Dean

"Dean Winchester ya idjit get down here!" Bobby called out. "Or I'm goin' without ya."

Dean smoothed down the fabric of his shirt. It was scratchy and tight and he didn't like it, but he couldn't wear his normal clothes, which were all singed slightly at the edges or ripped or dirty. It was a disadvantage of working in a blacksmith. He usually reserved these for when he felt like getting a classier attention. Dean looked sentimentally upon his small and untidy room. If everything went according to plan, he wouldn't be seeing it again. It was nothing special, just a small room that was technically the roof with a shitty bed and a chest of draws. At least it was the warmest bedroom in the village during the winter season, due to its location being directly above Bobby's big ass fire.

"What's the rush?" He walked down the stairs, instantly feeling hot from the workshop. The place was permanently busy, especially with the war against home going on.

"Did ya hear the news?" Bobby wiped sweat from his forehead. The guy was pretty old to still be a working man. Dean felt guilty about that, he had undeniably been a burden to the old man for the last eight years, though he helped the heavy demand wherever he could.

Dean shrugged. "What news? Why would I know anything?"

"The amount of time you spend in taverns, boy, thought ya woulda heard something. The King has left Eden."

Dean pulled a face. He'd been ready, so close to actually going home! "Did he say when he would be coming back?" Though he knew Bobby wouldn't have the answer, he couldn't help his hope slipping through.

Bobby shrugged. "His kid brother is taking his place today."

He remembered. "Prince Castiel?"

Bobby gave him one of his infamous looks. "How d'ya know him?"

"I don't," Dean said. Lie (At least in part, anyway). "I just spend a lot of time in taverns."

"...Sure."

Dean stretched his arms up, and heard a ripping sound in horror. "I just washed this!" When he looked the tear, thankfully, wasn't really noticeable. "Let's go then, my baby hasn't had any exercise for a while."

It was absolute fact that Impala was the most beautiful black mare in the known world. She used to belong to Dean's father, John, but when Dean was captured and taken into Eden, he'd been riding her, so Impala came with him. She was said to have come all the way from the remote western lands, a breed only found in Moondoor. Dean patted her neck gently. She was getting old now, but she was still no less brilliant than the day he'd first ridden her. His drinking buddies at the tavern constantly made jokes about him loving his horse too much, but Dean shrugged them off. He loved his baby shamelessly.

Dean mounted her bareback, since they wouldn't need to ride far. "Now who's being slow?" He called out to Bobby, riding right up to the guild's entrance.

Bobby leant in the door frame. "I've been thinkin'."

Dean let his eyes fall the ground. "You're not coming with me."

The older man sighed. "I don't care what ya say, when ya came here ya were just a kid. Ride into Eden as a man, go be a hero and see home again." He smiled. "Here, ya dropped this the first time ya walked in this place." He dropped a little golden amulet with a face etched into its surface into his hand. "I fixed it up a little, tied it onto a leather chain so ya won't lose it again."

He almost felt the promising sting of tears in his eyes. "I thought I'd never see it again."

Bobby grinned. "I'm gonna miss ya boy, but don't ya dare come back here, understand? Now get!"

Dean laughed and began to ride away. The blacksmith he called home was only in the closest village to the main city of Eden. The castle looked frighteningly tall from its position on the hill, especially from his perspective below. He'd only been inside of it once before, and he found, after tying Imapla up and making the long walk up the hill, the throne room hadn't changed much from what he remembered. It was larger than three houses in the small village of Sioux Falls, but if the people had been taken away it, it would have felt cold and empty.

It was no secret that Dean had little knowledge of court. Ash, the owner of his favourite tavern, had laughed in his face when he said is goodbye. He didn't see the point of titles and fifteen different types of spoons, but that wasn't why he was here. There was a long line leading to the throne, and Dean would be damned if he didn't get his shot.

He even managed to ignore the incredibly dumb music coming from the lyre players until he was second in line. More distracting still was the haunting voice coming from the throne. From the few times he'd heard the King speak, Dean knew his Common Tongue was impeccable and his accent was neutral. Prince Castiel, it seemed, was not so good at masking his Enochian voice (and damn him that was a great voice). He sounded pleased that the woman at the front of the line was speaking his language too. Dean couldn't speak Enochian properly (even some natives found it difficult), so he didn't understand much of the conversation, aside from catching the word 'goat' every now and again.

The elderly woman was sobbing with what appeared to be joy, so Dean assumed it had been good news. He was next. The Prince seemed unaware that Dean was standing there, deep in conversation with the royal advisor guy Dean had occasionally seen wandering around the city. His name was Zach or something. Zach sounded pissed off, though it was hard to tell in Enochian's mouthy language. Dean grinned when he heard a few words he did know coming from the prince's mouth: niis oi aala q page quooiape elos, which basically meant piss off or die. Zach took the threat seriously and returned far behind the throne, though his eyes were dark and furious.

Dean had been so focused on the advisor that he'd briefly forgotten the whole reason for being here until the Prince cleared his throat quite loudly. Dean dropped to his knees without an ounce of grace. "Your Highness," he stammered.

"You can stand," the Prince said in slightly accented Common Tongue, though it was hard to tell with that voice, which sounded like a horse drawn wagon over ground up stones. "Do you have a petition or an edict for me to consider?"

"Uh, no," Dean said, flustered. "Wait! Yes! I mean-" talk about handsome prince "-I want to become a soldier. My name's Dean... Singer."

The Prince met his eyes. Gods above, Dean finally understood why they say the House Aegra was descended from angels. If they were any bluer they'd belong only in a story. It was then that Dean craved with all his being to see them at their full glory. He could almost picture it clearly, how the Prince Castiel's eyes might glimmer and shine when he smiled. Unfortunately, they reflected boredom at that moment. "You need to go the barracks and speak with Uriel."

" No," Dean replied, much steadier now, "I can't, I've tried that."

The Prince raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dean took a deep breath. "Before I lived in Edenish territory, my family was in Lawrence, an outlining village of Purgatory. I squired in the Battle of River Vivivia but I was captured by Edenish knights and brought back here where a blacksmith, Robert Singer, stood for me and took me in."

"You are not allowed to fight because Uriel knows you were raised in Purgatory and questions your loyalties," the Prince figured out.

"Basically," Dean shifted.

Some official looking guy started yelling loudly in Enochian, which lead the Prince to nod. "I'm sorry Dean, but the law states that only citizens of Eden can join, and in the eyes of many you are a prisoner of war."

"I can fight!" He protested, albeit rashly and with arrogance. "Put me against any of your knights!"

The Prince actually looked almost a little bit guilty. "I am sorry, Dean, I don't doubt you, but the law is the law."

Dean wanted to be angry, but he rather enjoyed his freedom, so he didn't speak his mind. "Thank you, Your Highness," he muttered with a nod and left his space. Any hope of going home seemed to fade away. Dean would never truly be free in Eden, he was just kidding himself. And maybe he'd find his own way home someday, back to Lawrence and to baby Sammy. He left the throne room and didn't look back once.

Dean's mother, the fair Mary Winchester, died in a house fire when Dean was barely more than a toddler. That day marked the very last of his childhood, and Dean was learning how to swing a sword at the same time most children were finding their own balance. John almost seemed glad to be rid of him when he turned seven winters old, and sent him straight to what was known as the Tower of Hell, where he became a page. Lord Azazel had no sons so the time was spent between him and his knights. They were nice enough, well, most of them didn't bother him.

The day he turned fifteen was a much brighter occasion, because it meant the servant work was done and Dean could really start to fight. He had been, of course, the top of his class, though John never told Dean that he was proud of him. John Winchester had never liked Azazel, he'd always said there was something wrong about him.

Either way, he'd never forget his Purgatory lessons. Even sitting in the forest now, back against a rotting tree stump and days away from home, he remembered to always be alert. He should never sleep unless his body demanded it and the place was absolutely safe. Dean chewed his salty piece of bread thoughtfully, watching Impala graze. He could always try and ride her home, though his clothes were obviously Edenish and he'd most likely be killed on sight. Even if he did get back, he'd be executed for desertion.

In all truth he didn't want to go back to Bobby's as a failure. The thought of it alone was enough to make his stomach turn in small flips. When he'd first come to Eden, and Bobby had appealed for him to be released into his custody, they'd made it no more than a few strides out of the castle before Dean had managed to escape. Back then the whole place was completely alien to him. The way people talked was different, the colours, the clothes, even the music that was flowing through the throne room. That day he'd just run and run until he ended up on the other side of the hill, which was just filled with forest. He'd sat in this very spot, extremely close to actually weeping for home. Bobby had found him before the shadows had even shifted their position. He knew more now, and didn't make so many rash decisions. He'd adjusted to Edenish customs, anyway, but it would still never be home.

The colour was still off from home, but the whole feel of forests was unchangeable. He preferred the one in Sioux Falls, where he would go to when he needed to be alone and listen to the gentle dropping of water from the small waterfall for hours. They felt so much more alive than these royal ones.

Dean sighed and tossed his mare a small chunk of the bread. She ignored it, making Dean frown, and kept her head up. "What's wrong, Baby?" She whinnied, trying to pull away from the tree she was tied to. Dean tried to follow her eye line, mares could be smart sometimes. Some guy with a crossbow was perched behind a tree, on a bank of higher ground. Dean shook his head. "Just a hunter Baby, you've seen worse."

Until, of course, Dean heard a horse like sound that definitely didn't come from his Baby. Was that guy really going to shoot a wild horse? Dean didn't have anything left to lose, he reasoned, may as well stop a son of a bitch. He got up and strode silently over the forest floor, which was easy enough at the beginning of summer with little to step on. The bank was just high enough that he would have to climb slightly, though the hunter was not all that alert, and Dean easily managed to sneak up behind him and whack him round the head with the flat of his sword, knocking the man out. As a result, the man released the arrow as a reflex, though it missed its original target as his body twisted, hitting a tree.

It was still enough to spook the horse (whose metallic golden coat caught Dean off guard for a moment), apparently, which threw its rider off its back. Dean jumped down, making to help the guy up, when three other men drew their swords from behind the trees. He realised, then, that they were all wearing armour; Purgatory armour. He'd recognise it anywhere. Well, he already had his sword drawn from hitting the first guy. Dean growled as he swirled his arms, feeling that his clothes were too restricting to twist and strike as naturally as he usually could. He felt them rip as he easily drew first blood, striking the closest man across the chest.

The second man tried to sneak up behind him, but he was not so skilled at walking silently as Dean was. He only needed to twist his upper body to elbow the man square in the face, hearing a satisfying crunching noise in the action. The final guy was opposite him, and Dean wasn't opposed to playing dirty, so he gave him a hard kick in the nuts before stalking up behind him, putting the man in a headlock. The snap of his bones was an almost satisfying sound when Dean let the body slump to the ground. Damnit, the guy he'd elbowed had run away. Dean could probably chase him, but Impala was tied up and he would lose sight.

"Are you alright?" That voice. Dean recognised it from somewhere.

Dean had forgotten the man he'd decided to protect, having been caught up in the fighting. "It will only be a few bruises." The man's features were hidden by an expensive looking beige cloak, so all Dean could see was a messy mop of dark hair. He offered a hand to the kneeling man, who accepted it, though almost reluctantly, and immediately let it go once he was steady on his feet. "You were thrown off your horse, you're probably worse."

"No I-" The man met his eyes and Dean's breaths became shorter as realisation dawned on him. This wasn't a man, this was the friggin' Prince. "You were there earlier, in the throne room."

Dean didn't know what to do, or what the correct action was for this situation. He hastily bowed, not wanting to get into any serious trouble. "I'm sorry, Your Highness."

The Prince smiled. His earlier thought had been so right, his happy face could light up the whole damn Kingdom. In an instant Dean almost even forgot that he was meant to be pissed at the guy. "I'm glad we got to meet on better terms, it's better than me being a distance away on an uncomfortable throne." Dean realised then, as The Prince squinted, that they'd been holding complete eye contact. "You saved my life," he concluded almost cautiously.

"It was nothing," Dean looked down in order to put an end to the uncomfortable staring, "but one of them got away. They were from Purgatory."

His Royal Highness exhaled softly. "Good, it may send Azazel a message. I owe you my greatest thanks, Dean-"

"Winchester," Dean cut in.

The Prince cocked his head to the side. "I thought you said your name was Singer."

He almost choked. Whoops. "I did... that's what I'm officially called here, but my name has always been Winchester."

"Dean Winchester," The Prince sounded out slowly. Those eyes did sparkle. There had been songs written about Aegra eyes for many generations. "Just because your name screams Purgatory, it doesn't mean you side with them. You should wear it with pride."

Dean felt his cheeks heat up, but any deeper into this conversation and he'd get very uncomfortable very quickly. "Does your horse always get spooked so easily?"

The slender stallion, whose fur seemed to gleam the brightest gold under the sun, had returned to his owner. "He's fine usually, he must had just been caught off guard. He's not what you'd call a war horse."

This entire exchange was growing gradually more and more awkward. "Are you sure you're okay? He's huge."

The Prince looked over himself. "I've had worse from training in the barracks... Wait, didn't you say earlier that you wanted to be a soldier?"

"Uh, yeah?"

He chewed his slightly plump under lip, as if he wanted to say something. It was as if he was having a whole debate inside his head. "I can't just make you a soldier; too many people would find an issue with it. But, you saved my life, which means nobody can argue with giving you a small reward. And say you asked for the right to, maybe, compete in the next tourney against some of the most renowned knights, assuming you did well then nobody could disagree that you didn't earn your right as at least a simple foot soldier. But I didn't give you that suggestion, Dean Winchester; you thought it up on your own."

"Sire-"

He rolled his eyes. "Please don't bother with that, I like my name."

"Castiel, I- you sure?"

The Prince- no, Castiel, grinned warmly. "I don't know what you're talking about Dean."

Without saying another word, he remounted his stallion and galloped off somewhere, presumably to the palace. Dean was in shock, perhaps he wasn't a lost cause. He could do that, Bobby made swords enough for him to swing around in practice. He had trained for this for almost all of his childhood. From behind the tree line he'd climbed over, his Baby made a soft noise. Back down the hill, then. At least the exercise was good for her.

"Thank you," Dean said to the open air.