Part Three

The Wells' Family Legacy

Thomas woke up quickly, his eyes widening in fear when he was met with the sight of a person standing in front of him in the middle of the night. He opened his mouth, presumably to call out for someone, and Hunter immediately clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent him from doing so.

“It’s me, Hunter,” he hissed, trying to get the boy to relax.

His efforts were met with success as Thomas quickly calmed down, the fear in his face abating. Hunter removed his hand from Thomas’ mouth, taking a step backwards.

“What are you doing here?” Thomas asked, reaching over to light the candle sitting on the nightstand beside him. Hunter watched him as he did, wondering if he should stop the boy from doing so. Then, he shrugged, figuring that Wells wouldn’t be too alarmed by his son lighting a candle in his room when everyone was supposed to be asleep.

“To see you, of course,” Hunter replied easily, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. While a lit candle wasn’t a cause of distress, two voices in a bedroom belonging to one person certainly would.

“And you couldn’t wait until morning?” Thomas was frowning, and Hunter almost laughed at the annoyance in the boy’s features. It was obvious that Hunter’s late-night visit had upset Thomas, though he couldn’t really blame him. Being woken up in the middle of the night wasn’t fun in the slightest.

“Not really, no,” Hunter said in response to Thomas’ question. He ran a hand through his hair. “I still can’t enter the castle, so I would’ve had to wait for you to come visit me.”

“And we both know how patient of a person you are,” Thomas said drily.

Hunter blinked, tilting his head at his friend. “Was that sarcasm? From you?”

“Shut up.” He sat up a little, pushing Hunter lightly away from. Hunter chuckled softly, evading the boy easily. Suddenly, Thomas’ face scrunched up in confusion and he settled back on his bed. “Wait, you said you still can’t come in. How are you here then?”

Hunter grinned. “I snuck in.”

Thomas’ jaw dropped. “You snuck into Castle Tascela?”

Hunter nodded. “Yep. By climbing over the wall.”

Thomas’ head whipped around to look at the window. The curtains were still drawn over it, but Hunter imagined that he was trying to see through the curtains to stare at the walls surrounding the castle. “You climbed the wall?” He turned back to face Hunter. “How did you do that?”

Hunter shrugged. “It was easy.” Ignoring Thomas’ incredulous face and electing to not reveal the difficulty he had experienced with the guards on top of the wall, he asked, “Anyways, how are things with yo…” His voice trailed off as, for some reason, he couldn’t get the words he wanted to say out from his mouth. He adjusted the sentence, ending with “Wells” instead.

The boy seemed to miss Hunter’s trouble with saying ‘your father,’ for he asked, “Matheson?” His eyes were widening in excitement and a smile was growing on his face. “Fantastic, Hunter. He’s so much easier to get along with in comparison to Kathleen. I-I--” He shook his head, seemingly finding it hard to explain with his words how incredible spending time with his father had been.

Hunter smiled, though it felt hard to do so. “I’m happy for you,” he said, having to force the words out. Just like what had happened with Kathleen just the day before, it seemed like he was at war with himself, angry at and jealous of Thomas for meeting his father, angry at himself that he had enabled that to happen and for not being happy that Thomas had finally achieved his life-long goal of knowing both of his parents, and, above all else, dismayed at the stark reminder that his parents were gone and he would never get the chance that Thomas was.

Thomas’ smile widened further at Hunter’s words. “Thanks,” he said. “And thank you for bringing me here. I can’t begin to tell you how deeply grateful I am for that. I know that everyone was telling you not to and I’m so appreciative that you didn’t listen to them. Instead, you brought me here. And now here I am, in Castle Tascela.” He gestured around to the room around them. “And I met my father today for the first time in twelve years. He’s amazing, Hunter.” Thomas turned back to look Hunter directly in his eyes. “He loves me and he cares for me deeply, much more than I ever would have imagined. And, tomorrow, I get to learn even more about him.” He paused, his eyes staring off into the distance, sparkling with happiness and excitement. Thomas appeared to be filled with childlike wonder, simply in awe of where he was, what had happened that day, and what would happen the next day.

And it made Hunter question everything.

What Thomas had told him about Wells seemed to be in direct opposition to what everyone had told Hunter about the Aspayan Hero. Was he truly a bitter, failed archer’s apprentice who was seeking revenge against his former mentor and his old kingdom? Was he truly a father who should be kept away from his child, in an effort to protect the son from harm? Was he abusive like Braya had claimed that he was? Was it really so horrible that Thomas had finally met his father?

Staring at the awe and wonder in Thomas’ eyes and hearing the echoes of Thomas’ words in his head, Hunter found himself thinking that perhaps it wasn’t a terrible thing that he had brought Thomas here. Maybe everyone had been wrong about Wells. Perhaps he was just a father desperate to find his son.

But, no, that couldn’t be true. People had always talked about how cunning and manipulative the Aspayan Hero was. Maybe that was what was happening right now. Perhaps this image Thomas had of his father was simply an act, a ploy of Wells’ to get his son to trust him. After all, as Braya had pointed out last night, there had to be a reason why Wells was trying to find Thomas now after all these years. If he truly was a desperate father looking for his only son, then why step forward now, twelve years after Thomas was left at the orphanage? Did Wells, like Hunter, have a master plan that involved his son in some way? Was he, too, planning on using Thomas’ trust in him, trust that he had obviously gained as Thomas was clearly pleased to have met him, to achieve some twisted goal of his?

But why do you care? a voice inside of his head asked. He blinked as he realized that the voice was correct. Why did he care? If he was planning on doing the same thing as Wells, why did he care if Wells was using Thomas and was planning on betraying his trust? Why was he fine with himself doing that but not Thomas’ father?

Looking back at Thomas’ face, at the happiness and giddiness in his expression, Hunter got his answer.

He cared about Thomas as a friend. He had been his friend for years and, while that friendship had been ruined the instant he decided to go through with his revenge plan, he still saw him as one. He cared if Thomas was hurt by his father. He cared if the delighted expression on Thomas’ face was replaced by the same hurt expression that had been present when Thomas had discovered that Hunter had lied to him. He cared if Wells used his son to achieve whatever he was trying to do and if Wells betrayed Thomas. For if Thomas was hurt or in pain, Hunter knew that he would feel the exact same way.

And if that was true, then Hunter couldn’t go through with his plan. He couldn’t bring himself to be the one that caused Thomas to be hurt. He couldn’t be the person to bring pain into Thomas’ world. He couldn’t cause Thomas to step away from him in anger, hurt and pain washing over his facial expression, yelling at him for what he had done. He simply couldn’t, not again.

That thought grieved him deeply. As Hunter realized that he couldn’t accomplish his revenge plan, he found himself slipping into the dark world that he had resided in back when his parents had passed away, the dark thoughts and feelings he had been holding at bay ever since Michael had died right in front of him just six days ago. He was back to square one, back to knowing that he had to bring justice to his parents’ and Michael’s deaths, but with no idea on how to achieve that. He was back to being six-years-old, staring down at the blood covering his hands and his reflection in the river in front of him, marveling at how the blood coming from the cut on his eyebrow mixed with the tears falling from his face, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he had to find someway to right what had happened to him and his family but not having a clue as to how to do that.

“Hunter?” Thomas asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked up to find his friend looking at him in concern, a frown cresting over his face. “Is something wrong?”

“I-I--” Hunter stuttered. He thought about lying, about to say that he was fine, when Braya’s words from earlier that night came back to haunt him.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Do you ever tell the truth? Tell me, Hunter, does it make you happy to know you’re lying to everyone? Do you feel even the slightest bit remorseful whenever you utter a lie? Do you take pleasure in hiding your intentions from your friends?”

And, staring at the worry and confusion on Thomas’ face, he found himself exhausted of all his lies. He was done with not telling the truth and with hiding what felt like everything to everyone.

So, he opened his mouth, scared to death of what he was about to say, but also feeling relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was about to tell the truth. He was about to reveal everything. He was going to tell Thomas about his plan, about his thirst for revenge.

Then, he hesitated, knowing that it would hurt Thomas deeply. Knowing that he was about to see pain and anger appear on his friend’s face. Knowing that Thomas was about to yell at him again and that he maybe even had to watch him step away from him.

And in that moment of hesitation, someone else took his chance to speak, another voice cut through their conversation.

“Who are you?”

Hunter whirled around, his hand flying to his knife, as he tried to find out who had spoke. He was greeted with a man standing in the doorway to Thomas’ bedroom. He had curly blonde hair that was identical to his friend’s, but just a few inches longer. The eyes that were filled with apprehension and caution were the same shade as Thomas’ as well. And, at that moment, Hunter knew that he was face-to-face with Thomas’ father, Matheson Wells, the Aspayan Hero.

“I asked a question, boy,” Wells said, taking a step forward towards Hunter. Instinctively, Hunter stepped away, tightening his grip on his knife. He didn’t unsheathe it, though, deciding to wait until he knew the man’s intentions.

“Matheson!” Thomas exclaimed, beaming up at his father. He got out of his bed, stepping in between the man and Hunter. “This is Hunter Wright, a friend of mine.”

Matheson relaxed, though he kept his gaze on Hunter. He shared his son’s stature, meaning that Hunter was taller than him, but that didn’t seem to faze the man. His apprehensive look stayed on his face despite Thomas’ placating words. He looked as if he was taking in everything about Hunter, trying to figure out if he was a threat to his son or not. That was proven further when his gaze dropped to Hunter’s left hand holding tight to his knife. Wells’ eyes flicked upwards again, landing on Hunter’s hazel eyes. For a second, Hunter could have sworn he saw disgust in the man’s expression, but Wells’ expression immediately shifted into one of welcoming.

“Hunter, it’s a pleasure.” Wells smiled widely, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. They stayed just as cold as earlier. “A friend of my son’s is a friend of mine.”

Hearing his father’s words, Thomas turned to grin at Hunter, seemingly happy to see Wells welcoming his friend as soon as he met him. Still, Hunter wasn’t unconvinced, still staring at the eyes devoid of any emotion and not shaking away the apprehension in the man’s expression just seconds ago. Even upon just meeting him, Hunter knew how capable he was of hiding his true emotions and knew just how well he was at manipulating people. As such, Hunter didn’t say a word, simply staring straight into Wells’ eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas’ smile falter, but it righted itself when he looked back at his father.

“Hunter was the one to tell me about you,” Thomas explained. “He helped me get here.”

Wells’ eyes widened, seemingly in apparent surprise at hearing that, for he moved his eyes away from Hunter and to his son. Whether that was genuine surprise or just an act, Hunter didn’t know. “Really?”

“I did,” Hunter said, causing the man to look away from Thomas and to turn his attention onto Hunter. Wells’ smile fell for a second, allowing Hunter a look at the anger simmering just below the surface of his outward appearance. Then, the smile returned, chasing away any evidence that he was ever angry. Yet again, it was proof of just how easy Wells could hide his actual emotions and it unnerved Hunter how fast he had switched his facial features.

“In that case, I thank you, Hunter,” Wells said, his voice filled with sweetness and sincerity. Hearing the false niceness of his tone caused Hunter to tense and the grip on his knife, which he was still holding, tightened. At this point, with how tightly curled his hand was around the hilt, he could feel his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. Wells reached out, placing his hand on Thomas’ shoulder and squeezing it lightly. It was an action that was surely meant to be loving, but it made Hunter feel sick to his stomach. It seemed to him to be far too possessive. “Without you, I might never have been reunited with my son. Thank you.”

Thomas smiled up at his father before looking back at Hunter, his eyes still filled with the same childlike wonder from a few minutes ago when Thomas himself was thanking Hunter for what he had done. And seeing Thomas' look and seeing Wells' hand on his friend’s shoulder, Hunter felt worry beginning to build inside of him.

For Wells was surely hiding many things from Thomas. He had created an entire act about caring for Thomas, an act that Thomas fully believed in if his words from earlier were to be true. And Wells was doing it again here, acting like he was welcoming Hunter and was happy to have met a friend of his son. And Thomas had bought that act, seeing as his smile was wide and genuine. Hunter, however, didn’t, not in the slightest.

Not when Wells’ smile seemed so false. Not when Hunter didn’t miss the anger and the disgust the man had slipped into his expression before he could stop it. Not when the hand on Thomas’ shoulder looked more controlling than an action of love.

Still, Hunter couldn’t let on that he saw through Wells’ loving father act. No, he had to get out of the castle and he couldn’t do that by angering the Aspayan Hero. He had to play nice, for now.

“Of course, sir,” Hunter said, allowing an easy smile to appear on his face. He forced himself to let go of his knife. He held out his right hand, offering it for the man to shake. After a half-second of hesitation, Wells shook it, keeping his left hand on Thomas’ shoulder. His grip was more firm than Hunter was expecting, almost causing him to flinch under the tight grip. Still, he kept his smile on his face, not letting it falter for even a second. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Advisor Wells.”

“Well,” Wells said, dropping Hunter’s hand and glancing between both him and his son, “now that introductions are out of the way, I think it’s time to go back to bed. It’s late.”

“I agree, sir,” Hunter said, starting to walk past the man to go out of the room. “I’ll leave an--”

“Wait a second, Hunter,” Wells interrupted, reaching out an arm to stop him. Hunter froze, staring at the arm blocking his way. “Where are you staying?”

Hunter’s head snapped up at the man, knowing that he couldn’t tell the truth. If Wells figured out that Hunter was camping out in the forest, he would ask how Hunter got into the castle. If he did, then he would find out that Hunter had climbed over the castle walls, sneaking and breaking into Castle Tascela to get to where he was now. Before he could figure out what to say, Thomas spoke.

“He was in the forest.”

“The forest?” Wells asked, raising an eyebrow as he gazed at Hunter. As Thomas continued to talk, Hunter cursed him in his head. Thomas really needed to learn when to speak and what to say when he did.

“Yeah. Hunter snuck in and climbed over the wall to see me.”

Silence met Thomas’ words. Hunter tried his hardest to keep a neutral expression on his face while Wells continued to stare at him. Wells, for his part, looked just as emotionless. Tension sparked between them, Hunter waiting to hear Wells’ response to his actions and Wells…Hunter wasn’t certain what the man was thinking. The man hid his thoughts and emotions too well for him to read him. Thomas seemed oblivious to the tension and to Hunter’s internal curses aimed at him, for he stayed smiling, his gaze flicking between his friend and his father.

Then, amusement broke through Wells’ expression and he started laughing. After a brief second of standing in confusion, Hunter joined in, and Thomas quickly did as well. When he was done laughing, Wells looked at Hunter. While he still seemed amused, there was no glint of that in his eyes. They were as empty as ever.

“I would have done the same thing when I was your age, Hunter,” Wells admitted, his voice filled with amusement. “As such, I won’t tell anyone.”

Hunter felt anger rushing through him. He didn’t want Wells to say that he was, in any way, similar to him. He didn’t want to know anything about what Wells was like when he was his age. And as to Wells saying that he won’t tell anyone, what was he trying to do? Make Hunter owe him something for hiding his stunt? Hunter didn’t need his protection. He didn’t want to owe a thing to Wells.

Still, he reined his anger in, keeping it in check. He reminded himself of the task at hand, knowing that if he angered Wells, he would only bring harm to himself and most likely upset Thomas by being rude to his father. So, he kept smiling, and said, “Thank you, sir.”

Wells shook his head as a response. “Now, returning back to what I was saying. It’s late and I don’t think you want to walk all the way back over into the forest. What if you stay in a room here? Just for the night.”

Hunter frowned. That was the last thing he wanted to do. The longer he stayed here, the higher the probability that Wells would find out that he was a Tascelan Archer. And once he did and if Hunter was still in the castle, Hunter knew that he would be arrested and hanged for treason. He needed to leave, now.

“Thank you for the offer, Advisor Wells,” he said. “But I can’t ask that of you. I--”

“You’re not asking, Hunter,” Wells cut in. “I’m offering.”

“Sir, I--” Whatever protest that Hunter had been about to say died on his lips. Wells was staring at him again, an intense look on his face. It was a calculating look, one that seemed to look directly through Hunter, seeing everything that Hunter was thinking and feeling. Much more than that, however, it demanded that Hunter was going to accept the room at the castle, regardless of whether he wanted to. It appeared as if Hunter was stuck in the castle for the night. “Very well, sir. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll show you to your room now.” He looked over at his son. “Go back to bed, Thomas. We’ll talk in the morning.” The boy in question nodded, turning to get back into his bed. Wells turned back to face Hunter. “Follow me.” With that, the man strode out of the room. Not knowing what else to do, Hunter followed him.