Wolfchild

From a seat from the mid-back of the cathedral, where two hundred men and women are gathered, a small and unassuming man gets up and begins to lope up the aisle to present himself, slowed by a slight limp in his right leg. He is almost ludicrously fat, more so than could be possibly reasonable, and as he draws closer snickers rise from the crowd gathered, and he looks around anxiously as they gather in volume.

The man stops a few paces from the base of my father’s throne where I sit prematurely, waiting apprehensively for me to react as people continue to laugh at him. He is both immense and so small, soft and flabby, and dressed entirely in white. When I finally give a reluctant nod for him to speak, he clears his throat nervously, and begins slowly, with a definitive stutter.

“I would like to elect m-myself," he stammers, to which the court’s laughs join that of the congregation “To guide you to the Trickster. I know the way. I am good with magic. I h-have even dealt with the Tr-Trickster before.”

“What are you? A young, fat noble's son?" chortles Maurice, the burly middle-aged mercenary who looks remarkably like a gorilla and stands to my right, his broadsword braced against the ground “What could you offer Winona as a protector?"

“I told you. I-I’m the only one here capable of navigating a way through the Trickster’s den, or so I- so I presume,” he tries to find some form of support around him, but finds only scornful faces, and then he turns desperately towards me with fretful green eyes “I use magic. And well. I r-really could be of assistance.”

“Is that it, my lord?" Barnabas, my father’s other close friend, on my left, snickers “Can you use any weapon? How fast can you run on those little trotters of yours? What could you do for a Wolf’s daughter? That’s mercenary royalty, sire. They were elected to serve the king.”

"Go home, pig!" James crows, from somewhere in the audience, recognizable by his grainy voice.

The man continues to babble and stutter, until he eventually turns, defeated, and begins to limp back to his aisle seat.

“Who even let him in?" Maurice snaps, daring anyone to speak up with a poison glare “I want him and whoever is associated with that chucklefuck thrown out of the council.”

“Wait! Wait!” I stand up, and everyone looks at me, including the young man with his light blond hair and vivid green eyes “Come back. I’ll take you.”

“Winona!” Maurice hisses, appalled “What would your father think?”

“I don’t know, Maurice, because the Trickster has him snared. This man knows how to get there. He knows what we’re dealing with. The lie detecting magic in the air would have alerted us to a falsehood if he had tried to lead us to believe one!” I sit back down, and cross my legs “What’s your name?” I speak only to the stranger, who I watch breathe a sigh of relief, and I then instruct him gently “Come here.”

He approaches still cautiously, but now no one laughs. He walks with his hands drawn up to his chest, but they drift down to his side as he comes to the base of the throne.

“My name is Kestrel. Allie… Kestrel,” he hesitantly gives me his effeminate first name, and laughter raises from the crowd again, and he winces and blushes.

I feel a swell of pity in my chest over his inability to escape being mocked. I look out at the large group of fellow mercenaries, advisors, and friends to my father. I then turn to Allie.

“It’s a pretty name,” I tell him, trying to give him some form of reassurance, and he grimaces, his eyelids drawing up anxiously, so again I prompt him “Come here.”

“I’m already–“ he look down at the stairs up to my father’s throne, and then at me, and I gesture for him to approach “Ah.”

He limps up the stairs, always leading with his left foot, and again the cathedral goes quiet. I see Maurice put his brow in his hand. Allie stops a few steps from the throne, out of a respect I would expect for the head Wolf, and not for his daughter, and he looks up at me in nervous, wet-eyed expectancy.

I reach out and cup his face, which almost immediately turns a stunning scarlet, stretching from the tips of his ears, across his plump cheeks, and over the bride of his pointed, weasel-like nose. Maurice sighs laboriously, but decides to have patience as he only does for his best friend and his daughter.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him very quietly, again directed only at him “You really are good at magic?”

“I, um, I–uh…” his emerald eyes flit back and forth from both my hands on the sides of his face, which is deepening to mahogany, and to cut some of the stress I drop them back into my lap “Yes. Ma’am. Uh huh.”

“Winona. Please. I’m probably younger than you,” I sit up straighter, and he bites his lip.

“I’m eighteen,” he glances over his shoulder with his still flushed complexion, but no one laughs at him this time “You?”

“Huh. Nineteen,” I lean back now, appraising him with interest “Come to Maurice’s side of me. Show me a spell.”

Allie looks out at the crowd again, and then nods. He skirts past Maurice, who glares at him, and then prepares himself. He closes his eyes, clenching his jaw, and then holds out a hand. His eyes briefly open and look at me, and then from his hand he releases a great flourish of peridot colored fire, that heats the room until it dissipates. He turns back to me expectantly.

“H-How was that?” he glances back at Maurice, who appears stunned “Good enough?”

“Excellent. You did excellent,” I give him a warm and hopefully validating smile, and for the first time I see him smile back, a sweet and broken thing.

Perhaps his chubby, weaselly face is not so unfortunate when he smiles. He is not unattractive, but I can tell from the reaction of my peers and context that most would find him repulsive. But with that sunshiny smile, his eyes light up, and so does that face that turns so brilliantly hued at my touch. I want to reward such a stunning display as his magic, so I beckon him back over, and he follows orders like a small dog.

Allie stands at the same step he did prior, and watches me expectantly, his mouth parted, though he doesn’t seem to realize it is open. I take his face with both hands again, and guide him up another step, and he allows me to do so, leaning in.

“You did a good job,” I assure him soothingly, and he nods, splitting another lovely, awkward grin “I am glad to have you traveling with me.”