Chapter Text
The boy had always been a problem.
Perhaps it wouldn’t have been that much issue if he got along with the other children. But he frightened them. He never really meant to. It was one thing to be bookish--to be a bit more light and sensitive, easily upset by a scraped knee or averse to the concept of getting mud or dirt on his clothes--but Astor exhibited strange, alarming qualities that his parents did not quite know what to do with.
He had a penchant for finding dead things. And every young boy has their phase poking and prodding dead lizards with sticks, but Astor had a knack for finding them, dissecting them, and growing attached to them in the way other children would a toy or a doll. On two occasions, his mother had to pry such a dead lizard out of her young toddler’s pockets--another time, a snake. And this, already, was two occasions too many. So his parents, concerned, monitored their son’s odd behavior, once having heard that, in addition to other things, harm to small animals was one of the first signs of a disturbed individual. But Astor did not harm any animals; in fact, he had a great aversion to harming anything or anyone. He just had an uncanny ability to show up where things had died, or would soon die.
As he grew, the folks of Hateno began to joke that he had the opposite of a green thumb. Plants did to seem to almost inexplicably die after he had gotten his hands on them--perhaps he was just awkward, and bad at handling them--but this ability to make things die and rot even the tiniest bit more quickly, even by happenstance, landed him a job sweeping floors at the local inn rather than with his parents, who couldn’t risk losing too much of their crop, nor having their produce in the market spoiling on the shelves. But this aversion alone--to Astor, to his strange behaviors and the supposed “mark of death” that surrounded him--could have been explained to be nothing more than the superstitions of the people living in an isolated, agrarian village. People in isolated, agrarian villages have a tendency to gossip and exaggerate. But this was far from the only occasion of Astor’s… uniqueness.
As a child, when he was not cooped up alone with his books, he would go out to the odd-looking horned statue statue at the far reaches of town--near Firly Pond--and sit there for hours, tossing stones, prodding at fish and frogs, ripping up blades of grass and leaves and throwing them into the water. Some people would see him there mumbling to himself, even speaking out loud and openly to the statue--every now and then, even reading a book to it. On occasion, he attempted to convince other children in the village to accompany him to the pond, but none of them shared the same appreciation for the statue, and seemed to laugh at him when he’d go on about it. His parents were thankful, at least, that his gruesome obsession had turned to this statue and away from creatures that could carry pests and disease.
And he excelled in school. While he did not have many friends, it gave him time to get more of his work done, and he went through all his subjects with ease. In fact, he was often far ahead in his lessons and was allowed to move up a grade early. But his good behavior in his studies did not make up for all the other perplexing behaviors he exhibited such as speaking with the statue at the pond and staring into fire for hours at a time.
But then the really erratic behavior started.
Around age seven, he began having dreams. Intense, inexplicable nightmares that his parents could not wake him up out of. He said he often saw monsters in these dreams, but he was never afraid of them, even though he would scream in the middle of the night. When the moon was full and rising in the evening, he would occasionally run around town, chasing the other children and yelling “Blood Moon, Blood Moon, Blood Moon!! You better run!! You better run!! You better run!!” People thought, at first, perhaps he was just playing werewolf--it seemed to be what the other children thought--but it was with the fervor and specificity with which he uttered such a distinct phrase: “Blood Moon,” and how this occurrence became something of a ritual to him, that raised their concern.
But these years passed quickly, and Astor learned how to manage these bizarre impulses. Even though he continued to suffer from these dreams--once in awhile on the night of the full moon--in which the moon would turn red and hang above him, and he’d find himself standing in a pool of blood or swirling black and purple sludge. Monsters would surround him, baring their teeth, but they never appeared to be directing their hunger at him. In fact, with each recurring instance of this dream, he became more and more convinced he was actually partaking in these dreams as a monster himself, even though he had human hands and skin--albeit, ashy-gray. He didn’t quite understand the meaning of these dreams--it alarmed him a bit, as it somehow felt like it was getting gradually closer to reality with each instance--but there was no sort of seer or soothsayer in town who would be able to interpret such dreams. So he kept to himself, swept the floor, and had just started accepting that this would always be his life.
Until one day, a man in a cloak showed up in the village.
He did not come alone. He was accompanied by two others--a carriage-driver and another man with a similar cloak, although less decorative than his own. Whispers quickly began to rise as someone spied the royal insignia on the carriage and bridle, and people began to wonder what business anyone from Hyrule Castle possibly had all the way down in East Necluda. Before the men even had time to board their horses and enter the inn, Rina, the innkeeper, had caught word of them, and sent Astor scrambling to clean out the best possible room they had.
“Greetings, greetings, hello, hello,” Rina said, giving a short, courteous bow to the men. The fancier-cloaked man shook his head.
“There is no need to do that for us, we ourselves are no nobility.”
“But you are from Hyrule Castle, yes?”
“Castle Town,” he said. “But we work with the royal family, yes.”
Rina’s eyes widened. She was a woman who was quite bad at curtailing her own excitement, and she was currently eyeing them up and down like she had just stumbled upon a chest full of diamonds and rupees.
“And what business possibly could you have with a little place like us?” she asked, with a flirtatious lilt. “Don’t get me wrong, we are honored to have you here, and there are some delightful sights to see, but I apologize if our accommodations aren’t exactly--”
“Something drew me here,” the man said, plainly, cutting her off mid-grovel. Rina stopped, bewildered, as the man glanced around the inn as if he would somehow find the solution amid her cozy-looking curtains and shelf of wines on the back wall. By this point, Astor had come down the stairs, and was lingering with a bucket and a washrag near the railing, keeping a careful distance from the guests. They both watched the man until he stopped inspecting the place and he directed his attention back to her. “I intend to stay here until I find out what it is.”
Rina stared at him with even more confoundment than before, mixed in with just a dash of alarm. He saw this expression on her face and clarified, “I am with the Royal Order of the Seers of Hyrule.”
“Royal Seers--?”
“I understand you don’t have your own prophet in town?” he asked, promptly.
“Well, no. How about it? Have you come to--”
He glanced around again, this time catching sight of Astor. “Perhaps,” he said. “I just understand that no one in the Order is stationed here. Not that there's anything wrong with local psychics, but most of them are not trained… and I’m sure, as you can imagine, that leaves their prophecies ranging anywhere from semi-accurate to downright snake-oil.”
She laughed, politely, although he hadn’t exactly been making a joke. It seemed more of an attempt to keep his company and affirm his business, even though she was the only inn in town. “Have you come to bring us a proper psychic, then?” she asked.
He shook his head again. “Maybe someday,” he said again. “Although, I get a better feeling that this place may have something to offer to us instead.”
The woman raised her eyebrows, interested. She was beginning to look like a parody of herself, halfway over the desk with her head in her hands. She always got like this when her husband was away. “Well, we can start by offering you men a nice room, I’ve just had Astor prepare--Astor, is everything ready there, darling?”
“Wha--um, yes,” he said. Now both men were looking at him. It felt horrifyingly awkward.
“Your son?” he asked.
“Oh no,” Rina said, quickly. She hadn’t intended it, but the tone and speed of her outright refusal made it obvious that she was at least subconsciously offended by the implication, and, if found to be in any way related to Astor, would disown him at the earliest opportunity. “He lives further up the hill… works here part-time--”
The man approached him. He was large, and Astor--who hadn’t quite hit his growth spurt yet--stood gangly and overshadowed. But he was not afraid.
“Astor, was it?” the man asked.
“Yes sir,” Astor said, quietly, bowing his head. Rina had drilled in him to be seen and not heard, and so he was not used to interacting with the guests, save to fetch them fresh towels or serve them their meals. There was a long silence.
“Astor,” Rina said, frantic at the silence that had now drawn out. She couldn’t risk the boy saying something… odd. “Show these good men to their rooms, please.”
Astor was shaken out of his daze. “Oh, yes ma’am,” he said, nodding. He quickly looked back at them. “I’m sorry. Here.”
Astor led them up the stairs and to their room. All the rooms in the inn were identical, but, if they had anything else to offer, he was almost certain Rina would have given them a luxury suite. The carriage-driver, Jolin, deferred to the two cloaked men--whose names he learned were Thelem and Marcilus--who were clearly his superiors, even though they continued to treat him as an equal. Jolin took the single room, with Thelem and Marcilus taking the other room. After making sure they were comfortable and had everything they needed, Astor bowed his head again and retreated back to the first floor where Rina quickly put him to work washing dishes and wiping off glasses in preparation for dinner.
Thelem and Marcilus spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around town, taking in the sights even though Hateno did not have much to offer in the way of tourism. Thelem just found it refreshing to be out and about somewhere that wasn’t the pensive quiet of the Order, or the chaotic hustle and bustle of Hyrule’s thriving Castle Town. The men were quiet, keeping mostly to themselves, but were incredibly friendly and polite to anyone brave enough to walk up to them. Most villagers, however, were intent to keep their distance and merely gawk at the strangers looming throughout the village from their hay fields and vegetable gardens. Jolin spent his time at the stables, bonding with the locals over all the intricate details of horse-raising. His horses, of course, were well-bred and immaculately-kept, being tied to the royalty of Hyrule.
As evening fell, the three of them returned to the inn where Astor and Rina had just finished setting the tables for dinner. Thelem, Marcilus, and Jolin took their seats together and their own table--there were only a couple--and Astor helped Rina bring out their food. It was a simple meal--some roasted bird with a side of hylian rice and fresh, seasonal vegetables from the village. It was one of the main dishes at the inn served in rotation with a few others so as to not bore the guests who stayed for more than a night or two. Astor had burned the vegetables a little bit, on accident, but Rina didn’t think anyone would notice.
Everyone noticed.
No one said anything, though, and that was very polite of them.
After dinner, Thelem went out to the deck to watch as dusk slowly befell the quiet village. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver watch. It would be time for evening prayer, normally, but who was going to know if he pushed it back an hour or two? Marcilus was almost definitely observing the regular prayer time in their room already, and Jolin wasn’t part of the Order. But the Vespers, after all, were about the lighting of the evening lanterns, and, as he looked out over the village, he watched the little town, one by one, slowly beginning to light their own lanterns. As long as he mentally recited the prayer, that was probably Vesper enough.
Speaking of evening lanterns, it was at this point that Astor came out to light the inn’s own lanterns hanging on the deck. He politely nodded to Thelem again, and went about his business, but couldn’t help himself from continuing to examine the intricate design on the man’s robes, and now the silver pocket watch he had set out on the table. Thelem acknowledged him.
“Do you want to look at it?” he asked, raising it out to him.
“I’m sorry,” Astor said, snapping out of his trance and suddenly realizing he had been staring. “No. I mean--”
Thelem continued to extend the watch to him. Astor walked over and accepted it. It was a gleaming silver--nicer than anything he had ever seen before--and had an intricate pattern on both sides. Though, on one side it was printed upright, and the other, upside-down. It was somewhat of a star shape, although not quite, and had an imprint of an eye in the middle of it--reminiscent of the Sheikah eye. Above the star and the eye was a flame, and surrounding the insignia, along the edge of the watch, was an intricate design of what was printed to appear like lacing and knotting--the kind one might see on the edges of a royal gown. Astor ran his hands over the design--following the lacing around the circle.
“What is this?” he asked.
“A pocket watch,” Thelem laughed, but he knew what Astor meant. He quickly corrected himself to ease the young boy’s alarm. “The unicursal hexagram. The sign of the Order.”
Astor nodded.
“It’s a shape that can be drawn all in one swoop, and each point represents one of the five elements, with the final point representing Fate,” he said. “Pretty fancy, no?”
Astor continued to admire the shape--both of the pocket watch itself, and the mystical insignia crafted onto it.
“Do you want your own?” Thelem asked.
“What--oh--no--”
But Thelem was already reaching again into his cloak--where he apparently had an inner breast pocket under the first layer--and dug around for a coin. “No please,” he said. “It’s no pocket watch, but,” he extended it to him. It gleamed with a similar silver, although the imprint was handpainted, revealing the lacing pattern to be a brilliant, royal blue, and an eye that gleamed gold. Astor accepted it, graciously, and set the watch back down on the table. Thelem put the watch back into his pocket. Another long silence befell both of them. For Astor, it was uncomfortable--as being around guests always was--but for Thelem, it was meditative. Astor again realized he shouldn’t be spacing out like this--Rina always goaded him about it--and he promptly bowed again to the man, giving a quick, “ThankYouSirHaveaNiceEvening,” before retreating back into the inn, hanging up his apron and heading home for the evening. Thelem watched the night turn dark, enjoying the last few sips of his ale, before he went inside and Rina swarmed him once more.
“My deepest apologies, how was Astor’s service this evening?” she asked. “Oh, I hope he wasn’t being too much of a bother. He’s a little…” she stopped and lowered her voice, but couldn’t really figure out how to politely phrase the next words. “Um. You know.” She pointed her finger near her head and twisted it around in a circle to make the ‘cuckoo, he’s crazy’ sign. Thelem raised his eyebrows and leaned back.
“Oh really?” he asked. “Tell me about him.”
Even though they were standing about in the middle of the room, Rina suddenly felt as if she was backed into a corner. “Oh, well, um.”
“Really,” Thelem said again. “In what way?”
“Well, alright, maybe that was a bit unfair of me--”
“No,” Thelem said. “I seriously mean it. I am asking you to tell me what you mean by that. Putting how rude it was aside.”
Rina shrunk back, but gave out a nervous, mostly embarrassed, smile. Thelem continued on. “What has he done to make you think so?”
Rina sighed and collected herself, realizing that Thelem genuinely wanted to know and was not trying to check her attitude. “Well, he’s acted strange ever since he was a child. The whole town knows about him. His poor parents. Bless their hearts. Had to put up with quite a lot--”
“Like what?”
“He would--collect--dead things,” she said. “There were rumors that things around him would die. It’s a bit silly, of course, but he never seemed to be able to raise a garden to help his family, which is why he’s now working for me--”
The man leaned back. “Hm. Interesting.”
“He hangs out by this little statue at the end of town--talks to it. He doesn’t really have any friends. Parents say he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night.”
“Statue?”
“Horrid old thing out by the pond. Nobody goes out there. It’s an eyesore, really, and I’m glad it’s so far away…”
“Hm,” he said again.
“And, when he was younger he used to chase the little kids around town. Screaming. Yelling things about blood and the moon--”
Thelem raised his eyebrows. That was of interest. “Do you know when all this started?”
“I’m not sure. You’d have to ask his parents. But he’s always been a bit, well, weird,” she said. “I hope he hasn’t been too much of a disturbance to you.”
“Not at all,” Thelem said. But, with the slightest bit of sarcasm--perhaps exasperation with Rina’s overall disposition and dismissal of the young boy--he added, “He’s been on his best behavior.”
Rina did not catch the subtext, and continued to flutter on as if she adored him. “Oh excellent to hear. Well, you let me know if you need anything. I’ll be just round the corner--I can bring you some more ale, or--”
Thelem shook his head. “No, thank you.” Rina shrunk back. “I’ll be retiring for the evening now, thank you,” he said. He started back up the stairs and into his room. That was all he needed to know. The boy was special, and he intended to find out why.