Chapter Text
Ever since Gillion can remember, there’s been a bandage wrapped around his right hip. It’s always slightly too tight, no matter who helps him change it every few days, but that’s intentional. His parents, and the Elders, have told him a million times over by now that the circumstances of his birth, unnatural as they were, left him with hip issues. Gillion’s never been told exactly what those issues are, but he trusts the bandage helps it. The gods know he hasn’t ever felt pain in his hip apart from when the bandages are removed, so surely it has to be doing something.
Another thing that’s always been is his lack of a soulmark. Everyone in the Undersea- and possibly the Oversea, though Gillion only knows of it in books, so he can’t be certain- has one, denoting the person they are to spend their life with. He’s grown to accept being the Chosen One means his life is devoted to his people, and that’s why he lacks one. His entire life is a sacrifice, a big buildup to the prophecy he’s trained for years to fulfil; something as petty and insignificant as romance cannot distract him from that.
Until he’s banished. He’s left with nowhere to go, with nothing but the clothes on his back, a whalebone sword and a frogtopus his sister gave to him years ago. The undercurrents whip him away from his home fast, from the basaltic ocean floor and biting cold of such deep sea. He sees the Surface for the first time in his life, under a sky so inky black it seems like another ocean entirely.
And then a human- a real, live one, who looks nothing like the prestigious nobles he’s read of in books or the navy officer who he’d attacked days before- is reaching out a hand and pulling him aboard a ship. Suddenly, Gillion is on the Oversea, and it’s not at all what he imagined, nothing like the flowery prose of books had led him to believe, and he feels so terribly, horribly alone.
He clutches to his prophecy like a lifeline. He keeps up his training, ignoring why his new companions, by the names of Chip and Jay Ferin, seem a little concerned by this. The first problem arises almost five days after Chip had pulled him from the waves, in the form of a bandage around his hip, and how loose it’s grown.
“Chip,” Gillion says, as the sun is setting, “Would you help me change my bandage?”
“Your
what?
” Chip splutters, and though they barely know each other, the man still looks like the physical embodiment of panic and concern.
“Due to my birth, I have problems with my right hip. The bandage helps.”
Chip relaxes almost instantly. “Oh. Yeah, no worries, Gill.”
It’s the first time, since Gillion left the Undersea, that he’s been called that. It makes him think of Edyn, and emotions swirl in his chest, making him feel like he’s sinking beneath violent, turbulent waves. He simply ignores those feelings, lets the nickname slide, and unbuckles his armour. Chip holds out a hand, and Gillion hands him, piece by piece, his armour, noting each dent and crack in it, resolving to repair it later.
Chip sets it all aside carefully, in a neatly messy pile. It’s a level of care Gillion isn’t used to receiving from anyone, least of all a person he barely knows. This he shoves aside too, crushes down into the deep recesses of his mind, and focuses on the task at hand, pulling his undershirt off with one easy, practised movement. By this point, the bandage is visible where it wraps up around his torso; once around his thigh, hidden beneath his pants; twice around his hip for stability; once up around his stomach. It’s all pinned neatly in place, though it’s far looser than usual.
Chip stares at the bandages like they’re some kind of magical phenomenon he’s never seen before. “ That helps your faulty hip?”
Gillion nods, confused as to why the question was raised at all. “Yes. It is wrapped in such a way that it gives support and pressure, thus relieving the pain.”
Chip pokes the bandage with a finger. “What’s it made of?”
“What?”
“The bandage. Is it, like, magical kelp or something?”
“No,” Gillion replies, far more confused now than he was before, “It’s made from a mixture of animal hide and cloth. Most of it is material that got caught in the undercurrents and finds its way to our home, and we hunt down the rest.”
“Huh.” Chip unclips the pin holding the bandage in place, and rubs the material of it between two fingers. “Interesting.”
Chip then slowly and carefully begins to unwrap the bandage. Indents in Gillion’s skin show where it regularly sits, tight and snug. There’s some mild irritation there, too, if you look close enough; Chip has the decency not to mention it.
“You got more of these?” he asks as he starts to tug the first layer around Gillion’s hip free. “Or do you want some of ours?”
“Any bandages you have should work perfectly well.”
“Don’t move,” Chip says, and drops the bandage, leaving it dangling still somewhat wrapped around Gillion’s hip, and dives across the ship to rummage through one of the barrels on the deck. He lets out a triumphant yell after a few moments and holds up a rolled-up bandage like it’s the most prized possession he has, then dives back across the ship in the same fashion he had before, almost bowling Gillion over in the process.
He doesn’t offer any apology, simply reaches back up and unwraps the last of the bandage in a few swift movements of his hands. He tosses the old bandage aside carelessly, earning a yell of protest from Jay- something like “Pick that up!!!” - and starts to unroll the new one.
“So, how do I-” Chip cuts himself off, staring at Gillion’s hip. “Holy shit.”
“Is something wrong?” Gillion asks, peering down at him.
“That.” Chip pokes a finger into Gillion’s hip. Hard. “I’ve never seen one that bright.”
Gillion finally, for the first time in his life, glances down at his right hip, entirely unbandaged, and what he sees there makes him freeze. It is bright, practically glowing in colour, beyond any Gillion has ever seen; a soulmark, plain and simple. A coral crown in soft pastel colours.
Gillion feels quite faint.
“You know this was here?” Chip pokes the mark again.
“No,” Gillion says, wincing. “No, I did not.”
“Riiiight.” Chip falls silent for a moment. “So, wrapping it back up, right?”
“Yes. Wrapping it back up.”
That marks the end of conversation (aside from Gillion directing Chip on how to wrap his hip
properly
), but not forever; and it certainly doesn’t stop the thoughts swirling in Gillion’s mind. One echoes back to him over and over in the tone of a thousand voices, almost driving him mad.
I, Gillion Tidestrider, the Chosen One, have a soulmark.
**************************
Over the next month or so, he and Chip fall into an easy routine of bandage changes every few days. Each time, Gillion takes a moment to stare down at the soulmark there; then Chip wraps it back up, and neither of them speak of it. Gillion doesn’t dare let himself think about why he was never told of the mark on his hip.
Of course, a mark alone did not mean one had a soulmate. Gillion knew far too many in the Undersea who had learned of their match’s passing, or had scoured every record and exhausted every option and turned up no results. But a mark was more than he had before, and that spoke volumes about those who raised him.
He wonders why the Elders- and his parents, too- kept this from him. Perhaps to focus him more on his training and purpose? Or, he thinks with a small shudder, to keep him under control.
These kinds of thoughts make his head hurt, though, so he shoves them aside. He focuses first on Loffinlot, throws his all into saving the people there; then on the Isle of Desire, and all those turned into stone. It’s only when they enter the Paramount Championship that Gillion properly thinks of it again- or rather, when he lays eyes on a water genasi who he should view as a competitor, and instead sees someone who intrigues him, the mark on his hip itches.
When they get the chance to talk later, mostly business, but Gillion can’t seem to keep his eyes off him. Caspian, that’s his name, and it tastes sweet on his tongue like fresh honey. He’s suave, well-poised and far too composed given the events of the previous day, but Gillion somehow likes that about him.
When they leave, headed back towards the tavern they’re all staying in, Chip sidles up to Gillion with a twisted grin and a look that only speaks of trouble. “So, Gill, what’d you think of Caspian?”
“He was rather impressive,” Gillion replies, keeping his tone neutral. He’d never considered before how difficult it was to tell a half-truth. “He fought well.”
“ Rather impressive, ” Chip echoes in a mocking tone, and the air quotes accompanying it make Gillion’s ears flatten back against his head. “God, Gill, just say you like him.”
Gillion blanches. “ What? Chip, I can simply admire a worthy opponent-”
“You liiiiiiiike him,” Chip says loudly, drowning out Gillion’s words, and starts, of all things, skipping. “Gillion and Caspian, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-”
Gillion draws his sword and settles it directly under Chip’s chin, who shuts his mouth with a loud clack. There’s a moment of tense silence as Gillion holds Chip’s gaze, an unspoken threat passing between them.
“Alright, alright,” Chip backs up, “I’ll drop it.”
“Jay,” Gillion says pleasantly, pulling his sword away and sheathing it in a fluid, practised motion, “What did you think of the tournament?”
“The tournament?” She turns to Gillion with slight surprise. “It was fun, I guess. Oh! Speaking of crushes-”
Gillion’s hand flies to the hilt of his sword again.
“-Gill, how’s your hip holding up?”
Gillion retracts his hand slowly. “It’s fine. You brought it up because of the mark there, yes?”
Jay nods in confirmation. “Yeah. I just figured all the fighting might’ve made it flare up or something. It’s good to know I was wrong.”
“The bandages have done their job,” Gillion informs her. Chip shoves open the front door of the tavern like he owns the place, and nearly hits a half-orc square in the face. He yelps and dives behind Gillion, but it doesn’t disrupt his flow of conversation. “Though it will likely need replacing sooner than usual.”
Jay nods her agreement. She looks like she’s going to say something, but Chip ducks out of hiding again as the half-orc turns their focus elsewhere.
“C’mon, Gill, drinks on me tonight!”
Jay shoots him a scathing look. “You’re flat broke.”
“Exactly,” Chip replies with a grin, and, in a swift movement, snatches Jay’s coin pouch from her hip. “And now I’m not.”
“Hey!” Jay makes an attempt to snatch it back. Key word: attempt. Gillion idly follows them with his gaze; he knows they’ll be collapsing into seats at the bar soon, and probably drinking long into the night. He’s not in the mood to celebrate with such means, though.
Chip slides under a table and swiftly springs back up on the other side of it. “Give it up, Jay, you can’t catch me!”
It doesn’t look like they’re going to kill each other; not to Gillion anyway, as he watches Jay slump resignedly, so he begins to move towards the stairs at the back of the tavern that lead up to the rooms. Perhaps he’ll take a bath. He can check on the bandage around his hip, then, and monitor any injuries he sustained over the course of the tournament. Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea.
He can hear Jay follow behind him, her footfalls distinctive against the tavern flooring. “Turning in for the night?”
Gillion doesn’t spare Jay a glance. “Yes.”
Silence falls between them again. Gillion can feel the weight of it; like a question nags at Jay and wants to be asked, but she can’t find the words. He does not attempt to press her for it. If she wishes to speak, she will.
Gillion stops in front of the door to his room, and fishes the small copper key from his pocket. He slides it into the lock- an old rusted iron thing- and turns it with a click . He pushes the door open, catching sight of the early evening sunset filtering in through the window. I will have to draw the curtains across it before sleeping , he notes absently.
“Gill.” Jay catches him by the shoulder before he can step into his room. “In the morning, there’s something I want to do.”
“What is it, Jay?”
“I think we should take you to a doctor. I mean, it shouldn’t be hard to find one, and if you do have hip issues,” her eyes linger on his hip, the one he knows is currently wrapped in bandages, “They might be able to do more than tell you to wrap it with a bandage.”
“Oh.” Gillion shifts under her gaze, feeling a little scrutinised. “If you believe it could be helpful, then I will go.”
Jay nods, seeming satisfied with this answer. “Sleep well, Gill.”
“You too, Jay,” he replies, knowing it will likely be hours before she retires to her chambers, then steps into his room, shutting the door with a soft click behind him. He sits down on his bed with a heavy sigh, hearing the bed frame creak under his weight and stares down at his hip, imagining the layered bandages under his clothing, and the soulmark beneath that. Perhaps, he lets himself think traitorously, if the Elders lied about that, then they may have lied about other things.
Then he shakes his head to rattle the thought loose, and begins preparing for bed.
***********************
The doctor, a rather stout man by the name of Judith, peers at Gillion’s hip over round, small, thin-rim glasses. The bandages that were once wrapped so tightly and carefully around Gillion’s hip sit in a neat pile to the side of him.
“Hmm.” Judith sits back, and meets Gillion’s gaze. “I do have a theory. We will need to run some tests, but it’s incredibly likely any pain you feel now is due to those bandages. You said you have worn them your whole life, correct?”
Gillion nods, reeling from Judith’s words. It was hard to hear something that shook his entire worldview and rattled it down to its core.
“Well, it is likely that your hip is so used to being supported, it feels foreign to you that it is not- translating into a feeling that can be misinterpreted as pain.”
“What would these tests entail?” Jay asks. Gillion feels like he’s drowning, with water raging in his ears.
“Blood samples, for starters,” Judith says. “Those would take a few weeks to get results back to you.”
“We can’t stay here for weeks.”
Judith rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds like “Fuckin’ adventurers.” Then he composes himself in an instant and says, “Well, you could attempt leaving the bandages off for a few days. If the pain persists after that, then rewrap it and get some tests done. Whatever is going on, you don’t want it to get worse.”
“Alright,” Jay says, and passes the doctor a small bag of gold pieces that clink softly as she does so. “Thank you so much.”
Most everyone Gillion has ever met perks up when given coin. Judith just passes a final concerned glance over them both, then sighs. “Stay safe,” he says, and stands up to hold open the door.
Gillion hurriedly pulls his shirt back on, and snatches up the bandages. When he stands, his hip protests, and he ignores it, gritting his teeth and bearing it as he half-limps out the door. Jay offers out an arm, but he ignores that too; if he was too stupid and blind to see the Elders’ lies sooner, then he would take the pain left in that stupidity’s wake.
They still have some of the Tournament left, but Gillion will push through it anyway. And they will win . He’s going to make sure of it, even if it kills him.
“Gill,” Jay says, as they step back out onto the street, “If you want, I can wrap it again, just for the rest of the tournament.”
He shakes his head violently at the suggestion. “I will manage.”
“You’re sure?”
“Certain. The pain has already grown more bearable.” It had not. Looking at Jay, Gillion knows she sees right through the lie.
“Alright.” Jay reaches out a hand. “I’ll take the bandage. Just… Keep a check on the pain levels, yeah? If it gets too much, tell me.”
Pain spikes in Gillion’s hip, sharp and stabbing. He grits his teeth, hands Jay the bandage, and says, “Of course.”
Jay stashes the bandage in the small bag tied to her hip. It stays there the entire tournament, which they almost lose on multiple occasions.
The pain in Gillion’s hip slowly fades over the days and dissolves into nothingness. By the time they leave Joaldo, narrowly slipping away from the Navy’s forces, Gillion doesn't even think about bandaging it anymore.