Once, there was a peasant family living in the lowlands of the heathlands. Three proud sons to a mother and father, their home no more secure than the heather billowing in the breeze. They raise their sons on stories of little people in the streams and forests; of the Fair Folk and warn their children against angering them. The middle son, destined for no inheritance or favoritism, sold his strength and labor in guarding neighboring farmland. (He laughs at his parents’ warnings.)
One farmer’s family he deems as queer; they never seem to eat anything they grow, they grow too quiet when he repeats his father’s curses at invisible hobs the man swore hid his tools, and if he happened across the children alone he could swear he heard a thousand bells on the wind. They welcome a baby girl into the world and she is sickly and blind. Each day, he watches as the baby’s parents rub a paste against her eyes and whisper promises that one day she will see.
To his surprise, one day she does. Now the baby seems to reach out and coo at the emptiness in the air, giggling at nothing. The middle son decides to steal that cream for himself.
Act ii: curiosity killed the cat
It burns from the very moment it makes contact with his skin. More agonizing than any pain the boy had ever felt. Thick and itching; he runs to the river to wash it off it, leaving a trail of tears in his wake. The farmer soon appears behind him, voice soothing and with all the concern of a parent, wanting to know what happened. As the middle son dries his face, he catches sight of the farmer’s reflection in the water.
In place of the farm, he sees a smaller figure, a sharp, contorted face, whetted teeth and a ‘man’ with translucent wings. He screams. The last memory he has is a snarl and the farmer’s hands around his neck.
He awakens encaged, in a throne room and surrounded by monsters. Too terrified to breathe or realize he now was surrounded by the very creatures his parents had once warned him against provoking. While beautiful, each are terrifying; wholly inhuman and far too surreal in appearance for the middle son to comprehend. Two armored creatures beat him before his newfound King and Queen. He fights with every ounce of energy he has, biting and thrashing, but it is never enough. This is his trial, and he has already been found guilty.
His punishment is ultimately decided to be the very gift that he stole: his Sight. One Knight holds pins him the ground while other unsheaths a curved blade. With one slash, the middle son’s world turns black and red before they cage him once more, gleefully waiting for him to die. But he is a stubborn boy. He lives, his vision returns and with it, an unprecedented hatred. HE WILL BE USEFUL AFTERALL, THEY DECIDE.
Each day he spits at them and each day they brutalize him until at last, he can no longer look them in the eye. The middle son is no longer a son at all, but taught instead to be a warrior: brutal and efficient in their wars against the Seelie court. Best of all, unlike the rest of the Unseelie court, he can lie as easily as he can breathe. Decades pass in apprenticeship but at last, they have an obedient Knight to serve their crown. They brand him like cattle, he thinks to himself, with a seven-pointed star on the inner wrist of his right hand and moves to teach him glamour, magic. He becomes human in name only, bearing the skills and livelihood of any other span. They hum praises in his ear.
He is desperate, and that makes him dangerous. It is said that his hair, once flaxen, soon permanently stained itself red from the blood he shed.
Centuries pass. They come to allow him into the human world to do their bidding and he conspires with a Saint to legitimize him for humanity; together they spin stories of a boy-king, of a sword in a stone, an alias of Arthur and a doomed king carried off by the fae, destined to return one day.
Without provocation, it seems, he wastes a winter seducing the royal consort. He becomes the favorite of their favorite. On the coldest night when they should be buried beneath rich furs and blankets, he slits the consort’s throat while the other male sleeps with an iron knife and takes the evidence to their Highnesses. (Weapon concealed, the guards take no issue in stepping aside for one of their most trusted Knights to have a private word with his Masters.) “Release me,” he demands, “or it will be your throat next.” They do.
Act vi: and that’s all....?
Power begets power. In his freedom, he remains fearful of being recaptured by the Unseelie court. To try protecting himself, he aligns himself with the most influential of humans, setting his eyes on their royalty and military commanders. In the centuries to come, he would become many things in exchange for their loyalty and promises of protection: a privateer, a soldier, a politician, a tutor. All the while, reinventing himself with new names to make it more difficult to identify him. Always ready to convince the next generation of influencers that he is their first King returned, ready to serve Queen and country again for the low price of being hidden amongst the masses, should he feel threatened.
At present, he is a law enforcement aid employed by the New Scotland Yard, concealing magical and supernatural elements of crimes (unbeknownst to his employer). He may be Dirty Cop™ for any Other creature, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get you off without being charged. He’s glamouring witnesses and detectives, disposing of magical items to keep a connection from humanity and the forgotten magical world from being drawn.
