A Fanciful Dream: Chapter Six
Warnings: Food mentions, Death mentions, Destruction mentions
Masterlist
Ao3
Word Count: 1635
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Virgil sat in the kitchens, watching Patton work the dough for a loaf of bread. He’d come down early in the morning, too early for anyone else to be up yet. He couldn’t sleep after his confrontation with Prince Roman . . . After he quit the job his father promised the King he’d do well. And up until last night, he had.
Virgil laid awake until the first hints of a brightening sky appeared before he slipped out of bed and had come down to find his adoptive father preparing for the day. Watching his dad work always helped him calm down when he was a child . . . And he needed it now. Part of Virgil didn’t want to go, his dad didn’t know what he’d done and Virgil would have to tell him when they saw each other. His dad would be so disappointed in him and Virgil couldn’t stand the idea of it.
“Virgil, kiddo? What do you knead from your old Pop?” Patton paused to look over.
“Oh, I, uh, I . . . I think I messed up.”
Patton frowned, “How so?”
“I told Roman I quit last night.”
“Oh.”
Patton was silent for a moment, finishing up the loaf and placing it in the oven. With a glance at the bread loaf in the oven, he came over and sat beside Virgil at the table, scooting onto the bench and talking Virgil’s hand.
“Why’s that?”
Virgil squeezed Patton’s hand, “We, uh, had a disagreement . . . I blew up and quit. Are you mad?”
“Do you still feel like it was the right thing, kiddo?” Patton asked.
Virgil shrugged, “I’m not sure . . . I was frustrated, but I didn’t need to do it the way I did.”
“Then I’m not mad, kiddo,” Patton whispered.
Virgil shuddered, “Then what are you?”
Patton smiled softly and brought Virgil into his arms. Virgil stiffened in his father’s embrace but relaxed as Patton began to rub circles into his back.
“I’m . . . worried you may be overwhelmed and made a bad decision due to stress,” Patton answered. “I know you don’t believe King Remington, but that doesn’t take away any pressure it puts on you.”
Patton squeezed Virgil tighter for a second before letting go of him. Patton smiled at his son and glanced at the stove.
“The bread should be done soon, do you want some? It was extra dough, so I can do whatever we want with it.”
“Sure, Dad.”
Patton stood from his spot on the bench and picked up his mitts from the counter. He took out the loaf and set its pan on the counter.
“We’ll need to let it cool a bit, but we can have it with some meats and cheese, yeah?” Patton smiled as he took off the mitts. “Oh! We haven’t done this since you started working for Prince Roman!”
Virgil smiled, thinking back to late nights in the kitchen with Patton, as Patton baked extra dough from the weekly supply for them to snack on. Or well, “extra dough” that appeared whenever Virgil had a nightmare or bad day. Virgil loved his father, but his father lacked subtly.
Patton hummed as he sliced up some meats and cheeses as they waited for the bread to cool. Virgil got up and walked over the cupboards to help. He got out a plate and set it beside the cutting board Patton was using. Patton bumped his hip against Virgil as he transferred the meat and cheese over to the plate.
“Thanks, Virgil!” Patton grinned. “Mind getting me the bread knife?”
Virgil opened Patton’s knife drawer and eyed the different knives until he spotted the bread knife. He grabbed it by the hilt and handed it to Patton, blade down.
Patton took the knife and began to slice the warm bread, “Want the first heel?”
Patton sliced down and picked up the heel, holding it out for Virgil. Virgil took it with a smile as the warmth spread in his hands.
-
Prince Roman stood beside his father, as the knights they sent scouting gave their report. A large dragon was wreaking havoc on the villages an hour’s ride to the North of the Castle. Entire villages were destroyed, crops and livestock scorched, and innocent lives lost. Roman shifted uncomfortably at the news and glanced at the King.
“Father-”
“Hush, Roman,” King Thomas interrupted. “We need to send a squad to kill the dragon before further harm befalls our people.”
The King sat on his throne with a deep frown on his face, as he thought over their situation. Roman sighed. He liked it no better. Roman knew how dire the situation was, a dragon was dangerous, especially one killing their people and destroying their food supply. That . . . that was deliberate.
The Witch was up to something. And she wanted them weakened.
“Father, allow me to lead the squad,” Roman insisted. “To make up for my behavior when our guests arrived. And to show our strength, to better affirm our treaty.”
The King turned to his son for a moment, quietly assessing him. King Thomas kept his expression unreadable, not hinting at approval or denial. Roman squirmed under his father’s gaze, waiting for an answer.
“Prince Roman, you shall lead the expedition to defeat the dragon in the North,” King Thomas announced with a loud voice so that their court could hear. “Prepare and leave at once.”
“. . . Thank you, Father,” Roman said quietly.
Roman bowed his head to his father and stepped down from the throne. As he exited the throne room, Roman walked with his head held high, a serious expression on his face. On the inside, he was buzzing with excitement. This was his chance to prove himself to his father! He’d never faced a dragon before, but it couldn’t be harder than the ogres or trolls he had faced.
He went to his room to pack. When his door was closed, Roman let out a cheerful shout. His father rarely trusted him with something with this level of importance. His father trusted him! King Thomas believed he could slay the beast plaguing their people!
“Virgil! My father’s actually letting me lead the expedition!” Roman exclaimed.
After a moment of silence, Roman glanced around, face falling as he remembered. His shoulders dropped and he sighed.
“Right . . .”
Virgil was gone. He’d quit because Roman was a bad Prince and a bad friend. But now, Roman had the chance to change one of those things.
Roman ran a hand through his hair and huffed. Joyle was off today, so he had to pack his own supplies. Virgil always packed for him when he went on trips with the knights, Virgil remembered every little thing, thought of anything Roman could need . . . Roman wasn’t sure what he needed to pack, but he would have to figure it out.
-
Roman fastened his pack on his horse’s saddle as his squad prepared to set off. He patted his horse on the side when he was finished. The expedition needed to go exactly as planned. Any wrong move could cost him his victory and he had to impress the King.
“Alright, Maximus. You ready?” Roman asked his horse. “This is a big one, and we need to impress my father.”
Maximus huffed and shook his head.
“Yeah . . . I’m nervous too, Max. But we’ve got this.”
Roman stepped forward to pet Maximus’ head. He ran his fingers loosely through the horse’s shiny black mane and Maximus nuzzled into his hand. Roman smiled and pressed his forehead against Maximus’ head. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, allowing his guard to fall for a moment as he took him the feeling of Maximus’ hair tickling his nose and the scent of hay and lavender shampoo to soothe his worries away.
Part of Roman was scared to fail and disappoint his father . . . Another part of him feared failure because of the consequences. The Witch’s Dragon had to be stopped before it harmed his people further. It was Roman’s duty as their Crown Prince to serve and protect his people, something he wanted to do but seemed to never do.
Roman’s argument with Virgil proved that. If his manservant, who saw him daily and knew him the best, thought of him in such a way, there was no way his people saw him as a hero. He wanted to be their hero, loved by all, but what had he done to deserve it? Nothing.
“Prince Roman.”
Roman’s head snapped up and he looked to who spoke. His father. Roman straightened his posture and stood tall.
“Father.”
The King’s face softened as he looked at Roman. Roman wondered why that was as his father stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Roman looked at the hand in shock before looking back at his father.
“Is there something you need, Father?”
Roman searched his father’s expression for a sign of what he was thinking. The King’s expression was soft, eyes glistening with a fondness Roman hadn’t seen in a long time. His lips were curled into the smallest smile.
“Roman, son, I’m proud to see you taking on this task. But if you’ve changed your mind, I can send Sir Jamahl to lead it.”
“You think I cannot do this, Father?” Roman asked, brow furrowed.
Thomas shook his head, “No, son. I’m merely concerned as you’ve never faced a dragon before.”
“Father, I can do this!” Roman pressed. “Sir Jamahl trained me well, and he is needed here to protect you and King Remington. I swear to you when I return it will be with the beast’s horn to prove my abilities.”
Thomas nodded with unease in his eyes. The hand on Roman’s shoulder dropped to his side.
“If you’re certain, I wish you luck, Sir Roman.”
Roman nodded, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”