Hello!
Here we have, finally, an update to Allen's life story~ I might have gotten a little distracted between my original works and then Assassin's Light, but in the end writing for Assassin's Light has gotten me back on track. Rise of the Walker is one of the three stories I consider my main focus (alongside Assassin's Light and Meet me Halfway to the End), and I have set up Wednesday as an update day, though I make no promise to update Rise of the Walker every week. Knowing myself, you can also expect updates can come anywhere from late Tuesday to early Thursday.
Also! On my AO3, I have posted Dear Guide Man which is a collection of infos and headcanons. They mentions details I have only hinted on here, but there is no real spoilers in them!
The parts you can find in this Guide are: Allen's life (so basically a summary of points that Rise of the Walker will show; so do avoid this part if you want to keep a full surprise!), headcanons for Allen (including relationship with Cross, Crown Clown, and Nea), infos of my main canonverse and infos on how I write Mana!
Warning: in this chapter, we have shows of abuse, in ways that aren't outright violence nor verbal; but there are mentions of not giving food, shunning, strictness directed at Allen, and Allen's own thoughts who knows he's just being tolerated, barely (even if it isn't stated, it is implicit he knows). There is one slap however, and pulling him by his arm. It is left unsaid whether or not the adults have been more violent with him, and if they verbally abused in some ways or not. And Allen still has his capability to sense feelings, which are not gentle.
However, I would say that between last chapter and this one, we can see how Allen started to form his little spitfire personality. Something I want to say is: yes, there is a little bit of Nea's influence in liking the wind and to be up in the trees, but these are both things that also applies to Allen.
In short: Allen is a little loner and quiet, he prefers being up in the trees and listen to the wind as well as nature; and a big part of not talking that much is because he knows it frustrates others. In fact, you will see, he loves to do what frustrates others, if they bother him. But, the way I view it, he has been more or less in a good situation until now, so he doesn't risk being rude or outright cause troubles. But he's a clever little sneak about not being all meek as they wished he was.
I hope you will enjoy!
Don't forget I have a tumblr for my fanfics, at chrisemrysfics dot tumblr dot com; and if you are interested, I have a website for my original works, at chriscassar dot carrd dot com!
Rise of the Walker
Chapter 3: Lone boy
Hand pressed on the glass, silver eyes watched the snow fall. The coldness under his palm did not bother him, too focused to mind. He wanted to go out, touch the white, and most of all, he wondered how it would look from up there in the trees.
But the adults had told them it was too cold to be out. That, he could believe, considering how the window felt under his hand. Still… It would be okay, if he was quick, right? If he waited a time there would not be a risk they would look for him, and of course he would be careful.
Lips lifted into a small smile. Yes, that would be the perfect plan!
He should have known it would not be so easy.
Oh, when it came to going out without being seen, it had been no trouble. He had spent a minute looking at the tree he wanted to climb, assessing; and while he had been more careful than usual, he had found a decent spot.
It was when the sight caught his breath, mesmerized him, that it went wrong. Simply because he did not want to go down anymore.
The small wind was chilly, but he had dressed well; and the music of it was so soft. The world felt almost silent, the snow had a gentle sound, or almost-sound. Setting himself more comfortably, he watched around, then closed his eyes, lulled by the silent music, warm inside.
He did not know how long he stayed up there, but he was brutally brought back by the angry shout. He flinched, startled straighter, and barely stopped himself from tilting to the side. Another shout had come, as angry as it had been panicked; and now the voice was angry again, demanding.
He gazed down, blinking, and for a moment he felt tempted to stay up there. It was not as if she could climb up, after all. None of them could climb as well as he did. The problem was that it was dinnertime; and that was likely the reason his absence had been noticed.
So he climbed down, slow to avoid falling, and maybe a little bit to annoy the woman. She was one of the adults that would make him stay in his room often, for no other reason that she did not want to have to watch out for his climbing tendencies.
She was yelling at him, but he did not really listen. However, his senses froze when a sharp pain hit his cheek.
It took him a few beats to realize he had been slapped. Slowly, he turned his head, to look up at her, eyes a little wide, right hand lifting to touch his cheek. He felt no regret from her, only her annoyance and anger.
She grabbed his arm, dragging him inside. It took him only a few turns to realize she was getting him to his room. That she meant to not give him dinner.
He stopped himself, pulled, but she had grabbed his left arm, she knew he could not move it past his elbow. He could not stop her as well as he could have with his right arm; and she simply pulled harder, sending him to his knees.
She stopped when he fell, at least. But the look she sent down his way was disdainful.
"Get up." She commanded.
He felt a little frightened, and a lot angry. He stood up, but the gaze he sent her way was dark, full of reproach, and just on the edge of furious. She flinched, but she also scowled, pulling his arm once then walking again, almost too fast.
He did not give her the privilege to hear his voice, said nothing, but his gaze stayed fixed on her back, sensing her discomfort.
He was almost thrown in his room; and he heard his door being slammed close. He turned, moving to the handle, and heard just then the key, the lock. He tried the handle, frowned, then knocked harshly on the door once.
"No. You will stay here and think of about what you did." She replied through the door, all satisfied. Then he heard her steps, she was leaving, just like that.
He heard, if faintly, how she muttered to herself, "What a troublesome child. I'm worried he really is possessed..."
He did not understand the word, the meaning. He understood the way his body seem to grow cold.
Be careful, his mind seemed to say. Don't let them think like this.
Maybe he should try to antagonize them less?
He snorted. As if. They were the one who treated him bad. Maybe he would be more careful of what he did, but he was not going to get all nice and convenient as they wanted him to be. Because he knew.
Nothing would ever be convenient enough. Not unless he stayed all the time in his room. And he would not be caged like an animal.
Contrary to what the adults seemed to think, he did not want to freeze out there. Sure, he liked the view when he was high up, but he was not silly, thank you very much. If he was cold, he stayed inside. This proved to be a great game, soon.
There was nothing he loved more than knowing the adults spent their day figuring out where he was this time; and since he was still inside, they could not scold him. Or so was the plan, but they always seemed to find something to say.
One time it was because he was sitting on a higher window. Another it was because he was drawing on the window thanks to his breath and the cold. When he realized they knew to look for him at windows, he changed places for a bit. It seemed like they didn't appreciate him suddenly liking the attic. Maybe they should tidy it better then, so they could see him when he was there.
When the snow stopped coming and the trees grew greener again, the adults seemed almost happy to allow the children to go out more often. They still watched him, told him not to climb trees; but they would let him go out.
He was easier to handle when he was outside, after all. Pretend not to notice him climb at times, let him wander from one tree to another, since he also liked to simply sit at their base; and all would be fine.
Well, he had to be careful which adults was around, not all would pretend not to notice him climb, no matter if all of them knew he was good at it. Some used that knowledge to not watch over him as much, and he would reward them by not staying too long up. Some minutes of freedom for both sides.
Not everyone would be like that. It was a pain at first, navigating who would not look his way long enough for a bit of time in trees, but now he had gotten the hang of it.
What bothered him, however, were the other children. They had known to stay clear of him, because the adults were always after him, and he wouldn't seek the other children's company. They did not seek him out either, although some tried at times, when he sat under trees.
But he liked the sounds of the wind, the animals in the trees, of life around; and other kids were too loud. He also knew they were often curiously looking toward his arm.
It had to happen, one day.
One insisted. Started to get annoyed. He tried, for once, to speak, to explain, "I just want to stay here," but all the other kid seemed to take notice was that he had talked.
"Don't be shy, come on!"
No, he was not being shy, his voice had been soft because he had wanted to continue listening to the birds. A quick glance, good it was one of the adults pretending not to look; so he stood up, meaning to climb. At least, there, the kids wouldn't follow, and he would be able to see better.
Poor birds had been a bit spooked, they had moved further away, but he could still hear them faintly.
However, the other kid seemed to first think he was coming, but the expression turned sour when they realized he meant to climb. He sensed the spark of anger, so he turned a bit to gaze behind him, but he did not expect the grab at his arm.
His left arm.
He tensed, turning fully to face the other kid, moving back. They did not let go, and too late he realized his mistake. The bandages shifted, slipped a bit, and some of the red skin was exposed. He froze, the other kid froze, and then he was bringing his arm against his chest, covering the exposed skin with his other hand.
The kid let out a startled sound, backing away with eyes wide in fear. "W-What? Y-Your arm-"
He felt his heart thump harder, his back pressed against the tree, sensing the twist of disgust in the fear. Then there was an adult there, the one who had been pretending not to watch so he could climb up, standing between him and the other kid.
"It's okay, Alex. You should all go play."
The children hesitated, looking up at the woman, then at the glimpse of the red haired boy she was hiding. Then they left, and she sighed. She turned, looking down at the child; he looked up at her, still pressed against the tree, still with widened eyes, frightened.
Her gaze dropped to his arm, and he felt her flash of wariness, saw the flinch she barely hid. He curled on himself, eyes dropping down, starting to wrap the bandages back with a shaky hand. He felt startlement, then she was kneeling in front of him, gentle hands helping him.
He swallowed, eyes burning a bit. He felt it, how she viewed him as a child, but how she also viewed him as someone to be wary off. She had a soft heart toward children, yet there was resentment too, waiting to strike for when he wouldn't look like a child anymore.
Was it why he was living there still? What would happen, when he would grow?
What would happen, when they would act upon this feeling he felt, whenever they glanced at his arm, knowing what was under the bandages?
How could he tell them it was not something to be afraid of?
He said nothing but a quiet thank you when she had finished, and without being prompted, he hurried back inside, back into his room.
He was allowed to eat in it, and for days, he would barely go outside. He would wander the orphanage when most of the kids were out, and would eat in the dinning room, in a corner.
None of the kids tried to approach anymore. None of the adults tried to get him to go outside more.
The wariness, the fear, the disgust; he got used to them.
The pity made him feel anger. The associated sensations frightened him.
My arm is not a danger!
To be continued...