Chapter Text
ৡ 1. The leaf crown ৡ
Fern always knew he was supposed to be Frenatae’s new king, and he didn’t mind the court’s constant reminders, or his father’s, about how he was meant to govern. What he very much disliked were his wings. Or, rather, what their light color meant. White wings were as plain as the power they were able to give to their holder; weaker, both physically and magically. That’s what explained his illness. That’s what he usually heard around the castle, too.
Fern didn’t understand the problem though. His aunt had white wings, and she was the most renowned magic user in the kingdom! So it couldn’t be that hard for him to also make his people proud, right? He was still quite young to worry about it, and also too sick to properly learn how to use his wings for his own benefit, but he wanted to be ready, anyways. Sometimes, to see if he could learn something new to help himself, he eavesdropped the late-night talks his parents had.
Fern liked sneaking out of his room. It gave him a sense of adrenaline that he actually enjoyed; his chest would feel tight with anticipation, and not with the pain that overwhelmed him when he experienced yet another cough attack. It was a nice change, feeling excited, feeling like he already was a king that could roam his own castle with no restrictions.
He even had a tiny crown! One night, when he had felt particularly alone and sick, he had made it with some autumn leaves, sticking them together with salve. It looked like his father’s crown, somehow; with the leaves sparkling orange and yellow under his bedroom light. It fitted perfectly under his bed so his mom wouldn’t notice when she tucked him in to sleep. It was his secret. A representation of what he wanted to be.
It stayed only inside his bedroom, though. When he left the security of his bed, late at night, and ventured into the castle halls, he never brought the leaf crown with him. He didn't want it to get damaged. Fern simply started his way towards his parents’ bedroom, alone, carefully using every curtain he stumbled with to hide his white wings. They always made it difficult to be stealthy in the dark, but he always managed to get there without being spotted.
Standing at his parents’ bedroom door frame… It was a funny feeling. Before arriving, he craved his night walks all the time, wanted to go outside and feel free for just a few hours. But once he was actually listening to his dad’s voice flow around him... His chest strained once more. The pain hit him again. His breathing hitched and became unstable, he felt lightheaded, and it was like being trapped under his blankets with no air, no escape.
Fern loved his dad. He knew he did. He was just strict with him because he’ll be the future king of his people. Still, when he talked about how source magic was not enough, that even his aunt said he had no cure, that he wouldn’t last… It made him feel like he was meant to fail before even trying. And he was trying…
Source magic was just hard. And his white wings were just too weak. He was doing his best with what little he had. He had his aunt teaching him and helping him, and he was putting all his effort into it, and he was making roses bloom time and time again and that was magic . That was still magic! He was proud of his little blossoming abilities, and he was supposed to be doing magic, wasn't he?
“Mother, father, look! I did it again!”, he exclaimed, grabbing the bloomed bud and running with it to her mom’s side. A beautiful flower, like the ones she wore on her hair, like the lollybells he loved to see every time they opened their petals for him.
“How wonderful…”
It was magic. He knew it wasn't the type of magic his father would have preferred, but... Was he doing something wrong? He couldn’t really decipher his mom’s expression. Her words didn't quite match her posture.
“This is such a waste of time”.
What was it? Fern really couldn't understand. He glanced at the flower in his hands. Then back at his aunt, holding the rope. He hadn’t unknotted it. Fern had tried to, but the rose had bloomed instead. He had done magic, anyway.
Magic…
At night, in order to not dwell too much on his father’s words, and to pretend he was not alone, Fern spoke to the little leaf crown he had made. It was his biggest confidant. Fern would ask it if it believed in him. If he was wrong, if he would ever make it. What was he supposed to do? The rope would not unfurl, even if he focused, and his flowers didn't seem to be enough for his dad, not even the only thing he was good at…
“I can make flowers bloom. I can make them bloom”, he would say, enveloped in the darkness of his room, clutching the crown on his fingers. It was slowly dying, the leaves crumbling a little on the edges, some of them at the brim of falling off. “I can make flowers bloom. I can make them look pretty. You appreciate that, don’t you?”
The crown never responded, obviously, but Fern still closed his eyes, giving himself the illusion that his heartbeat was the crown’s words. “My dad hates the roses, but… Do you like beautiful things?”. The leaves made a pained noise on Fern’s grasp, and his fingers untightened, trying not to hurt it anymore. “I guess you’re right. Who wouldn’t like beautiful things? That’d be stupid”.
A few heartbeats more passed. Fern opened his eyes, glancing at the bed table, where his shiny red blossomed rose was. He had tried, before, to use source magic to make the leaf crown whole again. To transfer the rose’s life force to the autumn leaves, so they stopped dying. Fern was never able to, but he wasn't sure if it was because he didn't have the ability, or because the autumn leaves were already dead. Because they’d been dead since the moment they fell from their tree.
Beautiful things were not meant to last, sometimes. His voice broke, just barely, and it almost sounded like the leaves were being held too hard again. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep giving you pretty stuff, okay? I’ll find a way to be worthy… I promise”.