Damn.

He had known they would abandon him, but he hadn't expected it to be here. The thick dust swirled about and he coughed, his single eye straining in the darkness. He had wanted to die, but he hadn't wanted it to be by starvation or dehydration.

Apparently, the thieves in western Nohr had more honor than those in Windmire. Then again, considering nobody wanted to come face to face with the end of one of Berand's arrows, he supposed it made sense. He'd trained under the man for three years in his youth and had seen every side to him, both silent and not. He was a force to be reckoned with and it was no surprise he was as famous as his granddaughter and great-grandson.

He just smiled and the small, sardonic laugh rang hollow against the dark, empty hall. What was the use of a Silence Keeper that didn't give a damn about the world? He'd never cared up until just a few years ago, but it had finally run out. With his sister dead, he had no reason to keep living. Even the past year of returning to the assassination business had proven there was no reason for his continued existence. Even Anankos didn't give a damn about him despite how much he knew.

How long he walked those winding halls, he didn't know, but the sound of labored breathing broke the distilled silence. At first, he wondered if he had finally cracked, but the volume increased and a flicker of light from a magic lamp told him it was. He tried to blink to acclimate to it, but his eye still watered from the extended contact with darkness.

He pressed himself against the wall as he traced the source of the light to a young boy collapsed against the cold stone. The faint light from the spell flickered and wavered its dying vestiges, casting long shadows around. Even in the dying dance, he saw the boy's face flushed with fever and the hair rose on the back of his neck. What in the Dusk Dragon's name was he doing out of bed, let alone casting magic?! Even for as weak as the spell was...

He knelt next to the boy, putting a hand on his forehead before recoiling. Dear gods, how could anybody leave him unsupervised?! He'd never encountered a fever this hot before. Even for as sickly as his sisters had been, she'd never taken this ill. His clothes spoke to high nobility from the materials alone, so who would leave him like this...?

As he started to pull the boy onto his back, he froze as a familiar presence filled him to the roots of his hair.

Brynhildr.

This was no mere sickly noble boy left for dead.

This was Prince Leo.

Melchior? The tome's spirit brushed against his mind as he sighed. He'd rather deal with Siegfried or even Kriemhild at the moment over Bryn. What are you doing here? We haven't spoken since-

"I know. You don't have to remind me." He took the flickering magic orb in one hand, carefully balancing the sick prince on his back with the other. "We don't have time to make small talk right now; just guide me to the boy's room." His flat tone rang dead against the stone cold walls and he narrowed his eye a bit. He felt the ancient spirit writhe in frustration, but relented a moment later.

He followed the instructions to the letter and found himself in the royal wing. How strange it was to end up in the castle with with intent to care for one of the princes instead of slaying the Silent Dragon's puppet. But after all Berand had told him, that would only send the world down a path of ruin and away from Arete's grand plan. He wished he could rid Nohr of the mad tyrant, but the fate of the world hung in the balance.

Shaking his head, he opened the prince's door and laid him on the bed. Leo's breaths still came in short, shallow gasps, so he sighed before unbuttoning the sloppily put-on garment, hoping to relieve some of heat.

He recoiled a moment later.

Long lash marks from a whip and flogger criss crossed his torso, burns from coals and the darkest of magics entwined in them.

Even for all of the sadistic acts he had committed, none had been of this level. He had tortured people with his own two hands, but never had he involved coals or dark magic. Whips and floggers had been standard for him, but he had always killed the person afterward.

Was the Silent Dragon really so mad?

He felt Brynhildr twist in the back of his mind, but he ignored the arrogant "I told you so."

"Brynhildr-" He wasn't happy right now. "-where can I get some water without being seen?" If any of the staff saw him, he'd be killed for certain. He was the continent's most infamous and wanted assassin; his death was all but certain if anybody caught him.

The basin on the table. Queen Arete enchanted it to never run out of water. He nodded and shifted so the prince's head laid in his lap and he dug into the hidden pockets in his cape. After withdrawing several pouches of powdered herbs, he mixed them with the water. He felt the prince shift and his eyes opened, glassy from the raging fever. Leo reached up but he shook his head, pressing his arm down.

"I want you to drink this. It'll help cool your fever." He spoke as gently as he could and Leo gave a weak nod as he closed his eyes. He saw the prince wince at the bitter mixture, but no protest came...not that he was surprised since he knew he was essential mute.

Leo reached up again and Brynhildr spoke. He wants to communicate. He relented and turned his hand over to the prince's weak grip.

Who? Leo's hand traced shaky Nohrian letters on his skin. How in the gods' names was he so lucid enough to-

Had the Silent Dragon really pushed the weak prince to such extreme lengths?

For the first time in over a year, he felt a flicker of emotion in his heart. He was just a boy. How dare he-

But he turned from his anger to the weak prince who stared up at him with glassy, expectant eyes.

"...Someone who will protect and serve you. I won't let harm come to you if I can help it." Even for as fierce as he knew Camilla could be based on Berand's stories, her ability to protect her baby brother was limited. She couldn't be around all the time to protect Leo.

But he could.

Name? Leo's eyes closed and his grip slackened, making it apparent the lucid window rapidly closed.

"...René. René Favager."

Forged rebirth.

There was no more befitting name.

This was just something I wrote on a whim. I wanted to see the exact interaction that led to Leo and René meeting.

And if it wasn't apparent, yes, he did come into Castle Krackenburg with the explicit desire to die through suicide through castle guard.

The reason no name is used in the narration is because Niles feels dead. He just wants to die after all of the suffering he's caused others as we well as the pain he's suffered over the past several years. Also his birth name is "Melchior" while "Niles" is his assassin name.