Blaine tightens the loop around the window sill and tugs on it. The soft bedding stretches slightly and holds fast – good, it'll hold his weight. He knots the other end around his waist and very carefully climbs out of the window, his fingers slipping into the small gaps for support.

He supposes on rumination, that it's a little silly for him at the age of nineteen to be running away. But it has been over two years, two years since he had watched his brother crumple to the ground in a cursed sleep while Sue had cackled madly and enchanted a dragon to carry him away before the guards had time to react. Two years and Cooper was still gone. After the initial pandemonium died down and the in-depth search across the kingdom proved fruitless, his parents had seemed to exist only in their deep grief, resigned to Cooper's loss. When Blaine had brought up doing a search of his own, his mother had wept for days, lamenting that she couldn't lose her only remaining son.

Blaine loves his mother. He does. He didn't dare bring it up again, but he also couldn't stand doing nothing to find and rescue his brother. For the last year, he had carefully listened to all of the gossip and news, no matter how small and useless it initially appeared, and when that news started to merge into more solid knowledge about where Cooper might have been taken, Blaine broached the subject again and was again rebuked. His parents refused to listen to reason, to his ideas of mounting a rescue, his father yelling at him to think of his mother's grief as she wailed into the night. He walked out of there stiffly, resolve unchanged. Which led him here to this moment where he climbs out of his window in the early summer night.

A rustle at the foot of the tower makes him pause half-way down, heart thumping in panic.

"Blaine!"

"Wesbrook? What are you doing here?"

Wes steps out from the shadows, grabbing on to the fluttering sheet to stabilize it, allowing Blaine to climb easily down the rest of the way. "To see you off, of course."

Blaine claps his shoulder. "I'm glad you're not here to stop me. Because you won't be successful."

"I know, old man. I am well familiar with that stubborn streak of yours. It is also a foolish streak, and I won't let you leave here unprepared."

"I have food and a map." He grumbles, annoyed at the suggestion that he was being foolish.

"And only the shoes on your feet and without a cloak and gloves for when it gets cold. Come."

He can barely make out the shape of the horse that waits next to the gate, shod and loaded with leather packs, its black mane and fur blending into the shadows. The horse nickers in recognition when Blaine approaches. "You're giving me Blackbird? There are other horses in the stable–"

"You know your parents are more likely to come after you if you take one of their prized possessions which is why you were going by foot."

Blaine acknowledges the fact. His father, in particular, is attached to the herd. "You'll lose credible deniability if I take yours." Blaine protests instead.

"Your parents will forgive me. Sooner than they'll forgive you, I'm afraid." Wes replies.

Blaine nods soberly. If he fails in his quest, it is possible that he may not have a home to which to return. Queen Andrea did not take lightly to being disobeyed. "I know. I have to do this. I'll never forgive myself if I leave Cooper to an unknown fate with that woman."

Wes hands him a pair of riding gloves and then a long riding cloak, which he helps drape over Blaine's shoulders. "I am also well familiar with your loyalty. It will serve you well, Blaine."

"You could come with me."

Wes shakes his head a little regretfully. "No, I must stay here. My responsibilities do not allow me time away. Besides, how else will I take over running the kingdom so that your parents forget that they had other sons?"

Blaine chokes back a small sob in his laugh, as he clasps hands with his friend, bringing him in for an embrace. "You have been a true friend and I rest easier knowing that you are here. I will send word regularly."

Wes cups his hands, allowing Blaine to vault easily up into the horse's saddle. "I will look for you. You will succeed, Prince Blaine, I have trust in your abilities."

"I hold your trust, brother. Farewell!" He touches his heel to the horse's flanks, Wes fading into the darkness as they gallop off.


By the end of the fourth day, Blaine sits wearily in the saddle, his backside aching and chaffing uncomfortably. Muscles that he never knew existed ache in protest. He's never thought that he was soft; he keeps active with daily horse rides and fencing and the occasional hunt, but four days sitting upright with legs spread over thick haunches is testing that belief. If he ever were to head out on a rescue mission in the future, he'd add daily lunges to the preparations along with additional pairs of leather pants.

As expected, the roads are clear, with only a few people traveling back and forth to the city markets. Blaine's making good time and Blackbird is a trusty ride, alternating between brief canters and steady walks. Closer to the castle, he avoided the main roads in case royal guards had been dispensed, but the further he gets from the city center, the less he worries about being recognized and detained. The landscape gradually changes from city walls and buildings to rolling hills with the fertile soil tilled and recently planted intermixed with denser woods. The distant mountains creep closer each day, taking up more of the horizon.

Blaine is bored out of his mind. He hadn't realized how much the castle household had provided him with human interaction and conversation and Blackbird was a poor – and quiet – replacement. When Blaine was little, he had almost believed the stories that those touched by fairy magic could talk to animals. Once, he made friends with the little garden rabbit that would come up and nibble directly out of his hand, its nose twitching encouragingly as he spilled out his little boy troubles. The gardener caught him one day with a fistful of lettuce and sealed the hole where the bunny had slipped through. He hasn't tried to talk to animals since then until now. Birdy, unfortunately, seems to show inclination to answer back.

Yesterday, facing another endless day, he had seriously contemplated heading back. He thought himself prepared - he had poured over maps and had plotted his path through the surrounding forests. His scouts had informed him of a similar abduction of a young princess in a kingdom not two weeks away by horse and carriage, and there were rumors of a long abandoned castle in the distant moors suddenly with light in the windows. All of that planning now seems inadequate as he has definitely underestimated the loneliness and the unchanging stretch of the road and it takes all of his self-resolve to not turn Birdy around, but he refuses to label his quest a failure already.

Just before dusk, his horse clops into a small village with nothing more than a tavern, a church, and a town hall. The sign announcing the town, Westerville, is framed with small sparkling lights and he already feels slightly bolstered by the cheerful welcome. He's been sleeping every night just off the side of the road, with no fire as to not attract attention – bandits were more common closer to the kingdom center, but he had no doubt that a king's son would be a heady temptation. Now, body aching in protest and mind longing for some conversation, he thinks that he's far enough from the castle to risk spending the night in the tavern with some hot food and drink.

The hot bath that the innkeeper draws up is worth the extra silver to the cost of the room; he soaks in the water until his skin prunes and the road-induced ache eases out of his muscles and bones. He might have fallen asleep had it not been for the protests of his stomach overriding his drooping eyelids.

Downstairs, the bar has livened up with the evening crowd, women and men stopping off for a drink before heading home for the evening, a few families gathered for the evening meal. It's cozy and bright and Blaine takes a seat by the window, content to observe the surrounding commotion and listen to the idle conversation.

The stew is hot and plentiful, with a thick slice of bread liberally rubbed with butter (that extra coin has coaxed a few amenities) which is the extent of his expectations. The innkeeper stands over him as he eats but, as he wasn't forthcoming on a lot of details of his travels, drifts off to entertain other customers with looser tongues.

His senses prick with the din of the background conversation. "Something fishy's going on up north and it's making me nervous."

"Weather's unsettled too."

"They still haven't found that prince, have they?"

"Not that they've announced. But who knows with royalty. As far as we know, the prince ran off with the kitchen maid and they invented this story about a spell to distract the populace."

"My nan was there that night; she swears she saw the prince collapse and the witch just disappeared."

"I heard the witch killed the whole royal family and the magistrates are propping up dummies so that we won't know and revolt." Blaine snorts at that one and then looks a little nervously. While nobody has shown signs of recognizing him – not unexpected in these rural reaches – he prefers keeping some anonymity. But no one appears to be paying him any attention and he turns back to his stew and ale, carefully listening to the conversation.

There's not much that he's able to tease out from the town gossip, just a general confirmation of a sense of ill winds blowing from the north. "My boy lead a group of knights up north nine months ago and still hasn't come back. It's not like him."

"A blizzard in June. That's not normal."

Blaine starts from his thoughts when a blonde woman takes the bench opposite him. She reaches across the table and grabs his tankard of ale, draining the remaining liquid. "That does relieve a parched throat. You shouldn't listen to them, it might distract you from your true mission."

Blaine jerks back. How would she know? He studies the woman carefully. Her long hair is pulled back from her face and she is wearing at least three different mismatching shirts and various necklaces and rings. She doesn't seem particularly aware that she's said anything alarming. Her gaze drifts off and she hums mindlessly as she grabs at another tankard sitting on the table next to them. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" Blaine questions, although he's certain that it would be unlikely to forget such a person.

"No. Not yet. At least I don't think so. Sometimes the circles of time wobble and intersect, though. Is this one of those times?"

He stares at her. "No?"

"I didn't think so. Lord Tubbington must be keeping them straight today. I'm Brittany Pierce. Pierce because I have the piercing eye of an oracle."

An oracle. There used to be an oracle that would visit the castle grounds every autumn. Cooper always had his fortune told or cards read but Blaine had never believed the smooth words promising prosperity for another year and she certainly hadn't been as … odd as this woman. "That's nice."

"I haven't been an oracle before! Of course, I couldn't be your Goddess, as you are looking for a God, though you don't know that yet. Nor the temptress, although I've always enjoyed that role. So that leaves me with the mysterious mentor."

The conversation is making no sense. He smiles politely at her and sets down his spoon. "I must be off to bed."

"Oh no! I haven't told you yet what you need to know for your journey." She grabs his hand and stares intently in his eyes.

He stills. "What should I know?"

She closes her eyes for a long moment. "Watch out for the shoe."

He blinks. "Pardon?"

"Your future will change with a twist of a shoe." Her eyes pop open. "There."

"There? That's it?"

Brittany shrugs. "Visions are seldom as they seem, but they can be handy from time to time."

He wonders, unfavorably, how she managed to make a living if this was evidence of her fortune-telling skills. "Thank you for the advice, Brittany. I'll keep it in mind."

She claps her hands. "Excellent! I wish I could accompany you as it would be so wonderful to be there when you meet your true love. 'Once upon a dream.'" She sings an old lullaby briefly and waves her hands as if she were dancing. "Maybe next time."

He nods, hoping this will end the conversation. "Next time. Of course. I must be off now." He stands and nods again in her direction. "Goodnight."

"Blaine!" She calls after him. "Be careful of the gang of birds. They are not your friends this time."

He shakes his head in disbelief and heads up the stairs to his waiting bed. Surely tomorrow will be a little less absurd.

It's only when he's upstairs that he realizes that he had never told her his name.


A/N: Reviews and comments make my day. Thanks so much for reading.