Chapter Text
Altea was a beautiful land.
It had flowers growing on every surface and lights that never seemed to fade. One could say magic was in the air, literally, that is.
It was known among all the other kingdoms as The Land of Witches, however the title wasn’t too kindly perceived by the population, mainly because it had been long since it was justified, and the Magis in power considered it to be too misleading.Nowadays, not only was magic not reserved to women, but it also thrived through centuries transforming and fusing with all the various races, and even creating newones.
Humans. Ogres. Elves. Faes. Druids. Mer, Galra.
Ogres, Elves and Mer were rarely seen outside of their own societies. They had their own kingdoms, with their own nations. Elves were too proud, for the most part, to mix with other races, and so they stayed in Aruvia. They had other issues to deal with other then their possible intercourse with the other races. The turbulence in their social and political higher circles was palpable, and those that chose to flee, were disowned and seen as traitors.
Ogres weren’t as strict on the rules and did in fact mix with other races, mainly humans, having in common their near-total lack of magical potential. Those that were born with magic in their blood more often then not still chose to live ordinary lives, among their sisters and brothers. If one of their own chose to pursue magic, they would soon realize that it would turn out to be unusual, to say the least.
The Mer, despite having a treaty with Altea, weren’t too present on the continent, preferring to remain in the ocean. No use leaving a place that was quite literally made for you.
Druids an Faes, kept through centuries their deep connection to nature. For the druids it was with the forest, and for the Fae, it was the gardens. Both had a mainly nature oriented magic. Druids tended to stay away from highly populated areas, preferring secluded corners of the city and small towns, more or less in contact with a forest, needing to replenish their magic reservoirs.
Faes weren’t as picky as to their living space, mainly because any garden could serve as an endless quintessence source if the need was dire enough, but also because they didn’t want to hide away, instead they liked living in society far more.Social gatherings was where they shone the brightest. They loved mischief and shady deals, those little sociopaths.
Lastly there were the Galra, the most mysterious of all the races. Their kingdom, Daibazaal, had two major parties fighting for power: the Zarkonians and the Marmora. The kingdom’s history was the result of an old feud between two brothers and now had the entire nation choosing sides. Abilities wise, they were unable to use magic, but had enhanced senses, and instincts. Strong, fast and resilient, they were capable warriors but Altea only gave recognition to those who had magic flowing in their veins.
Humans were those that got the worst end of the deal, having none of the abilities that were praised by all the other races. No magic. No strength. No ancient bloodline. Centuries ago, they were the only ones capable of becoming witches, but these days they were getting more and more rare.
They had familiars and could brew potions, but their magic was conditional and had some very peculiar rules, also, it wasn’t limited to one and only element like it was the case for all the other magical beings. It couldn’t, however, come out of nowhere, and so, to perform the slightest bits of magic, they had to always carry various herbs and mushrooms. Lance would often make fun of his sister, Veronica, for always smelling like a rosary bush.
Faes, Druids and the Mer had their own kind of magic that they were the only ones to wield. Ogres had either no magic or very unusual magic. Galras had none.
All the other races could be born with magic or without, and when they did, they were called Mages. Usually those would be Elves or Magis. Magis were a sub-race that held nearly all the power in Altea. Once human, they let go of that parental link centuries ago, and chose to only procreate between magic-holders only, creating a very powerful elite that despised pretty much anyone that either wasn’t a mage, or was a first generation mage.
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Outside Altea’s walls, however, things weren’t as spectacular. Lance would testify. The McClains had been living in a small fishing village called Varadero for many generations and despite it not being as magical as Altea, it was their own little piece of heaven. The people living there were for the most of them human and while very few could use magic, their hearts were full of warmth and affection, their own kind of magic.
Lance was twelve when he met Keith. It was a morning like any other, the sun was barely up and birds were singing their own love story but he only had eyes, or rather ears for one thing only, and that was the mesmerizing melody coming from his neighbor’s house.
(i’m imagining Train Wreck but Dramatic violin version, if you know, you know)
Ms Gladys was a lovely woman, human and yet strong like no other. She never did marry, but instead raised four children all on her own. Took on odd jobs and managed to get food on the table, all while being actively discriminated against. Altea being quite unfriendly to those who were deemed too useless, too human. In retrospect, moving to Varadero once her kids were out of school was probably the best decision she had ever made.
Either way, Lance loved Ms Gladys, even going as far as coming over for a glass of juice every once in a while. She would tell him stories about her youth, kindly going around every sad bit, and he would giggle hysterically. His favorite stories had always been those about her and her deceased lover. Mister Mario was a true gentleman that loved Gladys more then anything, but died an unfortunate death at the young age of 27. As an elf, his life was supposed to be long and honorable, but the disease that plagued his days ever since he was born made sure to cut his happiness with Gladys short. Nevertheless, as destroyed as she had been, she never let it stop her from being there for her children, or others’ children, for that matter, Lance himself, for example.
However, even though Lance knew of the many talents Ms Gladys had, violin wasn’t one of them, and so he set out to investigate.
As he got closer, the music got louder and now Lance could truly appreciate its beauty. It wasn’t like anything he had ever heard, and as ethereal as the sound was, it was full of despair and longing. The boy never was much of an expert but he knew for sure to be correct about that.
Sad and heartbreaking.
It was as if unwilling to cry out loud, the musician let himself feel through music. Cry and scream and wail.
As Lance opened the wicket gate leading to the beautiful garden Ms Gladys perfected through the years, it squeaked and he grew worried that it would interrupt the mysterious musician, but he seemed to be too lost to the tune and so the melody never ceased. With a sigh of relief the boy tip toed through the perfectly green lawn, like some sort of spy, or maybe a thief, like in those plays he would sometimes see with his siblings. It was no frequent occurrence though, since the traveling troupe would only occasionally visit their small town. He did however particularly appreciate the one time he saw Romeo and Juliet, then again, love stories were always his thing, especially those where lovers loved deeply, wholly, selflessly.
The irony was striking. But that was something he would only learn much later.
He was walking bare-foot, toes touching the slightly moist surface of the grassy patch Ms Gladys was growing near the fence. It was early still, therefore the dew had yet to evaporate, but it didn’t dissuade him from going any further, instead it allowed his steps to remain silent, as to not disturb the small silhouette the boy could now recognize as another boy. He had black hair and fair skin. And as much as he wanted to, Lance couldn’t see much else since the boy was in fact standing facing the other direction, where the sun was currently rising. The orange hue it created made him look even more mysterious and Lance was… intrigued.
And so he sat down without as much as a word, crossing his legs and breathing softly, mesmerized by the view and the melody that seemed to pierce his little boy heart.
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Ten more minutes passed before anything else happened and Lance just sat there playing with his fingers and enjoying the music that never stopped. Every time he would get the impression that it would, the tone would change, as if jumping to another segment of the melody and go on. It was a bit awkward but ultimately amusing, as if the boy didn’t want to stop playing but didn’t actually know how to go from one part of the tune to another.
What wasn’t amusing however was how at some point the boy staggered, his stance slumped and the bow fell softly to the ground. As he fell to his knees, Lance jumped up to his feet and ran up to him, worried.
The boy was sobbing inconsolably, clutching his violin. Without thinking much, Lance gathered him in a tight embrace, tearing up himself. He had no idea in the moment of what could possibly be the reason for such a gut wrenching display, but seeing such pain on the face of another person was torturous. He didn’t know that boy and yet, he felt like that moment was an important one. One that would define him as a person. One that would change everything.
That day Lance ended up getting the boy inside and finding out his name. Keith. What a human name, he thought to himself. But the boy, Keith, didn’t look human, or not as human as before his breakdown. He didn’t say anything though, not in that moment.
Not too long after, Lance found out that Keith was in fact half-human and half-galran, that his father, his human father, has died in a fire which led him to Veradero, and he was the one who thought him how to play. Apparently his father once knew Mister Mario and that was why Ms Gladys took him in.
The four years that followed made Lance the happiest he had ever been despite all the changes they both went through.
One ordinary morning Lance woke up with his ears itching and upon inspecting them in the mirror, he saw, much to his surprise that their shape changed over night. Where there were previously small and round ears, long ones now remained. That was how they found out that Veronica wasn’t the only one to have magic in the family. Lance however had no other indicators, being unable to perform even the smallest trick. Keith was there with him through it all. Through every disappointment, every minute he ever felt inadequate, not quite a mage, not quite a human.
Lance too was always there. Holding him through every nightmare the raven had. Speaking for the both of them on the days Keith couldn’t seem to find his voice, the memory of the forsaken fire that took everything from him still fresh in his mind. He would just talk, and talk, and talk, and do everything he could to distract the boy from his torturous thoughts.
He loved his family, he really did, but Keith was different. Every new thing Lance found out about him had him vibrating from excitement and talking incessantly to his siblings. No one was safe from his rants. And by the time he realized that he had fallen in love, pretty much everyone else knew that already. Safe for the oblivious object of his feelings.
As time passed, the two friends grew and so did their friendship. Its nature however seemed to change.While in the beginning, Lance truly wanted a friend, by the time he turned fifteen, there was no more denying and he settled into this new feeling. It was warm and soft and had him buzzing from excitement like a bee in spring, flying all around the most beautiful flower it could find.
Despite the happiness the newfound feeling brought, the teen remained cautious. He loved Keith. He truly did. And that meant that once he understood that the boy needed a friend much more then a love-struck fool, he tore the paper on which he had scribbled in his horrible writing a few words, nothing more… just a tiny confession.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I know you’re my best friend
But I kinda like love you.
So if maybe you could,
Don’t reject me outright,
But instead let me prove
Why is it that it feels so damn right.
I’ll show you the sky,
I’ll show you the moon,
Nothing feels quite the same
When you enter the room.
And then maybe you’ll see
That I am no liar,
That every second with you
Lights my heart aflame like a fire.
And if you do, and I pray that you do,
Take my hand and I’ll show you the ocean
And we will forever swim in ‘eternal devotion’.
It was dramatic and so over the top that he knew that if anyone were to one day find it, he would never be able to live it down. And yet, even after tearing it apart, he couldn’t will himself to throw it away, and so he hid the pieces in a small box he then placed in his closet, between his socks and underwear. No one will look there, probably. Actually Mama might… and Veronica… Rachel… or Marco… fuck Luis too…
Mierda.
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Despite not being able to confess, Lance was happy. Keith was his friend, his best friend, and maybe one day, he would actually confess. Maybe one day, Keith would be ready. Maybe he will love him back.
It’s okay, though. For now, Lance could wait.
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Not even a year later, Keith left.
Ms Gladys got sick and her oldest daughter took her in, Keith however was sent to an all-Galra orphanage. Lance pleaded with his parents, with his neighbor, with anyone he could find to take Keith in, but no one could, and so, one rainy morning Keith left and Lance let him. He let him go with a promise to write letters and never ever stop being his friend, and as a physical reminder, as if Lance could ever forget Keith, truly what a joke… his father’s violin.