Chapter Text
Thunder crackles in the dark of night. Gentle drops of rain give way to a deluge with no sign of letting up for the rest of the evening. John's grateful he made it into the auction house before the weather turned. About an hour still stands between him and the final auction he came for. Being soaked to the bone would have made the waiting worse.
He's only got a few more days left on his vacation time before he's due back at the Antarctic BPRD base. Heck of a way to spend it. He sees it as pure luck that this rare piece suddenly dropped out of obscurity and onto the auction block right when he had a long stretch of holiday time scheduled. The fractured piece of the Golden Crown of King Balor, storied to be the key to controlling the Golden Army. It's something of fairy tales. John's been a big believer of fairy tales since his recruitment to the BPRD by Professor Broom. It's in honor of the late professor that John took up this search. That, and recovering the first piece of the crown in an elf burial mound discovered in the ice of Antarctica when John was suddenly assigned there under questionable circumstances.
The tomb served as a perfect distraction to John's pitiable state. All of the treasures recovered from the burial site of the ancient elf queen are precious. The crown fragment was the only incomplete piece out of the hundreds of treasures. Clutched in the hands of the desiccated body, John knew it had special meaning. While most of the research team focused on the greater valuables, John could not move past the fragment and any of the pictographs recovered that referred to it.
The late wife of King Balor, mother of his twin children, a chosen protector of the fragment. John began a chase for every scrap of knowledge about the queen, the crown, and Golden Army. There wasn't much else to do at his frozen wasteland of an assignment anyway. When he discovered that the most prolific researcher into the Crown and the legends of King Balor and the Golden Army was none other than Professor Broom himself, John saw it as another sign.
He read everything he could, made every call and inquiry he could think of. There was little other than rumor and scraps of information. The Crown and the Army were from a time before the written word, back when those things that went bump in the night ruled the earth freely and humans were the ones relegated to the shadows.
The stories fascinate John with each tale he uncovers. Sorrow, fury, betrayal, love, it pulls him farther down a path he knows he needs to follow. All the while that fractured crown piece sits as a reminder that it is all real, and something deep in John’s gut tells him he needs to be ready. Things left sleeping for so long might one day wake up.
So, here he finds himself back in the States and not too far from the BPRD HQ where his journey started. But that’s not where his mind lingers. It’s nearly time. Another piece of the crown is up for sale. The piece given to humans to safeguard and keep the truce.
The lights flicker. The ominous rain and thunder outside gives everyone pause. There is a strange air about as so many people go silent, even if just for a moment. John scans the room. His hackles rise. Something feels off. There’s a humidity now that wasn’t there before. He follows the feeling, trusting his instincts.
He moves down the hall from the main gallery. There are several private rooms blocked off from patrons. At the end of a short corridor just off of the kitchen there sits a tall window. It’s cracked open just a bare inch. The rain outside provides a soft humming distraction as the lights continue to dim and flicker.
A figure stands facing the window. He’s tall and broad shouldered. His hair lays long, a ghostly shroud swaying down his back. John inches down the corridor. He doesn’t say anything. His right hand reaches for his holster as he slowly gets closer.
The figure turns and John suddenly can’t breathe. It’s a being from his fairy tales. White skin, distinctive facial markings, ornate cloth, and royal emblems surrounding a regal body. It cannot be.
“Prince Nuada?” The other man squints at him, his strong brow furrowing over golden eyes. “Oh, wow.” It slips past John’s lips without his consent. He can’t help himself. The man–elf–before him is shockingly handsome. His tall, slim figure, his pale features, he could have stepped off the catwalk and right into this fancy auction house as some rich person’s arm candy for the evening.
But he’s not here as an escort, not here as a patron. No, there’s an elf standing in the shadows glaring at him and John bets he knows why. Seems he’s not the only one seeking out the fragments of the crown that controls the Golden Army.
That sobers John up pretty quickly. No matter how gorgeous Prince Nuada may be, if this really is the ancient prince or one of his descendants, no good comes when the Crown is in the hands of the elves alone. Last time it meant death.
The elf walks away from the window, now standing before him. Each step is so silent John wouldn’t have noticed the approach had he not been watching. "How do you know my name?" The deep, silvery voice sends a shiver up John’s spine.
"It is you." He whispers in awe. John knows the legends by heart. He knows elves are not bound to lifespans as short as humans. It still feels like some sort of fantasy.
"Answer me." The prince demands. He speaks with a low voice, obviously wanting to keep his presence unnoted.
"I…I've read all about you. Your father, King Balor, the Golden Army." John can’t believe it. He’s talking to a living legend, a member of the royal fae. This devastatingly beautiful creature he’s only read about. And damn, did Prince Nuada live up to the descriptions of his beauty and the raw power behind his eyes. "The auction. I wanted to find the next piece of the Crown." John stutters out.
"Next piece?" A pale brow lifts in curiosity.
John's heart sinks. He realizes too late he probably shouldn't be telling Prince Nuada anything about what he knows or hinting that he has any knowledge of the Crown at all. The lights flicker around them again. This time they plunge into darkness and the lights don’t come back on.
John turns back to look down the hall and realizes far too late he miscalculated. There’s a pain at the back of his head. Then nothing.