A War - But Not The Kind We Know

by Baby_Sweetpea

Summary:

He stumbled about through the forest, a little faster than a walk, a little slower than a jog. If he could just rest, just for a few hours, he could find the strength to push on. But the sun was setting and it was getting colder again, it had taken him all day to climb and descend the mountain.
"No- no no no-" he sobbed.
If the sun set, if it got too cold, if he couldn't find shelter, if he couldn't rest, if it got too dark for him to continue…
Perhaps he was hallucinating, because he swore he saw the sun flickering ahead through the tree trunks, even though it was setting somewhere to his left. He felt his body growing too heavy to continue, his head drooping, his panted breaths more ragged than ever. He barely felt it when he fell to his knees and then flat on his face.
He had to be hallucinating, because he swore it was getting brighter.
"I'm s'rry dad…" he gasped, airway constricted. "I c'ldn't m'ke it… aft'r all…"
-
A lost Spark, a warlord king, a sharp advisor and a haunted knight.
Stiles is species rarer than a kind king in a world that would see him dead. When his father dies to save him, can he make it in a land beyond the borders that he's never experienced?

Notes:

Oh no what have I done... Ah well, we all knew I couldn't stick to a limited amount of fics. And I wasn't going to be able to focus on the others with this one rattling around in my head. This is a little bit inspired by that one warlord Geralt fic, but like, very vaguely.
How slow burn should I make this? Cause I don't want it to be getting up to like... 80k, but I have THOUGHTS about how this should go. I would apologise for the angst but I'm not sorry. Love you all!
Comments and Kudos are appreciated!
I hope you love this!
Nore: Sennoreia is pronounced Sen-or-ray-a <3

Chapter 1: A Mountain Tomb

Cold. Agony. Derision.

Things a young Stiles Stilinski had been too used to, for far too long.

The ice of winter curled up like a pool in the bottom of his lungs, spreading ice with every breath, every ragged inhale. It burned, it always had, but just as he had always survived, he would keep going now. Crossing the borders between Sennoreia into Beacon was highly illegal but he was out of options, and the sheer desperation to survive and not let his fathers death be for nothing was his driving force. He had to get free, had to run, had to live.

"Don't stop, Don't stop," he repeated to himself in whispers between chattering teeth. The mountain pass was deadly, but it was the only location the Sennoreian guards couldn't monitor, their human bodies quick to surrender to the cold, the sub-zero temperatures were a death sentence. But Stiles wasn't human, not entirely, and staying would be an actual death sentence.

Sennoreia was meant to be a country of life and light, a human utopia with a strong king and united peoples. But the things they were united against were the inhuman, magic. It was illegal, and anyone found to be anything less than a perfect human was executed with no sympathy. That didn't meant there weren't sympathisers, but that only got them so far. No one was willing to put their neck on the line against king and country.

Stiles' mother had been a victim herself.

She'd been so careful, so safe, until her mind started failing her. His father knew she had magic, of course, they loved to go on camping trips and teach a little Stiles to control and use his spark for good. They taught him that he didn't have magic, he was magic, and it was precious and rare and that Sennoreia would kill him at any and all cost. He'd asked again and again why they didn't just leave, and once he was old enough they told him.

They told him about the border, about how anyone trying to escape was shot down with a barrage of arrows, the only unguarded place was the mountains and while Claudia and Stiles might survive them, Noah wouldn't. And neither Stiles nor Claudia would leave him. It was unthinkable.

And now Stiles had to, his mind grieving with his fathers body, left behind burning in a city street after he…

Stiles clenched his fists tighter to his body, trying to remember to keep his spark alive, to keep himself warm.

Noah Stilinski had perished and it was all Stiles' fault. He trusted the wrong person, naïve, hopeful, and got his father murdered.

If Stiles ever caught Theodore Raekin he would burn the bastard from the inside out, slowly and painfully. He made Stiles think they were friends, that Stiles could trust him, only to run to the knights as soon as Stiles showed him a wisp of his magic.

Those knights had come for Stiles, and his father… Stiles could still hear his own screams ringing in his head as he watched his fathers body fall, a burning arrow protruding from his chest after he'd thrown himself in front of his 19 year old son to save him. The way he couldn't save Claudia all those years ago.

He misstepped, stumbling over loose rocks protruding from the snow, and found himself careening down a portion of the mountain. He'd made it over the top, but fuck if he died now… No one would find his body, no one would know to mourn him. Just like many other bodies that were frozen in their icy tombs, laid to eternal rest atop the rocky crests. Thankfully he did stop though, on a ledge, gasping brokenly as pain ricocheted through his body and his eyes stared up at the cloudy skies, snow falling upon him.

He couldn't give up, but it was so hard to find the will to move, shaking and shivering, warm and needed blood dripping stark crimson on the snow around him from a cut to his shoulder made in the fall.

It had taken Stiles days to reach the mountains with hunters hot on his heels, they were lost at the foot of the mountains and so Stiles was lost within them. His fathers voice repeated in his head, telling him to run, overlapping his own screams while he watched the light fade from loving eyes. He couldn't fucking die here.

He stumbled to his feet, gloved hands grasping desperately at frosted crags of stone. He carefully found footing to inch down the sharp slope, because if he made one more wrong move it would kill him this time.

He was beyond the Sennoreia borders now, but he couldn't slow down until he reached the warmth, couldn't sleep until he wouldn't be at risk of becoming an icicle if he stopped moving. And a Stiles Icicle, a stilescicle? was not appealing in any way. He'd probably taste great, but what was the point if he wasn't alive to experience the tasting?

Gods he was delirious.

He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, on the next meter ahead of him, then the next and the next, moving in a haze. And then the wind started to feel less sharp, less cutting. Soon it was warmer. He worried about hypothermia, that maybe he was losing it and his toes after all, but he didn't feel a need to remove all his clothes so he considered that a current win.

He hurt though, so badly it forced him to clench his jaw hard to focus on each step.

Stiles didn't know what he was going to do in Beacon, how long it would take him to find sanctuary, food, or if he was going to die a beggar on the streets of some random town. Or before he even found one. He didn't know the lay of the land after all, Sennoreia was so closed off from other countries, so sheltered, he didn't even know if the condition of the leading forces was better or if it was a complete apocalypse out here.

But he had to hope.

He stumbled again but instead of a steep drop off a mountain, he caught himself after a few steps on flat ground. Blinking numbly for a few seconds, he looked up and found himself facing a stretch of forest ahead, a gentle false flat instead of mountains. He had made it, and he could have cried with relief.

He needed shelter though, a cave or something on grounds without snow. Maybe that was asking too much, but there was a brighter flare of hope in his chest now, his spark flaring up to warm him a little more, to encourage him.

He stumbled about through the forest, a little faster than a walk, a little slower than a jog. If he could just rest, just for a few hours, he could find the strength to push on. But the sun was setting and it was getting colder again, it had taken him all day to climb and descend the mountain.

"No- no no no-" he sobbed, voice a mere rasp.

If the sun set, if it got too cold, if he couldn't find shelter, if he couldn't rest, if it got too dark for him to continue…

Perhaps he was hallucinating, because he swore he saw the sun flickering ahead through the tree trunks, even though it was setting somewhere to his left. He felt his body growing too heavy to continue, his head drooping, his panted breaths more ragged than ever. He barely felt it when he fell to his knees and then flat on his face. The cold, thin layer of snow almost felt good on his skin, to the ache in his skull from his rattled brains.

He had to be hallucinating by now, because he swore it was getting brighter. Maybe it was the fabled light of death, was he dying?

"I'm s'rry dad…" he gasped, airway constricted. "I c'ldn't m'ke it… aft'r all…"

Stiles felt a hand on his neck, a set turning him over. Perhaps the hallucinations of his parents, had they come to collect him for the afterlife?

"-can't believe he's still alive."

"Think he came from over the mountain?"

"Based on his tracks? He must have."

"He can't be human then, he would have frozen to death before now."

"He's the first to make it over in years, and alone? We should get him to them, maybe he'll be able to update about the situation in Sennoreia."

"… if he survives the trip."

Their words were odd, they didn't sound like his parents but he was just too tired to inject himself into the conversation. Far too tired. Even if it meant his death, he let the blackness overtake him, and slowly, the voices faded away.

---

Unfortunately, Stiles found out he was not dead unpleasantly. He wasn't conscious much for a while, but when he was, he felt like he was burning alive. Soft pained groans escaped him during those times, and though he couldn't open his eyes, he felt hands and voices try to soothe him.

Two were masculine, one a little quieter than the other. The less quiet one chattered a lot, and it escaped Stiles' consciousness, but they both sounded friendly enough. The feminine one sounded perpetually worried, usually kept her voice to a whisper. He decided he liked her, even if they were all hallucinations.

Fortunately, Stiles found out they were not hallucinations much more pleasantly than the realisation that he was not in fact dead.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since he passed out in the snow, but when he opened his eyes he was comfortably warm and his body, while achey, was blessedly warm. There was a white canvas above his head— a tent he would later realise when his brain was working again— and furs over him, as well as two bodies either side of him. Soft snores met his ears, and he was pinned by two arms much stronger than himself. Probably would be even if he wasn't weak form his near-death experience.

And he really, really had to piss.

"Mmmnnggg- pss- g'tta- g'tta piss-" he groaned, starting to squirm, perhaps still a little delirious. His voice sounded rougher than anticipated too, sickly.

One of the two bodies startled, a head of curly dark blonde hair popping into his vision as he squinted about.

"Okay, shit, alright, I'll help-" the blonde moved quicker than Stiles had ever seen anyone come to alert, grapping Stiles under the pits and picking him up like a doll.

"Woah!" he yelped, though more of a airy sound, then giggled. "You're strong man, what the fuck."

The blonde looked a little bemused, guiding him into a woolen knit jumper that was too big for him— also making stiles realise he was in pants and nothing else— before getting him to step into his boots and herding him outside like a little kid.

It was snowy still, but the clearing was airy and bright with a fire crackling a few meters from the tent. The wood smoke smell evoked memories he pretended he didn't have. He needed to piss, he didn't want to be pissing and sobbing and scaring whoever the fuck was manhandling him to a tree.

"Here, just uh, I'll turn around. Just tell me if you need any help." The blonde left him with the tree and Stiles just blinked for a long moment before his freshly shivering body recalled that he came out here to pee.

Once he did, and scrubbed his hands in some snow, which hurt his poor sensitive fingers, he stumbled back to the blonde and peered at him. Now he was a little more awake, he had enough focus to get a good look at him. The blonde actually didn't have all that much muscle, surprising for his strength, but was tall and lanky with a sharp jawline and eyes like a beaten puppy. And he was staring at Stiles.

"Are… are you good?" the blonde asked.

Stiles only had one conclusion, the man wasn't human. The first person he met was not human. Was it common, outside of Sennoreia?

"What are you?" he blurted out roughly. Regrettably, that was just a Stiles trait, not a near-death goo brain trait.

The blonde looked at him like he was stupid and Stiles wanted to bristle. Maybe he should have asked for a name first, actually.

"I'm Isaac, and I'm a werewolf? What are you?"

"I'm Stiles." He didn't say he was a spark, until he met another like him he wouldn't be making that mistake again.

"What the hell is a Stiles?" Isaac asked.

"Me, I'm a Stiles. Though I will be a stilescicle if I get any colder," he grumbled.

Isaac seemed to fight back a smile and was herding him back into the tent. "Lay down with Scott again, you already were a… stilecicle once, we'd like to get you back to the castle in one piece."

Stiles froze, looking up at Isaac suspiciously.

"To the castle? For what?"

Isaac looked confused now.

"You're from Sennoreia right? We haven't been able to get much news about the country for a while, and you'll need to be set up in a house and finish recovering…"

Stiles felt more and more confused himself, gaining another question with everything Isaac said while he tentatively sat back on the bedroll next to a still snoring… Scott? That was the guys name right.

"Why would you guys take me there? Why would I be set up with a house? Why would you be worried about my recovery? And why would you need news about the country-"

"Woah! Okay! Slow down! They really did a number on you, huh? We knew Sennoreia was a tyrant ruled country but I didn't know it was that bad." Isaac grimaced, sitting close beside Stiles and glancing at Scott like he wished he had some help with this. "Uh, so, We're knights, first of all, so our duty is to our king."

The werewolf gestured to the side of the tent, which Stiles hasn't noticed, that housed two piles of basic armour on a thin blanket.

He didn't know if he wanted to laugh hysterically or cry. He ran from one countries knights— hunters— into the arms of another. But at least these ones seemed to want him alive. But if they didn't, he had no doubt they'd wipe him out. His spark felt too weak right now after keeping him alive and he'd never been trained to fight.

Isaac was quick to continue, looking at him in a way that made Stiles feel far too seen. Why did he look at Stiles like he knew how he was feeling?

"Uhm, everyone that comes form Sennoreia is given a new life, like… you've come seeking refuge, right? To take asylum? The royal family has a decree that anyone from there gets a house and help and gold to start a new life and stuff."

That was probably more shocking than Stiles coming face to face with a werewolf, what the fuck. Stiles kind of wanted to meet such a ruler now, just to see what he'd look like, to be so kind a person.

"And why wouldn't we worry about your recovery? You're a living being, you deserve care and the best chance at survival," Isaac spoke like it was obvious, and you could have knocked Stiles over with a feather. "As for Sennoreia… well, the king is also known to be a bit of a war lord," Isaac smirked, "He's been trying to plan an in to take over and abolish the cruel rules for years. Peter hates hunters and anti-magic law systems. He's already toppled several other countries with the same laws, Sennoreia is the last one standing."

Chapter 2: This is just the beginning

Notes:

A little tiny pov switch in the middle of this one, I felt like just a glimpse was necessary! I'm tapped out on writing for the day but I wanted to get the ball rolling properly on this before I go back to working on Souls of Old (same poly pairing, and a lot further along if anyone hasn't read it!).
Stiles is on the struggle bus, but busses don't exist in this timeline... struggle carriage? Ah, who knows. An eternal mystery /j
I'm going to go now, enjoy your chapter you gorgeous little creatures!

Stiles had little option other than to roll with the punches. Because woah, everything Isaac had just told him was one blow after another. He didn't have much to say after that, needed some time to adjust. Isaac seemed to know that and helped tuck him back into the blankets, where he was promptly pinned by a snoring Scott again.

"He'll wake up if anything goes wrong, he just… sleeps like a rock otherwise," Isaac reassured him with a fond smile at the other knight. "I'm going to go swap patrols with Kira. Get some more sleep."

He didn't learn who Kira was immediately after that, as he found he was more tired than he realised and fell asleep before the woman of what was apparently a patrol group returned. But when he did wake again, she was snuggled up to him with her face buried against his neck, and the one called Scott wasn't there.

He felt stiff, more sore than before though a little more alert. And a little uncomfortable about some woman he didn't know being pressed so close. Though it made sense, if the three knights were trying to keep him warm, and they probably were letting him use their bed so… but that just brought up more questions. Did they always share a bed? Was that normal? Did they have to travel light?

Stiles' overthinking apparently woke this Kira, as she inhaled deeply then slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking down at him with an adorably sleepy expression that was quickly replaced with a big smile. Another puppy-like person then, was she a werewolf too?

"Hello! Isaac mentioned you woke up earlier! I'm Kira! You're Stiles right? How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?" she babbled, apparently already sufficiently awake.

"Uh… yeah, that's me. I- I guess I could eat?" he rasped.

Kira beamed at him, neatening her black hair in it's braid without checking it. "I'll sort you out, don't worry. You'll be able to rest more while we travel too."

Stiles didn't doubt it, and also didn't really know what to do with himself. But the whirlwind of a woman told him to stay put so that's what he did. The temperature lowered a little without another body to keep him warm and he burrowed further under the blankets, skin far more sensitive to the cold now. He couldn't help but think his parents would have made him feel better. Instead he was stuck with strangers that could kill him, in what was essentially a new world to him. The fact he hadn't had a panic attack yet was probably only due tot he fact that he was far to exhausted to spare the emotion to it. His entire life had been destroyed, turned upside down. He'd survived the fall out, but at what cost? His only family was dead and gone and now he knew no one and was facing having to start again in foreign lands.

He felt… miserable. Absolutely miserable.

"Hey buddy," a soft voice pulled him from his dwelling, and he peeked from the blankets to find the third knight from earlier with his head inside the tent.

Scott, now that Stiles could see him, definitely also looked like a puppy. He had big sad eyes and an uneven jaw and was looking at Stiles like he had broken the knights heart.

"Hi?" he replied, voice still crackly.

Scott crept in quickly and laid beside him.

"You okay? Cold? You wanna talk? I'm Scott, you were in pretty rough shape when we found you," Scott rambled, like Kira he seemed to talk a lot.

"I'm fine," Stiles responded awkwardly, but couldn't deny the man, who felt like a furnace, was a really good temperature. He didn't really want to cuddle strangers but when needs were a must… Well, he let their sides press together.

Even though Scott was giving him this big eyed pleading look.

"You don't have to lie to me, Stiles, having someone to talk to can help, I know you're struggling."

What was this guy, a mind reader?

"How do you…" He asked hesitantly.

Scott beamed.

"I can smell it! I'm a werewolf like Isaac!" the puppy-man replied.

And Stiles connected the dots about the way Isaac was looking at him earlier. Werewolves could smell… emotions?

"How does that even work?" He asked, latching onto the topic because it was far better than telling a stranger he missed his dead dad and that his life had been obliterated by his own stupidity.

"I- I don't know the exact science? Someone in Beacon city can probably tell you though! You didn't grow up with any werewolves right? You can ask me anything! If I know it I'll try to answer." Scott's expression became something determined, and Stiles wasn't sure he liked how endearing it was.

"Uh… I wouldn't know where to start. Maybe you could give me an education? All topics on non-humans are completely banned in Sennoreia so…" He trailed off awkwardly, trying not to wince at Scott's there-and-gone-again sad look.

"Yeah! Sure!" Scott nodded enthusiastically and dove into an information overload. Stiles actually appreciated the way it gave him something to latch onto, learning about werewolves and mates and the full moon, about how they had anchors and packs and superior senses, strength and speed. It was both kind of terrifying and cool at the same time.

Kira joined them with a broth for Stiles at some point and they bracketed him while he ate, Kira telling him that she was a fox creature called a kitsune, that she was still really young though and her mother was ancient by comparison. It was a whole new world, again something that he would have panicked over if he had the energy too. After food, he fell asleep again while they packed up their camp, night travel not an issue for their superior senses.

They had horses too, it turned out, Stiles had just missed the tent set up for them earlier. He was bundled onto the front of Scott's horse, listening to Scott rambling again about how there was always a patrol by the mountains just in case refugee's like Stiles made an appearance. They were literally there to dedicate their time and protection to Stiles. He didn't know how to feel about it.

Stiles wasn't good at staying awake, it seemed, as eventually Scott's voice did lull him to sleep, warm and accompanied by the rocking motion of the great black horse Scott affectionately called Biscuit. He spent more time unconscious than he did conscious for the days that followed, needing more time to recover than he realised. Then again, he'd never undergone such a trial before, his spark wasn't used much due to his homelands laws so he'd never had to strain so hard.

If his sleepiness and lack of ability to take care of himself worried his team of knights, they never let him see it. They worked around him in rotations to, at least one of them always with him, always talking to him— though Isaac spoke the least. He got to know them just on the basis that they were incapable of surviving awkward silences, and as Stiles was much the same, it was kind of a relief.

He stopped feeling so weird about all the snuggling after Scott explained the who wolf puppy pile thing, and how because he was a hurt innocent, Scott and Isaac's wolves had fallen into caretaker rolls and well, it really sounded like wolfy adoption to him. The night of the full moon he was a little anxious about what their "stronger instincts" would imply, but apparently it just ended up being all three of them piling on him in the tent after they sparred for a few hours. They all had strong anchors and he smelt enough like pack by that point that it didn't bother Isaac or Scott for him to be there.

All the travel wasn't really conducive to his recovery, however, and Kira kept apologising, any time she woke him to get him onto a horse, knowing he wasn't gaining much strength. But they promised in Beacon City they'd have healers to look over him and a comfortable bed for him to pass out in till he actually felt better.

Stiles didn't admit to them that it felt like his Spark was refusing to let him get better because he was grieving.

To some degree, he knew they knew he was grieving, any time the mood set in they'd give him worried looks, shuffle a little closer. Scott tried to get him to talk, Isaac did the scenting thing more. Kira was the only one who couldn't smell his moods, but it was just his luck that she seemed to be able to read his micro-expressions like an open book anyway. Or maybe he was being more expressive than he intended.

Stiles was deep in sleep when they did arrive in Beacon city, cradled in Isaac's hold with a cloak covering him, heavy enough to block out light and dull the sounds. He missed the curious looks, the guards that joined the horses as they moved upwards to the castle and spoke with his guard team quietly. He missed Scott telling a blonde woman about finding him blacked out in the forest under the mountain, about how exhausted he was, how close to death he had been.

---

 

A set of guards ran ahead to the castle to retrieve the king, and an entourage were waiting to greet them when they stopped in the courtyard.

"You found a survivor?" The king asked, looking towards to covered bundle in Isaacs grip.

Scott, who had dismounted already, coordinated with Isaac to lower Stiles into his arms instead.

King Peter Hale moved closer, his consorts close behind. It was a damn big deal for a Sennoreian to make it over the mountains. Over the decades, only a few had ever made it, supernatural being's each time. Peter wondered what their latest refugee was. He shared a look with Chris and Deucalion, his favourite knight and best advisor. It had been years since they'd come together, back before Peter had earned the title of warlord and before Chris had become his most faithful knight. The ex-hunter had joined Peter's existing relationship with Deucalion, but it had been tumultuous to begin with. Now they moved as one, directing the younger knight and his sleeping charge into the darker halls of the castle.

"How is he still sleeping?" Chris asked gruffly, voicing what Peter wanted to know.

"He was near death when we found him, and all the travel hasn't been helping but we had to get him here," Kira responded dutifully. "His name is Stiles, we don't know what he is or what he's been through, we just know that living in Sennoreia has made him paranoid and that he seems to be grieving. We've tried to help but… he just seems to be more interested in listening. Like the others of the past, he knew almost nothing about species outside of humans."

Peter's chest tightened with the all too familiar rage and helplessness. He hoped, viciously, that this new addition would be able to give them the information he needed to storm the country and overturn it's ruling system. He looked at their unconscious escapee, and he edged closer, pulling the cloak back to at least get a glimpse of the man.

He inhaled sharply when he did, taking in a pale, mole-dotted face, practically an angel by his standards. The man-- though he seemed barely out of boyhood, perhaps the same age as their younger knights— was beautiful. Plush lips, long sweeping lashes, messy dark hair that only made him appear more like porcelain.

"Well then," Deucalion murmured from beside him with a frown. "He looks like…"

Peter and Chris looked at him while Peter lowered the cloak again, leaving the boy to his clearly needed rest.

"Like?" Chris prompted.

"Someone I used to know… a long time ago…" Deucalion shook his head with a frown, and smiled at Peter. "We should set him up in a room and have Marin look over him. She might know why he's still as tired as he is."

There seemed to be a general agreeance, and Peter led the way, choosing a room close to his own quarters, something he refused to think about the reasoning for. He knew his mates didn't miss it, but they also didn't protest or suggest otherwise. It was the most guarded hallway in the entire castle after all, perhaps it would help the boy feel safer after his undoubtedly harrowing ordeal.

---

Stiles felt more comfortable than he ever had in his life. Warm, safe, and with a lack of overwhelming sound around him or bodies pressed against his.

Maybe that's why he didn't wake with the delusion that he was pack home with his dad, his bed in Sennoreia had never been as warm as this. Maybe he should have been more surprised than he was when he opened his eyes to see a deep purple canopy up above where he'd been laid to rest, but he just assumed they'd reached the castle while he slept.

It did irritate him that he'd slept through the entire transfer. That wasn't exactly safe, but he reluctantly had to admit to himself that there were reasons for it. He wasn't recovered yet, as frustrating as that was. If he got killed in his sleep, there would be nothing he could do about that.

Slowly he sat up and looked around the surprisingly lavish rooms. Yep, he was definitely in the castle all right. It was beyond his wildest dreams, like nothing he could have imagined. His father had been part of the lower city guard, and they weren't exactly well-off. They made do with a one room home, a tiny kitchen with almost nowhere to sit. This room alone was bigger than their house, the bed he sat upon bigger than their bedroom. It was nonsensical to him, to have this much, to need this much.

The canopy bed he was on alone was probably worth more gold than he'd seen in his life, let alone the small dining table, lounge set, writing desk and carpet to his left, and the partition, wardrobe and wash basin to his right. There was a door by the lounging space and dining table, large double doors that looked like they'd never seen rough treatment since their creation.

And there were decorations on the walls, heavy velvet drapes over large windows.

This wasn't servant quarters, he knew that much, so why on earth was he being treated to such… specialty? Quality?

The doors opening disrupted his thoughts, and a beautiful woman with skin like a darkening night entered. She saw him, awake, and smiled.

"Glad to see you finally got the rest your body needed," She commented smoothly, carrying in a tray with several things upon it that she placed on his bedside.

"Uh… thanks?" He replied awkwardly, and she chuckled at him.

"I'm Healer Marin, one of the druids in service of the royal family. I've been taking care of you while you slept." she picked up the goblet from the table and offered it to him, expression unchanging when he subtly sniffed it first before realising it was just water.

"I appreciate it, thank you. How long did I sleep?" Stiles asked before taking a small, cautious sip.

Thankfully, she waited till he swallowed before she spoke again. "Two days, you were struggling to recover your magic without the ability to rest in a safe space."

Two days?! Stiles stared at her in shock, unable to believe for a long moment that she'd really just said that. But his stomach grumbled as though to back her up, and his cheeks heated with embarrassment.

She chuckled, not unkindly, and traded his goblet for a bowl of soup that was a little more complex than the broth Kira had been making him on the journey. Which, speaking of.

"Are- are they all okay? Kira and Isaac and Scott?" he asked, looking away when Marin's smile softened as she tilted her head at him.

"They're fine, well rested, no sickness or injury. I believe they were training with the head knight this morning."

He nodded in relief, he would have hated for any of them to have been less than okay thanks to aiding him. He'd already gotten his dad killed, he didn't need anything else on his conscience. No sir. And then he mentally caught up with her mentioning his magic, and his head snapped up to her.

"D-does anyone else know? About m-my- about my magic?" he asked.

She frowned slightly. "I've informed the king and his consorts that it was your magic drain that was keeping you under, yes. Though we don't know what kind it is, just that it is intrinsically tied with your health. I've never seen magical exhaustion run so deep."

He clenched his mouth shut. They didn't know what kind, maybe he was okay. Logically he knew magic was okay here, but he still didn't know… his mother had said sparks were rare, told him to keep it a secret at all costs. That he would be hunted, slaughtered. He wasn't willing to risk it again, he hadn't even told Theo what he was and had been betrayed. No, he couldn't let himself get comfortable. Not now, maybe not ever.

Notes:

Kudos and your thoughts in comments are very appreciated!

Chapter 3: A King and His Consorts

Notes:

*Inhales deeply* AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH- I'm back. It was Christmas then New years then my birthday, but I came in to dedicate today to writing even though I have a lot of Client work right now. This chapter is dedicated to new friend Berserker, you know who you are queen.
Anyway, just a little meetcute chapter before I fuck off to write the Souls of Old update (I think I have half of it written tbh... *checks* yes, yes I do. So the update won't even take that long!) so I hope you all enjoy it! Thoughts and Kudos are appreciated! I don't know how long this one will be but I do have a couple cute little plans for it.
Lots of Love!
(side note: please don't post comments asking me to update, I actually find them incredibly discouraging and a LOT of writers don't like it! Cheers!)

Stiles learned a lot of things in rapid succession.

The people in Beacon were different. They spoke differently, moved differently, their entire manner was different. And then, different again, was how every non-human was from one another and then again from humans. Not that he met many after waking, and he was certain he'd learn so much more over the course of his new life beyond the Sennoreian borders.

Wolves were confident and highly aware of everything and completely confident, druids moved like they were in tune with everything, like their bodies were surface level and they were part of every bit of the world around them. The humans were relaxed too, not looking over their shoulders or talking stiffly like Stiles was so used to in Sennoreia. It was like they felt safe, regardless of species, and had never known the kind of danger and fear Stiles grew up with being instilled upon him by his home country.

Within the first hour of waking he saw three serving staff members, coming to neaten his room and taking orders from Marin. Two boys and a girl. None had their heads bowed in difference, chattered quietly with one another with big smiles. smiles they even shared with Stiles like they'd seen him before. As if he'd lived here his whole life. The girl helped Marin fluff his pillows and neaten his sheets, told him to just call out if he ever needed anything before she left. The boys dusted quickly, took his empty dishes, stoked the low fireplace and brought Marin anything she needed. Stiles could feel that two were human, and one of the boys was something other. None treated that one any differently though.

Then Kira, Scott and Isaac came in like excited puppies, relieved that he was awake. Apparently Scott especially had been worried that they'd done something wrong in their care of him and it had led to his lengthened state of unconsciousness. They stuck around while Marin looked fondly at them but a little exasperated at their hovering, until she left with the two serving boys that had still been in the room, following her out.

The trio settled on his bed in different states of lounging, Isaac laying on his back with his legs dangling off the edge. Kira sat cross legged at Stiles' feel and Scott stretched out alongside Stiles on his side like he belonged there.

"How did you guys know I was awake?" Stiles asked the trio, after they finished rambling about training and about Scott and some guy called Jackson devolving into a rolling fight on the damp, dirt coated grounds. Which explained why Scott's hair was wet and the man smelt like soft soaps.

All three looked sheepish, glancing at one another.

"We've been uh… passing by one of the hallways nearby to listen out for you waking up," Scott admitted.

"I don't have the hearing they do, but I always come with them!" Kira chirped, beaming like she was actually kind of proud of being a part of his protection squad. "We just wanted to make sure you were okay. You were pretty out of it and Marin kept everyone out while you were asleep."

Before Stiles could say anything, they all perked up and moved off his bed. Nothing concerningly hurried but they were all looking towards the door. Stiles frowned and followed their gazes with a persistent worry anyway, watching the door open to let in two men. Tall, he could tell, broad, one with a soft brown hair of waves and one with slightly straighter brown hair.

"Your Majesty, advisor Deucalion," Isaac greeted the newcomers. The three were kind of blocking Stiles view of them, but the air felt electrified. Stiles realised abruptly that his knight trio had taken a relaxed but still protective stance and he felt like his heart skipped a beat.

Kira, Scott and Isaac trusted the two men, at least he assumed as none felt or looked hostile, but also were still ready to defend him. No one had ever… His dad and mom had been the only protective figures in his life, and well. He remembered how that went. He just hoped he didn't get them in trouble.

"At ease, you three. Marin informed us he had woken, we just want to check on him." A smooth voice said, something that reminded him of the feeling of velvet gliding under his finger tips.

"You won't push him too hard, right?" Kira asked, sounding a little nervous. But more-so than anything Stiles was shocked stupid that she'd just questioned a man who was clearly royalty, to his face, in Stiles' defense no less.

"No, Kira. We just want to check on him ourselves, I imagine Christopher will want to later as well, especially with the attachment you three appear to have to our young friend."

The trio that Stiles was starting to think of as something like friends parted smoothly. Kira sat back down on the foot of Stiles bed, satisfied with the answer given, and Scott and Isaac sat at the dining table closer to the fireplace. None of them disputed that they were attached to him, just accepted it like it was obvious, and he blinked while glancing between them rapidly .

A chuckle drew his gaze to the man who had spoken, and Stiles looked up and into the most piercing set of eyes he'd ever seen, sapphire blue trained intently on him. Heat rose to his cheeks unexpectedly, and he felt distinctly like he'd forgotten how to breath. He had to look away to avoid being overwhelmed, but apparently even that was a bad choice as he moved onto the second man, who's stormy blue eyes looked at Stiles like he could pull apart every inch of him and know him inside and out. Stiles swallowed hard under their joined scrutiny, then gasped in a breath when he realised he actually had forgotten to breathe.

"Please, don't stress yourself, sweetheart," the first one rumbled. He was dressed in a black tunic with a high collar and flared sleeves, gold accents everywhere that told Stiles this definitely was the royal one, if the gold circlet on his head didn't give it away first. The second man wore a deep blue silk looking doublet with subtle brocade patterns, black sleeves and loose black pants tucked into polished leather boots. That one had to be the advisor then. Deucalion, Isaac had said?

They both had swords attached to belts at their hips, but Stiles had the feeling that neither man really needed to use them. Especially because both felt like they had the same energy and confidence that Scott and Isaac exuded.

"I am Peter Hale, King of Beacon, this is my most trusted advisor and one of my mates, Deucalion Blackwood," Peter with the piercing eyes stated, and Stiles' nodded jerkily while he figure out how to untie his tongue and speak.

Despite the wolves—and the Kitsune's— comfort around the pair, Stiles was still a tangled mess of anxiety and nerves. Kings could order the death of anyone without hesitation, without question. There was no way his new friend-acquaintance-companions would defend him from that. And he doubted his magic, especially with it's current state, could save him from a kingdom of non-humans.

"Thank- Thank you for the care, your majesty, I'm Stiles Stilinski… previously of Sennoreia," Stiles finally managed to say, looking to Kira for backup.

She smiled and nodded at him quickly, a cute little bounce of her head that went further to make him calm than he anticipated.

The king also smiled at him, but looked to his left at Deucalion when the advisor stepped forward with a contemplative look.

"Mister Stilinski, first and foremost I would like to assure you that you're safe within our kingdom and that no matter your species, you'll find a home here. We will provide you with everything you need and ensure you have a prosperous and strong fresh start in Beacon. We would like for you to stay here until you're fully recovered, but that does not mean you're restricted. You may leave at any time and explore as you wish, though we would like you to be accompanied for your safety during recovery. We will have healer Marin continue to care for you as well as to train you in any way needed- be it information you've previously had withheld from you or even help with your own magic, should you want it. We will do our best to also help you choose work fitting for you before you're placed in your fresh start," he explained at length. Stiles did his best to keep up, noting that most of it was what the three knights had already explained would happen.

It was a relief anyway to hear it from someone in an official capacity with a place of high power. He nodded along with a murmured thanks when Deucalion stopped to let him process and ensure Stiles was following. Then the advisor continued.

"If you're amendable to it, we would like to meet with you at some point to discuss any and all information you have on the current state of affairs in Sennoreia. We wont force you, and the help we provide you with in regards to your fresh start is not contingent on you helping us, but we would greatly appreciate it."

Stiles was quick to agree, this had been spoken of as well. "I can do that, I- things are bad there, really bad. I don't know how many others are… like me, but I don't- I don't want anyone else to suffer."

The room filled with sympathetic looks directed his way, and he looked down at the bedding as he fidgeted with the blankets over his lap. It was a lot and Stiles rather wanted to run away, bed rest be damned.

Deucalion moved closer and sat next to him on the bed, his voice— like what Stiles imagined the richest of cakes would taste like— softening.

"I also have a small question, nothing of danger to you," the older man said hesitantly. "There's… well, I was wondering if you happened to know a woman by the name of Claudia Gajos?"

Stiles' head snapped up, his eyes widening. Deucalion looked first surprised by his reaction, then curious.

"Yes- I- she was-" Stiles choked up, wondering how this man knew his mother and her maiden name.

Deucalion's expression shifted, brows pinching at the word "was" and Stiles knew the advisor had to be a werewolf because he appeared to be able to sense— or smell— the grief rolling off of Stiles in waves.

"Was?" Deucalion asked, voice quiet. Stiles recognized a soft grief in him too. Somehow, Deucalion must of cared for his mother at some point in time.

"Was- was my mother," he managed to get out, strangled.

Deucalion took in a sharp breath but nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. "I suspected as much. I knew her as a boy. A good friend, someone I looked up to. She was a little like a big sister to many of us, but she left as a teenager when her grandfather chased her and her parents away."

Stiles' hands shook, he'd never known much about his mothers past, her family. But the pieces connected. If their family were sparks, then Sennoreia, while dangerous, was probably the only place that her family could have escaped a horrible grandfather. Stiles had never met his grandparents, never heard many stories of them, but he knew his mother had somewhat resented them all. He idly wondered if his great grandfather was still alive, what he'd done, why he'd chased them out.

"She… she met and married my father young," Stiles filled in carefully. "But… she got sick, years ago. Her mind went… she wasn't herself any longer, she started using her magic where she shouldn't, got paranoid, forgot the rules and- it got her killed."

Deucalion's face tightened at hearing what he had already assumed, saddened greatly. Finding another person in which Stiles could share his grief was both a blessing and a curse. Especially because if Deucalion happened to know what Claudia was…

"I am sorry you experienced such a thing, Darling," Deucalion said soothingly, resting a large, warm and dry hand over Stiles' agitated ones and stilling his fretting tugging of the blankets. Vaguely, he wanted to know what it was with these two and the pet names. "It's a blessing to have her son join us. Given that you made it over the mountain and have magic yourself, I am to assume that you are a Spark as she was?"

Stiles stilled completely, joints stiffening, breath coming to an abrupt halt. His lungs seized up, forgetting how to take in air and release it. There were a few gasps around the room and Peter stood up straighter, somehow more intense than before.

"Well, that is a blessing indeed," Peter agreed, but no one moved.

They went from surprised to worry as Stiles continued to panic, shaking more and looking around for an escape. This was exactly what he'd been worried about, what he was trying to avoid. No one was supposed to know no one was supposed to know no one was supposed-

But Deucalion squeezed his hands, making soft, kind shushing noises. Soothing him. "You're safe, Stiles. You're safe. I promise you no harm. You're under no threat, no one here will hurt you," Deucalion stated, then repeated it until it began to sink into Stiles' frenzied mind.

He took in a few weak, pathetic excuses for breaths, almost pants at this rate, feeling dizzy.

"M-mom said- she said if anyone knew-" He stuttered.

"No, Stiles, in Beacon you're safe. Spark's are a gift, you are a gift. Anyone who would try to do you harm would face severe consequences. Sparks are incredibly rare even here, and as such, protected by law. You're safe."

"As king, I can also promise you're safe. It's illegal to bring any harm upon a spark here, has been for generations," Peter added to Deucalion's words of comfort.

Stiles' whole world had been turned on it's head, as a result. He already knew everything in his life had been wrong, had been wild and unmanageable and that he knew next to nothing. But now this? His mother had said sparks would be hunted everywhere, but if it was safe here, then why hadn't she said that?

Deucalion squeezed his hand and Peter moved closer, worry on their handsome faces.

"Sorry- this is a lot-" Stiles rasped, trying to clear his throat like that would make it easier to breathe somehow.

"You don't need to apologise to us, not for anything you've done. You've been through a lot, some of which we can only imagine. You have a lot more to come, but everyone will be here to get you through it, and you seem like a clever boy, I know you'll pull through," Peter said as he crouched by the bed, reaching out and squeezing Stiles' thigh.

His mind blanked, thoughts such a jumbled mess for a moment at their sheer closeness that it just evaporated anything coherent. They had such an intense effect on him, it was starting to drive Stiles a little crazy. Thankfully he was still able to take in what the king was saying, and internalized it to the best of his abilities. This whole thing was a mess but he was starting to feel something akin to hope.

He completely missed the look Peter and Deucalion shared at the sound of the uptick of Stiles' heart and how much he calmed at having them both touching him. He missed that he himself was calmed by them, too.

The door opened once more and let in a third man, a silver fox with light armour, a stern face and lighter blue eyes. What was it with these heart-stoppingly beautiful older men and their blue eyes?

"I hope you two aren't scaring him, he's supposed to be resting," the silver fox spoke gruffly, crossing his arms and staring the two down with a raised brow.

Peter turned to face him, smiling and raising his hands in surrender as he stood. "You know me, Christopher. When have I ever scared pretty young men?"

"I do know you, which is why I can safely answer that it's always." Christopher moved closely, his attention shifting to Stiles who was about ready to pass out. He'd been wrenched out of one form of panic just to be thrown into another. Out of the cauldron and into the fire or something like that. "You can kick them out if they're giving you any issues, Stiles. I'm Sir Chris Argent, I lead the knights of Beacon, at your service."

Chris bowed just lightly, a little bend at his hips that made Stiles' heart flutter. There was a slight moments pause in Chris' demeanour as he straightened, but he moved past it quickly. Stiles picked up that this one was also a werewolf, but a little more like Scott and Isaac, where there was a bit of difference between them compared to Peter and Deucalion. He would figure out what that difference was one day.

"Stiles Stilinski," he responded cautiously.

"A spark, Christopher," Peter announced, practically purring like he was trying to show Stiles that it was indeed a positive thing while also… bragging?

Chris twitched, a movement that betrayed his surprise to Stiles. He got the feeling that this man was generally unflappable, so this was probably an large reaction for him.

"Ah," Chris responded dryly, "apologies, Stiles, I see why my mates are obsessing over you now. I can get them to give you space, if you want it."

Stiles felt flustered. Immensely. These three gorgeous men were all mates and apparently two were obsessing over him? Because he was a spark? Yeah, it was beginning to get through to him that he was in fact something rare and much wanted here.

"I wouldn't say we're-" Peter started but jolted when Deucalion actually kicked him, shooting his semi-stoic mate a glare. But then he looked at Stiles and the glare bled away into a smile and a wink. "Well, you can't blame me. Sparks are magnificent and the fact he's a beautiful young man certainly doesn't hurt."

Stiles spluttered and heard Isaac snickering, glanced at Kira to see her covering her mouth to hide an apologetic grin and Scott wasn't even looking at them as his shoulders shook. This was unfair, everyone was ganging up on him! His cheeks heated, a little uncomfortable with the attention but also confusingly flattered by the attention from such regal, handsome men.

"I-i-i- I'm not-" he squeaked out.

"I have to agree with his royal pain-in-the-behind, darling. You are a simply stunning creature," Deucalion mused, and even Chris' lips quirked into a smirk as he stepped a little closer to the bed.

"Just say the word, Stiles, I'll remove the cretins," Chris offered again.

"I- well- I'm pretty tired so-" he semi-lied. He was tired, was nonstop, but really he just didn't know what to do with this attention and the whiplash of emotions and shock.

Stiles needed time to process.

Sir Chris, thankfully, understood that. The smirk was replaced by something kind on his face, and he made herding motions to all five others in the room. "Out, all of you. Leave our guest to his rest, he's been through a grueling time and doesn't need you all crowding him."

It was effective, and also obvious that Chris was someone they all listened to and respected. Stiles was curious but he didn't have the capacity for it at this time, so he let it be and watched them all leave and the heavy wooden doors closed behind them.

Finally alone he let out a slow, shaky breath, and sank back under the covers to think and breathe.

Life changing was certainly one way to put it.