Chapter Text
As you well know, every story has its beginning.
A root out of which wondrous tales grow. And this story started, in a way, with a plant. A Rapunzel, to be specific. If you are common and barely magic, you might know this little plant as corn salad. What a demeaning name for such a precious wee weed! It may be a salad to most people but to a witch it is known as an excellent natural storage for magic. And if you are 300 years old, it's important to pay attention to your nutrition. You can't go eating children or drinking the blood of virgins once you're past 120. It's not good for your bowels. Cultivating a good, magic-rich Rapunzel takes great work and you can imagine that witches are not very excited if some foolish mortal comes to eat the fruit of their labor. But, as it is, good things come out of misfortunes. And if you happen to be a witch, you always know how to count on the misfortunes of others to be your blessing.
Speaking of misfortunes, let us hurry on and jump right into that one fateful night, almost as fateful an event as a greedy scribe stealing Rapunzel and paying dearly for it.
At the time the kingdoms were at war, bloody, spectacular war, like most wars between humans and demons tended to be. Maybe it was raining that particular night, maybe it was the clearest night of all, but to give this moment the drama it deserves:
Thunder boomed overhead with a crack that rent the sky apart in violent white, setting it ablaze in pale purples, casting the looming clouds into even deeper shade. The tormented princess, driving the horses with a fierce, desperate whip and ruby slippers pressed into the hot skin of the animal underneath her, barely noticed it. Her face was icy, the rain drops lashing angrily at her pale skin, and her eyes were wide with fear. The wagon wheels strained in the desperate run through the wild forest, the muddy ground viciously greedy to swallow the riders up, but the wagon persevered. It was hard to recognize her in this state and with her fine dress stained with blood, but it was Mary, crown princess of the kingdom of Campbell, who was riding like she was trying to outrun the devil. And in a way she was. She had escaped the ambush of the yellow eyed fiend with her life, which was more than what could be said of the vast majority of the party she had traveled with. And now, the inescapable entity followed her, was sitting in the wagon with her father, waiting for its next victim with the patience of a being that knows it will ultimately always get what it desires. But still, what Mary tried to do in this dark night was to outrun death.
With a scream she stopped in her tracks, crashing out of the forest and into a crossroad. Just ahead of her there was a gate, and behind it only the dim flickering lights through the sheets of rain hinted at a house. Mary was gasping, her breath forming violent clouds, not unlike those of the beasts that had carried her here. For a moment she was unmoving, afraid of what was to come, but then Mary spotted a figure at the gate, shielded against the rain by a heavy cloak. As Mary commanded the horses to pull the carriage right up to the gate the figure lowered its hood to reveal a man with dark hair, quickly turning black in the falling rain. But the night and thunder did nothing to dim the unnaturally bright blue eyes. This man held various names in his life, but nowadays people called him Castiel. And Castiel was the witch of the realm.
You must see, there is a very specific reason why Mary chose to seek his help. There were witches all throughout the lands, at least there used to be at the time. Good witches and bad witches and everything in between. Kingdoms of old chose to secure the services of a witch for a variety of benefits. Witches who you chose to affiliate yourself with as a king or a queen could make or break a kingdom.
Now, the witch the princess had sought out in her most dire hour was… well, see for yourself.
Mary hurried up to the gate which Castiel opened. He held out an unlit lantern. With the next flash of lighting that blinded Mary, the lantern ignited with a blue flame.
"Mary," the witch spoke, his voice grave as he understood the severity of the situation.
"We were ambushed! I managed to take the carriage and break away, but… but my father and… John…!" Mary's voice hitched with a sob and she bit her lips. "You must heal them!" Castiel listened to her words without comment, while they were hurrying over to the carriage. Mary ripped the door open and Castiel inched back slightly as the aura of death's presence greeted him. He was sure what he would find, still he shone his lamp into the interior. The King of Campbell lay dead on the bench, his eyes unseeing, mouth still open on the surprised gasp when the demon lance had pierced his heart. The crown prince of Winchester, John, the future husband of Mary, was shivering in the dark, what he still had of his life sluggishly bleeding out of him. With a grim face the witch turned to Mary.
"I can heal Prince John, but the king has already died." Mary only stared at him, clearly she must have already known of her father's demise. "I can't do anything for him." Now, the future queen widened her eyes, despair warring with defiance.
"No…! No, you can! I know you can!" she shouted. "You're a witch, you can raise the dead!" Castiel only gazed at her with pity, but that angered the princess. "Do it! Bring him back!"
"I have taken a vow to never use dark magic to bend the course of nature," Castiel told her. "If that is the kind of magic you want, then you shouldn't have come here." Mary was speechless, the pain inside of her churning, darkening. Castiel noticed and quickly took a step forwards. "But let me get to John, there is still hope for him." Mary however reached behind her, pulling the dagger her father still had at his belt out, holding it to Castiel's throat.
"You're the witch of the realm and I am your future queen! If I order you to heal both, you cannot refuse!" Castiel didn't move from his position, unafraid of the danger and his loyalty untouched by the show of disrespect.
"But I will refuse," he said and the tip of the dagger pointed at Castiel's throat trembled as Mary cried.
"You cannot! I forbid you! If you do not follow my orders this is treason and you will be punished with banishment!" That did put a crack in Castiel's heart, but it did not break his resolve.
"There are vows that are stronger than any order even my queen can give me," he said and Mary screamed at him. She didn't harm him, but she screamed out her despair and her anger and pain. Castiel let her air her grief, but the time was pressing. "Please," he beseeched her. "Please let me heal John." But something had happened within Mary by the time her scream had died down to nothing but silence. The storm still raged without care or pity for the sorrows of mortals, but Mary was now quiet.
"No. You have failed me," she said, her voice raw from crying but icy. The look she gave Castiel was full of contempt. "You have betrayed the kingdom. Get out of my sight." Castiel took a deep breath, steeling himself. He studied the princess, but in the end he gave a jerky nod and stepped away. Mary shot one longing, wounded look into the wagon, then she slammed it shut and got back on the horse. The cry of a lone crow rang out between the clap of thunder. Castiel looked up and saw golden eyes study him from the tree branch above.
"Ride east. Follow the crow and try your luck," Castiel said. Mary's harsh expression flickered to confusion until Castiel lifted his lamp and the blue glow reflected on the shiny wings of the crow as it flew down with a call. It circled over the carriage, making Mary flinch, then it soared up high. Mary didn't reply and she didn't look back.
As Castiel watched Mary depart, he must have asked himself if turning Mary away to follow the laws that bound him, had been the right thing to do. Was Castiel righteous? Where did he fall in this great balance between good and evil witches? But Castiel left that question unanswered, turning away and closing the gate behind himself. It was done. He had made his choice.
But so had Mary. And there were witches out there who will do anything for a price. Mary, riding hard under the rain, always turning her gaze up to observe the crow fly over her head, found one such witch. But the difference between Castiel and this witch was that Castiel never demanded anything in return for his services. Golden eyes glowing mischievously in the firelight, the witch gave the future queen dripping rain on his expensive rug a choice.
"You bring death to my door and you bring a demand. Pretty insolent, don't you think?" he asked, his voice amused. He was slouching in his chair, resting his cheek on his fingers. Witches traditionally didn't care for monarchs and this particular witch was no exception.
"I understand there will be a price," the princess said. Her voice was not as sharp as it had been when she had faced down Castiel. Grief had filled almost all the spaces in her heart and mind, because when she had arrived at the witch's manor, help had been too late for John as well.
"Oh, there will," the witch said, eyebrows rising and smile widening in undisguised delight. He lifted his head away from his hand, freeing it to snap his fingers. The princess flinched but when she opened her eyes again two tables stood between her and the witch, lying on them the pale bodies of her deceased father and betrothed. The witch clapped his thighs with his palms, the sound loud in the silence. "So! But first things first. You brought two dead people."
"We were ambushed, by-"
"Shush," the witch said, flicking his hand out to her and Mary fell into an indignant silence. "I do not care about the technicalities. Let's look at this from a practical side." The witch held out both of his hands towards the bodies. "Two bodies." Then he pointed back at himself. "One spell."
"I don't… I don't understand…?"
"I will revive one of them. Just one," the witch said. Mary stilled in horror, not having expected such a limitation.
"No! I demand you revive both!"
"And if I don't, what could you possibly do?" the witch challenged, his grin fierce almost as if he wished Mary would threaten him. Mary however was speechless. "Look sweetheart. I'm not the mushy kind of witch. I don't do magic out of the goodness of my heart, especially not this kind of magic. So, here's the deal. You make a choice. Your father or your lover. I will revive one." Mary bit her lips, looking from her father to John. Right about now, she felt deep regret not to have allowed Castiel to heal John.
"John," she finally said and the witch nodded.
"What will the price be, witch?" Mary asked, her voice devoid of emotion as she observed the witch step towards the table where John lay. "My first-born?" The witch laughed.
"No, I've got no interest in a first-born. Too much of a hassle," he said. "The price I will ask you to pay isn't what I would usually charge for this kind of magic. And make no mistake, the price for reviving the dead, especially if the supplicant is a royal, is steep. A life for a life. Or… a soul." Mary took a step backwards, frightened but never changing her expression. The witch winked at her. "But that's boring. No. I will not take from you, but instead I will make things… well… let's say interesting." Mary stared at him, but the witch snapped his fingers and John sat up with a gasp. Mary tore her eyes off the witch, jumping to John to embrace him.
"M… Mary? What… what happened?" he asked.
"Shhh… It's alright. Everything's alright," Mary soothed him, kissing his head, but then she sought out the witch's eyes.
"In ten years," he announced, "I will be back with a challenge."
--
After that dreadful night, when the pact was made, Mary was crowned queen. She and John destroyed their enemies, righteous and all-consuming in their revenge. But they also severed ties that should have been binding.
The kingdom of Winchester celebrated the defeat and death of Prince Azazel and his army. But even though the victorious banners flew in the city and people breathed a sigh of relief in all of the territories of Winchester, there was also tension.
People were lining the street leading from the castle gates, far beyond the city limits, where the pavement became cobbled stone, houses scattered, faces grimmer. The noises died down to a hush when the castle gates were thrown open. The guards had their hands wrapped around a rope, tugging an unresisting figure through the gates. Mary watched with a stony face as Castiel was dragged out of court, stripped off his robes and garments that had collected the dirt of days spent in the dungeon. Banishments were great shows that were often accompanied by people shouting their anger and disgust, throwing things and spitting at the traitor. But as Castiel was pulled through the town as a show of his disgrace, no choruses of the mob calling for his destruction followed. Castiel was silent, sad as he was expelled, and so were the onlookers. For Castiel had served the kingdom with a heart rare to people of his creed, unfailing and righteous. A proper witch of the realm.
Some mourned him but there were also those who were not particularly sad to see magic banished to the fringes of their land. You see, humans had become cocky, believing themselves advanced beyond the need for magic. They believed that the world of magic was a relic of a wild and uncivilized past that human progress had made redundant. Castiel had not cared about those sentiments. He had disregarded the whispers of discontent at court and he turned no worried eye towards the talks of a land without magic as the idea spread to the higher ranking members of town and out through the realm until the idea was there, in the heads and hearts of people. Winchester, a land without magic, without the supernatural. Without monsters. Had the poor fool paid them any close attention he might have avoided the shameful experience of being loaded upon a cart, sat upon dirty straw and pulled out through the city gate, for all of Winchester to gawk at as he was driven to the very edge of the realm.
The Queen of Winchester exiled him to a place known as Rapunzel's tower, a little crumbling cottage with an unusual tower clumsily sitting on top of it. It lay where the realm of humans fringed out into the wild land of magic, where witches, goblins and demons roamed. A high tower, an overgrown garden filled with thorny bushes, to keep him isolated, so that he too would suffer the pain that Mary had suffered by his refusal to help.
And that's where he is still staying now, poor sod. A happy ending for the queen of Winchester, a lesson taught to the supposedly evil witch, book closed. If this were a fairy tale told by foolish human parents to their wee ones.
Let's begin the real story.