Chapter Text
It all starts with a ball.
It’s not a special occasion―Donghyuck’s father has never needed a reason to throw a party, and he’s gotten into the habit of surrounding himself with incessant extravagance ever since Donghyuck’s mother died. Sometimes Donghyuck wonders if it’s really the best approach, but everyone deals with grief differently. Who is he to judge if his father cannot stand the thought of being left alone?
So Donghyuck indulges him. He puts on his finest robes―he hates wearing the royal robes, always feels like such an ass in the gaudy things, but it makes his father happy―and dances with anyone who offers a hand, and charms anyone within earshot. It makes his father proud to see his son growing into a man worthy of his status, though he won’t inherit the crown for a few decades more. Twenty-seven is much too young to rule a kingdom by all accounts, but Donghyuck is a decent man, and willing to learn how to improve in the areas he’s lacking, and that’s all the king can ask of his successor.
It does get tiring, though, perpetually entertaining the crowd. Donghyuck’s father and his noblemen do a fine job of it too, but no one is nearly as interested in aging monarchs or long-ruling aristocrats as they are in an eligible young prince of marrying age. Donghyuck receives at least three marriage propositions during any given event, and balls are no exception; truth be told, Donghyuck might even call them worse, if he deigned to be so crass. Dancing puts people in a romantic mood, and surely the champagne multiplies the effect.
Everyone has their limit, even a perfect prince such as Donghyuck. It’s only natural that he’d turn in after hours of luxurious monotony; he may be willing to do anything for his father, but only in moderation. If his father wants to drag out the festivities, he’ll have to do so without Donghyuck.
He excuses himself to find Jeno, his bodyguard and constant companion since they could walk. Donghyuck’s spent at least half that time imploring Jeno to join the celebration, but Jeno is nothing if not dedicated, and he’s spent an equally long time futilely trying to make Donghyuck understand that he can’t very well protect him if he’s off twirling around the dance floor. Donghyuck would counter that nothing bad ever happens at parties, but it’s a moot point. Jeno prefers to watch from the perimeter, where he has a better vantage point, and Donghyuck lets him have it.
He finds Jeno exactly where he expects, exactly the same place he always does near the end of the night―beside the throne, one watchful eye on the king as he waits for Donghyuck to announce he’s taking his leave. Donghyuck’s father has never been one to drink much nor let his guard down, and therefore can handle himself perfectly fine as he’s told Jeno on countless occasions, but Jeno takes a certain responsibility for the man who saved him when he was but a lowly orphan to raise him alongside his noble son. He doesn’t think he owes a debt, per se, but there’s some sort of self-inflicted obligation there. To Donghyuck, Jeno’s company has been more than enough repayment―he’s seen Donghyuck through some of his worst years, his hardest times―but Jeno is a man of chivalry unlike any other. Both Donghyuck and his father learned long ago not to argue with Jeno.
Jeno sees him coming, and says something to Donghyuck’s father which earns him a nod. Donghyuck has barely stepped up onto the platform before the king is saying, “Go, son. Take your leave.” There’s no inflection behind it, but he does offer Donghyuck a small smile.
Donghyuck replies with a simple, “Thank you, Your Majesty,” and a bow of his head. His father normally wouldn’t care for such formality, but they do have to keep up appearances in front of their guests. Donghyuck doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns on his heel and calls, “Jeno,” with very little emotion in his voice. Jeno follows dutifully, trailing behind Donghyuck as he bids farewell to the guests in his path on his way to the door.
Once they’re out of the room, Donghyuck can breathe again.
He immediately removes his outermost cloak, a hideous jewel-encrusted thing that weighs approximately half as much as Donghyuck and makes his shoulders hurt something awful. Jeno’s already holding a hand out before it’s halfway off Donghyuck’s body, allowing Donghyuck to drape the stupid thing over Jeno’s arm so he can carry it back to Donghyuck’s quarters. Thankfully, it’s a short walk, just to the end of the corridor and then a sharp right. Even so, Donghyuck is complaining by the time he steps through the threshold.
“I hate waltzes,” he laments as Jeno holds the door open for him so he can make his way into the room. Donghyuck is stripping before Jeno even shuts the door, and it comes out muffled by his shirt when he says, “My feet always end up trampled by the end of the night. Especially by that duchess from the north―oh, what's her name―she really should brush up on her dancing lessons.”
Jeno just hums thoughtfully as he hands Donghyuck some more comfortable clothes. “You could just tell her no, if she asks for a dance.” Leave it to Jeno to make it sound so simple. Everything with Jeno has always been simple.
“I can’t and you know that,” he counters as he shimmies into his pants. “Father won’t be king forever, you know, and I can’t go making a bad impression before I even get a chance to―” He’s cut off by Jeno’s hand over his mouth, and Donghyuck would be startled by the speed with which Jeno crossed the room if he weren’t more interested in what’s gotten Jeno’s attention. “What?” he whispers, and it’s a little garbled by Jeno’s palm, but he hears it clear enough.
“I―I don’t know,” Jeno says inexplicably. “I heard…something. Not sure what.” He drops his hand back to his side, reaching to grab Donghyuck’s sword and strap it to Donghyuck’s hip. Once he’s checked the scabbard and deemed it secure enough, he says, “Put your shoes on.”
Donghyuck does as he’s told. He passes on his dancing shoes in favour of some more sensible boots, lacing them up in record time as Jeno paces around the room, hackles raised. Jeno’s fingers are twitching, a shudder all the way down to his fingertips, and Donghyuck knows what that means. He clambers to his feet, eyeing the way Jeno’s nose twitches at something Donghyuck can’t smell. Jeno lets him in on the secret: “It’s blood.”
Whose blood? Donghyuck has half a mind to ask, but he thinks he may not like the answer. Jeno wouldn’t be able to tell from this distance, anyway. Not in this form.
Jeno makes no move to change, though. He’s still in his armour―hadn’t been nearly as quick as Donghyuck to strip after the ball―and it clinks softly as he makes his way to the door, signaling Donghyuck to follow with a subtle jerk of his chin. He carries no weapons, and makes no move to procure one, as it would only slow him down. He just glances over his shoulder to confirm Donghyuck is ready before swinging open the heavy chamber door and stepping out into the hallway.
It’s eerily quiet, no signs of parties or dancing or jovial socializing to be found. Not a stray note floats down the corridor, not a single bubble of laughter, nothing whatsoever to indicate a lively crowd or celebration of any sort, much less one as lavish as the king is known for. Jeno doesn’t speak―maybe he’s just as afraid as Donghyuck is to break the silence like it’s some sort of spell―but he starts off in the direction of the ballroom, step by careful step.
They’re a third of the way down the hall when Jeno stops so abruptly that Donghyuck runs directly into his broad back, taking a pauldron to the face. Jeno grabs his arm to steady him, giving his bicep a gentle squeeze, an unspoken warning. Donghyuck is still at a loss, hasn’t the slightest notion what they’re getting themselves into, but Jeno does not seem to like it.
“We need to leave,” he says so lowly that Donghyuck can hardly hear it, barely a breath. Jeno’s head is turned to make it easier for Donghyuck to hear his words, but his eyes never leave the hallway before them, like he’s waiting for something to happen. The fingers still twined around Donghyuck’s arm are no longer blunt―Donghyuck can feel claws pricking his skin, the lightest kiss of pain.
He nods obediently. “Go. I’ll follow you, Jen.” His whisper is only marginally louder than Jeno’s, but it still makes the knight wince, sensitive ears picking up on the most minute difference in volume. Based on that reaction, Donghyuck deems it best to keep his mouth shut; he opts instead to free his arm from Jeno’s grasp and unsheathe his sword in silent assurance. The blade glints opalescent in the moonlight shining through a crack in the curtains. Donghyuck’s fingers prickle where they’re wrapped around the hilt.
Jeno growls, a rumble deep in his chest that Donghyuck has only ever heard on a few rare occasions, none of which have been happy affairs. Donghyuck desperately craves answers―what’s happened, whose blood is it, what does Jeno know that he isn’t sharing, for starters―but his voice dies in his throat as the ballroom door flies open without warning.
Donghyuck can’t see much around Jeno, but the way he tenses is all the information Donghyuck needs. He grabs Jeno’s hair, right at the crown of his head, and tugs. Jeno finally looks back at him fully, searching Donghyuck’s face for a signal. Donghyuck nods, just once, and something must flash behind his eyes because Jeno instantly bares his teeth―a mouthful of fangs dripping with saliva.
Jeno waits for him to say it. He’s always been one for directives, requires the confirmation that Donghyuck is well aware of what they’re about to do, the assurance that Donghyuck is willing to face the consequences. Donghyuck gives it to him. “Do it,” he commands, and Jeno surrenders himself.
A cacophony of discontinuous cracks ring out against the marble flooring, echoing in the corridor to make the sound even more dreadful. Donghyuck slides his hand down to the nape of Jeno’s neck, holding fast as the man in front of him transforms into something more. More powerful, more brutal, more carnal. More.
It all happens within a heartbeat―Jeno ceases to be, and in his place rises a dire wolf of impressive size, tamed only by Donghyuck’s grip on the scruff of his neck as he sits atop the wolf’s shoulders right above his peytrals. Jeno’s teeth are still too big for his mouth, and his claws scratch grooves into the solid stone floor in his anticipation, but he waits for Donghyuck’s order. He will always listen to Donghyuck. He will always, always belong to Donghyuck.
Donghyuck does not make him wait long. He digs his heels back into Jeno’s ribs just enough to spur him to action, and then they’re charging at the man standing in the center of the hall before them, blood dripping off his blade onto the floor as Donghyuck raises his own sword. Donghyuck’s senses may not be as heightened as Jeno’s, but he knows what’s happened without seeing the proof. Donghyuck is not a vengeful man, but he is just.
He doesn’t wait for Jeno to carry him within arm’s reach of the man, couldn’t hold it in for so long if he tried―though he does not try. His sword glows with his rage, every colour of the rainbow radiating through pearly white, flecks of Donghyuck’s soul glittering in the moonlight. The moon offers her strength, and in return, he gives her another piece of himself. The trade off is precious, but in this moment he would do anything to see the assassin before him get what he damn well deserves. An eye for an eye, as they say. Donghyuck has never quite appreciated the sentiment until now.
As he swings his sword to the side, ripples of moonbeams shooting from the blade to cut through anything in their path, he thinks he understands. The man is severed almost instantly, dropping to the floor in a heap before he can so much as raise his weapon. Donghyuck gets no satisfaction from it, no closure, no joy. There is only anger.
“Jen, ballroom!” he shouts without a second glance at the mutilated body in the hall, tapping Jeno’s ribs with the heels of his boots once more. Jeno does as Donghyuck wishes, barreling through the massive doorway and vaulting bodies until he finds the one he knows Donghyuck is looking for.
Donghyuck doesn’t see it at first, line of sight blocked by Jeno’s armoured head, but then Jeno leans down to sniff at the corpse and Donghyuck makes a grotesque noise somewhere between a choke and a scream. It’s horrific, even to his own ears, and he can only imagine how it must sound to Jeno’s acute hearing. But Jeno hardly notices―he’s too busy pitching his head back and letting out the most strangled howl Donghyuck’s ever heard. Donghyuck holds tighter to Jeno’s fur, leaning forward to bury his face in Jeno’s scruff and let out a wail along with the tears. He lets himself wallow in it for a moment, and he can tell by the way Jeno keeps whining that he would be doing the same, if wolves could cry.
Donghyuck, however, has always been proactive, quick to action. He dismounts, boots landing in a puddle of blood on the dance floor, and drags a hand down his father’s face to close his eyes for good. He plants a kiss on the former monarch’s forehead, teardrops falling to mix with the tacky blood beneath him in a sickly swirl. Donghyuck presses a hand to his father’s chest, right where the fatal blow was struck, and cannot help but marvel at the irony. After the death of Donghyuck’s mother, his father always said he’d die of a broken heart, and now he has.
Donghyuck refuses to meet the same fate. He bends down to press his forehead against his father’s, whispering one last goodbye, and rises to his feet as the new rightful king. He runs a hand over Jeno’s neck, petting the fur not covered by armour in an attempt to be soothing. Jeno undoubtedly knows what he’s thinking; he shakes his head, and Donghyuck frowns.
The crown is nowhere to be seen, even with Jeno’s sharp eyes. Unsurprisingly, assassins who kill for power have little respect for the proper succession of the throne, and they’ll surely come for Donghyuck next.
Almost as if thinking it makes it so, Donghyuck hears a stirring down the hall a moment later. Jeno bristles immediately, cutting Donghyuck a look, who raises an eyebrow at him. The steps are rapidly approaching, clear even to Donghyuck’s inferior ears. Jeno growls again, a warning, and Donghyuck wields his sword once again. The footfall is nearly deafening now, tension coiled in Donghyuck’s chest so tight he could roar.
The source of the noise reaches the doorway just as Jeno grabs Donghyuck in his teeth to toss Donghyuck back onto his shoulders, another stroke of Donghyuck’s sword sending a solid beam of moonlight like a barricade against their enemies. There are at least ten of them now, though a few do get crushed by Donghyuck’s wrath in the form of moonlight, a beautiful end to a heinous crime. Donghyuck does not think they deserve such a merciful death, but he no longer cares to make that distinction. He only wants them dead.
One of them rushes into the room, and Jeno grabs the man by the throat, teeth tearing into the muscle there till they’ve bitten straight through, blood splattering all over Jeno’s muzzle and shaffron as the headless body slumps to the ground. Jeno drops the detached head, and Donghyuck spurs him on. They clear the bodies littering the dance floor with ease, Jeno’s strong legs propelling them forward as Donghyuck raises his sword above his head and Jeno bares every last blood-dripping fang.
They make quick work of the would-be assassins. They’re an impeccable team, working in perfect tandem cultivated by a lifetime of companionship. They trust each other with their lives, and it shows. It is well deserved; they would die for each other, though they’re skilled enough that it would hardly be necessary. They would also kill for each other―and they do.
Donghyuck has always been a skilled swordsman―the moon may offer her power, but he is a force to be reckoned with all on his own. He kills four men by blade alone in the time it takes Jeno to finish off the others, and then they’re left with nothing but each other and the rapidly growing pile of bodies at their sodden feet. A piece of Donghyuck dies with each of them. An eye for an eye never really ends.
“There will be more,” Donghyuck says, turning to Jeno to voice what they’re both thinking. “They won’t stop until they’ve killed me, too.” Jeno’s watchful eyes search Donghyuck’s blood-stained face for any sign of fear, but certainly there is none to be found―it is impossible to find what does not exist. Jeno nods once in affirmation, and Donghyuck tells him, “We need to leave,” as if Jeno hadn’t already figured it out, probably before Donghyuck himself did. Jeno’s ear twitches as if something has caught his attention, and Donghyuck doesn’t feel the need to stand by and find out what it is.
Instead, Donghyuck sheaths his sword and vaults himself onto Jeno’s back, tangling his fingers in Jeno’s thick fur, and that’s all the permission Jeno needs. He barrels out of the room into the deserted hallway, and even Donghyuck’s inferior human ears can detect the approaching footsteps now. Donghyuck briefly wonders who went to all this trouble just to end the royal bloodline, but that’s a question for another time. Right now, they need to get out.
“Window!” Donghyuck shouts, no longer caring who hears them. Jeno obeys blindly, claws skidding against the marble as he takes a sharp right to face the wall of glass looking out over the main courtyard. He does not hesitate a moment, not even to wait for the prodding nudge of Donghyuck’s heels. Donghyuck barely has time to duck, sheltering himself behind Jeno’s armoured head and shoulders, before they’re crashing through the glass and hurtling toward the cobblestone below. The shards from the broken pane sparkle around them, iridescent pieces of refracted moonlight much like the weapon strapped to Donghyuck’s hip but far less lethal.
They land on Jeno’s steady feet, colossal paws denting the earth with the entirety of their weight. Jeno once again rushes into motion without a second thought; Donghyuck has given him his order, and Jeno will not stop until Donghyuck is somewhere secure. Donghyuck hasn’t the slightest idea where Jeno plans to take him, but he intends to do whatever he can to ensure they both get there safely.
They reach the end of the courtyard, where a balcony hangs over the steep mountainside. Normally, Donghyuck admires the view―now, there is no time for such sentimentality. They reach the edge, and Donghyuck holds on tight with one hand as Jeno hurdles the railing, once again sending them into a free fall. He knows Donghyuck will catch him.
Donghyuck conjures a slant of ice, materializing in front of them so Jeno can touch down at an angle, a buffer between them and the sheer cliff they would have collided with. Jeno digs his claws into the frozen slope to slow their descent, steering them along as Donghyuck manifests more and more ice as they swiftly near the base of the mountain Donghyuck has always called home. Donghyuck is reminded of a simpler time, back when they were children, when he’d call up miniature drifts of ice for Jeno to slide down with him―the stakes were much lower then, back when their greatest fear was a scraped knee or a stern scolding from Donghyuck’s father, but maybe it was good practice, after all. They reach flat land without so much as a scratch, Jeno digging his heels into the snowy earth to bring them to a halt.
It’s snowing here, though it wasn’t at the castle on the peak, and Jeno licks at a snowflake that lands on the tip of his nose. Donghyuck would like to ask him to change back―would love to have a proper conversation with the only person in the world he has left―but in the end he knows Jeno will be more comfortable, and more useful, as a wolf for the time being. He’s grateful for the company, even so. All he says is, “We need to find shelter.”
Jeno responds with a single nod, starting off in a seemingly random direction at full speed. Donghyuck checks their trajectory against the position of the moon and finds that Jeno is travelling east. Donghyuck has no knowledge of anything significant in the east, so he asks, “Where are we going?” despite being well aware that Jeno cannot answer. Jeno tries, anyway, offering Donghyuck a sound somewhere between a huff and a snort. Donghyuck hasn’t the slightest idea what that means, so he sits back, along for the ride. He does not need an explanation. He trusts Jeno.
They carry on this way for what feels like a small eternity. The woods fly past them as Jeno’s powerful muscles carry them further and further away from the only home Donghyuck has ever known. Perhaps that’s what does it―the realization hits Donghyuck as they cross a half-frozen stream, blindsiding him with its intensity. He is an orphan. He is homeless. He wonders if this is what Jeno felt all those years ago, this soul-crushing grief, and he cannot help but wrap his arms around his favourite person in the world and let out an agonizing cry.
Jeno stops almost immediately, head turning in a vain attempt to see Donghyuck’s face. He’s clearly asking what the matter is, but Donghyuck is too busy hiccuping, choking on his own sorrow, to give a proper answer. Jeno kneels, a silent suggestion for Donghyuck to dismount. He does, albeit reluctantly.
The moment Donghyuck’s hands have left Jeno’s fur, he’s back to his normal self. There’s another symphony of splitting bones and tearing tendons, but it’s not as awful as it was before. The transition from wolf to man is much less taxing on Jeno’s anatomy. He shakes his limbs out a bit, readjusts to standing back on two feet, and then addresses Donghyuck.
“What is it?” he asks, arms held open in an unspoken invitation.
Donghyuck throws himself into Jeno’s arms, wrapping his arms around Jeno’s shoulders as he buries his tear-stained face into the crook of Jeno’s neck. Donghyuck is so glad he has Jeno. He would sell his soul a thousand times over if it meant he would always have Jeno.
“Talk to me, my Prince,” Jeno urges gently, running a hand through Donghyuck’s unruly curls. The wind continues to whip around them, and Donghyuck may be able to bend ice to his will, but he cannot alter the weather. He shivers, sniffling into Jeno’s chest.
“I’m not the prince anymore, Jen,” he says mournfully. “My father is not the king―isn’t anything―and I will never see him or the castle ever again.”
Jeno hums, hand sliding down to rub soothing circles into Donghyuck’s back. “That may be true,” he concedes, tucking Donghyuck’s head underneath his chin. “But you are still a prince. You’ve only lost your title, not your character.”
Donghyuck stops sniffling, sobs cut short at Jeno’s words. He pulls back to meet Jeno’s eyes, and there’s something a little canine about them even now, a little hungry. Donghyuck thinks he understands the feeling. “What do you think my father would have wanted me to do, now?” is maybe not the question Jeno was expecting, but he’s ready with an answer, either way.
“I think he would want you to follow the path you believe in,” he says, and he’s right. Donghyuck’s father only ever wanted him to be a good man, and gracious, and just.
Justice, as it turns out, is sometimes at odds with grace. Donghyuck makes his choice, there in the woods in the middle of the night with nothing but the moon and Jeno to guide him. That’s all he’ll ever need. “I believe it’s time to take back my throne, don’t you?”
Jeno’s face breaks out into a ravenous sort of smile, the tips of his fangs just barely visible, glistening pearly in the moonlight. “I think that’s a brilliant idea. And, as it happens, that’s exactly what I thought you’d say.”
Donghyuck cocks an eyebrow at him, head tilted in curiosity. “Oh? Care to tell me where we’re headed, then?”
Jeno starts off walking, leaving Donghyuck to trail behind him, the sheath of his sword bumping against his leg with every step, faint clacking in time with the clatter of Jeno’s armour as they make their way east. “I think I may know someone who will be able to help us,” he explains rather cryptically. “I haven’t spoken to him in years, but he’s a good man. I know he’ll harbour us, at the very least, if we can find him.”
“If we can find him?” Donghyuck parrots. “Are you quite sure you know where we’re going?”
“Well, you see,” Jeno says as he holds a hand out to help Donghyuck step over a large root. Donghyuck takes his hand and doesn’t drop it even after he’s safely on the other side of the obstacle. “Elves are very hard creatures to find when they want to be.”
Donghyuck does not stop in his tracks, but he does stumble a bit. “An elf? What kind of elf?”
Jeno pulls Donghyuck along by their joined hands as he says, “I think it’s better if I let him introduce himself.”
Donghyuck can only acquiesce; whoever this person is, if Jeno has faith that he will help them, then Donghyuck must believe it, too. Jeno’s never let Donghyuck down before, and there aren’t many alternatives out here in the wilderness when they have no way of knowing who they can trust and Donghyuck can scarcely tell where they are. This elf is their only option, and Donghyuck will gladly accept any help he can get, even if he will only ever truly depend on Jeno. Donghyuck has just one more question as he looks up at the stars, grounded by the familiar comfort of Jeno’s hand in his. “Well, what’s his name, at least?”
“Mark,” Jeno says with a fond smile and a reassuring squeeze of Donghyuck’s hand. “His name is Mark. I think you’ll quite like him.”