Where The Heart Is

Forever Guardian

Sixthdimensional: maybe we could get an intermission with Mystery taking care of/protecting a younger Artie? :D For some fluffy backstory (and extra current heartbreak dohohoho)

Note: I'm still not opening up prompts for WTHI, but this is an "art trade" and also a nice break from angsty feels for some fluff. =) Well… I tried for fluff anyway… pre Best Served Cold.

…..

I stare at the crib, watching him sleep through wooden bars. I have never seen him before today. I have frequently checked to be sure he is well within his mother's womb, but this is the first time I have seen him.

He's a little smaller than his father was, and there would have been a few scares if I hadn't interfered. I am no healer, but ancient speech has powerful effects on humans and I knew the inverse of a few curses that could bring the unborn strength instead of weakening them. And here he is.

I sigh, hanging my head. I hate this part almost, but not quite as much, as attending the funeral of my previous charge. I've spent so long taking care of his father, but his father's life isn't even over. What will he do now that I am tasked with the care of someone else? Will he be alright? Will he be safe without me watching his every move?

But it's the line I'm tasked with preserving, not any one of them. And so, I exhale a long, slow breath, and withdraw my bonds from his father, feeling them transfer to this new life. Arthur, I believe his mother called him as she laid him down.

I open my eyes, and I'm startled to see Arthur's eyes are open and staring at me. I shake it off, poking my nose through the bars. His arms move, flapping his hands in that uncoordinated way that babies move. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how they end up with any dexterity at all. I push my nose in farther, and one of his flapping hands catches the end of my nose and stays there.

His left hand is colder than my nose. I pull back and rear up, carefully maneuvering the latch on the crib to drop the siding lower. I grab the blanket with my teeth, carefully pulling it up over Arthur, who has flailed most of it off already.

He's still cold. I sigh, clambering into the crib awkwardly and settling down around him. How do infants even survive?

…..

I hate this phase. I hate this phase. I hate this phase so much.

He's into everything. He's trying to walk but he keeps falling on his face, there's a trail of broken vases or dishes or mugs everywhere he goes, and all he does is laugh about it. And who gets blamed? Not the human!

It is interesting, though. I haven't seen any of his ancestors go back and try to piece the broken things back together. I have to pull him away, he doesn't understand the concept of sharp objects, but still he stares at them, and I could almost swear he's trying to see how the pieces would come back together.

Funny though. He's never once pulled my tail, my ears, or my fur. Objects break and it doesn't matter to him, but he pats my face and my side with a giant smile. I lick his fuzzy little head and he laughs, and I can't help a small smile myself.

…..

I have not wanted to rip someone apart for a very long time, but then this is the first time this problem has happened in this family. Most of Arthur's ancestors have been… how do I put this… larger. Most of them took after the King, with some form of sportsmanship or at least the body bulk that attracted friends, mates, and allies. Not enemies.

He's only a child, and it's his first black eye. His mother tends it anxiously as I pace the floor, growling under my breath. He's subdued. My Arthur should never be subdued. Just yesterday he took the vacuum cleaner apart and put it back together and he celebrated by climbing on my back and having us charge around the house like a King on a steed! Who took the joy out of his face? I will shred them, child or no!