Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, the full moon shone upon a delicate flower bud amidst a patch of thorny brambles, turning the petals a vibrant blue as it was imbued with the mysterious power to grant the desires of whoever calls upon it. For centuries, this magical vitality blossom sat undisturbed in its forest, peacefully unknown to the kingdom of York that was growing nearby. But one day a travelling merchant, freshly spurned over his costly wares, diverted from the path in his gloom until the brilliant bloom caught his eye. The merchant carefully navigated the prickly thicket to get a closer look, after all, such a striking flower must be a rarity that would fetch a high price.

The man lamented aloud for such a beautiful specimen he wished he had the strategic mind to advertise. Suddenly the flower appeared to illuminate, the blue of its petals turning electric and the merchant’s head spun with new knowledge in an instant. Greedy with his discovery, the man set off to test this new gift to find the flower had indeed worked magic on his mind. However, the power waned across the next few days and he was forced to return to draw upon the vitality blossom, this time testing just what he could get: no material goods or riches, no affect on people back in the kingdom, but he could grant himself any number of traits. He indulged himself in unmatched strength, irresistible charm, and heightened senses. But the power was limited and would fade as the days passed; he was lucky if they lasted a fortnight.

The merchant decided to hide his flower, shielding its vivid petals from any curious eyes so that he alone could siphon its magic. With the vitality blossom as a resource, he vowed that he would become the most powerful man in the kingdom; he was determined to take the throne. He would start small, establish a successful career and rapport with low-ranking authorities, then he would advance in status through his connections until he was near enough to the king to cut his throat and take his crown. The merchant imagined he could get used to being called King Pulitzer.

Decades passed and Pulitzer’s plan slowly but surely came to fruition and he was eventually made the king’s advisor for revenue, sporting an impressive history of business throughout the kingdom. But just as Pulitzer was commissioning an intricate handle for the blade that would realize his life’s ambition, King Mayer and Queen Esther were announcing their first born child, an heir that would one day inherit the crown and stifle the advisor’s plans. So Pulitzer started plotting anew. He researched every plant and herb in the kingdom and the surrounding trade network to find something discreet and unassuming enough to cause a womb to stir without raising suspicion. Once he’d picked his poison, he found himself a lackey, a robust and balding man named Snyder, to do the grunt work so that it couldn’t be traced back to him and tarnish his hard-earned reputation.

Snyder was brought on as a royal gardener after some underhanded dealings and it wasn’t long after that the queen’s morning tea started tasting sweeter. In a week, the royal physician and the midwife were desperate for anything that would stabilize the queen’s condition. With the birth only a month away, search parties were sent out on missions to find a miracle. Pulitzer never thought his secret vitality blossom might be found out, let alone recognized by some upstart herbalist in one of the search parties. Apparently the flower had a deep mythology with historians and storytellers alike.

The bud was steeped into a remedy like no other and its effects were almost instantaneous. Not only was the queen’s malady cured, but a few weeks later a healthy baby boy was born with the brightest blue eyes anyone had ever seen, which his green-eyed parents cherished as a reminder of the magic that ensured the livelihood of their precious family. The kingdom rejoiced and celebrated for an entire month, and all the while Pulitzer schemed in the background. Without his vitality blossom, he gradually used up his heightened abilities and grew weak and desperate. Surely the flower's power still coursed through the infant prince’s veins, Pulitzer just had to find out how to wield it.

One night he spoke over the crib of the sleeping child and called upon the flower’s magic. Sure enough Pulitzer felt his body surge with the familiar energy, but his elation was short-lived. The baby's eyes flew open and he startled, as if woken by a sudden nightmare, and he began to cry. When he failed to console the child, Pulitzer decided to scoop up the babe and siphon a wish for swiftness to flee the castle with his precious cargo. The prince wailed louder as the power was pulled from his tiny, bundled up body until he eventually cried himself to sleep in his captor’s arms. Pulitzer employed Snyder once again to hide the child away in a refuge where none would find him, and keep watch over him between Pulitzer’s visits to recharge his magic.

The kingdom fell into pandemonium. It was nearly a year of unfruitful searching before the royal family and the rest of the kingdom finally gave up on finding the missing prince and withdrew their efforts. However, the guard across the kingdom was doubled to prevent another tragedy of such magnitude from ever happening again and Pulitzer was forced to step back to plan an alternative rise to power.

A day of observance was held on the prince’s first birthday in hopes that he might one day return. Wreaths and garlands of bright blue and pure white blossoms were hung on doors and strung across courtyards to remember the innocent life that was saved by magic only to be carried off into the night. Flower petals were scattered to the wind and waters in a brilliant cascade blown across the entire kingdom and beyond. To ward off the evil intentions that had taken the child, citizens were encouraged to give what they could. The castle poured out gifts as well so that no one would be abandoned or left wanting as was their heir. As the years passed, it became a day of gratitude and celebration, a time to cherish what you had and release what was lost.

Ignorant to the festivities in his name, the stolen heir grew up under Snyder’s watchful eyes and Pulitzer’s firm authority. He was called David – a common enough name across the kingdom – and remained locked away in a refuge, obscured from the outside world while his curiosity for it grew alongside him. He was given books to satiate his endless questions, but his inquisitive blue eyes yearned for more. He wasn't satisfied with Snyder's explanation that he was found abandoned in a ransacked wagon. Who left him there? Where did they go? Were they looking for him? What else was there to his story? And why did his birthday always bring flower petals on the breeze?

David knew the outside world was dangerous – Pulitzer and Snyder taught him to be careful of the greedy monsters that would exploit his magic and use it for evil – but he also knew that's where the answers to all his questions would be found. So he read everything he could get his hands on and read it all again and swore that one day he'd venture out of his refuge and learn the truth.

Chapter Text

Sunlight streamed through the narrow slats of the small window and birdsong drifted through the morning air, rousing David from his sleep. He blinked his bright blue eyes open and shook the weariness from his head as he drank in the sounds of the late spring. With a quick intake of breath, David reached for the parchment he always kept at his bedside to document the details of his latest dreams before they could drift into the void of the forgotten. Maybe today he’d finally have something wonderful enough to write about. But as he progressed down the page his spirits fell at the lack of inspiration written and he stilled his hand midsentence to crumple the script. The boy tossed the wasted thought into the bin with all the others and resigned himself to yet another day of maintaining the house.

David made quick work of his chores – there wasn’t much to do when they were done daily – and let his mind drift and eyes wander. The windows around the house were small and ran flush with the ceiling since the space had been mostly carved into the ground to hide it from prying eyes. Snyder always said the world was cruel and wicked outside their walls, and the boy had been punished a handful of times as a child for sneaking out through the loose slats in his room until Snyder found out about them and sealed up the hidden exit. He was told that he was too weak to handle himself in such an awful place. David had come to just take the man at his word through the years, having nothing else of repute to go off of, but he’d always silently hoped that the world was much more like those in the books he read: fantastical and bright, filled with people with stories to tell and adventures to live. He couldn’t imagine that a kingdom that sang so sweetly and had celebrations with such vibrant colors could be as wretched as Snyder claimed.

David’s heart jumped at the reminder of his favorite time of year. The start of summer always meant that his birthday – along with the flower festival – was on the horizon. That meant that Mr. Pulitzer would be visiting soon, not just to siphon David’s magic like he did every fortnight, but also to bring him more books and festival food. This year, however, for his 18th birthday David had a special request to make. Now that he was grown, he wanted more than anything to see for himself the charming flower petals that trailed in with Pulitzer’s coattails every year. He wanted to attend the flower festival and meet real people and finally see the world beyond his window.

He would wait until after the siphoning, Mr. Pulitzer was always in a better mood by then. David would try to replenish his energy quickly so that he could prove how much stronger he’s become through the years. He was no longer the small child crying out in pain as his magic was torn from his body. He was a young man who could wield his own powers without wound or injury, just a few degrees of fatigue. If he could prove himself to Snyder and Mr. Pulitzer, maybe he would finally be afforded some freedoms so that he wouldn’t be forever confined to the dusty, wooden walls of the refuge.

The clattering of the door signaled Snyder’s return from the market with food. David hurried over and up the small flight of steps to let him inside, unlatching the many locks down the frame. The burly and gruff man huffed through the doorway as he carried with him two large sacks of ingredients. David took one of the bags from him and grunted in surprise at the weight as he brought it to the kitchen while Snyder turned to redo the locks.

“This is more than usual,” commented David as he rested the sack on the counter.

“You’re too lanky. I got a cut of pork so you bulk up more,” Snyder answered in his usual plain tone.

David wrinkled his nose, having never been much of a fan of the fatty meat, but he quietly helped Snyder prepare the dish – knowing there was no alternative – and considered asking Snyder about attending the flower festival. Perhaps if he convinced his caretaker, it would better help to sway Pulitzer when he arrived.

“So it’ll be my birthday in a couple of days,” David started.

“And what of it?” Snyder asked brusquely without looking up from the vegetables he was cutting.

“Well, I’m turning 18 and I was thinking maybe it would be a nice treat to do something different this year,” David shrugged, his voice up-ending to sound more like a question.

“Speak directly, David. A man shouldn’t sound so unsure of himself.”

David took a breath to start again, “I want to go out of the house for my birthday.”

Snyder stiffened over the food, but David kept going, not giving him a chance to interrupt. He instilled as much authority in his voice as he could muster and emphasized his capability, knowing Snyder was partial to the heroic and masculine tropes in stories and legends.

“I’ll be 18 and that’s old enough to see the world. I’m strong enough to siphon magic and I help you with repairs all the time. I want to go see the flower festival.”

Snyder set down the knife and turned to face David, his lip turned down into a disapproving frown.

“You don’t know what you’re asking after, boy. There’s nothing good out there, and if you knew firsthand just how bad it is, you’d never want to leave this place.”

“How can I know that if I’ve never been out?,” he argued. “Just let me go for the day so I can see.”

“You wouldn’t last until nightfall out there on your own.”

“Then you can bring me. Or I can go with Mr. Pulitzer.” David could see Snyder floundering as he struggled to come up with a good counter argument. The man had never been very strategic, but more often than not that resulted in a harsh end to a conversation rather than a proper concession to David’s point.

“Why do you care so much about those damn flowers, anyway? A real man doesn’t dance around in flowers and confetti. They fight battles and become kings. You spend all your time with your nose in those books and playing with the pests that sneak in here; you’d be too soft and fragile.”

“If the world is really as dangerous as you say, then the festival would be the safest place for me to go.”

“I won’t hear anymore of this, David, and you know Pulitzer would never allow it either.”

“Please, Mr. Snyder, it’s the only thing I’ll ever ask you for,” he implored.

“Enough, David! No more talk of the festival! It’s not happening and that’s the end of it. If you bring it up again, I’ll start using your books as kindling.”

David shut his mouth after that, not willing to risk his one safe haven no matter how unfair it all was. He stayed quiet as they finished making the food and set it to stew, but Snyder continued to huff and mutter in frustration until David, having nothing else to assist with, sat down at the table with a book to read spitefully.

A commanding knock cut through the lingering tension in the room and David set to letting Pulitzer in. David politely greeted the man and helped bring in his bags. As usual for this time of year, stray blue and white petals fluttered off the formally dressed man’s clothes and baggage. Snyder continued to mutter resentfully as he swept up the offending foliage.

Pulitzer looked between David and Snyder appraisingly, “Why the bitterness in the air?”

David started to speak, hoping to get an approval from Pulitzer – who would undo all of Snyder’s disagreements – before the balding man could interject and ruin David’s plans for good.

“Mr. Pulitzer, I was wondering if I could go with you to attend the flower festival this year for my birthday. I think it would be the safest option—”

Pulitzer silenced David’s arguments with a raised hand that told him to hold his tongue.

“That won’t do. David, why don’t you go put away your new books.”

He held out a wooden box towards David in dismissal, not willing to hear anymore. David’s mouth opened to argue, to plead, or maybe just to scream in frustration, but he pulled it closed as he sighed and accepted the gift with a mumbled ‘thank you’ before heading back into his room. As he examined the titles and covers – three of which were new to him, and the fourth a duplicate of one he already had – he grumbled to himself and wracked his brain for what he could do to make the men change their minds.

By the time hunger forced David from his room, Snyder had already finished with lunch and was pouring him a bowl. David sat at the table with his food across from Pulitzer who seemed to be crossing out lines in some type of ledger. He looked up above his glasses as David sat down.

“You must understand why you mustn’t go out for the holiday,” he started, and David’s bitterness threatened to spoil his appetite, but he nodded for Pulitzer to continue.

“It is more than you not being ready. It is that the world is a dangerous place and I’ve taken great lengths to ensure that you have everything you need right here. What more could you possibly want?”

“I just wish to see the flowers,” David answered, taking care to filter the whine from his voice despite his frustrations.

“That day is a nuisance at best and an utter waste of resources for the kingdom. You’d do well to spend your time anywhere else.”

“I’d be happy to see it even at a distance,” he offered. It was a lie, but he was willing to compromise if it meant getting out.

David watched Pulitzer give him an analytical once over. Snyder may not have been the most well-read man, but Pulitzer was sharp and logical. David never knew what to expect with him. When he finally spoke, David was caught entirely off guard.

“The festival you are so enamored with is the celebration of a child’s kidnapping.”

“What?”

“The celebration the kingdom holds each summer is to commemorate the disappearance of the king and queen’s heir. What began as a day for memorial and observance quickly turned into selfish demands of a weak king. The royal family used to bestow a meager gift upon each household, but the people weren’t satisfied and demanded more. The king and his overly soft heart began to pour out the castle’s resources in unregulated charity because he does not have what it takes to rule, and the citizens became wasteful and gluttonous with the bounty. Now they’ve grown reverent of the day the poor child was taken away so they can continue to live hedonistically.”

David listened in captivated horror. He couldn’t imagine how self-centered and unsympathetic the people must be to make such awful demands of their king and queen in the throes of their grief. His stomach turned at the thought of someone delighting in the willful harming of a child, and the evil it required to hold such a beautiful festival for it. He felt sick. 

Pulitzer seemed satisfied with David’s disgust and returned to marking up his ledgers. David ate his meal in silence and tried to make sense of the confounding information he’d just received, but he couldn’t get it all to add up in his head. If the king was such a pushover, why would the citizens stop at making demands on just one day of the year? And if the people were so gratuitous with their resources, why take the time to throw such elaborate celebrations instead of hoarding their supplies? It just didn’t make sense. But he had no knowledge of the outside world, so Pulitzer wouldn’t be willing to entertain his sentiments. He had to dig deeper. He needed to find out for himself. But first he had to get through the siphoning.

Pulitzer explained the goal for the day: persuasion and a forgettable face, to conduct espionage and sow doubt among the forces who threaten the kingdom. Other days it might be irresistible charm and a strong sense of hearing, or even quick feet and a commanding presence. David wasn’t clear about what threats Pulitzer faced, but he’d explained countless times that David’s magic was being used to safeguard the kingdom and thwart a corrupt government by putting an honorable man in power. He’d long since stopped trying to push Pulitzer for details after receiving enough reprimands and punishments from Snyder for questioning authority.

David sat up at the edge of his bed while Pulitzer leaned back in the lounge chair beside. Siphoning drained David’s energy the more traits he was channeling, and some of the more demanding sessions had left him feeling faint and nauseated. But the way they did it now was still an immense improvement compared to when he was still a child, before David had learned to control his own magic. In those days, he deeply dreaded siphoning because of the burning pain it caused him with each command. He feared his own magic so much that he’d refused to use it even on himself for the longest time. But one day a common garter snake had managed to get inside the refuge when he was home alone. He’d known from all his reading that it was practically harmless, but was too scared to tear his eyes away from it even so. He’d spoken aloud and imbued himself with bravery enough to lift the snake to the window where it could escape back into the wild, and only after his nerves had calmed did he realize that he’d felt no pain.

After that, David had tested the boundaries of his powers to learn just what he could do. Commands had to be spoken aloud. If he just thought the sentiment, he could feel his magic swirling in anticipation and pressing against his skin, wanting to get out but still unable to. He could imbue magic into inanimate objects, but only simple traits and only for a brief moment. He couldn’t do more than two traits without over-exerting himself to exhaustion for a long time. And when he brought his findings to Pulitzer, he was praised for his intelligence and asked to put the results to the test by working his magic on Pulitzer. This final test completely drained his supply and he was out cold for nearly an entire day, but it was a success, and Pulitzer found that the magic was stronger when David was the one wielding it.

The sensation of using magic never failed to send shivers through his body, but at least it wasn’t unpleasant when it was his own doing. Counter to the fire coursing through his veins under someone else’s command, David felt a coolness move through him like water when he called upon his powers. The energy pulsed through his extremities at glowing blue points that travelled under his skin towards his fingertips and out of his body.

It was a fascinating process, but David wanted to know more, do more, to find out why he had these powers, and if he could grow stronger in using them. He couldn’t expand that knowledge while trapped in this buried abode. He didn’t care how dangerous the world was, he couldn’t stay cooped up inside going stir crazy while waiting for Pulitzer’s next book haul to give him a wishful taste of something more. He was going to finally write his own story.

After the siphoning was finished, David asked Pulitzer, “The festival aside, how can I prove to you that I’m ready?”

Pulitzer sighed and shook his head in exasperation, “The lost feeling you’re experiencing is further proof that you’re not ready. I cannot hold your hand every step of the way, David. Once you’ve learned to take initiative, to lead, and maybe once the kingdom is a safer place, you’ll be ready to see it. Until then, just rest and replenish your energy to keep your magic strong.”

And so David went to sleep and waited until the next day to send Snyder on a wild goose chase. In lieu of going to the festival, he simply requested a rare collection of books by an author who was as real as the mythical creatures in legends – of course, Snyder didn’t know that yet. If Pulitzer wanted David to take initiative to go see the world, then that’s exactly what he planned to do.

Chapter Text

Jack Kelly was a lot of things: handsome, charming, resourceful. But one thing he wasn’t was rich. Always just the poor kid, orphaned at only nine years old until he grew up and got away without a nickel to his name. But he was determined to change that, no matter what. Lying or stealing, odd jobs and gutter work, nothing was off the table in his pursuit of luxury. And boy, did he have plans for his bounty once he got it. He longed for the day he could strike it big and finally get off the dusty, dirty streets of the kingdom of York and never again see the scornful faces of all those who towered over him in society’s food chain.

Which was what brought him to his current predicament: the Delancey brothers. Oscar and Morris were a couple of dime-a-dozen jackasses who’d picked on Jack all their shared years at the orphanage, and kept up their tormenting even after they all got too old to stay there. They’d bully him off the best jobs and smear his reputation away from the mediocre ones – that is, until they needed his help. Jack may not have been gifted with their imposing strength, but what he did have in the cards was speed and dexterity – Jack be nimble, Jack be quick and all that.

And so they’d asked for his aid in their latest job of stealing the lost prince’s crown. But Jack was growing tired of their convenient favors and was just trying to figure out when and how to double cross them, but the long-con was never his strongest suit. Patient. Add that to the list of things Jack Kelly wasn’t. So when the first opportunity had presented itself to leave the brothers stacked on top of one another like tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum as he made off with the crown, Jack couldn’t help but pat himself on the back over his successful swindling. But that was right when the real trouble started.

“Kelly!” Shouted a commanding woman’s voice, and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the hot pursuit of the palace’s most anal royal guard, Knight Katherine. “I swear I’ll hang you myself!”

“You’d better catch me first,” he taunted.

Jack kicked his legs back into high gear and shot down the most winding trail he could see in hopes of losing her and her horse. He could hear the guard usher her steed and the pounding of its hooves closing in on him. Grabbing the trunk of a sapling to anchor himself, Jack took a sharp left  and tore off in the new direction, not caring where it took him, as long as it got him further from his pursuers.

He whooped aloud at the resounding, “Damn you!” barrelling past him as Katherine redirected the horse back onto Jack’s trail. But his triumph was short-lived as he found himself fast approaching a towering, vertical cliff. The rockface was too smooth to try to climb and it appeared to stretch in either direction beyond what he could see. Feeling the panic crawling up his neck, his eyes darted around looking for an escape or at least somewhere to hide before he could be spotted. As the galloping approached, he dove behind a bush growing at the base of the rock wall and held his breath. It wouldn’t be a very attractive escape, but he should be able to crawl quietly until he was far enough to keep running.

Keeping close to the wall, Jack carefully wormed his way across the forest floor while the knight surveyed the scene. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out he couldn’t have climbed to safety and soon she’d start sweeping the woods. Jack increased his speed just so and in his rush managed to snap a stick in half, instantly alerting Katherine to his location.

“Got you!” she exclaimed, maneuvering her horse around for a straight path to the thief. Jack cursed himself as he stumbled back to his feet and promised whatever higher power or magical force of the universe that if he just got through this without harm, he’d never steal anything ever again. He sprinted like his life depended on it – which it likely did at that point – and set his sights on a narrow space between several boulders. The forest only seemed to get less welcoming beyond that point and he could only hope that whatever threats loomed in the shadows would put Katherine off her hunt. He disappeared into the denser patch of woods and he smirked to himself as he heard the knight yield her chase and have to dismount. That would give him plenty of time to give her the slip.

“When I catch you, Jack Kelly, they’ll make me king for a day for all the trouble you’ve caused,” she yelled into the trees as she trudged through the shrubbery with difficulty.

If he were more cocky, he’d call back a jab at her armor not offering much for the task at hand, but Jack Kelly was smarter than that and he didn’t dare jeopardize the lead he had on her. Instead, he slinked further into the forest and left behind the sounds of Knight Katherine’s grumbling.

Jack liked to think he and the knight might've hit it off in another life. After all, she only harbored so much disdain for him because Jack had charmed her as part of a previous scam. He'd never seen a blush twist into fury as quickly as hers had. But he would have to leave the what ifs to fate and stay the path. Whatever tales they might've told in another timeline, there was no way the palace guard would let him live after this heist.

Out here in the woods, farther than he’d ever been from the kingdom he called home, Jack could almost taste real freedom on his tongue. Soon. He was going to finally get out and find a place where he wouldn't feel like dirt. Somewhere where he wouldn't have to steal to make ends meet. Where he could finally relax and not have to sleep with one eye open. No more begging or scraping by on the seasonal compassion of strangers or IOUs of fair-weather friends. He'd commit himself to the finer things in life and never stop drawing. Paint! He could finally afford paint! Once he sold the crown, Jack swore to himself he'd buy the nicest set of paints money could buy and find the prettiest lad or lady to capture their likeness.

It was about time he was dealt a better hand in life. After years of sheltering the younger boys in the orphanage and then pulling extra hours to make sure the two people he actually gave a damn about were set up for a better life, he was ready to do away with the do-gooder who never had any good done to him. That's right, Jack Kelly would be a selfish scoundrel from here on out – no one to care for but himself.

As he traversed deeper and the trees grew a bit more sparse, he found himself in an idyllic meadow dappled in sunlight through the foliage around. The glen was quiet, save for the ambient sounds of the wildlife hidden within. Jack’s eyes caught on the corner of a shelter peeking out from behind some carelessly placed branches and his curiosity sparked. The wood looked worn enough to be abandoned and he thought it couldn’t hurt to have somewhere to burrow away just to be sure Katherine had given up her chase, so he scanned the perimeter until he found some haphazardly nailed down boards and pried them loose to squeeze his way inside. In hindsight, he hadn’t done a good job of considering the risks, but then again, Jack Kelly had never been known for being too careful.

“What do we have here?” Jack whispered to himself as he looked around the space he’d infiltrated. It was a child’s room to be sure – the furniture was too cramped for any adult to feel comfortable in. Except for a cushioned seat beside the rickety bed. Perhaps a family lived here. But nobody seemed to be home at the moment, if the resounding silence was anything to go off of, so Jack continued his snooping.

But the more he examined the space, the more he questioned if it really was that of a kid’s. The books lining the shelves all the way up to the low hanging ceiling were covered in titles Jack himself couldn’t parse out – not that he could even read much, anyway – and the room was certainly far neater than any child he knew, and he’d shared one big room with a lot of them growing up. And there didn’t seem to be any toys or other childish pastimes in sight. He wondered if the rest of the refuge might clue him into its inhabitants.

Jack didn't consider himself curious by nature, but it got the better of him all the same. The moment he passed through the doorframe headed into the rest of the abode, a swipe of darkness in his peripheral was the only sign of things going wrong. And as the cold metal of a cast iron pan met the back of his skull, knocking him out cold, Jack Kelly considered there was one more thing he wasn’t – especially as of late: lucky.