Gonna just flail around and talk about @codevassie’s ahhcc! Virgil for a second, don’t mind me.
Okay, first of all, if you haven’t read Code’s fic a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) yet what the hell are you doing, you’re missing this in your life.
Ahhcc isn’t even my favorite fic from Code, but it’s definitely up there, and I had an Urge to talk up my friend and their incredible ideas and masterful ways of handling storytelling like HELLO, can you see my eyes sparkling in wonderment and complete awe?
*VERY minor spoilers below, but they’re mostly just vague details that should make you love this piece/at least check it out.*
Reasons I love him:
He’s Virgil, one of my favorite characters in general, but Code does him So Much Justice here! He’s so angsty!! And so tender-hearted!!! And sharp-witted!!! I love him!!!!!
He loves his books! He loves them so much!!! I just want him happy and with books.
His 👏 magic 👏 is 👏 so 👏 good👏👏👏 The fact that it’s not tied directly to anxiety, but still exhibits the sort of “powers” he has in the show, dsnafjkdnsajfks YES
I’m just,,, a total sucker for the isolated, “I long for ✨adventure✨” types. Like, Virgil doesn’t want an adventure, per se, but he does want a CHANGE, which is HUGE for someone with such severe anxiety, and I think when you’re that isolated and tied to one place, anything is an adventure. And I think Code’s decision to frame his canon arc—making the decision to leave the dark sides—into something that beautiful and positive and romantic and natural is such a beautiful way to translate it into a more fantastical AU.
Also, I’ve written and read these characters in fantasy AUs before, and I think they just THRIVE in that kind of an environment. The twins specifically do, I’ve noticed, especially in Code’s work here, but this post isn’t about them—though I love them in ahhcc dearly and I could ramble for days—so let’s move on.
He’s put up with So Much Shit??? Like can we talk about this for a second??????? He’s just like, a Hell magnet. Tragedy Follows him. He’s cursed, sometimes in multiple ways, depending on the chapter. His relationship to his true love is COMPLICATED to say the absolute BARE MINIMUM. His brothers are scattered all over the kingdom and are all equally miserable, and he misses them terribly. He grew up in a CAVE SYSTEM (poor boy’s eyes must be FUCKED incidentally, from all that darkness for so long and all that reading in the dark??? How is he not literally blind?) With His Abuser. There isn’t a day that goes by where this kid is not scared out of his mind that everything he has, everything he’s built for himself, will be ripped away from him in an instant, all because of a gift he has that is completely out of his control and not something he wants or asked for. And because of that, he can never feel TRULY free, ever. He gets jerked around so much in this story—like, he keeps getting magically pulled all over God’s creation because he’s wanted by so many people which in theory would be awesome, but like, not in this case 😂 And I’m SURE I’m missing something. He’s been through so much I just wanna Hug Him.
He mirrors Roman so perfectly?? Like, I’m in awe. I realized this in later chapters that the fic title doesn’t just apply to Roman, but Virgil as well. Same shit, different perspective. They’re so distinct from one another, but they’re going through the SAME THINGS. They are the perfect mix of similiar to each other and different from one another to where they play off each other So Well, and you can see just from how easy their conversations are how good they could be together if not for all the complications. Here, I said this better in a comment I wrote on the fic: “Virgil cannot control his heart, and if he believes himself to be bad for Roman, or that their potential to love each other is bad because of his past or just his view of himself, then he is ‘fated to love (Roman), hate (his circumstances) and damn (everyone around him) forever.’”
Okay, I’m sure there’s more, but this is all I’ve got in my head at the moment. Please go read Code’s phenomenal work, they are a genius icon legend.
i've got a request! prinxiety fantasy au. roman became a prince after making a deal with a magical creature (that can be a side but also can remain unnamed, whatever works for you). the deal was: roman would become prince but in exchange, the creature would take his true love when roman would meet them. so roman was always careful not to fall in love with anyone. that worked until he met virgil. aaand i leave the rest up to you! i hope this makes sense lol
CV: Sorry it’s so long and also not long enough and also really late. Thank you so much for your patience! My mind would not stop coming up with ideas for this fic but I wrangled it in enough to get this out. Hope you like it, An!
On Ao3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Prince Roman was kind and fair to all who knew him. It was uncanny to his citizens how Disney their prince was. He glowed in all ways–always smiling, exceedingly handsome, eyes gleaming with pride.
He was also a bachelor, sworn to it almost like a monk. He loved to flirt and would dance with many a handsome man; Roman was no stranger to romance and collected kisses like precious stones. He was not one for staying with one person, sweetly turning down those who came back, wanted more. There was guilt in his eyes, but the prince never wavered.
He was determined to rule on his own, with only advisors to lean on and citizens to give his love. This was something that had never happened before, but their kingdom had also never had a prince like Roman before.
Since the day their prince had been crowned heir to the throne by the childless king and queen, things had been very different in their kingdom. Royalty did not have to be blood, and a king did not need a queen, or any spouse at all.
Roman did not want to marry. And no one would have batted an eye at this–but the prince did not seem to want anything at all. Full of love, he had no one to give it. Friendly, but lacked friends. It was a constant source of gossip around the castle–why their beloved prince insisted on being alone.
But the prince knew what he was doing. Roman knew well the dangers of growing close to others.
He didn’t regret the decision he made. As prince, he could make a difference; he had somewhere he belonged. A mother and father who cared. Citizens he adored, and adored him in turn. People to care for, to fight for. Roman now had more than he ever hoped in his once hopeless life.
Most importantly, Roman had his brother back. That was worth more than anything Roman could have gained or given. Worth more than his very life.
So, no. He didn’t regret it. If he had the choice, he’d always go back and face those wild eyes, those scales and wicked lies for the chance to have this.
Whoever he’d meant to love one day would have to find someone else.
-/-
“How are you today, Remus?“
Remus hummed. Roman knew that translated to ‘not very well.’
“Okay,” he said calmly. He moved over into the brightly lit room to where his brother sat at the window. Roman sat across from Remus and said nothing else. Today wasn’t a talking day.
So Roman sat and let his nerves calm, his mind wander like his brother’s must have been. He couldn’t imagine what sort of things Remus saw–flashbacks from the hills and the caves and the fear. Roman grew restless, and he couldn’t imagine how Remus did it for days on end, jolted into another reality that existed in his head, in the past.
He passed a lot of his days like this, sitting quietly by his brother’s side. Probably not enough though. Never enough to help. But it was hard to balance his time now that he was prince, always something more to do, something he could do to help, to plan, to sign, to consider. It was a lot.
But at least they weren’t terrified every day would be their last.
At least Remus was with him again, safe.
“I miss Dee,” Remus surprised Roman by speaking up. Roman looked over, but his brother hadn’t moved. His gaze was towards the hills.
There was nothing Roman could say to that. He stood reluctantly, taking a glance towards the horizon himself, before stepping back. “Sorry I can’t stay very long today.” It had only been twenty minutes Roman noted by the clock on the mantle, but Remus didn’t seem phased. “I’ll come eat dinner with you tonight, though,” Roman offered. Still, nothing. “Alright. Bye, Remus.”
Roman stepped out, careful to not make any loud noises as he shut the door. Days like this were the reason Remus’ room was far away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. The noise was too much for him. There were still plenty of people around to attend to him though, to make sure he didn’t get up to too much trouble during the times he was lucid.
That didn’t stop Roman from stepping away and quietly knocking his head on the opposite wall. Forehead supporting him, Roman sighed, trying to piece himself back together. Once he had built himself up, able to give a winning smile and a confident gait, Roman picked himself up and squared his shoulders.
A prince had very little time to spare already, and he had used what he had to visit with his brother.
Winding through the halls, Roman made his way back to the front study, where his advisor and a handful of guards waited. When he opened the doors, he shot them all his winning smile. “Are we all ready?”
It took them no time at all to get to town, then just a little further to the square, which was under construction. It was a smaller project, but one that Roman loved: a park, with room for community gardening, a playground with outdoor instruments, a couple pieces of exercise equipment, and a small stage for community theater.
It was important to him, but it was something he rarely had the time to see into fruition. There was more pressing matters in the kingdom that Roman had to oversee.: discussions to meditate, economic policies to study, corruption to dig into. When Roman became a prince, he’d known it would be a tough job, but he had never expected what seemed like such a nice kingdom on the outside to have so much else on the inside.
It was exhausting, but this park was where Roman hoped to make a positive influence. He barely had the time for it, but he made the time for it. It was usually what kept him awake at night in his office, going over budgets and blueprints.
He hadn’t been to the site for a month.
When the carriage pulled up, Roman jumped out, guards already on his tail. He didn’t wait for them, though, striding straight towards the ring of architects and construction crew at one side. A quick glance around told Roman they were making decent headway on the tiny amphitheater.
Looking back, he took stock in what he would be dealing with. The kind architect was there, so he’d have to do his best to steer clear. Roman was a sucker for nice guys. The smart one was there too. Damn it; double the threat.
“Hello, Shelby, Logan, David, Patton, Christie,” he greeted the ones he knew by name. “How is everything going?”
Shelby, the team leader, stepped forward, giving a kind smile. “Moving forward at a considerable pace, my prince,” she said, and, from there, they dived in. The architects pointed to blueprints and talked about estimated times for finishing different aspects, as well as possible obstacles and needed materials. They talked for half an hour before they were talking in circles again, and Roman knew he needed to draw a line and make a retreat.
“It sounds like you all are doing splendidly and have things well under control. I would say continue forward with how you’re doing. I trust you to make the right calls.” His smile was wide, and he was beginning to feel the line of business and friendly failing.
All Roman wanted to do was share jokes with Patton. Listen to Logan tell him about the book he was reading. Even hear about Shelby’s family–though she was hardly a threat to the curse inside Roman. Still, Roman felt wrong for staying around, for getting near anyone with the danger he posed.
Roman needed to get somewhere safe. He needed just a breath of fresh air–somewhere without pretense, where he wasn’t constantly tottling between unnecessary rudeness and letting his traitorous heart do what it does and fall far too quickly.
He had always fallen fast and hard, always one for all or nothing. Never at a mere glance, no. He may be a romantic, but love at first sight simply wasn’t real. Deep longing at first sight was something Roman was prone to, though.
But Roman was careful. Never would he let an innocent soul pay for his deeds. If the price he had to pay was his love, then he would simply never fall in love.
And, since love at first sight wasn’t a thing, Roman could simply stay away from anyone he might have liked. If Logan’s smart words made him blush, if Patton’s puns made him giggle-
Off Roman went. If he didn’t stay around them, he couldn’t fall in love with them. Easy enough.
That may have been a reason Roman rarely made his way to the park construction or spent too much time at any of his projects. He cycled through advisors. He exchanged polite greetings with guards and nothing else. He was an amiable prince, who reached out to his citizens, but he couldn’t afford to be too friendly, to get attached.
He knew he could be better. Without this fear, he could be so much better. He’d be friends with everyone he knew, not acquaintances. He’d be a personal ruler, not a distant one.
He couldn’t risk the lives of his citizens though.
So, at the nearest chance, Roman ducked away. The others invited him to coffee, but he declined.
Instead, he went somewhere he’d normally never go. He marched into the library, waltzed straight up to the most infuriating person he knew.
Not even Roman was hopeless enough to fall for Virgil.
“My prince,” the librarian greeted lazily, not even standing from his slumped position across the desk. “What can I do for you today?“
He picked up a pen and scrawled across a paper, deigning to not even look Roman in the eye. Whatever pleasantness Roman had felt upon seeing a familiar, unexpectant face, soured at the blatant rudeness.
This callousness was what had sealed the deal for Roman in the first place though. The absolute zero percent chance that Roman could like, much less love, this man. Roman never thought he could hate one of his own citizens, but this guy… He was the worst.
Roman could have never fallen in love with someone so… Virgil. So condescending and sarcastic and pessimistic. Virgil brought with him a stormy cloud of hatred everywhere he went. The mere thought of being around him was deplorable.
Which made him perfect.
“I just came to see your lovely face, my chemical woe-mance,” Roman said breezily. He had taken to maliciously flirting with the library assistant. It satisfied both his need to flirt with someone and his abhorrence of the man’s face.
And tone.
And personality.
And the way he pointed out every security detail his guards had missed by walking in there.
And how he always pointed out the measures Roman was slow to take with his policies, and ones that he missed, redirecting Roman’s attention to needed areas.
And when his hair fell in his eyes because, damn it, Roman wasn’t blind.
And when he laughed at something because he wasn’t horrible all the time and those were the times Roman panicked the most because shit did he mess up by letting himself talk to Virgil so much-
And his fashion sense was also horrible, so there.
But, of course, Roman was above such things. If the gloomy broody wanted to stoop, Roman would not-
“Forget how to say your own name again?” Virgil asked, and Roman stopped in his tracks, shooting him a confused look. “Hate to break it to you, but Roman doesn’t have a W.”
Roman’s face lit up red and he straightened faster than a cat struck by lightning.
“I am your prince,” Roman said, hands curling into fists. The guards behind him didn’t react, however. By this point, they were all used to Roman and Virgil’s arguing.
They thought it was ‘banter.’ Roman often reminded them it was a verbal battle of wits. They asked why he kept coming back.
He never answered that.
“I don’t need reminding every time you’re here, my prince,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It was ironic how the honorific fit in his mouth, like a bad taste.
“Don’t call me that,” Roman snapped. Virgil raised a brow.
“What do you expect me to call you then?” he asked. “Your excellency? Your highness? General pain in my ass?”
“You make all of those sound like ‘general pain in my ass.’” Roman shot back with fire.
“Then what?” Virgil crossed his arms.
Roman spoke without thinking. “My name.”
One of the guards coughed behind him. Virgil looked stunned.
“You want me to call you…” he said, and all anger had dissipated. If Roman had known this was all it would take to knock Virgil off his high horse, he would have done it so much sooner.
“Yes,” Roman said, feeling awfully proud of himself. “Call me Roman.”
Another cough behind him. What was it with the guards today? He hoped no one was coming down with anything.
“Roman?” Virgil asked, and it was said quickly, like he was still shocked at everything going on. This, however, is where Roman realized his mistake.
His name on Virgil’s tongue did not, in fact, sound like ‘general pain in my ass.‘
His name sounded….
Softer.
Sweeter.
Like a melody he’d never heard,
And one he’d kill to hear again.
Roman was suddenly hit with a sadness so unmistakable it was as if it had always lived in him. Something that felt lonely, something that felt like… goodbye.
Goodbye to this. Goodbye to the only person he had left that saw him as something that wasn’t a prince, or a stranger.
Oh gods, not Virgil too.
Roman straightened up, clearing his throat suddenly. “Um, yes?” he said, voice coming out squeaky. He cleared it again. “I mean, yes. Yes. Of course. If you’re going to insist on butchering everything else…”
“Might as well butcher the real thing?” Virgil asked, and he finally broke out of his shock to snicker. Roman’s heart thumped.
Fuck.
“Yeah, well. I actually have to go now, but it was nice seeing you and-”
“Nice seeing me?” Virgil asked, thrown off guard by Roman’s sudden departure. Roman hadn’t been there five minutes, but he had to get out of there.
“As ever. Terrible to see you as always, hot topic, and, if you’d just excuse me-” Roman was backing away, making his way to the door. He assumed the guards would follow.
“Hot topic…” Virgil seemed to be asking, but Roman didn’t give an answer.
“See ya!” were his final words before he ducked out.
Roman paid no mind to the knowing glances his guards shared behind him as he rushed off to the carriage.
He could only think of the heart in his chest.
And the noose it could lasso around Virgil.
-/-
“It’s not Virgil, right?” Roman asked pacing around his brother’s room. “Anyone but Virgil, surely.”
Remus continued to look out the window, mind probably elsewhere.
“It wouldn’t be. Virgil is… Virgil.” Roman shook his head. “He’s Virgil.”
“Virgil?” Remus spoke up, but he didn’t look at Roman. Maybe he was present, just a bit.
Roman nodded, pacing again to the other side of the room. “I can’t see him again. That’s it. It’s too dangerous. Even if there’s absolutely no way I’d fall for that guy, I can’t risk it.”
Remus turned Roman’s way, eyes looking troubled. Roman’s mind was spinning out of control.
“But it couldn’t be Virgil. I wouldn’t fall for him. I can still talk to him. It’ll be fine, right?”
Roman paused, thinking through his words before groaning.
“Oh my gods, I want to talk to him!” he lamented, then sat down heavily on his brother’s bed. Remus continued to watch him, looking for all the world like there was a puzzle in front of him, very close to being solved.
“Remus, what am I going to do?” Roman asked, covering his face. “I like Virgil.”
“Virgil,” Remus mumbled.
“I can’t ever see him again. This is the end. We were never even friends! He was the asshole in the library. That’s it. That’s all he’ll ever be. And, somehow, I like him. What the fuck, heart? What the actual fuck?”
“Virgil,” Remus repeated, brows furrowing. Something was there, but Roman was too distracted to consider it.
“Gosh, but I can see it now. He’s got the warmest brown eyes to go with his shit personality. He’s so sarcastic. He actually makes me laugh. How dare he?! How dare he make me like him and all his assholeness?”
Roman stood from the bed. One look Remus’ way and he immediately regretted everything.
“Rem? What’s wrong?” he rushed to his brother, who had the most distressed look on his face, fingers sparking green. Roman folded his hands over them, not minding the slight sting. It was better than someone walking in and seeing the magic. “Remus?” Roman asked again, kneeling before his brother.
Remus blinked. Looked down at his hands and frowned. “Sorry, Ro,” he said, then looked back at the window. Whatever he’d been thinking, it was gone. Roman couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.
One second of lucidity and Roman was glad it was gone. What kind of brother was he? Watching Remus look out the window again, lost to everything but the hills past the kingdom, Roman felt a deep sinking loss in his chest.
But, with that look that’d been on Remus’ face… how could he not be relieved?
He sighed again. Roman did that a lot in this room. He wished he could help it, for Remus’ sake.
But Remus probably didn’t hear it anyway.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he breathed, words lost to his brother. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”
Roman retracted his hands, absently noting the singe marks across his palms. He’d wear some gloves to cover them.
“Sorry,” he repeated. The word rang in his head, begging to be said again and again, until his sins were carried off with them, somewhere far away in the wind of those words. “Sorry.”
-/-
The next time Roman visited the park, he didn’t go to the library. However, it seemed he didn’t have to.
“Thank you so much, kiddo!” Roman absently heard from Patton as he scanned over some of the construction plans. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”
Roman heard one of his guards cough, stifling what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Funny, they usually only did that when-
“No problem, Pat,” a deep, vaguely uncomfortable sounding voice replied, and Roman shot straight up. There was another noise that was definitely a laugh this time, but he didn’t pay mind to it. His eyes shot to the interaction happening not five feet from him.
Virgil.
He was standing a bit slouched, hands stuffed into his pockets and nodding along to Patton’s excited gibbering. It was sort of adorable, how patient Virgil was, the way he hid his smile when Patton punned, how out of place he seemed to feel, but comfortable around his friend.
Roman hadn’t known Virgil and Patton were friends. That was adorable.
Okay, Roman should really stop thinking of Virgil as adorable. Soon. Now.
But his eyeshadow was slightly smudged–probably from wiping it on accident–and that was adorable too.
No. Stopping now.
Roman dipped his head back down, boring his eyes into the blueprints. He absorbed none of it, but he acted the part like a champ. Looking busy sure came handy when a prince wanted to avoid people. You couldn’t argue that a prince wasn’t doing important work.
Well, perhaps a lesser prince. But everyone knew how seriously Roman took his job (whether he lived up to expectation or not. Virgil saw past that. Virgil pointed out exactly where Roman lacked…. but he also commented on the good things too. He’d said how much safer it was to walk home lately–how the children were excited about the park–how some patrons of the library complained about the tax increases, but Virgil argued with them about the necessities of the kingdom; all the community works, roads paved, safety measures).
“Ro?” Patton asked, and, even if it weren’t for his voice and bubbly nature, Roman would have known it was him. Patton was the only one on the construction crew that had taken him up on his offer to not use ‘my prince’ every time they referred to him.
“Hm?” Roman asked, pretending to be busy. He saw Patton from the corner of his eye, dragging another person by his side–no doubt Virgil. Roman swallowed harshly.
“This is my friend Virgil. Sorry to interrupt work and all, but I try to introduce him to everyone around here. He doesn’t get around too often and-”
“Pat!” Virgil hissed beside him, and Roman couldn’t help it. He looked up.
And they locked eyes.
Virgil’s cheeks were a dull pink, furiously trying to escape the bounds of the pale foundation he’d applied. For a moment, they were suspended there, Virgil and Roman just looking at each other.
Then, Virgil looked away. “Patton, you can’t just drag me around everywhere.”
Patton, the dear, had the good grace to look sheepish. “I just thought you’d want to meet the prince is all.”
“We’ve already met,” Roman said, against the wishes of his panicked nerves. It felt like something he wanted to keep for himself, something he could hold secret and close to his chest. He forced the words out though. Surely there was no valid reason to keep it secret.
Virgil flinched as Patton whipped around to face him. “Really?!”
He shifted a bit on his feet, and Roman noticed how considerably less confident he was outside the library. Maybe it was the new space, or the unknown gazes, but it worried Roman how much smaller Virgil appeared outside his familiar walls.
While Patton excitedly talked to Virgil about this new development, Roman was able to take a second to himself. It was Roman’s first time around him knowing how he felt about Virgil–without the panic of last time, mind spinning with Do I like him? Do I like him? Do I like him? Roman could examine those feelings up close here, scrutinizing them for what they were. He definitely liked Virgil, that much was definite by then, but how much? Roman fell quickly, but, as long as he was even still a bit afloat, it was fine. Virgil was safe.
And Roman understood with relief that this was indeed the case. He wasn’t in love with Virgil. It was still frightening how easily he’d fallen in deep like with the man, but Roman could remedy the situation. It just… took a bit of… severing of their relationship. Just a dash of distancing, a pinch of avoidance and rigid politeness.
It was less than a minute that Roman had to think on this, Patton and Virgil’s conversation ending abruptly when Virgil started to get visibly overwhelmed. That worried Roman too, but it only seemed to embarrass Virgil.
“Virge? Buddy?” Patton asked, but Virgil’s red face shook back and forth.
“It’s fine, Pat. Let’s just moveonrightnow,” Virgil spoke without a lot of breath, words coming out quick. He was different outside the library, like he was constantly afraid of… something. He was jumpy, and Roman was sure that if someone were to sneak up on him right now, purposefully or not, they would be socked in the jaw.
“Yes,” Roman spoke up, seeing his opportunity. “I’m afraid I’ve actually ran out of time here, but we got a lot done here today. Great job, all of you.”
And Roman realized what he’d tried to avoid for so long. Patton was cute. He was funny and kind and made Roman feel like the world had light. But Roman really had nothing to be scared of. He looked at Logan too, clever and full of passion for his work and interests, and thought the same. He’d been avoiding all the wrong people–people who could’ve been his friends.
So to Patton Roman gave a sad smile of his own. He gave his excuses–the many duties of a prince, how busy things have been lately, that he really should let them get back to work instead of hovering over their shoulders so often–he was just a prince, after all.
It all paled to the real reason, nestled deep in his chest where he hoped no one would look, see his obvious lie.
Roman couldn’t be near Virgil.
Too risky.
-/-
The thing with falling for someone–it doesn’t stop when you don’t see them.
What was the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?
That saying existed because days without those you’re infatuated with just make you think about them more. And Roman, the chronic dreamer he was, could not stop thinking about Virgil. He dreamed in his sleep about pushing the hair from Virgil’s face, curling it around his ears and leaning down for a gentle kiss. He day-dreamed about Virgil in his library, slouched over his desk, waiting for patrons and passing the day in boredom.
Roman thought of his snarky quips, eyerolls, insistent gestures when he was trying to tell Roman something. Those milliseconds of a softer look that Roman would ignore, trying to convince himself he loathed Virgil, so he wouldn’t have to go away.
He realized now how too late it was.
Virgil’s laugh was stuck in his ears–Virgil’s nervous voice outside the library–Virgil’s stories of friends he’d never see again, growing up in a distant place.
And Roman hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d given as well. Virgil had been an ear to Roman’s rants, a backboard to spring off horrible ideas. Virgil could be ruthless, and Roman could be idyllic, but, somewhere in there, it actually worked. He’d told Virgil about spreading himself thin, about the demands of a prince he hadn’t expected when the king and queen had adopted him. He told him about how much he cared, cared so much, about the people of this kingdom, even while he’d only been there for three years himself.
There was so much, now that Roman considered it. And still so much he wanted to share. He’d never told Virgil about his brother–no one knew about Remus. He wasn’t fit to be in the public eye. That much scrutiny and pressure, after everything he’d been through, would destroy him.
But he found himself wanting to tell Virgil. Found that he trusted him with the information.
And he wanted to tell Virgil about where he and his brother grew up, about the night he woke up and Remus wasn’t by his side, and it took two years of searching and loneliness to find him and save him. Roman wanted to tell Virgil his favorite color was red, that his favorite stories as a kid were about knights, not princes, that he spent his free time–or what freetime he used to have–writing poetry, and he had a secret love for theater that he’d never had the opportunity to explore.
Roman felt his heart pulling pulling pulling. It wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t relinquish the hold it had over him, would not forget him- him-
Virgil.
His heart was a selfish thing. It stuck like glue to those who didn’t want it. It kept its love in a cage, never to let go.
But Roman had to stop thinking of him. It would only lead to heartbreak. It would only lead to Virgil’s doom.
That should make it easier on his heart–knowing the person it longed for was at risk for its choice–but nothing did sway it. It was up to Roman to wrangle it in, suppress, push it down down down.
A sound at the door of his office snapped Roman out of his thoughts–spiralling, an hourly occurrence at this rate, sending him straight to a world far away, spinning in purple irises. The door creaked open, and there stood an odd sight.
“Remus?” Roman asked, concerned. He was already standing, walking around the desk and across the room. “Is everything alright? Why are you on this side of the castle?”
Remus was very far from his room, and the castle was pretty confusing. It was a surprise his brother had found him at all.
“Virgil,” was all Remus said, like it held all the answers he’d ever been looking for. Roman paused, eyebrows furrowing.
“What about him?”
“It’s him.”
“What?” Roman asked, and Remus reached out, grabbed his hand. Before he knew it, Roman was being pulled along. Remus was leading them down the corridor, looking more sure of himself than Roman had seen since they were kids. “Remus, what are you doing? Where are we going?”
Remus didn’t answer him. In fact, Roman was thrown into even more confusion when he was steered into a random room at the end of the corridor, his brother huffing as he shut the door behind them. “Walking takes too long,” he seemed to be realizing. His hand was glowing and, when he reached out for Roman again, it was a blink of an eye before they were standing somewhere completely new.
“Remus, what the hell?” Roman asked, retracting his hand. “You shouldn’t use your magic like that! Anyone could see you.”
But Remus wasn’t listening. Was he ever? Instead, he was looking around. “Not where I would have picked.” He was sounding… like himself. Roman stared, wide-eyed. If he wasn’t so confused, he’d be elated. He’d long since thought getting his brother back to any normalcy–or whatever was normalcy for Remus–was impossible.
“Who’s there?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, carrying across the library stacks. Roman recognized it and cursed internally. Why had Remus taken them there?
Slowly, Roman put up his hands and crept out of the small alcove Remus had taken them to, ready to come up with an explanation for their sudden appearance on the fly. “Do not be afraid,” Roman said, as any prince would. He stood in the open and found Virgil’s gaze. All Virgil had to protect him were his own fists–not the best tactic, Roman thought. Then again, it was only the other day that Roman had been afraid Virgil would sock the nearest person.
Still, just his fists didn’t seem like a great defense against swords or knives or any number of weapons a burglar could have. There was a pang in Roman’s heart as he thought of what might have happened if it wasn’t just him and Remus in there. Virgil would have been defenseless.
As realization dawned on Virgil’s face, they stood at a stand still, both almost afraid to move. When Virgil’s eyes drifted to his raised fists–loose, not really fists at all, who had taught Virgil to fight?–he dropped them like hot coals, stuffing them in his pockets.
“Fuck, Roman, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Virgil said, and Roman knew he shouldn’t be focusing on this–but Virgil had said his name again, and his heart was singing.
“My dearest apologies,” Roman bowed, and, going by the weirded out look on Virgil’s face, that was not of norm between them. He supposed they had never been quite civil with each other–even at the beginning. “I wanted to show my brother the library and you weren’t at the front desk, so we just came in.”
“I’ve been at the front desk this whole time,” Virgil said, not defensive, but confused. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t in a bad mood.
“Funny. We didn’t see you.”
“Wait wait wait,” Virgil said, backing up a second. “You said brother?”
Shit.
Looked like Roman would have to explain that sooner than he’d thought. Or, really, at all. Wanting to tell Virgil and telling him had been on two separate lists entirely. Roman wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to Virgil at all.
“Okay, so-” Roman went to start, but he was caught off by a twin set of gasps, one shortly after the other. The first had come from behind him, so that’s where he looked.
“It is you,” Remus said. Roman’s eyes widened, finally catching on to what his brother had been trying to tell him.
“Wait, do you know each other?”
“Remus?” Virgil’s reply answered that question well enough. Roman turned back to him, eyes darting between the two. Virgil sputtered, “What- How-”
“It’s too late,” Remus mumbled. It sounded a bit more like he had over the past year–less like himself, but his eyes were present; he looked to be considering something–something he didn’t seem to favor. “It was a trap.”
“A trap?” Roman asked. “What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”
“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?” Virgil asked, walking closer, but not too close, like there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe what was in front of him.
“Get away?” Roman said, pieces further slipping into place. He didn’t like where this was going.
“What about Dee?”
“Dee…” Roman mumbled, the name familiar in his ears. I miss Dee, Remus had said. I miss Dee I miss Dee I miss Dee…
“It’s too late,” Remus repeated. “Of course it was you.”
Then, the room erupted into chaos.
-/-
Books flew, shelves rocked, windows clattered. From the corners of his eyes, Roman could see flashes of purple and green. Past the wind in his ears, he heard vague shouts from Virgil and a round of fuckfuckfuckfuckfucks from Remus. He couldn’t recall if he was saying anything himself, but he knew what he was feeling. Scared.
Roman had no idea what was happening, but, from the flashes of light, he deduced it must have been magic. This made him turn toward his brother, suddenly scared that all of this had gotten to him. Being outside the castle, some place unfamiliar, not to mention Remus had always been kind of a loose cannon with his magic–it could have caused Remus to panic.
But one look at him and Roman knew his brother wasn’t the one doing it. He turned to Virgil, remembering what he’d been saying, how he’d known Remus, how he’d raised his hands in a stance that made no sense in traditional fighting–but, with magic?
Purple sparks flew across Virgil’s skin, like they were doing on Remus too, but his eyes weren’t aglow. He wasn’t doing it either.
What was happening?
Then, abruptly, it stopped.
Shelves balanced back to their places and books dropped to the floor, lifeless. It was all they could do to just stand there before movement caught Roman’s eye at the top of one of the shelves.
Someone sat there, legs folded elegantly over one another where they balanced precariously. Roman recognized the one glowing eye peering down at them, the scaly hands, the knowing smirk.
“What a lovely reunion,” she purred. Roman was stricken, fear clenching his gut. Instinctively, however, he stepped forward in front of Remus and Virgil. He watched as her eyes traveled over each of them, finally landing behind Roman’s left shoulder, lips curling further into her face. “I was hoping it would be you.”
“How- How did you-” Virgil stuttered, but his voice died out. Roman narrowed his eyes, something protective overpowering his fear.
“You should not be here,” Roman stated.
“But, my prince,” she said, “We made a deal.”
“A deal that hasn’t come to fruition,” he said.
“I see someone’s still in denial,” the woman leered. “A witch’s curse knows all, though. You can’t scam the Dragon Witch of her hoard, my prince.” The way she said ‘my prince’ infuriated him, but nothing like Virgil’s had. The Dragon Witch said it like it was nothing, like it was delectable and sweet and hers to keep.
“What is she talking about?” Virgil asked, and Roman turned. Instead of scared, he now looked confused. He was watching the two of them, apprehensive, but ready to fight. His hands were up again in those loose fists, purple sparking off of them. Magic. Virgil had magic. “You made a deal with the witch?”
“Not that he had much choice.” The witch shrugged. It seemed casual, despite the manic glee in her eyes. “I was going to kill him and keep Remus. But he wanted his brother, and he got to be prince of a kingdom! Fair trade, if you ask me.”
“It’s not fair,” Remus said, and the witch seemed to remember he was there. “You can’t take him-”
“Shut up, Remus,” she said offhandedly and Remus flinched. Rage filled Roman, and he stomped further toward the witch.
“Don’t you dare-”
“Don’t I dare what, sweetie?” she asked, folding her legs up onto the bookshelf with her, where Roman couldn’t reach. He was ready to topple the whole shelf when her words caught him. “I’m only here for what I’m due. I was hoping you’d choose Virgil.”
“What?” he asked, and his voice echoed. He turned around and saw Virgil’s ghostly face, mouth open, having spoken at the same time.
“There’s so many possibilities, you know,” she said and sighed like she was bored. “There’s some realities where you fall for the architects, but there were quite a few where we’d end up here and that was certainly a risk I was willing to take. So glad it paid off.”
“But I’m not-” Roman protested, and when he was cut off again he felt ready to pull his sword. It would do nothing against her magic–something he knew well–but she was really getting to him.
“Not in love? Please,” the Dragon Witch scoffed. “It’s not my problem you haven’t realized it yet.”
“Wait!” a voice suddenly tore through their conversation, and Roman looked back at Virgil, something tightening his gut. Virgil looked simultaneously angry and afraid and lost. “Hold on for a second. What the fuck is going on?”
With a grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone so wicked, the witch floated down from the bookshelf, jumping right over Roman and landing in front of Virgil. Virgil seemed to have masked everything in those few seconds, standing defiant and tall before the woman. It mystified Roman. It was nothing he had ever seen before–nothing like Virgil’s comfortable confidence in the library. Virgil lowered his hands, appearing defenseless and unafraid under her manic gaze.
“Long story,” she said, tossing her head side to side. “But I’ll tell you the ending if you want. My little happily ever after… minus dear Remus over there. I’d rather have all three of you but Remus turned weak. This. This was the outcome I was betting on.”
She leaned in, centimeters from Virgil’s face and anyone else might have missed the minute flinch in the man’s body, but Roman saw–tuned into it. Virgil’s eyes were hard. He said nothing.
Even as he was sentenced to his doom–to a doom brought to him because of Roman–because of a heart he couldn’t control–because Roman had signed away another’s life–a life that wasn’t Roman’s to give–a life Roman hadn’t yet met–that he was destined to love and hate and damn forever.
And it’d been a trap.
“Virgil, my long lost terror, you belong to me again. The End.”
a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 7
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | On Ao3
CV: You know when you're smelling candles and you smell so many candles that you can't tell which ones smell good or bad anymore?
Let's just say I don't know what this chapter is. There's a lot of words. And a lot of important things happen in it. And I've gone a bit insane trying to make it. Hope you enjoy <3
CW: Kidnapping, Guilt, Historical Discussions of Prejudice, Mentions of Death, Unreality, Weapons
@winterwynd @escalatingtoofast
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
When Remus was little, nothing but a scoundrel on the streets, orphan, alone but his brother and a hyper-defiant attitude, he never used to dream.
Each morning, Roman would wake and recount a world better than their present–where a wealthy family came to town and adopted them; where they grew up and ran a bakery together, with all the bread and cookies they'd ever desire; where Remus didn't have to hide his magic; where Roman didn't get ganged up on in alleys.
Where they had… more than this.
Dreams kept Roman going, and, in a way, it kept Remus going too, hearing his brother tell all these magnificent stories–all while Roman wasn't even awake to imagine them. A lot of them didn't even make sense, but those were Remus' favorites. He loved hearing the impossible ones–ones where you walk out the door of your house and you fall into the river, or dive out the window and fly into the sky.
Remus never got any of his own, or if he did, he never remembered–until he lived in the caves, at least.
His first week waking in his new “home” was plagued by nightmares. Virgil told him it had to do with the magic running freely through the caves. Out there in the towns, among the regular people, magic was obsolete, dried out like a desert. In the caves it was everywhere. Where before Remus’ head was dry, it could weave worlds upon worlds with a bit of magic.
Dee thought something similar. He said Remus had been repressing his magic in order to hide it. However, now that he was in the caves, it was still difficult to access. The magic was blocked up like a dam, and that caused his psyche to go into turmoil.
The witch, on the other hand, thought they might be visions. That hadn't gone over well.
They never were visions–not that they could make out. Not once did Remus dream of anything that had once or would be true. So in the present day, as Remus went to sleep on the fifth night Roman had been gone, he didn't worry too much when he realized he'd walked into a nightmare.
That, really, should have been what tipped him off. Remus never had lucid dreams, and while he couldn't control a thing in this one, his mind knew well enough this wasn't his reality.
Remus walked along a corridor in the castle, one that he didn't recognize very well. In his hands he held a long sleeve of parchment, marked all over in different types of ink and at least five different hand-writings. Gripping the edges of the paper, he noticed his fingers were bedecked in rings with heavy jewels and, on the thumb, a large crest. His hands were wide and aged, and paler than usual. His shoulders were heavier, but his mind felt lighter. Remus wasn't Remus in this dream.
Strange. He still knew he was Remus, but that’s not what his voice or body understood.
The man–whoever Remus was–sighed and rolled up the parchment restlessly. He bopped the paper to the side of his leg, looking about the hallway and to a room a couple paces off. The closer he drew, the easier his shoulders relaxed. No sound came from the room, and that nurtured something content in the man’s chest.
Until, that is, he rounded the corner and through the doorway.
It was a nursery, from what Remus could tell. An ornate crib stood at the center of one wall, a carousel of horses hanging like wind chimes above. The room was dark, lit only by the blue light of the night, shining in easily from the wide open windows. The rug was soft and plush, fit for a baby to crawl safely, and there was a shelf of toys and books in the corner.
Something felt wrong. Remus didn’t know what it was, but going by his sudden gasp, the man did.
He rushed into the room, going to the cradle first. It lay empty. His heart dropped, abandoned down a well like a draw bucket without a string. There was a noise behind him, and he spun.
There, closer to the bookshelf, was a bundle of hair and fabric. When she looked up, the king bolted over, heart again in his chest, but pounding, hammering a painful dent into his ribcage.
“Yolanda? My love,” he said, kneeling by her side and taking her into his arms. “What is the matter? Where is Janus?”
Yolanda? Remus wondered, tilting his head in thought. The head in his dream remained unmoved. Janus?
The names seemed familiar, but Remus couldn’t remember- He was so tired of not remembering.
“She took-” the woman panted, barely able to get her words out before a coughing fit seized her. The man helped her to sit up, eased her into a position to aide her air passage. The man said nothing, kept an appearance of calm and reassurance, but he was scared to death. Remus could feel it.
The woman was crying. She was sobbing as she tried to get her voice to work, grasping at her throat. “Easy,” the man said softly. “Easy, Landa.” But she couldn’t stop crying. Finally, the man had to ask. “Please. Where is our boy?”
The woman, Yolanda, breathed once, body shaking fiercely. “He’s gone,” she whispered, the sound of a broken woman. Remus didn’t know what was happening, but his own heart stopped. Something unthinkable had happened here.
“Guards! Guards!” the man turned his head to yell out the door, raising minutely away in the moment.
But the woman was already shaking her head. “It won’t help. She took him hours ago. I couldn’t- I couldn’t move-”
The man placed a hand to her shoulder again. There were no sounds of rattling armor. The castle was silent.
This should have never happened. Where was everyone?
“Where? We must know which way to send the men. I will go with them – I have to go with them,” the man rambled. The woman clutched his arm, beckoned him to look at her. She wept, but her eyes were fierce, commanding.
“You must find him,” she said.
Remus felt the man’s eyebrows furrow. “I will.”
“She will pay for this,” she said, voice shaking in barely restrained anger. “She took my baby.”
“Where did she go?” the ringed man asked.
The woman’s eyes vacantly moved across the room to the blowing curtains at the balcony window. The man followed her gaze, frowning.
“She scaled the tower,” he said, voice terrified. His son… this kidnapper had put him in so much danger already.
“No,” the woman said. “She appeared. And then… disappeared.”
The man looked back, expression puzzled. Before he could ask, however, her gaze met his, eyes dark and disheveled hair barely concealing her fiery look.
“She had magic.”
Suddenly, the room went dark. Remus felt his body jolt, and he blinked, head whipping around, back and forth, back and forth. Black spots danced before his eyes as they grew accustomed to the pitch black room around him.
He was no longer in the man’s body. He had woken up. But he was no longer in his room either.
Remus was in the nursery from his dream. It was dustier. The curtains were drawn, and looked to have been that way for a long time. But it was unmistakable. Virtually nothing had changed in the room. And now that he was awake, he understood where he was.
He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, shutting his eyes.
There was still so much he didn’t understand.
-/-
If they’d thought the library was difficult, then Logan’s house was a whole other challenge. The place was a library in itself.
Roman had been thumbing through volume after volume all night, trying to pinpoint something that might point to Virgil or this ‘Dee’ guy. They were looking for anything at this point, and that made the search even more difficult. If only they’d had something a bit more specific, something to go off of.
He was planted at the coffee table, hunched over and trying not to think about the crick that was forming along his spine. He flipped a page, squinting to understand what it was saying through the fog in his brain and the dim candlelight.
Earlier, Patton had cast a light to illuminate the room a bit better, but after hours of tireless research, it had gone out. Patton had gone home a while ago, hinting pretty strongly that he expected Roman to follow. Roman hadn’t, and that meant he had no Patton to recast it.
Roman vaguely heard someone walk into the room. In his periphery he saw a figure lower itself to the floor across the table. “My prince,” it said in an even voice. Roman blinked up at the man, clearing his vision of letters and misshapen words he could no longer understand.
“Oh, hey Logan,” he said, giving a tired smile. He’d never seen the man out of a tie. He was in a t-shirt and some pajama pants, eyes soft and still behind his glasses. It was funny seeing him so calm after the stress he’d been under earlier.
“Have you found anything?” Logan asked kindly. Odd, Roman rarely heard emotion in the man’s voice. Logan didn’t seem like the type to slow down his thought process enough to implement it.
But Roman just shrugged. “It’s a bit hard to figure out what he meant,” he said. They’d come to Logan’s house assuming he’d know the exact book Virgil had meant. Turned out Logan was just as clueless as they were.
Actually, more so. Logan hadn’t even known Virgil was gone.
Logan knocked his glasses askew in an attempt to rub his eyes, giving a small sigh. Roman noticed there was still tension in his shoulders–the same tension that had grown there after they’d explained everything.
“Hey,” Roman spoke up, too tired to put himself under any kind of filter. Earlier he’d left all of this up to Patton, afraid to screw it up. Comforting was more in Patton’s capabilities anyway. Now Roman just couldn’t keep himself back. “I know you’re worried about Virgil, but you should get some rest.”
Logan adjusted his glasses, putting them back in place as he scrutinized Roman. In a moment Roman was wriggling in place, regretting his decision to be open, but then Logan let out a breath that somewhat resembled a chuckle, shaking his head.
“Funny,” he said. “I came out here to tell you the same thing.”
Roman stared for a second then cracked a smile. “That is funny,” he said, too tired to say anything clever.
“Roman,” Logan said, voice a bit more somber. Roman looked back to him and took note of his frown. His hand hovered over the book in front of him protectively. “We all want to help him, but we can’t if we exhaust ourselves.”
“I’m not exhausting myself,” Roman said, shaking his head. “I work nights all the time. It’s not a big deal.”
“That’s not healthy,” Logan said. “Your body needs rest to function properly.”
Roman looked back down at the book. “I’ll rest when we’ve gotten Virgil back,” Roman muttered, trying not to come off too irked. Logan was just trying to help.
“I know this is likely not something you want to hear,” Logan put a hand over the page Roman was trying to make out, “But we may not get Virgil back for some time. Things like this take time.”
“Then I’ll work night and day to make it happen,” Roman said, head snapping up with a scowl. His blood was boiling for some reason–the same as it had been when he’d talked to Patton in the library.
“Neglecting yourself will not bring Virgil back any faster,” Logan said, his own voice tighter now too. Unlike Patton, he would match Roman in intensity rather than try to soothe it. “In fact,” Logan carried on, “It would rather slow it down.”
“You don’t know that,” Roman said, heart speeding up at the thought. He couldn’t rest. Not when Virgil needed help. The more he tried, the faster it would help–it had to.
“Then tell me, are you actually absorbing anything you’ve been reading for the past hour?” Logan asked.
Roman pulled the book back from him, holding it close to his chest. “Yeah, of course!” he said, voice defensive.
“What is it you’re reading then?” Logan asked. Roman stopped, thinking for a moment. “I’ve read all these books, Roman. I know what that one is about too. So tell me; what is it about?”
“Give me a moment!” Roman argued, trying to grasp something, anything that he remembered. Was this the one on the northern regions or the fiction story about wolves? Roman had lost track.
“Roman,” Logan said, drawing his attention back. Logan sighed, something too close to pity crossing his features for Roman’s comfort. He shifted, clutching the volume tighter and looked on almost in fear as Logan opened his mouth. “Did you notice the inscription at the front of that one?”
Roman furrowed his brow, pulling the book away from his chest. No, no he hadn’t noticed an inscription. Setting it back down on the table, he flipped to the front, keeping a hand on his page to not lose his place. On the title page, he found it.
Logan,
I don’t know if you remember, but this was the first book you lent me. That copy was a library book, so I thought you might like your own. I know you own the library and all, but I hope you like it.
Virgil
Roman was frozen, eyes going again and again over the words. The letters were in small, cramped script, but he could tell it was carefully written. He hovered over Virgil’s name with the pad of his index finger, holding his breath. A part of him felt it would flake apart just at his touch.
“Virgil gave you this,” he said at last, glancing up to Logan’s face. There was sorrow there if you could look between the lines. He had sobered up from his exhaustion, placing a mask of emotionlessness on, but Roman could see it like a reflection. “Do you think this is it? Is this the book?”
To Roman’s disappointment, Logan shook his head. “I doubt it. He could have simply gone to the one in the library. It would be a lot easier than borrowing this one from me.”
“What if there’s something hidden in this one specifically?” Roman asked, desperate at this point. He felt so close, yet Logan didn’t look convinced at all. Could nothing be easy? Couldn’t Roman just do this one thing right?
“If there is, then I doubt you’d find it as tired as you are. It would have been very cleverly hidden considering I’ve reread that particular volume many times throughout the years.”
Roman furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Is it that good?”
“Not particularly,” Logan said. Something soft flashed across his face as he gazed at the volume Roman held so possessively. “It’s mostly for sentimentality’s sake, I suppose.”
Roman looked again at the book, at the inscription. “Oh,” he said, understanding.
“Virgil is like family, you see,” Logan said. “I’ve known him for years, so when I accept that I need rest in order to help him, it is not me giving up on him. I am not standing by while he is back there. I am simply doing what is in my power to get him back. As long as I am healthy, I will be at my full power to figure out a solution to get him back. Do you understand?”
Logan said this like it was a challenge, like he was daring Roman to argue with him on this, and Roman realized that he had given Logan the wrong idea completely.
“Of course!” he said, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant I needed to do this. Of course you’re helping Virgil. Of course you deserve rest.”
Logan folded his hands on the table, leaned forward to look Roman dead in the eyes. “Then why not you, Roman?”
Roman’s heart rate picked up. He leaned back, eyes darting around as he suddenly wanted nothing more than to avoid eye contact. “I just need to keep going. It’s different.”
“Why is it different?” Logan asked. “Why do you need to keep going? Why do you need to push yourself and hurt yourself to try to help Virgil?”
Roman frowned, eyes going back to Logan. “I’m not hurting myself.”
“You are,” Logan said. Roman’s hands turned into fists, but not from anger. From confusion. From something a little too close to vulnerability.
His voice went lower. Roman’s eyes bored into the table. “It’s just different.”
“Different how?”
His hand drifted above the inscription, but he didn’t touch it. Roman couldn’t bring himself to. He was unworthy.
“I’m the reason,” he said. He was greeted with silence, but he couldn’t look up. Couldn’t look Logan in the eye. Roman and Patton had already told Logan the full story. He knew it was Roman’s fault this had all happened, but Logan hadn’t actually said anything to the prince about it yet. Patton had forgiven him, but Patton had always been too nice for his own good. Logan surely wouldn’t be so forgiving. “Why should I get to rest when every second he’s there, anything that witch is doing to him, it’s all my fault?”
“You… feel responsible,” Logan said, as if it was only now that it had occurred to him.
“Of course I feel responsible. I made that deal,” he said.
“The deal that she pretty much forced you to make,” Logan said. “That deal?”
“I still made the deal , Logan,” Roman said, imploring the man to understand. Logan was smart. He should get this. “I knew someone would suffer for it. I knew someone I would come to care for would suffer for it.”
Logan squinted at him, one moment confused and another looking older beyond his years. He seemed both weary and wary as he examined Roman, and the prince shifted in place at the attention.
“What?” he finally asked.
“How do you shoulder the weight of a country while so prone to guilt on things out of your control?”
“I’m sorry ?” Roman asked, aghast.
Logan shook his head, resting it on his hands where he’d propped them up on the table. “I’m sorry,” he said in return. “I just mean, you must have had to make tough decisions before. Nothing is cut and dry in politics.”
“I-” Roman’s eyes shifted around again, refusing to make contact as he came up with an answer. “I mean, yeah . Doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for those either.”
“You’re responsible for the well-being of your nation, but all decisions have unforeseeable outcomes. Surely you cannot carry guilt for each and every one.”
Roman frowned, unsure if he should be taking offense. “Why shouldn’t I? Are you saying I don’t care about my people?”
But Logan shook his head. “That is simply not in question here. You can care for your people while maintaining a healthy understanding for things that are in and out of your control.”
“But those decisions were in my control,” Roman said.
“And how are you to predict every repercussion?” Logan asked. “The best strategist in the world couldn’t predict every outcome. While decisions are in your control, repercussions often are not."
"So what? Am I just supposed to throw the hat in? Eh, didn't realize my actions would have consequences so I might as well just ignore it."
"No, Roman." Roman stopped when Logan's voice came out firm, curt. "Of course you try to fix it, but you do not punish yourself either. You let yourself eat. You let yourself sleep. You forgive yourself for a bad or wrong decision, or you recognize that a witch manipulated you into making it . That decision wasn't even your own, Roman! Yes, in the end you made it, but you had a figurative sword to your throat!"
For a moment all Roman could do was stare. He had never seen Logan talk so passionately before. He'd never seen so many emotions on the man. He was kind of in awe.
Then Logan took in a deep breath. He straightened himself, but the tension in his voice did not fade. "The only one here to blame is that witch. She took Virgil. She hurt him enough that when he ran away he wouldn't leave Patton's house for two months out of fear she'd find him and cast layers of wards for years following. She took your brother, and from what you've told me, hurt him beyond imagine. She took that other boy who has been with her this whole time, and I do not want to think of the pain she must have inflicted on him. You are not at fault for any of this. She is."
"I- I-" Roman stuttered, not quite sure what he wanted to say. What he could say.
He still felt terrible. He still felt a crushing guilt inside, ready to tear in with its claws and teeth any time he was ready to think too hard on it. But everything Logan said made sense. There was nothing Roman could say to refute it.
So all he could say was, "...okay."
Logan looked him deep in the eyes, and Roman felt seen like he'd never been seen before. Not by people who had seen him in the streets, everything he was and everything he owned laid before them. Not in front of the millions in their kingdom on his coronation day, feeling inadequate but ready–ready to take on this duty, ready to serve his people.
Logan looked at him now, and Roman knew he could see every thought. He knew Roman still hurt. He knew Roman couldn't quite shake it all off, and Logan knew that Roman believed him too.
It was the witch's fault. Roman believed that. But there was a tiny part of his mind that wouldn't stop insisting it was his fault too.
But Roman also couldn't find flaw in this logic. Logan could see that too.
Logan nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Bed then?"
Roman blinked, startled by the sudden shift in attitude and priority. He looked back to the book, to the inscription.
"It will still be here tomorrow," Logan reminded him. "And you'll be literate enough to read it too."
Roman threw him a scowl. "I'm literate!"
"Not at this time of night," Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes. He had gone back to that emotionless facade, but now that Roman had seen more emotion from Logan than ever before, he could pick up on more now. Logan was joking, a mirth hidden in his eyes.
Roman cracked a smile. "Fine. I concede."
"Good. The guest bedroom is this way," Logan waved to the hallway that branched off from the living room. Roman blinked.
"I can go back to Patton's," he offered.
Logan just rolled his eyes. "It's late, Roman. Take the bed."
"Okay," he said and got up. They walked together, and he stopped at the door Logan gestured to. He stood at it for a moment, watching as Logan continued on down the hall. As the man reached for the handle for the next door down, Roman called, "Um, thank you."
Logan looked up, then nodded. "Goodnight, my prince."
When Logan closed the door behind him, Roman was left alone in the hall, realizing Logan, who had never called him by his name at the park construction site, had used it their entire conversation.
"Huh," he said before turning to his own room.
He was faced again with the realization that these years of isolation had cost him some potentially great friends.
Roman hoped he could amend that.
-/-
Remus looked around when he awoke in his dream. It felt a lot more familiar than the last one. In this one he felt like himself. But not himself himself. A different self.
This self wasn't from too long ago, but it was still definitely a different Remus. He felt a whole lot more awake. Funny, as he was actually asleep right now.
"Wait wait wait," a familiar voice reached him from around the corner. "You said brother?"
Remus knew him. How come he knew him? Dang, not another memory. It was so close. So so close.
"Okay so-"
He felt his feet walk as if of their own accord. He turned the corner, and there they were. The purple one–what was his name?–and his brother. Remus always knew his brother. Roman.
"It is you," he said, but the words weren't his. They were the other Remus'. He said it, and dreaming Remus didn't know what it meant.
He remembered this vaguely, but it was all so fuzzy.
"Wait, do you know each other?"
" Remus ? What- How-"
Remus knew this one. It wasn't too long ago he'd seen this- lived this- what was it? What was happening?
"It's too late," other Remus mumbled, the words so familiar in his mouth. "It was a trap."
“A trap? What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”
“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?”
Remus heard the words, he heard the voices, but he couldn't focus on where they were coming from. Who was this? Remus knew this man.
“Get away?”
“What about Dee?”
“Dee…”
It wasn't Remus who had spoken, but he perked up at the name. He knew Dee. He remembered Dee.
“It’s too late,” he said instead, ignoring the wonderful name. “Of course it was you.”
Then, the room erupted into chaos.
Remus jolted awake. His head hit the floor and he was left staring at the ceiling.
He didn't recognize this ceiling.
Slowly, he sat up. He looked around, taking in shelves, books, a cart pushed into a corner.
What was he doing in a library?
-/-
When Roman blinked awake, the light leaking through the curtains was strong. He sat bolt upright, blinking away his disorientation and pulling the curtains back. Sure enough, the sun was high in the sky, almost midday already. With a strong intake of breath, Roman leapt out of bed and stumbled his way to the guest room door.
He limped out towards the living room, fighting to keep the emerging guilt at bay. He and Logan had just talked about that last night–could he not keep it together for two minutes? Roman shook his head, stopping in the hallway to recuperate before revealing his rumpled form.
There were low voices coming from the living room, a small laugh and the shuffle of papers. When he finally turned the corner, he caught sight of both Patton and Logan, already scouring over books pulled from Logan’s shelves.
Patton was the first to catch sight of him, and he smiled. “Roman! Good morning!”
“More like afternoon,” Roman said, approaching. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”
“We thought you could use the sleep,” Patton shrugged, picking up another volume and flipping through it. “Besides, I went to bed a whole lot earlier than you two. I figured I’d get a headstart.”
Roman turned to Logan, trying to keep the frown off his face. “How long have you been up then?”
Logan straightened, adjusting his glasses. “I work on a very strict circadian rhythm. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep more in any case.”
At this Roman did frown. He wasn’t an idiot; he could tell when someone was keeping things from him. But he could let it go. Whatever time Logan got up–it wasn’t a big deal. Just more time he’d been spending looking for Virgil. A responsibility that should have rested with Roman.
Roman pushed that thought back. That wasn’t right; he had to remember that. He wasn’t responsible for this. Roman wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t.
He repeated it like a mantra in his head.
He wasn’t the guilty party. He wasn’t. He wasn’t he wasn’t he wasn’t.
But he was going to make this right.
“Okay,” he nodded, sitting down at the coffee table again, fingers digging into the carpet. “Well, I’m fully rested now. Let’s do this.”
“Want some breakfast, kiddo?” Patton asked, already standing up. “Logan and I already had coffee, but nothing else really. I think I might make eggs for everyone.”
Suddenly, Roman was torn. He looked at the books, could see the one from last night at the corner of the table, the one with the inscription, then he looked back. He bit his lip. “Can I help with breakfast, Pat?”
Patton laughed, and it wasn’t his normal polite chuckle. It was something amused. He found something Roman did funny.
“I can see how you’re eyeing up those books. No sweat; I’ve got this. You might want to change into something that’s not a day-old though,” Patton said. Roman looked down at himself. He’d been borrowing clothes from Patton for the past few days, but he wasn't at Patton’s anymore.
“Follow me, Roman,” Logan stood, placing the volume he’d been perusing to the side. “We can find something that will work from my things.”
The morning continued in this domestic sort of haze. At Patton’s house it had been cozy–warm and welcoming–yet there was something so different in Logan’s. Before Roman had always been busy, on his feet, trying to do what needed to be done always.
And that was how it had been at the palace too, hadn’t it? And before–in his old village, on the move to find Remus. Roman had never slowed down. He was always on the go, always looking for ways to do better.
Roman had… never had something like this.
Slow. Comfortable.
The house was warm. The living room was well-lived in–the shelves riddled in books, candles, pictures; the coffee table had a coffee ring seared into its wooden surface; there was a blanket thrown over the back of the couch.
When Patton–lovely, lovely Patton–brought him coffee, it was in a mug labeled “#1 Architect.” The drink tasted slightly bitter–nothing like the palace’s coffee–but somehow, it was the best he’d ever had. So much so that Roman took a moment to simply revel in it, sit back on the couch and forget about the books, about everything else, and close his eyes to the taste.
He could hear singing in the kitchen. Patton had a lovely voice, and it was lower than he would have thought. There was another that joined it, however. He could barely hear it–wouldn’t have if he hadn’t taken this moment, just listened–but it was Logan’s. Through Patton’s slightly louder notes and the clings of utensils and bowls, Logan sang as well.
And throughout the day, that warmth never left. They flipped through books, but the tension from yesterday and all the days past had left. Patton said it was like a study group, but Roman didn’t really know anything about those. He’d started school when he’d arrived at the palace, and his tutoring was always one-on-one.
What he learned though, was that ‘study group’ was sitting around together, talking through different books, asking questions, joking to keep the air light and motivation up. It was passing around food, telling each other to take a break, leaning over to laugh at a funny picture or read over each others’ shoulders.
It wasn’t like that every day. Some days were somber, confronted with the low likelihood of finding what they needed, of finding anything. Some days Patton and Logan had to go to work, leaving Roman alone to his thoughts and pages. Some days Roman couldn’t move past his guilt, couldn’t think of anything but reading the night away because surely he had to be close. It had to be the next page, the next book.
They had to be close to the truth.
But who knew if the truth would help Virgil at all?
This was barely a lead, barely anything. It was a stray note Virgil had left on his desk that had loads of other incomprehensible items and a vague title, alluding something to his brother. They could find the book and not even know it was it. They could have past it already, dismissing it as nothing relevant. Or Virgil could have found a book he thought Dee might like, and it truly wasn’t anything at all to their search.
They could be going in circles. And they’d been searching for weeks.
Roman had scoured the pages of the book Virgil had given Logan to no avail. At night when they had all decided to retire until morning, he would bring the book to bed with him and read the story. He would try to see Virgil in it, try to pick out why Virgil had taken a liking to it in particular. Maybe it was sentimentality for him too, just like Logan.
He couldn’t tell. But Roman had to know.
One particular day, Roman picked up a book he had been dreading. It was a simple history text, dating back to the kingdom’s creation two centuries ago. It looked much like the ones the castle kept on hand–like the ones Roman had been forced to absorb in a week in his rapid tutoring. Reading two centuries worth of history in dense text had possibly been the worst part of his preparations to become prince–especially as he had still been learning to read at the time.
The thought made him dizzy. He frowned, looking up from the volume and realized his head was rushing, his vision spotting in places. He held to the couch and blinked. For a moment, he felt really sick–head light and stomach heavy and halfway between the floor and the toilet as his next destination.
Then it was gone.
Roman blinked again. No spots.
He frowned down at the book. “Maybe I have been overworking…” he mumbled.
He shook himself and sighed. No use resting now.
With a sigh Roman pulled it open, looking first to the table of contents. Perhaps he could start somewhere entertaining.
Two and a half hours later and Roman was ready to stab himself in each eye with a rusty fork. Logan and Patton walked in from work, looking weary, and he took the wonderful opportunity to take a break.
“You’re home!” he cheered. “Welcome back! And how was work?”
“Shelby is still trying to schedule a meeting with you through the castle,” Logan said, hanging up his bag.
Roman slowed as they approached him, sagging a bit where he sat. “Oh.”
“You really should check in with the palace soon, Ro,” Patton said casually. They’d had this conversation enough times where it wasn’t a big deal. Still, every time it made Roman feel like he was swallowing rocks.
“I will,” he promised, not for the first time. After we get Virgil back , his mind insisted, but he thought again of his brother, his people.
You’re letting down everyone.
“What are you reading?” Logan asked, walking closer to take a peek. Roman looked back at the book, feeling a tiny bit relieved to change the subject.
“This boring history book,” Roman lamented, sagging back into the sofa. “Do we even know Virgil borrowed this one? I can’t imagine anyone actually choosing to read it.”
Logan looked over the volume then nodded his head. “He definitely read that one. Actually, that was a more recent read. He was fascinated by its candor on the history of magic within the kingdom.”
“Magic?” Roman asked, brow furrowing. He hadn’t come across anything about magic.
“Yes. Where are you? Oh, you seem to have a couple more decades until it gets into that. You may want to skip ahead–this war is rather trifling,” Logan said, pointing to the page. Roman agreed. The war was really kind of stupid.
Roman leaned forward again, grabbing the book. He flipped forward, past the war–a three month endeavor–into reconstruction of the eastern lands and amendment of trade policies. He almost sighed again. Out of the fire and into another fire.
“Here.” Logan took the book and flipped forward himself, skipping a rather large chunk in the middle. Roman looked on, baffled and altogether so so grateful for this man. When Logan got where he wanted, he handed it back.
“This is where you will want to start. Magic wasn’t thought of as out of the ordinary until about fifty years ago. It became ostracized as a result of a dispute with Ilmita, whose population has a significantly higher proportion of sorcerers. Sorcerer eventually became synonymous with Ilmitian. Our people became more and more prejudiced against Ilmitians during the dispute, and being a sorcerer became rather taboo in our kingdom.”
“Taboo?” Roman asked, now intrigued. This was a part of their history he’d never learned about. He remembered the dispute with Ilmita, but none of that lesson had covered it relating to magic. “Magic is outlawed. I wouldn’t say that’s just taboo.”
Logan sat down next to him, flipping again through the pages of the book. “At first it was just taboo. Sorcerers were treated horribly in the kingdom. They couldn’t get jobs or housing. They were physically driven out of certain towns. Many chose to hide who they were even when it was legal.” When he came to rest on one page, he jabbed a finger at it as if to illustrate a point. Roman couldn’t make out what was so important about the page though. It was just another wall of text.
“Tensions heightened throughout the years, but it was here,” Logan pointed at the book again, a year, “Nineteen years ago when they banned all magic from the kingdom. After what happened to the prince, the unease in the kingdom finally came to a breaking point. The king and queen instated the new law: magic was illegal by penalty of death. Many fled to Ilmita. Many hid their powers. Many were sent to prison and executed.”
Roman sat still, eyes wide on the book before them. How had he never known any of this before? How could they have kept this from him? That was so awful. Those were their citizens–uprooted from their homes, forced to live as someone they weren’t, without a vital part of themselves. So many of his citizens, put to death for this.
“What happened to the prince?” Roman finally asked.
Everyone knew about the prince. He had only been a baby when he’d died. It was a tragedy that no one spoke of in the palace.
But Roman didn’t know anything about it. That baby was technically his adopted brother, and Roman knew nothing of him.
Logan flipped another page, and on this one they were faced with a portrait. It was the same one from the office Remus had taken him to that one time. Roman had barely gotten a good look at it.
“It is said that a sorcerer broke into the castle one night, went straight to the prince’s room,” Logan said. Something lodged in Roman’s throat suddenly. As curious as he was, he suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear. But then Logan said something Roman hadn’t been expecting at all. “The sorcerer fled with the prince, stole him. All the queen knew about the kidnapper is that they had magic.”
“Wait,” Roman stopped, looking away from the portrait to Logan. “What? You’re saying the baby was still alive?”
Logan furrowed his brow. “Yes, of course. The young prince was kidnapped.”
“I thought he’d died,” Roman blurted out. “You’re telling me he could be alive out there somewhere?”
“Of course,” Logan said. “Did they not tell you this? I assumed as the new prince…”
“No,” Roman said, shaking his head. He looked down at the picture. “They didn’t tell me any of this.”
As Logan’s finger moved away from the book, Roman caught sight of a caption below the portrait. He pulled the book closer to him, moving to read it.
“King Xavier, Queen Yolanda, and Prince Janus,” he read off. Roman knew those names. He said them practically daily–he had never called the king or queen “mother and father” or “mom and dad” or anything close to casual. They were the king and queen, and perhaps they were his parents, perhaps they had taken him in, treated him well, smiled warmly on him and spent holidays with him, but Roman had never taken to calling them anything else.
What stood out was the prince’s name, so rarely seen, even rarer spoken within the palace walls. The little baby, stolen in the night. His birthmark would make him obvious to anyone who saw him, even grown up.
Roman shook the thought from his head. His long lost… “brother” could wait.
“He was interested in the history of magic in this book,” Roman said. “Could this have to do with what Virgil was looking for?”
“I don’t know, Roman,” Logan said, sighing, His shoulders slumped minutely, but Roman could spot a change in his demeanor far better throughout the weeks they’d been working on this. “It could be. The facts of the matter are we don’t have enough information to go off of.”
Roman looked back to the portrait, dejected. He supposed Logan was right.
He couldn’t help but feel like they were close to something here though. Like they were barely missing it.
Prince Janus’ eyes were green, barely peeking up above the blanket he was swaddled in. He must have been old enough for his eye color to come in. How old was he when he’d been taken? What had the sorcerer done to him? What did they want with him?
Barely missing something…
Just then, however, Roman was stirred from his thoughts by the sound of a knock. Both he and Logan looked up. Patton emerged from the kitchen to stare as well, them all frozen in place.
Roman was careful to keep his voice low as he asked, “Are you expecting anyone?”
In his periphery he saw Logan shake his head. He heard him swallow thickly before he responded, voice unsettled.
“No.”
-/-
When Remus awoke in yet another dream, he wasn’t in a foriegn body, nor was he in a different self. This time Remus felt unbound, invisible to the mortal eye, broken from his reality.
Remus was used to feeling apart from reality. He never quite got what was going on around him, and there was always something he was trying to remember, always something just out of reach. He never felt like he belonged. Not in the streets he’d grown up in. Not in the caves where they’d said he’d had a home. Not in this new place where the window was his only friend and his brother covered his beautiful green colors when they said hello.
In this dream Remus was no one else, but he also wasn’t himself. He was above it all. An all-seeing eye. He stretched out an arm and it passed through the table to his right. He swung his leg and it didn’t stir the air.
He couldn’t do anything – even now that he had control of his body in one of these dreams. It seemed a bit unfair.
But he’d always just been an observer here.
“You can put it over there,” a voice resounded throughout the room. At first, there was no one there. Remus scanned the small space once, twice, but on his third go something suddenly shifted. It was like another reality had flipped into this one – like the pages of a book. A figure now stood in the middle of the room, bent over one of the tables and straightening a stack of papers.
Remus knew him. He squinted, hard, trying to piece him into the right memory. The man turned to place the stack on one of the many shelves that surrounded the room, all piled high in papers and vouchers and binders. Along the opposite wall were tables with pens and paper and random assortments of books. There was an empty cart in the corner. It was cramped, but organized – like some sort of office space.
“Here?” another voice asked, hidden away towards the back of the room. The original man looked back, a small smile gracing his features as he did so.
The man nodded. “Yeah, that’s good, Ro.” He went back to his organization, and after a moment, the man who was hidden emerged. Remus perked up when he saw him, realizing he’d known that voice – realizing where he knew this other man too. He was there last time with him and Roman, in that library.
He still couldn’t put a name to him, but Remus knew him.
Roman walked to stand at the other side of the table, taking the other man in with a lopsided smile. He pulled a chair over and sat down, placing his head in his hands and continued looking, stars in his eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice dripping with fondness.
The other man looked, a blush immediately coloring his face when he saw Roman. His eyes jolted back down to the papers, and he coughed behind a hand. “Hey,” he replied, and Remus could hear it in his voice that he was trying to sound casual.
Roman blinked, probably picking up on the man’s tone too. He looked down, a deep red covering his face as well, and pulled over a pen to fidget with. Slowly, suddenly replicating the other’s voice, he tried for casual too. “How are you?”
The man bit his lip and quicked a glance back to Roman. As his eyes fell again on the papers, he pushed them aside and picked up a pile of vouchers, thumbing through and every now and again, flipping one in the stack. “Alright,” he said, lifting one shoulder. “You?”
“Doing good, doing good,” Roman said conversationally, nodding.
The man lifted his head, for a second looking as though he wanted to say something. His eyes raked over Roman, brow furrowing minutely, but in the next second it was gone. He shook his head and went back to work. “That’s good.”
Roman looked up, and, feeling his gaze, the other man did too. For a moment they just looked at one another, eyes saying more than Remus could follow. They both smiled, barely the tilt of lips, but warm, something more.
Remus felt like he was barging in on something that wasn’t for him.
And with that thought, the scene turned to black. As it faded away, Remus felt the familiar jolt that signaled he had woken up somewhere new.
With a sigh he sat up to face the strange office room. He clenched his fist and thought of his room.
When he felt the plush feel of a comforter beneath him, Remus fell back against the bed, not even giving the teleportation a second thought before he drifted back to sleep.
-/-
Roman’s thoughts were on the sword in the guest bedroom. Could he get there in time? Should he leave these two in the main room by themselves?
“I can’t tell who it is,” Patton whispered, barely moving aside the curtain at the window. Roman stood suddenly.
“Pat, get back,” he hissed. Patton dropped the curtain and backed away.
“Everyone, calm down,” Logan said, voice level, but still low. “It’s probably nothing. I will answer the door, but Roman,” Logan turned to him, “You have to stay out of sight. No one knows you’re here.”
“It could be dangerous,” Roman said, grabbing Logan’s arm when he moved away. “Who the heck would be visiting at this time of night?”
“It’s not that late,” Logan said. “It’s only ten. I’m sure whoever it is has a good reason for showing up a bit later.” He pulled his arm from Roman’s grip and moved again around the couch. Roman moved to try to stop him, but Logan was light on his feet, at the door in no time.
“Lo-” Roman hissed, trying in vain to stop him, but Logan was already reaching for the knob. “Fuck,” he said under his breath, finally doing as Logan asked and ducking behind the couch.
Please be a civilian. Please be a civilian. Please-
A noise escaped Patton. Roman’s feet felt filled with springs, ready to jump at a hair’s breadth. He could see Patton around the corner of the couch, but he didn’t look alarmed.
Just… confused.
“Roman, you can come out,” Logan said. Now Roman was confused too.
Slowly, he stood up, his eyes immediately on the door. Logan stepped back.
a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 5
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On Ao3 | Part 6
CV: Long time no see! I’ve been pretty busy between my big bang and work lately, so it took a lot longer to edit this than I thought it would. My big bang is done, but work is still in full-swing, and school is about to start back up, so who knows when part 6 will be out. Hope you all have been doing well lately and that you enjoy this part! Thanks!
And thank you to An who put up with me ranting to them for hours while I was writing this part. I appreciate you always and forever!
Roman fled the forest in an increasingly agitated state. His fists balled at his sides, borrowed cloak billowing in his gait, Roman's eyes matched fire as he marched out of the witch's territory and for hours through the rest of the land, passing through the fields and into the town. It was exhausting, but, by the time he'd arrived, Roman had made up his mind what he would do.
Because, by gods, he was not giving up. Never.
If what Virgil had said was any indication, Roman knew someone else who wouldn't either.
Roman rapped quickly on the man's door. Patton, surprise coloring his features, opened it wide.
"Prince Roman?"
"You knew Virgil would be in the witch's woods," he said, getting right to the point. "And you knew this cloak has magic. What else do you know?"
At that, Patton startled, looking about before ushering Roman inside. "Let's talk in here."
Roman let himself be coaxed to the living room in it's dim glow and warmth. He barely registered it, despite the wary and rather chilly expedition he had taken before arriving here. He turned again to Patton, looking for answers.
"You must be freezing, Ro!" Patton exclaimed, reaching to take his hands. Roman let him, heating his frozen fingers between Patton’s own. As he did so, Roman took his chance to implore the man for answers.
"Please, Pat," he said. "I need to know everything. Whatever I can–so I can save him."
Patton looked up. His eyes, usually bright and cheery, were tired. He smiled, but it wasn't all there. Roman gave pause.
"Why don't I brew us some tea for this conversation?"
Roman frowned. He didn't want tea; he wanted answers. Despite this, he nodded.
Something told him he needed to slow down for Patton. The man needed time, though Roman's mind insisted he had none to spare.
That wasn't princely, though. He must treat everyone with kindness, with care. And though his brash nature urged him to demand answers now, he could tell it was a more delicate matter than previously anticipated.
"Of course, Pat."
Patton led them to a table, sat Roman down, then set about in the kitchen to prepare tea using flowers from the same basket he’d carried that morning. Roman clutched Virgil's cloak close as he waited.
When there were two mugs between them, Patton sat carefully across from him, the man gave a smile.
"It's a long story," he said.
"Tell at your own pace," Roman replied. Patton looked down at his mug, wrapped between two hands. Roman took a sip of his own. A pretty weak brew, but it was delicate on his tongue.
"Did Virgil tell you I have magic?"
Roman's eyes widened. He choked a bit on his tea, and Patton had to hide a smile behind his hand.
"I guess that's where I'll start then. I have magic, Ro. Have all my life."
"Why would you tell me?" Roman asked, practically sputtering. He'd never been afraid of magic, no, but his citizens didn't know that! Patton could have just sent himself to the gallows! Roman was the prince.
"You must know about Vee's abilities by now if you went to the witch's land to find him. And, even if you didn't, I can tell you're a good guy." Patton shrugged. "I've had magic where it's illegal all my life. I think I know by now who to tell or not."
"Oh… kay," Roman responded, sinking back into his chair a little bit. He couldn't relax, not when Virgil's freedom was at stake, but he was less concerned for Patton now at least. The guy may seem naive, but he was right. He'd been keeping this secret and keeping himself safe all his life.
"So, like I was saying, I've got magic. I wasn't snatched up by the witch at a young age, though, for whatever reason. Maybe that's because there's a lot more magic users out there than we're led to believe, and we just don't know it because we're all hiding in fear. Or something else. I don't know, but I grew up here, in town."
"And it was a pretty happy childhood, I'd say. My parents weren't afraid of me–only that I might be found out. I learned early on how to control it all though. I put a lot of time into it, just so they didn't have to worry, you know? Virgil says I'm pretty powerful, but I don't know how much of that is natural talent or training. I used to practice so much just to make sure I wasn't found out. Magic comes so easily to me now because of it."
Patton lifted his drink, took a small sip before putting it back down. It seemed more something for him to fiddle with than drink, something to give him a moment to collect his thoughts. Roman mirrored him and took a drink as well.
"But it gets lonely, being so different. I didn't know anyone with magic. It was coincidence, that day I met Virgil, but I kept coming back. I was so curious about this boy in the woods with magic. At first, it was astounding. He lived where he could do magic all the time? Everyone he lived with had it too? A family of magic-makers, how about that?"
"Magic-makers?" Roman asked, amused. Patton shifted.
"In school or in town, sorcerers or magicians were always something people talked about with… such hatred. It's what we are, I know. And they aren't bad words. But I sort of like magic-makers, you know?"
"Oh," Roman said, biting his lip at his insensitivity. "Of course. Sorry."
Patton shook his head. "No need. Like I said, they aren't bad words."
He shrugged, put his head in his hand. "Now where was I?" Patton said. "A family of magic-makers. Pretty cool. I couldn't imagine something so nice. But sometimes things that sound nice like that aren't all they seem. As we got to know each other, Virgil told me more and more about the witch. And, I don't know. One day, I asked if he wanted to leave with me."
Roman furrowed his brow. "There's a catch here, isn't there?"
"Believe it or not, no," Patton said. "I studied up on anti-tracking spells, protection spells, other hiding spells, and one day he simply snuck out and left. We were both so worried–I was counting ways she could have found out, could have hurt him. But she didn't. We were pretty careful over the years and were able to hide from her."
"Until I ruined everything," Roman grumbled.
"I-" Patton faltered, looking torn. "I don't actually know that part yet, bud."
Roman closed his eyes. Of course he didn't.
"Here," Patton said, voice getting softer. He placed a hand over Roman's–kind, even when Roman hadn't yet explained, even when Patton knew enough by now to blame him. Roman opened his eyes to soft blue ones, forgiveness sure and true. "Why don't I tell the rest of mine and then we'll get to your story?"
Roman could only nod. Patton smiled, but somehow it made the prince feel worse.
Patton had every right to be angry with him. Yet Roman let him proceed.
"When I couldn't find Vee in the library this morning, I knew there was only one place he could have gone. I magiked my way right outside the witch's territory, since she has wards blocking teleportation. I ran into you and pretended to pick berries. Then I went and found Virgil." Patton looked down, a shadow falling over his face. "Sure enough, she's got him. After everything, she's got him again."
"You were pretending to pick berries?" Roman asked. "I guess that makes sense. You were pretty far out into the woods."
Patton smiled, shrugged. "I got a good bit of berries out of it. And these flowers for the tea," he said, gesturing to their mugs. But he wasn't into it. It was easy to tell why.
"You deserve to know why this happened," Roman said.
Patton looked up, eyes vulnerable. "Why did this happen, Ro?" He didn't even sound accusing. That made it all the worse.
"Well…" Roman said, searching his mind to find the best way to start. "Three years ago, I found the witch's cave."
-/-
Keep going north. When you find the boulders, you will approach the mountains on your left. Be careful, though, because the witch will use spells to throw you from the trail. You can only approach the caves with her blessing, so make sure you have something to offer.
Roman looked down at his hands.
He had nothing to offer. Nothing but his life.
He was going to get his brother back.
Roman looked up. The cave rested before him.
"I would advise against doing what you're about to do," someone said. Roman spun around, sword at hand. It was a little heavy, a bit rough around the edges, but it was the best Roman could budget around odd jobs and a need for food.
There, in the shadows, sat a figure, legs dangling over the cliff the cave sat on. Roman wasn't sure how he hadn't seen them before.
"Are you the witch they say lives here?" he asked, looking him over. He wasn't particularly remarkable. Drab brown hair hanging loosely over his face. A short cape hanging around him, useless against the elements–even more useless than the torn cloak Roman wore.
The other chuckled. "I am not. And you don't want to meet her."
"She has my brother," Roman said, swiping his sword down. Maybe he was a threat, or maybe he wasn't. He wasn't the threat Roman had come looking for though.
When the figure stood up, however, Roman raised the weapon again, just in case. No one could stop him from getting inside. Roman had come too far, had waited too long to be stopped now.
The other stepped into the light, eyes glowing–really, glowing–a yellow-gold color. His hair still hung, long and heavy, over one half of his face.
He was just a boy. Maybe around Roman's age.
Perhaps… another boy the witch had stolen? Like his brother?
"So you're Remus' brother," the boy said, looking him over. His eyes were calculated, skeptical, far older than Roman had ever seen–and he'd witnessed the eyes of poverty and fear, of boys growing up in the streets, of wise old women, of tired teachers, of girls without voice or choice in the hands of unkind families. "You're Roman."
"You know my brother?" Roman asked, unable to help the wonder that crept into his voice. It had been so long since he'd heard anything of Remus. A part of Roman had started to fear he had made him up. Another part, that fate had befallen Remus, and Roman would never see him again.
He was only here now on a whim. The people in town said the witch had boys who did her bidding–that any time someone entered her forest, one of them would appear, eyes alight with power, to scare them off.
Something had told Roman this had to be it. And he was right.
"Remus belongs here," the boy said. "You do not. If you don't want the witch to kill you, then you should go."
Roman crossed his arms, sword tucked uncomfortably in his armpit. The boy followed it closely with his eyes, and Roman could feel the judgement. "I'm not leaving!"
"And what will you do? You're hardly a fighter, are you?" the boy said, gesturing to the sword. "Even if you were, no one can leave the caves alive."
"Then I'll die trying!" Roman proclaimed, uncrossing his arms, and the tip of his sword hit the dust.
"Noble words," the boy said. "Though more stupid than anything. You'll definitely die in there. Just don't say I didn't warn you."
"Yeah yeah," Roman huffed, turning back towards the cave's entrance. "Any other words of warning, or can I go save my brother now?"
"Your brother doesn't need saving," the boy rolled his eyes. "But go ahead and try."
"I will," Roman said, nose stuck into the air. Then he rushed into the cave, not looking back.
Finding his way through the passages and the dark was a lot harder than Roman had thought. He honestly hadn't expected the place to be so– well, big. Caves were usually one big cavern, weren't they? Enough room for a dragon and its hoard, plus a damsel or two. They weren't this big convoluted mess, with openings all around, some connected and some didn't, some went in big circles, spitting him back out into where he'd first arrived. And no torches! Where were all the torches?
Roman was just lucky he had packed one with him for the forest, though there must have been oil all over his bag. It was worth it to light his way.
And it was worth it when, at last, he found a room that was lit on its own–in different colors, no less! Roman knew magic when he saw it.
He stomped out his torch and placed it down in the corridor. Roman tried approaching slowly, quietly, but, as soon as he saw the only occupant of the room, he gave up all pretense and ran.
"Remus!" he shouted, rushing straight up to his brother. "Oh my gods, it's you. It's really you!"
Remus sat at a stool, surrounded on all sides by vials and vials of potions–the source of light for the room. It wasn't quite bright enough to show his face, still cast in shadow, but Roman would know his brother anywhere.
Though older, now with a silver streak adorning his hair and the wispy start of a mustache, it was Remus. Roman was sure of it.
"Remus!" a shrill voice interrupted them, someone outside. Roman turned, coming face-to-face with her as she walked in. "I have something wonderful to try out tod-"
She stopped, surprised for a moment before rage narrowed her eyes. "Who. Are you?"
Roman raised his sword, stood in front of his brother. "My name is Roman."
She blinked, mouth coming up in a sneer. "Is that supposed to impress me? What are you doing in my home?"
"I've come for my brother. You took him and now I'm here to rescue him," he said, trying to sound confident.
Roman may come off as brave, noble, stupid, arrogant–what have you. On the outside, that may be. But, really, Roman was scared.
He couldn't fight. Not with the sword he was carrying, or his fists, or with magic he hadn't inherited. Roman had no plan to get out of there and nothing to offer but himself. And he was scared.
But he was there for his brother, and he wouldn't leave him.
"That's adorable, little- what did you say your name was again?"
Roman shifted, gripping his sword tighter. "Roman…"
"That's adorable, little Roman. But, you see, Remus is a part of my little family now, and I would so hate to part from him. And, you must also see, you are a stranger. Breaking into my home."
Roman blinked. "What?"
The witch sighed, blowing at a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. Was she… pouting? Wasn't she supposed to be this terrifying witch or something? What was going on?
"I think the only course of action here is self-defense," she said, resting a hand on her chin. Behind Roman, he heard Remus whimper.
"Just let me take my brother and go," Roman demanded. "You stole him from me, from our town and our lives. If you require a trade, then take me instead. Just let Remus go."
"Take you?" the witch sneered. "What would I need someone like you for? You don't have any magic."
"I-" Roman went to argue, but she had a point. What could he offer? "I could learn. Or I could do other jobs. Anything- please."
"Oh, begging won't get you anywhere, sweetie," she said, swiping her hand out from her chin. "Sorry, but you just don't have anything I want. That's okay though, because I can just kill you, and Remus will stay, and it will be like you were never even here. Sounds great!"
"Wait, but there must be something!" Roman said. He could hear his brother mumbling behind him. What was he saying? Why wasn't he helping? Maybe together they could take down the witch! "Remus, help me!"
"He can't hear you, but nice try," the witch said. "He stopped responding a month ago."
"Stopped…" Roman said, trying to process the words. As he did, anger flooded his system, and he raised his sword. "What did you do to him?"
"Oh goodness. Explaining myself is a drab," she said, tossing her hand about. "Goodnight, little Roman."
She raised her hand in front of her. Roman flinched, head turned away, arms up in defense, eyes nearly closed as he waited- waited-
Where was the pain?
Roman squinted his eyes open, peeking out from behind his arm. Why wasn't he dying?
From what he could see, the witch should have been killing him–her arm was outstretched, palm facing him, but there was a look of shock on her face. It was different to the surprise when she'd found him there. It was as if someone had come in and shaken her, rotated the earth beneath her and told her to find her way home. Something had upset her to her very core.
Shit. And of course it had to have been Roman.
This wasn't going to be a painless death, was it?
"Sit down," she commanded, not moving an inch. Roman hesitated, but then she swatted her hand down, marched straight towards him in a fury. "I said sit down!"
Roman scrambled backwards, finding a stool much like Remus' and sat. He felt sort of ridiculous there, waiting on her to kill him, but he was in no hurry to die.
"Dee!" she shrieked, far from the calm and composed she had been before. She whizzed manically around the room, pulling books from shelves, flipping through and tossing them aside. Someone appeared in the door.
"Yes?"
It was the boy from outside.
"Where is the book on pacts?" she asked, flipping through another before shaking her head. "What am I doing? Getting ahead of myself."
She tossed it aside, though instead of crashing against a wall or cluttering to the ground, this one was caught in the hands of the boy–Dee, apparently. He placed it on the desk, though that was all Roman saw before his vision was filled with the dragon witch again.
The witch clutched the sides of his head. Roman gasped and went to rip away, but she held on fast, claws digging in as her furious eyes scanned his face.
What the heck was she doing?
"I knew it," she whispered, eyes alight with a dangerous mixture of magic and excitement. "I knew it!" she screamed, tearing away once more.
"What?" Dee asked from across the room, looking as confused as Roman felt. "Did you See something?"
"Where's the book, Dee? I don't have all day."
"I was studying it," he said. "It's on my desk."
"Well, go get it," she urged. "Now! Now!"
Dee scrambled out of the room, looking just the slightest bit miffed. Still, he obeyed without question.
Once he got back, he handed the book over. The witch slammed it on one of her many tables and flipped through. Beside him, Remus started to mumble again, and Roman's attention drew to him.
Focusing on him now, Roman could tell what was off. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. He was looking down, rocking slightly, nails digging into his forearms. Roman wanted to reach out, stop his brother from hurting himself, but was afraid that any movement might mean his doom.
He wasn't the only one noticing Remus though. A shadow fell over them, and, when Roman looked up, he found Dee standing there.
The boy reached out to his brother, gripped his hands and slowly messaged his knuckles. "Hey, Remus. Let's not hurt yourself, alright?" Slowly, Remus' hands relaxed and fell away. Dee kept them enveloped in his own hands as he turned back to the witch. "Did anything today work?"
She didn't pay any mind. Dee frowned slightly and turned back to Remus.
"We'll find a way to get you back," he said, almost too quiet to hear. Roman watched on with wide-eyes. When Dee looked his way, he narrowed his own. "What?"
Roman shook his head quickly. "Nothing."
Dee rolled his eyes, placed Remus' hands down. "Make sure he doesn't do that again." Then, he walked back to the witch.
Roman… really didn't know what to make of Dee.
"Perfect!" the witch suddenly exclaimed, snapping Roman's attention back to her.
"Are you sure that will work?" Dee asked. "I mean, it is-"
"Watch and learn, Dee. This is why you are the pupil!"
She approached Roman. He watched on with a wary eye.
"You want your brother back, yes?"
Roman's eyes widened. His jaw almost dropped, but he elected to nod instead.
"And I'm assuming you want to live in the process?"
"Preferably," Roman squeaked. Oh gods, what was going on?
"And wouldn't you like a big castle and lots of adoring citizens and to never be hungry again while you're at it?"
"I- sorry, what?" Roman asked, suddenly very confused. He hadn't said anything about… castles? citizens?
"Oh, goodness, just say yes, darling," she said, but while her words were similar to the bored voice from earlier, she now looked more insistent, impatient.
"Um, sure," Roman decided, not ready to get on her bad side. Especially since things seemed to be going sorta okay now.
"Perfect," she said, smiling plastically. "Now, just one more question!"
"Yeah?" he asked, apprehensive. Things couldn't be going this well. There had to be a catch. There had to be some sort of-
"Are you willing to trade your one true love in order to get this?"
Roman's eyes widened, his breath caught, choking on it as he sputtered. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Trade your one true love, or I kill you and keep your brother. Sound fair?"
"No!"
"Then what will it be?" she asked, leaning an elbow on a nearby table. She tried so hard to look nonchalant about it all, but Roman could see the sparks in her eyes, the tap of her foot. Something was going on here.
Yet, Roman had no power to stop it.
"I just don't get it. Why do you want my one true love? Why give me a… castle? Citizens?"
"It's a hefty bargain we're making," she said, shrugging. "And I don't have to explain what I want him for. You just need to say yes."
"But… I-" Roman looked down at his lap. "I couldn't do that to somebody."
"You sorta have to, hun," she said. "Must I remind you, him or death?"
Roman looked over at his brother. Remus, for the first time, was looking back. His eyes were wide, no longer glassy, but their old green. He seemed to be searching Roman, expression just a tad confused, like he was trying to match him to somewhere- someone.
It didn't matter if he remembered Roman. It didn't matter if Remus never spoke a word to him again. Roman had come this far to save him- Had hunted every forest, had searched every town, had trekked for two years now, far and wide, in search of his brother.
He'd already been willing to offer up his own life to save him.
Was he willing to offer up someone else's?
Roman closed his eyes, already knowing the answer. It pained him–more than words could say. But he knew.
"Alright," he said. "I accept."
The witch squealed–actually squealed–before placing her hands on his head again. At the contact, Roman's eyes snapped open.
"Then the pact is made," she said.
The next thing Roman knew, he was encased in a sparkling dust.
And when he awoke, he was in a castle.
-/-
"That's how you became prince?" Patton asked, baffled. Roman nodded, looking sheepish.
"That's how I became prince," he agreed. "Though, technically, Remus is a prince too. Just not many people know about him."
"Has he- gotten any better?" Patton asked, concern shining in his eyes.
"I'd like to think so," Roman said, shrugging. "But it's hard to tell. The only time he's been really cognizant was yesterday… when we went to find Virgil."
"So, that's Virgil then? Your one true love." Patton asked softly. Roman looked down at his tea, now cold, and he swirled it in the mug.
"That's him," Roman sighed. "So she came and took him."
"I suppose that's how she got past our wards. Pacts are already strong magic, but, by the sound of it, yours contained love magic too."
"Virgil said it might not have been love magic,' Roman said. Patton pursed his lips.
"While it's possible, I don't think that's likely. A pact like that–it's really strong. Trading one life for another would have been enough if it was your life, but it was someone else's you were bargaining. That paired with the fact she was using love magic as her tracking method, she would have to trade you something massive. I'm guessing that's why she made you prince."
"Isn't that like dark magic or something? Can she do that without repercussion?" Roman asked.
"There's no such thing as dark or evil magic," Patton said. "Just dark or evil ways of using it. I'd consider a lot of what the witch does as such."
Roman’s heart sunk. "Would you consider selling someone else's life away as it?"
Patton snapped out of his thoughts, looking troubled. "Roman," he said with a frown. "You are not evil."
"It was a pretty evil thing to do though," he remarked, trying not to look Patton in the eye.
"You are not at fault here," Patton said, voice oddly stern. Roman looked up to Patton's serious expression. "The witch looked into your future, saw something she wanted, and twisted you into letting her have it. She presented it like you had a choice because that's what a pact entails, but you really didn't have a choice at all, Roman. You had to save yourself and your brother."
"But Virgil," Roman argued.
"We're going to save Virgil," Patton said, and he sounded so certain in that moment, like there was absolutely no question to it. "And he wouldn't want you to feel guilty about this, Ro."
Roman shook his head. "He already told me he was angry. Back in the woods, he yelled how I sold his life away. He hates me, Pat."
"Virgil…" Patton sighed, sloshing his mug around. "Virgil is afraid right now. He thought he was finally safe, and now he's right back in the place he never wanted to go back to. He's alone, and there's nothing he can do with that stupid sigil on his arm-"
"Sigil?" Roman asked. "What sigil?"
Patton looked up, surprised, before nodding. "I guess he didn't tell you. The witch gave him this sigil on his arm. It's warped protective magic–makes it so he's trapped there, can't even leave if he wants to. More like possessive magic, if you ask me. Like I said, no evil magic, just evil uses."
"So that's why he wouldn't leave with me," Roman said, nails tapping the table. "I figured there was something."
"Yes, but the thing is, only the caster can take the sigil off."
"So we find another way!" Roman insisted.
Patton smiled, then gestured to the other room. "That's what I've been trying to do. Everything about sigils, protective charms, casters–I've been scouring my books. I haven't gotten far with the time I've had."
"Then perhaps an extra set of eyes will help," Roman suggested.
Patton smiled, though it came out tired. Suddenly, Roman was very aware of the time–and of the less than ideal past 36 hours. To think, just yesterday Remus had been dragging him through the corridors in search of Virgil's library.
Roman hadn't slept in… well, quite a while. Hadn't eaten either.
"I would appreciate the help, Roman, but I think we both need some food and rest first," Patton said. Roman couldn't bring himself to complain. Suddenly, he felt dead on his feet. All the adrenaline that had kept him going was gone.
Sleepily, he bobbed his head.
"I have a guest bedroom down the hall to the right if you want to go lay down," Patton suggested. Roman knew that if he laid down now, he'd be out the whole night, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Thank you, Padre," he drawled lazily.
Patton giggled. "I'll leave some food in the fridge in case you wake up."
"You're the best."
That only made Patton giggle more, though it faded into the background as Roman disappeared up the hallway, heading to the door on the right as was instructed.
He thought about Virgil.
He thought about his brother.
He thought about Patton and the dragon witch, and he even thought about that boy, the one Remus always mentioned. Dee.
And when he collapsed onto the mattress, Roman thought of nothing at all.
-/-
It took time. A lot of it. But Roman and Patton did their research.
They scoured Patton's books inch by inch. "I don't have nearly the collection I imagine the dragon witch does, but you never know what we could find!"
They didn't find anything.
When they moved over to the library, Roman was met with a host of memories, good and bad. The place was still a mess. There were no coughing guards in the corner. The anxious bookkeeper was nowhere to be found.
Roman thought it was his duty to tidy things up, after everything that had happened, so he set about to right the shelves and pick up the piles of books. He unfolded the bent pages, hoping their creases would flatten a little if put back correctly.
It wasn't nearly as difficult cleaning it all up as Roman would have thought. Being a public library and all, the call numbers were neatly written out on the spines. It was just time consuming.
It took a day to set that right, then he joined Patton in looking through some of the folklore section. Books on magic were prohibited, but, according to Patton, myths came pretty close to the real thing.
"The palace won't be looking for you, will they?" Patton asked on their third day of search–Roman's first joining him in folklore.
Roman frowned. The palace would definitely be looking for him.
"This is more important," he said, flipping a page. He saw Patton stop what he was doing out of the corner of his eye.
"Roman, you're the prince."
"I got that title through magic, which is illegal. Not to mention selling away the man I love to his former abuser."
"Roman," Patton stressed, voice serious. Roman looked up. "You are the prince now. You have people counting on you."
"Like Virgil counted on me?" Roman asked, knowing he was being petty, knowing he was only digging the hole further underneath him.
Patton shut his book. "You don't lose some and give up, Roman. And you don't have one bad thing happen and forget about the rest of your duties. What about your people? What about your brother?"
Roman breathed out slowly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "What do you want me to do? I can't be everywhere at once."
"Just go check in with them, Roman. Let them know you haven't been kidnapped or something."
"I'll never get out of that castle alone again. I'll always have a guard, and how am I supposed to investigate magic with a guard? How am I supposed to go back to the witch's forest?" Roman shook his head. "I can't go back. Not yet."
"Why?" Patton asked. Roman, brow furrowed, looked up at him.
"What? I just said why."
"No. Really, why?" Patton asked, voice filled with such genuine curiosity, understanding, patience. Gods, why did Patton have to be so… good?
Roman focused on the shelves behind Patton. He closed the book in front of him, standing up.
"I have to save Virgil," Roman said. He was worried for him. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't get Virgil out of there. But, as for being prince…
"I can't be prince if this is how it happened."
With that, Roman turned away, slinking along the aisles until he was out of sight.
Book still in hand, Roman figured he might as well find somewhere else to read. As he walked the library, however, it became exceedingly obvious to him that there was only one place he wanted to go.
When he approached the front desk, he imagined it was any sort of normal day. Virgil would shout from the back, saying he'd be right out to help the patron. Then he'd stop in his rush as soon as he saw Roman, shifting his weight to one leg and going "Oh, it's you," while trying his best not to look too happy about it.
Or Roman imagined it was the day Virgil was ducked behind the desk, and as soon as he heard Roman's voice, hit it in his surprise. Roman had been so concerned at the time, but had laughed it off at Virgil’s embarrassment.
None of that happened this time. The library was so quiet. Much much too quiet. Libraries were supposed to be quiet, he supposed, but there was something very wrong about this.
Roman leaned on the counter like he normally did, then slid to the opening, ducking behind the desk. It felt weird being on this side. He sat down in the chair, opened up the book, but his eyes were on the papers and pens strewn about in semi-organized fashion.
This was Virgil's work space. Was this an intrusion? Should Roman leave?
Roman sat forward, placing the book down next to a stack of new stamp cards–all clean and new. There was a mug of black pens, a couple purple ones scattered about. Roman picked one up, remembering the purple in Virgil's magical cloak. It was still tucked away in Patton's guest room, safe and sound.
That was the color of Virgil's magic too. Roman wondered if it was his favorite color. It sure seemed to be. Could he control the color of his magic? Were the patches purple because of the magic or because they had been purple to begin with?
When Roman went to put down the pen, he noticed something else in purple. Just a scrawled out word, but one Roman recognized, one too unique to be coincidence.
It was tucked between a stack of papers, but it was easy to pull out. At the top, all it said was 'Dee.'
Below was a list with various vague remarks. Each was punctuated with copious amounts of question marks.
In fact, the only one not emphasized with a decent portion of question marks was at the bottom.
Lo's book.
Roman blinked at it, words processing. One, two, three–it clicked.
He shot to his feet, rounded the desk and took off into the library again–back the way he’d come. Roman had to tell Patton-
a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 2
Part 1 | On Ao3 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
CV: For An. At last, a second part. Sorry it’s still not long enough ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Also, thank you to all of you who liked the first part of this! Your comments were so nice and you would not believe the rollercoaster my emotions went on. It was astounding, so thank you!
CW: Kidnapping, Violence, Injury, Imprisonment
@winterwynd @escalatingtoofast
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Virgil must have been stuck in a nightmare.
He was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be out. He was supposed to be free.
How had this happened?
The caves were just like they'd always been–cold, dank, with low ceilings and wide dirty floors and dark passages that branched into confusing paths.
Plenty of places to hide or get lost–corners to cry because you're afraid–always afraid.
The witch transported them to the lip of the cave, not stopping to even let Virgil stabilize from the journey. Her hand was on his wrist, dragging him in and taking one of the many passages, plunging them into darkness. Virgil stumbled blindly, led by her sure steps.
She didn't say a word, which was strange. The witch had always been chatty, especially after disturbing mortals or collecting on deals. In fact, the only times Virgil ever remembered complete silence…
He'd been nine years old. He'd asked too many questions. And he'd been deathly afraid afterwards.
Like he was now. With no sight and no way to escape.
The cave they stopped in did nothing to ease his worries.
She released him, knowing he was hopeless in the dark and strange tunnels. He used to travel through them with just as sure steps as her, but he was out of practice. Virgil couldn’t have kept track of the path they'd taken if he’d tried.
When she lit a lamp at the opposite end of the pseudo room, Virgil's heart dropped as he realized where she'd taken him.
There were tables and books and mildewy bottles all over. Some bubbled over and some glowed in sickeningly bright hues. It didn’t make sense that he hadn't realized in the dark–the bottles would have lit up the room with their glow. But he hadn't seen a thing.
A spell. The witch had meant to disorient him.
Then Virgil was pushed back into a chair, faced with the terrifying sneer of his captor again. She looked furious, unrestrained now that she wasn’t saving face with the prince. She liked to appear put-together around mortals.
Virgil didn't count. He'd always belonged to her. It was silly to think he'd escaped.
"I didn't like that little stunt you pulled, Virgil," she said, voice dead. It was a bad sign when she wasn't using that ridiculous nickname.
Once upon a time, the nickname had been one of Virgil's favorite things–it meant a rush of pride, a sense of right. Virgil had mastered a spell or potion, or he'd confused some poor mortals wandering the witch's land.
Excellent, my little terror.
They never saw it coming, little terror.
I've taught you well, my little terror.
'Virgil' was always disappointment, anger, meant to place fear in the little apprentice. Virgil hadn't ever really liked his name until Patton had become his friend.
He was ashamed that hearing her say it now felt as harsh as ever. He was ashamed to hear his name–he hated being Virgil. A part of him wanted to hear 'little terror' again, as revolting as it was.
"Did I not give you enough?" she asked. "Did I not give you everything?" Her face was so close, eyes glinting in slits. Virgil could smell smoke. "I raised you. I trained you. And you left. Why did you leave?"
"Because I hated it here," Virgil spit, confident for once under her gaze. It had always been fake-it-till-you-make-it when around her–fake confidence, fake respect. He had always feared her, but it was a distant memory and part of him felt cocky because of it.
This was his worst nightmare, sure, but didn't everyone want to give the middle finger to their nightmares every now and again?
"You trapped us here. You messed with our heads. You hurt Remus so much."
"Remus was disobedient," she spat, leaning away. She still had him pinned by the fleshy sides of his arms, pressed against the stiff armrests of the moldy chair. "And you've been disobedient too, my little terror."
Virgil took a startled breath in. That didn't sound proud. That didn't sound like the endearment usually did. It sounded like a threat–like Virgil.
She looked down, tracing the inside of his right arm with long, talon-like nails. He shivered, and, when he looked up, there was a small smile playing at the witch's lips. Virgil couldn't breathe.
"Here," she whispered as her nails came to rest. He couldn't breathe–he couldn't breathe. Suddenly, he knew exactly what she was going to do.
"No," he whispered, horrified. Her smile grew wider, and he had to avert his gaze, now stuck to her hand and what he knew it would do. It began to glow.
He screamed.
"No no, shush shush, my terror," she cooed. She was enjoying this. He choked, feeling the heat course through him.
Until it scorched, scalded, blazed his arm in fiery delight.
Tears streaming down his face, he couldn't take it anymore.
And he passed out.
-/-
Virgil was sitting at the lip of the caves, legs dangling from the cliff, eyes wide and staring at the sky.
A whole wide world. Stars that stretched forever, a moon that shone down on a vast kingdom.
He wanted to know it, dreamed of it. Far off lands with new people, new language, new foods. They'd have weird trees, maybe steeper cliffs or wider fields and every color flower in the rainbow.
Maybe they'd have more houses. Virgil didn't know much about houses, or kingdoms in general. He'd only gone to town for minor trade and terrorizing unassuming mortals to prove a new spell. He wished he could see more of it, stay longer.
The witch didn't like them gone for too long, or too far away.
She wouldn't like it very much if she knew how he yearned for it.
Virgil's train of thought was cut when a figure on either side sat next to him. He looked at them both, smiling a little at his brothers.
Or… basically his brothers. He'd grown up with Dee. And Remus, though he'd only been with them for a year, was as close as the two already.
"Does she know you're out here?" was Dee's first question. It made sense. Number one priority was always the witch.
"Does it matter?" Remus grumbled, and Virgil couldn't help but flinch. When he looked over, the first thing his eye caught on was the boy's arm.
The dark sigil was hardly new, yet it still hurt to look at.
"Don't let her hear you say that," Virgil told him quietly. Remus didn't seem very happy about it, but he said nothing in response. Dee straightened.
"Perhaps we should go back in. The witch is planning on teaching us the sleeping draught at midnight."
Virgil didn't want to learn anything that night. He wanted to dream. He wanted to not worry over doing something wrong and exploding the place. He wanted to not worry about her approval.
It was tiring, always worried over her and her unpredictable reactions.
Virgil looked down, eyeing Remus' sigil again. He couldn't say any of that. He didn't want to sound ungrateful.
Neither Virgil or Dee had a sigil. They would never run away. Remus… he was still so new. He didn't understand everything the witch had done for them–what she had saved them from. Magic was illegal. The minute their natural talent had manifested, it would have been noticed in one way or another. It was a miracle Remus had survived so long without the witch.
Remus still tried to get away. He talked about a brother he couldn't leave behind. The witch simply said his brother hadn't had magic and that he would survive. After one time Remus had made it two towns over, though, she’d had to give him the sigil.
It kept him here. It kept him safe.
Or so she said. And what the witch said was true. Always.
Virgil cut his eyes away. Dee was standing, and, of course, Virgil was expected to follow. With a small inaudible sigh, he stood.
Remus reluctantly followed.
As they walked back into the cave, Virgil took one last glance at the sky.
Maybe one day…
-/-
It hurt.
It hurt it hurt it hurt.
His arm was red, the sigil seared in like a brand. It was a simple design, one for protection, warped to captivity. It was full of sharp edges and angry lines, declaring a singular intent.
He was the Dragon Witch's.
Virgil's vision swam whenever he looked away from it, so he focused. It was black, a dark inky mass surrounded by the red of inflamed skin. It puckered and bubbled. Virgil could hear laughter, high-pitched as it moved away.
Great. She was in a good mood again.
Finally, Virgil could look up, only to be greeted with the witch rearranging some of the bottles on a table. She looked his way and smirked.
"You were gone there for a minute," she remarked, like one would about the weather. "Glad I didn't lose you. I bet a lot on your return."
"Fuck," he gasped, still flinching at the throbs of pain that wrangled him. "You."
She only rolled her eyes. "I had a feeling this was going to be a lot different. You've turned ungrateful."
"I may have changed," Virgil said. "But you've always been a bitch."
She narrowed her eyes then, to his surprise, turned away. She had let him get away with it.
"We have a lot to catch up on. Dee has far surpassed you, to no surprise."
"Dee," Virgil murmured. His brother.
"I do wonder what he'll say to see you back," she wondered, and it didn't seem like one of those questions she asked, already knowing the answer. This wasn't to taunt him.
Dee had always been loyal to her. But he'd been loyal to Virgil once upon a time too. And Virgil knew something–something that could change everything.
"I don't think he'll be very happy, honestly," the witch continued, shrugging. "You did abandon him. You abandoned us."
"And you stole us," Virgil said. "You didn't do it to protect us. You wanted power. You just wanted people you could use, could brainwash so we never questioned you. You didn't adopt us; you recruited us. We aren't your kids. We're your soldiers."
"I took you from people who would have hurt you," she said, fists clenching at her sides. She had never been good at being told she was wrong. "Your magic would have gotten you killed, even as little kids."
"That's not why you took him," Virgil retorted. His arm shifted as he sat up, sending a searing pain throughout his body. He had to stop to catch his breath.
She was smirking down at him by the time he recovered.
But he wasn't done yet.
"You didn't take Dee because his family would have killed him. I know who he is."
Never had Virgil seen the witch knocked down so quickly. Never had he seen that cold wash of fear mar her face. It was almost satisfying.
"What are you talking about?" she asked in her snappish way. She was trying to hide it, though–the fear in her. If there was one thing Virgil knew best, though, it was fear.
"His name isn't Dee," he said, taking a manic sort of glee from the situation. He relished pulling this carpet from beneath her–being the one with the power for once. "His name is Jan-"
"STOP."
Virgil’s mouth clicked shut. Fear coursed through his veins once more. She towered over him and Virgil was reminded cruelly of who was really in control there.
"You will never tell him," she said.
Virgil frowned. Despite his fear, he said, "You can't stop me."
"Dee is not the only one who has been learning over these years, terror," she said. "Do you want me to try out a new spell or two?"
"He doesn't deserve to be trapped here," Virgil said. "None of us did."
The witch snatched something off her work table. Virgil sunk back into the seat, trying to shy away, but she was back in front of him immediately.
"You were always better silent," the witch said. "Less annoying to me. More terrifying to your prey. I want my little terror back, Virgil."
Virgil kept his mouth clamped shut. He knew what a potion meant.
He also knew it was futile to resist her. She was an expert.
She clenched his jaw, snapping his nostrils shut with some weird, unnecessary magic. Her nails made his cheeks bleed, that's how hard they pierced. When she found the perfect place, his jaw popped right open.
The potion went right down.
-/-
Virgil was pushed into another room–or, really, cave. He’d taken to calling them rooms when he was younger for some sense of normalcy. The characters in his story books didn't live in caves.
The witch had taken away his stories at one point. She'd hated all the questions he asked because of them. That'd been another small rebellion of his: sneaking books from the library in town. He hadn’t had many of them, but books and the sky–those were his secret freedoms.
Dee had been terrified when he'd found out. After that, Virgil had promised no more books.
The memory made him miss his library.
The room he was in now was familiar to him, despite it not being home. No books, no warmth. Three beds. A couple of scrolls and bottles, like the witch's space–those were new. Before, it had been so barren.
The only way it could have been home was because of the man in the corner.
Virgil barely knew him from the boy he'd been.
"Dee! I got you a gift!" the witch shouted, demanding any and all attention to be on her. When Dee looked up, his eyes connected with Virgil's, frozen.
Dee hadn't known.
"V-Virgil?" he asked, standing from the desk. The scrolls and the potions and the yellow sparks around him were forgotten.
“Virgil,” the witch cooed. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell Dee here?”
The words, already rising in Virgil’s throat, stopped dead in their tracks. He looked at her, sizing her up–her smirk, ready for whatever show was to come. She had planned something. That potion…. What was in that potion?
Fuck it. Virgil had to try.
He looked back to Dee, who was still staring at him like he might disappear. Virgil took a step toward him.
“Dee, she-” his voice got stuck in his throat. The words gurgled and died. “She-” he tried again with similar effect. He turned on her. “What did you do?”
“I’m making sure things stay the way they should,” she said. The witch then turned to Dee. “I brought him back for you, Dee.”
She waited, looking between the two like she was expecting… something. A happy reunion? A dramatic shouting match? Virgil wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t give the satisfaction. He avoided Dee’s eyes. Dee stayed quiet too.
The witch sighed. “Well, I’ll be back for you in the morning. Dee, you and I need to whip him into shape. I don’t think he’s done any real magic since he left.” Virgil looked up to see Dee swallow, then nod. “Good,” the witch continued, heading toward the mouth of the cave–their cave, the cave Virgil and Dee, and, at one time, Remus, had grown up in. “You two… catch up a bit.”
Then she was gone.
And Virgil was left alone with his brother. Who he had abandoned. Who was staring so intently at him right now, Virgil wouldn’t be surprised if he’d read his mind for all the answers he needed.
Virgil opened his mouth, then remembered the potion. What was he supposed to say? How much had the witch cut off from him?
Was it just about Dee’s past… or was there more?
“I take it you didn’t come back of your own free will,” Dee said coolly.
Virgil felt a thousand tons of lead pour down his throat, destroying any capacity for words he might have had. Any apologies, they were gone. Any pleads of innocence or guilt, absolutely shattered.
He had played out in his head millions of times what he’d say to Dee if he ever saw him again. But it was all gone–out the window. No coming back.
“I almost wish she hadn’t brought you back,” Dee said, turning again to his desk. Virgil’s heart was shattering. He stepped forward, unsure what to do, but his body reacted, knowing it had to do something.
Virgil stopped next to Dee’s desk, where he was looking over a scroll, standing behind his chair. Dee’s eyes weren’t really looking at it, hand clenching the paper so it wrinkled. He looked up and met Virgil’s gaze again.
“Do you have something you want to say?” he spat. “Or are you expecting me to say something? I wasn’t the one who left.”
“I had to,” Virgil tried, but it sounded weak in his mouth. Dee rolled his eyes. “Dee, we’re trapped here. She doesn’t care about us.” So he could say that much at least.
Too bad Dee would never believe him. He’d always been too loyal to the Dragon Witch.
“She took us in,” Dee said. “She raised us, gave us a home. She’s taught us and saved us–and you just wanted to get away. You couldn’t just appreciate what you had–you had to go try to find more. The world–you were always so intent on seeing it, with your books and your curiosity.”
“It’s not wrong to want to leave,” Virgil shot back. “If she would have let me go, maybe I would have come back.”
“She wanted to protect you, you idiot.”
“That’s not protection,” Virgil argued. His reluctance to speak had dissipated. He was in full-force now. “That’s being greedy. That’s controlling.”
“You weren’t ready to go out on your own. You weren’t strong enough yet. I’m surprised you’re still alive. Did you use magic at all while you were gone? Was hiding in a town really better than being yourself far away from it all? Were we not enough?” Dee shouted the last sentence. It struck Virgil, but he fired right back.
“I didn’t want to leave you, Dee!” Virgil shouted too. “Or Remus! You never would have left, though. You chose her, don’t you remember? You were all I ever had for so long, but I wasn’t enough for you. Remus couldn’t leave, but you? You wouldn’t have even if I’d asked.”
“But you didn’t ask, now did you, Virgil?” Dee said. “You decided to leave, and you didn’t even say goodbye.”
There was silence between them then, Dee's words biting right at the throats to any others Virgil could have supplied. It was so easy to forget about a world outside the caves when they were there and it felt like all that existed was them. No sunshine, no rain, nothing else and no one else.
It was simply Virgil and Dee. And all the bad blood in between.
Virgil had to turn away. He couldn’t handle it any longer. His blood was racing, freezing his veins like a river rapid. “I’m going to bed,” he said.
He walked across the room in silence, well aware of the eyes still on his back. His bed, furthest from the new desk and work space, was unused–possibly since Virgil had left. It was dusty, the blanket stiff where he lifted it. He slipped under nonetheless and faced away from Dee.
He heard shuffling, Dee turning away.
“Welcome home, Virgil,” he said.
It didn’t sound welcoming at all.
-/-
Virgil kept waking up sneezing. He really should have aired out those sheets before he decided to sleep in them. If no one had slept in his bed since he’d been gone, he was literally laying in three-year-old dust. Gross.
He’d finally gotten into a decent slumber when those same sheets he’d been complaining of were ripped off his body. Mind filling with adrenaline–fueled by years of fear under the witch’s gaze and paranoia after he’d escaped–he sat up abruptly. His hands were up, ready to spark in a moment’s notice. He’d gotten used to not letting magic fly immediately, living among those who would kill him for it.
“Your reaction is abysmal,” the witch’s voice greeted him before he could blink away the blurriness of sleep. There was only a small lamp lit in the corner to light the room, but she was right. He should have been quicker.
Now focused on her and able to make out her sharp features in the dim light, he let the purple sparks fly. It was only a threat, but he knew by now it was expected. She only respected displays of magic from them.
“Look what they’ve done to you,” she pouted, voice coming out half a sneer. “It was already hard enough to build up your confidence in magic when you were younger. We’re going to have our work cut out for us.”
She moved away from the bed and Virgil chanced a look around the room to make sure she hadn’t set anything up. A test of strength… some trap to get him to use his magic. The witch would no doubt want to see what he could do–if he had lost anything or gained others. Virgil hadn’t practiced much magic since he’d been away. While she’d already guessed as much, she would not be happy with it.
But he hadn’t thought he’d ever need it again. Sure, it was a bit depressing shutting away that part of himself, but it had also been relieving. Like letting go…
It was strange. Letting go of something so innate within him. Letting go of something that brought him equal parts joy and fear.
The first thing his eyes caught on was the figure at the desk. Dee was sitting there, wide awake. Had he slept at all? He was hunched over yet another scroll, peering at them from the corner of his eye. It looked like he’d been working for a while, under only the light of the one oil lamp. Why had he snuffed the rest of them? Surely he’d need more light than that.
Virgil didn’t have much time to dwell, though, as the witch began to speak again.
“We won’t have time for lessons today. Virgil, I actually have a task for you. I want to see what you can do.”
Of course. Virgil knew there’d be some kind of test.
“What do you want?” he asked reproachfully. There would be no getting out of it–that was for sure. But the more he knew, the better.
“Oh, you’re familiar with the task; don’t worry,” she said flippantly, taking the scroll from Dee to examine his work. Dee sat obediently, now turned towards her. He was ignoring Virgil. “Someone wandered onto my land. I want you to take care of them.”
Virgil looked down at his arm, frowning. “But I can’t-”
“I’ll fix that,” she said, not even looking up.
How was she going to do that? Remus had never been able to leave the cave–not for errands in town, not for tasks in the forest. The sigil was binding, forever.
Then again, Remus had escaped completely. There must have been a way to remove the seal. But why would she risk it with him?
For the first time since last night, Dee looked his way, gaze inquisitive. It was hard to tell in the dull light, but, when his eyes fell on Virgil’s arm they seemed to darken.
“You still haven’t explained any of this,” Virgil said, tearing his gaze away. The witch hummed, attention still on the scroll. “What kind of cruddy deal did you make with Roman? You can’t bargain away another person’s life.”
“Oh, goodness,” she said, rolling up the paper and handing it back to Dee. She rolled her eyes in Virgil’s direction. “Like it was hard. Even Dee could do that at this point. Then again, he’s been here. Practicing every day. Not hiding his magic like some coward.”
“Bullshit,” Virgil said. “Your own life, that’s always been fair game. But someone else’s- You have to be working with some dark magic now. What did you do?”
“Hm, simple divination and a good deal of love magic. I saw Roman could fall for you in… many realities, then I worked together a deal. But you’re right. It’s not usual to deal someone else’s life. But love magic is always rather unpredictable. Hard to work with, but very powerful. If you can manipulate it, you can’t even imagine all the things you can do with it.”
“Love magic?” Dee asked, speaking up for once. The witch sent a more tolerable, sort of manic look his way.
“Yes! Don’t you remember Roman? I’d get whoever he falls in love with one day. Hence, we have Virgey back here.”
Virgil tried not to cringe at the nickname. It was not one of her friendly ones. It showed she was still pissed off with him.
But another thing she said caught his attention more. Looking past the nickname, Virgil thought about “whoever he falls in love with.” She had said something similar in the library. She’d said the same thing to Roman. But, that couldn’t be true. Roman couldn’t have- he wouldn’t have-
Fallen in love? With Virgil?
That’s… not right.
“Wait,” Dee’s voice spoke up again, knocking Virgil back into the present. “That deal… that was Remus’ brother.”
“It was indeed,” the witch said, smug.
“You knew all along you’d get Virgil for it?”
“Dee, you know divination. It wasn’t a sure thing, but, yes that was my bet. What? Did you think I’d give away one of my apprentices all willy nilly like that?” she didn’t even wait for a response before turning to Virgil. Dee still seemed to be thinking, but the witch was walking across the room. “Now, enough of the talk. You know I hate all the questions.”
Virgil’s throat dried up a bit, but he tried to shake it off. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He may have been at her mercy again, but he wouldn’t cower, wouldn’t obey simply for fear’s sake.
Or pride’s sake. He wasn’t that kid anymore in many ways. He didn’t need her approval.
When she had stopped in front of him, she held out her hand. “Arm,” she demanded. Virgil didn’t give it willingly. Whatever she was going to do, it couldn’t be good.
But, he was still at her mercy.
She snatched the arm from his side, baring the sigil to the light of the lamp. Her long nails scraped lightly at it, before her palm covered it whole. Nothing happened.
He risked looking up. Her eyes were waiting for him. As soon as she could see the pain, it started, and he could see the delight she took in it. The burning, the searing–whatever neutrality he couldn’t contain on his features.
Virgil had fallen to his knees, panting, by the time it was done. She was still standing, relishing the sight at her feet. When she let go, Virgil snatched the arm back, cradling it against his chest. He could feel Dee’s eyes, but he refused to look.
“You’re granted access to the forest, but nowhere past it. I want you to take care of the intruder and come right back. Is that understood, my terror?”
“Given that I don’t have a choice…” Virgil muttered.
“Is that understood?” she asked again, patience running out. Virgil clenched his hands, but gave a stiff nod.
“Understood.”
Purple sparks flew from his palms, and he turned to grab his old cloak.
a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 3
Part 1 | Part 2 | On Ao3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
CV: It’s Roman’s birthday where I am, so Happy Birthday to him!
Thank you all again for reading and liking and commenting! You’re awesome <3
CW: Panic Attack, Injury, Blood, Weapons
@winterwynd @escalatingtoofast @prox-xima
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Roman was stuck in place, staring detached at the spot the witch had disappeared with Virgil, when suddenly something gripped his arm, and he was transported again. Remus was breathing heavily by the time they made it back to the room they'd ducked in before–deep in the castle and away from prying eyes, away from the empty library all the way in town.
Remus sat down in one of the chairs, putting his head in his hands. Roman paced the room.
After everything… every stupid precaution to distance himself, to never find love…
Virgil was gone.
"So stupid!" he scolded himself. "Of course I was in love! Of course I'm in-"
He stopped, breath catching. His hands flew up to his hair, eyes wide on the back wall as he tugged.
"I'm in love," he whispered, the words coming in full force. It felt like a freight train, barreling right through his heart. Somehow, it wasn't surprising at all. Somehow, it was the worst, the best, the biggest news he'd ever been told.
It was soft and beautiful. Not subtle, really. Roman wasn't much one for subtle–maybe once upon a time where his love wasn't a curse and Roman didn't feel like crying from the weight of his own heart.
"Fuck." His voice came out hoarse, as if he'd been screaming for hours. He knew he hadn't, but, damn, was that appropriate.
A light gasp from across the room startled him out of his slight panic–attention now on his brother. Remus was sat up straight, eyes wide on the portrait across the room.
Roman looked. It was a painting done years ago, of the king and queen and their first son. The son was still a baby, barely shown swaddled in his blankets and the queen's arms. He looked back, nervous. "Remus?"
He approached carefully, aware of his brother's mind. Remus' eyes were on the portrait, but they were glassy, slowly becoming unfocused. His hands sparked, and Roman dived to cover them. As soon as their skin made contact, however, Remus ripped himself away, knocking his chair over and backing away. He was clutching his head, breaths coming in startled little laughs.
"Remus," Roman said, lifting his hands slowly, placatingly. "Can you hear me?"
Remus was muttering, eyes darting behind Roman then to Roman then behind him again. Roman took a careful step forward, and Remus' eyes snapped to him, staying there. Roman stopped.
"Can you hear me, Remus?" he asked again. His brother's mutters stopped, and Roman took that as a sign he was listening. "Good. Do you know where you are–nod for yes, shake for no."
Remus was still, eyes shaking as they held eye contact, nostrils flared. Roman nodded then shook his head to show him. Remus swallowed.
"Do you know where you are?"
A nod. Roman almost sighed in relief, but held back. Instead, he smiled reassuringly.
"Great," he said. "Can you talk?"
The reaction was quicker: a definitive no.
"That's cool. That's why we're doing the head shake thing. Do you want to go back to your room?"
Remus thought on that. His hands were still shaking, but his eyes less so. He chomped on his lip suddenly, drawing blood.
Roman fought not to yell. It would do his brother no good to go into a panic himself. "Remus," he said as calmly as he could. "You're hurting yourself."
Remus' next laugh sounded a lot like a whimper. Roman didn't know what to do. Usually they were safe in Remus' room during a panic, not in the middle of an unknown castle wing.
"Can we sit down again, Rem?" Roman asked. Surprisingly, Remus complied rather quickly, flopping down onto the floor. He tucked himself into a ball against the wall, knees under his chin and fingers gripping them tight. His teeth hadn't let up, blood pouring down his face.
But Roman took it as the small success it was. Not getting any closer, he also sat down on the floor, nodding. "Great. This is good, Remus." Roman kept using his name. Usually that helped Remus, gave him something recognizable to latch onto.
Remus nodded. That was good.
And for a while, they sat there.
Roman had his legs crossed underneath him, giving his brother plenty of room. Remus kept himself near the wall, watching, guarded. The toppled chair stayed, and the light of the room faded. The only sound that could be heard was their breathing as Roman waited his brother out.
It grew dark.
"I want to go back now," Remus said, throat sounding like stones grating against each one another.
Roman simply nodded.
-/-
When Roman left Remus' room his heart was heavy, his hands shaking as bad as his brothers' had. The hallway was dim, the outlines of portrait frames and furniture all he could make out.
It had been a long day.
It wouldn't be ending any time soon.
Roman drew himself up and walked away from the door. His steps were sure, destination concrete in his mind. When he reached his room, his fingers barely met the fabric of a cloak before he was out again. He strode across the castle, towards the office he had abandoned with Remus before they'd gone to the library.
The pads of his fingers held all the memories of that trek. Paper, a map. Scratchy burlap, a bag. Wood and metal and more fabrics and papers. Whatever was tossed into the bag would have been important, but Roman barely remembered.
The back passages out of the castle would have been guarded. It was a plus having Remus for a brother, however, even when he barely left his room. It was impossible to keep secrets away from him.
So Roman knew the best passage out.
He drew his cloak close, his satchel tucked underneath and sword at his hip.
And he disappeared into the night.
-/-
Roman hadn't been there in years, but his feet still knew the path well. Out of the castle, through the town, keeping his head down through the night–face away from torches and townspeople and guards. No horse–too conspicuous–too loud. No torch–at least not yet. No guards–nothing to hold him back–this was his fight.
He wandered through the fields and paths in the surrounding parts of the kingdom. Usually, he could admire the beauty, take in the scene. His gaze stayed on the path ahead, a pair of purple eyes in his mind.
Until he faced the woods.
The wind blew, shadows crawled, cicadas screamed. Nothing had changed. Except, perhaps, him.
Or maybe not.
-/-
No one had cared, seeing Roman walk out of town. He was just a parentless kid who stole on market days and slept in the streets. It was just as well that he'd leave. It was a relief to the town, honestly.
Not that Roman cared about them. There was one person–one person in all the world–that he cared for. His brother. And he was going to find him.
Remus would never just leave. Not without taking Roman with him. Not without goodbye at least.
He stopped just outside the forest, feeling the wind, watching the shadows, hearing the cicadas. He was afraid.
But he was determined.
-/-
Roman was still determined.
He had come a long way from that little kid who didn't know how to fight–who had never left the town that despised him.
He knew where he was going, at least. And it wasn't his brother Roman was looking for this time.
A part of his bravery had always stemmed from naivety–even now. Roman didn't know what to expect when he arrived at the cave–if he could bargain again or fight the witch. It'd been impossible to go against her the last time, so what was different now?
Not much.
That wouldn't stop Roman.
He plunged into the woods.
As he walked, he dug around his pack, pulling out a shaft of wood, topped with oily fabric. He kneeled momentarily to light it, and, when he arose, the torch lit up the path.
Hours went by as he walked the familiar trail–only once tread before, but etched into his memory like something beautifully or horrifyingly nostalgic. He gripped the torch and sword with either hand, squeezing tighter when random noises came from the trees.
The moon wasn't very bright that night, and it barely broke through overhead. As he walked, the moon grew ever dimmer, but at least the sky became lighter in its stead. The once pitch blackness turned an inky blue until it eventually purpled in color.
Once pinks broke the skyline, Roman put out the torch, knowing sunrise would provide him all the light he'd need. Who knew what he'd need to save the torch for.
As he stashed the cooled torch back into his bag, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Eyes snapping up, he almost didn't catch a flap of fabric disappearing behind the brush.
"Hello?" he called. Nothing. “Is there someone there? I won’t hurt you.”
Roman stepped off the path, towards the brush that swayed from whoever had pushed through. A few paces in and he reached a wall of leaves which he moved aside. Behind it was a small clearing, barely big enough to let in any sun from above. Kneeled by a bush close by was a figure, obscured by a cloak. In the rosy sunrisen light, he could tell there was something off about the clothing.
There were splotches on it. No… patches. All sewn on with white thread, juxtaposing the dark fabric of the rest of the piece. It was a big mess of black and white and purple, sturdy enough with all the repairs, but probably on the edge of disaster without them. At this point, Roman would have to assume it’d be cheaper to purchase a whole new cloak.
There was something about it. Something familiar. Like he might have seen it before, perhaps in passing. Was this someone from town?
“Excuse me,” Roman said, and the figure jumped.
When they turned, their face was partially obscured by the hood. They looked up, and there was something so familiar in the tilt of their head, the quirk of their lips.
“Oh goodness! You scared me, Roman,” a voice replied, light like a chime. Roman’s eyes grew.
“Patton?”
With a quick brush of the hand, Patton pulled his hood back, revealing friendly eyes and round glasses and a freckled face. “Hey, Ro. Funny meeting you here,” Patton giggled. Roman was still so thrown off guard.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked. “It’s certainly no time to be in the forest.”
Patton shrugged. “I came for some early morning berry picking. I wanted to make Logan some more jam, and the fruit out here is so fresh.”
“You’re very close to the witch’s territory, Patton. It’s dangerous to be out this far.”
“Oh, really?” Patton said, looking around. “I suppose I must have forgotten myself. I hadn’t even realized how far out I’d gotten.”
“Well. Nevertheless,” Roman shrugged, a little concerned. He’d been walking for hours himself.
Patton smiled, weirdly oblivious. “I’ll make sure to head back soon. Don’t you worry about me, kiddo,” he said. “Now what are you doing out here? I didn’t know the crown prince could go so far without a guard.”
Roman paused. Well, he’d caught him there.
And going by the falsely innocent look on his face, Patton knew it.
“Listen, padre…” Roman started, approaching with his most amicable grin–the one that won diplomats over. Patton’s smile softened a bit, and, for a moment, Roman thought maybe he had it. “Let’s not tell anyone about this, okay? I’m doing some very important work, but it’s not really something I’ve told anyone at the palace.”
“Oh, so you’re going against the rules,” Patton said cheekily, nudging him with an elbow. “I seeee.”
“So you won’t tell anyone?” Roman asked, voice going higher with hope.
Patton, smile still affixed to his face, shook his head. “Of course I need to tell someone, silly!” Roman’s heart sunk. “I bet you Logan can help- or maybe Virg-”
Roman shook his head. “No no, I don’t need anyone’s help, Pat. This is something… something I need to do on my own.”
Patton examined him for a moment, eyes far more calculating than Roman had ever seen. It looked like the kind of face Logan might pull off, but with something more paternal. Roman knew Patton just wanted to look out for him, but he didn’t really have time for that. He had to get to-
“Here,” Patton said, something flashing in his eyes–an understanding, a decision. His hands scrambled around his neck, unknotting the string there and letting the raggedy cloak fall from his shoulders. It pooled in his hands, and he held it out to Roman. “I think you’ll need this.”
“A cloak?” Roman asked, caught off guard. “I already have one here. Surely you need yours.”
“Then we can trade,” Patton decided. “If you take this cloak, then I won’t tell anyone I saw you. Not even Logan.”
“No one?” Roman asked. Patton nodded. Roman was utterly confused, but he looked down at the fabric in Patton’s hands. What was so important about Roman taking this cloak?
“No one,” Patton agreed.
“But, why?” Roman asked. Patton shrugged.
“It’s important to me,” he said. “Could you do this for your old man?”
Roman chuckled. “You aren’t my father, Patton,” he said, but there was no malice. Roman had never really had a father anyway, unless you counted the king. But Roman barely saw him anyway. “But okay. I will trade cloaks with you.”
Deftly, Roman reached up to mirror Patton’s movements, untying and pulling away his rich, velvety, carefully sewn cloak. It was dark, but by no means was it inconspicuous in the light. He’d be recognized for a royal from a mile away. Perhaps Patton thought he was doing him a favor by allowing him to go incognito.
Roman wouldn’t be going anywhere he’d have to lie low. He was cutting through the forest and straight to the caves.
But if it made Patton feel better…
Roman handed over his cloak, trading it for the heavier material of the black and purple one. Briefly, he let it slip through his fingers, feeling the worn material on his skin. It wasn’t cheap material, but it wasn’t anything fancy. It was sturdy stuff, for winters and travel. And it wasn’t as old as he’d thought, going by its fine stitching. He wondered how in the world it had gotten torn up so quickly enough to have this many patches over it.
He didn’t think too long on it, however, noticing Patton swish Roman’s cloak around and tie it up. The hem was a little long on him, touching the ground if he so much as bent his legs. It would tangle in his feet as he walked, no doubt.
Roman pulled the patched one around himself too. Now that it was on him, Roman noticed that the length of this one didn’t seem to match Patton either. It was still short on Roman, but it would have been a bit too long for Patton. Perhaps that was why it was so worn already? The man must have stepped and caught it on everything.
But surely it wasn’t a difficult fold to tailor? Even Roman, who’d learned sewing from a stranger on his two year journey finding Remus, who was quite terrible at it overall, could bring in a cloak.
“Perfect!” Patton exclaimed, spinning around in the new garb. Roman rolled his eyes.
“Was this a ploy to take my cloak?”
“Oh, you caught me,” Patton said in a light-hearted, teasing voice–the kind of teasing you just couldn’t take seriously, and rather wanted to give the teaser a hug instead.
“I knew it!” Roman lamented dramatically, placing a hand to his forehead. “You only want me for my luxurious fabrics!”
“They are pretty comfy; you have to admit,” Patton giggled. Roman looked back at him with a lifted brow.
“You do have a point,” he said. “But this one too is rather comfortable, in a strange way. I wouldn’t usually take traveling cloaks for the soft kind. Where did you get this?”
“Oh, that’s a secret,” Patton said, hushing his voice theatrically. “But I suppose you could find that out soon.”
Roman raised a brow again. “What do you mean by that, padre?”
Patton turned, picking his basket full of berries from the forest floor. He shrugged a shoulder. “Nothing.”
Roman furrowed his brows, but before he could say anything more, Patton was moving off.
“I better get home,” he said, not turning to say his goodbye. “Good luck, Prince Roman!”
And then suddenly he was gone, disappeared through the brush. Roman stood there, staring after, not quite comprehending the quick departure. He felt like he was missing something.
But Patton wouldn’t keep things from him, would he?
Roman barely knew him. Of all the architects, he was the one he knew probably the most, but still. Roman had never let himself linger, let himself enjoy Patton’s company. Patton’s personality was like an open book, like a front door welcoming all in. He was so friendly and kind. But, no, Roman didn’t really know him, did he?
He still couldn’t picture the guy keeping secrets.
The wind blew through the trees, shining more of the sunrise into the clearing. Roman squinted up at it and adjusted his new cloak.
Well, no time to dwell on it, he supposed. He was here to find the witch, to find Virgil-
To bring Virgil home.
So, with a quick pivot on the balls of his feet, Roman turned back the way he had come. The path he’d been following would stay intact for at least another mile, and he could use all the help finding his way.
After that, he’d be in the witch’s territory, and that was where things got sticky.
-/-
Roman knew immediately when he approached the witch’s land. The path took an abrupt turn in an attempt to maneuver away. It was a well-beaten road to get to the next town over, but travelers knew better than to stray into dangerous lands. They would rather take the long way around.
And Roman couldn’t blame them. As soon as he stepped off the road, the wind beat his cloak into a frenzy, whipped across his face and his ankles, pulled and tugged and snapped. He struggled forwards, knowing the winds wouldn’t last forever. It was only the witch’s first line of defense–more a warning than anything. If you have crossed this line, you were officially in danger.
Any sensible person would turn back. Roman trekked ahead.
It didn’t take an excruciating amount of time to get past the barrier, and Roman sighed once he was free. As he looked around, he knew he had made it. The forest was unnaturally dark, with none of the dawn poking through the thick underbrush. The air was chilly and the forest floor was packed with leaves–a token of excluding travelers. It was peaceful and eerie in both parts–free of humankind seemed so natural and unnatural all at once.
Roman found himself holding a part of the cloak in his hands, passing his thumb over the material like reassurance. He hoped he remembered the way from here well enough. It had been three years since he’d traveled these parts, but he could recall the vague directions like the back of his hand.
“Keep going north. When you find the boulders, you will approach the mountains on your left. Be careful, though, because the witch will use spells to throw you from the trail. You can only approach the caves with her blessing, so make sure you have something to offer.”
Roman had had nothing to offer before, just as he did now. Nothing but his own life. She had let him in back then, but would she again? The witch had gotten what she’d wanted from him.
The directions weren’t very good, but with enough wandering he’d eventually find the garden of boulders. It was mostly up to luck at this point. Roman could be wandering for quite some time, especially if the witch found he was after them.
So he followed the trees, marking off every now and again with his knife where he had been–a quick two notch in the barks of trees. He doubted there were many fresh marks in this land with its all too little visitors, but he made his own unique to be safe.
Every now and again, there would be movement in the trees. The wind blew through the leaves, a squirrel scurried about, and deer crossed his path, staring deep into his soul before moving on. It was impossible to move silently throughout the forest with the dense layer of leaves at his feet–packed down from rain and other critters walking along.
But nothing was quite so noisy as when something ran through.
Roman heard it immediately, the quick rustle of leaves, the sound of breaking through branches, the pounding of feet. That was human. And they were running.
He moved quickly under the shade of a tree, hiding silently behind the trunk as he got out of the way of whoever was coming. It could have been the witch and, while Roman was there to face her, he had to be at the caves to do so. He needed to know Virgil was alright.
It could have also been some other traveler, maybe lost? Roman would help another traveler, but he had to see them first. It would be unwise to give himself away without knowing.
A dark cloak ran into view, and Roman tensed up, careful to hold his breath. He couldn’t see their face, but whoever it was knew where they were going. They came to a stop by a nearby tree, looking over it. Roman would have worried it was one of the ones he’d marked, that whoever this was was tracking him, but he knew for a fact it wasn’t. The last one he’d marked had been just a few paces back. He hoped this person didn’t notice it.
But that wasn’t what they were doing at all. Hand hovering over the tree, a glowing aura surrounded it, illuminating some hidden sigil on the trunk. Roman almost gasped, slapping a hand over his face to make sure to stay silent. Nevertheless, the person froze. There had been no sound, but the sudden movement would have been obvious.
Shit. Roman thought. Shit shit. They noticed me. Shit.
They turned around, other hand coming up in protection. The stance, Roman knew by now, was for magic, though that wasn’t surprising with the fact they were just doing some sort of magic to that tree. “Who’s there?”
Roman gasped for real this time, unable to hold back. He knew that voice.
From a quiet library. From frustration and teasing and silent, tenuous happiness. In laughter, in anger, in casual suggestion. A background of dusty shelves, coughing guards, a lurking curse, a realization too late.
Roman hadn’t expected to find him so soon, but there he was.
"Virgil?"
-/-
Remus awoke in his bed to the sunrise. He felt like he could sink into the mattress, suffocate in the material just to have more time to sleep. He was exhausted from the previous day, though he could only remember snatches of it.
Purple sparks. Lots of books. An eerily familiar cackle. Roman was sitting across from him in one of the rooms in the castle.
A portrait. In that room.
Remus sat up, fingers dancing against the blankets around him. Roman must have tucked him in. His brother was always doing stuff like that these days. When they were younger, Roman had always been on his case about doing dumb things, attacking or yelling at people who said all those horrible things to them. Or he’d scrunch his nose, tell him he was disgusting for all his brilliant ideas. It was fun to watch his brother squirm.
Lately, Roman did none of that. Then again, they were in a castle now. How had that happened?
Remus was forgetting a lot. He knew that. It didn’t bother him too much, even if he was curious.
When he swung his legs from the bed, his mind went back to that room–the one he’d dragged Roman to yesterday. Why had he done that? They’d sat on the floor, and there was a chair that was knocked over, and there was a portrait behind Roman as he talked slowly, carefully. Remus didn’t remember minding it last night, but today he couldn’t help but wonder why Roman treated him so differently now.
Still in his rumpled clothing from the day before, Remus got up and walked across the room, as if sleepwalking. He didn’t think too much about what he was doing, where he was going, but he decided he wanted to get there. He opened the door to his bedroom and slipped out.
He left the door open behind him and walked. Remus wasn’t supposed to leave this side of the castle without Roman, but he’d never been one to follow the rules. Roman should know that–why would he even try?
Why had Remus been listening for so long?
As he went, he decided exactly where he wanted to go. The image kept popping up without warning, like so many of his thoughts. He couldn’t quite place it, but he knew he had to see it again. There was something important about it…
Remus stopped in front of the door to the room he and Roman had been in last night. No one had stopped him in the halls, despite the castle being already quite alive with staff this early morning. Not a whole lot of them knew Remus, but no one wanted to get in trouble for impeding someone of power. They probably thought he was some sort of nobility visiting the castle. Like a duke.
Remus snorted to himself. Duke.
He walked into the room easily, his legs taking him directly to the object of interest. The portrait on the wall. He’d kept looking at it yesterday. Why?
Remus stopped in front of it.
The king.
The queen.
The first prince.
His eyes caught on the last one–the baby with its tiny, grubby hands. The rich cloths wrapped around its small form. Gods, what a horrible life that must be, to be a baby. Remus was glad he’d never had to go through that.
Remus looked into the child’s eyes. Brown, he thought. He couldn’t be sure, since the pupils were so wide.
And along the right half of his face, a birthmark.
“Huh.”
Remus couldn’t remember why that was so important.
a heart he couldn’t control (destined to love and hate and damn forever) Part 4
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | On Ao3 | Part 5 | Part 6
CV: Thanks for your patience! I've been caught up in schoolwork, my other publishing fic, and my big bang lately. I work on this fic oftentimes when I need a break, so it might be slower, but it's fun. And thank you everyone, as always, for your comments and likes! You make me so happy to be writing this.
CW: Referenced Abuse
@winterwynd @escalatingtoofast @prox-xima
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Tracking magic had never been Virgil's forte–in fact, he was more the opposite; great at hiding magic–but finding who'd entered the forest was simple enough.
They'd wanted Virgil to find them, after all.
"You shouldn't be here," were Virgil's first words to him.
Patton stepped forward. "You were missing, Vee," he said, eyebrows furrowed but voice soft. "What was I supposed to do?"
"It's barely been a day. How'd you know I was even gone?"
"You underestimate a father's intuition." Patton stepped even closer, taking Virgil's hands in his. Virgil let him–the only person he'd probably ever allow to touch him so easily. "What happened?"
Virgil looked away, ashamed for some reason. Ashamed he couldn't fight her off? That he hadn't even tried? The witch still frightened him to hell, and now he was bound to her.
"She found me," he whispered. That was obvious enough. He was in the witch's forest, after all. Patton had known to look for him there–known only one thing could pull him away without a goodbye.
"But you got away?" Patton asked, voice hopeful. He was referring to Virgil's presence outside the caves. He shook his head.
Reluctantly, he retracted one of his arms and pulled up the sleeve. Patton gasped.
"I can't leave," he said, hiding the sigil once more. "Not this time, Pat."
Not this time.
-/-
"Another intruder," Dee sighed, entering the room. "It's like they're not afraid of the witch anymore."
But Virgil had already jumped up, grabbing his cloak. "I'll get it!" he exclaimed. Dee and Remus both looked at him, shocked. Virgil recognized his mistake. "Um…"
"You always wanna get out of the caves, don't you?" Remus said, flicking a rune stone at his head. Virgil ducked. "Wish I could go out."
Virgil felt guilty suddenly, remembering the sigil on Remus' arm. While Virgil ran through the forest, Remus was stuck in here. The furthest out he could go was the lip of the caves, where he often joined Virgil in stargazing.
While Virgil dreamed of getting away, Remus was stuck in the knowledge he never would.
Suddenly, Virgil didn't feel all that great about going.
"Well, you already called it, Virgil," Dee drawled. He no doubt wanted to see how his aging potion was doing.
And Virgil did still want to go out.
He looked towards Remus, who had lounged back onto his bed, throwing more stones at the ceiling. He glanced Virgil's way.
"Tell me if you find anything cool when you get back," he suggested. Virgil was so grateful.
"You mean something gross."
"Same thing."
Still, Virgil's guilt didn't dissipate. Especially when he thought about what waited for him out there.
Or who.
"Patton," he greeted, once he'd tracked the intruder. The boy turned around, smiling a wide, tooth-gapped grin his way. The forest was always so dark, but it felt like Patton brought the light.
"Anxiety!" Patton greeted. Virgil's smile tugged awkwardly, remembering he still hadn't given the boy his real name.
It wasn't like he could hurt him at all if he knew it, but Virgil had never trusted anyone outside his family before. It had taken a long time to trust Remus after he'd joined their bunch, and Patton was an intruder. Someone there to steal, or hurt, or bargain their soul with the witch.
Virgil knew now that wasn't Patton at all. Patton was like him, like everyone in his family. But he wasn't trapped in some forest. He lived among other people, had a job and friends.
Even with his magic.
"How are you doing?" Patton asked.
Virgil shrugged. "Alright. Same as ever, I guess."
Patton's lips stretched a bit to make up for the dip in his smile. As subtle as it was, Virgil noticed it. Over the past couple months, Virgil had really come to know Patton well.
"Have things-" Patton said disjointedly, like trying the words out in his mouth, "Been… alright?"
"Yeah, I guess," Virgil said, nibbling at his lip. "You might be coming around too often, though. Dee commented on the increase in people coming in."
"Oh," Patton said, sounding disappointed. He perked right back up though, like he was allergic to negative emotions. "I had a question I wanted to ask, though."
"Really?" Virgil said, trying not to be too anxious about that. No casual question ever came after declaring the intent to question first. "Shoot," he said, trying to keep his voice level.
Patton toyed with the strings of his cloak, only a beat to contemplate before he blurted it out.
"Do you want to leave the witch's caves?"
-/-
Patton was quiet. Virgil was afraid to look up, see the crush of hope on his face. Nothing could be done. Patton hated feeling helpless, especially when it was others who needed help.
"Maybe I could spell it off?" he said, but there was no confidence in that answer. Virgil shook his head.
"Only she can remove it."
"We don't know until we try," Patton tried again, voice growing stronger. "Maybe I could. Maybe with just a little determination, strength- maybe if we both-"
"Pat," Virgil said, finally looking up. Patton looked on the verge of tears. His words died on his tongue. All Virgil could do was shake his head.
"We got you out," Patton choked out.
Virgil reached to him, unable to stand it anymore. Patton jumped into his arms, and Virgil held him tight. "I know," he whispered, eyes blinking rapidly, trained on some trees behind them. "But maybe I was never supposed to."
Patton pulled away, an angry look on his face. Virgil gawked at the expression, remembering only a few times before he'd ever seen it.
"There isn't supposed to. There is what you want. She has no right to trap you! She has no right to control your life!" Patton knelt down, picking a basket off the forest floor that Virgil hadn't noticed before. "And I'm going to show her that."
"What?" Virgil said, moving into Patton's way as he tried to go past. "What do you mean? You can't think you can actually go against her."
"Well, I'm not going to just leave you."
Virgil shook his head. Vigorously. "No. No. Your magic is strong, but, Pat, hers is so much stronger. She's a witch. She's trained for this all her life, under people who study it religiously."
"Then what do I do?" Patton exclaimed. "I can't do nothing."
"Yes. Yes, you can," Virgil said. "You have to."
Patton's eyes were misting up again. He shook his head, either to get rid of the tears or disagree. Maybe both. "No- No-"
"Patton, please," Virgil said, struggling to maintain eye contact. Because he had to get this through Patton's head. He had to know Patton wouldn't go after him.
This was the end of the road for them.
"I'll be fine," he said.
Patton looked at him, devastated. "I don't believe you."
"Thank you for everything," Virgil said. If Patton wasn't going to believe him, he might as well tell him some truths now. Something he could believe in. "I'd never had a friend before you, but I don’t think I could have had one better."
His brothers were his friends, sometimes. But never before had he had anyone who stuck around because they wanted to, that seemed happy to see him and told him stories and helped him out all because they liked him–not from obligation or family trust.
Once upon a time, he'd had that kind of bond with Dee and Remus. Not friends, but family–strong in a different way. Once upon a time, he would have done anything for them.
If put to the test, he still just might.
"You're the best friend I've ever had, kiddo," Patton said. "But don't you dare think this is goodbye."
Oh, Patton. Always so optimistic.
"Okay," was all he said.
"I'm serious," Patton said. "I'll figure out a different way to get you out."
Virgil turned, facing away from his friend now. Whatever his expression was, it'd be bad news for Patton to see. "You need to get out of her forest."
Don't come back, was the unspoken message behind it.
Patton came up next to him. Virgil refused to look, but he spoke anyway.
"Don't give up hope."
Then, with a snap of his fingers, Patton was gone in a cloud of blue smoke.
-/-
Virgil couldn’t do tricks like that. He’d always wanted to, since being able to disappear at a moment’s notice was perfect for escapes, but Virgil had never gotten the hang of it. Most of his magic came from panic, fear. Wanting to get away from a place was only half the battle with that kind of magic.
To transport, one had to envision where they’re going in their mind. You’d have to remember tiny details, like the smell of the air or the number of trees around. Patton, being naturally gifted as he was, had told Virgil once that he was able to match his emotions with certain places, focusing on that as a tether to bring him from place to place. Virgil had tried that too, but it was difficult to distinguish between his emotions in his head. He had a lot of them–he was sure of that. But he couldn’t sort them, couldn’t put names, much less places, to them.
That’s why protection charms and invisibility magic were his strong suit. They relied on intuition. Not understanding the feel of magic inside you or how it works around you. Virgil reached for it when he needed it, no thought or talent necessary. Just a pull and reaction.
Virgil had never really been good at magic–a great source of frustration for the dragon witch and an even greater source of fear for him when he’d been under her instruction. She’d tried to teach him out of books, but he just didn’t get it. She’d had him attempt all sorts of magicks–potions and charms and curses–explosion, impersonation, augury, sigils, herbs, poisons. She threw him out into the forest, locked him into dark tunnels of the caves, set him after intruders, all with the intent that he would learn something, be the student she had wanted.
He could pick up tricks, and he’d learned more than his fair share of spells, but Virgil was never great. Dee had always been the one who worked hard, did well. Maybe he wasn’t a natural like Patton, though Virgil had never met anyone as naturally akin to magic as the man, but Dee worked harder than any other. Compound it all into years and Virgil was sure Dee must have surpassed him by leaps and bounds.
That was all to say, Virgil had to go back on foot, and, despite having roamed these forests for all of his adolescent life, he was having some trouble finding his way.
“I blame repression,’ he mumbled to himself as he came across another of the witch’s sigils. It was etched in a starkly different pattern to the one on his arm, but it still made his lungs knot in all sorts of funny ways. Virgil hovered his hand over one, purple hue glowing complimentary to the light of dusk, and his mind was thrown into the right direction.
He stumbled throughout the forest all morning, trying to find his way back. He wouldn’t be surprised to see Dee looking for him soon, probably at the instruction of the witch who might have thought he’d escaped. Dee would know Virgil had gotten lost. That’s probably something he didn’t miss–being Virgil’s constant babysitter.
As the sun poked through the trees, barely breaching the thick foliage above, Virgil ran up to another sigil, getting impatient at the time this was all taking. The witch would use this as an excuse to make his first lessons horrible–or more horrible as they would have been. She had to have been looking forward to punishing Virgil for his escape.
Escape. Virgil sighed thinking of it. He had told Patton no–a definite no, no buts about it. It was impossible with this sigil. Virgil had ran away before, knowing she wouldn’t let him go, knowing she would find him again one day, and he’d pay the price. Virgil had known this was all that was coming for him.
Someone like him. Virgil was bound to this, of course. How could he have thought he could have anything more?
Magic was illegal, and he belonged to the dragon witch. Was there anywhere else Virgil could have ended up?
Still, he thought of it–thought of escaping once more–of going faraway, further away, so she wouldn’t find him this time. Maybe somewhere magic didn’t exist–or curses that led her right to him.
Could Virgil really give up this easily?
He was holding his hand to the new tree when he heard it. A gasp from behind him. He whipped around, cloak billowing slightly behind his back and smacking against the tree. Virgil brought his hands around, still glowing, to face the stranger.
“Who’s there?” he dared to ask, voice coming out gruff and defensive. There should have been no one else in the woods. The witch had only mentioned one intruder, and that had been Patton. Who else would have been stupid enough to enter the witch’s land on an early morning like this?
There was another gasp from one of the trees, a sliver of motion poked out from behind it. Virgil lifted his hands a fraction higher, nerves crawling into his throat. His magic might not have been the best, but he could still cause a bit of damage. Whoever this was wouldn’t get away with anything there.
But the figure spoke one word, taking him aback.
“Virgil?”
It was Virgil’s turn to gasp. His hands glowed brighter against his will, feeding on his adrenaline, as he once more called, “Who’s. There.” His voice sounded a bit strangled, but it was strong and demanding too. Virgil was never one to go down without a fight.
Until recently. Until a witch had grasped his wrist and transported him back to the caves, and he’d gone, without a kick or a punch.
Slowly, the person stepped out from behind the trees, a tall, straight-shouldered figure with their hands up, cloak hiding the rest of their features and face. While they remained in the shadows, standing confident, relaxed, Virgil had been caught in the light, shoulders scrunched and eyes peering fiercely from behind his hair.
Silence stretched between them as they remained facing one another, neither moving, neither speaking. Virgil held onto his magic, drawing from it the sick comfort he had learned to wield throughout his life. The other stayed undefended–a clear display of where the power between them laid–before stepping forward. Virgil’s breath went in just slightly, but he didn’t move.
And, as they moved into the light, it was his eyes Virgil recognized first.
It would have been impossible to tell in the midmorning fog, but Virgil knew them already–mossy green, both confident and self conscious, alive and unconfined. They’d always been so warm in his library’s light, despite his teasing attitude. The only time Virgil had ever technically seen him elsewhere had been at the construction site, and in the midday sun, they’d glowed–not with magic, as Patton’s often did, but with life and excitement, danger and adventure.
Virgil had never longed for danger like that. All his life he’d dreamed of freedom and life outside the caves, but it wasn’t until he’d met Roman that stepping out of Patton’s protection, the safety of his library’s walls, the known feelings and experiences he could clutch in the bindings of a book–not until Roman had any of it felt… attainable.
Virgil had taken risks in his life. Escape was his greatest risk. But there was the risk of having magic in the kingdom, the risk of leaving everything he had ever known for a stranger in the woods, the risk of saying goodbye to old family and making new friends.
The day he had met Patton, his risks had begun.
The day he had met Roman, they didn’t feel like risks anymore.
And, no, it wasn’t love at first sight. No, the risks were still there, and Virgil was very afraid of them. He was afraid of everything–the dark, change, his own magic, talking to people, facing his past. But the day he had met Roman…
Roman was an idiot. He’d been prince a shorter time than Virgil had lived there–so new to it all and inexperienced. He was clueless, truly.
But he was idealistic. He was ambitious. He was brave and strong, and he had a heart of gold.
He had all the power he could have in that little kingdom, and yet he wanted to protect his citizens.
That had confused Virgil.
The witch had never wanted to protect. She claimed to, but it wasn’t right. Every day she’d say she was keeping them from jail, from execution, all because of who they were. Then she hurt them, screamed at them, sent them into the forest alone, locked them into small spaces, burned sigils into their arms to ensure they would never leave.
Power meant corruption. It meant taking what you want, and it meant people listening to you, or else. But Roman didn’t do that.
Roman actually… wanted to protect.
Protection. It was one of his strong suits, but only in the moment. Only, really, for himself.
Virgil had always wanted to be better at protection magicks. What would it have been like, if he were ever strong enough to protect the ones he loves?
He’d never helped Dee or Remus. Never helped Patton. Definitely never Roman.
They’d protected him. All his life.
Virgil sighed, lifting his head a fraction to get a better look. He didn’t push back his hair, letting it maintain a barrier–protection. Always protecting himself.
“I should have guessed you’d come looking,” Virgil said, trying to sound aloof. He couldn’t believe he would have overlooked this. Roman was always one to dash off into danger headfirst, no thoughts about it. Even if it hadn’t been Roman’s fault, even if Roman didn’t… didn’t love Virgil or whatever, he still would have come looking to help anyone in need of it.
Roman gave him a little smile, one that Virgil found himself latching onto like a lifeline. He didn’t quite know why. Maybe it was because that smile reminded him of the kingdom, of their town and his library. Virgil had been gone for a day, but he missed it all so much.
It felt much longer. Perhaps because he had accepted it.
It was easier when it all felt faraway, like a life he had never known. Less painful to give it all up.
But maybe it was something else. Virgil couldn’t imagine what, but it felt like he was missing something. The reassurance in Roman’s smile–it felt like something beyond home and safety.
Perhaps noticing Virgil had relaxed, Roman reached up to pull down his hood, his face illuminated in the dim light. He stepped forward as Virgil lowered his arms. In that motion, Virgil noticed something all too familiar about the man’s form.
“That’s-” he cut himself off, unsure if he was seeing things right. But there was really no denying it. He raised a hand again, this time not glowing purple but pointing. “That’s my cloak.”
“What?” Roman asked, face alighting in surprise as he looked down to where Virgil gestured. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Virgil asked. “How the heck did you get that? It should have been in my rooms above the library.”
“Patton gave me it,” Roman said. “I guess I know why it didn’t really fit him.”
“Patton had it?” he asked, but it made a lot of sense. A lot more sense than Roman randomly taking it. “Of course he did. He would have needed it for the forest.”
“Yeah, he was really insistent that I take it. I traded my cloak with him, though, so he won’t be cold,” Roman reassured and… okay, Virgil tried really hard not to be charmed by it. They were in the middle of the witch’s forest, he said Patton acted weird enough trying to get him to take the cloak, but he was worried about Patton catching a cold?
“Of course Patton would want you to take it.” Virgil nodded, focusing on what he could handle at the moment. “The cloak has magic. All those patches on it? They’re woven with protection charms under one purpose: hide the wearer from the dragon witch. It’s the reason I could hide from her for so long. Any time I left the library–which is also covered with a shit ton of protection magic, mind you–I wore it.”
“That’s why it’s familiar,” Roman said, looking down at the fabric. “You were wearing it that day at the construction site.”
“Yep,” Virgil said, popping the p. “It’s good you have it. You need to stay hidden from her at least until you get out of here. It was smart Patton gave it to you. At least he had a better way out.”
“A way out?” Roman asked, tilting his head. “Wait, he was here?”
“He was,” Virgil agreed. “I sent him back. Just like I’m about to do with you, unless you want to end up in a witch’s stew.”
“What? I’m not leaving you here!” Roman rejected, sounding indignant at the very notion. Virgil sighed, an uncomfortable heat spreading throughout his body. This had been expected but, still…
“So now you’re concerned about me?” he asked.
Roman’s eyes went wide, and his mouth flapped a bit like a fish. Virgil scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“You made a deal with my life, Princey,” Virgil said, spitting the nickname out harsher than he’d ever before. He didn’t know why he was doing this. Roman was only saving his brother, saving himself when he’d made that deal. The witch would have killed them both for Roman’s intrusion. Those who entered the forest may make it out alive, but not those who found the cave.
“I- I didn’t-” Roman stuttered. Virgil could hear how flimsy an excuse it was bound to be. Roman was a good man. He knew he couldn’t defend a thing like this. He would have already thought this was his fault.
Virgil didn’t like the feeling in his chest. It wanted to forgive Roman, wanted to stand by him even if they were watching the world burn under them. He knew Roman would never let a thing like that happen under his watch, but it was the sentiment of it.
Virgil would. That’s all that would matter.
“What? You didn’t know it’d be me?” Virgil asked. “You thought you wouldn’t care about the person you, what, fell in love with? You thought you could just give them up and not care, just as long as you had your kingdom and your brother and your life.”
“Virgil-”
God, would Roman stop calling him that? He was used to the nicknames, the light jabs–not this. Not a Roman who was scared. Not a Roman who came back for him. Not a Roman who was in love with him.
“The witch probably didn’t even cast love magic on you. You know that, right?” Virgil carried on, turning his head away. He couldn’t stand to keep looking at Roman. “Just because she says you are, doesn’t mean you are, okay? So you don’t have to come rescue me or whatever. You don’t have to go out of your way because I’m suddenly some damsel or something. The witch rigged it and now-”
“Virgil.”
Virgil stopped and found himself listening. Because, damn it, something in him wouldn’t obey his own head–something suddenly wanted to hear Roman. That same frightening something that wanted to stand by him, that wanted him out of there so bad that he was willing to say anything.
“It doesn’t matter if I’m in love with you or not,” Roman said, and his voice carried over the words easily, like loving was easy, like loving Virgil was easy. “It doesn’t matter. I know it’s my fault you’re in this mess, and I’m going to get you out of it. On my honor.”
Virgil shook his head, mouth scrunching in his bitterness. His eyes were uncomfortably hot. “This isn’t your battle anymore. I don’t need your help. It’s not your responsibility either. You got Remus out. If any of us could, then it had to have been him. That place wasn’t good for him.”
“It doesn’t change that it wasn’t my choice to make,” Roman said. “I shouldn’t have traded your life. It’s wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
“You can’t change it,” Virgil insisted.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t try,” Roman said back, arguing and heated, before he took a deep breath and calmed again. “So come with me.” He held out a hand. Virgil looked at it.
“I can’t,” he said, voice coming out too soft, too… defeated. “I belong to her now.”
Roman took a step closer, drawing further out of the shadows. It was funny seeing him in the darkness, when he was so full of light. Virgil, against his own better judgement, found his own feet moving forward as well and they stood where the darkness met the light.
“You’re shaking,” Roman noted. Virgil already knew he was right. He had never been great at hiding his nerves.
“She’s going to catch you here,” Virgil said by way of explanation. He couldn’t protect Roman–not when he belonged to her. There wasn’t much Virgil could do anymore.
“I’m going to get you out,” Roman said again. Insistent, like Patton. Virgil had trouble believing either of them. He found himself winding his hand through Roman’s anyway. Roman looked down at it, then back to Virgil’s eyes, searching.
Searching… for what?
“Please go,” Virgil whispered, pleading with his eyes. If Roman was searching for something, Virgil would give him something to find.
Holding eyes for a moment longer, something passed over Roman, and he looked down.
“Then I will,” he breathed.
Virgil felt himself breathe too–far more relieved than Roman’s. That was, until Roman’s hand slipped from his.
He watched it go, like a leaf in the wind, slipping through his fingers like water. It made something in Virgil stop.
Virgil took a staggering step back, and, when he looked up, Roman was watching him go. He wasn’t stopping him.
Virgil turned to leave, heart hurting something deep and new, something he didn’t understand. He stepped forward now, walking past Roman and into the shade of the trees behind him. Before he could go, however, Roman spoke up one last time.
“This doesn’t mean I’m giving up, Virgil.”
Virgil stopped, but he didn’t look back. He closed his eyes for a moment. Evened his breath.
Then, he walked into the trees, determined that this was goodbye.
It wasn’t until Virgil was lost again, searching for another of the witch’s sigils, that he understood what hurt most about it.
That thing that had stopped in him when Roman had let go–like Virgil was holding his breath, and he couldn’t release it until he saw him again–like the world was on standby.
Virgil didn’t need a curse to understand.
But that’s okay. He didn’t want it anyway.
-/-
Dee had been sitting at his desk for an exceedingly long time. The afternoon previous, the witch had gone out, instructing him to take his studies into his own hands for the day. Over the years since they'd lost both Virgil and Remus, she had been placing a lot of trust in him with his education.
And less trust with him and the outside world.
Dee had no interest in the world outside of those caves, so it didn't bother him when she barred travels into the towns and eventually even outside her own forest. She still used him to root out intruders, to collect herbs and stones from the boulder garden, but outside of necessity, the caves were all he knew.
So studying magic was what he did. Day in. Day out. Where before spells were under her supervision, Dee was free to learn. Where books were held in fear, Dee had stacks upon stacks of them. As long as it was for magic.
When Virgil had arrived, Dee had been sitting in place for hours already, head buried in an old tome and hands wrapped around a small flask. It was an attentive recipe–focus crucial to its success. Dee had to continuously swish the mixture when he added in something new or risk the magic going flat and fizzling out.
It had been ruined, of course, when Virgil stumbled his way in. And even when he went to bed soon after their little argument, it was impossible for Dee to focus.
He sat up all night, trying to fix the concoction, only for his eyes to continuously dart to the huddled figure on the other side of the room.
Dee still hadn't slept when Virgil got back from patrol. His back was killing him, and his eyes were strained to hell. He couldn't muster an ounce of focus.
This potion was a dud.
"You haven't moved, have you?" Virgil asked. Dee didn't remove his eyes from the flask. "You won't be able to do it until you've gotten some rest, you know."
He still didn't answer back. Dee wasn't sure what it was–pride, anger, fear–but the silent treatment still seemed like an excellent way to deal with the matter.
Virgil had left. He didn't really care. And he didn't get a say in what Dee may or may not do.
He wasn't stupid. Of course he wouldn't be able to focus–not without sleep, not with Virgil looking over his shoulder, not now that he could think of nothing else but Virgil's betrayal and sudden reappearance.
Self care didn't always mean relaxing. Sometimes self care was giving your ex-almost-brother the cold shoulder until you gleaned some sick satisfaction off of his hurt.
And then subsequently felt guilty that he was hurt. Because, damn it, he still cared for Virgil, as inconvenient as that was.
So, yes, silent treatment. Virgil wasn't off the hook so easily, and Dee didn't like admitting he was hurting. He'd just take lashing out as his own little therapy and deal with his pesky abandonment issues at another date.
Or maybe he would realize Virgil wasn't still trying to talk to him.
Dee's eyes bore holes into his desk, waiting for Virgil to ask him something more, to complain about his obvious silent treatment, to get frustrated with him. Virgil didn't give up that easily. He didn't get hurt at the get-go, and, even if he did, he'd hide it with his normal grouchiness.
But he stayed silent right back.
Something sunk into Dee's gut, and he suddenly found himself reeling, clutching the table in front of him for support, despite already being sat down. Because Virgil wasn't acting the same. He wasn't doing as Dee had predicted.
Because it had been years and maybe… Virgil had changed.
Dee could usually keep his cool. He was level-headed in situations like Virgil and Remus never had. He was an observer and a denier. A data-collector and ill will ignorer. Dee could avoid a shrewd gaze with the ease of an oblivious man and the eyes of a scrutinizing one.
He could not dismiss his urge to look now. Dee couldn't feel the narrowed gaze that should have been there or the thick tension at ignoring Virgil's advice. In fact, the room seemed to lack any presence at all.
So he looked. Just to make sure Virgil hadn't left. He could have gone to the lip of the cave like he'd always done, and the witch hated that. Dee had never been above dragging his ass back.
He looked, expecting to find an empty room.
He didn't foresee Virgil once more curled up on his bed.
There he was: huddled under his cloak, which he hadn't bothered to put away. His face was hidden. His shoulders were in. Dee had seen Virgil in various stages of fear, in different shades of happiness and sadness and anger. But there was something new there, and it left Virgil vulnerable.
Vulnerability was dangerous around the witch. Virgil knew that, and it was probably the reason Dee had never seen him quite like this.
It reminded him of Remus–there in the next bed over once upon a time. On days where his eyes were empty and he would forget things. It wasn't the same, but there was something hauntingly similar between the two.
Virgil didn't give up on arguments. He didn't leave Dee to fry himself out after an all-nighter studying. Virgil didn't look like this–tired and empty and hopeless.
Dee turned himself back around to his desk and stared blankly at the book propped up in front of him.
This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the Virgil that would sneak off to the lip of the cave to look at the stars. It was the Remus trapped here, unable to see the sun most days, mind growing further from them, from the memory of a brother that would one day come to rescue him–a brother who hadn’t given up like Dee had thought.
#Aurvedainnyc #ahhcc #americanayurveda #ayurvedaholistichealthcoach #ayurvedainnewyork You always wanted to learn ayurveda but you were looking to learn from someone who was into real ayurveda andv did not deal with only beauty and skin care. You were looking for someone who was an es expert in pulse reading to an extent where th he client does not have to explain a lot as to what was happening Good news. AASHAS an education wing of American Ayurveda is launching a course in Ayurvdda Holistic Health Cozch Certification. Vasudha Gupta is the founder of American Ayurveda. Those who know her can vouch for her expertise. Don't miss this opportunity. (at New York, New York)
