An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three
If Varian was more aware of himself he'd be embarrassed by the high-pitched whine that forms at the back of his throat. His head hurts. There's a sharp, demanding throb on the side of his skull that he can’t escape. He curls up pitifully, hoping he could hide from the pain if he made himself small enough. It doesn’t work, of course, but it still makes him feel better. It’s only then he notices the tightness wound around his legs— no, that’s not right. It's circled around his ankles and right above his knees but the rest of his legs felt normal. The tightness does nothing to keep him from curling up on his side but when he tries to move into a more comfortable position the tightness prevents him from shifting his legs apart by even an inch. He huffs, confused, and presses his face into the soft ground for a moment so he can collect himself. The cool, damp grass feels nice on the heat burning at his temples if nothing else. The world is spinning even though he’s still as a statue. He worries that he might get sick with the way his stomach lurches and his head aches. Vertigo rolls over him in waves so he resolves to focus on the problem with his legs as a distraction.
His arms aren't cooperative. It feels like he has to puppet his own body; heavy, detached, and sluggish. He manages regardless, even if it takes far more effort than it should. He feels greatly accomplished when he finally braces himself against the ground and forces trembling limbs to help him up. He doesn't get far before fingers appear and wrap around one of his wrists. The hand pulls. He's not coherent enough to keep himself from dropping bonelessly back down, knocking his chin hard against the dirt with a strained squeak. His arm is guided roughly behind his back while he’s shoved and twisted around until the hand can do the same to the opposite arm. Something thin begins loop around his wrists, scratchy and biting until it starts to morph into the tightness that’s trapped his legs. Varian huffs, squirming, "Stop," he slurs, tongue too big in his mouth. A laugh barks harshly above him, a deep, grating noise that sounds painful. Varian can barely move, nauseous and hurting and at the mercy of an unknown man far stronger than him. The tightness is yanked impossibly tighter before it’s tied off expertly. The hands retreat once his wrists are glued together and his hands properly immobilized.
It's uncomfortable. Even through the thick leather of his gloves he can feel the tightness digging into his skin. The more he wiggles the sharper the pain becomes. He quickly rubs his limbs raw with his useless struggles but he doesn’t dare stop. He won’t be mistreated without putting up a fight. Never again. He huffs again, panting, and shouts when the process starts again right above his elbows. He tries to break free from the hands hurting him but with his limbs disobedient he can't do anything but kick out at nothing and try to twist free. All he gets for his efforts is especially cruel treatment, ruthlessly tossed around so the hands can get their way. His arms are trapped by the dreaded tightness soon and he continues to try in vain to unwind the pressure forcing him still. It hurts. His head, the tightness, his shoulders strained by the unnatural angle of his arms wrenched behind him like this.
He can barely keep his eyes open, lights blinding him and shifting shapes refusing to come into focus, every movement another angry pounding against his skull. He doesn't know where he is. The swirling colors aren't the deep purple and shining gold of Corona. He yearns for that familiarity. He wants his dad. He wants Rapunzel. He wants Eugene. He whimpers when the figure attached to the hands heaves him up and effortless slings Varian over its shoulder. He writhes, slamming bound legs against the torso of the figure. The figure doesn’t falter, instead shrugging Varian up higher up in his hold. Varian’s stomach falls uncomfortably onto the figure’s shoulder which leaves him to wheeze when the air is forced from his lungs.
"Don't," he pleads to something he doesn't know, breathless and scared.
"Shut it, kid," The figure rumbles, its voice just as gravelly as its laugh and all the more uncaring. "Your beggin' won't get you nowhere." It's a short trip to wherever the figure is taking him but he thinks his perception of time isn’t as sound as he might like to believe. Everything is blurring together, drifting in and out of focus. When he's tossed unceremoniously down onto a hard surface another pathetic whine crawls out of him without his permission.
Varian attempts again to make his body work, desperately hoping to pry his limbs apart despite nothing having changed from the last time. The figure is laughing, taunting him, and Varian is suddenly breathing too hard. With each heaving gasp the throbbing in his head grows more insistent until it's a constant stabbing cry spearing through his brain. The figure is doing something, reaching up high. The figure is a masculine silhouette against an abstract blur of greens and browns and the flickering glow of something orange. The figure’s grabbed hold of something above and it begins to lower. It’s another mass of shadow and as it’s pulled down the darkness starts to close in. "No," Varian whispers, tears springing to his eyes when he realizes he's being locked away. No matter how hard he breathes his lungs are still screaming for air. "No, no, no." He shakes his head frantically despite the agony it brings him. The figure just laughs and laughs and laughs until all that’s left is darkness and Varian’s short, shuddering gasps.
The first thing Nuru registers is the pressure behind her eyes. It's an ache that wraps all the way around her head and she groans softly when she’s assaulted by a particularly demanding twinge. She turns to press her forehead into a cool pillow only to be met with hard, uneven wood. Reality crashes into her with no remorse. Yong, the forge, the man who grabbed her, lungs begging for air, panic overcoming every thought, Varian. She gasps, heart now slamming against her ribs like a rabid beast. Varian.
She's not surprised to find herself bound, unable to do much more than scoot back until she hits some sort of wall. It's pitch black, she can't make out a single shape in the void she’s been left in. She feels seconds away from breaking down, tears already budding at the corners of her eyes. It's taking all of her willpower to keep herself from spiraling. She reaches back in her memory for every lesson she’s ever had about how to keep her head during situations such as these.
Breathe, she reminds herself sharply, the same stern tone she’d use when telling Hugo off. She can't sit up all the way is one of the first things she notes. She has to duck her head down at an uncomfortable angle when she tries to sit against the wall. She notices that the ground is bouncing gently, a consistent and familiar tremble telling of a road-bound carriage. She swallows thickly and lowers herself carefully back onto her side. Breathe. She closes her eyes and sucks in a shaky breath, exhaling as slowly as she can manage. Again. Her next breath is smoother. The one after is nearly steady. She can't really assess much in her current situation. Unfortunately, that means she's left alone with her thoughts in this cold and unforgiving dark.
She's been taken. It's such an absurd thought that she chokes on a weak laugh. Hysteria starts to build as her tears bubble up in her eyes despite the incredulous urge to break out into giggles. She must look crazy. The tears tumble free and her laughter comes in the form of a quiet sob.
She's been told before that with her status and her age it was always a possibility that she could be targeted as leverage to use against her kingdom. She was the youngest of the Kotian royal family, it made sense she would be the first on the list for anyone looking to hurt Koto. She knew it was a real danger and yet it always felt like something that would never happen to her, like the tale of the Lost Princess of Corona. It’s been nothing but a scary story her whole life. She should have known better, stayed aware. This was her first time out of Koto not accompanied by the royal guard and it didn't even occur to her that she might be vulnerable. How could she have been so stupid?
She lets her mind wander to Varian, calling up to the Stars to ask for his safety. The hit he'd taken looked devastating but maybe it hadn't been as bad as it seemed. It’s not like she’s particularly well-versed in combat. He'd still been conscious. last she remembers. which means that it couldn't have been that bad, right? Head injuries are so dangerous— so complicated — she can't possibly know what damage was done. She doesn't think it's been long, she prays it hasn’t been long. Hopefully the others have found him. As rude and brash as Hugo could be Nuru doesn't think he'd actually hurt them. Not physically, at least. Hugo was a thief, not a killer. Beneath all of his supposed 'charm' he cared. She latches onto that thought while she's carted further and further away from safety— from her friends.
Even living it now somehow it’s difficult to wrap her head around the situation. It felt like a nightmare that wouldn’t let her go. Whatever vehicle she’s in hits a particularly large bump and she knocks her head against the roof of her prison. She wanted to wake up. She didn’t have any experience with potentially dangerous situations. Well, physically threatening ones. The Trials weren’t meant to be easy tasks after all but they weren’t thugs likely armed with swords and daggers. It’s terrifying not knowing where she is or where she’s going or even who had taken her. She knows there’s at least two of them but what if there was more? Three, four, a dozen?
The terrain their traveling over becomes uneven, wheels rumbling loudly as the whole cart is jerked around. She whimpers, curling up as small as she can manage and squeezing her eyes shut. She can’t use her arms to protect her head bound the way she is and she’s terrified of adding more to the unbearable aching.
The vehicle begins to slow and Nuru’s heart leaps into her throat. The nightmare isn’t ending. No amount of wishing or begging will change whatever is coming and she’s never been so deeply frightened.
She can only listen as people push themselves from their cart, strolling along like they weren’t the lowest of the low. Their footsteps fade as they walk further away, lingering a few yards from the carriage if Nuru has to guess. They speak in muffled voices she can’t distinguish and, despite it being completely absurd, she finds herself offended. They went through all the trouble to steal her and yet they didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry to let her out of this dreadful box. She didn’t know the exact dimensions of her prison but with how low the height is she can’t really see the box being large in any sense. Curiously she stretches her legs out as far as she can. She expects to hit wall if she hits anything at all, the box’s length might be much larger than its height. The toes of her boots reach something but then the wall is too soft to be a wall. She shoots her knees back up to her chest with a sharp inhale, golden eyes blowing wide as if that might help her see. She’s certain that wasn’t the other end of the container. She’s terrified of what it might be instead.
It had a certain give to it but it wasn’t soft like a pillow, more similar perhaps to the cushion of a well-made chair; soft at first but firm beneath. The thing hadn’t reacted at all to her touch and for that Nuru is both grateful and increasingly curious. At a snail’s pace, she begins to extend her legs once more. Whatever the object may be hasn’t moved and she tentatively presses her feet against it to get a better idea of its structure or shape. The only other thing she manages to garner is how large it is because a breathless groan breaks the heavy silence.
She shrieks, tearing her feet away.
She can’t name what she was expecting to find but she was utterly unprepared for life. Maybe a sack filled with tools or a bedroll or a tent or something that wasn’t a person. The figure huffs and groans again, the distinct sound of cloth dragging along a hard surface letting Nuru know that they were moving but not where. They couldn’t be one of the thugs, there was no use to keep an ally stored away in this inhumane box. She can only guess that they were also a prisoner.
“Hello,” She whispers. She speaks with all the confidence she can gather but there’s an infuriating tremor underlying each word.
The person pants and winces, shifting further. Nuru is far too familiar with the sounds of pain after joining up with their group of misfits stumbling through extremely dangerous tests of olden days. They all were prone to cuts, scraps, and bruises. Some were worse than others but all of them painful in one way or another. Yong was young enough that he was still very vocal about every sting and burn. She can’t know how this person is injured in their current state but she can hypothesize that they are hurt by the way they sound. How long have they been captive to these brutes and why was it they were still alive when they had Nuru to ransom off? She begs the Stars that this figure continues to live but with a princess within their grasp there was no need for another hostage.
“No,” the person slurs weakly, distinctly male. A choked sob is muffled into something. Nuru’s heart aches. He sounds young, not a child but not fully grown. “Please let me out, please,” He murmurs with a voice just barely above a whisper hitching with each frightened gasp for air.
“Hello,” Nuru tries again. She feels horrible for the dash of relief that fills her. She wasn’t alone in this waking nightmare and despite their situation being potentially deadly she’s still grateful to have someone with her. The guilt is rotten and wild, knotting with fervor in her gut. “They won’t keep us here.” She has no grounds to say so but their plans wouldn’t go over well if their leverage starved.
“I can— I’ll be better,” The strangled plea is slightly louder. It’s familiar, it brings forth the feeling of family bound by hardship, and Nuru’s heart trips over itself and plummets. “Just let me out,” Varian begs. Nuru hasn’t never heard him sound so scared. By the weak slur of his words Nuru doesn’t think he’s completely aware. She thinks again of the complexities of head injuries and tries not to be sick.
“Varian.” Her voice breaks. Her eyes fill with tears faster than she can hold them back. They spilling down her cheeks in heavy rivulets. “Varian, can you hear me?” She doesn’t know where Varian thinks he is or if he actually does understand where they are. She doesn’t think so. Maybe she’s looking for things that aren’t there, if she grasped at all the little things she can direct her focus towards anything but her current situation. She might be wrong but she can’t help but think that it sounds like Varian’s talking to someone he knows, someone he truly believes he can convince to let him go and not some random criminals that took them by surprise.
Varian whimpers and Nuru bites her lip to keep herself from doing the same. Something about her older friend being so utterly defeated and desperate fills her with a growing sense of hopelessness. Varian’s never given up. Never. Through every trial, every setback, every argument or inconvenience. Varian is always the one to rally them together and push through. It’s horrifying to her that he’s so broken down. If he’s crumbled what chance does she have?
She swallows thickly and makes a real attempt to blink back the flood of tears soaking her cheeks and dripping from her chin. Breathe. She coaxes herself and forces a breath in through her nose and slowly from her mouth. It’s hard to calm herself when Varian is still audibly crying and whispering pleas to a ghost only he can see but she takes another breath anyway.
She will not give in. She was prepared before to hold her head high and she won’t let her confidence crumble. Varian is strong and he’s been a pillar for them to lean on through their journey even when some of them— Hugo— would never admit it. She isn’t someone who needs a hero, she doesn’t need to hide behind Varian. It’s her turn to be strong for her friends. “I’m here, Varian.” She sniffles and tries to wipe her tears away with the short sleeve of her dress. The material isn’t too efficient but she still feels more put together afterwards. “You’re not alone.”
Her vision goes white as light pours into their prison.
She closes her eyes against the sudden onslaught and presses her face into the floor to further escape. Varian whimpers again. Her eyes adjust quickly thanks to her response time, light filtering through her eyelids and making the sun less glaring when she pries her eyes open. She doesn’t know what she expects or even if she expected anything but she’s not surprised to see that they truly are just in a wooden box, short but wide so it’s spacious enough to fit multiple bodies— the reminder makes her shudder. She can’t make out the features of the man holding up the lid of the box due to the sun casting him in silhouette but from his frame alone she can see that he’s large and burly and not someone she has any chance of overpowering on her own.
Varian makes a short keening sound in the back of his throat and curls up as small as possible. His back is turned to her, arms bound behind him the same as hers, but as he shifts she sees a small smear of red that trails after his head. She wonders, in this suffocating moment, if this is what it might feel like to be dying. Her lungs crave air even though she breathes, her heart withers though it beats, her vision dims though her eyes are open. Ruling over Koto, she’s accustomed to panic and disaster. Her kingdom is ravaged by strife and devastation annually and she’s learned how she’s expected to aid in her kingdom’s survival but this— she’s never seen someone she cares for bleed like this. She’s never seen a friend, a loved one, family hurt so bad they’re trapped in a reality all their own. Varian’s bleeding and he isn’t processing what’s happening and Nuru is terrified.
The man she can’t see laughs. It’s a deep and rough sound that rings with genuine mirth and ignites a righteous anger in her. “How hard did’ya hit the kid?” He asks his partner, wherever they may be. He’s only using one hand to hold up the top of the box and he reaches forward with the other. Even though she tries Nuru can’t stop the big hand from wrapping around her arm and yanking her free from the crate. Her limbs are utterly useless to her when she’s carelessly dropped down from the back of the carriage. The landing sends a deep pain throughout her body, jostling her bones and stealing what little air she had left.
“Eh,” Another man saunters up. Now that she’s free from the box the light helps more than it hinders. The gruff, bulky one who threw her to the ground had long black hair and a well-kept beard that were both streaked with thick lines of grey and white but his companion appeared much younger with a clean face and bouncy brunette hair. They contrasted each other so starkly, one so blatantly hostile and the other boyish in comparison. “Hard enough we don’t have to worry about any of that weird, glowy shit he’s got.” Nuru tamps down her anger and focuses her energy on determining her range of motion. She should’ve done this sooner, this should’ve been the first thing she did, but despite her status she’s not well-acquainted with being kidnapped. She flexes her arms and twists her wrists, clawing at the ropes binding her hands in hopes that maybe she can reach where the knots are tied off.
The gruff man barks a laugh befitting of his title, both of their captors peering down into the box where Varian was still trapped like they were watching some sort of show in place of Varian’s suffering. Even down on the rocky ground Varian’s soft pants and murmured pleas are loud enough to spear through her heart. “Not like ‘e can reach ‘em.” They laugh like it was a good joke. Nuru has never seen the sort of evils that found satisfaction and joy in children’s suffering, such things were another far off danger that existed only at the edges of her mind, and she wants to curse them out. How can these men enjoy this? How could anyone do this?
He reaches again into the box and Nuru forces herself to focus on the task at hand. She can’t prevent these people from putting their hands on her friend but she can prioritize orchestrating their escape. The thing is. she doesn't have the slightest clue on where to start. She didn't know how to slip her binds or distract their kidnappers and she certainly doesn’t know how to keep them safe. Her fears about her fellow captive being executed have grown exponentially now that she knows it's Varian who might be killed. Yet, why would they take him at all if they were going to kill him? Her stomach flips and she swallows convulsively. Did they plan to use him to keep her in line?
The gruff man shouts suddenly and Nuru's thrown from her thoughts. She looks up in time to see the man snap his away and drop the lid back over the box. Varian lets out a grating, choked scream that's quickly muffled once his prison is firmly closed. Nuru is reminded again of his desperation to be free, a steady stream of pleas spilling from his lips the moment he awoke. That sound will haunt her for years to come. "What are you doing!" She snaps, anger flaring over her fear.
The man is staring down at his hand with gritted teeth and Nuru notices the red coating the skin between his thumb and forefinger, quickly spilling down the back of his hand to drip from his wrist. What..? "That fuckin' shit bit me," he growls, clenching his bleeding hand into a tight fist that shook with rage. By the Stars, did Varian actually—? The evidence is right in front of her. She may not be able to make out the teeth marks through the thick coat of crimson but she has no reason to deny the origin of said wound. She's glad that Varian's spirit hasn't been broken but it's surprising to her that he's resorted to something so animalistic.
This brute rips open the crate again and throws Varian out so quickly the alchemist skids across the ground, tumbling to a rough stop a few away. Nuru barely has time to cry out before the man stomps forward and delivers a swift kick to Varian's stomach, sneer on his face. He watches Varian cough and wheeze with a dark gleam in his stormy eyes. "Stop it!" Nuru tries to sound stern but she's unable to keep the panic from filtering in. She's completely ignored by all parties, both men focused on Varian— one fueled by anger and the other sickeningly amused by Varian's suffering— and Varian himself too busy being beaten. The gruff man crouches down to tangle his bloodied hand into Varian's hair, yanking him up so he could easily meet the boy's eyes. Varian has a snarl on his face, blood smeared across his teeth and foggy eyes filled with vibrant hate. Cold shock falls over Nuru like a bucket of icy water. Varian looks feral and it's dichotomous to the Varian she knows.
"You should keep yourself in line, alchemist." Nuru doesn't know why he says it with such vitriol, like to be a scientist is inherently disgusting. There's too much happening that she doesn't understand, so many pieces to the puzzle that she's missing, and the lack of knowledge only succeeds in fueling her panic. "You're expendable. Don' be more trouble ‘an you're worth. Corona might pay a heavy sum for you but not even close to how much we'll get for the princess o' Koto." Nuru's mind is spinning. Both relief and terror mix in her gut and the contradictory cocktail makes her nauseous. There's some comfort in knowing that Varian's not here to simply be used against her and that they have a stronger reason to keep him alive but there's no denying how willing they are to hurt them— hurt him. She often forgets that Varian is the Royal Engineer of Corona but she's never been more grateful for his title.
Varian isn't cowed by the threat however and promptly spits a glob of blood and saliva onto the man's face. The man gives a cry of surprise, dropping Varian roughly back to the ground so he can use his hands to wipe away the wad of pink-tinted spit crawling down his cheek. As gross as it is a vindictive smile pulls subtly at Nuru's lips. She was wrong to think that Varian was completely hopeless. Seeing him fight even while seriously wounded helps bolster her own determination. Varian isn't cowed by his position, glaring up at the man as if they weren't at a severe disadvantage here.
The gruff man turns back to the cart and grabs a long coil of thick, corded rope. He tosses it to his boyish counterpart. "Take care o' 'em," he orders stiffly, walking off towards a dilapidated shack buried a little further into the treeline. He doesn't look back, uncaring of whatever it is his partner decides to do as long as he can escape Varian's rather physical form of defiance. The remaining man rolls his eyes with a huff, starting already to uncoil the rope in his hands.
"Behave and nobody has to get hurt." He pauses and tilts his head thoughtfully. An amused smile slips onto his face. "Well, hurt any further," he remedies, holding the rope loosely at his side so he has a hand free to grab Nuru's arm. He drags her along the ground, ignoring Varian's hissed threats. Her dress catches on sticks and rocks, tearing the delicate fabrics and scratching at the surface of her skin. She doesn't struggle, gritting her teeth, refusing to give them another excuse to take their anger out on Varian. She finds herself pressed up against the trunk of a tree, the rope being circled around her torso to keep her in place. "You should talk some sense into your friend, your Highness. He's already making himself more of a burden than we care to carry." She swallows and nods mutely, hoping against all odds that Varian might still listen to her in his current state. She has a feeling nothing is going to be able to reel in this violent side of him and that scares her more than anything else.
