The first time he met the Prince of Fell, Castiel was crying as he studiously tried to avoid the company of others. He had separated himself from the rest of the funeral party, knowing there was little sincerity in their grief. His father had already frowned at him as though Castiel's silent tears had caused a scene and embarrassed him.

So he walked down to the tree - their tree. The one his mother had so often read to him under when he was growing up. His father might have been the writer, but his mother was the storyteller. Her voice offered protection from all harm and her wit and attitude could disarm any nobleman before they had even realized they'd been insulted. She wove visions with her words and she was Castiel's world.

So as he sat with his head against his knees, the unexpected hand in front of him offering him a handkerchief was hardly welcome. He frowned up at the person holding it until he recognized the face of the crown prince.

Castiel scrambled to his feet, and looked upward at the slightly taller boy. "Y-your Highness." Castiel supposed he should have bowed, but he was so shocked and still so grief ridden that all he could manage was a slight tip of his head.

The prince gave him a wavering smile and it was only then that Castiel realized his eyes were also red rimmed.

"Please, will you call me Dean? You're Castiel, right? Lady Ellen spoke of you often." Dean smiled a little wistfully. "She always made official occasions more enjoyable. I'll miss her."

Castiel could tell the prince was sincere, but he didn't speak. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and studied Dean. He couldn't understand why the prince would bother to seek him out, to speak to him. They had never met before. Even if he had admired Lady Ellen, so had many others. They all saved their sympathy for his father, who was too immersed in himself and his great new masterpiece to spare more than the salutary requirements of mourning. Castiel knew his father would miss his mother, but he wouldn't really miss her. He would miss the status she had brought to the family; the wealth that allowed a simple baron to wile away his hours with ink and paper without producing anything more than literary dribbles.

His mother was the noblewoman, his father was granted his minor title only upon their marriage. Castiel had never understood how a woman so bright and full of life, with such a great intelligence, had wound up with someone so introverted, timid and, in many ways, self-serving.

Anna, their cook and Castiel's nursemaid (as she had been for Lady Ellen), assured Castiel that at one time, Carver had been charming and far more entertaining. He had wooed well before one of his small collections of prose had become temporarily popular and he spent the rest of his life trying to chase the same success.

So Castiel looked at Dean in confusion. Anna often chastised him that he stared too frequently and too long at people - as though he was trying to attain their measure and pick them apart at the same time. Cas supposed he was. He found it very important to understand what motivated a person before interacting with them directly. Most people around him, his father included, found the practice rather off-putting.

Dean shifted from one foot to another, appearing slightly uncomfortable, but Castiel suspected it was more from his own lack of having anything else to say rather than Castiel's scrutiny.

"Keep the handkerchief. I have plenty others. Besides, you never know when it might come in handy. Lady Ellen could probably come up with a hundred uses for it before supper."

He was right. She could have. Castiel looked down at the scrap of cloth, and back up to the prince again. "Thank you, Your Highness."

The prince's face broke into its first real smile. "I told you, call me Dean."

"Dean."

The prince nodded and turned back to stand with his family - the King standing near the head of the processional and shadowed by his younger son, Sam. Castiel watched him go before looking back down at the handkerchief.

Castiel would call the Prince Dean from now on. He had no choice.

Castiel was cursed. There were many who thought being cursed was something auspicious. In fact, most didn't refer to such spells as curses at all. Castiel decided early on that they had clearly never been the victim of an angel's blessing.

There were many angels in Fell, though hardly any of them ever chose to reveal themselves. For the most part, they blended into society. Every now and then, they would grant a small gift. Usually a trinket. Never anything big. It was against angelic code. They were meant to watch and aid humanity, but not to really interfere in the grander scheme of things. According to legend, they had been cast out of their original home. They had come to Fell and watched over mankind as a penance for their own arrogance.

Some of the older families had a guardian angel who protected and watched over the whole family. Often, without said family even realizing it.

Naomi was not like most angels. Where most of her kind tried hard to avoid detection, she broadcast her presence wherever she went. She particularly enjoyed frequenting happy occasions, feeding off the energy of those around her and drawing the attention of an audience as she bestowed her gift upon those the celebration was intended for. Births and weddings were her favorite haunts. There were reasons, however, that angels were not meant to do more than small spells. They never turned out quite how the caster intended. Naomi rarely stuck around to see the results of her work, though. In her mind, her gifts were well loved and cherished by all whom she blessed.

While it was customary to invite any known angels (still few and far between) to such celebrations for luck, it became common practice to leave at least one angel off the list. Of course, Naomi never felt she needed an invitation and did not understand the slight.

Though Lady Ellen had wanted to keep Castiel's birth quiet, Carver, in his desire to be someone important, chose to announce to the world the birth of his first son. Though he himself would be too painfully shy to interact with most of the guests, he still wanted to show he could entertain with the highest classes. And so, a large party was thrown.

When Naomi arrived, Castiel had already missed his nap and was overdue for a feeding. While normally a very cheerful baby, right then, he was in a rare temper. Despite the protestations of both Lady Ellen and Anna, Naomi insisted on seeing him. When she held him aloft and cooed nonsensical gibberish to him, Castiel peed on her. He was, after all, an infant. Though clearly irritated, Naomi simply snapped her fingers and cleaned her outfit. The other angels present, both known and unknown, frowned in disapproval. Instead of putting Castiel down, she pulled him in and began rocking him as though trying to put him to sleep. But Castiel did not know her and he was having none of it. He was tired of strangers. So he screamed. And screamed. Finally, Naomi snapped her fingers again as she looked down at him.

"Castiel! I give you the blessing of obedience!" Lady Ellen stifled a small gasp of horror.

"Now Castiel, go to sleep." And Castiel did. Naomi beamed up at Lady Ellen.

"Aren't you pleased? You now have the perfect child."

Castiel didn't know about Naomi and the events that surrounded his own birth ceremony until his fifth birthday party.

Lady Ellen had been teaching Castiel to swim. It was a rare skill and he had unwisely bragged about it to those gathered around. One of the other boys scoffed and told him to prove it. Of course, Castiel had done little more than splash around in a small pond while held by Lady Ellen. He had never swum on his own and he had certainly never swum in the river that provided the closest source of water at the time.

Castiel knew it was a bad idea. He knew he shouldn't go into the river. He tried not to. But the more he tried, the more he started to feel a sharp pain in his shoulder blades, like something being ripped out of him from behind, or digging into him and pushing him forward. It hurt so badly, he doubled over at the agony. The boy who had challenged him had laughed as Castiel curled up on the ground and tried futilely to reach his hands around to claw at his back, and called him a baby. Castiel was not a baby. He was five years old. The moment he got up and started moving towards the river, his pains vanished. He had just removed his shoes and had one foot in the water when Anna spotted him from the kitchen window and ran out shouting, "Castiel, do NOT go in the river!"

Immediately, the compulsion to prove his ability vanished and Castiel looked down at the rapidly moving water in mild panic as he backed up quickly. Anna had run over to him and swept him up in her arms. He clung to her and happily took in the smell of gingerbread that always seemed to cling to her as she rounded on the older boys and scolded them for their thoughtlessness.

That night, Anna and Lady Ellen sat down with Castiel to explain exactly what had happened when he was born. Knowing didn't change much really. He found he couldn't fight the spell, no matter how hard he tried. As soon as he put any effort towards doing so, his shoulder blades began to throb in a white hot sensation until he wanted to do nothing but curl into a fetal position away from the pain. The complaints stopped as soon as he gave in to whatever command was presented to him.

Fortunately, he only had to obey a direct command. Because of this, Lady Ellen often phrased what she wanted Castiel to do in the form of a request, "Castiel honey, would you please fetch me that platter?"

Anna wasn't always so considerate. If Castiel dithered over eating his vegetables, she wouldn't hesitate to command, "Castiel, you eat everything on your plate, you hear," but she never made a command out of anything that wasn't for Castiel's own well being. They never told Carver and Castiel was perfectly fine with that.

The only time Castiel could remember his mother giving him a direct order was the night she told Cas the reason he always obeyed.

"You must never tell anyone about this, Castiel. You might be too young to understand now, but if others found out, they might try to use you. To make you do bad things. You might hurt yourself or someone else. You must never give someone that much control over you."

Of course Castiel obeyed his mother. In reality, he had no choice, but this was a command he would have obeyed anyway. The memory of that rushing river was clear in his head, as were the pains he felt when he tried to fight the older boy's demand. At five, he couldn't imagine why someone would want to make him hurt himself or someone else on purpose, but he also knew he didn't want to find out.

Despite the blessing (curse), Castiel did his best to remain stubbornly independent, always trying to find his own way of doing things that was just a little off what all of his teachers and instructors wanted. Castiel's habit of staring people down to determine if they were trustworthy companions tended to dissuade many from becoming close to him, so there was very little chance of a friend learning about his condition as he often thought of it. He didn't mind. He wasn't lonely.

Until his mother fell ill.