Chapter Text
Steve
The dagger blade scrapes against his cheek, tugging against the dry skin in a way that's so familiar it's more soothing than irritating. Hidden away in a clump of trees, using a muddy little stream as a mirror, Steve shaves as closely as he can. It's something he always does when they're travelling with other people. For one thing, a beard is annoying as hell; but more importantly, if he doesn't have one then Robin won't stand out so much. The longer they're on the road the more little details like that matter.
It also gives him a few minutes each day to be alone. Although it's not far from the others, he can still hear their voices, he shaves alone both because he doesn't want to draw attention to what he's doing and because, damn it, he needs those minutes.
His reflection stares back at him from the muddy water, ripples carving his face into uneven lines. The shadows of the trees beginning to stretch and darken around him. Back home, Eddie and Dustin must be eating. That is, if Dustin's forgiven them yet. He really hopes he has. At least, he hopes he's forgiven Eddie. It's awful enough that he had to leave without saying goodbye. If Dustin’s still avoiding Eddie...
Shit, he can't bear to think of him upset and all by himself in that big house.
No, he tells himself for the hundredth time. Dustin wouldn't hold a grudge. Not now. Not when they’ll need each other so much. They have a deeper bond than a simple apprenticeship. They might not be not Dustin’s parents, they're not even ten years older than the kid, but together they are a family. Together. They’ll be eating together. Hopefully something nicer than the cold rations he’s subsisting on now that they're on foot, in enemy territory and unwilling to light a fire. And when he gets back, he’ll be able to apologise to both of them. To make things right.
Today, he believes it.
In the distance there's a rustle. Steve peers through the gloom, trying to make out what's there. Is there a shadow moving through the darkness, or is it his imagination?
They hadn't expected the Cold Wastes would be so alive. But it wasn't like they got to the border and found a thick dividing line between green and growing Hawkins and an ashen and dead desert. Having left their horses at the nearest border village they simply swam across a wide river from one thick forest into another.
It's alive. It's familiar, and yet also not. Despite the abundance of trees and vegetation, here and there an awful acrid stench announces a patch of death. All the plants in a ragged circle dying or dead and decaying into a foul black goo. A skittering in the trees would draw his attention, but instead of a squirrel or a bird, it would be a spider scurrying through the branches. And not just any spider. The arachnids here are easily the size of rats. Big rats. So far they've always been alone, thank god, and nimble. Well-balanced. The idea of one of them dropping onto him makes him shudder.
They haven't seen any other animals, yet, but the plant life seems to reach for them threateningly. Thick vines run around all the tree trunks, creeping towards the forest floor rather than the sky. If they stop in one place for longer than a minute or two, somehow the leafy tendrils seem to be closer when they leave than when they arrived.
They don't stay in one place too long.
Rubbing his hand across his roughly shaven cheeks, he slides the dagger back into his belt. With a deep breath, he squashes his whirling thoughts and marches back to the group. Hoping it seems like he’d just stepped away for a second to relieve himself.
“Ready to move on?” Prince Jonathan pounces the second he’s within sight. Vecna's deadline is fast approaching; they're stopping even less than they were. The Prince driving them on relentlessly, following Eleven deeper and deeper into this strange land.
“We will be there soon,” the girl whispers. The closer they come to wherever she's leading them, the quieter she gets.
A chill wind rushes through the trees, making her shiver. Mike solicitously helps her tie her borrowed cloak tighter. Steve clears his throat once, staring at the kid until he flushes and steps away from her, looking down at the ground. Normally he wouldn't care about the teenager’s obvious crush, but this is hardly the time or place. They're supposed to be pretending she's Robin's apprentice. If anyone's watching, the kid’s going to get her caught. And despite appearing to be the same age as Mike and Dustin, judging by her reactions the girl clearly has no idea about these things. Steve sighs. He’ll have to try and pull him aside for a proper talk. When they're somewhere they can talk openly again.
Robin catches his eye with a nod, she knows what he's thinking. Stepping between the teenagers, she directs the girl to take the lead once again and they head off through the undergrowth. With a hand on his shoulder, Steve keeps Mike from following the girl like a lovesick puppy. Making sure the Prince goes ahead of the two of them. They walk in a ragged line, Eleven, Robin, Prince Jonathan, Mike and Steve bringing up the rear.
Eleven leads them into thicker and thicker vegetation. Brambles and vines sneak around their ankles and legs, attempting to trip or catch them. They don't talk as they walk. Too busy trying to see where they can place their next step. Forced to stop every now and then to pull a sleeve or sword out of a tangle it’s gotten caught in. In his position of rear guard, Steve is hyper-aware of every rustle. Head-swiveling, eyes narrowed, trying to pierce the rapidly thickening gloom.
It's not night, not yet, but the canopy is so thick it blocks what little light still shines. They don't stop when it gets dark. Eleven doesn't seem to need to. She pauses every now and then with her eyes closed as though checking her memory, then continues. Given how close they are to the deadline, he's not expecting Jonathan to stop at all. Not even for sleep. For the last two days they've tightened their belts and eaten on the move.
They keep walking until it's truly dark. Through the evening and past nightfall, although the moon doesn't shine through the trees any more easily than the waning sun did. At first Steve thinks he can hear the blood pumping through his ears, but gradually the sound swells around them. A whisper becomes a rush, and a rush becomes a roar. Water gushing and churning. As it gets louder, Steve's nerves spiral higher and higher. It could be hiding anything, soon it covers even the sound of their own footsteps. He’s so caught up in trying to hear over the torrent that it comes as a shock when they emerge from the trees and Eleven stops at the crest of a ravine.
Far below a river rushes. Water swirls grey and black around jagged teeth-like rocks.
“There,” she points down the side of the cliff to an opening. It can barely be called a cave, it's more of a burrow. The edges muddy and irregular. Like someone, or something, pushed their way out of the soil. Steve stares into the blackness of the void in the earth, skin prickling with apprehension.
“How is that supposed to get us into Vecna's palace?” Mike hisses, earning himself a frown from Eleven. Steve shakes off the uncomfortable feeling and lets his hands fall on the kids shoulders. Roughly, he turns him and directs his gaze upwards.
In the distance, above the treeline, a forbidding grey stone tower rises.
Eddie
My love,
The Prince commanded us to leave immediately. I had no choice. I'm so sorry. I wanted to wait for you. I wanted nothing more than to keep my promise.
I hope you can forgive me. I love you, and I will come back to you. Remember what we said.
Alone in the kitchen of Harrington House, sitting at the enormous oak table, Eddie stares at the parchment. At the brief words and the scrawled tree Steve counted as a signature.
A whole week has passed since Nancy handed over the note, trying to keep her face stoic in front of Dustin. He didn't notice her shock when he ripped it open in front of the kid, only registering her open-mouthed astonishment after he’d read those few hurried words, turned the page two or three times desperately hoping for something more, anything at all, and turned on her to demand, ‘is that it?’
Her explanation didn't help.
But thank all the gods that Dustin did know Steve was more than just landlord and friend because he's got no idea how he could possibly have hidden his feelings. Keeping it together for longer than a performance or a trip to the market seems impossible. Having to pretend he wasn't sleeping in Steve's bed every night, desperately hoping his scent won't fade, would be torture.
Whatever lingering resentment the teenager might have held, especially over the new revelation that Nancy had known the truth when he hadn't been let in on the secret, he's had the decency to suppress in the face of Steve's abrupt departure. Or maybe he's just too busy being worried about his friends: the young prince, Mike, and Steve too of course.
Whatever the answer, he's been the one keeping things running in the house. Eddie can't muster the energy to do more than exist. Veering from the desire to sharpen up his uncle’s old axe and risk Jonathan's displeasure by chasing after them; to wanting to storm away from Hawkins and this whole sorry mess; to accepting that in this, he has to be the good little wife, like Nancy, and wait at home for Steve to return. Or for word to reach him. If anyone thinks to tell him, of course. Every night he’s dreamed of that moment, of finding out Steve's dead at court in front of hundreds of people. Of being trapped, stuck, choked by grief while everyone stares at him, until he forces himself awake and lies alone in the dark covered in cold sweat.
The hard part of him wants to say that he'll never forgive Steve for doing this. For going to the Cold Wastes without question, without even a proper goodbye, but he knows if he were to walk through the door right now he couldn't maintain that anger for more than a second.
I hope you can forgive me. I love you, and I will come back to you. Remember what we said.
Remember. He's spent far too long trying to figure out what Steve meant by that. On the one hand, it could be a simple reference to their conversation about Dustin. That's certainly what he told the kid. After all, he needed comfort too. But maybe, maybe it means more. Maybe there was supposed to be some other message in there. Surely he had more to say in farewell than these measly fifty words.
His fingers tighten on the parchment, making it rustle and bend in his grip. The door bangs, and Dustin bustles through. Savagely he folds the letter back up again and tucks it back into his pocket, next to his heart.
He moves much too slowly to hide what he was doing from Dustin. The kid stops, fixing him with a look of concern. A look that's been on his face a lot this week. Eddie sighs.
“Any news?” he asks, pleased when his voice comes out a little forced, but mostly normal.
Dustin shakes his head. Although it's not a shock, Eddie's head drops for a moment so he can process the disappointment from behind his hair rather than having to deal with the kid’s worry.
“We’ve been summoned,” Dustin says, uncharacteristically soft. “The Queen, she…”
“Well if the Queen needs us we'd better hop to it,” Eddie interrupts bitterly, irritation overtaking him, “otherwise we might be in danger of having too much for ourselves.”
He surges to his feet, the wooden bench squealing against the tiled floor, and stalks away from Dustin towards the back of the room where his instrument is.
“Don't do that,” he says behind him. The stubbornness in his tone telling Eddie exactly what the expression on his face would be. “She's worried too, you know, about Prince Jonathan and Will. You know what today is, don't you?”
Eddie stops on the far side of the room, his back still to his apprentice. He rests his forehead against the whitewashed wall. He hates admitting when the kid is right. Especially when it's in that tone of voice.
“One week,” he sighs. The deadline Hopper said Vecna had given. One week for the Queen to answer and give up the kingdom, or whatever else it was he wanted exactly. The politics of it didn't interest him so he hadn't bothered to listen to that bit.
He does know she hasn't sent any answer. Murray insisted to answer would be weak. And that means ‘the boy will be the first to die’. He did hear that part.
Eddie groans and knocks his head against the wall, gently but firmly. Aside from being Dustin’s friend, Will’s a sweet kid. Quick to laugh, if he's in the mood, keeps to himself if he's down. Smart. Kind to the lower ranks. He doesn't deserve to die, least of all at the hands of Vecna.
“Exactly,” Dustin says, “they're waiting to see what happens. It's tense.”
“And they want something to break the mood.” Eddie doesn't really feel irritated any more, he's too tired and flat to maintain any emotion for long, but he can't be seen to shake off the bitterness too quickly. “Better get my jester’s hat.”
“Eddie,” Dustin whines.
“Ok, ok.”
He picks up the lute. When he turns back, Dustin hasn't moved. He's keeping his face as stoic as possible, but his eyes tell a different story. They're pinched, and worried.
Shit. Will is his friend too. Eddie walks over to him, squeezes his shoulder.
“Will’s a smart kid, you know,” he says, “he catches on quicker than his brother most of the time. Links all the different tales together just like you do. I’ve never found a riddle he can't solve. It wouldn't surprise me if he found a way to get out.”
Dustin nods eagerly, “or Steve might have rescued him already, right?” he asks, desperate hope in his eyes.
No one travels to The Cold Wastes willingly, so their knowledge of the geography of the region is hazy at best. Without the benefit of whatever magic Vecna uses, they should have been able to make the border in four days, but no one in Hawkins knows how far the castle is from there. No one except that girl, Eleven. And she's not on hand to ask.
“He wouldn't waste any time,” Eddie settles on an appropriate non-answer, “and neither would Prince Jonathan.”
It's obvious Dustin knows what he's doing, but he smiles gratefully nonetheless.
“Now go get your fiddle,” Eddie says, “that's the one you're best at. We'll come up with something to keep them all entertained. Until…well, as long as they need us.”
The route to the castle is bustling as ever, despite the ripple of disquiet caused around town by the news of the young Prince going missing. Somehow the real significance of it, and Vecna's involvement, hasn't slipped out yet. It's market trader gossip right now. Newsworthy, but no reason to panic. It's only as they cross the threshold into the Queen's day room that the tension escalates.
They walk into a heavy, oppressive silence. The Queen pacing back and forth from one side of the room to the other. Skirts swirling around her whenever she turns. Every now and then she pauses, hand raised as though she's about to say something, before thinking better of it and resuming her nervous progress. She barely acknowledges their entrance.
Instead it's Murray who strides across and ushers them in.
“Thank god you're here,” he says, and it's so genuine and out of character that Eddie pauses and stares at him. “Yes, yes I know,” he acknowledges, with a dismissive gesture, “but she's driving me mad, so get in here and play something. Preferably something long and fascinating.”
Eddie snorts. What does the Advisor think he is? A sorcerer? There isn't a song composed that could possibly take a mother's mind off the thought that at least one of her children might die today.
“Any ideas?” he asks Dustin quietly. He's got a thought or two, but the kid’s got a few years of experience now and he wants to see what he’ll come up with.
“Something light,” the kid whispers, “not too cheerful or melancholy.”
“Like?”
Dustin pulls a thoughtful face. “Something instrumental,” he decides eventually. “The Balmy Month of May?”
Eddie pats his shoulder. “Good choice.”
They play for a while, the gentle music filling the tense and silent room. After The Balmy Month of May Eddie launches into another tune, one which usually has a vocal part, but he doesn't start singing. To his pride, Dustin manages to keep up, following the transition seamlessly.
Whether it's working or not is debatable, but the Queen does stop pacing and sits down. Murray visibly relaxes when she does. Taking a chance, when the next song ends Eddie leads Dustin off into a silly little piece, an old song mostly sung by mothers to their children. His only memory of his own mother is her singing it to him. It's such a well known little nonsense tune that this time he decides to sing the lyrics softly as well.
The safehold held an apple tree / Li da rol ee O
Thrice round the tree made my pledge to thee / Oh li da rol ee O
Around the root the fruit did fall / Li da rol ee O
Near nine hundred men in all / Oh li da rol ee O
I used a hatchet to open their heads / Li da rol ee O
Inside was empty air instead / Oh li da rol ee O
On the nether side dark stone did seal / Li da rol ee O
Waved the arms and legs of a nine-eyed eel / Oh li da rol ee O
And all of those eels as big as I / Li da rol ee O
Now why would you think I was telling a lie? / Oh li da rol ee O
The Queen almost cracks a smile, and Dustin grins at him in triumph. But the moment is cut short by a blood-curdling scream from outside. His fingers slip off the strings with a discordant screech. Dustin's staring at the closed door pale, mouth hanging open.
The Queen is on her feet and running towards the door before any of the rest of them recover. She wrenches it open and flies out into the corridor. With a shout Murray follows.
“Will,” Dustin breathes. His fiddle and bow clatter to the ground.
Eddie opens his mouth to say something comforting, but before he can Dustin takes off after Murray.
“Shit,” Eddie curses and he follows behind. He pauses at the door, but the commotion to his left tells him which way to go. His reluctant feet carry him in the direction of the crying and shouting.
When he reaches the turn at the end of the corridor, the scene in front of him sends his stomach churning.
One of the attendants lies in the middle of the floor, blood leaking from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears. More blood, dried this time, covering his hands. At first the rich red of his livery and the carpet hide it, but it doesn't take Eddie long to understand that the darker red stains spreading beneath his body and across his chest are also blood. The screaming comes from a maid, standing in the middle of a pile of broken plates. She's clutching her face and her heart, eyes wide and terrified. The Queen, Murray and Dustin are arranged on the other side of the corpse. The kid doesn't react when Eddie throws an arm across his shoulders.
Pounding feet announce the arrival of Sheriff Hopper. Of course. Eddie holds in a snort. On a day like today he wouldn't be far from her side. It's only surprising he wasn't in the morning room. The Sheriff strides towards the group. Gently, he takes hold of the maid’s arm and turns her away from the scene. Pottery crunches beneath her slippered feet, her screaming winding down to terrified whimpers. Hopper passes her down to the housekeeper standing behind him who whispers furiously in her ear.
“Did anyone see what happened?” Hopper demands of the crowd.
“He just fell,” the maid wails. “There was blood on his face and then he fell.”
Hopper clenches his jaw. Eddie might not have been in Hawkins last time it was beset by Vecna, but he knows as well as the Sheriff who is behind this.
“Take her down to the kitchens,” he instructs the housekeeper, who immediately starts to lead the crying maid away. He barks out more orders that have the other onlookers scurrying away as well, but when he locks eyes with Dustin, then Eddie, he nods subtly.
They have permission to stay then. Good. He probably couldn't drag Dustin out of here without knocking him unconscious.
The Sheriff pulls a dagger from his belt, then knees in front of the corpse of the attendant. Heedless of the sticky pool of blood gathered on the carpet. In one quick and smooth stroke, he cuts the front of his livery. Gods, that dagger must be wicked sharp. The fabric barely makes a sound as it's parted by the steel. It sighs apart like a curtain, revealing the pale skin of the man’s chest and a series of deep red gashes.
Hopper pushes the fabric aside to reveal the man’s torso. The Queen cries out, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Dustin chokes, and even Murray looks distressed.
Three words are carved into the man’s pale chest.
The boy dies
Joyce
With a hand on her elbow, Jim hurries her back into the morning room. Shutting the door in Murray's face without a word so that it's just the two of them in there. The second the door closes, the wail that's been bubbling in her chest releases. She covers her mouth with her hands, trying to muffle it.
“It's ok,” Jim wraps his arms around her, cradling her head against his chest. “It's just posturing, Jonathan will be there by now…”
“I have to go,” she sobs. Every exhale hurts. The walls around her, even Jim’s arms, feel like a prison. Like they're closing in, crushing her. She struggles to get free, but he's holding her too tightly. “I have to be there…I have to find him…”
“You have to trust your sons,” Jim’s voice, stern, implacable, cuts across her growing hysteria.
“But…”
“But nothing,” he grabs her arms, pushing her back so she's looking into his eyes. “We can't have every single member of the Byers family away from Hawkins. Especially not you. That's just what Vecna wants. He wants to paralyse you with grief. To soften us up and make the castle easy pickings. You can't let him. All you can do for Will now is make sure you stay strong and trust both him and Jonathan.”
With a violent twist, she wrenches herself out of his grip and marches across the room to the window. Beyond the castle walls the land falls away into familiar rolling grassland; beyond that, on the horizon, green trees pierce the blue sky. The woods where Will was taken. Beyond them both, out of sight, lie the Cold Wastes and Vecna's palace. She leans against the wall, stones cool against her hand, not soothing but supporting. This castle has protected ten generations of her family. All the way back to Dunstan Byers, the first King of Hawkins. She may be a Byers by marriage only, and not a happy marriage at that, but after bearing two heirs and holding the throne alone for twelve years, she feels more than entitled to the name. She's earned the right. And she needs to take strength from that history now. This stronghold is hers to keep.
On the one hand, Vecna could be lying, but what if he's not. What if Jonathan was too late?
Will’s always been different, more sensitive than his brother. Both boys were bright, but her youngest was more often quiet and withdrawn. Given to locking himself away, painting or reading. She knows she shouldn't think it, but in the dark corners of her own mind she can't help but be glad he was so young when Lonnie was killed. There's no way the late King of Hawkins would have accepted such a boy. He would have made his life a living hell trying to toughen him up. He certainly wouldn't have allowed him to become friends with a bunch of commoners, even though those boys have more than repaid her trust and proven their loyalty.
To think of her poor boy, all alone and frightened, in pain, being hurt, or worse…she sobs once more against her hand.
The safehold held an apple tree / Li da rol ee O
Thrice round the tree made my pledge to thee / Oh li da rol ee O
What had led Eddie to chose that song today? It had been Will’s favourite when he was small. In the dark days of the war she would sing it to him over and over to coax him into sleep. She couldn't keep him away from all the stories of the battlefield, and they came back to haunt his nightmares. If the battles and tragedies hadn't been so constant it would have seemed prophetic at times. Like the night his father died. Three year old Will had woken in the dark hours screaming, inconsolable. The nurse couldn't quiet him, and neither could she. No matter how much she held him, or sang to him, he’d cried until the messenger arrived to bring them the news. Then he sat pale and drawn in Jonathan's arms the rest of the day while she rushed around, enlisting Jim and Murray's help to ensure she was the one who seized the mantle of power. Before any ambitious Lord like Hagan or Carver got it into his head to declare himself a Lord Protector or some nonsense like that.
Jonathan. Steadfast, reliable Jonathan. Lonnie wouldn't have been proud of him either, even though he's twice the man his father ever was. Strong enough to show care and affection. Honest. Loyal.
He promised he would get Will.
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, focusses on the smooth, aged stone beneath her hand. If either of them were dead, she would know. She has to believe it. She gave them life. They came from her body, and her mother's body would tell her if they were gone.
In the darkness behind her eyelids, she lets the coolness of the stone seep through her fingers, down her arm and into her heart. Breathes the dust and age of the castle into her lungs.
Will…where are you? Jonathan?
A tiny flutter catches the edge of her consciousness. Is it hope? Mere fancy? Could it be something real?
She gasps as she suddenly feels the distinctive touch of her younger son's hand on her shoulder. It creeps across, towards her collarbone. She whispers his name, and an answering breeze seems to blow across her cheek. Then there's a loud knock and the feeling vanishes.
Eyes flying open, she whirls around. Jim has opened the door, and outside stands one of his deputies. Hat in hand, the man clutches it with a grip so tight it's making the dark skin of his knuckles go pale. They speak too quietly for her to hear, but Jim dismisses him quickly and shuts the door again.
“Sorry.” He grimaces.
“Was it about Will?”
“No, just some unrest in the town. Someone else has gone missing.” She sighs, shoulders slumping. For a brief second, she'd dared to hope Jonathan had somehow sent a message.
“Is it anything to worry about?” she asks. Jim snorts.
"Of course not. Since Will was taken, people are getting jumpy. They probably just left town but their families don't want to believe it.”
“Do you need to go?”
Jim shakes his head. “Powell can handle it.”
She nods. A sharp ache flares down her arm and she realises it's locked in place, palm still flat against the wall, her shoulder now twisted from her sudden turn. Her muscles creak as she straightens and pulls away from the stone. A shudder runs down her spine at the memory of the feeling of Will standing behind her. His hand on her shoulder. It was so real. It couldn't have been her imagination, could it? Somehow, he was here. Vital and alive, but insubstantial. Here. Reaching out to her.
She's brought back to the room by the warmth of Jim’s body. His hands find her waist. He kisses her, but she's too distracted to kiss him back.
“Don’t give up until you know for sure,” he says, taking her silence for grief.
There's a haunted look in his eyes she remembers all too well. After all, he knows what it is to grieve a child. His daughter had been younger than Will is now when the healer told them nothing more could be done.
She hugs him tightly.
“Will is alive,” she whispers into his chest, ignoring the scratchy fabric of his uniform against her cheek.
“That's right,” he says encouragingly, rubbing her back, “you have to keep faith.”
“It's not faith,” she hisses fiercely. “He is alive. I know it.”