Trespasser

Someone was in Cassius’s cottage.

He stood frozen amid the soft snowfall as he tracked how the prints emerged from the far side of the forest, wandered through the clearing, and eventually ended at Cassius’s front door. The marks couldn’t have been made very long ago. The snow only began to fa when Cassius shot the buck slung over his shoulder. Its body was still warm.

“Being retired used to mean something.” He growled.

He slid the deer off his broad shoulder and into the snow with a grunt. “The audacity.” The man huffed, unsheathing his hunting knife from his belt. He dropped to his knees in the snow, the leather keeping his skin dry. “My house? I always challenged others in broad daylight. Right in the marketplace…”

He continued to grumble as he began to field dress the deer, sawing off the hooves and head with sharp jerks of his wrist, peeling back the hide. Might as well take care of business first. Blood hissed where it spilled into the snow, making a ruddy slush beneath the carcass. Cassius bundled everything together as he dragged the deer to his root cellar, dumping the remains inside. He could cook himself a nice deer steak once he was done with the intruder.

The crunch of snow under Cassius’s heavy hunting boots was loud in the silence of the clearing as he stalked to the incriminating trail leading to his front door. Resting his weathered hand on the pommel of his sword, he bent over to get a better look at the prints. The stranger’s gait was uneven and stumbling, the scuffs in the snow to skidding or erring here and there. Had they fallen ill? Gotten drunk? They must have been impaired somehow if they chose to wander into Cassius’s home. The prints were barely bigger than his hand. Perhaps it was one of the whelps from the nearby mountain town. It wouldn’t have been the first time a foolish kid impulsively decided to bring in Cassius’s head for some coin.

Following the trail, Cassius climbed the steps to his home, the weight of his steps drawing straining groans from the old planks. Gripping his sword, he unlatched his front door and pushed it open. The hinges creaked as the door swung open, revealing nothing but the interior of his home. No trespassing assassins leaped out at him from inside. Cassius listened at the threshold for a moment or two. Nothing. Scowling, he stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind him. They wanted to do this the hard way. Okay, fine. Cassius had time for hide and seek.

Pausing for a moment to strip himself of his cloak and boots (he wasn’t an animal and wouldn’t track snowmelt through his home, thank you), Cassius began his search. He started with the supply room off to his right. He kept it filled to the brim with chests. Most remained empty, but all were the perfect size to hide a meager scrap of a kid.

He meticulously searched every chest, making sure one wasn’t hiding a trespasser inside. Nothing. No youth with a feral need for his head and some money came springing out of any of the chests he checked. On a whim, he checked the ones he kept stocked.

“Gods,” Cassius huffed.

His stores were rifled through. Everything was rearranged and knocked out of place, the apples mixed with the oranges and the other fruits, the dried nuts with the dried meats… It was an utter disaster. Cassius made a mental note to himself to reorganize everything at once, after he dealt with the intruder.

A quick check on the itinerary of his food stores revealed nothing was stolen besides water, bread, and a singular apple. Cassius’s nose wrinkled at the discovery. An intruder and a thief. Fantastic. Maybe he should investigate how to install wards on his cottage.

He ran a check on his valuables as well. His hand-crafted armor, weapons, potions… those remained untouched. Perhaps just a lost traveler, Cassius reasoned, looking for shelter and food. It at least cleared the worry of a surprise attack from his mind. All he would have to do is send them on their way to the nearest mountain town, and he could go back to his peaceful solitude. Simple. Easy.

“I know you’re in here.” Cassius called out, his deadpan voice carrying throughout his cottage. “You weren’t exactly sneaky, leaving your tracks uncovered like that.”

He rested his hand on the grip of his sword as he wandered from room to room, stepping in and performing a quick sweep to see if the trespasser decided to give themselves up.

He was inches past the threshold of the living room when a shape dove for him from behind the lounge chair.

Cassius drew his sword in the blink of an eye, smacking the stranger with the flat side, and sending them tumbling over the coffee table, where they laid still.

“Oh.” Cassius hummed, planting a foot onto the back of the dazed stranger. “That was easy.”

The boy was paralyzed under Cassius, gaze foggy, raggedly drawing in quick, sharp breaths. Cassius could feel the sharp prod of ribs and shoulder blades under his heel. The boy didn’t look like your typical village whelp. Those were fuller figured and color in their cheeks. This one was all skin and bones, his small frame protected only by a threadbare tunic. He lost his shoe, at some point. The skin on his foot was waxy and beginning to turn blue. Dirt and grime covered his sickly skin, dirtying his blonde hair.

The boy’s attention snapped to Cassius, pupils as small as a pin and just as sharp. “You.” He snarled. His voice was raspy, rusty like an old door hinge.

“Me?” Cassius muttered, cocking his head. Even bounty hunters didn’t speak to him with such vitriol.

The boy began to thrash, clawing at the carpet to drag himself out from under Cassius. He lightly bore down on the boy, and he went still with a wheeze.

“You aren’t going anywhere.” Cassius hummed. He sheathed his sword by his hip. This scrap of a kid wasn’t any threat. He leaned over to get a better look at the boy. The skin around his eyes tightening as he tried his best to remember where he’d seen the boy before, though his features were distorted with rage. It would be more intimidating if the boy’s boney cheek wasn’t pressed into Cassius’s floor.

“Do we… know each other?” Cassius asked.

The boy’s jaw clenched like he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into Cassius. It was a pity he was pinned to the floor.

“Fenn. Fenn Emric.”

“Ah, Thorne’s boy. Haven’t seen you since you were two.” Cassius noted, nodding to himself. Leaving out the older man’s title was deliberate. King was too noble of a title for that rat. “He’s still well? Surprised he hasn’t been assassinated yet, the old fuck.”

“This is all your fault!”

Cassius scoffed, “My fault?” He demanded, voice raising. “It’s my fault you broke into my home, stole my food, and attacked me? What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be living the good life with your rich old man? Eating good and wearing the finest silks?”

The nerve of such an accusation distracted Cassius for only a moment, but it was enough. Fenn was out from underneath him like an arrow from a bow. Cassius stumbled but remained on his feet. Fenn, using the opportunity to escape, bolted for the door.

He stumbled, tripping over his own feet, and collapsed in the entryway to the living room.

Cassius winced as Fenn tumbled, his head bouncing against the wooden floorboards with a dull thud.

“Damnit.” Cassius growled, marching over to where Fenn lay prone. “Hey. Get up.” He huffed, nudging the boy with his foot. He did it again. And again, harsher. Fenn didn’t even stir.

Cassius froze.

He dropped next to Fenn, pressing two fingers to his neck. A faint beat pulsed under his skin. Cassius’s shoulders sagged with relief at the sign of life, however faint. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with disposing of a body today.

“I can’t believe this.” Cassius growled as he bent over to scoop Fenn into his arms. He weighed less than a feed bag. “This is karmic punishment somehow.” He continued to gripe, throwing the boy over his shoulder. Cassius carried him back into the living room before laying him out on the couch, taking care to make sure Fenn was on his back. The man growled to himself as he stomped back to his supply room. He snagged a bundle of thick blankets, healing potions, and bandages, slamming chests shut as he gathered supplies.

“I don’t know why I’m not just tossing you out to freeze.” Cassius continued as he stepped back into the living room, kneeling beside Fenn. Soaking each bandage in potion, Cassius began the process of treating the boy.

Miscellaneous burns and bruises and scrapes covered most of Fenn’s body, which Cassius clinically wrapped up with deft hands. He was just as good at healing as he was with wounding. In his younger days, in the King’s guard, he always volunteered to assist in the healers’ tent, stitching cuts and packing gashes. After all, one must understand anatomy to know where to strike.

Making sure Fenn was warm was next. The condition of his foot was already causing Cassian’s gut to twist. He had seen soldiers lose their feet and hands from the cold, the skin becoming black and hardened like coal. Careful to not shock his system, he smothered the boy in thick blankets of bear and elk hide, letting the boy warm up more naturally on his own.

After, he loaded the fireplace with a few logs and tinder, lighting it with a bit of friction between twigs. The sparks caught quickly, and flames began to swell and eat away at the wood, beginning to fill the cottage with warmth. A small comfort in the face of the events of today. A sigh left Cassian’s lips.

Stew was good for hypothermia. It was also hearty, good for replenishing nutrients. It was plausible Fenn fainted from malnutrition. Honestly, Cassius saw starving POWs in better condition. It was hard to believe Fenn was a prince.

“I’m going to waste my deer on this brat.” Cassius muttered.