Hello all!

I made a bit of a tactical error in chapter one, and did not explain that this was based off of a faerie tale … it's called "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" and it's a Norwegian folk tale (though it is similar to the French Beauty and the Beast, and the Greek Eros and Psyche). I aim to keep the mood the same, so it reads a bit vague and fantastic, because it's supposed to be like a faerie tale. I guess my motto is "Please suspend disbelief! It is only a faerie tale!" *laughs*

Big shout-out to QueenHappo for assisting me on some of the development, characters, and explanations for things (I'm working on Russia's characterization for later, so thank you!). If anyone has questions so far, I'm glad to answer them.

Welcome to "Woefully Unedited" Theatre! Please feel free to concrit, yes?

Yao let out a loud, keening wail, unable to stop himself from yelling as the man beneath him disappeared as if he had never been. His eyes were screwed shut, and he beat the pillow in a sudden rush of overwhelming guilt but –

- The pillow was no longer there, nor the bed, nor the table or the candle and Yao opened his eyes in panic.

He was standing in the middle of a clearing in the forest, the trees on either side of him closely pressed and familiar, but there used to be something between those trees and within that clearing – the house was gone, and everything in it, and Yao was left standing in the ragged clothing that he had been wearing the night the bear took him away, clutching his only possession in the world, a violet scarf that was now stained with three dark drops of oily tallow.

Yao stared down at the scarf in disbelief, eyes flicking around the forest, but there was nothing, nothing at all left besides the stains on the fabric.

He gaped, almost convinced he was having a horrible dream, a nightmare, he had been sleepwalking and now he was here, alone in the forest, away from his comfortable home and his family. He clenched the scarf in his hands, knowing with regret that he was not dreaming this, not at all.

"I have to make this right, aru," he said out loud.

He had not thought those words over before uttering them, but as soon as they hung in the air he knew them to be true. Ivan had rescued him and his family from the poverty and misery they had lived in, and so Yao was honor-bound to rescue him in return, the beautiful, kind, infuriating, childish companion he had treasured for the better part of a year.

Yao never defaulted on his debts.

He didn't know where he was; the forest around him was alien, something he had not seen beyond working in the garden and brief forays to a nearby stream; the only other times he had traversed it were blindfolded and on the back of his bear.

So Yao folded the scarf over, twice, tied it over his eyes, and began to walk.

It was not easy going, he could not claim it was; ever step seemed rife with tripping stones and snagging branches, and more than once he ran into a tree or bush, but he kept walking, realizing with some odd awe that he knew where he was going, at least in part. The bear had passed this way before, on his brief trips outside; the path sounded and smelled and tasted so familiar to him.

Yao walked for how long, he did not know, going down-hill and vaguely south, staying between the sun as it rose in the east and the moon as it set in the west.

And he tripped over the land and the scrub and shivered in the cold and kept walking until he fell to his knees for the fifth time, the eighth time, a time he could not count, and that last time he could not get up again. He laid, pressed to the ground, unable to summon the energy to crawl to his feet again.

"Ay, what is this~?" a voice sing-songed by his head, too cheerful for Yao's fuzzy and furious brain. He tried to mutter a response but he felt exhausted and hungry and so drained…

"Well well well, we can't leave you out here alone, now can we? You're not in the best of shape, huh?" the voice chattered. It must have been male, all low and smouldering, but it was so … chirpy…

And then Yao's body was lifted into strong arms that smelled faintly of olive oil and sunshine and he was carried somewhere. Yao tried to struggle out of the unwanted grip, but he found he could not move a muscle, and let himself be carried…wherever he was going. The man wasn't trying to hurt him, after all.

"Why do you have that cloth on your eyes?" the man asked in his cheerful fashion as Yao registered a change in temperature and stagnation of the air that meant they must be inside. "I should take it off –"

"-no…" groaned Yao. "Leave it."

He could feel the man shrug, the muscles rippling beneath his skin, but then Yao blacked out, as he was being laid on a soft mattress.

He awoke feeling like he had not slept at all. Sleep was supposed to bring blessed blackness, a brief respite from trouble, but all that Yao's dreams consisted of were vivid, russet replays of the night's events. He tossed restlessly, waking with the utter certainty of what had occurred and only a vague curiosity as to where he was and what manner of creature had welcomed him in.

He stirred, trying to sit up, and strong arms supported his back, helping him. Despite lingering exhaustion and severely abused kneecaps, Yao was not injured, and agitatedly shoved away the assistance, sitting up on his own power.

"I'm so glad you're awake~" the voice from before gushed; Yao could practically hear the tildes at the end of his sentences. "Who are you? What are you doing? Why do you have that scarf around your eyes?"

Yao bristled at the volley of questions, thinking regretfully of Yong Soo, but… the man had helped him, and he deserved politeness in response.

"I…" he coughed a little, and felt a small cup pressed into his palms. He drank greedily, the water dripping down his chin, then tried again.

"I'm Wang Yao, aru, and I search for the Troll King."

The body beside him stiffened. Yao narrowed his eyes behind their covering, trying to discern what brought on the anxiety.

"I'm Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo," the man returned. "And I know of what you speak."

This threw Yao for a loop, but his heart surged with hope. "You do? Who is he, and where, aru? I must find him."

Antonio sighed beside him. "I… don't know where…" he said sadly. "But he stole something precious from me, and if I knew where he was, I would do everything in my power to get my precious possession back."

Yao nodded, sympathetic to the man's story and the obvious dejection in his voice. "Well, he stole something from me, too, aru, and I'm not going to sit around and mope. I have to get my white bear back. And so, thank you for your hospitality, but I must go."

Yao struggled to stand, missed the floor, and fell awkwardly out of bed. Antonio let out a squawk, reaching to help Yao pick himself up.

"You can't go yet, it's already nighttime and you must be so tired and hungry!"

Yao shook his head, standing on his own power. Already night – he must have been travelling all day, and last night with no sleep; no wonder he passed out. But he could not while away time here. "No. I will not impose upon you any longer; I have to go."

There was silence for a long moment, then Antonio spoke.

"I can tell you are serious. I understand. Let me give you a little food to take with you, and … something else, that might help you on the way."

"I can't, that's too kind –"

"Just do something for me in return," Antonio begged earnestly, broad hands cupping Yao's small ones. "Find my precious thing, and help him to return to me?"

Yao could do nothing but agree, and soon he was pressed with a small bag of food and another object, smooth and heavy.

"W-what is it?" he asked wonderingly, feeling the surface carefully. It was mostly round, perhaps a bit oblong, with a tuft of something hard and spiked at the top.

"A golden tomato!" Antonio answered cheerfully, and Yao did not bother to ask why. Yao had quit the house soon after, and was gone into the dark, cold night.

Yao was still following the way in his mind, remembering the way from feel and smell and sound alone. He had a better time of walking than he had before; the incline had leveled somewhat and perhaps he was out of the forest because tree limb obstacles were few and far between. Still, he had almost forgotten, in the enchanted clemency of the bear's clearing, that it was the dead of winter. He was again dressed in the rags of his former life, and did not even have a proper coat, so soon he was shivering with cold. He tried eating some of the food Antonio had given him – sundried tomatoes, hard cheese, and bread – but he was shaking so violently even a little made him ill.

And still, he kept walking vaguely south, staying between the sun as it rose in the east and the moon as it set in the west.

Again, he began to stumble in his path, his knees hitting the ground on multiple occasions, swelling so that it was hard to bend them; this time, his unsteady footing came from his violent shaking, and his extremeties were numb.

Once more, his knees hit the ground; once more his consciousness threatened to desert him, and he heard a voice calling to him, lower and more serious than Antonio's had been, but the situation was familiar and pathetic enough that Yao felt irritated.

"Sacre bleu, what do we have here? A poor, delicious young thing, all frozen in cold!" the voice, again a young man, sounded near Yao's ear. Yao's irritation with the voice rose with every word, feeling the sudden urge to take a hot bath and purge the oiliness of it from his skin. Still, it kept up its slithering drawl, calling to someone that Yao could not sense.

"Gilbert, Gilbert, help me take this lovely creature inside and warm him up!" the voice fussed with the faintest trace of predatory smirk, and soon Yao again felt himself hefted, this time with much less delicacy than Antonio had displayed, as another man's words grated in his ears.

"Hold yer horses, you great faerie. He might look tiny and vulnerable, but – ngh – he's an armful."

The argument continued, but Yao was lost to it all; he again slipped into unconsciousness, upset at himself for his lapse even as he drifted off.

When he woke up again, he felt even more sore and exhausted than he had before, and his unconsciousness had afforded him even less rest. Still, he struggled to sit up, helped by the strong arms of someone whose hands were straying far too close to his butt to be comfortable, and again he slapped away the help, irritably.

But he was warm, now, no longer shivering; he was covered securely in blankets, and felt a rush of gratitude for whoever had taken him in.

"Oh, lovely creature, you are finally awake!" the first voice from before gushed.

"Hmph, finally," the second voice grunted. "Didn't figure on spending my day off like this; so - who are you? What are you doing?"

"I am Wang Yao, aru, and I search for the Troll King."

The name of the troll king produced a complete stilling of the air in the room, from the wandering hand on his back to the agitated fidgeting of the second man that Yao could feel vibrating the bed.

Finally, the silence was broken.

"I am Francis Bonnefoy, and this is Gilbert Beillschmidt, and we… both know of who you speak."

Yao was beginning to think that quite a few people knew of who he spoke; whatever land the bear had brought him to must have been plagued with the Troll King's antics for much longer than he had thought.

"Where is he, aru?" Yao inquired, shoving off Francis' hand for the third time already.

"Dunno," barked Gilbert, beginning to fidget again. "'Cuz if we did, I'd totally be there beating the crap out of him."

"I, too, would be at his gates," agreed Francis. "He stole something from the both of us, something I think either of us would do anything to get back."

"Stop groping me, aru!" Yao snapped, thinking again of Yong Soo. He could practically feel the predatory grin radiating off of Francis.

"Just checking you for injuries, cherie. Did you injure your eyes? Why are they bound behind such a rough cloth?"

"Please, don't touch," Yao reprimanded him.

"Pff, why? That looks less than awesome," Gilbert demanded.

"Penance," was all that Yao answered.

Francis seemed about to question him again, but Yao cut him off. "The Troll King stole something from me, too, aru, and I'm not going to sit around and mope. I have to get my white bear back. And so, thank you for your hospitality, but I must go."

He struggled to stand, feeling the weight of his body as if it were an extra burden to carry. He almost fell in the lap of the fidgety one, and barely righted himself in time.

"Non, I cannot allow it! It is already night, and you must stay here, where we can warm you up~" Francis protested.

Yao stood as straight and proud as he could, realizing with a start that he had again walked a full night and day, with little rest and little food. Still, he could not while away his time here. "No, I'm afraid that I cannot impose upon your… hospitality… any longer. I must go."

There was a long silence.

"Well, it's awesome you're so serious. Almost as awesome as me. So let me give ya a coat or something, and a gift that might be able to help you," Gilbert offered.

"I, too, have something for you," conceded Francis. "After all, the troll king hurt me and Gilbert, as well as our friend Antonio up the road."

"No, no, aru, I cannot possibly –"

"Just promise," Gilbert muttered, grabbing Yao's shoulders as Francis gripped his hands. "Find my young master, and help him to return to me?"

"And help me find my petite lapin."

Yao could do nothing but agree, and soon he was pressed with pair of old boots and a thick, heavy coat, which already had his bag of food and the golden tomato in the pocket. Two other objects were handed to him, heavy and oddly shaped.

"What are they?"

"A golden rose," Francis told him.

"And a golden chick. Which is awesome and adorable, by the way; you totally wish you could see it."

Yao took the strange gifts, and, thanking his benefactors, soon quit the cottage and stumbled again into the dark, cold night.

The road was completely flat, perhaps a real thoroughfare – yes, that was it, he had found a road! It was far too late – or perhaps too early – for him to run into another soul, so he hobbled along as best he could, falling only a few times. It left Yao open to think, about many things.

The first was his unutterable guilt. He had been so childish, to allow himself to be worked up. As an older sibling, he was supposed to keep his emotions and childish urges in check, and the time that he failed to do this, he had ruined the life of another.

His treacherous, torturous mind played the events of Ivan's disappearance over and over in his mind, the few words he had spoken in the voice of a man and not the growl of a beast.

He had told Yao that they had met before… but … Yao could not remember when. Surely he would remember a man so beautiful and pale…

He was startled out of his reveries by the sound of a child, crying. Something deepset and maternal in Yao caused him to rush immediately towards the sound, almost tripping over his own boots but stopping as something barreled into his legs. He fell heavily to the ground, a strong grip around his shins, and the scarf around his eyes fell away.

He was staring at a blonde child with thick eyebrows and a teary face, gripping him around the legs and sobbing.

"Where's mama?" wailed the child. "I want mama!"

Blinking at the sudden onslaught of light, even though it was only predawn softness, Yao, reached toward the child, pulling him into a gentle hug and comforting him as best he could.

"Shh, now, I'll help you find your mama, aru. Does she live around here?"

And then Yao stiffened, something clicking in his head, the images of blonde hair and a lost child and the exact same words: "I'll help you find your mama, aru."

He had not met Ivan when he was a man; he did not remember that. But as a child…

He had been a young boy then; his mother had still been alive, and they lived just outside the city. Kiku was only just toddling, and Mei was a baby yet. The others had not been born. Yao was helping his mother shop in the city, carrying her basket full of cloth and boots for the children with his awkward, stumbling gait, dragging his packages more than anything.

And, approaching the clearing, he heard the voice of a crying child. It sounded almost like Mei, when she cried, but it was not his sister.

"Mama, what is that?" he asked, tugging on her sleeve.

"I don't hear anything?" the woman answered. "Come, we have to get home before it gets dark." And she picked up her pace, taking the basket from him so that he could hurry along after her.

But the crying did not stop; it got softer, and they were fleeing further and further from the sound. Yao could not let a child in need continue to cry, not when it sounded like his own siblings. Without thinking, he broke away from his mother and took off into the brush at the side of the road.

Almost immediately, he found a little boy, a bit younger than himself, crouched in the tall grass and crying. Yao stopped and stared at him, not sure how to approach.

The boy looked at him instead. "W-who are you?" the boy asked.

"Yao. Who are you?"

"I-I'm lost," the boy mumbled. "My mama was taking me out for a picnic and I ran off to see the yellow flowers and then when I turned around she was gone…" he dissolved into sobs again.

Yao was vaguely annoyed that his question had not been answered, but he brushed it off, grabbing the boy's pudgy hand firmly in one of his own small ones. The boy was young, but he was tall already, and solid. His clothing was much more brightly colored than Yao's own, and it had a funny pattern of shiny thread sown into the cuffs and collar, as well as a few four-pointed stars across one breast. And his eyes, still dripping tears, were so blue they could almost be violet. It was pretty…

"I'll help you find your mama, aru," he had said. And his mother had found them both soon after, gasped, and told Yao to run home alone with their packages; she'd return the boy herself. Yao had been confused, but he was ever obedient.

Now, holding a similar child close and comforting him with soft words, Yao realized the boy must have been the same violet-eyed man child that he had lived with for so long. And Ivan had been so struck with his kindness to a child he had not known – well, of course he would be kind to another child. It was not a matter of whether one were royal or not, not if they were in trouble! Yao had not known anything of Ivan, that first day they had found each other – although, now that he thought about it, his mother must have. She had not returned to the house until very late the next day; how far she must have gone, to return Ivan to his family!

"Peter! Oh god, Peter, you're alright!"

A strident voice cut into his thoughts as a young man hurried down the path toward him. The man was short and pleasant looking, almost feminine, radiating maternal worry and extreme relief. He rushed towards Yao and his little charge, who were still sprawled on the ground.

At the sound of the man's voice, Peter – that must be the boy's name – struggled out of Yao's grip and ran toward him, sobbing and calling out "Mama! Mama!"

The man bent to pick up the little boy, holding him close. "Peter, how many times have I told you not to run off!" he berated, sounding a little teary himself.

"I-I just wanted to help you gather firewood. I'm gonna be an adult soon, and help you and Papa."

The man shook his head, closing his eyes. "Peter, don't run off, not ever, alright? You're not an adult yet."

"But Mama –"

"I'm not your mama!" the man said in exasperation. It was only then that his eyes focused on Yao, who was staring at the reunion with a bit of discomfort and a bit of happiness, still reeling from his own revelation.

"Thank you so much for finding Peter!" he said, hefting the boy into his arms. "Thank you so much. I'm so sorry for causing you trouble; I'm Tino."

Tino reached down and helped Yao to his feet. Yao winced as his knees twinged.

"It was no trouble, aru. I'm Wang Yao…" he looked at Tino, and decided he should ask, should ask everyone. "I'm Wang Yao and I'm looking for the Troll King."

And just like with Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis, Tino froze and looked at Yao in disbelief.

"I see that you know of him, aru…" Yao hazarded. "Do you know where he is?" He didn't expect much, but now that his blindfold had fallen off, he realized that he no longer knew where he was or where he ought to go.

"Actually," said Tino. "I do."

Translations:

Sacre bleu - French, an exclamation that is rather stereotypically French… it seemed appropriate to me, but I don't speak French, so please feel free to correct me.

cherie - French, "dear"

petite lapin - French, "little rabbit"