Chapter Text
Prince Jonathan, they called him. He is the kingdom’s prince. The land’s prince. And most importantly, was your prince.
You don’t remember who took care of you when you were an infant, but you were on the streets by five. For a tiny human, you kicked ass, and you were street smart. You knew how to get into people’s minds, how to manipulate, how to put your fists up and pick the right fights. It’s how you stayed alive. You suppose those virtues were noticed when an older man with sunset eyes saw you sitting by a fence post, chewing at the remains of an apple you had stolen.
He knelt before you, and your eyes immediately widened. You were five, of course you were a little scared. Tons of the people in the village have beaten you, not only for stealing, but because they thought you were some demonic offspring because of your eyes. Hell, some guy tried to do an exorcism on you once.
The man in front of you was important though. Someone tall and strong, someone with rich clothing and a fancy sword, someone who could easily beat you to death and not get in trouble for it. He wore two family crests on the chest of his tunic. Most likely his own, and the crest of the royal family’s. Great. The guy probably caught you stealing. You were in for it now.
“That was pretty smart,” he said.
You just stared. Waiting to fucking die.
“When you took the apple from the cart,” he said. “Real smart thinking. How old are you?”
You know you were five now, but at the time you couldn’t count days and months and years. You had no education. So you had shrugged in response.
The castle knight asked instead, “What’s your name?”
“David.” That you could answer. Your name was the only thing that still truly belonged to you.
He held his gloved hand out. “Come with me.”
So you held his hand, and he took you to the place that became your home.
That’s when John became your best friend.
Dirk took you in as a younger brother, loving your survival skills, and you got a home in the castle with him. He was one of the head knights, and he taught you everything. You started training with others at a very young age, all of the other students standing much taller than you. But you fought well, and you proved yourself, and Dirk gave you approving smiles that made your chest swell with pride.
You met John when you got lost in the castle and stumbled into the main nursery where he and his sister Jaden were taken care of. He was playing with toy blocks, and you were a stupid kid, so you asked to play, and he just grinned.
When the caretaker came back, she was one of those nuts who thought you were Satan’s helper, and slapped you across the face while screaming at you to get out. John had yelled, and baby Jade was crying in her cradle. Then Dirk found you and picked you up before you could be harmed again, and you didn’t see John again for a long time.
You grew older and smarter. You didn’t see the prince very much, but when you did, you both would stop for conversations. He took you out to the woods once and showed you how to track animals for hunting. You took him to the stables and got some tree branches and you showed him how to spar.
After that, you both realized how much you two got along. John came down to your quarters of the castle and sometimes had lunch or dinner with all the knights. As you grew more skilled, you began getting jobs of accompanying John around the castle as a low class bodyguard, which gave you both time to talk and grow closer. When you were thirteen, you showed him the route to the castle rooftop, and you both spent nights up there when you couldn’t hang out during the day.
You went on trips with Dirk, but you also went on trips with John. You both went for trail rides, and you started helping him train in combat once he was old enough. You became a full knight young, at sixteen, and it was John that tapped your shoulders with the sword tip as you knelt before him, and it was you who laid a hand over your heart and swore to protect him. It was you who kissed his hand and swore your allegiance to him.
On your seventeenth birthday, you told no one. But Dirk remembered, and he let you have the day off, and also snuck you extra apples for breakfast because you couldn’t get enough of that shit. John had to deal with “princely duties.” So you spent the day alone, and you helped train others in the courtyard fields and followed your brother around. You wanted to be just like him one day.
When the sun set, you went to the tallest of the castle’s rooftops. There were guards below, but you were on the very tip, perched on the slanted shingles and watching the country around you settle down for the night.
When it grew dark, John found you up there, climbing carefully. You grabbed his wrist and he held yours, a mutual trust as you helped drag him up to sit beside you. He sighed contently, holding his knees to his chest and staring out at the stars.
“Happy Birthday,” he said.
“You remembered?”
“I’ve remembered every birthday you’ve had since you first turned six.”
“It’s not my real birthday,” you said with a shrug. “I don’t know my real birthday.”
“Nothing wrong with sharing it with your brother. You’re kind of like the reincarnation of him. But… still you.”
“Is that a bad thing?” You shot a tiny smirk at him, just one side of your lips upturned.
He looked at you for a while, a soft smile on his own lips, an amused twinkle in his eyes. Then he shook his head, some of his messy black bangs falling over his eyes. “No. I like you the way you are,” he replied.
“Not many do,” you said, looking back out at the stars again.
“They just don’t have any time to get to know you.”
“Well, you’re the prince. And you do have time for me?”
“I make time for you. It’s worth it.”
You didn’t reply.
“And it’s your fault for closing yourself off from everyone anyway.”
“Knights are supposed to be isolated and independent. Their priority is only family.”
“I’m family?”
“You’re the family I serve for.”
He made some type of hum, to let you know he heard. He leaned back, gazing at the bright stars. You glanced at him, at his tanned face, his bright eyes, his carefree expression. You always seemed to have a colder temperature than him, so you could easily tell he was touching your hand from that constant heat he held. You looked down at his hand. A few of his fingers resting over yours. Casually.
You like that.
The next morning, you woke up with a splitting headache.
The next morning, everything went to hell.
Your older brother was on the floor of your shared room. YOUR sword was in HIS chest. The blood covered you both. But it wasn’t yours. Just his. He was holding your ankle. He was dead, but his fingers were still tense around your ankle.
The handmaid found you first. She screamed. Guards came in, and you were hyperventilating, and someone yelled that you had killed Dirk. You tried to tell them no, that you had no idea what happened, but arms were on you, trying to drag you off.
It’s been a long time. It’s a blur. But you remember leaving your sword in your dead brother’s chest and grabbing Dirk’s sword that hung on the bedpost. And then you leapt out the window. You sprained your foot on your rolling fall, and the screams of guards followed behind you. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you. You were framed. You loved him. You didn’t do it.
You scaled the wall that surrounded the castle. Perched on the top while guards came after you, you looked back, and from the balcony you knew so well you saw John standing there and watching you. But he just watched. That’s all. So you ran.
You wake up calmly, although you’re on fire inside. Your dreams of the past are usually like that. But it’s been four years since that. You try not to dwell on that old stuff. It’s pointless.
You sit up and pull on your leather boots, adding your belt and sword, tucking your dagger into the sheath attached to your right boot. The sun is setting, which is the perfect time for you to be awake. Hide during the sun and exploit during the night.
Jumping from the hayloft that you decided to use as a bed for the night, you pull your cloak’s hood up over your head to hide yourself in shadows. Your tunic, sleeves and trousers are different arrays of black and gray. The shades disorient human eyes, unable to make a real shape when they see you. You’re just another shadow.
When you walk through the town at night, you hear murmurs of your name. Some call you a hero for assaulting the bandits who raid through sometimes. Others call you the devil for simply existing and running away from the “crime” you committed. Because you were saved from the streets and wanted your brother’s position yourself.
You travel the streets and slip into shadows when you pass others. You are but a phantom to the soldiers that keep peace here. A legend of your past and story hangs in the whispers of civilians. You’re a bedtime story. You’re also a threat. “Eat your dinner or the legendary Strider will get you!” mothers snap at their stubborn children.
They call you the Time God sometimes. You sleep during weird times, and show yourself to other eyes during night or day. Sometimes you’re the Strider Shadow. Sometimes you’re Hell’s Knight. You like them all. But none of them call you Dave. Not like John used to. But you couldn’t care less about that traitor.
You stand tall on a rooftop, munching on a green apple that you stole out of a cart during your midnight walk. You’re above a small inn, and you can hear the loud laughter of drunk men inside, the giggles of young women as the intoxicated males sneak squeezes at their asses.
There’s the thunk of a knife into wood beneath you. You peer down, seeing soldiers from the castle leaving a poster pinned to the inn’s wall. Once they’re gone, you jump down, landing easily on your heels. A few boys who were passing whisper one of your many names and take off in fear. You shrug and toss your apple core away, then look up at the poster to check the current news.
Your name is on it. Mr. David Goddamn Strider. Some child’s sketch of you. And for once, it’s not a wanted poster. You read the words below it, glad your brother educated you along with your training. There’s a proposition from the king to you. And on the bottom a white piece of cloth to represent peace is stabbed to the wall.
As much as you like your fun names around the kingdom, normal “Dave” was always your favorite. You’d like to be free. You’d like to not be a criminal anymore, to have your innocence proven, to not make money for doing shameful assassination jobs. You want to wash the blood clean from your hands.
Fine then. You’ll play the king’s stupid game.