Author's Note: Warning for self-harm in this chapter.

Life in the orphanage in the Southern Isles, while already difficult enough trying to live through childhood without a family, was exceptionally lonely for Ivar. The matrons were friendly and helpful, and he didn't get into many squabbles with the other children, so he had no complaints there. No, he knew the loneliness was entirely his own fault. It was a necessary evil, after all.

No one was to know he was a magician. Because once they knew, there was no way to stop them if they decided to tell anyone else. Then there was no stopping whoever they told, so on and so forth. There was no question he'd get stuck into an asylum like all the other magicians. Sure, maybe he'd feel less lonely once the secret was out; but then again, at least in the orphanage it felt like he had more opportunities to fulfill some sense of purpose in his life than living the rest of his existence in an asylum. Existence. It certainly wasn't going to be a life.

It didn't help the hurt at all, though, when he would watch the other children play and he'd have to fake disinterest. He had to continually convince himself that the freedom once he was out of the orphanage would be worth it, be it through adoption or merely outgrowing the need for caregivers. He knew he didn't have any problems hiding any hint of magic about himself, which was fortunate since everyone else seemed to have problems hiding it. And even if he did slip, it wasn't like he could kill anyone unlike the man who called a swarm of wasps upon the citizens of Corona when he was overcome with "the Curse of Magician's Madness" as the populace liked to call it.

Ivar's magic was just innocent little butterflies. Literally.

But, oh God, did the loneliness burn something fierce in his chest. It nearly drove him mad, enough to get him paranoid enough that he was driving himself closer to that Coronian wasp-man's fate.

It probably wasn't the best idea he ever had, and it easily could have gotten him killed if it got infected, but the loneliness and frustration was eating away at him so slowly. And then to top it all off, no one wanted him because he was much too close to manhood, continually being passed up for the younger ones even though that meant he was yet another day closer to gaining his independence...

Stupid idea. Worst idea in existence. Had absolutely no rationale behind it. But...

To retell the events plainly: he took a knife from the kitchen, cut his hand a few times, then hid underneath his cot so that no one would know what he just did. If they noticed, he just brushed it off to clumsiness and made sure to keep the injuries a lot better hidden in the future. Fewer reasons for people to ask questions, the better.

It hurt. It hurt like hell. But to him it hurt less than the loneliness, that's for sure. Above all, though, somehow it worked. The noise in his head from trying to deny himself the want for companionship was quiet.

And so it went that Ivar covered up a secret with yet another secret. But he was fine. Absolutely fine.

Then the opportunity presented itself when he was seeking employment in the town square so that he could ensure that he wasn't homeless once released from the orphanage. He was turned away, again and again, the day of his independence fast approaching with living on the streets within sight. He didn't want that.

But then he somehow caught the attention of Prince Hans as the royal was doing a welfare check of the citizens with the rest of the Royal Family, as they were wont to do every other month. Gaining the youngest prince's attention was an extraordinary feat, since out of the many princes the kingdom had no shortage of, Prince Hans was the one who seemed least likely to concern himself with the goings-on of the citizens. In fact, he was rarely seen ever since the late Prince Søren passed away eight years ago. Even sightings of the youngest prince in public eye within that time span could be counted on one hand.

"Good day, Your Highness," Ivar said, making a bow as the prince hovered around him uncomfortably.

"Good day to you as well," Prince Hans said, his hands clasped behind his back, his face neutral and professional. "If I may ask, how old are you?"

Ivar grinned. "Not much older than you, Your Highness. I am sixteen."

"Are you looking for work?"

"Yes I am, Your Highness."

"I heard word from the other citizens that you are having problems procuring a job."

"That I am, Your Highness."

"Are you good with your hands?"

"Yessir, that I am, Your Highness. The matrons have me help the builders when making repairs at the orphanage and I help in the kitchen sometimes."

Hans gave a stoic nod. "I have recently acquired a horse. Do you believe you are capable of working in the stables?"

"I'll do any labor people put me to, as long as it's honest, Your Highness."

This response seemed to please Prince Hans, since he gave him a small grin. However, the mirth from the prince ceased and his eyes began to scan left and right in distress, though his expression returned to mild interest of the situation.

Any evidence from either the amusement or distress was void from Prince Hans's voice as he said, quite matter-of-factly, "Gather your belongings together from the orphanage. Tomorrow, you will report to the castle and live and work there as a stable boy." Then he turned his attention away and went to the elderly woman beside him to hear what she wanted to say.

Ivar couldn't believe it. He still couldn't believe it when he was later showed where his lodgings would be in the castle. Despite the hand he was dealt in life that pointed to a world a misery, just one chance encounter had turned everything around for the better. He had work, lodging, and servants he worked alongside that felt like the family he never had. He couldn't ever hope to repay Prince Hans and the rest of the Royal Family for giving him this chance, and still they did it.

However, when Ivar tried to thank Prince Hans personally, he found that it was a harder task than he realized. The other princes were very approachable, so it wasn't a matter of social or political status. When asked if Ivar might have the chance to thank the youngest prince face-to-face, the princes just hemmed and hawed and said that it was best to leave him be since Prince Hans preferred to be alone most of the time.

Prince Benjamin, however, suggested that he might catch him coming back from his frequent hunting trips in the nearby woods, but to keep the interaction short.

When asked why, Prince Benjamin said, "I think out of everyone, Hans was the one who took Søren's death the hardest. It was probably the trauma of the death in his early childhood or the trauma of his actions soon afterward that made him withdraw from everyone. Maybe both. Søren and Hans were inseparable. Søren pretty much raised him, in addition to the king and queen and other caretakers. Though don't go mentioning this to everyone else. It's still a sore subject for everyone and it's best to not go picking at wounds that everyone else is trying to recover from."

The death of the late Crown Prince Søren? Of course it was a sore subject.

"May I ask how was his reaction was after the loss, Your Highness?" Ivar asked.

Prince Benjamin pursed his lips and rubbed at his neck uncomfortably. "As much as I'm glad to see your concern over my little brother, I'm afraid that information would either stigmatize him or cause you to worry for him even more. I mean no offense to you, but some things are best kept in the past to never be remembered."

It wasn't even in his intention or position to pry, so the explanation was enough for Ivar, though the mystery and curiosity surrounding the youngest prince had only heightened.

Perhaps this was why the common folk liked to refer to him as a "fae child." The rarity of being close to him, both figuratively and literally, was akin to a sighting of a mythical beast in the wild. But Ivar was optimistic that he'd have more of a chance unlike everyone else. Ivar was probably the closest to a fae as any human could get.

It didn't surprise him when he took Prince Benjamin's advice and waited near the hunting shed after he was finished with the horse stalls and saw the fabled prince return to put away the crossbow. The two locked gazes, inspecting one another.

Prince Hans looked dreadful: animal blood soaking the front of this shirt, the trophied carcasses hanging from a rope against his back (likely to be a part of dinner later), sweat soaking his hair and forehead, dirt caked into his boots and pants from what appeared to be from a long period of kneeling in the mud.

"Ivar the stable boy, correct?" the prince asked.

"Yes, Your Highness," Ivar responded. He mustered courage. "I just want to thank you with the greatest sincerity that you have given me such a tremendous opportunity; a complete stranger, an orphaned peasant, no less."

Prince Hans shrugged, the hunted animals twisting about on their tethers from the small movement. "I haven't done much good for the kingdom unlike the rest of my family. Might as well impact at least one person's circumstances before I die, it would be a waste of privilege if I didn't, right? I'm pleased to know that you appreciate the help, and my family and I are grateful that you are able to help us in kind."

The response wasn't anything he'd expected from Prince Hans, someone younger that him, for Pete's sake. Why so dire? Why do solemn? It was like all the joys of childhood were sucked out of him, and in Ivar's eyes, Prince Hans was still a child. Sure, Ivar himself didn't have a great childhood either at his age. But seeing history repeat itself, especially in someone who gave him such a life-changing offer—

It occurred to him that Prince Hans might not have a friend either. Well, if that were the case, Ivar took it upon himself to do just that. And considering how private the prince was, well…

Ivar gave a bow, waving his hand towards the shed behind his back so that Prince Hans wouldn't see the gesture. The he walked away as if to return to the stables. He looked behind him just in time to see a giant cloud of butterflies pour out of the hunting shed, Prince Hans dropping everything as he stepped back in shock, then looking around him in wonder and laughter of the colorful display of the insects. He looked to Ivar questioningly, who just shrugged innocently in response.

That was how their friendship started and Ivar's pain of loneliness ended.

It was nice, finally having someone to confide in, both his secrets of magic and inflicted pain out in the open between the two. Even Hans—he made it adamant to drop his title when it was just the two of them—had confided everything to him. Even though Hans didn't have such a secret like hiding magical powers from everyone, he still knew the loneliness of keeping magic secret. According to Hans, Prince Søren was also a magic-wielder, but with powers everyone could agree was destructive and dangerous. So when the rest of the family inevitably found out, they went with Prince Søren's wishes to continue to keep it secret as he let himself wither away into nothing before he died. They let the public believe that Prince Søren died due to illness.

Ivar still noticed that Hans was still sad for some reason, so with every chance he could take, he'd try to cheer him up with secret displays of magic or with just being there when the prince needed it. Even the Royal Family were encouraging of the friendship since they said it was the first time they'd seen Hans so much more cheery and social.

"I'm very glad to happen upon you, Ivar," Hans said one day. "One day, maybe we can prove that not all magicians are insane, blood-thirsty destroyers."

"I hope you're not going to reveal my secret anytime soon."

"Of course not! At least, not until much later of course."

Much later came after two years, when Ivar was eighteen and Hans fifteen. Ivar had recently started hurting himself again, much to his chagrin, when scary and… violent ideas started cropping into his mind on a daily basis. Somehow, they would subside for a while from the blood and the pain, but would return much later for the cycle to continue again.

"You can't keep doing this," Hans pleaded. "There's no way anything good could ever come from anything like this."

"I-I-I just don't know what's wrong with me, Hans," Ivar stammered. "I'm just scared that one day I might give in and then I might seriously hurt someone."

"Please, promise to at least try. You've been there for me in the past, let me be there for you this time. I don't want to see you getting seriously hurt either."

Ivar promised, and he stopped.

When it inevitably got bad again, he hesitated, the little paring knife from the kitchen hovering a few inches from his forearm. Then he remembered the promise, put down the blade, and sought out Hans.

Everything after was a blur.

There was screaming and shouting and too much light and too many images of Hans and there was a spade involved somehow. And then there were horses and blood and guards and crying and dark cells and chains and gallows and nooses—

And then butterflies. So many butterflies.

Author's Note: I, in no way, condone self harm in any form, just to make things clear.

I'm once again struggling with trying to write Immurement due to real-life circumstances. Sadly, all of my writing is affected and pretty much any ability for me to write any length of writing is appreciated. So when this whole scene/chapter thing popped into my head and finished it in one sitting, you betcha I'm going to post it, in the hopes that you lovely readers aren't worried about me.

For those who are also readers of Immurement, don't worry, I'm slowly working away at it. I've got about two scenes (about 1k words in), and while I'm a bit peeved at myself that it's taking me a long time to just write two scenes in two weeks, I'm still going to finish it. It's just not going to be in the span of time I hoped it would be initially.

Thanks to you guys who stuck around despite the M rating. I seriously didn't plan that rating change happening, but then the dungeon scene, and mentioning Ivar a few posts ago, I guess it was heading that way anyway without my knowledge.