Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The light blinded him. It was so bright, so intense that it burned his eyes. His ears were ringing. It felt as if he was dead, felt so…unreal. ”Is this heaven?” he wondered and squinted to block the shine, it took him a moment to realize it was the sun. So he wasn’t dead, there is no sun in the Forest. Slowly other sensations caught up to him as well, his body was in pain, and its whole hurt him greatly. ”psh, Forest more like badlands, where am I?” He couldn't remember...he was… was he laying in the grass? He deduced after feeling a bit what was on the surface he now occupied...Was he on some sort of meadow? What was he doing there? It was day, sometime around mid-day. Mickey tried to get up, or at least sit up but then a wave of pain hit him in full force in the head making him dizzy. Was he concussed? What happened? He moved his hand and... felt something wet... a puddle? Did it rain? But when? He looked at his hand, it was red and stunk of iron, this smell was familiar...“Was that blood?” He slowly turned around to take a look and maybe orient himself in his surrounding area. He felt pain in his lower leg, it looked fine, maybe it was bruised or something. Mickey was confused about what happened, he was hurting but... “Argh!!!" He screamed in fright as his eyes found dead, white, glassy ones staring back at him. Adrenaline took over the body’s responses as he got up as fast as lightning strikes, dizziness was momentarily gone same with pain which dulled to a throb as Mickey’s instinct of fight or flight kicked in. His pulse quickened and his breath got more ragged and shallow while he took in the sight that welcomed him, it wasn’t just one corpse, no, he was surrounded by them. All were bloody, full of wounds, and mutilated in one way or another. His eyes jumped, from one to another. How? Finally, he looked up, he wasn’t on the small meadow, he kind of hoped that it was at this point, it was a huge battlefield. Battlefield cluttered with dead knights all clad in the same leather armor with iron chainmail under it. Did they kill each other? Why? He recognized this armor, there was a symbol on the left breast – a Grey wolf howling to a star. This…this was bad, very bad! Even more, the time has passed before, he got used to the view and the oppressing thoughts, Mickey finally calmed down enough to begin feeling anew that he also took part in the battle. He felt for injuries, it was a bit complicated seeing as his robes were so large on his thin frame. He was drowning in the brown fabric. Despite this, he found there was a gash on the back of his head which explained why he felt nauseous…and why the back of his neck was wet, bloody, and sticky. There could be a concussion. There probably was a concussion. He also found multiple small cuts and bruises and he probably had a sprained ankle. He grunted as he tried to touch the place, it was definitely swollen and sprained, fortunately not broken it didn’t feel like it. His robes were in a worse state than him so…he had been lucky in comparison to his comrades. He got up and took a tentative step forward, his leg buckled under his already slight weight, he was more tired and in pain than he thought at first. Mickey grit his teeth and clenched his hands into fists, his legs were still unsure as he got up and finally stood in one place.

Something moved in his peripheral vision, something was coming his way…multiple somethings and they were huge, even from that distance. He needed a moment to identify them to be riders on battle horses, great beasts muscled and so much bigger than him. He couldn’t run from horses in full gallop, not with his ankle sprained, teleportation was also not an option as his energy level was dangerously low and he was still dizzy. Focusing on anything was impossible in his state, Mickey wouldn’t risk a teleport or a portal. Maybe he could overpower at least one of them and steal his horse? Risky and definitely stupid but what other choice did he have?

There were seven knights all in shiny, silver armor with griffon painted in red on the chest plates, they slowed down as they got closer to Mickey. They recognized the robes he wore, they suspected what he was capable of as they surrounded him in a loose circle. Two of the knights lowered themselves to the ground to meet him there. They were tall and broad in shoulders, both of them had the advantage of size and strength over him. On the other hand, he thought, it’s easy to overpower a sixteen-year-old teen. That’s where his plans on fighting ended. Even if he was as tall as they, not much he would be capable of doing, probably. The knights in the meantime split to the sides so that he had to alternate looking between them to control the situation. They knew what they were doing then, magic worked on focus and he couldn’t split in two. Adrenaline, again made him forget about his injuries and that he could barely stand. He was an idiot.
“Surrender mage! You have nowhere to run.” One of them said, he wore a cloak in the same deep red color, as was his symbol, probably a leader of this…squad, Mickey thought. At the same time, under the helmet, the second enemy soldier took the state of the boy in front of him. Tired, bloody, and weak teenager with no backup, easy to handle the knight thought as he saw the child’s leg tremble. Poor thing. Other of his companions slowly circled him on horses cutting the child’s escape routes.

Mickey’s breath was quickening again, he needed to move he thought as he noted satisfaction and confidence shining in the knight’s eyes. They were sure he was an easy catch. Ignoring the returning dizziness Mickey closed his eyes and gathered all of his remaining energy reserves and every ounce from around him then he began focusing it on one powerful power outburst. Though he wasn’t confident enough to say the spell feeling as if his tongue knotted itself a few times in his mouth, he moved his arms to put them in a form but then he fell under the force of something coming from the side, next after his shock dissipated he felt a blinding pain in his right forearm. A crossbow bolt was sticking from the wound, he stared at it and whimpered in shock. They shot him! This couldn’t be real, he was never good at working under pressure and a big amount of stress. He continued to whimper and curled in on himself when the leader came to his side and towered over him casting a dark shadow. Mickey peered at him with round eyes filled to the brim with fear and tears.

“Should’ve given up kid. Was this really necessary?” The leader spoke and smirked while the rest of the knights got some equipment and also came up to their downed prey. He tried to crawl away in a ridiculous attempt to escape, nothing had come from that because momentarily one of the other knights closed in on him and held him immobile on the ground. He put his knee on Mickey’s neck shortening his air supply and held his arms stretched out on the ground in front of him. He broke the bolt in the middle and slid it out from his arm, he tied a loose bandage there then he fixed them at the small of his back. The teen tried trashing, but it was a short time before he tired himself out and only grunted when they shackled his arms, uncomfortably tight behind his back straining his tired muscles. His attackers didn’t care for his well-being enough to pity him, they outright laughed at his misery and pain. At least they cared for him being alive, he thought sarcastically as he was laying hurt and mostly immobilized.

“Don’t try to use your magic boy, you’ll only hurt yourself.” The leader cheerfully added to Mickey’s misery and kneeled next to him to ruffle his black, soft, hair. “Okay boys, let’s get back to the camp. Our lord will be very satisfied with our catch, I believe.” He stated and stood up, he began to walk away but then he turned back with a finger pointing up. “Just one more thing…” He signaled his men to get Mickey up, another one of the knights came up, he had something in his hands but before Mickey could take a closer look he got his answer. The other two who hoisted him up and held him secure in his kneeling position took a hold of his hair and made him look up straight into the sun leaving his neck bare and unprotected. They wanted to collar him! He whimpered again and threw his body, as much as he could in his predicament, to the side to try and escape. They only laughed at his feeble attempt, he closed his eyes as he felt the metal ring snap with the finality of his fate. Depending on the type of collar, it could have different repercussions. Collars were considered either a torture device or a form of restraint like normal cuffs. The one resembling the normal cuffs wouldn’t have any dangerous side effects but if the one on him was there to block his magic further then they just snapped one of the worst of torture devices for a magical being. A lone tear slid down his face causing another wave of laughter but now underlined with a bit darker tones.

“So great and powerful mage is afraid of us, mere knights!” There was a cold glint in his captor’s eyes, all of them now held the cruel satisfaction and a promise of pain in them. They had to like his defiance but it was fear that satisfied them. “YOU AND YOURS TRULY ARE A BUNCH OF COWARDS, YOU’RE THE ONLY ONES RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS!!! So stop whining and get up mage!” The leader screamed in his face, fiery rage ravaged in his eyes with the promise of long and torturous demise. This fury, Mickey didn’t expect it. It shook him to the core, it was like two different people! The leader attached a length of chain to his collar and aggressively pulled at it. Witch-boy fell face-first into the ground, the rest of his guards’ raucous laughter made his face turn red, the soldier though didn’t stop there and pulled the chain more and more till he got on his horse again and Mickey got up to avoid being choked to death or being pulled behind the horse. “If you try to run or free yourself then I won’t care if you’re not well enough to walk as fast as the horse can run.” The chain holder threw this statement at him carelessly, “So don’t get any ideas. Mercy is not my strong suit kid.” He narrowed his eyes at the boy by his side. His voice was calm and cold again. Mickey looked down in submission, he wasn’t in any state to fight and running wasn’t an option. “Let’s go, boys!” And as promised they slowly made their way to “The Camp.”

Mickey didn't know how big exactly was the battlefield they were on, but as he was pulled along he found it very, very long. The sun continued to radiate the heat while it traveled in the sky. Now he was exhausted, sweaty, hungry, and thirsty. And in pain, don’t forget in pain! The uncertainty was slowly eating him. The first indicators of what exactly was around his neck would not appear for at least three weeks, by then taking off the collar would mean immense pain as a backlash of returning power to its vessel. Said collar felt scratchy and tight, in the first minutes he tried to put a bit of a distance between himself and the leash-holder. With arms literally tied he had a hard time checking anything out. By moving his head and body he attempted to dislodge or just move the damn thing around his throat. Mickey focused so strongly on that thing that he had forgotten where exactly was walking till he stumbled and nearly took the knight off his horse, the knights didn't like that. The group stopped, and Mickey swallowed in fright. Hundred painful scenarios of consequences for his actions just flew through his head. Tears once again collected at the brim of his eyes when he observed the process of the leader’s face morphing into sheer fury.

“Lieutenant, his ankle is sprained.” Mickey threw a look at another of the knights. This one was younger and had a softer voice, the lieutenant’s eyes drifted to his leg, and the anger visibly lessened.

“Get up mage.” He only said and pulled at his leash. For the next half an hour, the young witch worried for…something, but it seemed that the only consequence was that his leash had been shortened and instead of keeping a bit of a distance from the brute on the horse he was now forced to walk right next to him. Mickey would stumble from time to time, being shackled as he was it was problematic for him to step over the fallen. They would tug his collar then, and it cut painfully into the soft underside of his head. Mickey suspected that his neck was already in bad shape and now he would have to worry about getting an infection. This…harshness was unnecessary in Mickey’s opinion, though isn't that what all captives think?

Finally, they arrived at their destination. To his relief, it had been placed among the trees so it was shielded from the worst of the sunlight. Mickey felt an instant change as they entered the shadow of the swaying birches. They left the horses in the area with fewer trees to the care of stableboys who quickly bowed and rushed to their jobs sparing no more than a glance for him. The knights at the same time pulled him further into the camp of quite tall tents, made of red-colored watertight material, nearly all inhabitants stared at him while they passed by, some with curiosity, some with hate, satisfaction, or just cold cruelty. They wanted revenge, satisfaction from him, it worried Mickey the most, he was of course aware that at his enemy’s camp, he shouldn't expect any gentleness but…what were they going to do with him? The uncertainty of the future was the thing he feared the most. During their walk, he had a bit of time to watch his new ‘home’. What surprised him the most though was how well the camp had been organized, tents standing in even rows with clear pathways between them. Servants scurried around the area with jugs of water, clothes, and other things assigned for them to take care of. This was probably the biggest difference between the two nations, he believed, while his compatriots were taught from their youngest years to take care of their own needs their enemies were all cared for by servants and slaves. This was something unthinkable in the north, taking someone against their will and making him serve some master. If the Mossette army found any slaves they always got a choice of what to do now that they were free. He saw many proofs on the backs of the slaves of how merciful the red king and his people were. They walked for a while, it didn’t help him only served to tire him out more, to sap out the last of my energy. And maybe to show off the prize, there was nothing to look at in his opinion. He huffed inwardly on their pettiness. They seriously acted like he had any energy to spare right now, he was fighting to stay upright at this point. But on the bright side, they still thought he was dangerous enough to be afraid of him. But as he let the thought sink in more he lost his assurance that it was a good thing.

At some point, they had arrived at the location they intended and now Mickey was sure that them being afraid of him was not a good thing. Not at all! There, at the center of the clearing stood a tall wooden stake, the leader who held his leash harshly pulled Mickey to it forcing him so that his back was closely touching the wood, and secured the chain to the top. He couldn't sit as the leeway was too short for that. They unchained his hands and re-cuffed them around the pole. As a result, he had been left standing there with the collar uncomfortably pressed to his soft neck and his body strung up like a bowstring, he was thanking any deity that listened for a possibility of leaning on the stake, the small mercy. The soldiers checked the sturdiness of his chains, it was satisfactory for them and very unfortunate for him. Two of the bunch then came closer and…began to pull and cut at his robe! They were stripping him! Mickey tried to trash and move out of their reach but before he could do any significant move the leader stomped on his wounded foot. Tears welled up in his eyes as he gasped as the pain doubled, he was past the time of having the voice to scream, and a few salty droplets were shed as they disrobed him. Their hands explored him for a while but the touch was not pleasant at all, he squirmed through the whole ordeal. It wasn’t at all clinical but felt purposeful…they were searching him for lockpicks or hidden weapons! He realized that one of the hands that explored his body stayed a bit too long for him to feel only as a simple search and Mickey was right. As they finally finished with this…farce the explorer seemed…hyped and like he was trying not to eat him with his eyes. He failed greatly when he licked his lips in a clear message. Mickey’s cheeks burned bright red in embarrassment, on the inside he was terrified though. He gulped, the threat was easy to read, he now knew what could happen to him. The rest of them chuckled but lastly, they cut off his shoes leaving him only in a thin tunic and leggings. He felt happy that it was summer and mourned the footwear, those were his best shoes!

"You'll stay here mage!" The knight took a hold of his hair, "You will not cause trouble and will be quiet! Understood!" He said and closed in on Mickey with his cold, anger-filled eyes staring him down, the boy nodded but it apparently wasn’t enough. “I didn’t hear that!” Tone once again became dark and promised pain if he didn’t comply with the order.

“I un…understand.” He quietly spoke, and the boys’ voice shook, he was scared the knight noted and smirked then pet his hair.

“Good boy!” He mocked Mickey as his cheeks turned red at that treatment, he was not a dog. The young witch pulled from him as much as he could, and the knights cackled at his misery. After that, they left him seemingly unsupervised but he was not hopeful to achieve an escape he was after all in the middle of a military camp. He was surrounded by guards, there was no need of assigning one specifically to him.

Their leader entered the biggest tent with a griffon over its entrance. It was more ornamented than any other crest that could be seen on banners and flags, it was probably a royal crest or something like that. The tent alone had been placed only a few meters from the pole, so he was conveniently held captive in the most secure location in this camp, seeing as it probably was a king’s tent. The leader’s companions dispersed throughout the camp, going to catch some z’s. If he wasn't as tired as he was, Mickey would probably try to free himself despite if his circumstances weren't the best to just try and run. With the collar and cuffs, he was cut off from magic and without it, he wasn't much of a threat to anyone. He cursed his young age and slight build and sighed, he tried to relax against the pole and closed his eyes. His commanding officer would've already shouted out his lungs for such carelessness but now he wasn't sure if the guy was even alive. He wasn't here at the very least so he could kiss Mickey where the sun doesn't shine. And anyway, other soldiers who had been captured before said to sleep, eat, drink and relieve themselves whenever you have the chance because you never knew when will be the next time of relative peace if any. They tried to be optimistic but realism in this situation was a better philosophy to follow. Usually, Mickey would have a hard time sleeping at this time of day but he was exhausted both physically and emotionally. After two minutes, maybe three his breathing evened out and Mickey was dead to the world.

His second awakening was much more abrupt and more unpleasant than the last one. Even taking that last time he woke up amidst the corpses of his fallen comrades, Mickey decided that having a bucket of cold, nearly icy, water thrown at him was worse. He spluttered and coughed and wheezed while he tried to expel the water that found its way to his airways, this freaking hurt! His captors on the other hand were having the time of their life at his expense. They laughed and shouted all around him. All except one, he wasn’t very tall, looked more closely to Mickey’s age than anything else yet held himself differently than the rest.

He had slept for the rest of the day, now it was night, and even as warm as the summer nights could get the evening chill easily set in his bones. Having thin clothes on him from the beginning wasn’t helpful with the fighting the cold and now all of his meager protection was all wet and clinging to his skin. Mickey shivered, and goosebumps appeared on his whole body.

"So you're the mage who survived that bloodbath." It was a statement that said the obvious, Mickey figured after he finally calmed down. Not all water got out, his breathing told him but for now, it had to do. The younger-than-the-rest spoke in a soft delicate tone, very unusual for a soldier cause he was one for sure. He had a longsword at his side and wore a tunic usually worn under armor. Mickey’s attention though caught a little mistake that found itself in that statement, all of them had been making it since the beginning. He was not a mage but a spellcaster and between the two was a huge difference. Didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t use magic ‘cause the blockers worked on every magical being. Yet they addressing him as a mage was a mistake on the level of not recognizing if it was a day or night. It was important to be able to distinguish the two types of magic users but maybe they were able to keep themselves hidden in the end? Maybe that’s where the mistake came from.

"I'm curious why did they take a child to the war?" His speaker brought him back from wandering too far from his current situation. He was a noble or some other aristocrat from the look of his clothing. Seemed fine and expensive even if those were just working clothes "Well?" The noble’s patience was thinning, he could see that clearly though he only shrugged. What could he say? That this war took so many adults that they had to recruit children now? That the conflict destroyed nearly all their land with blood floods after battles and now they were all running on reserves? He lowered his head to avoid any answer, didn't dare to look him in the eye, and despite his silence, the new guy figured out what he had been thinking. He nodded to himself, "That's what I thought…" he murmured. For a moment nobody spoke or moved in any way. That gave Mickey a chance to watch around him but didn’t give nearly any results. It was dark and maybe his eyes could shine but they never allowed him to see in the dark. All of the lighting now came from the big fire burning behind the half-circle of knights standing and watching him like hawks. Or vultures, his mind unhelpfully supplied.

"So!” The guy cheerfully began ending the moment of silence, ”Do you know who I am?" he calmly asked, eyes filled with curiosity. Mickey, still not looking at him, shook his head. How was he supposed to know? He was never good at remembering people he was meeting on daily basis in the first place. One enemy aristocrat wasn’t so different from the other. "I'm prince Ferren de Villes, heir of the throne of the Kingdom of Umbra, the new king." Well, it was unexpected, but what of it? Mickey asked himself…Wait, a new king? He thought, but that would mean…his eyes widened. "My father has been killed by your people." The royal answered quietly, darkly for the unasked question. So he was screwed, nice to know. He’ll be paying and paying for being a victim of a tyrant that they had finally eliminated. Somehow this death didn’t bring him joy, or satisfaction but he also wasn’t saddened, no. Did he feel…indifferent? That was the best term to describe his current state of mind.

"He wanted this war while I am against it.” The king continued in the meantime. Another unexpected news, so not like father like son? Highly unlikely yet it happened. Mickey looked around the faces of the guards that surrounded them, unreadable and professional to the bone. Curious, maybe not only the king didn’t want this fight,

“What would your leaders do If I proposed a peace treaty?"

At this, Mickey looked Ferren in the eye, shocked and a bit doubtful. How exactly was he supposed to respond to this?! And while they were at it, why him exactly?! He was a low-level spellcaster, and didn’t even finish his schooling…

"No offense your hi…highness, but why exactly are you asking me?" He quietly asked, and was as polite as he could, he was tired of being hit for things. His voice wavered a bit at the royal address, was this a good way to speak to royalty? And if he offended him by this term? Or maybe by just asking, in that case, it was unlikely that he would have gotten any answer but if he didn’t try he would lose at the beginning. He was thinking too much.

"I'm not sure if sending the messenger is worth the trouble, now, answer the question." Surprisingly he entertained Mickey’s question. It was voiced as an offhand comment, or at least that’s how it sounded. The king put more emphasis on the last part of the sentence, probably the last of his patience was running out. Mickey sighed and began to speak, his voice barely above the whisper.

“As I am young and never held any significant position in the army I can't say for certain what my rulers would do, but I will tell you this. It is widely known that they didn't want this fight from the beginning same as you. My thoughts are that they may agree to nearly any demands as long as it would mean the end of this war.” He said and lowered his head, “Our land is in ruins, people have died and rivers were poisoned by all the deaths. If the war continues we will lose even more. This is all I can give you on that matter." Mickey kind of already gave up. The army he was part of left for the battle already tired and hungry, he knew that painting them as nearly finished, easy prey was dangerous and a bit traitorous but if this could save the people, their culture, or what was left of it anyway, then Mickey was willing to try. His life was out of his hands either way and if he wanted to live he needed to get on his captors’ good side, though he wasn't sure if it was the right decision. De Villes took in every word he spoke though there was no outside indication of what impression he had made. The foreign ruler seemed to digest what little information he gave and as if nothing happened he turned away and went back to the big tent, knights followed after him only throwing glances his way as if to assure themselves he wasn’t planning anything. Mickey’s facial expression didn’t change, it was still set in disbelieving form. This was confusing, what has just transpired here? Mickey looked from one soldier to another but they were not helpful in any way. Was this good or bad... he couldn't decide. His stomach churned both with apprehension and hunger, they still didn’t feed him anything. Maybe his usefulness wasn’t supposed to be longer than the existence of this camp? Umbrans nearly never took prisoners, either leaving them to die on the battlefield or killing them during the fight. Sometimes though they did exceptions and were taking people with them. No one ever came back and nobody ever figured out what was happening with them. They only heard stories from merchants that crossed the border sporadically, rumors that couldn’t be taken wholly seriously. The only constant that was repeating itself was the King’s cruelty towards mages. He hated mages and nearly all mana-dependant creatures to try and exterminate them. Everyone had heard about the mage-hunts and magical slavery going on in that desert of theirs.

The horror tales of mages and others being left in the burning sun, to slowly burn and dry only to become terrifying husks-like-scarecrows. How they would collar children and block their magic for them to die a slow and excruciating death. When Mickey was a kid, war was nothing but a part of stories of old same as the legends of the Red King. They were cautionary tales that kept children safe and quiet at home. ‘You are so bad that the red-king is going to take away and hurt you!’ His mother used to say. Red King, that was the name and title frequently used by everyone, he earned it with how brutal the wars with him had been in the past. They of course had heard the tales from other of their neighboring territories but then it felt so unreal…after all who would attack a nation whose army was barely nonexistent and most of the population was either farmers, healers, or artists. What would be the point? Mickey’s face soured at the thought, yes, what would be the point? Then his stomach reminded him about its existence with a painful cramp that was a demand for fuel for it to burn. He didn’t ask though, in case they would ask him something in return, he preferred to starve himself at the moment than to…risk anything else that might be much more unpleasant, the earlier unvoiced threat had engraved itself in his mind for good probably.
The night flew by but Mickey didn’t sleep till the very first hours of the morning. The sky began to grey as he finally lost consciousness, it wasn’t the type of sleep he desperately needed but at the very least gave him a bit of reprieve from the stress. The next time he woke up it was midday and a lot of things changed since the night. Now many people scurried from one direction to another, some in brightly colored capes, messengers, the young witch deduced from bags at their hips. Everything seemed more lively. People were coming and going from the big tent, he observed with narrowed eyes. Maybe he had swayed the king’s mind in his and his country’s favor? Who knew, with how… weirdly the king acted the previous time he was awake. The sun shone and filled the air with warmth, it helped a bit with his cramps but not much. He still felt uncomfortably strained, it wasn’t a good position he had been forced to. Though at some point this changed, not drastically but enough to let him breathe a bit easier. A young knight came by and strode to him with a sense of purpose and assurance.

“The King gave me an order to let you out of this…position.” He said yet sounded a tad bit uncertain as to if he doubted the rightness of this decision. “Before I’ll do it though you’re to swear on your blood that you’re not gonna escape.” Oh, the king knew of the mages’ oaths. In their case, the power came from the family, their blood that’s why the most powerful oaths were sworn on their essence. It was a bit different for spellcasters like him, his power came from the world, the knowledge from books, or the one passed on in the families throughout generations. His blood didn’t hold any power over him or his abilities, his honor was not connected to magic but rather to his own doing but Mickey complied with the knight’s demand, there was no reason for him to reveal himself. Then the chain had been lengthened and cuffs were redone more loosely in front of him! It was such a relief, finally relaxing his joints, back, and all the muscles. He moaned as he slid down the pole. The young knight, his new hero gave him a minute to massage feeling into his stiff limbs, then took him to the side so he would relieve himself. He even gave Mickey some privacy by turning around. After that he was given some kind of broth, it was thick maybe a bit bland but still nice and soothing for his aching stomach, clear water. The knight was careful with Mickey, he was tracking his every move with his eyes. Like a hawk. His current caretaker’s eyes for a moment focused on his wound, a flicker of compassion sparkled for a second and was gone in next. Maybe he didn’t deserve to have his wounds treated? Then he was chained back to the pole but not in the same position. His…handler, wrapped the length of a chain around his waist immobilizing his whole arms there. At last, he once again attached the chain from the collar to the pole, but now Mickey was seated and didn’t have to stand. It was so amazing to feel the cold and a bit damp ground under his backside! The witch allowed himself to stretch a bit to lessen the pain from holding the previous pose. Small aches would stay with him for much longer he knew, yet he was more focused on getting rid of the big ones first. Next, he got a good look at the wound in his arm, it had bled quite a lot but any of the veins hadn’t been punctuated. In that case, there would be much more blood than this. Mickey didn’t have the courage needed to check how the wound looks under the fabric but hoped it wasn’t infected. A fool’s hope. But after a while unexpected happened, no nobody had freed him. The young knight came back with a healer, he was an old man with graying hair and a stern expression on his face.

“Show me the wound.” He croaked, Mickey was eager to obey this order. It meant probable treatment. Meanwhile, the doctor unbound the bandages and inspected his arm.

“No inflammation…” he mumbled, more to himself than to his patient, “Clean shot…I’ll disinfect it, should be enough for now.” He then did as he said and wrapped the wound again.

“Try not to strain it.” Was the only thing specifically meant for Mickey, “Yes, sir.” They left him alone after that. He didn’t check his leg, it was only dully throbbing now but still, he sighed. The disinfectant probably had some numbing agent because now he hardly felt any pain from his wound. It was nice to finally relax a bit, he probably shouldn’t but all his muscles were in pain. He closed his eyes, dry after so long, and leaned back against the pole. A delicate breeze brought the smell of sap and fallen needles, so familiar and calming.

Mickey could pretend that he was safe in his family’s backyard with his uncle, they would look for mushrooms and wild herbs. Something cold slid down his cheek, he touched it only to find his tear. It was stupid to fall into this…memory lane, this would never come back.

“Well, well, well aren’t you a cute one.” Someone’s deep, smooth voice brought him back to reality. A few steps from the stake stood some knight. He was pretty unremarkable in this bunch, broad-shouldered with tanned skin and lots of scars but as Mickey looked into his eyes the light of recognition shined in his mind. The soldiers’ eyes were devouring his body…it was the same one! Whose touch…lasted longer on him. Cold beads of sweat slid down his back, No! No! It...No! Mickey didn't have the words. He was trembling, shaking even, with panic and terror.

"Please no..." he whispered with distant eyes, the knight smiled unpleasantly and slowly brushed his hand through Mickey's hair.

"Don't be afraid sweetheart." He whispered back, "I'll..."

"You'll what exactly, soldier?" A familiar but stern and unhappy voice broke the nonexistent mood. It was the king. He was displeased to put it lightly but the fury was dancing in his eyes burning bright like a flame. This was dangerous, Mickey's eyes jumped from one man to the other.

"My King I..."

"He is to be flogged, 50 should do." The aforementioned royal said offhandedly and snapped his fingers. At once two soldiers arrived and flanked his would-be assailant. Only when they left did Mickey get a good look at the king. He seemed tired as if he hadn't slept, like at all. There were huge bags under his eyes. Maybe he was too busy? Mickey wondered while the king keenly observed him. He put a finger to his mouth and his eyes became distant, was he thinking? Mickey's eyes strayed to the guards standing a bit further away, they seemed calm. Maybe this was normal? The scrutiny was becoming uncomfortable, mickey squirmed to move the collar into a bit different position. He hated it!

“Which element are you connected to mage?" What?! He had barely registered the question. The situation just turned down a more dangerous path than a few minutes earlier as the question took him by surprise. What would be the best answer?! Was he supposed to lie, was it better to tell the truth? Mickey didn’t register that he was panicking. His breath quickened, eyes widened. Sweat gathered on his forehead and tremors overtook his body. The enemy aristocrat took in that picture, he could see that something was wrong, but what exactly? He gestured for one of the guards as a backup and knelt to be on the same level as the eyes of the panicking boy in front of him. The youngster was nearly catatonic so the De Villes did one thing he was sure would bring his captive back. He delicately shook the boy by his shoulder.

Mickey feeling the mysterious touch on him tried to jump away from the assailant but couldn’t go far as the chains stopped him. He whimpered.

“Hey, I know that you can’t choose the element you’re connected to.” He spoke soothingly, like to the spooked animal, “So whichever you use, I promise I won’t hurt you.” This was not the point of his distress! He knew where that came from, though fire and earth mages were the ones who did the most damage to the Umbran army by causing firestorms and earthquakes at least to the invaders’ knowledge. But this was not the problem here, spellcasters were kept a secret. His existence was supposed to be a secret. His fellow casters were the ones who brought the tornadoes and storms which killed the whole battalions! They could create zombies from the dead knights and use them as puppets. It was disgusting but the king and queen were desperate at this point, enough to disrespect the dead. Their robes were the same as the ones belonging to the mages for camouflage but there was one difference. The eyes of the casters shined with unnatural colors while using magic. Pink, purple, cyan, white and other colored rings would always be seen during the casting instead of the natural eye color of the person. And this is how Mickey gave himself away.

In his panicked state, he tried to escape by using magic, by casting a spell, and in the same way, he found out how did the chains work exactly. He felt an overwhelming wave of pain, it wasn’t focused on any exact spot, it was everywhere! He blacked out for a while, he wasn’t sure how long. When he came back he was laying on the ground on his side and his throat burned him. Had he screamed? Young witch whimpered and closed his eyes.

“You’re not a mage…” His captor stated, a bit dumbfounded but still managed to sound amazed. For short time he was sure, that the king was not stupid he would connect the dots and see the bigger picture. Tears slid down his cheeks. He was a full-blooded traitor now, he should kill himself. He put his brothers and sisters at risk! “You’re one of the ones who did those…unnatural things during the battle!” And there lay his death, at this moment there was nothing else to be done. His fate was sealed now. There was anger in the voice. Oh, this was the reaction Mickey expected and was afraid of. Now he could wait and count the minutes to his inevitably cruel demise.

“What are you?” his future executioner asked darkly, there was a promise in there. Mickey didn’t want to tell him anything else, he shook his head. “I’ll ask again. What. Are. You?” The king said with more strength and got even closer to him than before, now Mickey did it, he pissed his captor off. He was at the king’s mercy, totally and unconditionally and as collar showed, they basically owned him. Oh, he was supposed to be a mourner! He shouldn’t have even been there! WHY! More tears fell from his eyes, and he sobbed. “I don’t want to die.” He gasped before he could stop himself. He was a weakling, a worthless idiot!

The king in the meantime looked closer at the teen. He wasn’t a soldier, as he said before, they killed enough of his people for them to be desperate to defend the rest by even using child soldiers. It was visible that the prisoner had never been trained to fight, he only had magic and nearly no muscle. He was not a fighter, which meant he was only used because of his magic, his power. Even for Ferren, it was outrageous, this made the captive in front of him as much of a victim as the ones he had killed. The child continued to sob, this was a sad picture. And he thought of him as a monster.

“Merceuss, leave.” He gave an order. The knight bowed and left fully trusting his king to be capable of taking care of himself. It took a moment for the child to calm down, only then did Ferren try asking again, differently this time. He took a deep breath and then another to calm his raging mind and lower his blood pressure. Stressing the kid further wasn’t the best way to gather any useful intel.

“What’s your name?” The question had been once again asked with a soothing tone. Maybe he was an idiot but he was not stupid, not that stupid anyway. The king sat there, on the ground, with an open expression unmarred by any hostility. What was this? Some kind of inverted psychology?! He should…what exactly? Annoy the royal further? No, it was a stupid idea. What would be the point, this would either kill him or made his stay with them even more unpleasant. But should he give up his name like that? Names were a powerful thing in Mossette, his homeland. Every name was a personal thing, only given to the worthy knowing it. Only the mother-queen and parents knew the full name of a child since its birth. His captors weren’t worthy of his name, and never would be! He thought, but it was hard to predict what the enemy king knew of their culture. He knew about the oaths but didn’t know of spellcasters.

“Mickey…they call me Mickey.” He finally decided to say and watched how his opponent reacted from the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t good at reading people, he realized or the king was just that good at making a face.

“Mickey then, I know you’re not a mage…and yes I know what you’re capable of.” Young witch bit his lower lip and cringed, he wasn’t proud of what he did there. That he had killed people, hell even worse he used the dead as puppets. He was skilled in necromancy and was a good medium. He had been trained in handling the dead, talking to them, passing their messages even interpreting visions. He was never trained in creating more dead people, his victims haunted his dreams and sometimes even reality. “But I also don’t want to hurt you, it’s clear as the sky above the sands that you’re not a trained soldier. Yes, I’m not happy that you were killing my people, but I won’t blame you for the carnage.” This was unexpected, Mickey now turned to also openly look at De Villes. “Now I just want to know what kind of magic user are you.” What would be the loss here, he had already shown him something new, there was no secret now.

“I’m…I’m a…a spellcaster.” There, he said it or whispered it anyway. The king’s face only expressed confusion though. “So…what does that mean?” he expected elaboration.

“I…I c-can man-manipulate the energy…” Mickey stuttered, he wasn’t sure what the king wanted to know exactly. How much of a threat he was? With the chains, none. But De Villes still didn’t understand what he was. This was an interesting dilemma, how to explain something obvious to everyone?

“Well…as you probably know uh…mages can use only one element…so spellcasters uh…” Mickey struggled, with putting his thoughts in words. “Spellcasters are kind of the other way around…we manipulate…uh…direct and regulate the stream of energy – mana to do…things. We can create illusions, energy barriers, create storms, heal…”

“You can heal?! With magic?!” The king didn’t allow him to finish. The scream had nearly given him a heart attack, “Well yes…”

“And what can you heal?!” Look of amazement bloomed on his speaker’s face. This was weird, Mickey thought, what was so exciting about healing? “Well…anything really.” He said and didn’t miss the way Ferren’s eyes began to shine with some…idea, probably. Was this good or bad? “Till this day there was no sickness, disease, or damage done to the body or mind that couldn’t be repaired with casters magic.” He finished. The king took his head into his hands, he didn’t look…unhappy, more like ecstatic. What had Mickey done again?

“So you can heal him…” De Villes murmured, “I finally found a healer!” This had taken a sharp turn, “I was not trained to heal! I don’t have the knowledge…” Mickey tried to object but failed, “And if you had knowledge…you would be capable of healing?” There was so much hope in this one sentence, ah to hell with this! It could be either very good or bad…and anyway he considered becoming a healer before.

“Yes, I would be capable of healing…” And this was what the king was waiting for, this answer was sealing his fate, for better or worse he didn’t know but for now, he should be safe. Apparently, the king needed him, to heal someone very ill.

“Kasius! Orren!” The king called sharply, startling Mickey again. Immediately two knights came and saluted. “Find an empty tent and secure the prisoner there, he is to have a bed and should not be hurt unless strictly necessary. I forbid you from dealing him any permanent injury or crippling him in any other way, understood? He’s your responsibility.”

“Yes, my lord!” They synchronically said and bowed, kind of astounding, “And you…” He turned to Mickey with a stern expression, he resembled the boy’s mother now a bit. “Don’t even try to run or you are going to get back to the stake, you get it? No mercy then.” He nodded but the king still waited for something, “I understand…” Mickey answered slowly.

“Great! Take him.” They unchained him from the pole, he hissed as he put pressure on the hurt leg. Now it was colored purple, it could be more than a strain after all. De Villes looked down to identify the cause of his distress, “I’ll tell the medic to take a look at this.” Then turned away and went back to his tent.

Chapter Text

Before they had left the camping grounds the company spend there another week during which all necessary negotiations were completed. Then the king left for three days when the rulers of Mossette had sworn fealty and only then everything got packed and they left. Ferren didn’t miss the opportunity to tell Mickey what would the peace entail. He demanded no counterattack or any sort of revenge from Mossette. Witch-boy was a bit curious as to how they were supposed to throw any sort of organized attack if their army was in tatters. The good thing was that none of Umbra’s army would stay to “keep the peace”.

The king said that he wasn’t interested in exploiting this land. It was and he openly said that no tribute was needed.

In the next few weeks as they traveled all of Mickey’s wounds were treated so nothing bothered him anymore, at least not his health. The healer wasn’t happy about it but his king has given him an order. It wasn’t the greatest idea to treat anyone on the move yet it was what it was and anyway, Mickey’s injuries were not serious. He was still chained, with manacles on his hands and a collar on his neck although it had been changed to one that only prevents him from using magic but does not threaten him with a backlash from power. When Ferren found out that it was killing him slowly at a snail’s pace, he nearly killed the knight that put that on him. Truth was that he didn’t know what he was putting around Mickey’s neck. So after a bit of the scuffle cursing loudly his collar was changed to the safer one.

They put him on one of the carts that carried the less important stuff, no one trusted him which didn’t surprise him at all. They wouldn’t trust him with weapons, obviously ‘cause he was their prisoner. They were too scared of him trying to run. They wouldn’t put him on a cart with supplies like food or medicine. The first one he could poison and the second render useless in their belief. The only question that he thought sensible to ask was, why in all that’s pretty and colorful would he poison his food?!

He was considered suspicious for he could do “Magic Stuff”, he had heard one of the knights say this, they were a superstitious lot, which, again didn’t surprise him. They hated it for so long that they had forgotten that magic is mostly knowledge. It wouldn’t matter to him what they think if it didn’t affect how he was treated. Since he could smite them from existence with a sneeze they were very cautious around him. But not in a way that prevents him from sneezing, not at all, they were always ready to kill him. Literally, he would move in any way they didn’t like and they were either holding the handles of their swords or straight up unsheathing them. Because of that Mickey barely moved, ate, or…did anything else, he had been afraid to breathe a bit deeper than normal! This continued for nearly all of their travel through the mountains, till one of the older knights observed this pattern. He had made the rest of his guards chill out a bit, Mickey wasn’t running after all.

Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, Mickey found the trip an extremely interesting experience. He had never traveled far and was amazed by the view that welcomed them at the end of the crossing. Mountains had given way for a lush forest that slowly descended into a sea of grass. It was an amazing view. Since then his eyes had been subjected to the colorful beauty of the passing landscape. Umbra was so much more colorful than Mossette. While they rode Mickey could witness an amazing palette of colors that could be found nearly solely on the delicate petals of flowers they passed. There were small ones on the ground, a bit bigger ones in the passing bushes also on the vines that hung over the path. White, purple, yellow, and pink and in many, many different shapes! And those smells! At first, Mickey would sniff every single flower he could get his hands on. He had discovered that sometimes it’s better not to smell the flowers. Some would have a suffocatingly sweet smell that was quickly getting intolerable.

Yet the good outcome of the smell was that it was a good bait for butterflies! Those were bigger here than in Mossette, seriously bigger and shinier.

Mossette wasn’t as colorful even during the blooming season. Nothing, though, filled Mickey with as much wonder as the luminous beetles that were floating around their current camp. During the night, when the sun set very peculiar bugs would come out. They shined with yellowish-green light.

“We call them fireflies,” Ferren said. He would smile at Mickey, as he did then. In all honesty, Mickey couldn’t decide what to think of his captor. Ferren was…weird, he didn't act as a ferocious leader of a great army. He was more…vigilant, observant maybe, Mickey noted. He’s rarely angry at anyone, young witch hadn’t heard him shout or even rise his voice. His anger was cold like the blue flame. It gave the impression that something was lurking behind his eyes. It was unnerving. At first, he thought it was fascination, but now…Mickey wasn't sure.

A firefly passed by his face, distracting him from the philosophical divagations, those were adorable. He smiled, the meadow they set the camp on was full of them. He was kind of curious as to why did they call them fireflies since none of them burned like a fire, witch-boy wondered as one of them sat on the palm of his hand. It flickered and flew off.

“Witch!” Someone called him. It was a knight who was probably his caretaker for the duration of the trip. He was fairly young but tall, taller than Mickey. Probably older too. He came and just deposited a bowl of steaming stew in his hands. At first few times it surprised him that they fed him something of this quality. Stories of his youth were still livid in his mind but the king was honest as it seemed he did want Mickey in good condition. It was somewhat comforting knowing that the king was a man of his word. So he got warm food, fresh water, and bedding. He was hopeful that this won’t happen in a disaster but…the illusion could only last so long. Mickey absently stirred his stew, how was he supposed to gain knowledge and abilities to heal without the library of the university? How would Ferren deal with this? Maybe they had their own library? But then why wouldn’t he just find someone smart enough to learn everything there? Don’t get him wrong, Mickey was happy that he was alive and in relatively good health but all of this was illogical.

Not the war per se, this he talked about with his caretaker. The old king waged a war in the hope to gain more treasures and that’s about it. Oh, and he was bored so he guessed that killing innocents would satisfy his thirst for blood. Yes, that’s obvious, right? Mickey thought sarcastically. Okay, so Ferren would have him heal someone. This person had to be important but it couldn’t be the previous king. Before any negotiations were started there was quite a huge funeral pyre from which ashes were collected into a simple urn and then packed on a cart carrying some royal…stuff. They all didn’t really seem worried that their king is dead. The King is dead, long live the King, he sarcastically thought.  So then who could that be? Who else would be so important to him? Siblings, aunts, uncles? There were so many possibilities yet none seemed good enough to satisfy Mickey. The sibling theory seemed both most probable and least possible. No one had ever heard about another royal brat in Umbra.

This was not the only worrying element. Despite the king being honest, his overall behavior worried Mickey greatly. He seemed both cold and passionate at the same time as if a molten rock was met with the frozen sea. Seemed kinda contradictory at first but now after those weeks of travel, Mickey was sure that it was a correct association. It was unnerving, to say the least, and shouldn't be possible…but here they were. Maybe it was only his paranoia speaking, he was their prisoner after all. Mickey wondered as he ate the stew. It was tasty if a bit salty. Understandable since for the long travel they had to preserve the ingredients and salt was probably the easiest one to get in large quantities. He looked up from his meal only to see stares of…well, nearly everyone. They may have loosened up a little during their travel but when they were supposed to rest all of them stared at him. He could have been an attraction for a while but after so long shouldn’t they have gotten used to him? Well, maybe they shouldn’t have. But he was always surrounded. They always placed him in the center of the camp, near the central campfire where also the king’s tent was located. No, not the big spacious one but the simpler and smaller one that was only supposed to protect from the elements. So…Mickey was lost, where was he going with this?

“I guess you're enjoying the trip?” His captor broke him out of the trance. Yes, this was another, itsy bitsy tiny little problem that confused Mickey to a point where he wasn't sure how to handle it. Ferren would come at him, at a random hour in the evening and try to start talking to him. In a civil manner. As if they were friends! King was very awkward at social interactions apparently and wasn't very good at small talk. Seemed as if he couldn't find the middle ground between being and talking like an ordinary person and the royal brat. And that was only half of the problem. The other half was, how was Mickey supposed to respond to that!!! Was he supposed to talk to him as if they were equal here?! Maybe he should 'suck it up, be all “yes, yes of course!” Or... no? It was killing him! The king in the meantime just silently sat across the campfire and waited. The awkward silence was prolonged till Mickey found enough courage to answer.

“Uhh…y-yes, sir.” He stuttered quietly. The king slowly nodded.

“Good, that’s good.” And that’s where the talk stopped for a while. Mickey had finally finished his meal and gave back the bowl. He was happy that he wasn’t the one responsible for cleaning anything. Maybe that was the other thing the king had in mind for him! But…couldn’t they like…hire aides? Slave labor wasn’t necessarily paid so…maybe that was the point. Cheaper to bring a slave from the campaign than to pay a citizen of their kingdom? Who would do that?! His captor obviously. But if the point of the campaign was to gain slaves then shouldn’t there be more prisoners? They had not connected with any other battalion and Mickey had not seen any others in chains, only himself in the reflection in waters they passed.

For now, the only thing Mickey had seen were treasures they had robbed. He had stolen a glance once, to their displeasure. In a moment of boldness, he had narrowed his eyes on Ferren whose only reaction was a shrug.

“We had already taken it, no point in leaving it now.” Ferren spoke.

Yeah, no point in giving it back to their owners so they won’t starve!

But back to the situation at hand. These talks had begun at their first stop. In the beginning, all of the questions were either direct or somewhere around the topic of his healing this mysterious someone. Ferren was obsessively ensuring himself that Mickey will be capable of accomplishing the act.

“What will you need to perform the spell?” This question caught him off guard. It was a new one. It was a bit dangerous as he wasn’t sure what King’s reaction will be. He truly had no idea what would the act itself entail. Mickey shyly looked up into the brown eyes silently staring back at him and dived deep into them. In the collar, he didn’t have any abilities that would allow him to broaden his perception but he still could try and see his emotion. “Eyes are mirrors of one’s soul” his old mentor would say. Mickey was taught to read body signals, grief could manifest in the most extreme ways. It was for everyone’s safety since a grieving lover could try to take their own life. But eyes are usually the easiest to read, false laughs, crying and any other emotions were the hardest to imitate there. Well, he couldn’t see anything anyway so he decided to try and be honest in the possibly least offensive way.

“I…don’t know…?”

The disbelief on the King’s face and the immediate silence was frightening. That came out very wrong!

“What I mean is I don’t know yet!” He added quickly. This was not helping at all! Mickey wanted to phase into the ground. What would they do to him if he happened to be useless in their minds? Mickey feared the repercussions, but for now, King’s brows furrowed with suspicion and only suspicion, phew.

“Whatever do you mean? How can you not know yet? Don’t you have at least a basic idea of where to start?” Was it outrage? Shock? Eeee…oops?

“Well…no. I did tell you that I never trained to be a healer and that with the correct knowledge I could do it.” That was bold, at least he thought it was. How he continued was even bolder, “I assumed that you’re able to provide me with it.”

Would the king strike him down for this lack of respect? Only silence filled the space between them. It lasted for a long while during which Ferren seemed to be deep in thought.

“We have a well-equipped library in the palace.” He finally said, “But what kind of knowledge do you need? We don’t have any books on magical healing.” Ferren wriggled his fingers to emphasize the magical aspect of the sentence.

Mickey would roll his eyes at this sarcasm but it wouldn’t be respectful. He respectfully preferred to live.

“I need to learn basics first…Then I will need to determine what’s wrong with whomever I am supposed to heal. Only then I will be capable of finding any solution.” Mickey concluded.

He had probably given a lot to think about to the King since he just nodded a few times and then left for his tent. The conversation itself was weird but this reaction was beyond unexpected, this was like finding a truffle under the wild apple tree. It was as confusing as his first ghost meeting. The spirit didn’t know where he was, he spoke about three different things at once only to implode with a dusty poof. The only conclusion that his teacher drew from that was that even immaterial beings had an expiration date and could have dementia or other mental illnesses.

The rest of that evening passed in relative silence the only background sound was friendly banter between soldiers and the occasional neigh of a horse. Some knights keenly observed their talks. They were supposed to defend his captor but Mickey was pretty sure that they also had some entertainment from their interactions. He didn’t blame them, it had to be boring to only keep guard all the time. As the moon flew in the dark sky more soldiers readied to sleep.

He didn’t have to get ready, Mickey would usually lie down and after a few minutes, he was out. He didn’t like to sleep because every night he would be plagued by nightmares. Nightmares about the future of his people, the land, and everything else. After all, Mossette was in literal ruins. Villages were burnt, people slain and fields if not burned then drowned in blood. The spring harvest would not be enough for everyone. Children will die, he thought, and then in dreams, a vision of his young cousin with ribs so easy to count through his skin would haunt him. The hollow cheeks and ashen skin. The future he could not prevent in any way. The one thing Mickey was sure about was that Ferren didn’t care what would happen to his people. He cared only for his abilities.

Same as every night, Mickey would twitch for a while only to wake up with a gasp, a fast heartbeat, and sweat on his forehead. It was an hour or two before sunrise, so only those on guard duty were awake beside him. They would look at him for a short time to control what he was up to and then return to whatever they were doing before that. They got used to it fairly quickly only four times was what it took.

*  *  *

It took them another two weeks to get to the capital city of Umbra. In the second week, they finally arrived at a more popular road and Mickey was given a cloak with a deep hood to conceal his identity. As he observed everybody here had a bit darker skin tone so it wouldn’t be hard to figure out who he was.

“People here are superstitious and even being tired of my father’s rule could not be enough to break the habit of seeing only evil in magic and well…”The king broke off only to gesture at his neck, “Collar is an easy giveaway.”

He had a look of awkward sorriness on himself then. Well, he was thankful for the cloak then! Mickey sarcastically thought.

When they arrived at the city young witch had to admit, it was magnificent. It had been located on plains with only a few random trees scattered around, it was warm and there was not even a hint of snow. There would not be any hint of it since it was a different geographical region.  Mickey had heard of places where snow doesn't fall or even where everything is covered by sand instead of grass. It was called a desert. University was a wonderful place like that, you could learn so much even if you only listened to people in the plaza or a hall. But seeing a field of grass stretching till the horizon, experiencing it swaying like a sea during the windy weather was something else entirely.

The city itself was surrounded by a high wall with soldiers stationed on top and it was only the beginning, what was beyond took speech from him. The architecture in Mossette was mostly granite, straight, and well... simple, with such freezing winters, they couldn't afford for the heat to escape. That’s why village houses were wooden and with small windows. The same situation was with strongholds that were scattered over the terrain in Mossette. They were more focused on practicality than on cultivating beauty.  Here though, it didn't matter as the sun shone bright and warmed everything equally throughout the whole year. That’s why buildings here were made of sandy-colored stone, covered with red tiles, and with big windows sometimes filled with colorful pieces of glass. It was pretty.

As they rode through the main road, people cheered. The army came back victorious, with bloodied swords and stolen goods, Mickey sneered under the hood. So very heroic of them! He reigned in his emotions again, there was no point now to get angry as the damage was done. So he continued to look around, the only thing that didn't cause him to make a sour face. There were fountains with amazing sculptures of exotic animals he did not recognize. Birds with long tails, fishes of many kinds. Also naked women with ideal curves and figures. On plazas they passed he could see statues of probably somehow important people for Umbrans. But this was not the only beautiful thing. Nearly every building was decorated with plants. Colorful flowers, vines that would climb onto walls, and small fruit trees and conifers in nearly all shapes and sizes. Butterflies were flying around them, the same as bees and other bugs typical for those plants.

The architecture wasn’t the only difference between the countries. As they rode on Mickey got a good look at the people. As he suspected all had dark skin, well darker than his and they were all clad in colors he had not seen on clothes. There were reds, pink, blues, greens, and others. It looked as if a rainbow fell there in pieces. In the north colorful clothing wasn’t something important to people, they preferred practical clothes that could survive the winter and harsh conditions. So browns, white, gray, black, and sometimes green would be visible. Also, the materials were different. Here they were delicate, wispy like a morning mist quite the contrast to leather, wool, and flax from Mossette.

During their very long ride, Mickey also observed how organized the city was. Closer to the wall were storages, workshops, and other places like that. Further in he saw shops with more…luxurious stuff like jewelry, clothing, bookshops, etc. And at last, there were living spaces. Tall houses with statues and carvings made to impress and impress they did. Behind the houses was another wall with another set of gates. They rode on the bascule bridge that crossed over the moat. Mickey was curious if it was a natural land structure or made artificially. He was no strategist yet even he couldn’t object this to being a genius idea. Only then when they passed yet another set of gates they finally entered the main courtyard.

There was no order given yet everyone seemed to know exactly what their job is. The same guard responsible for giving him food took Mickey by his chains and led him to the side. They were waiting for something but it wasn’t what he was focusing on.

The palace itself looked like a state of the art! Tall towers with beautiful and intricate carvings on them with giant windows allowing one to view the landscape around them. It had to be marvelous to grow up in such a castle. Inside also had to be beautiful, Mickey was sure of that. Maybe that’s why Ferren was like he was. Mickey thought If you grow up in a place like this, probably surrounded by servants and nannies, it wouldn’t be weird to think about yourself as more important and better overall than others.

Speaking of which, where exactly was Ferren? He was the king so he had to be somewhere around or not? How were the campaigns like this working? Mickey admittedly didn’t know much about war except that it was pointless and bloody. His own experiences taught him that. So where was his captor, master, or lord whatever he thought of himself? He was getting a bit frustrated, he was tired of being kept in the dark, sue him!

He looked to the side where wide stairs were and there he was. The king was standing and talking to someone sitting in a wheeled chair. It was a fascinating idea, especially for someone who can’t…Mickey's eyes widened with realization. He was supposed to heal him, this not walking guy!… So it was his funeral after all. He expected to heal something like disfiguration or something just hard to reach on daily basis. Cold beads of sweat tumbled down his back. He missed the gesture becoming them to get closer and only started walking when his guard pulled on his literal leash. They connected a length of chain to his collar at one point when they dismounted the cart.

As they closed the distance he could see some similarities between them. The king and the one sitting on the chair. They were family for sure maybe brothers? On the face of the sited one, appeared a frown which changed into anger with thinly pressed lips and furrowed eyebrows. Ferren acted as if he didn't see it.

"This is Mickey!" He cheerfully said and took the chain, from the guard. "He will heal you…

"No, he won’t." The angry one scoffed. “Do you seriously believe that? Mages can't…"

"And this is where you're wrong because Mickey here…" Ferren said and squizzed his shoulder in what among friends we would call a teasing manner, "Is a spell caster which means that he is capable of healing you." He proudly finished.

The guy did not speak only the continued sound of dismantling carts was the heard noise. His task swept eyes over him only to focus on his collar.

"So you have brought yourself another pet?! Another plaything to do as you please with till you’ll get bored of it?!" He screamed and crows sitting on the mean rooftops flew off in fright. Now even background noise disappeared Mickey noted. He did not like this label. And what does it mean another? There are more people like him here?

"You know what? Fine! Do whatever you wish with it. Pamper like a toy, put it in the kennel with the rest of them I don't care." He rolled closer. "But I don't want to see it ever again!"

So this was his end. The war will restart, everyone will die and this will be his fault. His self-despair blinded him to a change that appeared in Ferren. His expression darkened like the storm clouds his tone got more murderous as he leaned closer.

"Listen closely, brother." He hissed through clenched teeth. You will allow Mickey to help you or I won't stop the father’s plans to conquer the continent." This was a threat. A really frightening threat. The red king was planning to conquer the whole continent?! This was nuts!

"You were against this vision of the future, the last time we talked." Ferren grinned. He was taunting the guy.

"Fine!" He answered after a moment “He can try but when he fails you won't hurt anyone, do we have an agreement, little brother?"

Little brother?!!

"Yes, you have my word. Merceuss take the witch to the Kennel." He then turned away and Micky was led toward the entrance to the dungeon. So slavery it was.

He was led through stony corridors to the wooden doors reinforced with iron fittings. The knight nocked and the gates opened to reveal a lot of armored and armed guards. He then ushered him toward the door at the end of the room. Other guards openly stared at him, mostly with blank faces. They were judging if he was a threat or not. The room he was ushered to happened to be a storage. All shelves were filled with pieces of clothes. On the far back wall Mickey could see chains, he swallowed. He was given a long-sleeved shirt and loose pants, he looked strangely at the gifts and then at his warden.

“Strip.” The knight said then seeing as Micky wanted to protest he added, “Either strip or I will  rip your clothes off.” This was stated so matter of factly that Mickey had lost all of his firmness at once. Merceuss took off his chains, apart from the collar of course.

Okay, so stripping was normal, yeah. A blush appeared on his chin, they were prudent in the south. More than here. On the bright side, the soldier wasn't licking his lips while staring at him. That would have been so much more uncomfortable. Yet before Mickey could put on the clothes given to him, the knight stooped him. He took a piece of paper and began writing something. Young witch shivered he only wasn’t sure if it was because he was scared or cold.

“Turn around.” The knight mumbled as if to himself but Mickey obeyed. It was easier this way.

“I-If I may in…”

“Be quiet.”

His unfinished question was shot down quickly. He was a twig yes! What was the point of this?!

“Get dressed.” His caretaker finally said.  

He did not object to that. The tunic was loose, even more so than the previous one. It was in beige color same as the pants. It was all held together by a leather belt. There were no shoes. When he was done his cuffs were reattached. Then he was taken to a different set of doors.  

They were similar to the main ones, thick and more secure. Behind them was a dark room that held three other people. All wore the same clothes as him, all had collars around their necks. The knight led him to the wall, pushed him to kneel, and attached his chain. And this is how he was left, awkwardly staring at others in a similar predicament to his at least till the doors haven’t closed, then he could only see darkness.

Chapter Text

Sorry guys bu amount of the university work doesn't allow me to do much besides studying really. Also I got sidetracked by another project (let's be honest, several of them) so I decided that this goes on HIATUS.

I need to outline the plot first because I am unable to work on the prompts I wrote months ago. Then I'm going to write all of it and then slowly upload. Stress got to me a bit (read a lot) so sorry to all.