Chapter Text
[Prologue]
Some say it was a gift.
Others say it was a curse.
Hundreds of years prior, a king - Midas - had prayed to the gods for the ability to turn everything he touched to gold - a gift.
But as he tested his gift, his ability, his prayer against the world around him, he realized his mistake. He could no longer eat or drink or play music; he could not love his wife, or care for his children. He starved and withered and died - a curse.
What the legends don’t tell is that the prayer had been both for Midas and his son - and his son after that - going down the line hundreds of years and generations, bequeathing the gift upon every first born son like a double-edged sword.
The family found ways to conceal it - found ways to counteract it, live with the curse. Gloves made of gold were forced upon children’s hands and worn until long after death. The princes were hidden in the castle walls, with secret rooms and a single guard, living their whole life isolated.
The surname of the curse, thus, was changed often, the bloodline thickening with daughters that didn’t possess the deadly ability. Midas’ name faded into legend, and the curse was thought a myth.
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[Chapter 1]
Talia Hale screamed in agony, sweat pouring from her spent body and blood pooling on the sheets beneath her.
“Push, your majesty. The child is crowning! PUSH!”
Talia glared heatedly at the midwife, her close friend, who smiled back cheekily, if a little forced. Deaton, the court’s mage, sat silent in the corner, reading calmly as if nothing significant was happening around him.
“Honey, my hand -”
“Shut up, Richard. Are YOU pushing another person out of your body? NO.”
Richard Hale promptly resumed his silence.
One of the servant girls tittered with laughter at the king’s terrified face, his hand turning purple in his wife’s grip.
“PUSH, Talia!”
“I AM PUSHING, CLAUDIA!”
“GOOD! Maybe this baby will be born this century!”
Talia laughed, despite herself, and rallied herself once more to push. Claudia laughed too, delighted, and then, finally, held up the baby, covered in blood, and wailing in anguish. Talia fell back, sighing in relief when she took in the sight of her child for the first time.
Then a chill ran through her.
“Claudia, CLAUDIA, NO -” She started yelling as she struggled toward her friend. “NO, PLEASE -”
“What?! WHAT?!”
“PUT HIM DOWN!”
“Talia, what are you - “
And then Deaton swooped in and wrapped the child up in a golden cloth, holding it gingerly against his chest, the cloth a protective barrier between them. The baby was still crying.
“Deaton, why - “
“Claudia, did you use the spell I told you to? Before you touched him? Did you initiate the spell?” He asked, calmly as ever. Claudia remembered his strange insistence that she protect herself, even though she had SEEN a girl in her vision. She knew it was a girl, so what was the problem? Deaton had argued her safety and Claudia had given in, half-heartedly chanting over herself before the birth.
Talia again gripped her husband’s hand, chest heaving, but in fear rather than pain.
Claudia looked down at the child with wide eyes, and then at her own hands. “Yes, I did.” Cold understanding dawned on her. “It’s a boy,” she said, and took a step backwards.
“Yes, it is,” Deaton replied, and Talia let out a sob, falling back onto the bed.
Deaton carefully set the crying infant onto the table where he had been sitting. The cloth fell open as the mage rifled around in his bag, searching for something.
In amazement, Claudia watched as the baby kicked and flailed, reminding her of her son at home, not quite five years old. Prince Hale let out a long wail and his tiny hand came in contact with the table underneath him. The spot where he touched it shimmered, and then the surface started to change - the wooden slats melted away, leaving smooth gold in it’s wake.
Claudia glanced back at her king and queen, her greatest friend, Talia, sobbing at the ceiling and Richard holding her hands, speaking low to his wife.
Deaton’s hands reappeared, clad in thick gloves, smelling of magic and coated in gold, and he lifted the child from the table, using a bowl of water to clean the boy off. The crying subsided, if only slightly, and a head of soft hair appeared as the blood was washed away. Claudia tended to Talia, sopping up the blood and helping her stand so the servant girls could change the damp sheets, blood and sweat in equal measure staining them. The room was somber and quiet, after being filled with so much noise and anticipation.
The child was clean, and wrapped again up in the golden cloth, hands bound in more gold, magic thick around him. Deaton handed the child to his mother, Talia’s face wary and her eyes watery.
“My love. I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to hold the tears in. Richard took the baby from her, careful to avoid skin contact, and rocked him back and forth as Talia wept for her son. Her third child, her first son, doomed to a life devoid of touch and exile.
The Midas touch. A gift. A curse.
“You’re sure you used the spell correctly? If even a moment was wrong, the effects will wear off and you will turn to gold much like that table and bowl. The curse will -”
“I’m sure,” Claudia interrupted Deaton, silencing him with a look. Deaton raised an eyebrow, and Claudia repeated herself. “I’m sure.”
She sat on the edge of Talia’s bed, silent, clinging to her queen’s hand as she sobbed, unable to speak comfort. She stayed until the sun had fallen behind the horizon and the new mother slept, tear stains painted down her cheeks.
The child was asleep in the corner, wrapped up in the golden fabric that would keep those who held him from turning to gold. Claudia had listened in as Deaton explained that he could enchant fabrics for the boy to wear, gloves for him to keep, that would allow him to live with some semblance of normalcy. It would take time, and power, but Deaton would do it.
Claudia looked down at Prince Derek, her heart aching for him, and rubbed her hands together in worry, the weight of dread filling her belly. She hadn’t taken the time she should have - she was so sure the baby was going to be a girl -
She isn’t sure.