(AN: Sorrysorrysorry this took so long! The last few weeks before graduation left me quite burnt-out and I felt like I needed a short break away from writing for a while after having spent day and night slaving over a boring thesis. I've been working on this chapter on and off during my summer break and I've ended up re-writing it from scratch at least three times because it simply didn't want to work with me the way I wanted it to!

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! Sorry if I've been a bit on the quiet side recently but I do want you all to know that I greatly appreciate every single one of you!

To zOMGPrincess: The plot of this story is based on three different "things", but I'm not sure if it might spoil anything to mention them quite yet xD I'll reveal them at the end of the final chapter in case anyone is truly interested to know!

Hope this next installment doesn't disappoint!)


Chapter Three:

'All the better to hear you with'

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Matron's passing didn't come as a surprise to many, her departure from this world having been anticipated for over a year. Even though, it didn't make the loss any less funereal to the children whom she had mothered, all of which had been there to shed tears at her burial and decorated her memorial stone with freshly picked narcissuses and hand-woven garlands of white flowers.

All except for one.

"-You know, you could at least pretend that you cared about all of this. I mean she was 'only' the woman who raised and fed us!" Seifer, the oldest of Matron's former proteges, barked at the younger male opposite of himself.

Squall sighed wordlessly and kept on staring defiantly at the wooden planks underneath his bare feet. He was seated on top of the creamy white linen of his bed, straight across from the older boy, in the cramped space of what used to be a deteriorating storage shed; the tips of their toes almost touching from the forced proximity. He remained still, unmoving as a rock and refused to give the older man any sort of eye contact, hoping in vain that it would discourage Seifer from continuing his lecture and instead leave him alone – responding to the older boy as if he was disciplining a pleading dog begging for spoils at the kitchen table.

"... Are you done?" The apathetic response reluctantly spilled from his lips when Seifer didn't make any move to grant him his much wanted space back and the awkward silence was starting to feel suffocating.

The truth was that Squall had wanted to attend Matron's funeral and said his final farewells just as much as every other child in their vicinity. She was the closest his memory would ever bring him to a Mother and her disappearance from his life caused him more anguish than he'd ever care to admit. Least of all to someone like Seifer.

"What difference does it make?" Squall continued, followed by a defeated puff of air through slightly parted lips before he spoke up once again, "Will our tears bring her back to us or help clear a path for her in her ascension towards the heavens? ...Because if not, I see no point in agonizing on the unchangeable."

It wasn't necessarily a lie, but he was painfully aware of the fact that he was purposefully wording his responses to sound callous and void of any conveyance to what he was actually feeling on the matter, if only to get Seifer off his back. He mourned her death mostly because it was recent, not because he thought it imperative to grieve another. Growing up at an orphanage meant constantly welcoming new faces into an ever-growing family with the knowledge that, before long, you would have to watch them leave your life forever again without knowing exactly when. Usually without being prepared for the change. To him, Matron was just another one leaving.

Squall didn't need to look up in order to know that his act of nonchalance caused the older boy to stew in unmasked fury. Not that making the man angry had ever been a difficult task to begin with, especially when Squall was involved. The two of them had somehow always managed to find reasons to butting heads with each other.

From behind russet bangs, he noticed too late the other's fingers twitch. With the swiftness of a striking snake, those fingers reached out and grasped a handful of cloth from the front of Squall's white t-shirt and he suddenly found himself yanked to his feet and forced to face the irate man. Eyes as hard and cold as stainless steel challenged without hesitation the emerald-green glare, meant to intimidate, the older boy sent his way.

"I'm about fed up with this attitude of yours! Matron left me in charge of the orphanage, of the children and, unfortunately, of you. Allowing you to stay here is charity on my part and I think it's about time you start to appreciate my efforts!

From now on, you will do exactly as I say and stay out of my way or I will personally tie you to a pole and set you on fire whether the rest of the village agrees with me or not!"

Squall winced involuntarily at the booming voice of Seifer, bellowing far too close to his own ears for comfort.

"I don't remember Matron being this much of a tyrant," the brunet bit back at the outburst without missing a beat but didn't otherwise make any move to fight back or untangle himself out of the strong hand keeping him in place by his collar. He knew that Seifer was looking for a fight and he wasn't about to give him the satisfaction by complying, even though his muscles had tensed considerably and he felt his blood pump fast with adrenaline, his hands instinctively folding into fists at his side - bracing him for the fight that he refused to be baited into initiating.

Seifer's eyes narrowed into thin slits and, for a moment, Squall thought he saw a glint of something dangerous flash through them. Bringing the younger male uncomfortably close to his own face, to the point where he had to lean back to avoid their noses from colliding, Seifer spoke with meaning, adding weight to every single word, "I'm not Matron."

Using the hold of the brunet's shirt as leverage, he shoved Squall harshly back into the wall; Watching as the boy lost his footings and stumbled over the bedframe. His head banged against the wallpapered bricks behind him and, with his feet leaving the ground, he collapsed back down on the mattress where Seifer had originally found him seated mere minutes ago.

Squall had to bite his lower lip in order to refrain from making a pained noise at the impact. He didn't move from where he'd fallen on the bed, with his face partially hidden by the sheets, figuring that maybe if he pretended to be dead or at least unconscious Seifer would eventually take the hint and finally leave him be. The back of his head throbbed menacingly, screaming promises about the bruise that would undoubtedly evolve there over night, and he was already feeling exhausted from their conversation. It was barely noon yet he wanted nothing more than to curl up under the sheets and wait for tomorrow.

"Do we have an understanding?!"

… Unfortunately, Seifer either didn't get the message or he consciously chose to disregard it.

"... Fine..." Squall pressed through clenched teeth, his response muffled against the sheets.

"Are you saying that because you actually agree with me or just because you're trying to make me leave?!"

"... Leave..."

With a frustrated snort and a soft curse under his breath, Seifer's patience seemed to have finally run dry. With a sharp turn of his heel, he stomped angrily towards the door – halting just for a brief second with his foot resting on the threshold to throw a furious look back at the clothed heap of flesh still laying motionless on top of the bed.

"When did you become such an ass, Leon."

Squall ground his teeth together, dozens of suitable retorts flitting through his mind at that final remark but before he was given an opportunity to answer Seifer had already closed the door shut behind him and, from the sound of it, locked it.


He wasn't sure when he had dozed off but the slight daze clouding his mind and the coarseness coating the corners of his eyes, forcing him to blink repeatedly, suggested that he had been asleep for quite some time.

About five days had come and gone since Matron had left their world for the next one. At least he thought that was about long had passed; He had been steadily losing track of the concept of time, as his new room lacked windows and he didn't have a clock in his possessions, the only way for him to measure time being counting the number of meals he'd received since his in-migration to the storage shed. He felt like a voluntary prisoner in his own home(a locked door wasn't enough to stop him from leaving had he been dedicated enough to make an escape) although being confined to a tiny room wasn't the worst part. It was the boredom that was killing him. He more often than not found himself either sleeping or reading, having thankfully stumbled upon Matron's hidden stash of spellbooks underneath a loose floorboard while exploring every nook and cranny of the tiny room in lack of better things to do. They were interesting enough to keep his attention preoccupied for a few hours at a sitting, although he didn't have the audacity to actually try his hand at any of the spells he learned through them. He had since a young age developed a sort of love-hate relationship towards his own mythical abilities and had found that using them more often than not were accompanied by the worst kind of consequences.

As he slowly rose to a sitting position on the bed a series of hard knocks on his door finally reached his newly awakened senses. Stifling a yawn, Squall fell back down on the pillows – struck with sudden weariness despite having just woken up from who knew how long. Whoever it was at the door he was in no mood to deal with them. It was probably just Seifer returning to harass him some more, he figured.

However, when the intervalled knocking didn't seize for several minutes, the sound of bony knuckles hitting wood was quickly starting to grate on his already high-strung nerves. He had become quick to feeling angry and irritable recently and was in no mood to deal with yet another lecture about how apparently heartless he was, and even less with a total stranger.

When pressing his palms against his ears to block out the sound didn't ease the impending headache pounding behind his forehead, he finally snapped and roared towards the closed door from the top of his lungs: "Give it a goddamn rest, Seifer!"

"... Who?"

Squall's eyes widened in surprise and he shot up from the bed, ignoring the dull ache in the back of his head caused by the sudden motion. That wasn't Seifer, that was...

"... Wolf?! What are you doing here?"

For years, Squall had indulged as much time in the comforting presence of the Wolf as opportunity allowed him to. Every other night he would go through the same routine: sneaking out through the bedroom window at the bottom floor, strapping on his backpack, filled with tools to help him find his way through the dark and an army knife in case he got into trouble, that he'd tucked away underneath the toppled rowing-boat, stranded by the ocean. He would run through the vast field of bright white flowers until he'd finally arrive at the outskirts of the forest where he would find the Wolf waiting for him. Always.

This was the first time the Wolf had come to him.

"I waited but you didn't show up... ... Are you all right?"

The Wolf's words were dampened by the wooden barrier separating the two but even though, Squall could've sworn that he'd heard something akin to genuine worry in the other man's deep voice.

He didn't quite understand why but he felt oddly touched by the fact that the Wolf had gone out of his way to check on him. He had always considered the Wolf a dear friend of his but had always assumed that it was mostly one-sided from his part and that it, in the end, wouldn't have mattered much to the Wolf if their encounters took a sudden stop.

Squall swallowed hard. His throat suddenly felt dry and clogged and for a moment he worried that he might be coming down with something.

"Would you like to unlock the door for me?" The Wolf said when he realized that his question had gone ignored and pulled at the unyielding door demonstratively, as if to prove that it was locked.

Squall swallowed several times and coughed into his hand before saying with a still slight rasp in his voice: "Check under the doormat, there should be a key there."

After som fumbling, The Wolf unlocked the door and invited himself inside.

"...How did you know I was here?" Squall finally asked after a brief silence, still slightly taken aback by his surprise visitor. Within the forest Fenrir was cursed to always have the appearance of the brutish Wolf and, as most of their encounters where strictly inside said forest, it was rather rare for Squall to see the Wolf in human's clothing. Because of this, he found it slightly unnerving to suddenly have the man inside his own room.

"I followed your scent. It led me here."

"Oh." He answered laconically, not entirely sure how to respond to such a statement. "Why are you here?"

A lesser man might have taken offense to Squall's candor but the Wolf only chuckled good-naturedly from behind his usual wolfish mask, already used to the younger man's lack of social skills. "Should I not be?"

"Sure, but... you've never come here before." Squall replied, a bit unsurely. He felt nervous but he wasn't entirely sure why.

"I already told you. You didn't come to me like you use to and I wanted to see you."

Squall furrowed his brows in deep thought for a few seconds before replying.

"... You wanted to see me... Why?"

The Wolf chuckled lowly again, clearly amused by Squall's apparent confusion. "Sticks and stones don't make great conversationalists."

Squall frowned, feeling oddly displeased and a little insulted at that answer. "Neither do I," he said sourly and crossed his arms before his chest defensively despite the fact that the Wolf wouldn't be able to see it.

"Maybe not," the Wolf agreed a bit to quickly for Squall's liking, deepening his frown yet a notch, "but your company is to be preferred."

Squall snorted disdainfully before he could stop himself. "What an honour that my company is worth more than those of greenery to the 'ferocious' Wolf of the Woods."

The Wolf clambered further into the room, using his hands and feet as path-seekers until he felt his shin bump into warm muscles and brushed against skin - presumably one of Squall's legs. "You get what I mean," he proclaimed as he took a seat next to the youth on the bed. The Wolf found the silence that followed strangely comforting, the warmth emitting from beside him being a constant reminder that he wasn't alone for once. He had missed that warmth. You'd think that you would've become used to the chilled nights of the outside after having lived within the forest for so long, but after less than a week of absence from the boy whose company he now had gotten so used to, the darkness had suddenly come to feel colder than ever before.

The Wolf wouldn't have minded just sitting next to the young man until dawn would force him to return to whence he came without having a single sentence uttered between them, but he could tell that something was off.

"You're tense... Is everything all right?" He asked tentatively, leaning forward to rest his elbows onto his knees. There it was again, Squall thought to himself, that tinge of worry lacing the other man's voice – or was he just imagining it?

Squall sighed dejectedly. Unlike the others, for some reason he had always found it difficult to keep secrets from this man. It was strangely reassuring to talk to someone who was incapable of slandering behind your back.

"Matron went to heaven today, and I wasn't there to see her off," he said monotonously, as if he had said the exact same thing for so long that he was tired of hearing it.

"Why not?" The Wolf turned his head towards the young brunet to show that he was listening attentively.

"... She told me not to."

"Why did she do that?"

Squall sighed, immediately feeling exhaustion eating at him yet again.

"I'm not exactly the big favorite among the villagers here... Without being able to use her reputation as a shield any longer, she wants me to stay anonymous for a while. I'm not supposed to leave this room until it's safe again... Meaning that I can't go into the forest to visit you until then."

"... How long?"

"About until everyone outside of the orphanage believes me to be dead..."

"Oh." He paused, trying to take in this new set of information that Squall was feeding him. If barely a week without the boy's presence made him cold to the bone, he feared that months or even years would give him frostbite. "That could take some time."

Squall nodded, forgetting momentarily that the Wolf would not be able to see the gesture.

"Matron recommended that... I'd change my name as well, just to be sure, so everyone is supposed to get used to referring to me as 'Leon' from now on. It will be my new alias once I get out of here."

That was the plan at least – Squall Leonhart would die and Leon would reborn from his ashes, starting his life anew where no one would ever know about his dormant magical potential and judge him because of it.

The Wolf went quiet. Thinking. He already had knowledge of most of the major things that Squall was telling him about, the death of Matron and the animosity towards him coming from the villagers (something that the Wolf himself was very familiar with and had experienced first hand many times in the past), what he didn't know was why. The dramatic changes to Squall's persona over the short period of just a few years hadn't gone unnoticed by the older man and while puberty may have been partly to blame, it wasn't a good enough explanation to why someone, who couldn't be more than a teenager yet, was acting like they were in their thirties already. He couldn't help but wonder if it was truly healthy for someone to grow up so quickly.

He had never asked the boy directly in the past, because he wasn't the type to normally pry into others business and he had always figured that the boy would've told him eventually if he truly had wanted him to know, but now his curiosity was starting to get the better of him. So he asked what had always been on his mind:

"... I don't understand. What's going on here? What did you do to make the villagers hate you so?"

Squall rubbed at the scar between his eyes anxiously. He didn't like the direction this conversation was heading into. What used to be innocent questions was starting to feel more like an interrogation than anything else.

"You're asking too many questions!" He snapped irritably, massaging his temples as he felt the headache from earlier returning with vigor.

"Sorry... You can't blame me for being curious though. You're acting strange... "

This time Squall most definitely heard it, faintly but it was there – worry.

"I know," he sighed and drooped his head to stare at the floor, feeling slightly guilty for losing his temper with the Wolf who had yet to do anything to harm him. "It's just that... You already know so much about me yet I barely know a thing about you. It makes me uncomfortable... If you're curious about my story then it's only fair that you share yours as well!

All I know about you is that you used to be a regular human but now you're not... I know that you weren't always known as 'Fenrir' or 'The Big Bad Wolf'.

...Who were you before that?"

The Wolf was silent for a solid minute while he shifted in his seat, he had not anticipated this sudden developement where he would be the one to be questioned. It wasn't the first time someone had asked about his origin, but he had never felt so cornered yet inclined to answer the question before. He had never met someone before who he truly felt deserved to know that much about him.

"... Do you really want to know? It might take a while..." he finally said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he did.

"Time is currently a resource that I've got plenty of."

The blond gulped before letting out a long, bone-weary exhale and he looked away from his companion in order to face the direction of the door, his hands clenched in front of him. Looking very much like a man who was trying his damnedest to keep himself from running away with his tail between his legs.

"... Once upon a time, in this very village, there lived a far-famed huntsman...-"