Title: The Hanged Man
Chapter: One - Woke From Dreaming
Author: Aviy
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Suikoden I and IV
Disclaimer: Writing mine, characters not.
Notes: This took longer than I hoped, I expect the second chapter to take at least as long.
If you notice that my style changed from the prologue it's because it did. I do intend to revisit the prologue when I have time.
CC is rewarded with golden, psychic cookies of doom.
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He couldn't sleep. How long had it been since he'd really just lain awake in bed, staring at nothing and thinking the same? Long enough that he hadn't thought about it until now.
Restless nights were every night, of course; the Soul Eater saw to that. Or perhaps it was his own mind's problems and he blamed the rune. The cause wasn't really important, but deep sleep was a fairy tale matter to him. Meant for poisoned princesses and happily-ever-after's and not for cursed old men.
They no longer kept him awake; They merely troubled his sleep, ever waking him before any real rest was achieved. But that was normal, average, everyday, everydecade, everynight's sleep. He rarely even noticed it anymore.
This was different though. This was soft snores, grunts, farts and sleep talking. It was the mattress at his back, the flat pillow under his head, and the tattered but unfamiliar blankets around him. It was the feeling of a lived in place: without wind or rain, only a handful of children, all younger than his false age, sleeping noisily around him.
It was like being trapped in a very old memory. Because it wasn't his first stay in an orphanage but it, like most of his memories, had a black ending.
It was too comfortable, too right, too full of fragile lives. Not a place he belonged.
In the morning he would leave.
And even if he couldn't sleep, the night would be short. He was good at waiting.
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They were still there; just like they'd been a minute ago and even more like the minute before that.
Ted slid down the alley wall with a sigh and wished he'd thought to steal a book.
It had taken him over an hour to find the city gates from the orphanage, which was in one of the 'worst' parts of town, all the way across the city. Gregminster had changed immensely since he'd last been here. It had been torn down recently, probably due to the war he kept hearing about, but had since then been rebuilt bigger and better. It was... pristine, now. That was the most obvious thing. No city ever really stayed clean for very long, though certain districts would be better than others, but here even the orphanage, which was located in what would surely one day be the slums, was bright and new; its white walls gleaming.
It really could be called a beautiful place, but with the way people talked the war couldn't have been long ago. Ted couldn't begin to imagine how much it must've cost to rebuild so much so well in only a few years. However, he could guess where the money had come from, or rather, where it hadn't been going, if the towns he'd passed recently in this area were any indication.
He slouched more, slipping down the too-clean alley wall until he was in a half-sitting, half-lying sprawl that was just this side of comfortable and would be painful to get out of. It was already getting warm and there would be a hot summer's day ahead, but in this close space, with the shadows long and the stones still chilly enough to counter the warming air, it was quite perfect.
Just dozing there seriously crossed his mind. He'd had no rest in the orphanage, with one child sleeping restlessly in the bunk above him and two other's doing the same to his left. Memories had kept him up all night, but he hadn't really tried very hard to keep them away. Eventually they always came to a bad end but many times there had been bad beginnings too, so when the partially good memories came, he savored them. Last night his own childhood, back when he could honestly be considered a child, had returned. It was after the rape of his village by The Witch, but before his permanent life had begun, before he had the knowledge of his own fate. It wasn't often he could remember that far back with such clarity, and maybe the memories weren't real at all, maybe they were make beliefs -- half-truths where he had filled in the holes without realizing it. It didn't matter. He'd lain awake and let it wash over him, since he could do nothing else, and when it Ended in his mind, the same way it had Ended three hundred years ago, that served to remind him of why the memories would stay bittersweet and he would have to leave Gregminster as soon as possible.
Which ran him in a perfect circle, right back to his current problem. He didn't shift to see if the soldiers were still at the gate, he knew they were; they weren't going to move now, just as they hadn't been moving for the past hour. In truth, Ted wasn't sure why he was lying in an alleyway, watching the guards and gates. His first plan had been to find them, well he had, but that didn't provide him with much of a way out. Hoping that they would just walk away long enough for him to sneak through was ridiculous.
Perhaps he was just trying to work up the nerve to do what was really necessary.
It wasn't as if he'd never bribed anyone before. On the contrary, he was nearly an expert on it. He'd threatened people before too, but since his bow and knife had been taken from him that wasn't an option at all, not even a stupid one.
With enough bits he could pay a merchant to let him hide in his cart, among the goods, or pay a soldier to let him just walk out, or pay a family to claim him as their son. Bribery was easy, assuming you had money. And that was the key point, as he did not. But making money was another thing he was good at. However, the orphanage wouldn't allow it, even now he figured he had another hour or so of freedom before Palmer, the ferret-like spinster who managed the children, noticed he was gone and told the guards to keep an eye out for him.
Ted wondered when governments started caring enough about what children did to go to such lengths to keep them from killing themselves.
Though in this case he supposed most of the blame went to Palmer herself. It had taken him all of five seconds to pin her for exactly what she was, a greedy old witch that had taken the job of caretaker simply to have access to the funds the Emperor provided. She would go to great lengths to make sure he never escaped, because not only would losing children threaten her job, but with less children she would be given less money.
All in all, he didn't mind her that much. He'd stopped caring enough to have personal opinions on people years ago. The lady wasn't going to be a caring maternal figure to any of those children, but that suited him just fine. No chance he was going to get attached. And she did run a good orphanage. It was spotless, and while the children's clothes were bargain rate and she forced them to mend the holes themselves, they were clean and sturdy, which meant he was better dressed today than he had been yesterday. Of course, she had immediately thrown out his cloak, which admittedly was heavy with dirt and not smelling too great, but he had rather liked it anyway.
He'd gotten a bath and a hot meal, which was also cooked by the children but surprisingly good just the same. She had even callously ignored the 'wound' on his right hand. In the army camp he had spent a half hour arguing with the medic to keep him from following the General's orders and trying to 'fix' him. And that was common; adults liked to meddle, and for some reason they all had a hard time believing his hand was merely scarred. Palmer, whether or not she believed him, had simply pointed him to the medical supplies and warned him not to use any more than he needed. So along with new clothes, warm food and clean skin, his bandages were fresh and would do fine until he could pick up a pair of gloves. He was feeling better than he had in a long time, meaning he wasn't quite as grumpy as usual.
Ted rolled to his feet unthinkingly, lest thought ignite an argument with himself as to why it wasn't such a bad idea to just drift off comfortably in a cool alley. The guards weren't going to just let him pass, and since his first shot would be his best one, possibly his only one for weeks, he had to get it right the first time, and that meant money.
He sighed as something that felt a lot like hunger but he knew to be the last vestiges of his conscience began to gnaw away at his gut. He didn't like picking pockets, not even of the wealthy, but the guilt had become so weak over the years that he could cure it with a sandwich.
He was just exiting the alley when the red-clad dart shot past. It missed him by only inches, so that Ted could feel his bangs ruffle in the wind shear. Despite nearly being run down, he might have carried on then with nothing more than a glare for comment. Children always ran down open streets as if propelled by some unseen force. It happened without discrimination to city or time. But he did spare a moment to glance to side, if only to pin the offending runt with a scowl, and saw that it was doubling back and once again aimed right for him. Ted blinked, and had just enough time to brace himself before the kid reached him.
As it turned out, he had nothing to worry about. The child skidded, stopping with whole inches to spare, and hands not much smaller than Ted's own clamped down on his shoulders. "TellhimIwentthatwayokay?" The boy's grip on him was surely desperate, but the look in his eyes was merely playful. If Ted had understood the boy's torrent of words at all he would have refused outright, uninterested in getting caught up in a child's game. Instead he was left, almost literally, in the dust. The boy ran past him again, this time back into the alley, and Ted tried to mentally decipher what had been said.
His mouth opened, ready to demand what the hell this was all about, but old habits called him to hang back. Curiosity was an emotion he'd drained himself of years ago. Questions lead to involvement. So gritting his teeth, he again turned to leave the alley.
From the corner of his eye Ted saw a green bandana disappear behind a stack of boxes and crates, just a moment before he was nearly run down again, this time by a man considerably taller than him.
The man should have towered over him, as Ted didn't quite reach his shoulder, but though his back was straight, the man gave the constant presence of hunching. Standing in the shadow of such a shortly tall man, the feeling was so familiar Ted had to press his lips together firmly until an old ache passed.
"Excuse me, young sir," The tall-short man apologized, taking a step back when he finally noticed Ted. "I'm very sorry, have you seen my young master? He's..." Now that he was no longer forced to crane his neck, Ted noticed the tall-short man had long, blond hair and scar on his left cheek. The stranger's wavering hand stopped at about the same height as Ted's nose. "He's about this tall, he's wearing a green bandana and a red tunic and... He just came this way. Please, have you seen him?"
Ted grimaced at the man's pleading stare; he wasn't interested in getting involved, even if it was just once, just once in a decade. Even if it probably couldn't hurt. Even if it shouldn't, anyway. "Yeah yeah, he's righ--OW!"
The tall-short man blinked at him as Ted's arm suddenly flew to his own side, protectively clutching his surprise wound. Even knowing where the attack had come from, the weapon was retracted before he could see it. He had to hand it to the kid, he was fast -- but still, that had been his kidney, dammit.
"Young sir? Are you okay?" Ted was favored with a wide-eyed, worried look.
"Fine," he growled out. Rudely, but the stranger's worry wasn't for the painful ache in Ted's side anyway; it was because the tall-short man's concern for his Young Master grew the longer he waited for a reply. Ted was all too familiar with the type.
And that was ultimately what caused him to change his mind. The blond man panged him with half-lost memories, but just the same Ted couldn't help but feel something like sympathy for whoever got stuck on the receiving end of that obsession. Still, he thought, rubbing the new bruise in his side, the kid was a bit of a brat. Albeit one with reason. "You're Young Master went that way," Ted lied, cocking his head down the road. "And then he turned left at that yellow shop down there."
The tall-short stranger brightened, and Ted half expected to also feel the familiar guilt at lying to such honest naïveté, but all that came was the almost-pang of hunger. Good then. He wasn't still that weak.
And then the blond man was gone with an already forgotten 'thank you' still on his lips, racing off after his young master's shadow.
As soon as the green cloak was out of sight Ted turned and shot a dirty look at the crates. "You can come out now."
The boy emerged grinning impishly; the stick he'd used for the kidney shot was casually cast aside. "Thanks." He leaned forward, placing his elbows up on the crates and watching Ted. "It gets harder to lose Gremio every time."
Ted supposed that was enough of an explanation in the eyes of a child, and he wasn't surprised when no apologies were offered for trying to rupture someone's internal organs. Though from the gleam in the boy's brown eyes Ted expected the other was just waiting for the complaint to come. In any other instance he would have done it, but instead he stood, perfectly still, and watched the brown eyes that were watching him. It wasn't shock or awe, just an acidic weight, a gut churning sensation. He knew the feeling well, it was the lead-like pain of old things, dead things. More often than not he could never place it exactly. Most likely he'd known the boy's great-great-great grandfather or twice that great grand uncle. If the boy hadn't been so young, and if Ted hadn't come in contact with so few people in the past decade, he would have assumed that he'd met the boy as an even younger child and forgotten. It wouldn't have been the first time.
"I'm--" And when the child spoke, he turned away, not even having to think about it. In one fluid motion the telling eye contact was severed.
"I don't care." He didn't. It had been a peculiar morning already, two people who brought up familiar feelings, but those were the worst kinds of days and they often turned into the worst kinds of years.
He left, not bothering to wave or say good-bye.
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It took less than fifteen minutes wandering Gregminster's mid-morning streets to be reminded of why he had spent the majority of the past three hundred years secluded. Certainly the Soul Eater kept him from actively seeking out companionship, but society itself was, at best, an acquired taste. And Gregminster, capitol of Toran -- which they were now calling Blood Moon Kingdom, or something similarly silly -- was the peak of civilized society, short of going to Harmonia itself.
The market place was in full bloom at this hour, and far too loud. Carts thumped and clattered down the streets, wares were hawked, only to have arguments begin as would-be customers bartered with the hawkers, and through it all the livestock brayed, neighed, baaed, clucked and made every other sound they possibly could, just to add to the chaos. Ted hadn't bothered to ask anyone the day yet, but he figured it must be the weekend because far too many of the tall bodies pushing past him had the lackluster look of country yokels who must've traveled miles to sell here today.
He found a pocket in the crowd and headed toward it, grateful for a few seconds to stand still where his personal could remain space intact. The orphanage, he could admit, wasn't bad. Infact, if he could afford to he might even admit that he'd like to stay, if just for a while. But this... It wasn't that he was claustrophobic, not exactly. Perhaps he had been, once, but over time, over life times, all the irrational fears fell away until the only ones left could only be considered truly irrational by an outsider. So it wasn't claustrophobia, but the press and sway of the crowd gave him a headache, and the constant feeling of being over-looked, and underfoot irritated him. And the air seemed heavy, refusing to stir with a lifting breeze despite that all the people moving through it seemed enough to create a small whirlwind at least.
Ted closed his eyes and rocked slowly, forward than back, toe to heel, heel to toe.
He just needed some money. If there had been a war recently inflation was probably up, so a successful bribe would be costly, and it had to be successful. If he found, by some amazing un-luck, an honest soldier then he'd be again dragged to the orphanage and once Spinster Palmer found out he'd been trying to bribe the Emperor's men Ted wouldn't even be able to even get out of his room without a fuss.
For a moment he considered sending away to Harmonia. It wasn't as if he didn't have any money anywhere. He'd fought countless battles in his slew of lifetimes, and uncovered a fair amount of glittering things. Most of it he had sold, some of it he had used until it was worn to pieces or lost, and the rest he had stored away in a vault. A hundred years ago Harmonia had been the only city with a trust worthy banking system and so Ted had made use of it, locking up personal items he was afraid of ruining as well as them anything that might be useful one day. There he had runes, armor, weapons and more than enough gold to get him out of this situation. But it would take weeks for even a sack of coins to arrive. Even accounting for a soldier's greed his escape shouldn't cost more than a few hundred bits, and for that much he was better off getting a job.
And even more practical than that, if he was stealing it would take him only a few days. Ted didn't make a habit of being a thief, but like many other things, he was good at it anyway. Even a Jack-of-all-trades became a master at many if you gave him enough time.
He opened his eyes. The headache wasn't gone, nor were the people, but the air at least didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.
However, if anything the market itself was only getting busier. The pocket of empty street he'd found was filling up and, as man jostled against man cries of "excuse me" and "sorry" and "watch it!" became louder and more frequent. Letting out a slow breath Ted began to turn a circle, looking for a potential prospect. "Might as well get this over with." If he could filch enough off two or three people he'd be out of here that much faster.
"Get what over with?"
Ted stopped dead, as was his habit now when people surprised him. He was ages past a time when he would jump or yell if startled. Instead he froze and slowly bit the inside of his cheek to keep from letting out a low curse when he recognized the voice behind him. "Why are you following me?"
There was no answer, but he turned in time to see the boy shrug out of the corner of his eye, and the truth was that was an answer. He had plenty of experience with 'kids his own age', there hadn't been just one orphanage before, nor had there been just one kind family to take him in, and on occasion there had even been groups of runaways and outcasts, would-be brigands that had a knack for stumbling across his self-induced solitude. In the end, the only thing to understand about children was that before a certain age, each one had a unique and deeply individualized sense of logic that only close friends were privy to understanding, if that. Asking 'why' was, ultimately, pointless until they were at least eighteen.
The boy squirmed slightly and Ted realized that he'd been frowning hard at the other; he hoped it was enough to make the boy consider his bad choice in following strangers.
Apparently it wasn't, because the boy grinned a bit sheepishly but went back to his original question anyway. "Get what over with?"
"None of your business," he shot back with a scowl. Ted wondered if ignoring him or telling him off would be the fastest way to get rid of the brat. Picking pockets with an audience was, in layman's terms, moronic.
There was another shrug and the boy stepped up along side him, watching the strangers pass them by in a quiet, amiable way that would have been companionable if he had actually been a companion. "Doesn't have to be my business for you to tell me." This statement came after a moment of careful thought, and was delivered in a tone of voice so innocent that had Ted actually been a young child, he might have been foolish enough to think it was reasonable.
But Ted was an old man, however he looked, and wasn't swayed into considering whether or not the boy's request was fair. He just glanced sideways at the other with a withering stare, "I'm not telling you, so give up." The look failed. The boy only grinned and sparkled with his own secret amusement.
Ted felt the look slide off his face with a grimace and turned away, back to the river of people flowing around them, as careless of their existence as any true body of water. He couldn't even be properly condescending toward whelps anymore without them laughing at him. For the millionth time in as many days he wished he'd stayed aboard that (literally) damned ship a few more years. Long enough to put on a few inches, maybe even enough to start shaving. Being able to grow a beard probably would have helped him many times in the course of his life. For example, no one would throw a kid with a beard into an orphanage against his will, whether or not he was actually still a minor would be irrelevant. The great General Teo would have looked like a fool for trying to help such a poor, lost child if that child had had facial hair.
Ted let out a puff of air between narrowed lips, and glared without looking at the kid next to him. "Whatever, will you go now?" When no response came immediately he turned, pinning the other with an incredulous look. "Go find someone else to annoy. I'm not going to play with you."
"Playing is for babies." The tone was indignant, even scornful, as if Ted was the idiot for thinking of 'playing' at their age.
He met the boy's indignation with a sharp grin, where all the amusement held within was black. "Heh, you're right. So maybe you should go find someone your own age."
It was the first time he managed to get a rise out of the boy, an honest to god glare that little boys gave right about the time they were starting to think seriously about tackling you to the ground. Not a brawl the way men, or at least, much bigger boys did it, but concequenceless tussling and punching that would leave more grass stains than bruises, and once there'd been a pin, and someone finally called uncle, once that had happened the argument would have been settled without words, and just as silently the whole incident would be behind them. It was one of the universal and priceless parts of boyhood, even for Ted, once upon a time.
"Don't even," Ted warned, and this time the warning worked, because the other's glare became more petulant and he didn't bother to act like he didn't know what Ted meant. Instead the boy settled back into his easy slouch and declared sulkily, "You're only a few years older than me."
Ted only snorted, and while his reply was loud enough to be heard, it was meant for himself alone. He knew because there was always a dim bitterness to his voice when he spoke to himself. "A few hundred, sure."
The boy blinked at him, and probably ran Ted's words back through his head a few more times. Even children weren't used to hearing absurd things like that out of the blue.
Ted didn't bother to try to cover it up, he rarely did anymore. No one really believed it when a child said they were three hundred years old, even in a world where many, the schooled at least, must realize it was entirely possible. Once he'd been careful, so very careful. Along side his nightmares of burning towns, dead families and shadows in the rune there had been the ever-present fear of being found out. Sure that people would crucify him if they knew, blame him the way he deserved to be blamed, burn him with the same fire he'd unwilling brought down on too many others. And The Witch of course, for an even longer time there had been fear of The Witch, that somehow word would come to her about the little boy with the long life and she would hunt him down and this time he wouldn't escape.
But he no longer feared people blaming him because he now knew they would never believe him; at worst he'd be labeled a fibber, nothing more. And The Witch he hadn't run into in good long while, though he knew it was foolish to think her dead. Not that it stopped him from hoping.
The main reason though was that he simply didn't care. Been there, done that with pretty much everything, and enough times for ten of him. But the game of pretending to be something he wasn't was the most tiresome of all.
And maybe, possibly, foolishly he hoped he'd be believed. No one had believed the truth for decades, and so for decades he lived the lie.
The boy hadn't said anything since Ted's self addressed comment, and when Ted finally turned to look at him, he found the boy watching him with a quiet consideration that was a bit unnerving from someone so young. For the first time he realized the boy was probably very smart for his age. He could feel it, not in the (too familiar) eyes themselves, but in the look. Ted would have guessed he was the type that took in information and sifted it into fine knowledge, always managing to gain some tiny thing from every encounter.
Ted's thoughts were only confirmed when the boy, watching Ted watching him, seemed to sense the thoughts and again began to grin. Smirking, really, as if thanking Ted for the unwitting complement, though of course he'd always known it was true.
The only response from Ted was a flat scowl that bounced off the boy's smug exterior with a resounding mental doooooonngggg.
Absently Ted thought it fitting that it was the sound of ringing brass.
He shook his head, a habit he'd picked up somewhere, as if it helped him in ridding himself of the old man thoughts. When they were gone -- it took only one shake each way -- he addressed the boy again, remembering he had bits to steal. "Don't you have something better to do?"
"Nope." Ted wasn't in the least bit surprised by the answer. The boy tilted his head back, finding the sun's position with squinting eyes. "Class is prob'ly over," he added with a wide grin. "But if I go back too soon Germio will try to teach me himself. Better if I stay 'way 'til dinner."
"Dinner?" Ted couldn't hide his grimace. That was hours from now, he imagined the kid would eventually get bored and leave him, but at this rate it wouldn't be before someone tried to drag him back to the orphanage. "Don't you need to go home to eat lunch?"
Apparently the boy's stomach agreed with Ted's idea, and chose that moment to voice its opinion loud enough for both of them to hear. This caused the boy to laugh a bit sheepishly, but without any real embarrassment. He patted his stomach almost fondly. "Don't need to. But you're right, it's time to eat."
Now that the subject of food had been brought up Ted's stomach was roiling with real hunger. He smothered a groan. If he wanted to eat he'd have to go back to the orphanage. Bringing a snack with him had been out of the question, since Palmer kept a lock on the kitchen outside of meal times.
The boy had found a row of crates against the wall between two vendors and now he was standing on them, tiptoes and all, to peer over the heads of the crowd.
Ted followed him there only because their bubble of free-space was nearly much gone, and now the only place left to stand without being trampled by 'grown-ups' was up against the wall anyway. "What're you looking for?"
"Food," the boy answered simply. The moment he said it his eyes lit up and Ted guessed he'd spotted what he was after. Jumping down the boy grabbed Ted by the arm and dragged him off into the heart of the chaos before he could form any protests.
Thirty seconds later they came out the other side. Ted had managed to free himself from the boy's grasp, but his left foot was throbbing dully after being stepped on not once, but twice by passing strangers, both of whom yelled at him when it happened. The boy, somehow, was completely unscathed.
They were close enough now to smell the food over the stench of the crowd, and the boy immediately followed the scent to a small stand offering meat buns. He bought four, and Ted winced mentally at the price, realizing that he'd likely greatly underestimated what a bribe would cost him. Not that it looked like he was going to get a chance to work on that today at all, because the boy paid the thirty-five bits without hesitation and returned offering half of the meal to Ted.
There was an awkward moment where Ted stared at the food, debating if he rather take the logical route and accept the food with as much grace as he was willing to muster, or refusing it in order to spare himself any need to feel indebted to the boy.
The matter was solved when the boy realized Ted's dilemma and, brows knitting, shoved the two meat buns at him, forcing Ted to either accept them or let the food fall wasted to the ground. Ted caught them automatically. If nothing else he had enough hungry nights behind him to instinctually avoid wasting a perfectly fine meal.
"Stubborn." Despite all attempts, Ted still sounded grudgingly grateful, and the boy's response was an expectedly cheeky, "You're welcome".
They wandered away then, agreeing without talk to get out of the crowded market place as soon as possible. Ted was halfway through his first meat bun before realizing, with unsurprised dismay, that while the boy had helped him solve the problem of lunch, he had subsequently forced Ted to give up on his intentions of stealing. At least for today he no longer had any intention of picking pockets or trying to force the boy out of his company. His attempts to convince himself that his reasons were utterly practical, that he wasn't going to be able to make the boy leave, that it was getting too late in the day, that there was no real problem with waiting until tomorrow, were all unsuccessful. But he stuck to them away. Accepting that sometimes he gave up too easily, just for the sake of a day's companionship, even from a brat, was far easier to do than admitting it.
And it really didn't matter that much anyway. Leaving tomorrow would be the same as leaving today, no worse, and maybe even the day after that.
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BG music: The Delgados - Woke From Dreaming
Follow-up stuffs: Not as long as I expected it to be, but still the longest thing I've even written ; I'm getting better at this proof reading thing, since I think I read this at least two dozen times.
I didn't really like the BG song for the Prologue, but I LOVE it for this chapter and I strongly suggest tracking down the song.
My main comment is that I didn't get around to naming the hero. I DO know his name, but it just never happened in this chapter ; This amuses me because I spent a lot of time angsting over what to call him.
The next chapter will probably take a couple of months for several reasons. I have some original work I want to do first. And because... I'm not sure what happens next chapter ; That sounds bad. Don't worry, I have this story laid out, but I have more ideas for some areas than others. Most of my ideas are for after Ted gets adopted. GETTING him adopted pains me greatly, as he's a stubborn, wangsty asshat.
If you noticed that the summary changed from four years to five and a half years cookie for you. My previous math skills sucked.
More love for my beta, Ruaki.