:::::Arthur's Note and Deviation from Canon:
The Last Thief of Lorien is an AU (alternate universe) fic series centered on the relationship between Henri and Four, told from Henri's point of view. The story follows the same premise of the books and film, and will cover some of the same plot elements. However, the main difference in this universe is that Henri was never Four's assigned guardian. This first chapter will cover the beginning of their life together – with Henri finding John by chance on the night the Mogadorians attacked Lorien. This chapter will be followed by a series of chapter-stories which follow Henri and Four's life on Earth, one for each year leading up to the events of the film/book.
:::::Slash Content Warning:
This series is leading up towards a romantic relationship between Henri and Four. However, as many of the earlier fics will feature Four at a young age, they won't include any romantic content, and instead involve a lot of cuteness. If you're not comfortable with homosexual pairings, you're still welcome to read most of this fic – I will warn you when a romantic plot starts to develop.
:::::Sister Fic:
The same AU plot will be followed from Four's perspective by SuicideSilence'. Each of her chapters will relate to mine, and vice-versa. So keep an eye on her fic as well!
CHAPTER 1: BEGINING
On the night the Mogadorians attacked, all the rats of Lorien scrambled out of their warrens to watch the end of the world.
I scrambled with them, because I was as much a rat as any of them, and hell - even if I wasn't, it was no time to be acting dignified or brave or... any of those things that got you dead. So I scrambled. I skirted the worst of the danger (there was no avoiding it altogether) and ran, and I don't know where I was running because there was nowhere to go, but it seemed like a better idea than standing still. The Garde could stand and fight if they wanted - they were dying. All of them. I'd almost tripped over several gloriously dying Loric soldiers already, and one had begged for me to kill him, to let him die, but I felt sick to my stomach so I just ran.
I didn't want to die. I just didn't want to die. And it wasn't that I had much to live for - I was a low-life, a thief and a swindler. I had no friends who gave more of a crap about me than they did their dinner, my family would get on just fine without me, and... well, my poor excuse of a home was in shambles. But I wanted to live. To keep feeling the acid burn in my muscles, the painfully hot breath in my lungs, the stinging of my scraped shins. I wanted to wake up tomorrow and eat and fuck and steal and walk around like I fucking owned the place. I deserved this. I deserved to live. I was young and I was strong and I was clever. I didn't care that I was a rat, that I was an insignificant speck in this universe with no destiny or purpose to speak of - I loved myself, my living self, more than anything else.
In short, I was a vain and selfish bastard, and if the world was a just place I would have died that way.
But life is everything but fair. And as I ran like the coward I was I heard the dying voice of a man crushed beneath a fallen archway, more than half his body buried in heavy, torn rock. I wasn't going to stop - I hadn't stopped for the others. But this one -
"Sir. Sir. Please, sir. You have to help. Please..."
No one ever called me 'sir'. So it was my vanity that saved me, my vanity which caused me to stop and look down to see who it was who seemed to think I was actually important.
He was an older man, short-cropped blond hair and neat stubble. A nice shirt. Well. It had been nice before it was crushed under rock and soaked in its owner's blood. I knew he wasn't Garde - he didn't have those eyes, he just didn't have that look about him.
"I can't help you." I told him, breathing hard from my pointless run. I couldn't pull him out - he was dying already, just barely breathing. But he shook his head at me and leaned back a little, propped himself up to lift himself off the ground and -
There was something beneath him, something small and scared. A child - a toddler, really, the man's blood smeared against his chubby little arms. But alive, and unharmed. The man had protected him from the collapsing architecture. Shielded him with his own body - sacrificed himself. I knew then that he was a Cepan soldier then - and the child was his Garde, the fledgling protector of Lorien he in turn was sworn to protect. And he was dying. And if he died - the child would die with him, and he knew it, and the desperation was loud like a trumpet in his voice.
"Take him. Please, sir - just around the corner, there are others, at the museum. They are waiting - give him to them. They'll take care of him. Just around the corner, sir. That's all I ask."
Take him. But why should I? I was not sworn to protect anything. They'd never trust me with a Garde child. They'd sooner arrest me than so much as hand me an application. And only now, at the end of the world, did they treat me like a real Lorien, like I had a purpose? I wanted to sneer, to spit on this man's face and tell him he was a few decades too late. But he pushed the child towards me wordlessly, and there came a soft coo that drew my eyes like a lure. He was a tiny little thing, wriggling onto his hands and knees, looking at me with bright blue eyes I could never read because... he was a fucking toddler, how were you supposed to know what he was thinking? How were you supposed to blame him, to hate him, to feel angry or insulted or hurt?
"Take him." The man mumbled again, his words slurring. And I still don't know why, but I did.
I backed away, this strange little thing in my arms now, not even sure what I was scared of anymore - the mogadorians, the dying cepan, or my own stupidity. Why was I doing this? I had to leave. I had to go now. Just around the corner, like the man had said, and I would hand the toddler to the first responsible person I saw and be on my way and forget all about it. And I was almost out of earshot when I heard his voice again, faltering now, almost gone and wilting like grass in a desert as he spoke.
"Wait. Sir. This. Take this. Just... in case... you..."
And then he crumbled. Just like that. No more cepan, but a cloud of dust that fanned out as the rocks fell into the place where he had been. Some of it landed on my boots - then drifted up and outwards, dissipating into the hellish, noisy skies above. And on the ground just before the rubble there lay a curved silver blade - a warrior's weapon, cruel and elegant and damn, how many times before would I have given anything to lay my hands on one? I wish I could say I hesitated, but I didn't. I knelt to pick it up and as the hilt enveloped my wrist in a chilly blue glow, I grinned like an idiot.
But the skies tore open above me then, and a volley of fire struck Lorien again. Clutching the blade and the child, I turned and ran again. Around the corner, like the cepan had said. The little Garde pulled close against me, clutching at my shirt with his tiny little hands as I scrambled over fallen rock and machinery. How was I supposed to find anyone in this chaos? How would I know it was them I was supposed to give the child to? Who were they, anyway, and what did it matter? We weren't going to survive. We all knew that - even I, although I chose to ignore it, as if my cowardice would save me and I would be left on Lorien alone. But when I had made it a good way down the next road I knew I had come to the intended place - it was the Museum, half-remembered from some childhood excursion, except... except for the ship. Which I knew as well as any Lorien, of course, but there it stood now awash in lights, humming, flashing, alive and -
"Hey! You!" Someone called - an authoritative voice, a hand on my shoulder. Instinctively I flinched - ready to run again. I didn't like authority. Authority didn't like me. But the man didn't give me a chance to move, his hand gripping me firmly and push-pulling me towards the craft. I stumbled forward, confused, clutching the toddler and trying to form the words I needed to explain. Was I in trouble? Really, now, at the end of the world?
"I just - I was just - "
"I hope you're ready, Solider." The stern man spoke as we stopped right infront of the lowered entrance into the craft. "You're going to be gone for a long, long time."
I don't know how he didn't notice the stunned look on my face. Maybe he was shellshocked himself - but it dawned on me then. The ship was leaving. Up. Away. Out of here. Through the doorway I saw others – Cepan soldiers, each clutching wide-eyed, tiny Garde. They thought... they thought I was one too! Me! A warrior! And this little thing whose name I didn't know, my Garde! I held my hand up in protest, but in it I still held the curved blade, and this did nothing but cement the illusion.
I noticed then that there were others around - more soldiers, their uniforms showing them to be the elite. They stood in a firm perimeter. Alert, strong, fearless. Protecting the craft, I understood. Until it flew, this last-ditch effort, and then they would be left to die with the rest. I should, I knew, give the child to one of them. That was undoubtedly what the dying Cepan had intended for me to do. It was what he had told me to do - give him to them. They may not have been assigned to guard this child, but they were far more qualified for the job than I.
One of them looked up to meet my eyes, his gaze intense blue, his jaw set firmly and his shoulders impressively broad. Why not him? He even looked a little like the toddler - blond hair and those goddamn blue eyes. The way the boy might look in a few years - if he survived. If he had a guardian who could protect him, who knew what he was doing -
But there was a crash then, a loud unearthly roar that tore apart a stretch of buildings just across the road - suddenly fire, and smoke, and crumbling stone as a Mogadorian ship glowed deathly red overhead. And just like that I turned my back on the soldier and made my way into the craft, the last thief of Lorien scrambling like a rat onto a ship set to sail.