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The words spoke of a mighty king. One who would stride in to the midst of any battle, an air of wrath and fury curling around his frame. Words whispered of a beast within the king, of a hunger which filled his cry as he raised a weapon to whoever approached. Words spoke of a king, mighty and fierce, of metal splintering against his armour when swords came crashing down against him. Words spoke of a fearless warrior who took no mercy, leaving no one behind. They whispered about magic curling through his veins, of eyes that glowed as bright as the silver on the weapons that he wielded.Words whispered of pale skin and dark ink. They spoke of curses and lore, trailing through the night, weaving through the stars until the darkness swallows up the light. Words spoke of a mighty king, one who slayed every time. They spoke of a wrath so strong that even his own men were afraid of him. Words spoke of a predator who hunted and captured in every step, of a king that was feared and loved together. Words spoke of a cold tune, echoing through colder hallways of night. They speak of a soul tainted and stained with the dead. They speak of skin that held many secrets and harshness.Words spoke of a mighty king.Fearless and a beast.Words spoke of a mighty king.They spoke of a haunted man dressed in the skin of his kills.They spoke of blood-soaked ruler, intent to kill.Words spoke of a mighty king.A ruthless killer, a madman dancing in the moonlight.They spoke of a mighty king, of a warrior.Words did not speak of a boy!They did not speak of a broken body. Words did not speak of eyes that shone like melted gold in the sunlight. Words did not speak of a defeated air, of a child in sheep’s clothing. They did not speak of a boy, dressed for war.They didn’t speak of a collapsed stare. Of a child on his knees and chained. Words did not speak of shackles wearing down arms that looked ready to snap.In fact.Words didn’t speak at all. Not one’s that couldn’t be trusted at all.Words had a habit of being twisted and turned around, of being raised up and fearful as they spread from mouth to mouth. They are spoken in hushed moments, fairy tales and nightmares told to children to get them to behave.But one thing was for certain.The mighty king had fallen.But the words had gotten it wrong.The mighty king was nothing but a child, fighting in an adult’s world. A child playing dress up in his father’s clothes.One that stayed silent, even as they are beaten, staining pale and inked skin yellow and red and blue.=.=.=.=.=.=.=He stands and watches as hits are rained down on to his body, beat after beat, fist after fist. But he still doesn’t move to resist, doesn’t move to protect himself. He watches as he shifts and moves, only to raise back up on to his knees again every time he stumbles down to the ground. For a moment, he watches, enchanted as the boy turns his heads and spits blood upon the ground, his eyes dark as they raise and meet his own, a smirk coming up to curl at the boy’s lips.For a moment he feels a chill as it rushes around the room, feels the electric in the air of something more, of something hiding behind those eyes, of something darker to be feared, of something to watch out for.For a moment, he believes in the words that he has heard, believes in the beast hiding behind the skin of this boy. But he pushes them away, he pushes them far away as he raises his own hand, motioning for the beating to continue.For he is the mighty king now.For he has taken this child’s lands, he has knocked the mighty king, this boy from his throne and claimed it for his own.He stays long enough to watch the beatings tear at the boy’s face, watches as it causes an eye to swell dangerously close to closing, watches as his lips are broken open and bleeding sluggishly down across his chin. He watches as the boy watches him back, he takes in the determined look in his open eyes, watches as a tongue darts out to lick at the blood pooling in the corner of his mouth.He watches until he can watch no longer.He turns with a flourish, the material of his cloak brushing across the straw filled floor, clearing the flag stones of it as he marches out and through the empty hallway. His boots are loud against the floor, sending sound bouncing all around him, almost confusing him until he pin-points his hearing ahead of him, letting his senses dull enough to not worry.For a moment he had had a moment of worry.For a moment he thought he had seen that hidden beast.For a moment he wondered if the words were true.He had seen something shift in those golden turned black eyes.But it couldn’t be, the oh so mighty king was nothing but a child. A child playing dress up in his father’s old armour. But that had been stripped from his body, thrown across the courtyard when they had captured him. The boy wore nothing but rough clothing and for a moment, the king pauses in his strides, he wonders if this boy wasn’t just some common town folk, standing in place of the true king. Most wore ink upon their skin, wore clothing just as rough in material. For a moment he turns and stares back the way he had come, eyes calculating as he listens carefully. The beating hasn’t stopped, he can hear a few more hits being made against skin, the dull thud of flesh against flesh before they finally fall quiet.Leaving an eerie silence to flow along the long hallway.Either way, the boy was foolish if he had truly taken the real king’s place. It was a sure death wish if they had swapped places and the real king were hidden away in the town outside the castle walls. Shaking his head, the king turns and continues walking again.No, this boy was the king. He knew it deep down within his own bones as he stalked through the hallways, cursing at the growing coldness that seeped through the stones. After all, no one was foolish enough to take the place of a king during a war.Not one against the Wolf of Hale.No one was foolish enough to do that.
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He’s orphaned and crowned king on the same day.Surrounded by a sea of death, of blood splattered across the snow filled grounds, upon his skin and sliding down the sword he held at his side. He is the leader now, all around him, his men take to their knee as drums beat in time with his heart beating in his chest.He is a boy king, thirteen years old, but already he has spilt blood in the name of his father and his kingdom, in the name of what they fight for.His mother the queen, had passed a few years before hand. Leaving his father and him to defend and to lead. His father had tried to leave him behind in the castle, to keep him from battles and wars, to keep him from the horror. But each time he fought and refused until the king had no choice than to take him along with him for, he would just follow anyway. He practically grew with the wars and battles, grew with the men fighting. He has watched his father’s men fight, learnt to copy their movements, to swing a sword and wield a dagger. He learnt to watch the enemies too, to learn how they fought, to take in everything, every detail that he could use against them all.He took it all in.And the battle was no different. His age and size were often a welcomed gift as he fought, it gave his enemy a moment of confusion which was enough time for him to slice them through and move on to the next man. Afterall, no one ever expected to see a child to be amid a battle filed. But he moved quickly, efficiently, leaving a trail of death in his wake. He fights with a fierceness and a fire which burns low in his stomach, the heat of that spurs him forward, sword coated in slickness when a cry rings sharp and loud through the sound of battle, enough for him to twist around and an enemy’s short sword to graze his cheek, cutting a line below his eye as his eyes search for the man who had made the sound.Ignoring the sting, the boy turns and ends the man’s life before he turns and rushes, jumping over bodies as he makes it to his father’s side. In to the snow his knees sink, his hands tugging at the king’s shoulders until he has turned him over, eyes growing wide at the sight of a gash in his father’s side. The wound is deep and heavily bleeding, a rich dark colour. They both know that the end is near when their eyes meet at last, the unspoken words clear in his father’s face as the boy cries with rage. He takes a moment to lean down, to rest his forehead against his father’s own. He closes his eyes and whispers soft words until he is pulled away and a sword is raised, only to clash against one of his own. Breathing harshly, the boy let’s himself be stood, his eyes sharp as they move around the field, watching his father’s men as they continue to fight, driving the enemy away from the scene, leaving him and only a few with his dying father, to protect the future king.‘’Go.’’The words are spoken weakly, and he turns to look down at the king, his eyes sharp as he nods and then coughs, blood wetting his lips as the boy breaths out. He can feel his own blood trickling down over his cheek, can see the smudge of it that he left against his father’s temple.With his dying father’s wishes, the boy takes up arms and marches forward, pushing past the line of his father’s…no his men and strikes at the first person he comes across. It’s easy to fight, to push the blade of his weapons through weak armour and in to warm bodies. He fights like a beast has taking over his body and soul, his voice is sharp as he cries out and shouts. It lasts longer than he expects, but finally the last captured solider of the enemy is slain and he falls at his feet as he pulls his sword back out of a soft belly.He stands panting, his shoulders shaking with the breaths he pulls in to his body and expels.On silent feet he turns and walks back towards his father and the men. He can see them standing, moving to circle the king’s body, for by now he has breathed his last breath and the boy knows it. He can feel it deep in his bones and in his mind.He is the king now, and these are his men.Like the sea, they part, letting him through without a single word as he enters the circle. The dead have been moved away, leaving patchy snow stained red in their places. Alone, his father lays, his skin is ashen, and eyes closed, his chest still. Someone has found the kings weapon and have laid it across his body, clasping the dead king’s hands to it for a king should never be without his weapon, even in death.
The boy stands and stares, the men wait around, glancing among themselves silently before one finally moves and kneels by the king’s head. The boy watches as he removes the king’s crown with gentle hands until he is re-standing and turning towards him. He takes careful steps forward and the boy pulls himself up straight, his shoulders moving to stand tall as he stares ahead.It’s not much as the crown is laid on his head, there are no words spoken. The metal is heavy and it presses down on top of his head, digging in to his skull as the man’s hands lets it go and he steps back and moves to one knee. In the seconds that pass, all his soldiers start to move, falling to a knee and heads bowing towards him as they silently pledge their lives to the boy.To their new king.It is in the silent moments that the men start to raise their heads, that in a brief second of the light shining down on him, they swear that they see the boy’s eyes change, a flicker of something dangerous and fearful curling like smoke. It’s in the seconds that follow that the words start to whisper amongst them creating their rumours that will spread far and wide.‘’Take my father and prepare to return home.’’His first orders as king are met with movement, his voice sharp as the soldiers shift to sheath their weapons and four men step forward to gather the old king between them. The boy knows that he will be carried back to their camp, laid upon furs and blankets and be made ready for the trip home, to where he will be laid to rest with the queen in the catacombs, far below the castle.To be laid with the rest of their ancestors.He feels like he’s treading deep water as he walks through the dead. A wave of grief and relief passes through him as he moves. At his side, his sword drags, leaving a thin trail in the surface of the snow. He is relieved that his father is dead, is relieved that, he has no longer have to worry about his health and his safety. He knows that he is young, almost too young to take the throne. But he has no uncles, distant cousins or older siblings to take his place, to serve in place of him until he is of age. But it has been something he has been prepared for.Everyone knows that he is ready.He has proven that plenty of times before.They reach camp as night starts to fall, the dusk of the day ending covering them all in a shroud as they walk. The ones who stayed behind stares as the boy steps forward, he knows that they have seen the crown sat upon his head. Still his shoulders are held back straight and his head is high, eyes straight ahead as he moves. Either side, he can see the men and women move to bow, showing their respect to their new king as he heads towards the tents. Before the night is over, he would be briefed on the battle, he would know the number of their dead, the number of their injured. He would be briefed on the next plans, the plans his father would’ve already have made, on what they would need to do before he sends them away.He knows that in his father’s tent, that his body has been laid out in respect for the night. In the morning, they will lay him on a cart, surrounded by his furs and blankets. His body made comfortable for the journey home.
They will ride two soldiers ahead of his father’s body, two soldiers behind and then following, the boy king would ride, high on his father’s horse, his own behind and attached to a knights own stead to be lead back home again. The new king knows that there will be excitement and joyful calls and songs sung when they appear on the hills of their return. He knows that it will continue until someone spots their banners, held low, nearly to the ground and the songs will change to whispers and wails. The boy king knows that people will crowd the roads and streets, waiting on the return of their loved ones and on news. No doubt there will be a runner. A child no doubt, probably the same age as their new king who will run back, who will bring the news of the king’s death before they even hit the city limits.The boy knows that in the time it takes for the news to spread, that they would be approaching the gates in a silent march. He knows that there will be cries echoing as people sobbed. That there will be hushed whispers and words between each other. He knows that the moment the king has passed by and he enters through the gates, that they will start to fall to a knee in respect of the dead and the man his father was, in respect for him, their new king.He knows what he looks like, sat high upon his father’s steed. He knows he looks like a child playing dress up in his father’s cloak and crown, in the rich colours of the king’s clothing. The boy knows that some will think him not fit, think him too young to lead and to keep their land alive, but they will keep their thoughts and words to themselves for the time being, they will bow and accept him as king and heir as they walk through towards the castle.But he will keep his head up high, his eyes pointed forward until he can dismount and enter his home as a new being, as king.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.The following months find him leaving his childhood behind.He is drawn in to meetings with the council, meetings with his advisors and the people of his kingdom. He feels like he’s being torn from limb to limb as he finds his footings and pushes the memories of happier times away. As he pushes away the hushed whispers that he pretends not to hear as he walks the hallways day and night. He knows that he is broken inside, can feel it when he finally lay’s his head down at night and allows himself to be the child that he is.He has a small mercy though. His loyal friend stays by his side and coaches him through the moment’s he struggles with. He helps to change the king’s crown to something smaller, to something that fits him better. The original and his father’s crown sits above the throne, safely tucked in to a wooden box along with his mothers and in to cervice in the wall, hidden by a tapestry.By the time a year passes by, the king has grown stronger, has sparred and has continued his lessons. No longer is he looked upon as a boy, but a man as his fourteenth birthday passes by. He steals away to the catacombs in his spare moments, paces between the stone coffins of his parents. He often speaks to them, talks to them of the day’s past and the future. It’s in here that he does his best thinking. In the darkness of the chambers, where water drips somewhere in the darkness, always out of sight but always in mind. He can smell the mould that hides in the corners, can smell the damp death of his ancestors as he passes them by.It is in the catacombs that he learns of his family secret. He learns of the power that he holds deep in his body when he passes an old wooden coffin. A past great, great grandmother who didn’t believe in stone and forever. He jumps at the cracking, body turning and eyes straining past the candle light as he searches the dark. It’s not until something shifts, that he turns the candle and a hand towards the side, eyes wide as he watches as a wooden board crumbles with age and slides from the coffin, baring a large gap in the gloom.
He stops and stares at the space, his heart thundering inside his chest, sure that the sound is echoing off the cold walls. But something is drawing him in as he slowly steps closer and lowers the candle. Through the light that splashes, he can make out mouldy material and bones, an arm he thinks. Finds nothing but disappointment as he stares. But then, as he goes to turn away, something else catches his eyes in the candle light and he leans in for a closer look.He is moving before he thinks about it, his hand breaking off more of the coffin, the wood dismantling easily under his touch before he’s sliding it inside and grasping at the wrapped object. When he pulled it free, he ignores the dust and smell. He looks down at the object and tilts it enough for the material to slide off, revealing a cover of a worn and old book. He doesn’t know how or why, but he knows that no one else should know about this book, that it was something either scared or something worth burying with the dead to be rid of the book, to hide it away from future generations, something that was hidden in the hopes of being forgotten about.The king returns to battle before he gets chance to take the book from its hiding place under his bed. He goes to battle with a new anger on his shoulders, expectation settling low in his gut and smoke gathering in his eyes.The king isn’t stupid. He knew that war was coming again. Knew that there would be other kingdoms and other people coming to try and take over. After all, he was still a child in their eyes, a kingdom easy to overtake and conquer. But he goes to the front, is the first one of his soldiers to step forward and in to battle. His sword is the first to clash with a cry from his lips. He takes his first kill in the first five minutes of the battle starting. The king fights with a vengeance, a mind clear of everything but killing. He moves with a swiftness that he has trained since the last war, trained with his knights and warriors to get even better and he moves quickly.
The king shows them that he might be young, but he was no match when it came to battle. He took no mercy on anyone and he fought with a fury that burned through and itched at his skin. He knew of the lands magic, knew of the folk tales and the truths. He knew people still believed in them, still believed that magic ran through the land.It doesn’t take long before the remaining invaders turn and tuck tail. He heaves for breath, leaning on the hilt of his sword as he watched them flee. He knows what he looks like, could see the fear in their eyes as they fought. He’s covered head to toe in blood, every inch of his body bathed in it as he finally moves and calls for his men to return, that the battle was over. He calls to them to collect their wounded and dead and return home.He doesn’t notice it at first.But as more battles pass and he lays more claim to land, he hears the rumours starting to spread. He hears the words which are spoken about him. The fearlessness that he holds and the whispered words of a mighty king.But he also hears the fear in people’s voices when they are speaking in hushed tones and dark corners. The fear they hold towards him. He just takes in in, swallows it down and adds it to the way he feels, adds it as fuel. He trains harder, trains longer. He learns to wield different weapons, but each time he comes back to his sword and dagger.In-between the fighting and the daily commands of being king, he finally gets a chance to read his ancestor’s book. He learns about the family history and the darkness in the magic that ran through their blood. He learns of the fae and the fear that some tales bring with it, of the shape shifters and magic folk. Rumours of them being daemons in disguise, sent to trick and to steal. The king learns how to adapt and to call on the old magic, he watches in the reflection of his window of his eyes changing in colour and he knows, he knows that the rumours being spread between his men are true.He carries his ancestor’s magic deep down in his blood.So, he trains with his knights, he trains with his sword and he trains with his magic. He teaches himself behind closed doors of his history, of how to channel his rage and fear in to something stronger, something to help him when he fights, he teaches himself the spells and the tales which the book holds and when he finds the hidden pages, torn and tucked in to the back cover, he teaches himself the true magic his blood held.He trains his inner beast.He becomes the mighty king his people call him.He becomes unstoppable.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=By the time he turns eighteen, the king is no longer the small boy he once was. People believed in him fully, believed that he would look after them and protect their lands. He hadn’t once let an invading kingdom come anywhere close to the castle and the surrounding city. They know that he is strong, both in mind and in will.Where there’s fear, there is also trust.His people are loyal to him, even if they think him a little strange.After all, he doesn’t look the way a king should.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.==.=.=He sits studying when the sounds of hurried feet have him lifting his head and turning towards the large doors of the hall. Before long the doors swing open and his trust friend rushes in and over towards him, only briefly remembering to throw a quick bow in to his greeting as he drops down in to the chair beside him.‘’Speak friend.’’ He greets as he pushes the papers to the side and switches his attention to the man beside him, eyes running over him. ‘’You have come in such a rush, there must be important news.’’‘’Stiles…my brother, my king.’’ He replies with a pant, a grin appearing over his face as he lifts his lips and reaches out, a hand tapping against the king’s wrist. He’s one of the few who can get away with touching him. ‘’My mother has accepted the hand of Argent. She is to be wed again. ‘’For a moment, the king sits and thinks. He knows that he should know more, that he should’ve listened to much of his friends talks when they have been together. But he often had a habit of turning his hearing out before he nodded. ‘’I am pleased to hear the good news. You must tell them that they must have their wedding feast here in the castle. And if they have not yet chosen a place to wed, then they are to have it in the castle chapel.’’‘’My king.’’ His friend spoke, his lips opening and closing a few times before he is being hugged tightly. The king freezes for a moment before he returns the touch, his arms winding their way around his friend’s torso slowly. ‘’They will be thankful’’ He spoke as they parted.He stays and talks with his friend for a while, they talk of missed meetings and the faint and few friends that the king has. They talk of his up-and-coming ceremony, the inking of his skin like the kings before him. It is a rite of passage, a trait that has been traded down through his ancestors for generations, from great grandfather to grandfather and father.He remembers the inking’s on his father’s skin, small and close to his heart, a reminder of his wife and child. He had others of course, he remembers, a wolf on his low calf, a star on his bicep. Each had held meaning to the old king. He already has the image that he wants, inked out and copied carefully from his hidden book, drawn on a piece of parchment and tucked away inside its old pages.Before he knows it, the days has passed, and he is entering the room of ink. It’s a foolish name he idlily thinks, but it is the name that has been passed down as well and he accepts it as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, the sound of it closing like a locking of a chest, sharp and final. He gives the inker the design and removes his shirt. There is a soldier stood in the corner, hand on his sword, ready if the king needed him.He doesn’t.He lays out on his front, head pillowed on his arms as the inker worked away. He flinches in pain, of the needles piercing his skin, but he works through it, breathes slowly and falls in to a trance of the feeling, remembering passages of his book, of his ancestor’s words, reciting them over and over in his mind as he lies there and the inker works away, following his design, spreading the ink out across his pale skin. It’s quiet for a long time until the inker pulls away and quietly asks the king to sit up, having the need to get to his shoulders more and the sides of his neck.By the time he is done, the king is tired, and the sun is lower in the sky. Nearly a whole day has passed, but finally the king has his raven across his back, its wings outstretched across his shoulder blades, the feathers curling up over his shoulders and on to his neck slightly. The black ink is a starkness against his pale skin. He has been told, growing up that the marks that dot his skin shine out like constellations on his back, of them being the ancestor’s blessings against his skin. And now the raven’s claw’s curls halfway down his back, claws gripped around nothing, yet will be filled in the weeks to come when it was the right time.He eats a light dinner and retires to his chambers early that night.But as the days pass, the king trains still, he twists with the sword, skin glistening under the sun when he removes his shirt.The words whisper of magic in the air, of something curling around the king, shielding him in a wrath of something magical. And as he moves, the words whisper of ink seemingly to flutter with the king’s movements, taking a life of their own, of feathers moving in the breeze.The king takes to training alone, swinging his sword and daggers at imaginary foes, strong fingers thrusting the blades around and forward before he turns and stops his blade, inches from a messenger’s face. He can see the fear in the child’s eyes, the way their body trembled as they stood there, eyes almost crossing as they stare at the blades point. Pulling the sword back, the king straightens out and pulls the weapon back to his side, head cocked as he waits.‘’Your…your advisors are, in need of your presence your majesty.’’ The child rumbles out the words as his eyes flicker over the ground, daring himself not to look up as the king nods to himself mainly and turns, leaving the messenger standing in the middle of the yard. He takes his time as he moves through the hallways of the castle. He stops by his own chambers first, dries the sweat from his body, washing briefly in the basin of water left in the room and changes in to new, fresh clothing. Long gone were the finer fabrics that he knew as a child, instead the king uses the same materials as his castle and kingdom, rougher fabric that fits his lithe body better than the finer silks and cotton. Material that moves with him and can take the rougher edges of his living.He does not care very much for the finer things, finds most a waste.He finds himself entering the councils chamber to a collection of hushed and raised voices, both which scatter to a silence at his presence. Closing the door behind him, the king walked towards the head of the table and moved to sit down, his hand gesturing at the others to continue in their work.‘’King Mieczyslaw.’’ Once councillor started, his words clipped and strong as he breathed out and turned to face the king. ‘’We have been made aware that the Wolf of Hale has been moving westerly. Already word has spread that he has taken kingdoms and conquered lands all the way to the north and south.’’‘’Are we in direct threat of this Wolf of Hale?’’ Stiles askes as his eyes moves around the room, taking in each man that stood before him before they come back to settle on the man who had spoken.‘’No, not as yet, but my sources say- ‘’‘’Then we do not need to fear this Wolf of Hale, not until they are on our doorstep.’’ Stiles cut off, nodding a little before he adjusted the way he was sat in the chair. ‘’How are the provisions for the wedding coming along? I have heard that Melissa and Chris are happily waiting to be wed.’’ He asked as his eyes darted around the room again. He had come to know that the advisors were not happy with opening the castle up to a wedding which was not of a royal one. But the king liked to make his scant friends happy and allowing his mother to marry within the castle’s walls would make him extremely happy.‘’Things are going well my king.’’ Another spoke, ‘’we are preparing for the feast as we speak.’’‘’Good, then if that is all, I will take my leave now.’’Standing, the king waited for a moment, his eyes moving around each person as he waited. He wanted to see if any of them would react to his words or try and discourage him from doing something, but none did.They knew better.Walking out of the room, the king rolled his shoulders before he made his way along the hallway and to the main doors of the castle. Standing on the steps, he looked out over the courtyard, eyes watching as work was completed and people talked to each other.‘’Your majesty, do you require your horse to be saddled?’’ Turning at the sound of the voice, the king blinked at the stable hand before he was shaking his head.‘’No, that will not be required, thank you.’’ He told the girl, his eyes watching as she bowed and quickly retreated again now that she was in no need of the king. Shaking his head to himself, Stiles turned and searched across the courtyard again, just taking things in as he slowly lowered himself to sit on the steps. As much as a king he was, he was still a person, one that had been forced to grow up quickly, thrown in to things in the deep end. He could often be found doing such things, just watching silently as people passed him by without comment.Many visitors had come across the king like this, mistaking him for a simple commoner and demanded him of their needs, ordering him around to take their bags and horses to where they needed to be. He often did it with a relish, knowing that their smirks and hushed whispers would be suddenly swallowed and recanted, their bodies changing and mouths stuttering out apologies as another member of staff would approach. Their words of majesty and my king, spoken to him with bows as he is introduced to the visitor.He often found it amusing.He found it amusing to see how the visitors would try their best to make it up to him, often trying to appease him with gifts of riches and finery which he waved away with a flick of a hand, not interested in jewels and clothes.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=He gets called to battle on the eve of the wedding. A night of a full moon, he charges in to the thick of it, sword swinging and a battle cry leaving his lips. He moves quickly, moves fiercely. Words whisper of how the king that night fought with a rage so strong that it scared even the toughest of men. Some say that his eyes glowed silver, others say that he had turned in to a beast. The king killed without thought and without feeling anything but rage. On nights he sometimes tries to remember, he finds blank spaces, just feels the way his body moves and his arms swing, he remembers the sound of blades hitting each other, of his weapons piercing through armour and warm flesh, the way his body felt as if he was floating on the air, flying above the carnage.In a way, the king relishes in the memories that he does remember.They return from battle the day after the wedding and he makes his apologies to the newly married couple. He’s still got blood and dirt covered on his skin and his clothing is stained. But he stands before his guests with a small chest in his hands, a wedding present to help them see through their lives, to make sure they were comfortable and without want. At first, they try to refuse, to say that it’s too much, but the king reminds them of the friendly words they have shared with him in his life, the parentally figures they have been when he needed some, the friends they had been to his parents.He tells them to take it anyway, to keep safe, even if they never use the coin. It’s a gift that can’t be refused again as they take the chest from his hands and bow to him low.He takes his leave after that, turns to the bathhouses of the castle and strips to the flesh. Pale skin dotted with ink and blood, the king sinks in to the hot water, steam rising around him as he lets a pained hiss out. For once he had been caught with the edge of a blade, the weapon sliding across his side as he presses a hand to the wound. It isn’t deep, nothing like his father’s wound, but it stings in the water as he lowers himself on to the small ledge under the water. Tipping his head back, the king lets a breath out, lets himself relax as trails of dirt and blood weave across the water and away from him in soft ripples. Down here in the lower parts of the castle, he can be alone, the echo of drips moves through the room and he lets himself unfurl a little, lets the anger and stress that has built up in his body out.He imagines it like ribbons, unwinding in the wind and flowing until it detaches, and the wind snatches it up, sending it through the air and away from him until he can no longer see it. He lowers himself in to the water until only his head is showing, his eyes closed and tilted back against the edge. He stays like this until the water starts to grow cold, and only then does the king reach for the cloth and the soap which lays beside the bath. He washes himself with care, making sure to remove every trace of blood and dirt from his body and wound.When he rises from the water, he steps out and stands on the cold stone floor, just listening to the room before he moves to dry off and redress again. He takes his time, knowing that no one would come to talk to him or interrupt unless it was important. He takes in the solitude of it all as he lets the cold prickle his skin as he moves through the hidden tunnels, taking them back to his chambers, away from the people who roam the castle grounds. He likes to be alone in the aftermath of battle, likes to unwind and be with just himself as he moves around his chambers, lighting candles which hasn’t been lit and moved to study through his books, it’s history he already knows, the magic that feels so normal, yet so strange within him still.He still didn’t fully understand how his family magic worked. He only knew that he felt the strength of it, the power of it when he was in the middle of a battle. He felt the strength of it as his vision changed and he charged forward. Sometimes it felt like he could see the weaknesses in the enemy’s armour, his eyesight showing him the places to attack and their weaknesses, so that he could take them down quickly and harshly. The king knew that his own men knew of the power, had seen the change in him, and even if he hadn’t known for sure, the whispered words had soon come back around to his own ears of his behaviour on the battle field.In the days that follow, the king pushes himself harder than ever before when he trains. He commands his men to charge at him, to attack him with the intent to kill. At first, they are hesitant, unsure whether to really do it in fear of their own lives before he growls at them, that he would kill them where he stood if they did not answer to his words. So, they come flying at him, two at a time and then three. But he always catches their weapons, knocks them away and pins them with his own sharp points.
His blades sing through the air, cutting through with sharpness as they come to clash against metal. He pulls and thrusts with a fineness that his men start to struggle to keep up. Wounds are created and the king grows frustrated that he cannot have them injured. He demands them to blind fold him, this time they listen and quickly do as they say. The king stands there, his sword tip pointed in to the ground beside his feet, his chest heaving with panting breaths and head cocked as he listens. He focuses in on the beast within his chest, the rage he feels when he’s out fighting on the battle field, he lets it bubble inside his chest until the movement to the left of him catches his attention and he brings his sword up quickly, body turning as he blocks the attack as wisps of gold drift behind closed eyes.He continues to fight, continues to listen and move where his hearing and power tells him to move. He knows that they have an audience watching, that the sound of other practising and working has come to a stop as they turn to watch their king train with his soldiers, blocking each of their counters without being able to see.He is the mighty king.A warrior without any fear.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=It takes until the eve of his twentieth birthday to get the news of the Wolf of Hale.His commands and his army had moved west more and was within two kingdoms of his own.The advisors and his council suggest to start building the army up, to get any new talent and train them up, ready to fight at a given notice and he agrees. Not because he thinks it is needed, but because he had heard the whispers, the fear in his people’s voices. He sends out papers to every person over the age of eighteen, requesting them to report to the armoury within three days to take their rightful place within the ranks of their army.
He listens to the plans of reinforcing the city walls, builders already been contracted to start weeks before hand but now the job was more important, a deadline closer than they all liked to think off. He listens to the advisors as they talk about matters that shouldn’t even be brought up in the wake of a large battle. But he lets them speak and get things of their chest, his own words shooting them down if he deemed them not worthy enough to take up their time.The king continues to train, both with and without the blindfold. He goes out on the field and teaches some of the new recruits himself. Teaching them with fear and rage to get them ready quicker, to get them fighting fit as he moved through the ranks, kicking feet apart to better their stances, twisting wrists until they held their weapon correctly. Stiles doesn’t lie to them when he talks to them all and they ask their questions. He tells them that they will probably end up dying on the field if the Wolf of Hale does continue down his path and gets closer. But he tells them that they have a good chance if they listen to what they are being taught, to practice day and night until their weapons become a part of their own body, until they know the weapon and know the next move it is going to make before they even make it.King Stiles had read up upon the Wolf of Hale, had come to know how he had taken over his sister’s kingdom and rule when she passed instead of the daughter, he knew had been trained up to become queen. He had known the ruthlessness within the man they call Alpha, but he wasn’t scared. He had been up against large armies before, some even bigger than his own, but each time he had defeated them, killed many of their own and watched as many more turned and ran away like cowards, even when he was a young boy.He isn’t afraid.He sends out scouts when the next kingdom gets invaded by the Wolf. He paces in his chambers and in the great halls and in the throne room as he waits for responses. He doesn’t like to wait, doesn’t really like the unknown as he moves through the hallways and out of the castle. He feels like he can’t breathe as he works his way through the gardens his mother planted, and staff kept alive. It isn’t often that he comes here. But he finds it easier to breathe in the soft scents of the floral perfume, the plants that his mother adored and raised with care. Finds that it is easier to clear his mind sometimes when he is secretly afraid. He knows that his army is stronger, gets stronger by the day, he knows his own strength and the power he holds within his body, but there is something, something in the back of his mind that is telling him to be wary of this Wolf.That there is a hidden magic behind the man they call the Alpha king.The first scout returns three weeks after he was sent out, his horse kicking his way through the streets and in to the courtyard to where the king stands. He had seen him returning from a high window within the castle and he wanted…no, needed to know at once what news the boy carried. ‘’They are travelling north my king.’’ The scout speaks as he slides from the horse and in to a shaky bow. ‘’but they have split in to two large parties. The other stays where they are within the next kingdom, just beyond the edges, they seemed camped and ready to stay for a while.’’Mulling the words over, the king paces back and forth on the steps for a few moments, thinking over everything he knew of the next kingdom over and his own. He hadn’t particularly liked the rulers of that kingdom and wasn’t too worried about the complications that arose with them being thrown from their throne. But it made him worry about his own kingdom. Without dismissing the scout or saying a word, the king turned and stalked back in to the castle, his feet hard against the stone floors as he headed for the war room.The scout silently follows him, ready to be sent out at a moment’s notice again if needed, loyal to a fault…it would probably get him killed one day.Pushing through the heavy door, Stiles ignored the way his advisors and council members jumped as the wooden door slams against the wall. The thud echoing through the silent room, he demands to see the maps. The moment they are stretched out across the table in front of him, the king has the scout point out the places where the Wolf has his men camped out and the route the northern party has taken.Finally dismissing him to rest and eat, the king rests his hands against the table top, his eyes searching and scanning the maps before he starts to point out the locations that he wanted his men to be at, for once the advisors agree and start to make the plans to send them out within the hour.He knows that war is nearly at his door, that it wouldn’t be long before the second scout returned with fresh news, and the king knew that fresh news would bring the fact that the Wolf would be entering his kingdoms borders, creping ever closer to the heart of his land.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.His birthday comes and the kingdom celebrates, but the king sits high in his castle in a chair he has dragged to a window, his eyes resting on the horizon of the land until night falls and he can’t see any further. Yet, he sits and stares out in to the darkness, eyes fluttering over every little movement he thinks he sees. It’s late when he finally pulls himself away and retires to his chambers, his movements pausing when he sees the small pile of gifts sat upon his bed.
For a moment, he lets a gentle smile grace his lips as he closes the door behind him and walks over. He knows that they are from his closest friends, the messy scripture of their writing labelling each gift he carefully unwraps. They aren’t expensive items, but he doesn’t care for them anyway. He’s happy to get the wooden talisman, a raven crudely etched in to the wood to match the tattoo on his back. The king holds it close and inspects his friends handy work, noting the improvements his friend had made over the years.
Next, he unwraps a small weighted gift. It turns out to be a chest, beautifully decorated and engraved with symbols and patterns as he ran his fingertips over them. Unlatching the small lock, he pushed the lid open and let his eyes move over the small bottles that he finds inside. He lets out a small laugh at the sight of the ointments and medicines that are nestled inside the soft velvet. It’s a gift from Melissa, the castle’s healer and a close friend of his parent’s. He knew that she knew of how he preferred to tend to himself, to treat his own wounds and injuries, away from the prying eyes of the staff. He is pleased with the gift and closes the lid gently before he stored it on the table beside his bed, letting it sit there as if it had always belonged before he turned back and picked up the last gift.He weighs it in his hand, it’s heavy and he can feel the coolness of it through the wrappings. With a nudge and tilt of his wrist, he knocks it away and stares down at the blade that was sat within. It’s finely crafted and the metal glints like jewels in the candle light around him. Turning it over slowly, Stiles takes in the actual jewels which has been laid in to the hilt, small, but enough to capture the light as he pushes it back in to the sheath that lays to the side. He knows that it is a gift from Melissa’s husband, Chris. It isn’t the first weapon that the man had gifted to him, but this one had been the smallest and most expensive looking one. There’s something about its size that has Stiles humming softly, happily as he ran his fingers over the hilt, touching and holding it for a moment.All his presents are cherished as he moves to store them away safely, not wanting them to get damaged or stolen. His chest of supplies is placed on to a shelf near his bed instead of beside it, a sudden change of his mind and the wooden carving is put beside it on the small table that stood there. The small dagger, he moves and sits it with his other weapons, making sure that it’s safely secured before he finally drags himself to his bed, undressing as he goes until he is left in nothing but his undergarments, his clothes strewn across the floor, mapping out his route.Somewhere outside of his window, the wind blows hard and he shivers at the sound, liking it too close to that of a wolf’s howl. By the time he finally lays his head down on his pillows, the king can feel the new coldness in his bones, knowing that the weather was to shift soon and bring the start of a new winter.And the threat of war.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=Two days later, his second scout comes riding in to the courtyard of the castle, the hooves loud in the early morning light. The king had risen before the first light had touched the earth, determined to train and trained he did until his skin glistened with sweat, the ink on his black shifting in the weak sunlight as he turned and paid attention to the words that was spoken to him.The Wolf of Hale had reached the boarder of his kingdom.War had finally arrived.He moves on instinct, calls for the army to be roused and to be ready, training had ended and their journeys were about to start. It was time for them to say their goodbyes.He hasn’t lied once to them all, they all know that they could die, and he has promised them wealth and glory in the afterlife as he turns back to the castle walls and disappears inside. By midmorning, he is dressed in the undergarments of rough wool and linin. His armour is sat waiting to be put on when the time calls for it and he paces, moving through the hallways restlessly and waits.He waits for the sound of his third and final scout, based a few miles from the gates of the city. He knows that they would probably know that Hale is there before his scout appears to tell, but still, he waits as the day starts to wear on and the light starts to fail. His pacing increases and he moves to the courtyard, lit up with the fire of torches as he moves. Sliding through the darkness with heavy steps and a shadow of something curled around him, causing the people he comes upon to scatter out of his way quickly. They can feel the oncoming storm.Feel it upon the king’s shoulders as he moves.The king wonders what is taking so long when the night finally falls like a curtain and the morning appeared with no word and no sound of weapons being fought. He’s forced to sit and eat something, to take a moment to sleep and keep his strength up.By the fourth day of no news, the king starts to grow angry. He knows that the Wolf of Hale is teasing him, testing him, trying to get him to attack first and give them a reason to cross over the border and enter in to the kingdom to defend themselves.But he isn’t foolish enough to do so.He spends the days waiting training his men up more, he walks through the troops, eyes keen as he watches them, stepping in to correct some of the younger ones when they falter with their weapons. He takes the moments to kneel and talk to the ones who are panicking and is afraid. He tells them that they are strong and that they can be just like their fathers and forefathers before them. Tells them that they all have a warrior inside of themselves, just waiting to be let out.Tells them that they will make their ancestors proud.By the sixth day, he tells his men to return home, to spend one more night with their loved ones and to return at first light. He might be classed as a beast to some people, but he knows that good men are the ones who are treated good. He himself spends the night with the people he cares about, Scott and his mother, Melissa and Chris. The king eats a quiet meal with them, the tension taunt in the air as they eat. The knowledge of a war hanging over their heads could be felt throughout the kingdom as families ate and lovers danced their embraces under the moonlight together.It’s on the tenth day of waiting, during another restless meal that a howl is heard piercing through the air.It causes the king to lift his head and stand, his body moving quicker than his mind as he rushes through the castle and out in to the courtyard. Around him, his soldiers and warriors start to stir, having fallen asleep in patches they could find. The king calls out for his horse to be saddled and ready for him as he turns back to the castle and goes to collect his armour and weapons.It is time.He can feel the anger starting to fill him as he swings himself up on to his steed, long fingers curling around the reins as he turns the horse towards the gates. It is as he is passing underneath them that another howl is sent up in to the darkening air. High above them, snow starts to fall silently. It is as he is riding out among the empty streets, that he realises that his last scout had not returned to the castle again with news. He knows deep in his heart and mind that the young boy has either been taken or has been killed as he rides faster, his heart beating a faster pace against his chest as heat curls through his veins.He passes fewer and fewer people before he comes upon a farmer drenched in sweat and fear in his eyes as he stumbles to a pause in front of the king and his horse. He tells in hurried words that the Wolf of Hale has pushed on through to a wooded area to the west. The king knew the location the man spoke of as he nodded and rode on. To the west stood a large field, bare from the crops which would normally grow there…a perfect location for a battle.As he rides closer, the king reaches up and pushes the helmet he carries on to his head, pushing it down until it covers most of his face, leaving enough room to breathe freely and to see clearly. Entering the edges of the field, he pulls up short, lets his horse trot back and forth a few times as his eyes search the tree line and the land in front of it, searching for any changes that may lay there. Deeper in, he can see the slight glow of camp fires being put out, the tendrils of smoke whispering up in to the air. Behind him, his men start to ride in to the clearing, having finally caught up with their king. They start to fan out in a line, his horsemen fronting it before arches appeared in behind, notching their bows and his footmen falling in behind again once they arrive, their footfalls a steady beat against the ground.Stiles rides up and down the line, his fingers curling tighter in the reins as silence falls deathly around them. The snow starts to settle around them as he turns his horse and starts back up the line again as his eyes search out the woods. He knows that they are there, that they were watching them back and it made the king frustrated, the anger boiling up under his skin. He doesn’t know what the Wolf of Hale is waiting for, doesn’t know why the howls were sent up and why at the beginning of dusk.But he had a feeling that it was a move for the enemy to have the upper hand.It sends a cold sweat down his back.At the first sign of movement on the other side, the king turns his horse around and drawers his sword, the weapon low at his side as he scans the trees to where he saw the shadows. He watches and waits before a figure emerges and staggers forward, clearly in a hurry as the king sits up straighter. He watches the figure as they trip and scramble to their feet again, their head turning to look behind and forward as they break out in to a run. It takes a moment to dawn on the king that it is his young scout fleeing across the empty field and he nudges his heels in to his horse, crossing a few meters of the barren soil when a whistle echoes through the silent night. Pulling on the reins to stop, his horse nearly bucks him off when an arrow embeds itself in to the scouts back, knocking him forward and off his feet to land at the feet of the king and his horse, his body still for the final time.‘’Cowards!’’The word is ripped from the king’s lips with a roar almost, the vibration of it ran through his chest and body as his fingers grew tight around the hilt of his sword. Pulling his horse around, he rode back to his line again, eyes sharp as he looked at his men before pointing towards two who held shields in front of them. ‘’Go, fetch the boy’s body and bring him back.’’ He commanded them with a tongue sharp. Taking a deep breath to ground himself, the king paced his horse along the line again, just waiting to see what else the Wolf would do. He knew killing his scout in front of them was them trying to get a rise out of himself and his men. A bait for them to attack back as another howl echoed through the trees and his eyes followed as a flock of birds took flight in to the air.Smirking at the clear answer to where at least some of Hale’s men was, the king tilted his head as he turned his horse to face the trees.‘’The wolf is at my door and yet he tread’s the darkness like a scared little rabbit.’’The words are spoken loud enough for his men to hear as he scans the tree line, earning a few chuckles from those closest. But the answering roar is what makes a smirk curl the corners of the king’s lips up more. Rolling his shoulders, the king moves and sheaths his sword once more as he slides a hand over his horse’s neck. With smooth movements, he is climbing from its back and stood beside it before he moved and slapped at its rear to send it running off down the line to where he knows that one of his men will catch the reins and take it behind the line of men.He fights on the ground with his men, not high upon a horse away from the worst of it.Stepping forward, he draws his weapon once more and tilts it in his hand as he looks down along its length. From the shining metal he can see the glow of the full moon high above their heads when it peeks through a gap in the snow filled clouds. ‘’Little rabbit, little rabbit, don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you, just boil and skin you alive.’’ He murmurs under his breath. The king can feel his magic bubbling under his skin, the familiar rage building as he drags the tip of his sword across the ground, creating an arc in the damp earth.He can feel the build, can feel his enemy moving closer and it isn’t long before the shape of bodies start to appear through the trees, weapons raised and moving swiftly, silently.The King waits until they are halfway across the field before he lifts his sword high above his head, pointing the tip towards the moon and sky. He can feel her energy beating down against his body, the swirl of magic deep in his veins as he grins behind his helmet. With a loud cry, he swings his sword down, the sound of it cutting through the air being lost as it fills with the answering cries of his men. He stands there for a moment, imagines that he can feel the ground moving beneath his feet as they charge past him and forward.With a tight snap of strings, he hears the whistling of arrows being let go, their narrow bars and sharp heads flying high in to the sky before they turn and start to fall towards the enemy as a barrage of arrows fly back at them.A single arrow lands just inches from his feet and he grins darkly at it, his pulse hot through his veins as he steps forward, crushing the wooden shaft underfoot as he joins his men in the fray. =.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.= He doesn’t know what happens, the rage fills and a curtain comes down around him. And he fights and fights until his men are grabbing his arms and starts to pull him away from the battle field. The glow lifts from his eyes and he can see the field scattered with the dead, he can see the beasts that tear at his men’s throats and bites through their armour. He sees the unnatural glow to their eyes, the weapons he thought they held, claw tipped hands as they slice through another one of his men. They are losing. He lets his men drag him away from certain death. He hates the cold feeling of defeat, of running away like a coward he has called so many before. But he knows that his kingdom needs him, that he has no heir to speak of, so he must survive for them at least. So, the king turns and he calls out orders as his feet pound the ground. But he has a plan, to corner the enemy in to a smaller space. To channel them slowly and fight them off one by one if he could.
He can feel the heat of his blood pumping, the aches of his shoulders and joints from the crashing of those who welded weapons. Now has had a moment to think, he wasn’t surprised to see the wolves of Hale, knew that there were myths and legends of a part beast and part man in the world, he didn’t disbelieve because he knew his own history, knew his own magic as he comes to a skid in the streets.He stops and breathes heavily as his men run pass him, heading back towards the castle, ready to defend it and those inside.On silent heels, the king turns, his fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt of his sword as he calls forward the magic from deep within. He calls on his ancestors to help guide his way as he lets his eyes dance across the shadows and the places the wolves could hide. He pushes his strength forward, can feel the change in vision as his magic swells around him. Suddenly the shadows start to fall away, baring their secrets as he bares his teeth in his own mocking growl. He lets his magic take him by the hand as he steps forward, lets it guide him as he turns and swipes his sword through the air. The answering yelp is all he needs as he sees the wolf fall to the ground.The king can feel them getting closer, of feeling their leader, the encroaching feeling of darkness and predator filling the streets as he backs up slowly, his footsteps sure on the cobbled stones. It’s with a shout of his own men that he turns and starts running. His heart is in his ears as he passes the gates of the castle grounds. He takes a quick moment to look around and his breath catches in his lungs. There are less men than went out, others wounded and being seen too by those less wounded. He knows that they are in trouble, that there was hardly any chance that they would all get out of this alive and he hates that as he turns to face the large gates.‘’Leave them be.’’His voice echoes across the ground, swirling up with the snow as he breathes out. The men closing the gates look up at him with strange and fearful faces as he shakes his head. ‘’We are not going to hide away like cowards, safe behind thick gates and walls. We will stand and we will fight until our last breathes are taken from our bodies. We will be the warriors that we are inside.’’ He tells his men, eyes sharp as he takes them all in. ‘’But if you wish to leave and run, then do so. I will not fault you for this enemy is stronger, faster than anything we have fought before.’’ He tells them as he turns slowly in a circle. The king watches as they look between themselves, no body moves at first before two rises, one supporting the other and they start to move away as quickly as they can. They are young and he doesn’t blame them, they still have their lives ahead of them as he turns his eyes away and faces the gaping mouth of the gate.High on the horizon, the king can see the sun starting to rise, he feels weary and he knows his men does too. They have fought all night and they are tired, beating and bloody. The snow continues to fall and has covered the ground in softness, muffling their steps and falls as more leave and more turn to stand at their king’s back and at his side. It takes the natural sound of night away and leaves behind an eerie silence as they all wait.
But in the centre of the gate, he looks, keeps his eyes forward before he sees the shadows and he lift’s his weapon, he sees the eyes glowing around them and it sends a shiver down his spine as a set glow a deep ruby red. He knows that this is the Wolf of Hale, the one who takes no mercy on others.‘’Men, ready your weapons.’’ The king calls out, his voice sharp and filled with rage, magic curling through each syllable that passes his lips. He will not let the morning come with any more of his men being killed if he could help it. ‘’Call upon your hidden selves, bring them to the surface and fight for everything you care for.’’ He speaks, his voice strong but cold. =.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.= They fight long and hard and as the sun starts to peak its first rays over the castle walls, he is forced to his knees. There is a clang of armour as his pieces are pulled from his body and his helmet is thrown across the snowy ground hard enough to break through the soft barrier. There are claws and swords, sharp at his throat and he knows that this is the end. The king pants as defeat finally settles on his shoulders, curling deep in to his gut. Around him, his men are dead, their blood bright against the whiteness and others at the end of swords, defeated and laying their arms down in exchange for living.Surrendering at the capture of their king.The rage and anger he felt is burnt out as his body half slumped on the cold ground. He can feel the prick of claws at his throat, just nicking the skin as he is stripped of everything that calls him the king. He lets himself be gathered up roughly by the arms and dragged through the castle he called home. For a moment, laughter threatens to bubble through his lips at the way they shiver from the coldness that has seeped through the walls, but he keeps it in as they move through the hallways, dragging him until they find the room they want.He is thrown forward without care, his body hitting the hard ground and rolling slightly until he comes to a rest against the damp wall.
He lays there, panting against the straw filled ground for seconds before he is tugged around again, his arms being shackled to the chains that attach to the walls. He takes the beatings that is giving to him and he stays silent.He waits.When Hale comes, Stiles stares right back at him, takes delight in seeing the slight flicker of unsureness that passes by the wolf’s face and eyes. He knows that he looks younger than he is. He takes in the delight of the way he watches the beating’s; watches how he stays on his knees and doesn’t flinch. He almost calls out when the Wolf finally turns and leaves, almost snorts at the cloak that he wears over his shoulders.He feels the moment that Hale questions himself over him being the king.He can feel one of his eyes swelling up, the sight getting harder to see through it, but it doesn’t stop him from watching the door before turning eyes on the wolf in front of him. The man is younger than Hale, if possible, he would say that they were related with how they almost look like each other, he wouldn’t be surprised if this man was a brother or cousin of the Wolf of Hale.So, he waits.He lets the beatings continue until the wolf wears thin and tires.He feels the beast settling under his skin like a blanket as he licks at the split on his lip, he spits again, his blood landing on the feet of the young wolf and he lets his lips grow in to a smirk as he is growled at, his head turning with another punch.The king stays how he is, listens to the younger wolf as he storms out of the cell and throws the door closed behind him. He takes pride in how they think he is ordinary. He knows that they have heard the rumours about him, knows that they have heard the words which has been spoken.But he doesn’t know whether they believe in them or not, but he knows that he will bide his time and he will wait and then he will make his move.The Wolf of Hale would regret the day he attacked his kingdom.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
He knows that he has men in the cells beside him and across. Can hear their whispered words echoing from the stone as they question each other about what they have seen and heard. Few of them reach out to him, asks him if he is alright in quiet words, their loyalty still strong. The king tells them little, but it is enough to calm most of their fears. He tells them to talk honestly and openly. To tell them whatever it is asked of them, that their honestly and trust would be looked upon as something good, something which could spare them their lives.The wolf king only visits the once, the distaste clear on his face makes the king laugh out loudly before he is able to draw the sound further inside his throat to stop it from getting out. It earns him another beaten, his face is split open and bones get broken.But he still stands strong as he takes it.He knows that he confuses them, that some of the invading men and wolf pack fear him as he is brought up from the cells and he bares his teeth towards them in a wide, bloodstained grin. A mocking salute of their own fangs.The wolf king sits and waits upon the throne, his eyes searching across the stone walls and the old tapestries that adorn them. They had been in the castle for a few weeks now and yet he still could learn nothing new about this boy king, only that they had been the first ones ever to defeat the warrior king.The thoughts brought a smirk to his lips as he reached up and adjusted the crown on his head, the metal was worn and old, from his sister’s time, but it would do until he found the boy’s own crown and took it for his own. He had searched the castle high and low, confused when he came to the royal wing and found it bricked up. He had questioned a passing servant who trembled in his presence about it and she had spoken of the boy ordering it when they had returned from battle and the older kings death. In the end, he had found the boy kings chambers, and took them over. He had pulled a face at first, thinking of how bare and barren it had looked, not fit for a king at all when he had first entered and let his eyes trail over the books which littered a desk and a couple of smaller units.It looked more like a chamber for a scribe than for a king.When he had started his questioning, he had been surprised at how the king’s people had responded, he had been waiting for their refusal, a reason for his people to hurt the boy’s. And yet they had spoken openly, truthfully about everything he had been asking of them. From the questions of the king’s gold to their weapons and the number of their men. They had spoken openly of the age that the boy had become king and it had surprised him to learn that the boy he had thought of as child was in fact, a young gentleman.Only twenty and one and yet he had already ruled a kingdom and won battles, only known to those of middle age.He had rewarded those who spoke so freely with good food down in the cells, he had heard the reports from his own men standing guard that they had offered their king their meat and good bread instead of the dry lumps that he got. But each time, the young king had refused, told them to eat it themselves and to keep themselves strong for their families, for he believed that they would see them again one day.The wolf had done everything in his power to try and bring the boy king down, to defeat him in spirit and break him. But nothing he did seemed to work. Taking away anything of comfort from the cell, from clothing to the thin blanket that had been in there for years. But reports spoke of the boy king as being just as strong as the day he was thrown in there, the very few times he spoke to his men, it was with a thick voice, a strong voice, he even thanked the wolf’s men for the dry bread he got at meal times.Commotion drew Peter from his thoughts as he looked towards the throne room’s double doors. In a moment, they were opened and the boy king was pushed through roughly, Derek’s hand pressing between the bare shoulder blades of his. He watched as something danced over the boy’s face, his body twisting at the contact as he turned the glare on his nephew.Interesting.He had everything he could want, the kingdom was under his thumb, the neighbouring ones just as much his as well.But most of all, he wanted the boy king to call defeat.He wanted him to say those words.To say that he gives up.That he admits defeat.That he concedes to the Hale name.But the wolf king knew that it would be a challenge, no matter how much he was beaten and broken, he seemed to heal quickly. His one and only visit to the cells had left him feeling uncomfortable at the sound of his laugh, of the way his brown eyes had born in to his. It had left him feeling cold, like an itch had gotten under his skin which he could not scratch.So, he sits and watches as his nephew moves the boy to the ground in front of him and the throne, of the way he knocks his knee in to the back of his legs to get him down kneeling. The wolf lets his eyes drag over the pale skin, over the dark ink tattooing across it. He had come to know the inking that the castle and the boy’s family held, the way it went back generations. He had visited the catacombs down below, shivering at the coldness there as he walked among the dead, eyes falling from coffing to coffin as he went back generations he had paused upon the one wooden one, the side of it having crumbled and broken to fall to the ground below it, he had paused and crouched, peering in before recoiling at the sight of the bones and rotted clothing, he had turned and left quickly after that, the chill never quite leaving him as he returned to the land of the living above.That wooden coffin had come to haunt his dreams for many nights since.It unsettled him.‘’Welcome’’The words left his lips as golden eyes turned to face him sharply, for a moment Peter held a breath, having sworn that the boy’s eyes had rippled with something else. But he brushed it of as a trick of the light as he smirked and raised a brow. ‘’I can see that you are recovering nicely from our last visit.’’ He smirked, eyes dancing down over the boy king’s chest and torso, taking in the pale skin which had a scattering of green and yellow bruising, again, his facial features flickered for a moment at the thought of how quickly the boy healed.‘’You look almost disappointed.’’The words were soft, but strong and held a tone of amusement as the boy king raised his own brow in return. The slap that he got from Derek seemed to do nothing by irk him slightly as he stretched his neck and hummed, the sound deep as his muscles shifted beneath skin.Peter swore his tattoos moved.The quick glance to his nephew showed him that he had noticed something himself, but what he could not figure out either as he shot a look back to his uncle and Alpha.‘’Really, when are you going to understand that your smart mouth will only get you in to trouble?’’ Peter asked him with a tut as he leaned forward on his knees.‘’When are you going to understand that your beating’s do nothing in your favour?’’ The boy king responded smartly as he rose to his feet, the movement graceful and quick. Peter had only blinked before Derek was yelping and was in a twisted grip, his arm bent behind his back by the boy king. He had moved too quickly for them to notice, yet he stood in the same place, Derek had must of moved closer as he got to his feet, ready to knock him back to his knees again when the youngster had moved. ‘’Tut, tut puppy. You still have a lot of training to do.’’The words weren’t spoke loudly, almost a whisper against Derek’s ear, but the wolf had heard them loud enough as he smothered back a smirk as the boy king pushed his nephew away and turned back to face him again, his arms moving to cross against his chest. ‘’If there is nothing more that you want, I will return to my cell now.’’Watching as the boy king left, Peter sat back in the throne, thrown in to a state of confusion over what had just transpired between them. He had felt like a puppy himself, being scolded by his parents for doing something wrong with siblings and training. Looking up, he stared towards Derek who was staring at the open doors in confusion until the snapping of the Alpha’s demands of him following the boy startled him in to action and removal of himself from the room as he scampered after the boy.That night, the Alpha stalked the castle’s library, searching through the books by scent, ignoring the ones which smelt of nothing but dust and paper and pulling the ones which had been touched the most recent. There was a collection of scents, both the boy kings and others who worked within the castle. He wanted to know if there was anything on the family history, but there were books missing, either from age and being lost or somewhere in the castle, maybe even in his own chambers since there was many books there. After a few hours, he finally came across a family bible, a thick tome which smelt of age and decay as he pulled it from a lower shelf, half hidden in a corner behind a pillar and carried it over to a table near the fire place.Laying it on the top, he opened it with care, not that feral, that he didn’t understand the importance of history and family. Even if it was of the one you had invaded and captured. Turning the hair thin pages, he stopped upon the pages which listed the births and deaths of the family members, his eyes skimming across the names from the ages until they fell upon a name he had come across before, many years ago.‘’It can’t be.’’ He murmured to himself as he collapsed down in to the chair and ran his finger over the inked name. ‘’He is a wolf.’’ The words fell from his lips in quiet noises as he followed the names down through the tree, moving from one to another before he noticed that they turned to names he didn’t know. ‘’The wolf gene stopped.’’ He spoke, confused as he stared at the pages until he turned to the opposite side and came down to the boy’s name.‘’His ancestors were wolves?’’ Looking up as Derek entered and he spoke, Peter watched as different emotions flickered across the younger wolf’s face. ‘’But he is not a wolf.’’‘’No.’’ Peter nodded as he pointed to the book. ‘’The wolf gene faded out, but if it had carried on, there is a large possibility that his family tree would’ve merged with our own again. That first name, that is the name of my seven times great grandparents, grandparents through my mother’s side, not the Hale. We have it in our own bible, but the names veer off in a different direction.’’ He explained to his nephew. ‘’Somewhere along the line, the werewolf blood vanished in our young host’s tree. I wonder if he knows himself?’’The amusement was clear in Peter’s voice as he sat back again, tapping his clawed fingertips against the wooden arm of the chair. ‘’I’ve come from the cells, he was locked back in and shackled to the wall.’’ Derek’s voice broke him away from his thoughts as he nodded and waved his hand in dismissal for a moment.He was lost in the world of their ancestors and the mystery of why such strong blood would just vanish from a bloodline. He couldn’t really figure it out or pinpoint because.It felt so strange to him.But then the whole castle felt strange to him, he was used to the finer things, of kings and queens who lived in luxury and yet this boy king, this Mieczyslaw. He lived as if he was a common man, the things which did show richness was dusted with age and disuse, of an age gone by. Clearly things which had belonged to the late Stilinski king. Shutting the book with a thump, Peter rose and left the book on the table as he swept out of the library and headed through the cold hallways of the castle and back to the chambers he had taken for his own, hoping that he would find something amongst the young man’s papers.Peter searches through the books that are piled around, pushing them off to the sides and discarding them when they turned out to be nothing of worth to his plight. He searches high and low until a scent catches his attention and he turned to the low bench that sat near the window. Crouching and pushing the lid of it up, he scented at the objects within before a piece of cloth caught his attention. There was something about it which screamed of the boy king, his scent heavy on the cloth as Peter reached out and pulled it towards him. There was nothing wrapped in it as he stood, but he could smell the scent of old paper and an ink he couldn’t place as he brought it to his nose.But he could scent the magic on the cloth, no matter how old it was but he could also smell something else…something that chilled him to the bones again.The catacombs.He moves without thinking, stalking through the castle until he is stood outside the door of the catacombs. He pauses, staring at the old wood, eyes watching the light of the torch on the wall as it flickered across and highlight the knots and cracks.He felt like the devil was in the doorway, getting ready to pounce.Shivering, Peter closed his eyes and clenched his fingers in the cloth before he took a deep breath and pushed through his fears and opened the door. He wanted to sneeze as the cold air curled up the stairs and around him. A grip of coldness that sunk deep in to his bones as he picked the torch up and started his descend in to the belly of the castle grounds.The king had had something wrapped in the cloth, probably a book and it was important enough to him that he had hidden it away in his room, yet now it was gone. The boy kind had to of hidden it the moment he knew Peter and his wolves were coming. Hiding it away from the enemy, and what better place to hide it than somewhere one hardly went.With each step further down in to the earth, the colder Peter felt as he brought the cloth up to his face again and buried his nose against it, breathing in the scent below the boy king’s. It tasted ancient on his tongue and on his senses. Pulling it away to sneeze, Peter frowned as he caught the scent of dust and mould, of rotten cloth and decay. Crossing the large hall, Peter’s eyes moved over the stone coffins which lined the walls and the centre of the room.The first was the largest of all, the old king, the boy’s father. Stopping for a moment, Peter let his eyes move over the stone lid, moving over the thickness of it. He looked for any sign of disturbance but there was none and the scents did not match. Looking across, Peter took in the slightly smaller tomb, the delicate features carved in to the stone and the wilted flowers which laid across the surface. The boy’s mother he guessed as he walked around the old king and looked it over. He could smell the fading scent of the boy on the stone, could see the stone worn smooth from cloth and skin brushing the side where he must have knelt or sat for hours or days.He had clearly loved his mother.Turning in a circle again, Peter looked towards the third stone coffin that sat towards the far wall, there was no lid and it was empty and he guessed that this was for the boy upon his death as he walked over and lowered the torch in to the space, letting the light spill over it. But there was no cracks or hidden spaces to hide an object.Letting a soft growl out, Peter turned back towards the rest of the chamber again, the torch held high as he started his walk in to the past. With each ancestor passed, Peter looked at the names carved in to the stone, checking it across the mental image of the family tree in his mind.He wasn’t sure when something changed, but his wolf felt it first and it reared back inside his body, making him stumble as the scent of decay grew stronger. Glancing around him, Peter was surprised to find that the stone coffins had started to change, the material of it rougher and thinner before he paused by the crumbling wooden coffin pushed in to a cut out in the wall. Feeling the same dread wash over him again, Peter raised the torch and moved to light another which sat on the wall, his nose wrinkling at the smell as it caught and gave him more light. This far back, he could see more and more cut outs in to the walls of the chamber, the rock walls rougher and holding more coffins. Most was in decent condition still, a couple like the crumbled one beside him. But further back, Peter could smell the wood which had rotted away completely and in the furthest reaches of the torch light, he could see the dry bones which lined the crevices in the walls, their coffins gone with age and with them the trace of names.He didn’t want to be down here, not with the coffin beside him haunting his dreams. He had woken countless of nights from dreams of it. Of dry and brittle bones reaching out through the hole and reaching for him, bony fingers sharp with metal tips. He shivered at the memory of a skull turning and of a burning light in empty sockets, of an unnatural sound leaving it’s gapping jaw. He hadn’t suffered from nightmares since he was a child and now, he had them most nights.But deep down, Peter knew that there was something about this coffin that he needed as he turned towards it. Breathing in deeply, he could smell the faint traces of the boy king, of the old pages and ink as he leaned in closer to the gap. Holding the torch closer, Peter held his breath as he peered in through at the bones and cloth, closer, he could smell the king and he found himself leaning closer. For a moment, he caught the scent of something else, of something old, of something dark and evil, but he pushed it away as he changed the torch to his other hand and slowly reached in to the coffin. Pushing past the bones and cloth, Peter felt along an arm before he paused and almost flinched at the feeling of a hand, at the tips of fingers he could feel something different and he felt his eyes widen as he pulled his hand back, bringing the bones with him in to the light.On their fingers there was metal claws where fingernails once would’ve been.He had never seen that before, only in his dreams.He could tell that it was not iron, but in the light of the flickering torch, he couldn’t tell anything else as he knelt and placed it on the cloth he had dropped. Wrapping it around the hand, Peter put it in to his pocket before he thought twice and shoved his hand back in to the coffin again. Feeling around, Peter was almost ready to give up when his fingertips brushed against a hard edge. At once he could tell that it was not the wooden side of the coffin, it felt like leather as he stretched a little more and got a better hold on the object.Ignoring the creeping feeling along his spine, Peter drew back, bringing the object with him until he was emerging with a book in his hand. Leaning down to scent it, he couldn’t help the smirk which appeared across his lips at the boy king’s scent heavily inlayed on the cover and pages.This was the item he had tried hiding.Retreating from the catacombs, Peter was more than glad when he was reaching the safety of the chamber’s he had taken for himself, the boy king’s own room. Shutting the door behind him, he crossed over to the table in the room and placed the book down on its surface. There was nothing to give away what it held from its cover. The cover itself was old and worn, the leather scuffed in places as he flips it open. From the worn pages comes the scent of the boy, the curiosity within mixing with the layers of dust and age.But he cannot read it.As he flips through the pages, Peter takes in the mixture of runes and old Latin. Some he can understand from his childhood lessons, but not enough to be able to read full sentences. There is English too and another language he knew not, dabbled between the other two. Whoever wrote the book made sure a stranger to the lands could not unlock it secrets.But he could understand the runes and Latin for werewolves.As he turned pages, he looked at the different diagrams, illustrations to unknown words. There symbols which ring in the back of his mind but he can’t quite grasp the answers as he turns another page and is greeted with a beautiful illustration of a raven. It takes him a moment to place why it seems familiar and then it hits him at once, the boy king has a raven across his back. It’s different of course, but there are enough resemblances that he closes the book. The more he stared at the raven, the more uneasy he felt.Shaking his head, Peter shoves his hands in to his pocket and remembers the skeleton’s hand. Bringing it out, he unwraps it and moves towards the window to get a better look. He still couldn’t understand the need to bring it with him but he did and now he held it close as he looked over the fingertips and the metal embedded in the nails. Still unsure, he wrapped the hand back up and placed it on the book.He felt tired and worn out as he walked away and undressed, his robes and underthing’s falling to the ground as he crossed the room and allowed himself to drop down on to the bed. Breathing in deeply, Peter turned and buried his face in to the pillow which still smelt like the boy king, replacing the scent of death and decay that seemed to be filling his nose still.Like that, Peter fell asleep.Only to wake hours later, skin dripping with sweat and his wolf howling at the waxing moon outside in the dark sky. The dream had felt so real as he shuddered and checked his chest and stomach over for injuries.Dropping back down in to the bedding again, the wolf panted as he let his eyes slide close again. He was safe and sound in the bed, no creatures gutting him or tearing him to bits in sight. Bringing a hand up to his face, Peter rubbed it over before he turned and buried himself back in to the bedding again.He could admit to himself in private that the boy king scent was soothing. That it was something he could get drunk on if he was given the chance too.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=He spends days pouring over the old book, he carries it with him wherever he goes, hoping that he would gain something from its pages. But he finds little, but he does translate a few more of the old Latin, wondering what else it talks about when it means the daemons on its pages. He can smell that there is something old about the book, older than the pages and the ink, it’s like an old scent that has been laid over it, that has sunk in to the paper to take root, to pass something on.It had been days spent hidden away in the library of the castle, searching book after book before he had returned to the throne room and sat back in the throne, tired and aching.‘’Uncle.’’Looking up as Derek approached, he watched his nephew with tired eyes before he bared his throat and Peter nodded. ‘’You are wasting your time on translating the book alone. You need to ask the boy for his help.’’ The words caused the Alpha to growl and bare his fangs at his nephew. But deep down he knew that it was the truth as he breathed out and scrubbed his hand over his face.‘’No, you are right.’’ He answered as he dropped his hand down in to his lap again, watching as Derek looked around. ‘’I am tired.’’‘’The moon is full tomorrow; we can run free under the skies.’’ Derek spoke as he clasped his hands behind his back. ‘’Maybe that will help and take your mind away from the book. Although I cannot say I would be happier if you did translate it.’’ He shuddered. ‘’I have bad feelings from it uncle, you should be careful.’’Heeding his words, Peter nodded and moved to lean against the arm of the throne, finding a comfier position before he sighed deeply. ‘’Fetch the boy from the cells and bring him here. He will not leave until he tells me at least, what language is included in the book.’’ Peter told Derek. Watching as he nodded and bared his throat again, the Alpha watched as his nephew turned on his heel and marched out the room instantly.Letting his eyes close, Peter vowed to have a moment of peace, his nights since finding the book had been plagued by nightmares and restless sleep no matter what he did to try and stop them. It was the sound of a quick heartbeat and grumbling that had him snapping his eyes open again. At the doors, Derek had the boy king gripped by the upper arm, dragging him in a fast step towards him. Sitting up straighter, Peter plastered a smirk on his face as the boy was pushed forward and he fell to his knees, the sound of them colliding on the stone loud to his own ears. He watched as the boy sat up, brushing himself off before he raised to his face with a snarl curling his lips.Even now, he looked pale, the ink on his skin dark but he had not lost any weight, even with the little food that Peter allowed him. He watched as the boy glared at his nephew before he turned it on to Peter, only to stop halfway when his eyes landed on the book Peter had sat on a table beside him. He watched as different emotions fled through the boy’s eyes, but he was surprised when his lips curled up in to a smirk that sent a warning through Peter’s body.‘’You could’ve hidden it better than an old coffin.’’Peter’s words were through smirked lips before he could stop himself, both him and his wolf wanted to take back control as the boy king’s eyes turned to him finally.‘’That may be so, but I hid it in the one place it belonged.’’ Peter listened to the low sound of his voice as he moved to rest his hands on slim hips. ‘’I put it back where it belonged and I see that you have taken a talisman from the grave too.’’ Peter turned his head to look upon the skeleton hand that rested atop the book, the claw tipped fingers, which he now knew was silver seemed to shine in the light since he cleaned them. ‘’I do hope that you asked permission first to do so.’’Taken aback, the Alpha raised his brow at the boy as he laughed, the sound bouncing around the stone walls as he slid a hand around to rest against his stomach. ‘’I do not believe I need to ask permission to take something from a person who is long dead and forgotten.’’ He answered in reply which just seemed to make the boy smirk more.‘’She may be long dead, but she is not forgotten to me.’’ Stiles replied to the Alpha, his words strong. ‘’Mother Gajos was not a woman to be messed around with. She may be my many great grandmothers. But her memory lives on through me and so does her blood.’’The name seemed to ring bells within Peter’s mind, he tried to search back through the bloodlines in the family tree, but Peter couldn’t put a name down on it as the boy king spoke again. ‘’She was a woman who you would want to respect, even in death since she is the one to pass the book on to me and allow me the secrets of my family.’’ He smirked at the Alpha. ‘’She is the one who deemed me worthy of my bloodline.’’ He sneered.Peter watched as Derek approached Stiles again, his hand reaching out to grip his shoulder and push him back to the ground and his knees again. He listened to the snap of bone against stone, of the flash of pain which went across the boy’s face for a moment.‘’I’m sure this…mother Gajos won’t mind me borrowing her hand for a few days.’’ Peter replied, waving his hand briefly as he reached over to pick the bones up, tilting them slightly to allow the light to shine over the silver. ‘’Although, I am curious to the silver nails.’’‘’All the better to hunt you down with.’’Laughing brightly at the words, Peter tilted his head to the side as he looked at the boy again, at the fury that lit his eyes up. ‘’Tell me wolf.’’ The boy king started, his lips curling in to a smirk. ‘’how have your dreams been since you took her hand?’’He felt frozen in the throne as he stared down at this boy, ice curling up his spin as this boy who spoke of things that no one should know about. ‘’I bet the nightmares started before you even found her book.’’ The voice continued as Peter dropped the hand back down on to said book and moved to his feet. ‘’I thought so. You are looking pale and tired Alpha Hale. Like you haven’t been sleeping very well.’’The boy’s laughter rang through the hall, Derek’s growl adding as Peter turned away towards the windows. He heard the hits of fists beating against the boy’s body and he shuddered, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them and turned back to face them both again. Ignoring the look of concern on his nephew’s face as he stood behind the boy king, Peter moved towards him again.With quick movements, he had his hand wrapped around the boy’s throat, lifting him until his toes barely touched the stone floor. ‘’You speak as if you know me, but you do not little boy.’’ Peter snarled at him. ‘’You will translate the book and you will be pleased to do so for it will keep your blood flowing through your body.’’ Dropping him again, Peter turned and marched towards the doors, only stopping when he heard his nephew make a sharp breath.‘’An deònaich thu dol thairis air a chridhe a‘ tha air chall air gelach iàn.’’The words were harsh, spoken low in the throat as the boy’s eyes met his. As he finished speaking, Peter felt the cold wash of magic crawling along his spine, spreading through his skin until it reached his heart. He felt it latch itself to him, spreading like oil along his bones. For the first time since invading this boy’s kingdom, he felt true fear as he stared in to cold eyes, eyes which had lost their trace of colour, of black eyes and a cold expression.He knew that what he was feeling, his nephew was feeling too as he backed away from the king, his eyes wide in alarm as they flickered around the room and between them. He had wished for something to know of this young man, of this boy. He had wished to know the history of his family, of his blood line and why the wolf’s gene died out.Now he knew.Magic was involved and it wasn’t weak.This boy king was something to be feared as Peter swallowed thickly, the movement watched by him as he smirked and raised to his feet. ‘’Guards.’’ Yelling out, the Alpha listened as they came rushing in and moved to surround the young king. ‘’Take him to the dungeons and lock him up.’’ Frozen to the spot, the Alpha watched as they grabbed at pale skin and dragged him away, all the time, his eyes locked on to Peter until he was being turned away through the door and he vanished from view.‘’Uncle Peter.’’The whispered words of Derek had him turning to look towards his nephew, the same fear was etched on to his face as he moved towards him. ‘’Something does not feel right.’’ He spoke, a hand moving up to rest against his chest. He knew what Derek meant as he nodded and took the remaining steps towards him, and in a rare moment of kindness, he reached out to grip the back of Derek’s neck, giving it a gentle squeeze as he breathed out.‘’I know.’’ He spoke quietly.‘’I saw them move.’’ Derek’s words were a mere whisper beside him as he frowned. ‘’The tattoos on his skin…all the rumours…they are true.’’ He told Peter. ‘’When he spoke those words, the raven moved, its feathers fluttered as if there was a breeze and a real bird.’’Swallowing thickly, Peter squeezed the younger Hale’s neck again before he was letting go. ‘’Go and fetch Deaton now. And tell no one of this Derek apart from him. Remember the words the boy spoke and write them down in Deaton’s presence if you can and only that. Do not speak them at all if you can help it and only if you cannot write them’’ Peter warned as he pushed him towards the door. ‘’Go now and hurry.’’He did not have a good feeling about this as he turned and moved to the throne again, settling himself down to think. Seeing the book and hand out the corner of his eye, he shivered before he reached out and threw a piece of cloth over them both, hiding them from view.But it did not help.=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==The day slowly slipped away slowly and the ill feeling didn’t. It left the Alpha with a mirid of feelings, the echo of the boy kings voice and words seemed to bounce around his head as he stared towards the doors. It had been a few hours since Deaton had appeared in front of him and told him that he didn’t not know what the words meant, but he would research in to it as quickly as he could. Both he and Derek felt the loss deeply, the void that filled their chests, but they didn’t know what it was and it left him unsettled as he finally rose, leaving behind the hand and book as he moved slowly through the castle.Returning to the chambers, Peter undressed and stretched out on the bed, staring up at the dark canopy. He wished to sleep but knew that he would be plagued with nightmares still, on top of the spoken words too, it was going to be a restless night.=-=-=-=-=-=-=-==The boy king fell backwards against the ground again, his jaw throbbing in time with his heart as he spat blood on to the brickwork. He had been thrown back in to the cells after he had spoken his curse to the two wolves, something he had done out of spite after seeing the claw tipped hand on top of his book. He had felt hatred towards the Alpha king for finding it and taking it from its resting place. At first, he had hoped it would remain hidden from the wolf but he did revel in knowing that the wolf couldn’t read any of it.The kick to his ribs had a harsh breath falling from his lips as he fell on to his back, an arm curling up over his torso as he groaned in pain. He hadn’t expected the younger wolf to turn up in the cell again a few hours later, anger clear on his face before the beating started. He could feel the swelling to his eye and other parts of his body already as a foot came down on his ribs, the bones creaking beneath skin under the weight as he coughed, blood coating his lips for a second. ‘’You can’t kill me.’’ He breathed out as he peered up at the younger Hale.‘’Who says I can’t?’’ He was answered back, his weight growing for a moment.‘’Your uncle wouldn’t like it.’’ Stiles coughed again before he smirked. ‘’And you’d never lift the curse if you did. Can’t you feel it yet?’’ He asked as he moved a hand to the man’s foot, pressing against it to try and lift the weight. ‘’The way something is missing inside. A part of you that has always been there.’’ He smirked before groaning again as the foot dug deeper against his ribs and hand.‘’Tell me why I should believe anything you’re saying?’’ The man asked, his voice rough, but the boy king could see the confusion and a slight hint of worry marring his face.‘’You should if you ever want to feel your wolf again.’’His words came out as a sneer before the weight was being lifted and he dragged lungsful of air in to his body. The boy king watched as the man stumbled backwards, his eyes wide before he was looking down at his hands as he brought them up in front of him. Resting his cheek against the cool brick flooring, he couldn’t stop the laugh that fell darkly from his lips. The fear was strong on the wolf’s face when he realized that he couldn’t bring his wolf forward, his eyes moving to look towards him before he was turning and fleeing the cell, a weak order of locking it behind him echoed through the dungeons as his footsteps faded.Around him, he heard the whispered words of his men talking to one another, their worried words moving towards him as he slowly rolled back on to his back again and took a deep and slow breath, letting the air fill his lungs slowly before he let it out again.Above him, in the small window of his cell, a raven landed and let out a soft caw.He smiled to himself as the clouds parted to revel the nearly full moon.Mother Gajos had finally met the wolves again.
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=He paces the throne room, his steps echoing off the stone walls and floors. The full moon had come and gone with the feeling of loss and itchiness inside of them. His nephew had reported back to him the words the boy king had spoken, the curse which he had laid upon them. He had laughed at first, had shaken his head and told him not to worry, that he couldn’t possibly have done something like removing their wolves, to remove a part of who they were.But then the moon rose and the wolves were nowhere to be found. Not a single trace within his body nor his nephews.He had stood under the light of it, had stripped down to his bare underthing’s and tried to call it forward. But it was missing and he felt lost. He felt naked without his strength, had felt the coldness seep further in to his body from the castle. He had taken to wearing extra furs over his shoulders and curling in the bedding of the room when he didn’t leave. He knew that Derek was similar, had watched as his nephew battled with the loss, watched as he drove himself nearly crazy with trying to find his inner self.He had ordered Deaton to sedate his nephew before he done himself true harm.The day after the full moon, the wolf king had ordered the release of the boy king’s men, leaving the boy alone in the cells with no torches. He wanted him to be alone, to be isolated. He wanted to break this boy, to break this warrior king who thought he could throw curses around without repercussions.It had been a week and nothing had changed.And yet it had.His men, those with their wolves still, report to him the strangeness around the cells, they tell him of their uneasiness when they have to enter the dark halls and leave the food for the boy. Peter laughed in their faces. Told them they were being stupid to let a boy fill them with fear. For he was locked up and they were not.He thinks back to the wolf who had knelt before him and spoke of the low whispers that comes from the boy king’s cell, of his low voice as he sung in tongues they did not know. He told him of how the air changes when he does so, of how the air seems to grow cold. The wolf told him of the boy talking quietly to someone who wasn’t there, the low laughter that sometimes echoed off the walls.If they couldn’t scent the boy, they truly would’ve thought him mad.But they could scent, could hear that there was no one else. Their wolves were perfectly intact within them.When his people come to him and tell him that they will not enter the dungeons any more, the Alpha is left angry but he can see the fear on their faces when they tell him that they swear they see light flickering from his cell sometimes despite the boy king having no candles or flame to see by.In the end Peter relents and orders his men to bring one of the boy king’s men back to take him meals and to check on him.Edging on a fortnight, the Wolf King finally moves through the castle and down to the cells, he stands with a guard at his back, the torch he holds flickering across the walls as they move through the dungeons until they meet the hallway where the king’s cell stands. He can hear his low voice, the melody of it curling around the stone walls, chills fill his body as he shudders and steps forward. His steps echo and the voice stops as he comes to a rest outside the cell. The guard behind him comes closer and the light spills inside, revealing the boy king as he lounges back against the wall, an arm thrown over his bent leg.He grins at him with a sharpness, his eyes glittering as the light catches them. It’s the fluttering of wings that catches Peter’s attention, his head turning as a raven hops across the floor and up on to the boy’s hand when he lifts it. He whispers something that the Alpha can’t hear and shifts his arm upwards as the bird takes flight and moves towards the window.‘’You look tired Wolf King.’’ The boy’s voice held amusement in it as he slowly moved to bend both legs up, his arms resting across them as he sat forward and tilted his head at him.‘’The curse.’’ He surprised himself for a moment, having not planned on speaking of it to him before the boy chuckled and moved swiftly to his feet, the movement smooth as he stepped fully in to the light. He watched as his amber eyes flickered across him, dragging across his form before he was pulling his lips up in to a smirk.‘’No, I don’t think so.’’ He commented as he turned and tipped his head towards the small window, his arms folding behind him and long fingers linking together. ‘’not yet anyway. You haven’t seemed to learn anything yet.’’The words made him growl, the sound weak and too human like as the boy turned and smirked in his direction again. Turning, he stalked backwards the entrance of the cells, only pausing when he heard the boy’s hum.‘’Mother Gajos says hello.’’The words haunt him all the way back to the throne room where he paces, allows his mind to wonder. It takes him most of the night before the curse comes back to his mind and he spins on his heel, eyes staring at the space the boy king had been resting in when he had spoken the words. He remembers the way his eyes had changed when he had seen the hand and book and his own eyes drift up to the little table where both still sat under the fabric he had thrown over. He remembers the boys wonder at whether he had asked permission to take it and he shudders as he storms closer and tugs the cloth away to stare down at the skeletal hand, the silver tipped claws. Peter thinks of his nightmares which had gotten worse after finding it and removing it from the coffin, of the power he had felt behind those words the boy had spoken.With a shudder, Peter picked the hand up in the cloth, wrapping it quickly and pushing it deeply in to his pocket. Turning and heading out of the throne room, he moved swiftly through the castle until he came to a stop outside of the catacombs again and breathed out. Torch in hand, he entered and moved past all the stone until he came to a stop outside of the old wooden coffin and breathed out.‘’Mother Gajos.’’ He spoke, voice rough and coming out in almost a croak until he cleared it and reached in to his pocket, pulling the wrapped hand out. ‘’I am here to return to you that was taken without permission and I give you my deep apologies for removing it in the first place.’’ Pushing the hand and the wrapping back in through the hole in the coffin’s side, Peter stepped closer, his arm moving further in until he rested it down in a space, he thought was near where he had found it.Withdrawing his arm quickly, the wolf king breathed out before bowing low to the coffin. For a moment, he thought that he heard scratching coming from within the coffin before he shook the thoughts away and quickly left again, a chill still clinging to his bones.=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=Time passes slower than he would like, the days stretching on and on before he feels something change. He can feel something in his chest, a pressure before it changes in to a sharp pain and he collapses to his knees in the middle of the boy king’s chambers…his chambers. It’s been three days since he had returned the hand to the coffin, returned it back to where it belonged and he had waited for something to change. He didn’t know how, but Peter knew that the boy king would know that it had been returned, there was something about him that crept the wolf king out, send shivers tumbling through his body.It's as he presses against the ground that his claws slide out and he feels the rumble of a snare coming from his throat. He can finally feel his wolf once more and he can feel the anger that is coming from it. But they are both delighted at the same time, he finally feels whole again, like that missing piece had once again been filled back up as he slowly climbed to his feet. His nephew comes rushing in moments later, eyes glowing and fangs out, he can sense the joy coming from him as he beams brightly and Peter can’t help but be caught up in it for a moment as he grins back, his own crimson eyes flashing back.‘’The curse is lifted.’’ Derek slurs before he pulls the shift back and blinks. ‘’how did you get him to do it my lord?’’ He asked.‘’I did nothing.’’ He admits as he looks down at his hand, letting his claws slide out and then disappear again, double checking that their wolves were really back before he pulled himself up tall. ‘’maybe he had decided that enough was enough. Now, let’s go and run, we have been without our hearts for too long.’’ He spoke.=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=They run for hours, moving through the land and forests that surround the castle. The Wolf King allows himself to forget the coldness and the nightmares that had plagued him as he chases after his nephew, nipping at his legs when he gets close enough before moving away and allowing Derek to chase him.By the time they start heading back to the castle, dusk is falling and snow has started to fall again in silent drops. It’s not heavy enough to stay too long on the ground, but the air is changing and it won’t be long before it starts to fall in heavier droves and start building up on the ground fully. He is feeling freer, his body lighter and not as tense as he shifts back to two feet and gathers the clothes that they had left behind. Despite his wolf being back and feeling the supernatural warmth that comes with being a werewolf, he is still feeling the cold as he attaches his cloak around his shoulders, fastening the ties around his collar as they move through the lane and in to the courtyard of the castle.Instantly he knows that something is going on, his people are rushing around, yelling and calling out before a messenger is racing out to meet him on the steps.‘’The king is gone.’’Peter stops and stares down at the boy, he is young, human and a servant of the boy King, but he is fast on his feet and keeps his words to himself. He proved to be a good add on to his own staff as he blinks and frowns. ‘’Speak more.’’‘’He has escaped the cells.’’He can scent the emotions on the boy, can smell the joy and amusement but he takes no notice of it as he sweeps past him and in to the castle itself, eyes glowing as he looks around. He stalks to the dungeons and down to the cells to see for himself and it is true. The Boy’s cell is empty other than a few flakes of snow that has come through the small window in the wall, too small for his form to fit through as he growls and storms out.He questions the guards on duty, demands answers to how something like this has happened. He threatens the men of the boy kings who takes his meals but they speak nothing but the truth in their answers and he snarls in frustration. He orders everyone to search for the boy, to turn the castle upside down if needed be.He would be found.And the Wolf of Hale would make sure he wouldn’t disappear again.=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=The search goes on for hours until the light outside has faded completely and darkness has taken over, stars hardly shining through the storm clouds. The Boy King still hasn’t been found as he stalks through the castle, his people and the boys scattering out of his way as he moves back through and up to the chambers. As he enters, he feels the frustration build again as the door slams back against the wall and he reaches up and claws at the strings of his cloak. He knows that once he had calmed down, that he would regret cutting through them as it falls to the floor, but for now he is pissed as the door bounces back and starts closing behind his entrance to the room.Peter still couldn’t understand how the boy had managed to get out of the cell and past all the guards, both human and wolf. Sure, he was a slip of a thing despite the muscle from wars and from training, but there was no way he could’ve gotten past them or even out the cell with its locked doors.Still growling, he leans down and grips at the table beside the bed, his claws digging in to the wooden top, making it creak as they gorged the wood. Once again, he thinks about the escape, thinks about how it wasn’t possible without the help of others, but he thinks back to everyone he had spoken too, he had asked them, demanded them for answers to who had seen the boy in the hours before his escape. No one had visited apart from a woman, a healer who seemed to be fond of the king. She had taken him his evening meal which had been searched thoroughly for any contraband. She had carried nothing but his food and a small bag of paste and gauze for the few wounds the boy still had.She had nothing to give him to help him escape.He had even questioned her himself.Snarling out, he sweeps his arm across the table top, sending the books which had been sat there crashing to the ground. They had been searching the castle from the moment the alarm had sounded, and yet he was nowhere to be found still, no trace or scent of him had been found.Rising to his full height once more, Peter closed his eyes and tried to breath out before a sound caught his ears. The sound of something sharp slicing through something wet and soft. Growling and turning on his heel, his eyes flashed as he stared towards the other side of the chambers where the torch light hardly reached.And there, there in the chair he sat, his feet up on a table.The Boy King.He watches as the boy’s fingers deftly slid the blade of a small knife through an apple, watches as he raised it to his mouth which was set in to a smug looking grin. ‘’Miss me?’’ The boy asked before his tongue darted out, sliding against the apple slice before he was pulling it from the blade and in to his mouth.It’s the sound of the taunting tone coming from him that makes the Wolf King move across the room quickly, his hands curling around the boys clothing as he hauls him up, only to slam him against the wall. ‘’How did you get in here?’’ He demands of him, his eyes flashing and reflecting in the cooler ones. He can feel his claws sliding through the material of his clothing, pricking at the boy’s skin as he chuckles and slides a tongue out across his lower lip.‘’You mean my chambers which you have so generously taken as your own?’’ The boy asks, his brow tilting up in amusement which causes his wolf’s hackles to raise and another growl to leave his throat. ‘’Well, you see. It was simple really.’’ He shrugged despite the wolf’s tightening hold. ‘’I walked out and through the castle and decided that I needed a fresh changing of clothing. Of course, I stopped off at the kitchens first, dry bread just doesn’t cut it for me really. I like to get my fruit in as well.’’ The boy hummed before he was making a small noise in the back of his throat as Peter slid a hand up to curl around his throat, claws digging in to his flesh.‘’Do not play with me child.’’ He growled, leaning in and baring his fangs. But it’s the press of a cold blade tip against his ribs that makes him silently curse for a moment. In his anger and frustration, he had forgotten all about the blade that the boy had been using to eat.‘’You will find, I am no child, wolf.’’ The boy sneers out, the warmth and light of his eyes faded, leaving behind a darkness that makes him feel fearful for a second or two. ‘’I have lived life for nearly as long as I have reigned king over these lands. I have fought battles you could only blink at and claimed the victory over them all. Even when I was just a child.’’ The boy breathes out, his voice growing steady and deeper as the air shifted around them. ‘’I may only be a human, but I am stronger, more powerful than you will ever be Alpha.’’ He sneered at him as the tip of the blade slid over his torso and came up to point against the underside of his jaw. ‘’Now you are going to remove your claws from my throat.’’The wolf king stares back at him, eyes hardening as he listens to the last of the boy’s words. For a moment they stare at each other before Peter lets a harsh laugh out, his shift sliding across his features with ease. ‘’Do you really think a small blade at my throat is going to get me to give in to you?’’ He demanded, his anger building as nothing but a smirk, slides across the boy’s face until he lets out a laugh, the sound almost strangled from where his grip tightened around his throat.‘’You will do it because you are smart.’’ The boy speaks, his words low and quiet at the same time he feels the nick of the small blade breaking skin. The sting of something seeping from the metal. ‘’you may have removed the curse, but it is not the only one I know.’’ Around them, the wolf king feels the shifting of the air, feels the way the hair on the back of his neck stands on end as if he was the prey. ‘’I’m pretty sure I could kill you before your guard outside the door even notices too.’’The last words are whispered to Peter, the boy leaning closer despite it making his claws slide in to his flesh more. For a moment he is transfixed on the slide of the boy’s bloods against his pale skin. But then the boy shifts, the blades point stinging again which makes him bare his teeth in a silent snarl before he is drawing back and stepping away.He crossed the room and yanks the door open, demanding the guard to take the boy out, but when they turn the Boy King is no longer in the room and when he sniffs at the air, he realises that he cannot find and trace of him at all.‘’Find him.’’ He barks at the guard before slamming the door again.He wants to tear the room apart, to throw and destroy the things which are around but something stops him as he pants and presses his hands against the wall either side of the window. As he stares out at his reflection, he sees the small cut on his throat and tips his head up as he brings a hand up to touch. Looking down at his fingertips, the smear of blood is the only telling thing that showed that the boy had been there at all and he snarls.The boy made him look a fool.The boy makes him feel weak.He is everything people say he is.Ruthless and intriguing together, it drives him crazy as he turns his back on the window and moves to where the boy had been sitting. The half-eaten apple lays on the floor, another testament to the boy being there but the knife is not and it makes him rumble a little, wondering where the boy had hidden it. He searches the papers which are on the table and floor, tries to see if there was anything the boy king might have been looking for, but there is nothing but what he had already look through before and he sighs, dropping in to the empty chair with a glare.The boy king frustrated him and yet made him so curious too, there was something about him that made the Wolf king want.=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=An hour later he is awoken from a light sleep, his body jerking at the knocking on the door and he realises that he is still sat in the chair the boy had been in. Clearing his head and getting to his feet, he crosses to the door and pulls it open to stare down at his guard as he stands outside. The news of the boy king being in his cell is like claws against a board as he growls and asks how it is possible.Instead of waiting for an answer from the startled guard, Peter pushes past and moves through the castle, his nephew joining him as they make their way down to the cell. And sure, enough as they come to a stop outside of it, the boy is stretched out across the ground, an arm tucked under his head, eyes closed as he hummed. Peter can see that he is in the clothes he was in before he went missing, the cloth dirty and starting to smell.Peter orders the guards to open the cell and to search it and the boy. He stands and watches as it happens, trying to ignore the faint smirk that dances on the boy’s lips as he allows it to happen. When nothing is found, the boy tilts his head at the two wolves before he sends a wink in their direction. ‘’Mother Gajos thanks you by the way. She was starting to miss her claws.’’ He speaks lowly as he lowers himself to the ground again, moving to lay back out the way he had been before the search.As the cell is locked back up, the Wolf King demands two guards to be on watch outside of the cell, turned inwards at all times. He wanted eyes on the boy constantly no matter how much his men felt discomfort in being close.He was not going to let the boy escape again.He can smell the confusion on everyone, the wonder of how the boy king managed to disappear and to appear again as if he had never left the cell at all. It makes his mind crawl as he returns to the chambers and searches it once more. He still doesn’t find the knife but he finds other little things which points at a different time for the boy, relics of a past which smell of flowers and tenderness. As much as the boy angers him, he also knows the feeling of cherished items as he returns the small package to the depths of a cupboard, piling the papers back on top as he final gives up and undresses.Bathed and stretched out in the boy’s bed, his scent slowly fading from the material, Peter finds himself missing it as he rolls over and shoves his arms under the pillow. But as he falls asleep, he vows to himself that he would not let the boy get to him anymore.After all, he was the fierce Wolf of Hale.