Puck | Owen Burnett & David Xanatos

Who knows the old myths? The ones of mismatched socks and stale bread in pockets? The ones of names and thresholds? The ones of rice and tangled hair?

If you understand all that, you might just enjoy this fic. If you don't understand it, you might just learn something. Fey are tricky creatures, especially in the Celtic myths, so how might Owen be if he acted a tad more like what he truly is?

After Owen is rescued from a very-stressful kidnapping, Xanatos is overcome with relief that he's safe. His reaction reveals a gap in Owen's knowledge.

(Set after the Gathering, so Puck couldn't just save them. The kidnapping isn't actually shown, just the aftermath, but I might write it someday.)

It had been a business deal of some sort, of that Owen was sure. He remembers watching Xanatos skillfully weave his words to gain the outcome he desired. Owen remembers these things, but the details are overwhelmed by the memories that follow.

Because Owen remembers the sound of a gun. He remembers a spray of red. He remembers watching Xanatos fall to the ground.

(No Character Death, don't worry)

What went through Owen's head when he dipped his hand in that cauldron? Being Puck, he must've known what would happen -- so why did he do it?