Disclaimer: I do not own He-Man, Masters of the Universe, She-Ra, nor have any holdings in Mattel, Filmation, nor MYP. I do not profit from creating He-Man fanfiction; I just enjoy messing with Adam and Teela.
A/N: Good morning He-Man readers. I was lying in bed the other night and this story idea came to me. I'm still working on A Prince's Legacy but I felt compelled to start this one immediately. I wanted to explore how a superhero becomes a superhero especially after enduring a difficult past and how it affects his worldview as he matures. It's going to be A/U and a bit rough in parts but I hope you hang in there with me and enjoy despite the heavy content.
Amazing Grace
Chapter 1
Drunk and annoyed, the man lounged on the dirty couch and stared at the overturned bowl of pretzels, his leg slung over the arm rest. He ran one exasperated hand over his gray beard stubble and held a bottle of Eternian whiskey in the other.
"Boy! Get over here and clean up this mess!" he roared.
Knowing this routine too well, the nine year old approached his father; his brow furrowed, his wide blue gaze locked on the curmudgeon whose angry and disapproving beady black eyes stared back. It didn't matter that the boy hadn't caused the mess; his clumsy and frequently inebriated father inadvertently knocked it over and somehow always managed to blame him when things didn't go his way.
"What's the matter, retard? Can't you recognize an order when you hear one?"
The blonde little boy said nothing and simply stared, defiance hidden behind those sky blue eyes.
"I said, clean it up!" he repeated followed by a quick and intimidating move toward his son.
The child neither moved nor opened his mouth.
"Why you little—" Ernest jumped to his feet and lunged at the boy delivering a vicious backhand across the young boy's face. The boy's head snapped violently left as he hit the floor, the corner of his mouth bleeding. The man stood over him, his hands balled into fists.
"When I tell you to do something, you do it, dammit! You hear me?"
"What's all the commotion?" his mother rushed in from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. Seeing the boy on the floor, her mouth flew open as she approached and knelt beside him, her hands on his shoulders.
"Ernest, is this really necessary?" she pleaded as she helped him to his feet.
"Yes!" he barked. "The kid can't speak so he's too stupid to follow orders," he slurred in explanation. "Someone's gotta teach him the way of the world around here. You sure as hell won't."
Pearle sent her husband a look of disdain and, shaking her head, she turned to her son. "Take the bowl and gather all the spilled pieces, honey. Then take it into the kitchen for Mommy, okay?"
Staring at the older man, the boy swiped at the side of his mouth with the top of his hand and shifting his gaze to her, he nodded. He did what he was told and quickly took it into the kitchen dumping them into the trash receptacle as his parents looked on. Ernest murmured a curse and waved a dismissive hand toward the kitchen as he settled back into his seat. Pearle's eyes followed him.
"Why are you so abusive towards him? You know he's just a lost and scared little boy," she tried to reason as she stood to her feet shaking the crumbs from her apron. She folded her arms.
Ernest rolled his eyes in annoyance. "We've had him for nine years, Pearly. Nine years! We were tricked and ultimately saddled with that kid and now, he's only become a burden! He always has his nose stuck in a book and never opens his damn mouth." His angry gaze met hers as he pointed a finger in her face. "And it was you who agreed to take him in, not me. He's useless. He needs a job. He needs to start pulling his weight around here."
She put her hands on her hips. "A job? He's only nine! And maybe he's quiet because all you do is yell and abuse him, Ernie!"
At that, the man jumped to his feet, hauled back and punched his wife in the jaw. Her head snapped back as she dropped to the floor dazed by the blow.
He snickered. "That'll teach you to talk back to me, woman," he replied as he rubbed his fist. "What I say goes."
The young boy who had been silently watching it unfold calmly walked out of the kitchen and stood between them putting himself between his incapacitated mother and gloating father. He raised his chin and glared at the man, his blue eyes narrowing in anger, his fists balled at his sides. His father snorted in laughter as he placed his fists on his hips.
"And what are you gonna do, retard? You think you can—"
Suddenly, the boy broke into a boxer's stance and delivered a hard right jab to the man's groin.
Ernest cried out in surprise and doubled over, grabbing his crotch as his shoulder hit the floor. He curled into a fetal position as the boy stared down contemptuously at him.
As his father writhed in pain, the boy turned to assist his mother. Bobbling a bit, she slowly got to her feet as she placed a hand to her injured jaw. Her eyes then darted up and past the boy as they widened in terror.
"Look out Ad—!"
The little blonde started to whirl around but it was too late. Ernest grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him into the bedroom, his mother wailing, desperately pulling at his father in an attempt to separate the two.
"I'm gonna teach you a lesson you will never forget, boy," he growled.
Pushing his wife away and throwing the youngster into the bedroom, Ernest followed and slammed the door in his wife's face. He proceeded to viciously beat the boy; the sounds of glass shattering and a small body hitting the walls reaching Pearle's ears. Despite the onslaught, not once did the boy cry out for help.
A few minutes later, silence followed by the sound of tearing clothes and her drunken husband's grunts.
Feeling helpless and ashamed, she closed a hand over her mouth and began to weep for her foster son.
There was a knock at the door.
"Just a minute!" she sing-songed in reply.
Old Mrs. Abigail Stoley, a widow of late and Head Mistress of Eternos Hills Orphanage turned back to the group.
Clapping her hands she stated, "I will only be a moment, children. Please continue reading page sixteen as I will proffer a short quiz to test your comprehension," she stated cheerfully to the children's disappointed moans as she rose from her chair and started for the foyer.
With one hand grasping her long skirt, she reached the door and turned the knob. Flinging it open, she gazed straight ahead in anticipation of greeting the visitor at eye level only to drop her gaze to a young boy standing in the doorway.
Wearing knickers, a tattered black blazer, and a cap, his neck and legs were covered in bruises and despite the black eye, his large sky blue gaze studied her with the eyes of an old soul. His bottom lip had been split recently and he gazed up at her without a word.
She recoiled with a gasp at the initial sight then regaining her composure, slowly knelt down and eyed the handwritten note that was pinned to his lapel. She reached for it prompting the little boy to fearfully stumble backward in response. Her eyes widened in empathy as she raised her palms in mock surrender.
"No, honey, it's okay. I won't hurt you." Her reassuring tone and chocolate brown gaze bore into his blue ones. "My name is Mrs. Stoley," she explained placing a palm to her chest. "What is yours?"
The boy blinked in silence.
Her eyes dropped to something affixed to his right wrist. She met his gaze. "May I?"
He clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils in pensive suspicion before finally giving a quick apprehensive nod.
Slowly and non-threateningly, she gently grasped his right hand and pulled his sleeve back to reveal more bruises. She furrowed her brow in anger and pity as she cocked her head to read.
The wristband stated, My Name Is Adam.
She again met his gaze and gave him a warm smile. "Well, hello Adam. What an unusual name," she said with a nod and another smile. "It's very nice to meet you."
The boy, his unruly blonde bangs hanging over his left eye studied her features before eventually returning a cautious and tremulous smile.
It had been a full year since the day the Head Mistress found little Adam at her doorstep. She had spent the subsequent months working with local and feudal authorities in locating his parents to no avail; no one knew anything about this introverted young boy. So she decided to keep him at the orphanage and integrate him with the other children.
She ran a relatively small establishment; there were only forty children in residency at the most at any given time as her primary goal was to seek adoption.
It was difficult once a family match was made. She looked upon them as her own and when the papers were finally signed, her heart broke every time she was forced to give one final tearful hug to one of her kids as they departed and began their new lives with their newly adoptive families.
Abigail was a good and reputable woman successful in placing all of her foster children with families...well, all except Adam. Prospective parents fell in love with him the moment they laid eyes on him and who wouldn't? His thick golden locks, soulful sky blue eyes, long dark eyelashes and quiet way would immediately capture their hearts. However, he soon found his way back to the orphanage in rejection due to just that; he never spoke.
Well…that and the fact that he tended to engage in fights at the drop of a hat.
Abigail never settled the blame for said fights on Adam. She watched him while he was under her care. Girls were drawn to him yet boys seemed inexplicably threatened by him. She initially attributed their hostility to his aversion to verbal communication but dismissed it.
Perhaps it was his superior intelligence? He was a mute; slow in speech development however far from slow in comprehension. He was a quiet and keen observer of his surroundings and he excelled in mathematics, science, and literature comprehension; an avid reader however he never opened his mouth.
Besides the obvious signs of physical abuse, she pondered what additional trauma, emotional or otherwise, could have caused him to withdraw within himself? She gave her head an empathetic shake.
She continued to ponder. New arrivals were greeted by her Little Helper; Adam always accommodating and proving a huge help to her in acclimating new children to the fold. Despite his own apparent tumultuous past, his open and friendly disposition always warmed children to trust him; a smile always at the ready for a new child. If the new additions had trouble adjusting to the orphanage way of life, i.e., found themselves bullied by others, Adam always stepped in to protect the weaker ones.
Yes, he was a good boy albeit one with a mysterious past. No one, not any of her friends nor acquaintances or business partners knew of his origins.
Putting her musings aside, Abigail continued about her daily routine in providing academic instruction, food, shelter, clothing, and placement services for displaced children all made possible by her generous benefactor who knew firsthand what it was like to adopt a child; Farrell Duncan, the King's Royal Man-At-Arms.
It was the beginning of autumn in Eternos; the leaves had started to change and the air slightly cooler yet still pleasant as Abigail's assistant supervised the children. Abigail sat at the modest vanity in her bedroom.
"Adam, sweetheart," she called out, "Would you please hand Mummie her bracelets? They're in the second drawer," she instructed as she finished dressing.
Commander Duncan was scheduled to arrive within the hour for his annual meeting to go over the accounting of the orphanage and also to provide any additional fiduciary assistance for facilities improvements should Mrs. Stoley request. His visits were always pleasant and he was a generous young man. His rise within the King's ranks was legendary; a man of impeccable character, wisdom, and genius; his talents invaluable to the King and Queen. Especially so during this time of uncertainty with Prince Keldor and high ranking Nobles all vying for the throne in the absence of an Heir Apparent.
Abigail related to Queen Marlena, the beautiful Earthling wife of the High Monarch of Eternia, the handsome and virile King Randor. She and her husband, the late Richard Stoley, had also been unable to have children thus their passion for parenting orphaned children and placing them in good homes. They found a kindred spirit in Duncan as his story of adopting a baby girl was well known.
She thought about his adoptive daughter; a beautiful, red-haired emerald eyed little girl who would turn ten years today. Perhaps he would be inclined to stay for dinner in celebration of her day of birth and in appreciation of his patronage? Mrs. Stoley always enjoyed his visits and regarded him as a son.
Just then, Adam entered and held a pair of gold bangles in one hand and one jade bracelet in the other. He held them out to her and shrugged his shoulders, not knowing which she preferred.
"Oh thank you sweetie," his foster mother accepted the jade and slipped it over her wrist. She reached for her son gently grasping his shoulders and looking deeply into his eyes.
"Honey, the King's Man-At-Arms will arrive with his young daughter," she paused, "She turns ten today." She eyed him. "Actually, she's only a few months younger than you dear one," she stated with a smile and a wink. "I'm sure you'll welcome them into our home as you always do with new acquaintances, right Love?"
In response, Adam nodded and offered a mega-watt smile revealing a missing tooth; one he shed right after reaching his tenth birthday three months ago.
Abigail returned the smile following it with a finger-brush to his golden bangs and a warm embrace. She pulled back.
"You're the man of the house, my sweet and loving boy," she added with a caress to his chin and a motherly peck to his cheek. She then placed her hands back on his shoulders and stiffened her arms giving him a once over. Deciding he was appropriately and adequately dressed for the occasion, she brushed his shoulders and gave another finger comb to his hair. She sighed.
"I think you'll like Man-At-Arms, son," she continued. "He's a good man...like yourself," she smiled.
Adam's blue gaze twinkled as he smiled, nodding enthusiastically.
xxx
The Palace chariots arrived outside as passersby on the cobbled walkways gawked and murmured to each other eyeing the Royal Crest and Miro Coat Of Arms affixed to the sides of the transports.
A half dozen members of the Royal Guard marched and flanked the chariot as Duncan, a clean-shaven, strapping young man with chestnut brown hair and kind cinnamon colored eyes opened the door and hopped out. He wore his usual gold-plated armor along with his utility helmet, the precious metal clinking as he walked.
He turned around and reached for his young daughter who emerged casually dressed wearing khaki capri pants, an emerald green top, and sandals. Her fiery red tresses were tied back in a pony-tail and she leaned forward putting her hands on her father's shoulders. He wrapped his hands around her waist as he assisted her down from the carriage. She hopped agilely off of the transport and the two walked hand in hand toward the orphanage's door.
Abigail met them at the door along with her foster son, her arm protectively around his shoulders.
Duncan apologized for his and his daughter's attire as they arrived directly from running unit drills and had no time to change before their appointment.
She waved a hand. "No apologies necessary, Commander," she gestured indoors, "Please come in."
The children simply stared at one other, each sizing the other up. They entered and settled at the dining table where tea was offered.
As the adults engaged in conversation, the two children sat across from each other; Adam studying the young girl's long red tresses pulled into a high pony-tail, her emerald green eyes and thick lashes, pert nose, and freckles. Her lips were plump and ruby in color.
The girl boldly stared back as she eyed the young boy; his sunny golden locks, sapphire blue eyes, thick dark eyelashes, and aristocratic nose. Her mind muttered, "Cute." Reading the name imprinted on a ceramic mug sitting in front of him, she stuck out her chin sending him an appraising look lined with mild contempt.
"So," she began nodding at the mug, "What kinda name is a name like 'Adam'?" she asked crinkling her nose in disgust.
"What kinda name is Teela?" he shot back.
Abigail stopped mid-sentence, her jaw going slack, her eyes round as she slowly turned to him.
"Sweetheart! Did you just speak?"
Duncan and Teela furrowed their brows exchanging confused glances as Adam blinked and met his foster mother's gaze. He offered a nod in response.
Her eyes filling with tears, she gathered him into her arms and rocked him back and forth, his face buried in her bosom, his partially obscured blue gaze darting to the visitors sending them an apologetic look.
"You…you spoke! I'm so proud of you, my dear," she gushed as she swiped at a tear.
"Madame," Duncan began, "Is everything alright?"
Straightening, Abigail kissed her son's hair, her arm wrapped around his shoulders. Giving him a quick squeeze and clearing her throat, she replied, "Yes. Yes of course. It's just…it's…," she glanced at her son and back at Duncan. "Adam arrived alone and afraid at my door quite unexpectedly a year ago. He has never once uttered a word and today…," she gestured to Teela. "Today, his first words were to your daughter, Miss Teela."
Teela's eyes widened as she snapped her head to her father for clarification. Duncan lifted a brow.
"Did you say, his name is Adam?"
A/N: What do you think? Shall I continue?