Adira had never struggled to meditate before. Then again, she had never tried to meditate while a badly injured and probably sick naked boy laid on her bed, watching her with bright yellow eyes.
Adira eventually gave up on her meditation. She just sat there and looked at him with just as much curiosity as he stared at her. This went on until Adira shifted her position, just to make herself more comfortable. The movement startled the boy. He flinched and made a little whine, though he quickly bit his lip and silenced himself, squeezing his eyes shut tight.
This simple action was enough to tell Adira that not only had the boy been hurt, but somebody had hurt him. This boy looked like he was in agony, and he wasn't letting himself make a sound because he knew the consequences of doing so.
"I'm not going to hurt you." Adira said casually. She didn't have the best quiet, comforting tone. She said this reassurance like it was just a simple fact. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so already." The boy opened his eyes and glared daggers at Adira. He looked ready to murder her, but it was hard to be intimidated by somebody who couldn't even move without being in pain.
Adira got to her feet. "I won't hurt you. At least, not until you're able to fight back." She didn't mean to threaten him, it was just a comment that she considered to be equally fun and honorable. She wouldn't kick someone while they were down unless they were her enemy, but at the same time she was more than happy to spar with whoever wanted a piece.
The boy didn't look offended or frightened, but he didn't look amused either. He just blinked and stared at her. "No hurt?"
"No hurt." Adira confirmed. "Quirin left you in good hands, Fuzzball."
The boy looked bewildered. "Fuzzball?"
"Well, I don't know your name." Adira stood up. "And I'm not just going to call you boy, so you're going to be Fuzzball, in honor of that absolute mess on your head."
Fuzzball stared at Adira for a long moment before he gave her a very small smile. "I like it."
Adira was shocked. "You do?" It was the first time that somebody had said that they liked her nicknames. They either hated them or completely despised them.
Fuzzball hummed to himself. "Not mean."
Adira frowned. "Have people called you mean nicknames?" She may use nicknames that people didn't like, but her intention was never to be cruel.
"Lots." Fuzzball said. "Stupid. Useless. Demon. Mutt. Bitch." He frowned slightly and closed his eyes in a grimace. "Lots more, but thoughts hurt."
Adira was concerned, and not just because of those cruel insults that could hardly be considered nicknames. "Do you mean that thinking is hard because your head hurts, or thinking about what happened is too painful?"
Fuzzball was quiet for a long moment, just staring at her. He looked like he didn't quite understand the question. Eventually a small spark of awareness came to his eyes. "Head…I think."
"You think?" Adira took a step towards Fuzzball, feeling very content when he didn't flinch back. "Do you understand what I said?"
"I think so." Fuzzball said. "But I think I'm wrong. I'm wrong a lot."
"Says who?" Adira asked, though she could take a guess.
"Father." Fuzzball said, and that was that.
"Well, I think he's wrong." Adira said. "I assume he's the one that calls you those names. Why would he do that?"
"Why?" Fuzzball frowned. The spark seemed to disappear from his eyes in an instant. "Why…why…why?" Fuzzball brought his hands to his hair and started pulling tightly on it. He was growling to himself. Adira didn't know what she had said wrong, but Fuzzball was clearly upset.
Adira didn't hesitate or doubt herself. She hurried to Fuzzball's side and took his hands in a firm grip. She could feel his muscles twitching as she grabbed his sore wrists, but the torment in his head was stronger than his physical pain. Fuzzball growled and curled in on himself as he gave his hair a sharp tug.
"Stop." Adira said firmly. She rubbed Fuzzball's hands as she gently tried to pull them away from his hair, without making him pull on it painfully. "You need to stop." Quirin had tasked her with the job of keeping him from getting more hurt, and attacking himself like this certainly counted.
Fuzzball didn't react to her words, but as she continued rubbing his hands she could feel them relaxing. After a long minute he slowly relinquished his hold on his hair. Fuzzball was still making a pained keening sound, and he was shaking, but he wasn't hurting himself.
Adira slowly moved her grip from Fuzzball's hands to his arms, which she rubbed firmly. He made a broken sounding sob as he curled more on himself, almost bringing himself to a fetal position. Adira had been rubbing Fuzzball's arms because she had hoped that maybe he was the type of person that found comfort in physical touch. Now she was wondering if it was causing him pain instead.
Knowing how much she hated it when well-meaning people touched her when she was upset, Adira immediately began to pull away. Fuzzball whined and, moving faster than Adira had thought he was capable of right now, grabbed one of her hands and pushed it back onto his arm.
It looked like Adira's assumption had been correct, in a way. She didn't know if she would say that the boy found comfort in her touch, but he certainly seemed to be craving it. Adira knew that he probably needed more than a simple rubbing on his arm.
Adira took a deep breath, trying to mentally and physically prepare herself. Still holding Fuzzball's arm, Adira got onto the bed and climbed over him, settling onto the mattress next to him. Adira wrapped her arms around the boy and pulled him up to sit and lean against her.
Fuzzball made a sound like a wail as he pushed against her, clinging to her arm like a lifeline. Adira felt the skin on her arm stand on end at the point where their skin touched. Where her clothes and Quirin's cloak served as a protective barrier she was all-too aware of the pressure that Fuzzball's grip caused. It wasn't painful, or even necessarily uncomfortable, she was just very aware of it, and it was all she could think of, and she didn't like it at all.
But Adira's discomfort and the urge to push Fuzzball away and shake out her arms, they weren't nearly as strong as Fuzzball's distress and anxiety. Adira didn't like touch, because she was always hyper aware of it, but she was willing to tolerate it if she thought that somebody else needed touch more than she hated it.
Adira sat there stiffly as Fuzzball cried against her. She really didn't know what she was supposed to do. She wasn't a sweet and comforting type of person, and whenever she was involved in touch like this her thoughts could focus on the touch and nothing else, making it very hard to think.
Adira wanted this to end, but the boy's crying made it clear that he'd be like this for a while. And Quirin said that he wouldn't be back for a few hours.
Oh, this was going to be a long night.
Everything hurt, and he, Fuzzball, who really did like that nickname, almost wished that he couldn't feel anything at all. And then the girl, Adira, touched him and he decided that he didn't want to ever stop feeling. It was like when Quirin had held him close, to protect him, except Adira's touch didn't really have a purpose. She wasn't moving him. She wasn't hurting him. She was just touching him for no reason at all, and he didn't think he could think of a time when somebody had done this.
He liked it, but he just didn't understand it. He didn't understand anything about any of this. Why had Quirin been at his home? Why did he help him? Why was Adira helping him, when she knew even less about him than Quirin did? Why did both of them ask so many questions?
More questions came to his head, and they made his chest tighten.
Why had his father left him outside for so long? He'd never done that before. What had he done so wrong? He felt like he deserved all of his pain, because his father had told him so numerous times, but he didn't understand why. Why did his dad hurt him? What could he do to make it stop?
And while Adira and Quirin knew very little about what he had been through, they both seemed to think that it was really bad, and that didn't just confuse him, but it scared him too. Was this not normal for other people? Was Fuzzball really that much of a freak that he was the only one that deserved this kind of pain? And if so, just how long would it take for Adira and Quirin to find out how bad he was? Would they hurt him too?
Fuzzball didn't want to think about that. The thought made him feel sick. Instead he just focused on Adira's touch as she held him. It was nice and gentle, and so soft. Even though he was crying and making noise, she still wasn't punishing him, which just made him cry louder. He couldn't stop.
He didn't know what Adira and Quirin wanted from him. He didn't trust them. But they weren't hurting him. If anything, they were taking his pain away, and he was in so much pain.
If he thought his legs could carry him he would pull out of Adira's hold and run right out the door. He didn't know whether he would run back home before his father noticed he was missing and punished him, or if he would run past the black rocks and into the forests outside the kingdom where nobody would find him. At that moment he didn't think it mattered where he went, just as long as he was gone before he was hurt again.
But his body was betraying him. He couldn't leave. He was stuck. It scared him, but he also liked it a bit. He'd been stuck at home too, and it had hurt. This stuck still hurt, but it was also soft, and he didn't want to lose that softness, even if he wished that he could get it without there being a person around who could hurt him.
He was tired, and his head hurt. He didn't feel safe, but he never felt safe. As far as Fuzzball was concerned as long as he wasn't being actively hurt then it was okay to sleep. Otherwise, he'd never sleep at all. He sighed and sank closer to Adira as he closed his eyes and finally let his pain and exhaustion take over as he fell asleep.
Typically dinners with the royal family could last for hours, but Quirin was able to get away early. Edmund knew that he was in a hurry, and he made an excuse for him. Quirin would have to make it up to his friend. He owed a favor to both Edmund and Adira, but it would be worth it if it meant helping that boy.
Quirin had to keep himself from running back down the halls of the castle. When there were dozens of knights in training staying in the castle, the staff had quickly learned that if somebody was in a hurry, it meant that they were probably in trouble.
Quirin made his way down to the barracks, though he stopped by the infirmary to grab some basic medical stuff. The medics didn't give him a second glance. They were used to guard trainees coming up here to grab supplies instead of coming up here for every little sprain they got in training.
Quirin didn't really know just how hurt the boy was, but he wanted to be prepared. He hurried to Adira's room and opened the door without knocking first. This was a mistake. In his rush he wasn't careful and ended up slamming the door against the wall. The boy, who had been lying next to Adira, looking fast asleep, jerked up with an alarmed shout.
The boy yelped in alarm and practically threw himself off the bed, clawing and screaming at Adira as he tried to untangle himself from her. He stumbled onto the floor, only to collapse to a heap with a weak groan. Quirin grimaced and closed the door behind him. He hadn't wanted to scare the boy.
"Hey," Quirin knelt on the ground and reached out for the boy. The kid's eyes narrowed dangerously. He growled and lunged forward, his fingers curled as he prepared to scratch at Quirin. He was aiming for his face, and Quirin had to step back.
The boy wouldn't stop going after Quirin. His moves were sloppy and would be easy enough to fight back, but Quirin couldn't bring himself to do more than retreat and go on the defensive. He didn't want to hurt the boy, like he knew he was more than capable of doing. The boy was just desperate and scared. How could Quirin risk hurting the boy for practically protecting himself?
The boy eventually got a hit in. He tackled Quirin so harshly that stumbled a little bit over his own feet, which gave the boy the advantage that he needed. He scowled and took a swipe towards Quirin's face. He closed his eyes tight and felt just the start of a harsh scratch when it suddenly stopped and the boy let out a pained scream.
Quirin opened his eyes to see the boy crouching on the ground, his hands pressed against his nose. Adira was standing there just behind him, a fire in her eyes. It took Quirin just a moment to realize that she had pulled him back and hit his nose, the one part of him that they could clearly see was hurt.
"You didn't have to hurt him." Quirin scolded. Adira gave him an unimpressed look.
"He was going to scratch your eyes out." Adira said. "You're welcome for saving you from blindness."
"He's just scared." Quirin approached the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. The boy growled and drew back. He didn't try to attack Quirin, but he glared at him. Anger and fear was in his eyes, and Quirin really hated that look.
"I understand that Fuzzball is scared." Adira crossed her arms. "But it doesn't give him a right to hurt you when you're just trying to help him."
"I don't think he understands that." Quirin said. He kept one hand on the boy's shoulder, holding him in place, while he brushed his other hand in the boy's hair. He was trying to both calm him and untangle the mess. The boy was stiff and stayed still, too scared to move or resist. Quirin knew that the boy didn't trust him, but hopefully he would come to.
"Really, I don't think he understands much." Quirin said. He doesn't seem to understand what I say half the time."
"I think Fuzzball understands more than any of us think." Adira said. "Even him."
Quirin frowned slightly at Adira. "Do you have to call him Fuzzball?" He'd always thought that Adira's nicknames were ridiculous.
"What do you want me to call him?" Adira asked, and it was annoying that she had a point. "I don't know his name."
"I'm not sure if he has a name." Quirin said honestly. He leaned closer to the boy. "Is there anything you want us to call you?"
The boy didn't answer. He didn't growl, or shake his head, or whimper. He just sat there. Quirin hummed thoughtfully. "Well, would you mind if I came up with a name for you? You don't have to use it if you don't want to, but I don't want to just keep calling you boy." He'd been chained up, collared, and treated like a dog. Quirin didn't want to do anything to feed into that kind of treatment.
The boy didn't answer or react again. Quirin didn't want to do anything without the boy's permission, but he also didn't think that he was in any position to give such permission.
"How about…Hector?" Quirin asked.
The boy was still for a moment before he lifted his head ever slightly to look at Quirin. He tilted his head and stared with wide eyes. Quirin couldn't help but be reminded of a curious dog. The very thought of the comparison made Quirin's stomach twist in guilt.
Quirin took a deep breath and shoved down both the guilt and the comparison. "H-Hector's somebody we learned about in our history classes." Quirin said quietly. "It's said that he was on the run when he stumbled upon the moonstone. We don't know what he was running from, or why, but it doesn't really matter. The moonstone, the moon, it protected him and gave him the chance to start over, and he took it in stride."
"Hector became the moon's most loyal servant." Adira said. The boy turned his head towards her, but he kept his gaze on Quirin. "His story has been passed down the generations. It's used as an example for knights that we need to leave behind all we were and serve the moon with everything we have."
Adira wasn't wrong, but Quirin didn't like it when it was phrased like that. It made it sound like they were forced into this life. What the story truly meant was that it didn't matter where they came from or who they were, the moon saw potential in all of them, and they all had something to offer.
Quirin continued to brush the kid's hair with his fingers. "You don't have to serve the moon if you don't want to, but you don't have to go back to that place ever again. You can do whatever you want with your life, and I'll help you with whatever you do." Quirin leaned forward, lowering his voice and whispering so only the boy would hear him. "Your life is your own. Where you came from, why you were there, it doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to. You may not be able to change your past, but your future is an empty book just waiting to be written. And I want to help you write it, if you'll let me."
The boy stared at Quirin blankly, his head still tilted. He didn't seem to understand what he had said. Quirin had been too loquacious. He had been spending way too much time with Edmund in his lessons.
Even if the boy didn't understand, Quirin meant every word he said, and someday he would figure out how to tell the boy in a way that he could understand. In the meantime, Quirin would stand by the boy, no matter what.
"Can I call you Hector?" Quirin asked.
The boy made an odd expression that Quirin didn't quite understand. "H-Hector. Th-that's a human name."
Quirin seethed, but he forced his voice to remain steady so that he didn't scare the boy. "Yes, it's a human name, because you're a human, not a dog, and you deserve a real name."
The boy blinked. "Human names are good. I deserve good? Not bad?"
"Not bad." Quirin said. "Never bad." The boy didn't seem to completely believe him, but he at least understood.
"Hector." The boy said. "I'm Hector. I'm h-human." The boy looked carefully at Quirin, as though waiting for him to contradict or scold him, but all Quirin could do was smile.
"Yes, you are." Quirin said. He gave Hector's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. They could do this. "Hello, Hector."
A/N: It's a lot harder to write Hector's talking and comprehension than I was ready for. Obviously, he can talk, but he's just out of practice when it comes to getting his thoughts into words. As for hearing and comprehension, I'm just comparing this to the way I understand Spanish.
I understand plenty of individual words, and can pick up plenty through context, but listening to conversations is nearly impossible because I'm so busy mentally translating what words I do know that I completely most of the other words said.
I'm not sure how well writing about Hector's understanding this way is going to work, but we're going to give it a try.
