Feathers red, stature small

Father's dread and mother's fall

Sealed away for good of all

Ne'er heed the frozen prince's call

They brought him back five months later.

He was in bad shape. Skin a pale, milky blue, steaming with the cold, breath coming in shallow puffs of mist with long intervals between. It’d be a miracle if he lived.

And if the heavens weren’t in the mood to give him one, Hawk would rip them apart and take it by force.

While Hawk stared, one of the guards took up a thick piece of wood and hefted it high, then struck down. Hawk caught the blow at the crook of his neck and crumpled to his knees. First numbness, then pain seared out that side of his face down his shoulder. Hot, sticky blood ran a line down his jaw and dripped onto the dusty ground below.

That drop of crimson swayed in his vision. Hawk wiped a sleeve over his jaw.

Then he got up and carried on working.

~~~

Hawk kept his ear to the ground for the next couple of weeks. It wasn’t hard to tell what bits of conversation were related to Lydian—most of the guards had the same expressions of derision and contempt when they spoke of him, and they all referred to him with some offensive nickname or another, mostly derived from his slight stature.

For a while, Lydian’s life hung by a thread. There was a time when Hawk lay hollowed out, waiting for sleep, thinking he’d bury Lydian and the remains of his old life with his own two hands the next day. And then, as if to spite the humans who mocked him even on his deathbed, Lydian pulled through.

Four days after that, he woke up.

Hawk was the first who got the honor of seeing him, aside from the doctor. This was both due to luck and the fact that those who would otherwise have volunteered were scared of him. He happened to be there when the guards issued the order that one of them take Lydian a meal, and the glare he cast around quelled everyone’s desire to challenge him for the break from tougher work.

When he ducked into the infirmary tent, only one bed was occupied.

Hawk brought the tray over. “Hey. You awake?”

“. . .Yeah.” Lydian’s voice was weak, and it was a moment before his eyelids trembled and parted with a great effort. “Can I ask you something?”

Hawk studied the eyes revealed and felt something sink inside. “Go ahead.”

“First. . .Who are you? I. . .feel like we’ve met. . .”

“I’m Hawk. And we have met.”

“Oh, good. Then, who am I?”

Hawk was silent.

It wasn’t all that surprising that Lydian remembered nothing. He’d been trapped in a chunk of ice for who knew how long, and almost died. Still, Hawk had a feeling that it was all in there somewhere—just as the ancients’ power was. It was just that Lydian no longer knew how to reach it.

And for his own sake, Hawk would not enlighten him. Today he would bury in Lydian all that they’d left in the old world.

“You’re Finch.”