesn't kill him, it'll leave him too weak, his hands too blistered, for him to dream of earning enough to keep himself fed. But what choice does he have? He can't abandon his family without even trying.
"Fine," Jared says. "I accept."
Ruth grins and rises to the tips of her toes, pressing a brief kiss against Jared's mouth. He feels a sharp sensation and sees a bright pink spark explode between them when she pulls away.
"That means the spell is in place," she explains. She turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway, throwing a look back at Jared. "And one more thing: don't even think of getting anyone to help. This is your family's mess to clean, and you'll be the one to do it. The nettles will cut your hands when you work with them, and if it isn't your blood sewn into the shirts, all you'll have is a swan in an ugly outfit."
Jared watches her leave with narrowed eyes. He has no one to ask for help, even if he could speak. Everyone who cares for him is currently somewhere out in the sky, far away from Jared. He feels a strange envy. At least they're together. At least they can fly. When he dies trying to save them and they get stuck as swans, maybe they really will be better off.
But Jared will die alone. He'll never see them again. He'll never know the little girl his brother cursed them all to save.
_______________________________________________________________
He decides to take his task one shirt at a time, hoping that he manages to survive the first batch and that by the time he's turned the nettles into yarn and woven them into something wearable, he'll have healed enough to do it over again.
The plants are much worse than he anticipated. Touching them burns, and they sway away from his hands if he tries wearing gloves to protect his skin. They spit and hiss, their poison all the more potent when untempered by the leaves, and Jared's already thin gloves are eaten through by noon.
It takes a full day to remove the first bush from the ground and lay the leaves out in the sun to dry.
His brain is buzzing with the fever the poison has caused, and he wonders if this is what happened to Sandy when she got so sick. If she stepped on one of the bushes during a walk through the woods, that might have been enough. Whatever was in her was killing her slowly, but it was certainly killing her.
When the sun begins to set, he goes into the village, seeking some kind of charity. Not help with his task; he knows that would be cheating. But any mercy at all-herbs to sooth the burning or a meal.
He finds no help at all. Friends and fellow laborers, past employers, people his family have done favors for, an entire town full of people he has known his whole life-they all take one look and close the door on him, explaining that they're sorry, they like Jared and wish they could help, but they know a curse when they see it, and they won't risk bringing the wrath of whatever is after him on themselves.
Explaining why he's ill and that it's not a curse or a plague is out of the question without being able to yell through the door. Jared knows that this at least is his own fault. If he'd just kept his mouth shut, accepted the witch's terms without insulting her, he would at least have a chance of getting through to someone.
He spends the money he had on bread from the only baker who is desperate enough to accept it, his hands bleeding and blistered and oozing pus, and Jared knows he'll be starving again by this time tomorrow with no coin and no hope at working in any field, not when he can hardly move his fingers.
The next day is even worse. He's already half out of his mind when he awakens, his whole body shaking and his blood feeling like it's boiling. Whatever poison didn't go into his hands while plucking the bush yesterday, he takes it into his feet, stomping on the dried leaves until they’re flax. He just hardly manages to finish before he stumbles from the pain, his busted hands the only thing to catch him.
That's the state he's in when he feels the earth shaking, and he thinks it's the fever causing him to hallucinate until he hears the stomping, realizes that it's the sound of horses. Horses in the middle of this forest are a rare sight, and Jared knows he's lost his mind when the approaching party stops next to him. Five men on gallant steads, one holding a coat of arms. All of them dressed in clothes so fine Jared has never seen their like.
He has limited experience with nobility, and even Lord Jeffrey must far below the ranks of these riders. Jared doesn't know much, but he would know enough to bow before them were he not already on the ground, his hands the only thing keeping him from lying face down in the soil.
"Hello," says one of the riders. He hears a clanking of metal as the speaker dismounts. "This is horribly embarrassing, but my guard and I seem to have lost the path. We, uh. Well. We don't ride through this forest…ever, really, and I thought I'd found a short cut. That was hours ago. I've fully accepted that I was wrong. I'm not proud, but there it is."
Jared tries to stand, but all he manages is to lift his head.
The man standing in front of him is tall, too tall for Jared to see much of him from where he is. Sprawled on all fours, practically lying in a puddle of his own blood and sweat.
"You can rise," the stranger says. "Really, there's no need to kneel. You’re the first person we’ve seen who may know the way out, and if you do, I'll be the one to bow to you. That's a promise!"
"Your grace," says one of the others. "That is not appropriate to your station."
His 'grace' lifts a hand, making the order for silence implicit with just that gesture.
Jared raises himself so that he's on his knees, and the man gasps, falling to one knee to grasp Jared's shoulder and hold him up before he can fall again. "You're hurt," he says. He looks down, taking Jared's hands in his own leather-clad fingers, sucking a breath between his teeth. "You're horribly hurt. What happened? Were you attacked?"
Jared shakes his head. That's the best he can do. He looks at the man in front of him and wonders if this isn't the poison playing tricks on his mind, as well. Whoever he is, he's not just rich and powerful and oddly concerned about the state of Jared's palms. He's beautiful beyond Jared's comprehension.
The eyes gazing into his are greener than anything in this forest, sharp and intense and framed by long, fanning lashes. His cheeks are bridged by a light smattering of freckles, the same golden color as the sunlight catching in his light brown hair. And his mouth. His mouth is something else entirely.
"Are you okay?" he asks, even though Jared is clearly not, and the man must know it. He's just trying to engage Jared, keep him from collapsing.
The man has a bearing about him that's effortlessly regal. Not like any of the affected mannerisms he's observed in the minor lords and ladies he's worked for. This is somebody important.
Jared should really make himself useful.
Shakily, and almost entirely by holding onto the stranger, Jared manages to stand up. His feet slip under him, and the man immediately puts one of Jared's arms around his shoulder, carrying him a foot or so back so he can lean against the nearest tree.
Jared points left. That's all he can really do: point. Pathetic.
"Your majesty," says the same rider who had been silenced before. "You should not be touching him so. He's filthy. Probably diseased. And clearly a peasant. There's no hope he'll be able to help us."
"He's a subject," the man replies, as if that's that.
"You're the prince."
The prince turns to face his party. "He's one of our subjects. One of my subjects, and he's practically dying. There are more important things at stake than decorum."
Jared sees the man open his mouth to reply, but his master preempts him. "And if you have another word to say on this matter that isn't a suggestion of how we can help him, Lord Beaver, you'll be finding your way out of here on foot, and he'll be riding to the castle on your steed."
Apparently, that's enough to keep the rider quiet.
"I'm Jensen," says the man holding Jared up. "Can you tell me your name?"
Jared shakes his head. He hears someone snicker from above them, but Jensen cuts a glare that quickly shuts them up.
"That's okay," he tells Jared, pressing a hand to Jared's chest. It holds him up, true, but the weight also helps center him. Jared focuses on that touch instead of the aching of his limbs, and once his mind is clear enough, he points again.
Jensen looks in the way Jared is indicating, and then turns back to him.
"The boy is clearly an idiot." This time, it's a different rider, and the tone isn't as snide as the first had been. Whoever this person is at least sounds like they feel sorry for Jared.
"Dismount," Jensen says.
"What? But I-"
Jensen sighs and imitates Jared's gesture. "I'm not taking your horse away, Chris. Just go down that way and see if you can find a path."
Chris hops off of his steed, handing the reins to one of the others before doing as instructed.
"Will you tell me what happened?" Jensen asks, his voice soft, like he's trying to make sure only Jared can hear him. "We have good healers. They can take care of you if they know what's wrong."
Jared shakes Jensen's hold away enough to bend down and pick up some of the crushed nettles he'd been trying to turn into flax.
"Don't touch that, your highness!" says a woman, the first time Jared realizes there's a woman in the party. "The poison is deadly, even in small doses."
"He's been handling it," Jensen says, his eyebrows drawing together as he looks at Jared. "Is that it?"
Jared nods.
"Why?"
The last rider, the only one who has yet to speak, lets out a nasty laugh. "I think Chris was right, your grace. He's clearly an idiot."
Just then, Chris returns. "Actually, I take it back." He looks to Jensen. "There is a path up ahead, my liege. Not far at all."
Jensen's grin overwhelms Jared. "You know the way out, don't you?"
Again, all Jared can do is nod. Jensen picks up on it, grazing Jared's throat lightly. "You can’t speak?"
Jared reaches up, his fingers squeezing Jensen's in confirmation before he realizes he's touching a royal hand with his broken skin.
"Do you know how to ride a horse?"
He shakes his head. Horses are a luxury his family could never have dreamed of. Even on the farm, they had been reserved for work that was far above Jared's station. He can clean a stable and feed a horse just fine, but riding one is too fine a privilege.
Jensen nods. "Okay, that's okay. You lead the way. I'll walk with you."
Jared is too stunned by what's happening to argue. So he gathers the nettles he'd spread out on the ground and puts them into his sack, and then begins to stagger forward, his weight supported by someone who should by rights have sooner spat on him than helped.
_______________________________________________________________
By the time they reach the village, there are stars swimming in front of Jared's eyes. He's only really able to find the way by instinct, the familiar feel of this twist in the path and that tree root in the ground. He's been wandering this forest his whole life.
There's a carriage waiting for them, one of the riders in their party (he doesn't know which; Jared is much too far gone to make observations about anyone except the prince pressing up against his side, whispering reassuring promises after every step Jared manages) having already ridden ahead to arrange it.
Jensen and Steve, the last of the horsemen, help lift Jared into the seat, and then the door closes, leaving him and Jensen alone inside. Jensen takes his hand, again undeterred by the foul state it's in. "You can rest now," he says. "I'll make sure you're taken care of as soon as we reach the palace. I promise."
His voice is kind and, although none of this makes much sense, Jared doesn't have the presence of mind to question it. He lets himself slip away.
_______________________________________________________________
When Jared next awakens, he thinks he's died, and he feels like he's resting on a cloud. The pain is gone. His hands are still sore, the skin still broken, and when he tries to move his feet, he finds that they're just the same. But the fever is gone. His only wounds are superficial.
"Very potent type of poison," he hears someone saying. "But easy to grow an immunity to. If you can get it medicated in time and neutralize it, it can't hurt you again. Most people die before then, but your guide got lucky. You found him just in time. It's not slow-working poison when there's as much in the system as he had."
Jared shifts, realizing that this is a bed, not a cloud, and that the stranger is explaining that he's alive, not dying at all. If all those things are true, he must not have imagined the horses or the beautiful prince that saved him. He's in a palace.
"Thank you, Aldis." The voice is rich and deep and already familiar. Jared is rousing slowly, so it takes him some effort to turn his face toward Jensen and open his eyes. "Thank you for saving him. I was so sure he was going to…"
"Of course, my liege. That's what healers are for." There's a pause and then what sounds like someone slapping a hand down on someone else's shoulder. "Don't forget to drink your potion as well."
"Yeah, yeah," Jensen replies.
"It looks like he's waking up."
Jared's vision finds its focus just in time to see Jensen make a sour face as he swallows something and sets the vial aside. Then he smiles at Jared. "Good morning, Sammy."
He shakes his head, trying to make it clear that that's not his name. Whoever Jensen thinks he is, he's mistaken, and Jared will be thrown back out when he realizes it.
"Hey, relax. Relax, it's okay. You're still weak, you can't freak out like that." Jensen laughs softly, pressing him back down into the bed. "I know that's not your name. Had to call you something, though, didn't I?"
Jared allows himself to be soothed out of sheer confusion. He wants to ask the prince if he really doesn't have anything better to do than attend to Jared, but of course he can't say that. Or anything. Which is probably for the best, actually. Apparently saying idiotic things to people with far more power and not stopping to think about it until after it backfires is some kind of family trait.
"Maybe you could write you name down for me," Jensen says, tucking another pillow behind Jared's head so that he can sit up. "I can have some parchment and a quill brought down."
Jared can feel how red his cheeks are burning as he averts his eyes, staring down at the bandages on his hands instead of at Jensen. Even if the witch's spell hadn't ruled writing out, Jared wouldn't know how to spell even his own name. It's the kind of thing Jensen takes for granted, and when Jared looks at a written word, all he sees are lines and dots, entirely void of meaning.
And the worst part is, Jensen knows it. It only takes a second before the prince says, "Of course you don't know how to write, how stupid of me."
Jared looks up at that. Not sure why it stings, but it stings.
"No, I mean. I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't trying to assume you could, that's all. I-" Jensen scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I've never spoken to a…" He searches a few moments for a word that isn't peasant, and when it's clear that he can’t find one, he leaves the thought unfinished. "I hope you know that I am fully aware of how terrible everything coming out of my mouth right now sounds."
Jensen looks genuinely worried that Jared will be upset, and that surprises a soundless laugh out of him. He's charmed by the inexplicable concern the prince has for him, by the fact that the second most powerful man in Padacktopia is tongue-tied and flustered over what Jared thinks.
Upon seeing Jared's smile, Jensen relaxes some. "I could teach you," he offers. "To read, I mean. And write. If you want. Or, not me. One of the bards might be better at it."
Jared's smile dims some at the knowledge that he won't be able to learn how to write. But reading…that's something he never would have dared to dream of, and he can't help that he's nodding excitedly before he lets himself consider that he won't be here long enough for all that. Whatever it is that has the prince at his bedside-gratitude for helping him out of the forest or pity or just plain curiosity, it won't take long to wear off.
"Maybe I'll just go through the alphabet until I reach your name," Jensen says, ducking his head so that no one in the world can see his smile except for Jared. Jared's never owned anything so precious before in his life. "Aaron?"
Jared huffs and shakes his head, and Jensen shrugs. "We'll get there, Adam? Adrian? Nah, you don't look like an Adrian. Alan? My father's name was Alan. Good, sturdy name."
Alright, so he'll probably be back on his ass by this time tomorrow. Jared decides to enjoy Jensen's attention while he has it.
_______________________________________________________________
It takes several days for Jared's wounds to heal enough for him to walk comfortably. He spends four days and nights in the infirmary. Although a part of him is anxious, his mind always on the shirts he should be knitting to save his family, there's no denying that these are the best days of his life.
Not only is the bed softer than any Jared has ever slept in, the clothes he's given are woven from silk that would cost a year of his wages. He's fed regularly: fresh, warm soups and juice squeezed from plump fruits. Nothing left over or half-spoilt, no one else he's expected to share with.
The healer, Aldis, tends to his wounds daily. He explains that his magic removed the poison from Jared's system, but aside from some ointments to sooth the cuts and scrapes on his hands and feet, the rest of the healing is up to Jared's body.
Aldis wears a grey tunic over his dark skin, a yellow sash across one shoulder signifying both his rank and that his magic is focused in medicine. He's no village apothecary or superstitious faith healer. Aldis is a sage, the kind Jared only ever heard of in the stories his brother used to tell.
He's as real as Jared is, just a regular person who mocks Jared good-naturedly for cutting himself up on a bush and complains about the weather. No one could tell he's a full-blown wizard until he's resting his hands over the other patients in the infirmary, life-threatening injuries reduced to healed scars in moments.
When Aldis is busy looking after others, there are several attendants who see to Jared's needs. But the most important part of Jared's recovery is the prince who sits by his bedside, talking to him about nothing in particular, fussing over whether his bandages are too tight or if he's growing restless from being trapped inside.
Jensen visits every day. Sometimes for hours, some days only in short bursts, half an hour grabbed before and after meals. But he comes without fail, the brightest thing in Jared's universe after only a few days of knowing him.
On the fifth day, Jared awakes to fingers running gently through his hair, a soft humming in his ears. He pretends to be asleep for a few minutes before stretching, feeling his body crack in several places.
"You awake, Sammy?"
Jared just gives Jensen a small smile and half of a nod. Jensen is still convinced he'll guess Jared's name eventually if he goes alphabetically, but that strange nickname is one he always comes back to.
"Aldis says you should be able to go today," Jensen tells him. His hand stops in Jared's hair and he frowns just enough for Jared to see it. "I guess that's good news, right?"
Jared shrugs, moves so that he's sitting up against the head of the bed and his arms are resting on top of the blanket. A part of him aches to reach out, take Jensen's hand between his own. But that would be madness.
"Your family must be very worried about you. If you want us to send them a message…I'm sure we can figure out some way to find them." Jensen smirks. "Though I suppose it'll be hard to tell them we found you without your name."
Jared shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively, trying to explain that there's no family waiting for him. No one.
"Where did we leave off?" Jensen asks. "Was it Cedric? Oh, no. Your name's not Chad, right?"
Jared thinks of Chad, the butcher's boy, his first friend. Last he heard, Chad had spent half a month of his father's earning at a tavern to impress a maiden who, it turned out once he sobered up, was in fact a goat in a dress.
He shudders, and Jensen laughs. "There's something off about guys named Chad."
Jared smiles and to his surprise, the prince takes his hand. He looks up to find those green eyes watching him, all the mirth dropped and an uncharacteristically earnest expression on his face.
"I'm sure you have somewhere to be. And people who care about you. But you don't have to go if not. You can stay. I can talk to Josh-to the king, I mean. I'm sure he'll let you stay." Jensen swallows hard and looks down at their hands. "You don't have to go back to-the way I found you. I can't stand the thought of that."
Jared bites his bottom lip and shrugs. Jensen found him in a definite rock bottom, but the life he's so afraid Jared will return to is the only one he's ever known. This-the palace and servants looking after him, three full meals a day and nothing to do except rest-this is not real to him. He can't imagine how anything this good could ever be real.
But, Jensen did offer. Now that he's immune to the poison in the nettles he has to work with, he actually has a chance at saving his family. If his hands will be bleeding every time he touches them, he still won't be able to earn any money while he does it. Staying here could make all the difference.
It's dangerous, Jared knows that. The way Jensen looks at him feels like a death sentence, like Jared will wither away if he loses him and will perish just as surely if he stays. He knows himself well enough to know that what is an easy infatuation today will be all-consuming affection in just a few months. If he slips someday, if he touches Jensen or kisses him, Jared will be thrown to literal wolves. He's nobody and Jensen is a prince, and yet he won't be able to keep his hands to himself forever.
Maybe just long enough to knit six shirts. He'll stay and he'll behave until his family is free, and then who knows? There's a strong chance Jensen will change his mind soon, throw Jared out with an apology and a yawn. But for now, he wants Jared here, and Jared can deny him nothing.
He reaches out, pressing his bound hand against Jensen's chest, just over his heart. The way Jensen had touched him the first time they met. That hold that centered Jared, helped bring him back when the fever had nearly swallowed him. It had been like home, and Jared hopes with everything he has in him that Jensen will understand that's what he's trying to say. This is his home now. As long as Jensen will let it be.
The prince looks down at Jared's hand before covering it with his own, and then he lets out a heavy breath. Relief shows on his face as clear as anything. "We'll speak to the king today."
Jared shakes his head, gesturing to himself wildly. He can't speak to a king. He shouldn't even be looking at a king. He's a farmhand, for crying out loud.
"Yeah, I guess you have a point," Jensen says. "We'd better clean you up before we present you to anyone. Chandler?"
Jared gives him a flat look.
"Lucky save. Charles? Charles is much better than Chandler."
Jared shakes his head, and Jensen pats him on the back as he helps Jared out of bed. "We'll get there eventually."
_______________________________________________________________
It's not until they step into the long, narrow hallway outside the infirmary that Jared realizes he hasn't seen anything of the castle he's called home for nearly a week. The floors are made of black and white marble and there are suits of armor on either side. Jensen takes his hand and pulls him along excitedly, occasionally stopping to reprimand himself for making Jared walk too quickly on his sore feet.
As is often the case with them, Jensen overcompensates for Jared's silence, and Jared follows behind him, utterly enchanted by his chatty prince and happy to listen to anything as he drinks in the history and random facts about all the strange objects and adornments they pass by.
"This is going to be your room for now," Jensen says as he finally stops in the hall, letting Jared's hand drop so he can reach for the door handle. "It's one of the smaller bedchambers, I know, but it's close to mine. I thought that might help if you find yourself lost and then, once you're more comfortable with the castle, you can pick any room you want."
Jared's mouth drops when the door opens to reveal a room that his family's cottage could fit inside four times. The bed in the center alone seems larger than all the living space they had. It's all his. And Jensen thinks he needs something bigger?
He shakes his head and takes a step back, farther into the hallway, but Jensen turns to look at him, reaching for his hand. "What's wrong, Sammy? You don't like it?"
That name…Jared folds every time. He doesn't know what it means or why Jensen insists on using it, but the softness in his tone when he does pulls Jared in like a spell.
So he follows Jensen into the room, looks around at all the gold and silver, the velvet-lined furniture and wide canopy on the bed that is, apparently, supposed to be his. Jared is careful not to touch anything, terrified he'll break it. That if his skin makes contact with the wrong thing, this whole fairytale will melt away and Jensen won't be standing in front of him, rambling on about the long-dead family members in the paintings.
"Come now, your bath is this way."
The bath is connected to his room-for his private use, Jensen assures him. There are pools in the floor with steam rising from them, a wall along the side lined with scented soaps and assorted ointments.
"Use anything you want," Jensen is saying. "The water is supplied and heated by magic, so all you need to do is think about it if you want the temperature to change."
It's been over a week since Jared had a proper bath, and that was a dip in the river, the water too cold and his body too tired from working in the fields to do much more than rinse off the dirt and sweat and return home. He's been bedridden since he arrived here, the nurses all cleaning him up and Jared hardly able to support himself long enough to make it to the chamberpot on his own.
So, a warm bath in a magically heated pool sounds better than just about anything, and Jared doesn't hesitate before pulling his loose sleep shirt off over his head, his hands about to push his pants down when Jensen turns and lets out a sound of surprise.
Jared stops himself, giving Jensen a confused look, but the prince isn't looking at his expression.
"Oh. You. Uh. Right, you must be very eager to, um. Take a bath." His voice seems to shrink with every word, and his eyes are fixed on Jared's chest.
His whole life, Jared has bathed in the same river that all the families in his village shared. It would have been silly to expect any measure of privacy, and Jared has never once stopped to worry who was around before disrobing.
Now, he's just started stripping in front of a prince, and Jensen is clearly scandalized, his eyes still wide, his cheeks red and becoming redder by the second. Jared feels foolish; for the first time in his life and despite the fact that half of him is still covered, he feels exposed.
He tries to cover his chest with his arms, and that helps Jensen shake off his discomfort at Jared's rough manners. He clears his throat and tries to school his face as if this is all perfectly normal to him.
"I should…" Jensen licks his lips, lifts one hand as if he's going to touch Jared with it, but then he yanks it away and takes a step back. "I've just realized that you'll want assistance. From someone who isn't me. I'm intruding. I'll call some servants for you. I should. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…to…I'll go."
Jared watches him flee as if there are lions on his tail and wonders if he hasn't just ruined everything.
_______________________________________________________________
When Jared finishes his bath, there's a knock outside his bathroom door. He at least has the sense to wrap one of the towels from the nearest shelf around his hips before a middle-aged woman in a simple lavender dress enters.
"Well, damn, today's my lucky day, huh?" The woman gives Jared an unapologetic look over before even pretending to do anything else. Then she smiles up at him. "I'm Kim. The prince sent me to bring you some clothes. Hopefully they'll fit alright. He told me you were big, but honey, those shoulders I was just not prepared for."
Jared laughs silently and follows her back out into his room. There are clothes laid out on the bed as promised, and Kim turns to pick something up to put on Jared. He takes it from her with an appreciative nod and drops the towel so he can pull the first layer of fabric on.
Kim mutters "definitely my lucky day" under her breath, but she doesn't register any of the shock or disgust Jensen had. Jared figures a chambermaid probably grew up in conditions much closer to Jared's than Jensen's, and he's surprisingly relieved to have her here, even if it feels downright ridiculous to have someone dress him at his age. There are pieces of the ensemble that Jared would not know what to do with were she not here, however, so he appreciates the assistance, even if he can't say 'thank you.'
They're just about finished when there's a knock on the door, and Jensen sticks his head in. "Is everybody decent in here?"
Kim snorts. "I'm not, but we're both wearing clothing." She pauses for a long beat and then adds a teasing, "My lord."
Jensen rolls his eyes. "Very convincing," he says. "I'm sure our guest is really impressed with how respectful you are of my position."
Kim stops on her way out the door, reaches up, and ruffles the prince's hair. Jensen lets her, swatting her away and acting annoyed, but unable to contain his laughter. Jared just watches the whole display in awe. He's never seen a noble allow a servant to treat them in such a matter. But then, he's never known anyone to be anything at all like Jensen.
He waits until Kim is gone before he steps into the room, closer to Jared. Jensen's eyes track down for a long time before he looks up, into Jared's face, and he smiles brightly. "The clothes are a little small for you. But you look…they suit you. We'll have some tailored for you once Josh has given permission for you to stay."
Jared boggles a bit at Jensen's casual use of the king's name, especially in the presence of someone as low as he is, and the prince laughs immediately, as if he's reading Jared's mind. "What, do you not have a brother?"
Jared nods to say he does, and Jensen's grin turns wicked. "And you mean to tell me there's any circumstance at all under which you would be able to refer to him as anything other than a royal pain in the ass with a straight face?"
That almost shocks a full out laugh out of Jared, but he tries to imagine it. If Jeff had been a king and Jared a prince…Jensen has a point. There's no crown hallowed enough to make Jeff more or less than the big jerk who used to embarrass Jared in front of the entire town whenever possible.
Jensen takes his hand and squeezes it between his own. "Don't be nervous, okay? This is just a formality."
If Jared could speak, he might mention that he doesn't know anything about formalities, let alone ones that involve actual royalty, but things being as they are, he follows Jensen quietly and lets events play out as they will.
They walk through the castle for what seems like an unrealistically long time to still be in the same building, until finally they cross a great hall and reach a door flanked on both sides by armed guards. It makes Jared nervous, but Jensen simply breezes by, nodding at the guards as they open the door for him.
Inside, the first thing Jared sees is a large throne, ornate beyond Jared's wildest imaginings, directly in the middle of the room and situated at the top of two small steps so as to ensure every eye is drawn up to the person sitting upon it.
The king is there, dressed in robes so elaborate he makes Jensen look like a pauper, and Jared thought he was overdressed, but now he has that naked feeling again. He's a handsome man, though nothing compared to his brother, looking not much older but decidedly more worn.
On his left, there's a slightly smaller throne with an astonishingly beautiful woman sitting on it. She's blonde and looks as if she would be tall standing, and her bright blue eyes are focused on the velvet-swaddled infant in her arms.
She must be the queen, Jared thinks.
There's a similarly toned-down throne on the king's right, which Jared realizes must be for Jensen. Jensen doesn't take his seat, however. He stands on the floor with the rest of the petitioners, and gestures Jared over to stand by his side.
The king is hearing someone argue his case for a fence to be built between his and someone else's property. Something about cows not staying on their side of the property line. He looks astoundingly bored, but is clearly making an effort not to.
Standing just behind his throne, Jared recognizes the old man who had tried to convince Jensen to leave him in the woods, Lord Beaver, and his stomach drops. He doubts his chances are as good as Jensen believes them to be if that's the adviser whispering in the king's ear.
After the lord is finished speaking, the king agrees to have some men sent out to the noble's estate to build a new fence. The man thanks the king for a full two minutes, until finally Lord Beaver gestures to one of the guards to escort him out.
"That's all for now," the king announces.
A large crowd huddled off to the side all begin to argue, and Lord Beaver steps forward. "The king will hear more cases after he has met with his council and broken his fast. All of your problems will be addressed in due course. Please file out in the direction the guards indicate until such a time as you are allowed back into the chamber."
Jared watches the grumbling mass of people walk out through the door he and Jensen just entered from, and he turns to follow them. Jensen catches his arm and shakes his head.
After the room has been emptied of everyone except for the king, queen, Jensen, four guards, Lord Beaver, and Jared and the doors are closed behind them, the king's expression drops.
"We hate open petition days," he says.
At his side, the queen doesn't even look up from her child before admonishing, "They're your subjects. The least you can do is hear them out once a week."
"They're some of our subjects," the king responds, and Jared sees the family resemblance right then and there. Jensen has the same pout when he's feeling grumpy, which isn't entirely rare. Jared finds it incredibly endearing, but Jared is beyond biased. "The ones who can afford to have their names added to the list."
"We've spoken about this, your grace, it would be impossible to get through even a fraction of the people who have grievances to air if we let just anyone in."
"So we hear out the ones with the pettiest complaints instead of those who are actually suffering?" He sighs. "That man spoke for half an hour of our life about the patch of grass his neighbor's cow ate and how it would affect profits. As if it's him and not his farmhands that will be covering his losses."
"My lord, these are the people with armies at their disposal. These are the ones who you need on your side to help you rule. Not the commoners. This is just how politics work."
"Yes, Jim, so we have been told every day since we took the throne." He rubs his temple for a few seconds and then shifts in his seat. "We're just not in a great mood. It'll pass."
"You're never in a good mood," Jensen says. "And it never really passes."
The king grins when he hears his brother's voice, and Jensen steps forward so he can be seen. "Ah, great. Just what we needed today. Our bratty little brother."
"Drop the royal we thing, Josh. You have no idea how stupid you sound," Jensen replies. "We're all family here."
The king looks at Jared pointedly, and Jensen turns to gesture him forward.
"He's mute. I promise he won't tell anyone you deigned to stop being pretentious in front of him."
The king laughs. "Fuck it, you know I hate it as much as you do, but there-"
"There are rules," Lord Beaver says. Interrupting the king, and Jared almost fears for him, but no one bats an eye. "That peasant is not permitted in this room. He should never be in the king's presence. It's an insult to-"
"I think I'll determine what insults me," the king says, lifting a hand. He looks down at Jensen. "Explain?"
"He saved our lives, me and my men, Jim included. We were lost in the forest and-"
"He didn't save our lives," Jim cuts in. "We weren't going to die out there. He made an unpleasant day end slightly earlier than it might have otherwise. And by introducing new unpleasantness, at that. In fact, we saved his life."
"I didn't see you helping him," Jensen replies, and then he blanches. "I'm sorry, Jim. That was out of line."
Jim waves it off.
"The mute forest guide, yes. I think I heard something about this." The king looks over at Jared and smiles. "I didn't realize you were still in the castle, or I would have come to thank you for assisting my brother."
Jared isn't sure what to do. He tries to bow but he doesn't really know how to do it right, and he knows he screwed up when he lifts his head again, sees the king's smile is clearly trying to hold back laughter. It doesn't look unkind, though, so Jared just ducks his head in embarrassment.
"He was poisoned," Jensen explains. "Aldis saved him but…I actually came with a petition of my own. I want to have him stay here in the castle, if that's alright with you. Indefinitely."
Jim scoffs. "Your highness, he's a peasant. The fact that he was brought here at all is thanks enough. Letting him stay would be a humiliation."
"You said you wanted to help people who really needed help," Jensen tells the king. "Sammy doesn't have anywhere else to go."
"Sammy?" the king repeats, a look on his face as if he's never had so much fun in his life. "I see how it is."
Jared really wishes he knew what that damn word means. He feels like there's an entire conversation going on without him. Whatever it means, Jensen is instantly flustered by his brother picking it out.
"No, I just." Jared can see the tips of the prince's ears turning bright pink. "Well, I…I had to call him something."
"Of course, of course," the king replies, still looking like he might fall off his throne laughing any moment. He waits until he has himself under control, and then he speaks, putting a strong emphasis on the nickname. "And Sammy just so happens to be what you picked out."
"Yes!" Jensen answers defensively.
"Glad we settled that," the queen says, and Jensen looks oddly grateful to her for interrupting. "Josh, your brother asked for a favor."
"I don't have a problem with it," the king responds, his lips twisting with mirth again. "Sammy can stay as long as he wants."
"But your grace, he's-"
"Queen Adrianne, do you have a problem with a commoner in your home?"
The queen looks up for the first time and smirks at Jared. "Not if they look like that."
The king crosses his arms over his chest. "Wife!"
Unlike her husband, she doesn't bother trying to cover her laugh. "Does he watch babies? I could use a night to myself."
"My lady, you would leave the heir to the throne in the hands of a stranger? And a commoner, at that?"
"Mostly, Jim," she says, and the way she stresses Lord Beaver's name makes Jared think she's about as fond of him as Jared is, "I was joking. But honestly, if it'll get me a few good hours of sleep, I'll leave the heir to the throne with the rampaging cow if it promises to behave."
"Alright, that's enough of that," the king says, shaking his head but with no real edge to his words. "Jensen, your friend is granted permission to roam the palace as he wishes and to stay as long as you want him to be here."
Jared can see Lord Beaver wanting to step in again, but to his great relief, the man stays quiet, giving Jared a sulky look.
"Thank you, brother," Jensen says. "Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah," the king says, waving off Jensen's gratitude. "Now get out of my face. I'm starving."
Jensen steers him out into the hallway with a grin lighting up his features. He must see that there's still some hesitation in Jared's expression, because he leans in close. "Don't worry about Jim, okay? He can be…prejudiced. But he means well. He practically raised my brother and I after our parents passed away. Taught Josh everything he knows about ruling. He's a good guy. You'll win him over."
Jared gives him a thin lipped smile, unsure if that was supposed to make him feel better, because it did just the opposite. The king's closest adviser, and Jensen's surrogate father, wants him thrown back into the woods, and Jared is already certain he won't be winning the lord over as easily as Jensen believes.
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