Chapter Text
The sun shone brightly on the wedding day of Wylan Van Eck and Howard Derven, juxtaposing itself with the gloom and loathsomeness of their arranged marriage. Jan Van Eck, Wylan’s father, and a rich lord, walked him down the aisle stiffly to his awaiting fiancé. Guests applauded politely as they exchanged a kiss, overly fierce on Howard’s end, and emotionless on Wylan’s.
There was a long reception afterward on that fall day, where Wylan half-heartedly spoke with guests and pretended he was happy with his husband. He supposed he should just be thankful it wasn’t a woman. Still, it felt like his life was cursed from now on and forever, as if by one of the evil witches that lived in the woods. At least, his father always told him they were evil.
They then settled him and Howard into a carriage where horses drew them away to their new home. It was a large house that Howard had chosen, made entirely of stone blocks. It was a house, after all, not a home. Not to Wylan. But then again, how would he know what a home felt like? He had never had one. Not since his late mother’s death.
Servants unloaded their luggage and brought it inside. Then Howard opened Wylan’s door for him and gruffly took his arm to help him out of the carriage. They walked slowly toward the house without exchanging a word. And that was it. They slept next to each other that night, but there was no force of love that held them together. And tears silently and secretly fell from Wylan’s eyes onto the pillow.
The next morning Howard was gone to his proper job in town collecting taxes and Wylan forced himself out of bed after crying out all his tears last night. Now he just felt empty. He would stay at home and be pretty and be a good husband for the rest of his pitiful, miserable life.
So, after a few months, Wylan settled into a dull and meaningless existence. He stayed home and did nothing but draw sadly and wait. What he was waiting for, nobody knows. There were not even household chores for him, as he had servants to do that for him.
Right now he sat, drawing on a piece of parchment in the main room, which was decorated with a velvet rug and antlers from Howard’s previous hunting excursions. Suddenly, he heard the door sweep open, and in came Howard, obviously in a bad mood.
“Good evening, Howard,” said Wylan quietly, knowing his husband would become far angrier if he didn’t respond to his homecoming.
“Hello Love,” he said grouchily as he clumsily entered the house holding a large bag of coins; he was a tax collector after all. Wylan hated that pet name. He felt no love or attraction towards Howard, and he had never asked for this.
Suddenly, Howard jerked his head towards him. “What is that?” he said aggressively, looking at Wylan’s drawing.
Wylan’s face turned confused. “It’s a drawing,” he said quietly, fearing wrath or anger for his foolish hobby.
“A drawing! Is there nothing more useful you can do?!” snapped Howard, as he quickly moved across the room and jerked the parchment with pretty autumnal flowers inked onto it out of his hands.
Wylan’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “Of course,” he said meekly, “what would you like for me to do?”
“Godammit, don’t cry now! Go fetch me a drink. I’m exhausted, love.”
Wylan nodded and went to get some wine from the cellar. He quickly sucked in his tears and wiped his face before returning to that cursed room, where his husband sat in a stiff, velvety chair.
He handed him the clear glass of wine and sat in another chair across from him. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long time, while Wylan pondered his fate and gathered his courage to ask Howard for something he desperately wanted. A small slice of freedom. Now was not the best time, of course, due to Howard’s mood, but Wylan knew if he didn’t ask now, he never would. So he prepared himself. And finally, he spoke.
“Howard, I have been wondering something,” he spoke with as much courage as he could muster.
Howard grunted noncommittally.
“You see, it gets rather lonely here in the house and I was wondering if, when you are away working… I might venture into the village sometimes?”
“The village… why?” Howard said agitatedly.
“W-well, I just thought it might be good for me to get out of the house sometime. Perhaps get some fresh air?” Wylan said nervously.
“Alright,” said Howard, “just be sure to be home before I arrive from work. I enjoy seeing your face when I get home.” Howard’s face smirked as he said that last part and Wylan silently shuddered, but nodded.
“Of course.”
Despite the awful situation, Wylan suddenly felt giddiness spread throughout his body. He was free! Free for a little while at least. Tomorrow he would set out into town in his most peasant-like clothes (to avoid drawing attention to his high status) and explore. Maybe he would even enjoy himself. And best of all, he would be free of this stone cage of a house that was choking him out from the inside.
Later, Wylan and Howard went to bed, Wylan staying as far away as physically possible from his husband like he always did. And for once, he slept soundly.
•••
The next day, when Wylan woke up, he was alone, like usual. After eating a small breakfast, he prepared himself for his journey into the village. His evening euphoria had worn off, and he returned to his downcast state.
Wylan quickly donned a less formal, olive green tunic, which he cinched with a belt, and a pair of brown breeches. Then he put on his boots and set off towards the village on the back of his chestnut colored horse he had named Germain.
After arriving and leaving Germain in a serviceable barn, he noticed the village was bustling with townsfolk. There were peasants shouting out wares, people hurrying through the streets with bags of goods, and women; certainly witches, offering brewed potions and magic charms. Wylan had always wondered about witches. Would he have ever found young maidenly witches beguiling in a different life? It didn’t matter. That wasn’t who he was, despite his father’s anger and disappointment.
Suddenly, Wylan realized what he was doing. Here he was, standing around in upper class clothes, with a few coins in his pocket, and he had no idea what he was doing. His heart raced. What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t know anyone here, had no friends, nothing to do. It was practically like he didn’t exist. He didn’t feel free, he just felt lonelier than ever.
Finally, he snapped out of his thoughts as he saw a handsome young man about his age dash down the cobbled road toward a small storefront. He was carrying a burlap sack of tomatoes, obviously some farmer or farmer’s son. Taking this as some sort of sign, Wylan walked at a quick pace after the man and into the storefront.
A brass bell rang as he opened the door to “Fahey Family Farms” as the sign above declared. Wylan shyly walked over to the wooden counter where the handsome man stood now. He couldn’t help noticing that this man had the most perfectly shaped lips. He also couldn’t help noticing he was gorgeous, and beautiful, and… who was he kidding, he was a married man now and it would not do to dwell on these thoughts.
“Well, well, well, hello! Who have we here?” crooned the man from behind the counter. Wylan blushed deeply, but ignored the man’s question.
“I was wondering if you have any fresh carrots?” Wylan said nervously. This was a lie of course. He certainly didn’t come into this store looking for carrots.
“Of course, love,” the man replied “this is a farming establishment after all.” Wylan blushed deeply again. Did this gorgeous farmer really just call him love? “How many bundles?” asked the man snapping Wylan from his thoughts.
“Oh, two please,”
“Splendid”
“Say, do I know you from somewhere? I feel as if I’ve heard about you?” the man asked.
Wylan wasn’t surprised. He was the lord of this village's son after all. So he did what all people do when they are in a troublesome situation. He lied.
“Umm, I don’t know where you would have heard about me.”
“I dunno. You just seem really familiar. What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?” Wylan turned the question back at him, hoping to draw attention away from himself.
“You don’t like answering questions do you? If I tell you mine will you tell me yours?”
Wylan thought about it. This man would realize who he was eventually, anyway. And he really wanted to know the man’s name.
“Alright,” he said.
“Great,” the man said, “I’m Jesper Fahey. And you are?”
Here goes nothing Wylan thought, as he responded, “Wylan Derven” (his new name).
Jesper smiled for a second before a look of shock covered his face. “You mean Wylan Derven as in Lord Van Eck’s son?!”
Wylan simply nodded.
“Dear god!” Jesper said. He had no idea.
In response, Wylan simply nodded and deeply hoped that Jesper wouldn’t view him differently simply because of his father's status.
“Well, what a surprise to see a person of such status in my shop,” said Jesper. But it was not in a kind way. He said it with pure hatred. And that broke Wylan’s heart.
So he spoke.
“Please don’t judge me based on my status and my father's cruel treatment of villagers. He and I never agreed upon the ways things should be done.”
Jesper looked shocked at his words and quickly got defensive. “Why I never said anything about that!”
Wylan simply stared into Jesper’s gray eyes and said, “it was in your face.” And then he simply turned around with his bundles of carrots in hand, and left.