My apologies for not leaving a note on the last chapter. I am still trying to figure out how this site works. While I may be many things, tech-savvy is not one of them by any stretch of the imagination. But basically this story is a "what if Varian got abused in prison and Hector found out AU." It will have a myriad of dark themes in it, and I will attempt to put proper trigger warnings at the beginning of every chapter. That being said, I understand that I do not have a perfect knowledge of the type of situation I've put Varian and the other characters in, so if there is anything I mess up or need to consider more, please do not hesitate to let me know. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone by carelessness.

Most of this story is pre-written, since I've already been posting it elsewhere, so I will try to keep an update schedule of once a week.

Trigger warnings: panic attacks, mentions of injuries, references to character death, negative response to physical contact

The warm sun shone down on the boy's battered frame, bringing with it a sense of peace he had not felt in months. His mind flitted back to those late summer days, right before the air would snap, when he would lay on the bank of the creek and listen to the water rippling over the stones, the smell of apples permeating the air, his faithful raccoon curled up asleep by his side…

Fur tickled Varian's cheek. He hummed softly and snuggled deeper into the body beside him. The movement sent a stab of pain through his side that left him gasping for breath. Breath would not come easy, though, as his throat felt like it was on fire.

He pried his eyes open—the bright sunlight stung after so long in the dark—and glanced at the creature next to him. His first thought was that it was Ruddiger. But no, it was far too big. Had he mutated? How? Varian wasn't there to give him the serum. He was in jail—

Wait, he was supposed to be in jail!

He tried to sit up, but burning pain shot through every inch of his being—which, granted, wasn't a lot, but it still hurt—and he fell back against the creature's side with a soft groan. Even making that small sound hurt. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. The heat of the sun, combined with the body temperature of the creature beside him, left him suddenly pouring sweat. He was burning! His arms ached with phantom pains of hot metal, something weighed against his thin body, keeping him down, holding him, he couldn't move, he couldn't move they were going to hurt him and he was helpless and they were holding him and it was SO HOT—

The creature beside him moved suddenly, taking much of that heat away and letting a cool breeze drift across him. A shadow crossed in front of his face. Looking up, he saw the face of a… he wasn't actually sure what that was looking back down at him. Definitely not Ruddiger, though the resemblance was striking.

The oppressive weight was suddenly pulled off him. Glancing over, he could see a second creature grasping a blanket in its mouth. Varian welcomed the sensation of being able to move, though his efforts met with just as much success as earlier. His arms still ached, his ribs burned, and his head felt like it was stuffed full of fabric. Though the thought of what he might see frightened him, he forced himself to look at the damage. Alone with two strange creatures in a strange place, he would need to know exactly how bad off he was if he wanted to recover and possibly defend himself.

Starting small, he looked at his arms.

Then his eyes widened.

Both his arms were wrapped in clean bandages. His left forearm was in a splint.

His legs and feet were bandaged as well.

His shirt was missing, and his entire torse had received the same treatment.

How—?

That man.

Someone had carried him out of prison. Someone had taken him away from that cold, dark cell and tended to his wounds and wrapped him in a blanket.

Why?

And where was he? Where was the person who did this? Who was the person who did this?

The creatures, apparently satisfied that he was fine now, curled up nearby and watched him. Varian looked around him curiously. He was laying on a pallet in the middle of a sunlit grove. Near the spot where the creatures had curled up, several bags lay piled on the ground. A fire crackled cheerfully a few yards away with a kettle on it. The man was nowhere to be seen.

The bags grabbed Varian's attention. There might be a weapon in there if he could get over to them.

The thought made him want to laugh. He couldn't move an inch without feeling like he would die. Getting to the bags was an absolute impossibility, much less using a weapon if he found one. Unfortunately, he was as much at the mercy of this stranger as he had been at the mercy of the guards.

O‴O‴O‴

Hector watched from the edge of the treeline as the small boy tried in vain to move. In pride, he saw his pets quickly move to make him more comfortable. They had always been good at knowing just what needed to be done. Taking the blanket off him may not be the best for his health, but the child was clearly on the verge of a panic attack.

Hector had only been gone for five minutes to collect more firewood. He and his companions, conscious and unconscious, had traveled hours from Corona before stopping in this sheltered grove during the early hours of the morning. It was a safe enough location that Hector felt comfortable stopping for a while to tend to his nephew.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do now. The verdict was still out on this kid. There was every possibility that he was a murderer. Quirin's murderer. What would he do with him if that was the case? He couldn't in good conscience leave him to be snatched up by the guards again. No matter what the kid had done, he didn't deserve that.

Even if he wasn't a murderer, it wasn't like Hector could just take him back to the Great Tree with him!

…Couldn't he?

Absolutely not! The Tree was no place for a child!

But what other alternative was there? Leaving him in some village in the middle of who-knows-where was just asking for him to get in more trouble. And he couldn't exactly leave the Tree and his mission just to watch the kid. He had already been away far too long. The trip, which might take an ordinary traveler anywhere from ten months to a year to complete, had been made in three. His trusty rhino had been left behind to guard the Tree. But three months was still too long, and anything could have happened in that time.

Hector groaned. No matter where he turned, he only saw bad options.

Oh, great. Now the kid was eyeing his bags. The last thing he needed was to find one of his own knives stuck in his back. Not that the boy looked to be in any condition to do something like that. Still…

He strode into the clearing and dropped the pile of wood he had gathered by the fire. The kid—Varian, he reminded himself; if he was going to interact with him, he might as well call him by his name—flinched violently at the sudden action. He stared up at Hector with wide, frightened eyes. "Wh-who—" His voice broke off in a painful-sounding cough.

"Don't talk," Hector growled. Well, he didn't exactly mean to growl. It was just how he was used to talking, except when he made an effort to act normal such as he had with the queen the night before. Intentional or not, the tone, or maybe the words themselves, caused Varian to shrink into himself with a quiet hiss of pain.

"Ah, crap. I didn't mean—you shouldn't be putting a strain on your throat. You're sick." He forced a cheerfulness he didn't feel into his voice. "You need to rest."

Varian just stared at him skeptically. He weakly lifted a hand and pointed to the warrior.

"The name's Hector."

"V-va—"

"I know. Varian." Hector crossed to the bags and rooted through them until he found what he was looking for. Then he turned back to the child. He didn't miss the way Varian tried to inch backwards as he drew closer. When he knelt down next to him and reached out a hand to the boy, Varian cried out in fear—quickly slamming his mouth shut and cutting off the noise—and jerked away.

"Crap!" Hector withdrew carefully and slowly to avoid startling the boy anymore. "Sorry. I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to help you sit up so you can drink this." He held up a small vial. "I didn't want to make you drink it while you were asleep." He sighed at the tiny child's feisty glare. "It's medicine. Relax. If I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it already."

Instead of putting Varian at ease, the words only seemed to frighten him more. Crap.

"That's not what I meant. I just—look, can I help you sit up so you can drink this?"

For an agonizingly long amount of time, the unwilling escapee seemed to size Hector up. The warrior wondered if putting the choice in his hands was a good idea. He probably hadn't had much of a say in anything since this whole ordeal started. Including his rescue.

Finally, though, he gave a small nod. Hector slowly leaned in close and reached an arm out to help him up. The child flinched slightly as Hector slid his arm behind his back. Whether it was from the pain of moving or just the fact that Hector was touching him in the first place, he couldn't say. Probably both. He motioned to one of his bearcats, who slid up behind Varian to allow himself to be used as a backrest. This time Varian's grimace was from pain. He bit his lip. Hard. As he relaxed against the bearcat's side, Hector could see a thin scar forming across the child's lip. Apparently this was a gesture he repeated often.

He did not miss Varian's silence throughout the entire move. No more than a shaky breath here and there indicated he could make noise at all. The realization made his blood boil. What had they subjected his nephew to that he refused to make a sound when he was clearly hurting? Why would he choose to bite himself so hard he left scars rather than make a sound? The one time Varian did express his pain vocally, he had cut himself off so quickly Hector was afraid he couldn't breathe!

Once Varian was upright, Hector gently lifted the vial up. Varian tried to reach out for it, but his hand was shaking badly, and he couldn't get ahold of it. He glared at his hand as if he were personally offended. Hector sighed and lifted the medicine to the child's mouth so he could drink it.

"Drink it quickly. Don't pay attention to the taste." The boy gagged on the medicine but swallowed it obediently. Hector winced in sympathy. He had long since become accustomed to the taste, but he could well remember taking that disgusting sludge since he was younger than Varian. It did the trick, though.

Hector then picked up the blanket and draped it over Varian's legs. The boy's lips tightened in a thin line. "You have a fever," Hector reminded him. "You need to stay covered up. At least your legs."

Varian's eyebrow raised sharply, and he gestured weakly at his forehead. Hector had to bite back a laugh at his nephew's stubbornness. "Yeah, I know you're sweating. You still need to cover up." He turned to the kettle hanging over the fire and stirred the contents. Tasting it experimentally, he nodded in satisfaction. Then he withdrew two bowls from his bag. "Needs to cool for a minute," he said as he ladled what looked to be some kind of soup into the bowls. He set them on the ground and sat cross-legged near Varian. "Okay. There's one thing I have to know. And frankly, I'm dreading to ask." He took a deep breath to steel his nerves. Of all the agonizing things he'd had to do and say in the past, this was the worst. Quietly he began. "Quirin… I saw his body."

Varian's eyes widened, and he seemed to fall apart at the words. Tears sprang to his eyes. His shoulders drew in close as if he was expecting a blow.

"Kid… did you mean to—"

Varian rapidly shook his head in dismay. Then he grimaced in pain at the motion. He looked up at Hector pleadingly and shook his head slower. "I-it—acci—"

"It was an accident?"

He nodded. Then he pointed at himself. "Sho—" His brows knit together in vexation at being unable to speak. Should've been me, he mouthed. Supposed to be me.

"You nearly got stuck?"

He saved me.

Hector wasn't sure whether to cry or laugh. On the one hand, his nephew wasn't a murderer. It was just an accident. On the other hand, Quirin had sacrificed himself for his son. How typical of him. Always willing to put his own life on the line for his family. It was frustrating. And it had gotten him killed.

And what was he supposed to do now? Quirin would be absolutely furious if Hector didn't take care of Varian. He could already hear his older brother yelling at him from beyond the grave. What do you mean you left my son by himself in some village in the middle of who-knows-where? Were you trying to get him sent back to prison, you dirt-licking flower spine? Why not just send him back yourself, while you're at it?

No, leaving Varian alone was not an option. The last thing he needed was to be haunted by the ghost of an angry big brother.

But could he take him with him? Involve him in a mission Hector had dedicated several decades to?

What other option did he have?

He groaned and ran his hands over his face. "Okay. Here's the deal, kid. You and I are taking a road trip. I don't know where we're going yet. I may take you back home with me. I may find someone who can take care of you. We'll figure it out as we go along, 'kay?"

"W-hy?"

"Because I don't need your dad's ghost keeping me awake at night. I got enough ghosts doing that as it is." He picked up one of the bowls and started to hand it to Varian. Then he remembered his busted arm. "Here, I can help you."

Varian shook his head stubbornly. Apparently medicine was one thing, but being fed was too much for him. He held out his right hand. It trembled still, but somehow he was able to hold on to the bowl. He carefully brought it to his lips and sipped at it.

Hector couldn't hide a smile as he watched the range of emotions his nephew's face conveyed. Skepticism was written across his features, apparently put there by the horrid medicine he had taken earlier. Then, as he tasted the soup, his eyes lit up in surprise and delight.

The sentiment was bittersweet. Hector had intentionally left out the spices he usually would have put in there as he didn't want Varian getting sicker or too thirsty. It was unusually bland. If it was delicious to this kid, he couldn't imagine the trash he had been given in prison. He had seen how thin Varian was when he bandaged his abdomen. As soon as he was able to stomach it, the kid was getting a steak.

And some new clothes.

And probably a knife. He needed to be able to defend himself.

He'd probably also need a bearcat or some other creature to protect him. If not a bearcat, maybe a wolf or a cougar—

Hector quickly derailed that train of thought. He wasn't even sure what he was going to do with the kid! Giving him a wild animal companion could come much later down the line, if he even decided to let him stick around. Honestly, the best thing to do would probably be to find a nice, safe orphanage somewhere far, far away from Corona.

Aaaand there was Quirin's ghost, glaring over his shoulder.

Crap.

He was broken from his musings by a hand tapping his knee. He looked up in surprise. Varian was watching him curiously. "Yeah?"

"Wh-why did… did you re-"

"Why did I rescue you?"

He nodded.

Hector sighed. "It's a long story."

There went that eyebrow again. Goodness, the amount of sass this boy could exude even in his condition! Hector couldn't help but wonder what he would be like when he was well.

"I knew your dad."

Varian's head tilted slightly. "How?" he rasped.

"…He was my brother."

The boy's eyes flew open in shock.

"Not biologically. It was more of… an adopted thing. We met as kids. Our sister Adira, too."

He leaned closer slightly. Hector sighed. Of all the things he had expected, storytime with an injured child he broke out of prison was not one of them. "It was years ago. We were so young. We lived in the Dark Kingdom."

"What's that?"

"Shut up and listen to the story. The Dark Kingdom is a kingdom. It's dark. I was getting to that part. Anyway, we all lived in the Dark Kingdom. We were trained as members of the Brotherhood from the time we were kids. Became knights as teenagers."

"What-t's the Broth…hood?"

"An elite group of knights. We were like family. It just sorta stuck. Trained together, fought together, worked, played… we were inseparable."

"What hap—happened?"

He tensed as old memories of a time lost long ago flooded his mind. "The Dark Kingdom was destroyed from within. It was always fading, but that… that was the final blow. The king sent everyone away. The Brotherhood was supposed to keep protecting our home, but… well, we all chose different paths. I chose to guard the way to the kingdom to keep anyone from entering. Adira spent her life chasing something that doesn't exist because she thought she could "save" our home. And Quirin chose to settle down and start a family. We kept in touch with the occasional letter. That's how I knew where to go." He sighed. "I saved you because I owed that much to Quirin. And because what you were going through was cruel and barbaric."

Varian tensed. "I de-deser—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Hector growled with more force than necessary. Anger flared in his chest at the thought that this was what they had drilled into his nephew's mind. "You didn't deserve the way they treated you."

"I d-did hor-rible things!"

"And so did they. Look, I don't know what happened back there. You can tell me when you're better. But don't ever say you deserved what they did to you. Ever."

Once again, the child's eyes filled with tears.

"Ah, crap! Don't cry! I'm sorry? I didn't mean to upset you." What the dickens was he supposed to do now? The only time he ever saw his siblings cry, even as kids, was when they had a broken bone or other severe injury. Well, Varian was technically severely injured, but that didn't seem to be causing his distress. Why would he be upset because Hector had said something nice?

Varian quickly wiped his tears away. "S-sor-sorry."

"No, don't be sorry! I'm sorry. Look, I don't understand kids, and I don't understand emotions. But if you need to cry, go ahead."

"Why a-are you so…ni-nice to me? I killed—"

"No!" Hector grimaced as Varian flinched again. "Sorry. You didn't kill Quirin. He has this nasty habit of getting in harm's way to protect the people he cares about. Well…had. If he saved you, you're not responsible for that."

The escapee closed his eyes, apparently lost in dark memories of his own. "But I am."

"What?"

"He…he told me not—not to mess w-with the rocks… I did an-anyways. The black rocks." Tears openly streamed down his cheeks now.

The black rocks. Somehow it always led back to those stupid rocks. Even away from the Dark Kingdom, it was impossible to escape. And Quirin, the one who had the most to live for, the one with an entire life and future away from his troubled past, was the one to fall prey to the greedy jaws of the rocks' destruction, leaving behind a scared, hurting kid.

A scared, hurting kid that was convinced he was responsible for his father's death.

A scared, hurting kid that Hector needed to protect.

…Ah, crap. They were going to the Tree.

O‴O‴O‴

Varian tried in vain to brush the tears out of his eyes, but more sprang up in their place. The crushing despair that threatened to overwhelm him every time he thought about his father refused to allow him space to breathe. He was drowning, drowning in his own guilt.

His mysterious companion had gone silent at his declaration of responsibility. Now he would turn his back on Varian, would send him back to prison, would give him back into the hands of the guards who hated him.

His dad's brother. The news left him reeling. He had been found and rescued by the one man who would hold a grudge more than anyone else. Now that the man—Hector, he had called himself—knew what Varian had done, he would be furious. He might not even turn him over to the Coronans. He may just kill him himself.

Oh, wait, he was talking.

"…can go through a small town not far from here. We'll wait till tomorrow, though."

"What?"

"Were you not listening? I said there's a town a ways from here. I don't want to move you tonight since you need more time to recover. But we need to be moving by tomorrow morning. We're still too close to Corona for comfort. We only stopped 'cause I needed to check your wounds."

Varian couldn't believe his ears. "I—I just to-told you I probably k-killed—killed my dad!"

"'Probably'?"

He looked away. "I couldn't exactly check his pulse." His voice was growing stronger thanks to the warm soup, but he spoke barely above a whisper. "Th-they all tell me he…he's probably dead now. You shou—should hate me."

Hector continued to stare at him. "Why would I hate you? You messed around with the rocks. Quirin saved you. You're clearly torn up about it. Sounds like you hate yourself enough for both of us. Ah, crap! That's not what I meant!"

Varian was shaking with silent sobs. He bit his lip and held his left arm with his right hand. He had no way to debate Hector's words. They were as true as the sun rising. He hated himself. Hated himself for killing his father. Hated himself for attacking the kingdom. Hated himself for hurting—

"Ruddiger!" he suddenly gasped. Then a coughing spell stole his oxygen. "Can't—can't leave without Ruddiger!"

"Who's Ruddiger? Friend of yours? Is he in prison too?"

He shook his head. "Don't know. They took him. He's a raccoon."

"Ah. A pet, then?"

"My friend. I need to find him!" He tried to push himself to his feet. Then he sagged weakly back against the creature's side.

"'Kay. I'll handle it. Where would he probably be?"

Varian looked up in surprise. "You're…you're gonna look for him?"

"'Course. If you need your raccoon, I'll find your raccoon. Where should I look?"

"Umm… well, if they let him go when they arrested me, he ma-may have gone back to my home. There's an apple orchard he likes to steal from. Or he may be h-hanging around the prisons. No, I don't think he'd still be there after all this time. Yeah, probably my home." Exhausted from the conversation—this was the most he had spoken ever since his arrest—he leaned his head back against the creature and tried to relax.

"'Kay. Wait here. I'll probably be gone till morning. Maybe afternoon. Firewood should last you that long." He moved around the campsite, taking the kettle off the fire and slinging his bags over the back of one of the creatures. "Kiki should be able to take care of anything you need."

"Kiki?"

Hector motioned to the creature he was leaned against. "Kiki. The bearcat. Here, you should probably lay back down."

Varian tried not to tense up as Hector reached out to him. The warrior seemed to stop and consider his actions. "Is it okay if I help you?"

He nodded. Hector helped him adjust back in a reclined position then set one of the bags next to him. "This has some dried fruit and jerky in it. Do you think you can handle solid foods?" He nodded a second time. "Good. It's got a skein of water in it, too. If you absolutely just have to move, let Kiki support you. He can also take care of the fire." He climbed onto the back of the second bearcat. "See you tomorrow." The warrior and his bearcat raced out of the clearing and disappeared from sight, leaving Varian alone with Kiki. Alone with his thoughts.

O‴O‴O‴

Hector gritted his teeth. He was an idiot.

Congratulations. You left a crying child in the middle of the woods by himself with only a bearcat for company. On top of that, you're the reason he was crying!

Hopefully once the kid got his raccoon, he would be okay. Hector knew very well the emotional difference a pet could make. He had always been more comfortable around his bearcats and rhino. The only actual people he had ever felt comfortable around were his siblings. Now one was dead and the other was off committing treason somewhere.

His lack of sociability was the cause of Varian's distress. He had hurt him with his words. Nice going, idiot. And just when you had decided to take care of the kid. Now he'll never want anything to do with you.

But what if he did? What if Varian was okay with going with him, even after what he had said? Maybe when Hector brought back the raccoon, Varian would be grateful and realize Hector wanted to help him.

If that was the case, Hector had a lot of work to do. Every movement he made set Varian panicking. His words were coarse and cruel, and his tone was not at all suited to speaking to a hurting boy. Maybe he'd pick up a book on children. How old was the kid, anyway? Eight? No, the woman in Old Corona had said he was maybe thirteen or fourteen. He was awful small. Nothing a bit of training and good eating couldn't fix.

Getting rather attached, aren't we, old man? You still have a job to do, remember? Where are you going to find room in your mission, in your life, for a kid?

I'll figure it out.

Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thank you and God bless!