#mage!Patton

[edupunkn00b]

Just Like Magic, Chapter 12: Home

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From Chapter 11: Heal Janus gripped his shoulder. “And you knew.” “And I knew,” Logan nodded, a bit of pride spilling into his voice. After a moment, he cleared his throat and turned to face each of them. “Janus…” A blush dusted his cheeks as he gestured to the twin fae still working in the kitchen. “I’d like you to meet Remus and Roman.”

Patton fussed over Janus as they all sat together by the fire, tucking extra blankets around him and refreshing his tea. Logan caught the twin's knowing gaze and he imagined he heard their earlier assurance, "Padre takes good care of him."

Finally, Patton settled close by his side and they listened to him and the twins recount how Logan found his mahoe bough.

“Neither of them spotted me,” Roman bragged, shoulders back and smile gleaming.

Remus rolled his eyes and stretched past Logan to reach the kettle. “I knew you were there.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Roman shook his head. “That is not the same thing and you can’t—”

“Ro?” Logan prompted, giving Remus’ hand a squeeze even as he nodded encouragingly at Roman. “Why did you sneak the bough onto the path?”

The twins exchanged a look, neither saying a word, so Logan pushed.

“I understand why you made yourselves appear young…” Recalling his terror when they’d first revealed their true selves, their explanation hadn’t actually been necessary. “But why didn’t you simply come along with Re?”

Again, there was another silent conversation between the brothers. Finally, Roman shrugged. “Well…”

“He got to meet you first… first,” Remus explained, full lips curled up in that crooked smile. “When we were kids? Remember?”

And Logan did. It had taken more than a week for him to realize his new friend was two new friends and not simply one mercurial boy whose temperament seemed to shift day to day. When Logan had figured it out, spending hours playing with both of them outside their house, he’d gone running back home, calling for his mother before he’d gotten to the path to his own house.

But even Logan hadn’t been excited enough—or young enough—to miss the worried pinch in his mother’s face and her furtive protective blessing at the mention of twins.

“You should know, Logan,” Janus murmured from the fireplace. “Not all identical twins are fae. It’s only a Southern myth that says they are.” His sharp expression left Logan wondering whether mind-reading was one of those specialties Patton had said his teacher might someday share with him. “In fact most of what is ‘known’ about the fae in the South is pure fantasy and fear mongering.”

“To tell you the truth,” he said more to the floor than to the twins. “I thought the fae themselves were a myth…” Forcing the courage to meet their eyes, Logan sighed in relief at their matching grins. He bumped Remus’ shoulder and squeezed Roman’s hand. “You’re nothing like the stories say.”

“Are you sure?” Remus teased. “We might just be hoping to drag you back to our hidden castle through a fairy circle. Make you ours forever.”

“He is ours forever,” Roman muttered, shaking his head.

Logan’s eyes widened. Roman’s lips hadn’t moved when he spoke, but Logan had heard his voice as clear as anything. “What did you—” Shaking his head to free it of his hallucination, he glanced back at Remus. Had he heard it, as well?

Remus grinned back at him before sticking out his tongue at his brother. “I told he’d pick it up today.”

“No-one likes to hear ‘I-told-you-so,’ Re,” Roman retorted silently.

“Boys?” Patton said aloud from the fire. “Remember your manners, please. Use your voices.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but he nodded. “We will, Padre,” he said aloud, offering the first tea to Janus with a little bow of apology. “Mostly,” he said silently to Logan and Roman.

Eyes narrowed even as he chuckled, Janus sipped his tea. “These two must’ve been a handful when they were young.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Patton laughed, ruffling Roman’s hair as he set down a tray laden with stew and still-warm bread. Roman smiled, not only accepting the gesture but leaning into it for a moment before heading back to the kitchen for mugs for everyone else.

Patton continued. “I think the day they tried to transform into moose to get out of chores was the day I got half of these,” he said, tugging cheerfully at the silver in his hair.

Logan found a place at the table and Roman and Remus settled on either side of him. “Did they transform inside?” Patton’s home was much larger than his own but even this space would become… dangerous with two full-size moose inside.

Laughing, the twins exchanged a guilty glance. “That wasn’t the worst of it.”

Seemingly in on the joke, Janus shook his head with a barely suppressed grin. “Transforming into an animus is the easy part,” he explained. “It’s getting out of it that requires… planning.”

“Yeah, I still haven’t gotten all this,” Remus tugged at the soft silver tuft in his own bangs, “Back to my real color.”

Roman laughed. “Are you sure you’re not just going grey like Padre?”

“Ah! The gall!” he scoffed, hand pressed over his heart. “You’re one to—” But before Remus could finish—and before Logan could stop himself—he reached over and twirled a silver lock around his finger. Remus froze mid-sentence.

“You wear the silver well,” he said, then let his hand fall back to his plate and busied himself breaking off a bit of bread to dip in the stew.

Nothing Roman said through their entire dinner could dim Remus’ grin.

~

Washing up went quickly with the five of them—well, four and a half of them: At his first yawn, Patton ushered Janus into a nest of cushions next to the fire. “You know I could get used to this,” he teased from behind one of his endless cups of tea, then looked away as though he’d said something out of turn.

Logan continued to dry the dishes the twins had scrubbed and rinsed, watching his teacher carefully. He hadn’t sounded… ill-mannered but perhaps Janus better understood the unspoken rules. Logan glanced at Roman, who nodded knowingly.

It was easy to understand everything going on when you literally had seen it all before.

But Patton didn’t seem put out in the least. Instead, he took the long way past Janus’ seat to reset a fresh kettle over the fire. He patted Janus’ knee as he passed and nodded. “I hope you do,” he murmured, nearly too quiet for Logan to hear.

Remus handed him another dish. “Do you want to know?” he asked silently.

Logan glanced again at Janus, watching his eyes follow Patton back to the shelves lining the wall next to the wood stove. Janus looked… Logan searched for a word other than ‘afraid.’ He’d watched Janus face down a dozen armed me. Why did he look afraid of Patton?

He turned to Remus and nodded. “Please,” he whispered.

“Hey, Padre,” Remus grinned and bounced over to Patton’s side. “Would you make Logan a cup of tea?”

“Oh, thank you, but that is unnecessary,” Logan shook his head. “I can prepare tea, I—”

Those kind eyes found him then and, like they had in the forest, seemed to look right into him. It only lasted a moment and a smile soon bloomed on his face. “Well, sure thing, Kiddo.” He peeked into the sink at the three remaining dishes and nodded at the already scrubbed table. “By the time it’s done steeping, we’ll be done here.”

“You heard him, Logie,” Remus danced back, rinsing the next dish with fresh energy. “Let’s keep going.” He winked over his shoulder after passing him another clean, dripping bowl. “Reading leaves works better if someone else makes the tea for you,” he added silently.

“Oh,” Logan breathed. His vision of Janus seized him. His teacher falling, a blade sticking from him as he… Janus had made him the tea that had given him that shimmer of the future. And it had… well, his vision hadn’t come to full fruition but if it hadn’t been for Patton’s ministrations it might have.

Roman turned then and wiped his soapy hands clean before putting away the dry dish Logan clung to with one hand. He kept a grip on Logan’s hands with the other. “Do you trust us?”

Busy with the dishes, the turn of Remus’ head showed he paid more attention to their conversation than it might have appeared to Patton and Janus. Logan nodded and rolled all of his hope and fear into a ball and pushed out the silent word, “Yes.”

~

The twins sat next to him, long legs folded and tucked against his as he drained most of his cup. It was likely obvious to both Patton and Janus what they were doing, but the older pair gave them as much privacy as the close space would allow, murmuring quietly to each other over their own cups of milky tea.

Shifting the dregs of his tea back and forth, Logan peered down into his cup and saw… He saw the room they were in. Fireplace blazing, bread rising on the table. Different herbs sprouted in the windowsill and three new shelves were packed into the corner, piled with books. The books he’d saved from his home, including his spellbook, were stacked neatly among them.

Patton and Janus sat close to one another, a large book balanced on their laps. The twins sat with Logan, his head resting on Remus’ shoulder, Roman’s pillowed Logan’s own lap. Roman’s hand was intertwined with his while Remus’ fingers gently carded through the hair falling over the back of his neck.

Logan’s hair was longer in the vision, well past his shoulders. He blinked lazily as he drowsed with them, warm and ensconced in softness. And love. His eyes finally closed and that was when Remus drew him back more fully against his chest and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead. Vision Logan’s eyes opened then and he tilted up his face, smiling when Remus kissed his lips.

Laughing, Roman turned and craned his neck, only laying back down when Logan gave him his kiss, as well.

Logan gasped and the cup slipped from his grip. Right into Roman’s waiting hands.

“Is…” Back in the real world, in the now, the vision wouldn’t fade, and Logan’s eyes were drawn to each of their mouths. “Is it real? Will—will it be real?” he whispered, falling into the same sort of tense confusion the twins had earlier.

“It can be,” Roman said carefully.

Remus gripped his hand, biting his lower lip. “If you want it to be.”

Logan shivered, mouth dry as he fought to make sense of his vision. This wasn’t at all what he'd expected to see. He'd expected to see some explanation for the odd, careful way Janus and Patton moved around each other. He'd expected to see whether he would master all the spells he needed to become a full mage. He'd expected to see nearly anything but…

Still smiling, Roman pulled a soft blanket from the basket next to them and laid it across their laps. “You’re cold,” he whispered, smoothing it over their legs. “And Re’s practically asleep.”

“Wha—” The candles in front of them were noticeably lower than last he’d looked. Janus and Patton sat across from them, backs straight and attention on him. Eyes closed, Remus was curled against him, still holding his hand. The other loosely tangled in his sleeve.

Janus made no effort to hide what he knew. “Would it help to talk about your vision?” he asked.  “Was it… concerning?”

Logan’s cheeks warmed and he shook his head, looking down at the blanket Roman had laid in his lap. It was the same one from his vision. “No,” he finally said. “Not concerning a—at all. It was…” He smiled when Roman took his other hand and leaned close. “It was rather nice, actually.”

Not pretending to understand, Janus nodded. After a long moment, he returned to his quiet conversation with Patton, leaving the rest of the questions swimming in his eyes for another time.

Logan settled back against the cushions and Roman moved with him, his own sleepy eyes drooping. They’d helped him carry Janus on the day's hike back to their home. And stayed up with him the night before while he’d waited for Janus to wake.

It seemed, though, even fae needed sleep. Head heavy on Logan’s shoulder, Roman, too, was soon asleep.

Before long, Logan felt sleep’s embrace pulling him down to join them. As he was about to drift off, Remus curled closer, one long arm wrapped tightly around his middle. “You never do choose,” he mumbled close to his ear. Uncertain if he was even awake, Logan craned his neck and was met by bright green eyes smiling back at him. “And you won’t ever have to.”

~

Patton and Janus’ conversation quieted as they watched the trio fall asleep. Whatever Logan had seen lost its bite under the twins’ gentle care. The phantom ache in his side reminded Janus that Logan’s visions were accurate to the point of pain. Learning to cope with the knowledge of what was to come could be… challenging. Especially if he tried to bear the burden alone. He hoped that between all of them gathered in Patton’s home, Logan would decide to confide in one of them when he needed.

Though Janus couldn’t quite allow himself to hope that they would be there for long.

“So when you left our school to study in Kalgree, you went South instead?” He wanted to sound stern or perhaps even a little angry as they returned to their earlier discussion. The catch in his voice betrayed him.

“I was called,” Patton shrugged with a little wince, and stood to drew a thick knitted blanket over the three of them. “The boys were children. Barely more than five when the village exiled them. If they’d been human they…” He shook his head, dark clouds hiding his ordinarily sunny smile. “They wouldn’t’ve survived, Jan.”

“Like the miller’s child,” Janus frowned into his cup.

Surprise flashed over Patton’s face but it didn't last. Two decades raising precognitive fae seemed to have made it unnecessary to ask how Janus knew about the third child the town had banished. “Like the miller’s child,” he nodded. Patton settled on the cushion next to him, thigh to thigh. “After I’d found them, the boys wouldn’t leave the woods. Not without Logan, they said.”

“You said they called you?” Janus tilted his head at his student, face slack and smooth in sleep. How many of his luminaria had been going to these fae?

“Their powers called me. Drew me here. I couldn’t’ve resisted if I’d tried.” His little smile told Janus he was glad for it, too. “Their powers run through this whole forest. I don’t think they’ve even discovered the full extent of what they can do yet.” He watched them sleep, face softening into that fond little smile.

“They’re of the forest,” Janus murmured, the magic he’d seen swirling through the woods suddenly making more sense.

Patton nodded. “It’s what drew them to Logan when they were children. I…” He shrugged and finished Janus’ neglected cup. “I don’t know how much they consciously understood then.”

In sleep, the trio piled together in a tangle of limbs and interlaced hands, pups snuggled close. Patton refreshed both their teas, watching him watching them.

Janus murmured a thanks and blew at the hot brew before taking a careful sip. “Will they leave the woods now that he’s with them?”

Carefully resting one arm over the cushion at Janus’ back, Patton drank his own tea. “They’ve told me for years they go wherever he goes.”

Janus sipped his tea, swallowing back the question fighting its way to his lips. The fireplace crackled across the room as he counted his breaths, waiting for Patton to say something—to say anything that might draw the conversation down a different path.

He never did. Eventually, Janus’ cup emptied and he whispered into it, “And what about you?” The question sat between them as he turned the cup in his hands.

Patton finished his tea and had set down the empty cup, butter yellow curls shining in the afternoon sun. “Thank you, Jan,” he grinned, meeting Janus’ eyes. “Just what I needed for the road ahead.”

Janus’ tea had grown cold and he stared down into the pale brew. Don’t leave. They don’t need you in Kalgree as much as I need you. Please just stay here. Stay with me. Stay—

“Stay safe,” Janus said instead, passing him his travel satchel.

“You’ve enchanted it,” he’d smiled, hefting the loaded bag easily with just two fingers. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you, Jan?”

Eyes wet, Janus had ducked his head as he cleared away the cups. “Always, Pat.”

Patton was smiling when at last Janus looked up. He took Janus’ empty cup and set it next to his own, then he held his hands, calloused thumbs rubbing circles into the backs of them. “Let’s find out together,” he whispered, raising Janus’ hands to his lips. “If you’ll have me back, that is.”

“Just go to your own room before you get all ‘reacquainted,’” Remus rumbled from his spot curled against Logan’s left side. He winked at them over the blankets then settled back with a sleepy sigh.

Stifling a laugh, Janus nodded, allowing Patton to help him to his feet. “Always, Pat.”

Epilogue

“Very good,” Janus nodded, hefting another stone as Logan readied himself for the next attack. “Keep your staff high until you’re prepared to…”

“To take ‘em out!” Remus cheered from the doorway. He tugged at the satchel looped over his shoulders and skipped down the steps to meet them.

“Re!” Roman called after him. “You left me with the heavy one!”

Remus rolled his eyes and sat cross-legged a few feet from where Janus was drilling Logan's defensive charms one last time. “They’re enchanted, Ro Bro! They're all the same!”

“It’s the principle,” he muttered, pout melting when Patton gave him a side hug.

"Perhaps we can trade bags for the trek back home?" Logan suggested with a soft smile.

Roman preened, nodding as he blew a kiss back. "Thank you, Lo," he said before shooting his brother a frown. "Someone understands."

"I understand, I'm just saying—“ he silently shot back.

“Okay, Kiddos, let's let Logan get in one more round, please,” Patton said, shaking his head. He sat next to Remus and smiled up at the dueling pair. “Show him how it’s done!”

“Precisely which one of us are you cheering, Pat?” Janus asked, smiling too much to sound annoyed.

Patton simply shrugged and beckoned Roman closer to watch with them.

“You've got this,” the twins’ voice filled Logan’s mind and he shot each of them a quick smile before raising his staff just in time to block the fiery stone Janus lobbed in his direction.

Janus laughed as the twins leapt to their feet and swept Logan up in a hug. “Well done, Logan!” he said, moving closer to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re ready.”

Nodding, Logan stood a little taller as his teacher adjusted the clasp on his new blue cloak. “And you know who to look for,” he said for at least the tenth time that day. Janus raised a single finger when Remus inhaled, ready to speak. “Do not speak his name until someone speaks it first. No matter the inroads we’ve made, two fae and a Mage traipsing into the village and asking to meet a toddler named Virgil will not end well.”

“I was going to say 'doesn’t Logie look good in blue,'” Remus said in mock offense.

“No you weren’t,” Roman muttered.

“Yeah, no, I wasn’t.” Remus shrugged and winked at Logan. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“They’re ready, Jan,” Patton murmured, hooking his arm through Janus’. “We’ll see you tomorrow if all goes well?”

Janus thrummed his fingers against his staff. “And tonight if it doesn’t.”

“It’ll go well,” Roman and Remus said in unison, laughing as they headed toward the creek and the village beyond the edge of the woods.

Logan lingered, and waved one more time at Patton and Janus. Patton held Janus’ hand close to his own heart, the only sign his teacher was more anxious than he was willing to admit to his student.

But Logan didn’t need that morning’s vision to know the twins spoke the truth. “It will go well,” he said, smiling. “See you both tomorrow,” he added over his shoulder as he hurried to join his old friends and his new future.

[esqueletosgays]

DEMENTIA 13 (1963)

Director: Francis Ford Coppola Cinematography: Charles Hannawalt

[dragonjanusisthebestjanus]

The Two Princes, Part 1

Pairing: Janus x Logan x Remus (Intruloceit)

Twin princes Roman and Remus meet The Dragonlord

Trigger warnings: Fire, depictions of violence, Remus being Remus.

Read it on ao3 here!

Taglist: @prince-rowan-of-the-forest @sleepy-nova-tea

“Bet your horse can’t trot as fast as mine!”

Roman chuckled as his brother took off. 

“When will he learn, Desponia? You’re much faster than your brother,” Roman snapped at the horse's regions. “And so am I!” 

He took off after his brother with a hyah! Desponia trotted as fast as she could, easily following Remus and Airon’s tracks. He soon caught up with his brother, who smirked at him.

“Bet your horse can’t jump as high as mine!” 

“What? The only thing to jump around here is- Remus!”  

Remus smiled and took off for the ravine.

“By the gods. He’s going to kill himself one day.” Roman muttered. 

He cantered after his brother, trying to conserve Desponia’s energy. They were on a three day hunting trip after all. By the time he made it to the ravine, Remus was already on the other side. 

“Come on Ro-bro! I’ve got something to show you!”

Roman chuckled. “Ready, Desponia?”

The horse whinnied in response. Roman backtracked a few steps, and with a bounding leap he and Desponia cleared the ravine. 

“Ha! Remus, you should really know by now, anything you can do, I can do better!” 

“Even hunting a dragon?” 

“Of course! Of course! One would have to leave The Dragonlands, though. And that hasn’t happened in over a thousand years!” 

Remus smirked and dismounted his horse, Airon. Roman followed suit, and followed Remus a few steps into the forest. 

“Explain that, then.” 

Roman couldn’t believe what Remus was pointing to. It was indeed a large footprint, with three toes and three claws protruding from it. Could it be? Could a dragon be in Roman and Remus’s kingdom? 

“It can’t be.”

Remus smiled and shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” 

Roman nodded in agreement. The two princes returned to their horses, gathered their weapons, and slowly followed the tracks. The pair moved in sync, as they had so many times before. The Princes were experienced hunters, having trained since they were young. 

Their Aunt Patty demanded it be so. 

Roman and Remus’s parents were killed when they were very young. A group of assassins snuck into the castle on the eve of their fifth birthday. Their parents had thrown them a grand ball. Remus was sneaking around the castle, trying to avoid a punishment from their governess. Roman had been dancing with his mother in the ballroom. 

His mother must’ve heard the pistol cock. He remembered her messing up the dance, putting herself in front of the assassin. The coward shot her in the back, causing her to fall on to Roman. 

“Messalina!” Their father attempted to run to her aid, when another shot rang out, killing him as well. 

Roman had clung to his mother as the ballroom erupted into chaos. He kept his eyes closed as people ran into him as they tried to escape. 

“Mother? Mother, please wake up,” he begged. He knew she would know what to do. “Mother?” 

Remus was wandering the halls, laughing as ‘Nanny Red’ chased him. 

“Remus Capet! Your parents are waiting for you! You come put on your formal wear this instant!” 

“No! I won’t and you can’t make me!”

Remus wishes he had. Then maybe he could’ve said goodbye. 

He rapidly turned a corner and ran into a mage wearing a dark robe.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going Mister!” 

The Mage chuckled. “Prince Remus, I presume?” 

“What’s it to ya?” 

The Mage started an incantation, and threw a blue glow in Remus's direction. Remus jumped out of the way, laughing.

“Ha ha ha! Can’t catch me! Can’t catch me!” The Prince avoided every spell the mage threw at him, before finally running off and hiding in a cupboard. 

That’s where ‘Nanny Red’ found him hours later, after the entire staff had searched the castle high and low for him. And with the assassins in the wind, they had all feared the worst. 

“What? What could I possibly have done this time?” Remus asked.

‘Nanny Red’ dragged him into his room, where he was met with a crying Roman.

“Ro-bro?” 

“Re-Re!” 

Roman had enveloped him in the tightest hug. They were locked in their room until the next night, when their Aunt Patty came to be their guardian and regent until they came of age. 

A day that was quickly approaching. 

“The tracks end a few feet away,” Remus whispered. 

Roman nodded in response. He started to walk towards the end of the trail until he heard a CRACK! 

The Princes stopped. 

CRACK! 

Roman pointed to their right, and Remus nodded. They slowly headed towards the noise, readying their weapons, when a loud roar echoed throughout the forest.

“WHO DARES ATTACK A DRAGON'S MATE!?!?” 

Roman had enough foresight to grab his shield before the fire began. He and Remus hid behind it until the fire stopped.

“Well, guess we found the dragon!” Remus cackled. 

“Janus! You should not have come this far from the cave!” 

A mage with broken glasses, disheveled hair, and torn clothes appeared from the bushes. 

A large, golden dragon landed next to him and nuzzled into his arms.

“I’m sorry my love, but I heard them following you and worried you might’ve been in danger.” 

The mage chuckled. “Who, these two? Please! I could take them in my sleep.” 

Roman made a noise of offense. “Excuse me? I am the crown Prince, Roman Capetian of Reston. I have training in all forms of combat. There is no way a scrawny mage like you could ever defeat me.”  

The mage scoffs. “Scrawny? Please. A few months in this wilderness may have affected my body, but my mind is still brilliantly inact, your highness.” The mage whispered an incantation, which sent Remus flying into the air. He landed back next to Roman, laughing and clapping his hands.

“Again! Again!” 

The mage rolled his eyes. “Come, Janus, you should not be this far from the cave.” 

“Not so fast,” Roman pointed his sword at the mage. “Who are you, and why have you brought a dragon into my kingdom?” 

The dragon growled and stepped between the mage and the sword. 

“Janus,”

“Drop the sword, highness.” The dragon spat. 

“Not until you leave.” 

The dragon growled, and Roman drew back his sword.

“Janus!”

The dragon and the prince lunged for each other. The mage quickly cast a spell, causing the two to freeze.

“Whoah, how’d you do that ?” Remus asks.

“M-magic! Now, could you please, please get your brother away from Janus? I can’t hold this spell forever!” 

Remus nodded and pulled the sword from his brother's hands. He took hold of Roman’s chest, and nodded to the mage. He released the spell, causing Roman to thrash in Remus’s arms, and the dragon flew into the trees. 

“Remus! Unhand me this instant!” 

“Sorry Ro-bro, no can do! I wanna find out more about these two hot tamales.” Remus winked at the mage as the dragon flew back to them.

“Logan, what was that for?” He growled. 

The Mage, Logan, scoffed and crossed his arms. “I’d prefer it if we didn’t cause an all out war between Reston and the Dragonlands. Especially in the state we’re in.” 

The dragon huffed and sat down next to Logan. “I suppose.” 

Roman continued to struggle in Remus’s arms. “See? They’re giving up! Let me go!” 

Remus rolled his eyes. “Roman, stop it. They’re clearly not here to cause us harm. Will you please stop?” 

“Never! A true warrior never gives up!” 

Remus gave a slow whistle, and soon their horses came galloping through the woods. The dragon snarled at them, but they remained unphased.

“Logan, would you be so kind as to get into the left saddlebag? There should be some rope in there we can-“

“Remus! How dare you! This is high treason! I’ll have you arrested!” 

Remus rolled his eyes again. “Oh please. You and I both know I commit way more treasonous things than this daily, and you have yet to have me arrested.” 

Logan graciously got the rope and tied an intricate knot around Roman’s wrists. Remus had the horses kneel and sat Roman atop of Desponia. 

“Allow me to introduce us more properly. I am Remus Capet, Prince of Reston. This asshole is Crowned Prince Roman the Idiot. And you two,” Remus took Logan’s hand and kissed it. “Are two of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen.” He offered his hand to Janus, but the dragon either didn’t know what it meant, or had no intention of giving him his hand. Or… claw? Remus wasn’t sure what the proper terminology was. 

The mage and the dragon shared a look. A long look. Finally the mage turned back to Remus. 

“Greetings, your highness. I am Logan Crofter, student at the Le Fey School of Magic. And this is Janus, The Dragonlord.” 

Remus’s eyes widened. “The Dragonlord? As in, ruler of all dragons?” 

The Dragon nods.

“No offense, but what the hell are you doing here? I mean, we’re very happy to have you, but, what the hell are you doing here?”

The dragon looked away from them. Logan sighed. 

“We were attacked. Other dragons got… jealous of Janus and I’s relationship. We were driven out and Janus… Janus was wounded.” 

The dragon growled. 

“Well I’m sorry Janus! But it’s true! You’re injured and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it because we lost The Fire Ruby!”

Janus growled even louder, then took flight. Logan sat on the ground and put his head in his hands. 

“You ok Lolo?” Remus sat down next to the mage. 

“Please, please don’t call me that.”

Remus nodded. “You alright, Logan?” 

“Janus has been… difficult since his injury. Dragons are proud creatures. He doesn’t want to admit he needs help. I admit it… can be rather difficult. It took me almost failing a class to understand that…”

Remus chuckled. “Well, what if you’re the one who asks for help?” 

“Wh-what?” 

“Well, if Janus is as attached to you as I think he is, if you were to say, come back to the palace with me, wouldn’t he follow you?”

“Perhaps, but,”

“Well then,” Remus stood and offered Logan his hand. “I would like to officially invite you and the dragonlord to the palace. So we can help you, of course.” 

“I…I accept.” 

“Wonderful.” Remus winked as Logan accepted his hand. He helped the mage to his feet and led him over to the kneeling horses. 

“No! Remus! I refuse to have them in my castle! Remus, are you even listening to me? Remus. Remus!” 

…

Janus had begrudgingly come back to the palace with them. He refused Remus’s generous offer to allow Logan to ride with him, and instead insisted on flying the whole way there. 

“Janus, this is ridiculous! You’re wasting an unnecessary amount of energy! Energy you could be preserving to help yourself heal.” 

“You know that that’s impossible.” The Dragonlord growled. 

“Since you refuse to let me try, I refuse to believe it.” 

They made it back to the palace two days later. 

“Your highnesses! Is everything alright? You weren’t expected back for- holy heracles! Is that a dragon?” 

Several guards raised their weapons towards Janus, causing him to become startled. He hurried to stretch out his body, allowing himself to look bigger than he was. 

“Ah! Janus!”

In his haste, Janus threw Logan off of his back. Remus leapt off of his horse, somersaulted, and managed to catch Logan in his arms. 

“Oh, um, thank you, Remus.” Logan said. “You ah, you can put me down now.” 

“Ugh, if I have to.” 

“Let me GO!” 

The guards managed to get some nets around Janus’s muzzle, and one began stabbing at his injured leg. 

“No! Don’t hurt him! Please!” Logan tried grabbing at one of the guards, who easily shook him off. 

“Enough! Guards, stop this!” Remus demanded. 

The guards immediately stopped. Logan pushed past them and started pulling the nets off of Janus. 

“Your highness,”

“As long as they’re here, no harm is to come to the mage OR the dragon! They are my official guests. Understood?”

“Yes, your highness.” 

“Good. Do me a favor, deposit his royal asshole-iness to his chambers will you?” Remus handed the horse's reins to a guard, then ushered Logan and Janus past them all. 

“Remus! They cannot stay here! Remus, Remus!!” 

…

Remus opened the doors to an old barn. 

“Nobody uses this place anymore. Not since…”

Not since his parents died. 

“Anyways, you can stay here. Unless you’d prefer a small cramped room in the castle?”

Logan and Janus looked around. 

“No. This will be just fine. Thank you, Remus.” 

…

Remus didn’t hate to admit: Logan cleaned up very nicely. The Mage had been in and out of the castle over the past few days, haggling various things off of servants. Soap, hot water, food, and books just to name a few.

“You know, I can assign a servant to you. Might save you the trouble of having to haggle with everyone.”

The Mage looked up from a book he had been reading. “Oh, um, that would be nice, I suppose. Thank you, Remus.”

Remus’s heart fluttered every time Logan said his name.

Well, his heart and his dick. 

It didn’t bother Remus that The Dragonlord already had a claim on Logan. If anything, that made him even more alluring. I mean, the literal ruler of dragons being your lover and protectorate? Where could Remus sign up for that?

“You know, I think that’s the third time this week I’ve seen you read that book.” Remus says. 

Logan tucked his hair behind his ears and blushed. 

“Yes, well, it’s, it’s the only one I’ve managed to get. I suppose I should return it-”

“Nonsense! If you like it, it’s yours! In fact, follow me! There’s something I should show you!” 

Remus grabbed Logan’s hand and raced through the castle. 

“Remus! How many times have I told you- no running in the castle!” 

“Sorry Aunt Patty!” Remus hollered back. 

“You-you have an Aunt Patty too?” Logan asked. 

“Of course! I think everyone has an Aunt Patty, don’t they?”

Logan didn’t know how to respond. Remus continued running, cutting corners quickly and throwing open doors. Finally, he reached a large set of double doors, where he stopped. 

“Oof. Well, ok, Logan. We’re here.” Remus turned the knob on one of the doors, and let Logan inside. 

“Oh. My. Gods.”

After Remus caught his breath, he followed Logan into the castle library. 

“I-I can’t believe it. I’ve never seen so many books in all of my life!” Logan looked around the room with wonder. 

“Do you like it?” Remus asked.

“It’s…it’s wonderful!” Logan replied. 

“Then it’s yours.” 

“Wh-what?” 

“It’s yours. Nobody ever comes in here. There’s honestly probably more cobwebs than books,”

Logan interrupted him with a kiss. 

“I-I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I just…no one has ever done something this nice for me. Well, except for Janus, I suppose. But, I mean, he hasn’t done anything like this!”

Remus grinned from ear to ear. “Logan,”

“I…I should go.”

“Logan,”

But the mage turned away, and left his book behind. 

…

That night, Remus woke up with claws against his throat. He opened his eyes, to see bright green ones glaring back at him. 

“How dare you.” 

Remus made a small choking sound, despite Janus’s light grip. He supposed he could scream for the guards, or even grab his morningstar he stashed under the bed. But honestly? Remus wanted to see where this was going. 

“How dare you corrupt my darling Logan? With your… flirtatious jokes and -and your books?” Janus hissed. 

“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to cause you-”

“Well you did! I mean, inviting him here? Giving him that library? Are you trying to steal him away from me?” 

“What? No!”

Remus sat up, causing Janus to let go of his throat. He took in the dragon’s halfling form. He maintained his golden wings and tail, as well as some golden scales across his face. His nails were actually claws, and his bright green eyes were reminiscent of his dragon form. 

He was gorgeous. 

“Then… Are you using him to get to me? Lord some sort of power over me? I’ll have you know it won’t work. I’ll burn this entire castle to the ground before you can harm a single hair on his head!” 

“No! Where the hell are you getting all of these ideas?”

Janus slid back a bit, giving Remus more space to sit up.

“I… I don’t understand. What is your game then, Prince?”

Remus laughed. “Game? There’s no game! I just think Logan’s hot as hell! I wanna blow his back out! And you,” Remus leaned forward and closed the space between them. “You could blow out mine.” 

The dragon blushed. The dragon blushed! It was so cute! Remus couldn’t help but run his fingers over the now pink-tinted scales on Janus’s face. The dragon once again met his eyes, then quickly darted out of Remus’s bed and out the window. Remus huffed and laid back down. 

“Damn it.” 

…

Remus knocked on the barn doors the next morning. 

“Hey can we, can we talk?”

Janus was still in his halfling form. He and Logan were sitting on a large pile of hay, bodies entangled as Logan read a book. 

A new book. From the library. 

“Yes of course, Remus. Come in.” Janus said. 

“I just uh, I just want to apologize for yesterday. I’m sorry if I overstepped. With the library and the uh…” 

He didn’t know what to call what transpired between him and Janus. 

“Anyways, I uh, I wanted to know if there’s some way I can make it up to you? Not in a weird way, I mean. I uh, I should just leave you two alone. I’m sorry. I’ll go,”

Janus shot out of the hay, toppling over Logan. He grabbed Remus’s hand and whispered “don’t”. 

“A little warning next time?” Logan stood up and brushed the hay off of him. 

“I’m sorry darling. I just didn’t want him to walk away.” Janus took Remus’s face in his hands. “While your methods were… questionable, your intentions were… romantic?”

Logan scoffed. “The same could be said of you, Janus.” 

“Yes yes, I suppose. The point is, Logan and I have discussed it. You’re a very powerful ally to have, Remus.” Janus pulled Remus in for a kiss. “And we want you to be with us.” 

Remus didn’t know what to say. 

“Remus? Are you alright?”

Remus pulled Logan into a kiss. 

“I’m wonderful.” 

…

Remus spent the next several days with his new lovers. For once, Roman was happy with them, as they somehow managed to keep Remus away from his usual hijinks. 

“Come on come on come on come on! You have to see the vault! There’s some jewelry down there I cannot wait to-”

“Please, Remus, spare me the details.” Roman sighed. “Besides, this is NOT a pleasure visit, in any sense of the word. It’s our annual budget discussion with Aunt Patty. To section out how we’re going to spend all this gold to better the kingdom? You do realize this, right Remus?” 

Remus didn’t seem to be listening. He was now entranced by Janus’s fully human green eyes. His wings had been too wide to fit down the stars. He held Remus’s hand as they descended down the stairs, pretending his right leg didn’t ache with every step. 

Eventually, they reached the bottom of the long, winding staircase. Roman entered the code to the vault, and they all stepped inside. 

“Oh, oh my.” Janus literally licked his lips at the sight of all the gold. 

“Don’t worry, we don’t keep much of it. We re-distribute it as equally as we can back to every town in the kingdom, so they can spend it on what they need.” Remus said. “We find that the more improvements we make for our people, the more we get in return!”

Janus seemed to be unable to contain himself. “Remus,”

“ I don’t know what you’re thinking, but go for it Jannie!

Janus shifted into a smaller version of his dragon form, then literally dove into the large pile of gold. 

“Ah yes. I suppose this is quite like your horde back home.” Logan says.

The dragon nods and dives back into the gold. 

“Oh! Lolo! There’s a beautiful sapphire necklace around here somewhere. It’s going to look so good on you while you-”

“La la la la! No details Remus!” Roman called. 

“Remus, what, what’s this?”

Logan held up a red gem. Janus stopped and stared at it.

“That? I think it’s a ruby from Frogtown. Hey! Frogtown borders the dragonlands doesn’t it? You can totally have it if you want it, Lolo.” 

Logan nodded and turned to Janus. “Is it-”

Janus nods. “It’s lost its power, but it’s a-”

“Fire Ruby.” The two say in unison. 

“Huh? What’s that?” Remus asks.

“I thought, I thought you had the last one?” 

Janus shook his head. “Apparently not. Give it here.”

Logan tossed Janus the ruby. Janus dove back into the pile of gold, and re-emerged a moment later. He had attached the fire ruby to a golden chain, and was handing it to Remus. 

“This is a Fire Ruby. It is the only thing powerful enough to heal a dragon. I reactivated it with my fire breath, and melted this chain to it.” 

Logan helped Remus fasten the necklace around his neck. 

“I want you to have it, Remus. To keep it safe. Can… Can you do this for me?”

Remus wiped away a few tears and held the necklace in his hands. 

“Yeah, yeah I can do that, Jannie.”

[an-organized-confusion]

Brotha Lynch Hung's horrorcore collab with Tech N9ne and Hopsin "Stabbed" is just making me think of Pat gleefully saying "Knives!"

Before explaining abt hot knife videos. :,D

But also just imagining Remus being terrifying with knives.

Because Reasons.

I dunno man, Intruality Serial Killer AU?? ?

[greenninjagal-blog]

Here Comes the Sun (pt5)

Contrary to popular belief, I do occasionally still write apparently. Can you believe it? Anyway! If you want a refresher on what’s been going on [click right here] or if you want to read from the beginning [click right here]! 

Summary: After the second worst day of his life, Virgil wakes up and goes to find out where his best friend and the guy he tried to kidnap ended up. For some reason all of this feels like the calm before a storm.

Words: 15469 (ask me why its taken forever to get this one out)

Quick Taglist:  @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @iceshard1011

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Chapter Five: Flood Warning

The Rules had been a mostly drunk joke between them. It had happened a few weeks into them travelling together: they had come to stupid little town in the middle of nowhere and all the people were hateful to them even after Remus had taken care of their Vulcan infestation and returned both a kidnapped teenage girl and an older guy that had gotten taken host by the creatures Take Over Magic to the village.

Remus had threatened to destroy a few of their buildings and that at least had sent most of them scurrying for cover in their own houses with the thunder warning them to not come back out. The bar owner in particular had been a nasty fellow, so Remus and Virgil unanimously agreed that they would raid his place, get drunk, and then skip town before the Magic council was called on them or an actually sanctioned guild showed.

That was the night that Remus had told him Everyone Leaves.

And Virgil had responded with What if I didn’t? Because he’d been drunk and an idiot and Remus was the safest place he had ever known. 

“We need a set of rules,” Virgil had said, washing himself over the counter, nearly placing his face into the interesting patterned wood grooves.

“I like breaking rules,” Remus had said, draining the last of his barrel of wine. Virgil had laughed at his face when he tossed the empty barrel to the side, woozy at the idea of how his liver was still functioning. He had been so glad that he hadn’t taken Remus up on that drinking bet earlier.

“No,” Virgil said. “No, I mean like… our rules. Rules for us. We make them and keep them and stuff.”

“Sounds boring, Virgie.”

“Your face sounds boring.”

Remus grinned with all his teeth on display and Virgil had flicked wine-flavored water at him because his clothes had just started drying out from the fight and that was illegal or something.

“You pick the first one,” Virgil said. “I’ll make the second.”

“Hmmmmm,” Remus leaned back on the bar stool so far Virgil thought he’d fall. He thought about lunging to catch him if he did fall, but the world was pleasantly swimming and Virgil figured if he stood up he’d condense himself into a puddle and forget how to turn back to a human.

“Rule Number One!” Remus said. “No Killing Each Other!”

“You couldn’t kill me even if you tried,” Virgil said. “Fine. Rule Number Two! No Killing Anyone Else!”

Very Sensible. Killing people would get them arrested and stuff. Remus was laughing at him, but it didn’t sound mean. Remus was never really mean to Virgil.

“Rule Three! No Talking About Shit The Other Doesn’t Like!” Remus says. “No askin ‘bout my brother, no forcing you to talk about your parents, nothing about from before we met unless we wanna. And other things too, if we think of ‘em.”

Virgil nodded along with it, nearly sliding off the bar counter. 

“Rule Four! Never Go Where the Other Can’t Follow!”

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

A great one actually. He’d been so fucking proud of it; everyone leaves, but not Virgil. Everyone gets tired of the rain, but not Remus.

He wouldn’t need anyone to actually love him; if they both just followed the rules and pretended like it, one day Virgil might be able to trick himself into believing it and that stormcloud over his head would go away. 

***

Virgil wakes up in cold water, his human form diluted off and the bottom of the basin covered in mud and minerals. He’s decently surprised: both him and Remus must have been in bad enough moods that Remus didn’t even attempt to come in here and unplug the drain and send him sloshing out of the pipes for shits and giggles.

It doesn't bode well. There’s a distinct difference between The Lack of Remus (curious, entertaining, possibly amusing) and The Lack of Remus (VERY FUCKING BAD). Virgil likes to think that he’s familiar enough with his best friend and their whole situation to know which one this is, not that it takes more than a few seconds of struggling to form a thought to also remember the previous… everything.

Virgil's head is still throbbing with the tell tale feeling of a headache even before he manages to convince the water that makes up his body to come back together to form his head. Honestly, he's beginning to think that Logan's "Evil Orb" attack hurt him a lot more than previously suggested-- which considering that Virgil’s pain index is on another scale entirely... well it certainly says something about that fight. Pure magic attacks always were finicky when interacting with him: whatever elements made up "evil" probably dissolved into water really well.

Virgil chose not to even consider if Logan knew or didn’t know about that. Targeted attack or not, the fact was that Virgil was feeling the aftereffects of it and wasn’t a fan and it was impeding his ability to go find Remus and….

And do something.

What a pain.

Instead he draws his form back together, careful to keep the minerals and mud off his form as he painstakingly adds drop by drop into himself. A leg, an arm, ten fingers, ten toes, mouth, eyes, nose, heart-- He focuses for a moment on the poison, prodding it to see if he might be able to convince it to drop into the mud as well, but in the end he backs off. Much better to be alive with the curse on him, than have whatever's left of his body discovered by Remus whenever he decides to come looking because the sun appeared in the sky and…. Did whatever the sun does.

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for his clothes to form again after he has most of the standard human look back in the right order; the black material traces the edges of his preferred form, wrapping around his limbs to secure the shapes of each so he didn’t have to waste 90% of his focus on remembering to keep the heights of his kneecaps the same so he could walk. It had been a pain to get it made and it had cost a fortune, which had made the other kids at the orphanage upset-- something about it not being fair that Virgil got new clothes when they didn’t just because he was a freak-- and the orphanage leader had picked out the color herself without his input, citing that black went with everything. 

It had been his one gift throughout the years.

Virgil had thought about picking up a ColorS just to change the color of it, but the devices were never programmed with a shade of purple that he liked (too dark, too red, too pink…). He’d have much better luck reaching out to the developer in Clover City and with a swatch of the color he wanted and just paying for a second suit.

But like. Money.

His head pounds. It’s too early to be thinking about money problems. Or any problems. Or just… thinking in general.

Light streams in from the windows, a hazy gray that's accompanied by a light sprinkle, that feels more like being sprayed with a squirt gun than actual rain. Virgil watches it start to get harder as his body and brain wakes back up more and more. An inverse relationship: the more Virgil is awake, the further away the mythical sun is from sight.

The good news is that it’s day again. The bad news is he’s not sure what day.

His leftover pocket materials are still where he left them on the floor, along with a tipped over bottle of soap he doesn’t remember dropping anymore than he remembers not dropping. It doesn’t seem like Remus had been in here; nothing’s too out of place from what he remembers. But that also doesn’t mean shit: Remus sometimes went whole weeks without proper hygiene because he just didn’t care enough, until Virgil physically forced him to take care of his body before he killed someone from the stench alone.

((Remus, of course, had thought that was an excellent attack ability to add to his repertoire. Virgil had strictly vetoed it by drenching him with water every three hours until he promised to take his own showers.))

Virgil shifts around slightly, testing tentatively his weight on his legs again, as he gathers up what was left of his supplies. The paper money hadn’t been touched-- still the same measly amount that he’d brought on his adventure yesterday that had come right out of his savings-- the multitool he spends a few seconds checking the springs and hinges to see if the rain or mud had gotten to it. He crumples up the map of Magnolia and specifically that nice little townhouse in the hope that maybe ruining the picture would ruin the memory too.

But then he shifts too far and the minimal lighting catches on a bit of silver on the sink counter.

Out of all the things, the spoons look the most sadly pathetic and out of place in their bathroom. Virgil’s hands hesitate before he picks one up, the pad of his thumb tracing over the simple pattern on them. He tries to imagine the faces of those Star Burst members when they realized that Virgil had made off with their spoons. 

Daydream-Logan is endlessly baffled by it, theorizing on the hundreds of things that Virgil might have needed spoons for in the middle of a kidnapping, going as far as to wonder if the kidnapping was a cover up for the theft, and daydream- Roman is fuming throwing out insults that daydream- Patton tells him aren’t nice, to which there’s the snapped reply that Virgil isn’t nice. It’s amusing right up until daydream-Envy and daydream-Malice burst in through the windows and destroy the entire daydream-apartment and kill daydream-Roman and daydream- Logan and kidnap a still crying daydream-Patton.

He shoves the spoons into his pockets with a clatter; It’s too early to be thinking about that, too.

He creeps out of the bathroom, but doesn’t mean much. Remus isn't in the room and there’s no sign that he had been there for a while. His bed is untouched from where Virgil remembered him lounging yesterday when he’d come back, the hilt of that sword he’d been snacking on was still tossed carelessly by the door, Remus’s boots and his leather jacket were gone from the sad pile of dirty laundry Remus liked to keep in the corner to scare Virgil at 2am.

 Virgil's stomach twists at the memory of his face last night: both his dragon force coming out and the idea that he'd rather not talk about one day escaping than risk hoping for it before finishing with the final blow of the casual, painful way he had implied that Thomas Sanders would never want him.

Normally they would pretend it never happened; Remus would make a clever insulting remark about Virgil's generally terrible deposition and Virgil would snark back something about stupid looking outfits and ride along with the conversation from there because it was as close as either of them could get to apologies without breaking into hives. If it was super bad, there would be food based bribery involved.

It's not like Remus to run away first.

Which means something bad is going on and Virgil slept through Act I of it. 

His poncho is hanging over the heater, dried and cleaned from the mud that had been on it yesterday-- he checks the clock by his bed, and yep, it’s been nearly twelve hours. Remus must have really felt bad if he went ahead and washed it himself even though Virgil has other ponchos he can wear, and Remus doesn’t even know what a washing machine is.

Well. Virgil isn’t going to make a man grovel. 

He grabs it off the hanger and slips it on relishing in the buzzing feeling he calls warmth, as close to a hug from Remus as he’ll get for now. It smells like Vanilla, aka Virgil’s personally preferred detergent that Remus doesn’t even like, much less keep in stock.

Oh.

 Oh, he really felt bad.

Virgil feels bad for how much Remus feels bad about this. Honestly it wasn’t even like Remus was wrong. Virgil had been overreacting and acting like a brat; Remus had just revealed that his entire childhood had been wiped out by murderers who got away with it and his brother was alive and fine and apparently never really considered that Remus might have survived at all and all Virgil could think about is that he was sad that the greatest good mage in the world wouldn’t like him after he kidnapped and nearly drowned three of the man’s guild members.

It’s so stupid. He owes Remus an apology, and he’s not sure spoons are enough for it.

He wrings his hands through his poncho and promises himself that he’ll buy Remus some like rusted tire irons or something next time he’s able to. Remus liked rusted things from what Virgil remembered; it added flavor or texture or something to the metal that he liked to gnaw. Sometimes if Virgil brought him back a big enough metal item, he’d turn it into something else like mini statues that fit in the palm of Virgil’s hand with remarkable details down to the folds in the fabrics that left Virgil particularly confused about where he learned to do that and why are these so well made?

((Remus’s answer always is just a grin and him asking if Virgil wants to find out what else his tongue is good at.))

He laces his shoes, hanks up his hood, and takes a deep breath.

The door was still damaged from last night; in fact it’s in a worse shape now, considering it looked like Remus forwent trying to keep the hinges intact. There’s a solid inch gap between the wall and the door now and two noticeable boot sized prints in the poor metal door. Honestly, Virgil is a little surprised the noise of Remus leaving hadn’t woken the dead back up, much less woken up Virgil from his nice little coma-nap.

Virgil tries not to think too hard about it all. He dodges through the gap and reforms on the other side of the door, stretching out his watery form and testing his control as he walks towards the common areas.

As much as Virgil hates the idea…if Remus is answering a call from Guildmaster Clay, then Virgil should probably position himself somewhere to find out where Remus was. It wasn’t often that Clay went to the trouble of separating them: the fact that Virgil stayed instead of running that first night, the fact that Virgil had gone a one on one with Greed for Remus’s contract, the fact that Virgil and Remus had did everything together had alerted even the Guildmaster to the idea that they worked better together than apart. 

((Honestly, it was really the fact that Clay separated them for this that spelled Virgil’s own loss against Roman, Patton, and Logan. If Remus had been there…. Well it wouldn’t have been quiet, but it sure as hell would have been quick and successful.

Together they could get anything done. And if Virgil was ever in the mood for a terrible, agonizing death, he’d even tell that to the Guildmaster himself.))

For most of Remus’s missions and jobs it was understood that Virgil would be right along next to him, lurking like a shadow, covering all his blindspots. It wasn’t like anyone else the Guildmaster sent to supervise Remus would do it. As such, Virgil’s place was generally beside Remus. If he wasn’t there it was because he was given orders to do something else and it was better to stay out of his way until he got it done. 

But Virgil highly doubted that the Guildmaster would be even remotely pleased to see Virgil’s face. At best he’d be interrupting a plan, at worst Virgil would be inviting his own murder to happen and Remus would live on thinking forever that Virgil was upset at him. So that’s a no.

It was likely that by now Malice and Envy were back. They were always generally in decent moods if Virgil entertained their need to boast about how they won their battles, and probably wouldn’t be against sending Virgil towards Remus (most likely with a jovial threat to deliver like Virgil is Remus’s errand boy). But Virgil didn’t know if he could stomach listening politely to whatever Malice did to Logan--embellished or not-- and he definitely wouldn’t be able to keep cool with Envy started showing off her crystals of concentrated Dragon Slayer Magic she pulled out of Roman before he could even manifest a candle light. So no to both of them.

Pride wasn’t the type of person that Virgil trusted himself to be around. If Virgil moved too fast he could still feel the buzz of electricity coursing through him, boiling him inside and without someone to tell him that Virgil was necessary for whatever grand big plan, Pride wouldn’t bother stopping an attempt to kill him. 

That leaves…. Greed.

Well. The bright side is at least Virgil always knows where Greed likes to lurk.

***

Virgil hears the raspy wet coughing laugh long before he actually sees Greed.

The script mage looks unextraordinary compared to other members of the guild: he has none of the flashy bejeweled outfits that Envy likes to flaunt around to make people look and remember, none of Malice’s warped scars that speak of how little he cares about keeping his enemies in one piece, and none of Pride’s pretentious, precocious aura which maintains a fifteen foot radius of personal space around him at all times. What Greed does have is a gnarled spine that causes him to slump over nearly half his height and walk with a cane, and a long overcoat riddled with age and which trails after him by nearly a whole foot, making him appear like just another old man who is still in denial that his prime had long passed. His skin is graying out, spotted in strange places, and clinging to his bones so loosely that Virgil always gets the impression that the flabs are seconds away from dripping right off him. His hair had been white and wispy since before the founding of the Magic Council and very clearly it hasn’t gotten any more flushed. He squints very hard when he first meets someone new as if he can’t see them all that well, and can hear them even less well.

He looks like a man who is desperately alone, desperately sad without grandchildren to take care of him; a man whom the gracious guildmaster had offered to take into his business to give him a bit of purpose in what remained of his sad, lonely life.

That had been Virgil’s first impression of him (back when he and Remus were eighteen and giddy with disbelief that a guild might actually want them) and he still gets furious with his younger self for having felt pity for the guy who looked like a stiff breeze might have knocked him over directly into a grave.

“Still alive, are you?” The man croaks out, part of a cough wet and raspy and Virgil finds himself wishing that it would develop into an incurable disease already. “The guildmaster is going soft in his old age. In my day, your kind wouldn’t have made it back from your first job, much less survived long enough to screw up as much as you do.”

“Do you practice these lines in the mirror?” Virgil asks, doing his best to keep his hands out of sight in his poncho lest Greed see how much he’s actually shaking. “Or does being an asshole that no one likes just something you know how to do naturally?”

The man wallows out a wet laugh again, leaning on his cane and showing off his yellowed teeth. “Careful, Boy. You better be sure this guild won’t miss you before you start throwing around challenges like that.”

Virgil’s decently sure that no one would miss Greed too terribly much either. Vastly over assuming his value to the Guildmaster is a hobby that Virgil thinks the man would enjoy. Right along with trapping teenagers in unbreakable contracts and haunting a library of tomes detailing forgotten magics he didn’t think anyone else was worthy of even looking at. Virgil managed to sneak into the library only once, searching for Remus’s contract that Greed kept behind layers and layers of traps, but in the end the thing that had fucked him the most was Guildmaster Clay putting a hand on Virgil’s collarbone and saying “You know better than to try that again now, don’t you? You can keep this as a reminder, Virgil.”

Virgil shakes off the memory, pretending like he doesn’t notice the rain rapping against the windows in a very telling way. Based on Greed’s gurgle, it doesn’t get past him either.

“Do you know where Remus is?” Virgil grinds out.

“Yes.”

Virgil waits for more and the man continues with his uneven pace right by Virgil as if he hadn’t said anything at all. For a moment Virgil considers throwing the full force of his Water Cane at his hobbling weak form and seeing if the ancient protection runes magic carved into his limbs under his cloak could protect him from being torn apart at point blank range.

((Of course if it had been that easy, Remus never would have been stuck here in the first place.))

“Where,” Virgil says, between his teeth, “can I find Remus?”

“One day you aren’t going to be able to keep mooching off that boy,” Greed spits. “Although I supposed that’s the only way your kind survives in these ages, isn’t it? Those damned Magic Counsel fools writing those laws declaring you creatures humans, making it a crime to send you back to the elements you came from! If it were up to me--”

 “We don’t have to do the whole song and dance every time--”

”--You hover over that boy’s shoulder, taking credit for the good work he does for the guildmaster, siphoning off his potential, and pitifully whining at the guildmaster until he gives you another chance, just to disappoint--”

“Will you just tell me!” Virgil says.

“--mannerless, talentless--”

“Why did I even bother!” Virgil hisses out. Thunder rumbles outside the castle, and Virgil spins on his heel away from that asshole of an old man, mentally hoping that the guy drops dead in an hour or two. He supposes it's also thoughts like that, that would make him a terrible Star Burst mage. 

“It’s your fault!” Greed adds. “That Malice and Envy ended up getting as hurt as they did! Those damn brats were supposed to be your problem but then you went and screwed that up and now both of them are in the infirmary--”

Virgil freezes. “What?”

Because it sounds like Greed is saying that Malice and Envy lost. He makes it sound like Roman and Patton and Logan managed to fend off two of Shadow Force with less than no warning and no real powers thanks to Envy’s magic. He makes it sound like the Star Burst’s Mages were still alive and that Virgil failing his task hadn’t signed their death warrants.

“Wipe that look off your face, Boy,” Greed says. “They still completed the mission you should have done, you useless, waste of--”

“Greed.”

The old man stops immediately in what he’s saying, but Virgil knows better than to be relieved at that. From the shadows (like an asshole with too much time on his hands), Pride strolls out, eyes narrowed and unimpressed with the situation. The air seems to tense around them, charged with electricity that triggers all of Virgil’s fight-or-flight instincts and the scent of burning flesh wafts between all three of them for a second. 

“The Guildmaster requests your presence, Greed,” Pride says, with a sneer that speaks to volumes about how Pride feels about being used as a messenger, when he’s… well, Pride. Lightning flickers over his shoulder, tastefully suggesting all the terrible things he could do with it and Virgil and a dark hallway that everyone avoids.

Greed humphs, shifting his grip on his walking stick. He turns away from Virgil, cloak trailing after him like a snake and Virgil considers stepping on it and watching the man choke and fall over. Pride, however, is watching him, and Virgil knows better than to move without permission.

The rain batters the windows, distant lightning briefly illuminating the sky to the rhythm of Virgil’s heartbeat. It’s a long moment, where Virgil balances on the precipice of throwing himself through the floorboards and hoping he can make it to the room underneath them without too much trouble before Pride decides to eliminate him entirely for his own entertainment.

It wouldn’t take much. Barely a twitch of Pride’s fingers, and Virgil is fast but even he’s not faster than light. The energy would hum in his body, stiffening his limbs until he turned into a doll and then Pride could simply tilt his head and send all that racing towards that poison in Virgil’s chest. Virgil would feel the excruciating pain, maybe even get a chance to scream before he exploded into thousands of droplets of watered down poison and his consciousness had nothing to cling to at all. 

Remus would know he was gone by the way that sun glittered on the dew drops, by the way that he realizes that he hasn’t heard the sound of rain in a while, by the way he turns around and there’s no annoying rain witch standing in his blind spot like a shadow he can’t get rid of--

“Remus is downstairs in the cellars,” Pride says. “Go.”

And then he turns away heading back down the halls as if the interaction had never happened and Virgil wasn’t worth his time and Virgil hadn’t been certain that his own death was about to occur.

Virgil pretends the tremble in his hands is from the rush of knowing where to find Remus.

***

Honestly, Virgil isn’t sure the cellars in Chimera Tongue’s castle-shaped Guildhall had a truly thought out purpose. They were nearly always damp and cold due to the fact that Virgil keeps the entire region decently flooded and miserable with his storm, and the fact that the stones used to build the castle and its foundations were about as good at insulation as Virgil was at turning off his storm.

Thus, guild members don’t tend to like going into them very often. The cellars hadn’t housed alcohol since before Virgil had first arrived, and he highly doubted that it would after Virgil’s mysteriously unimportant disappearance and other than having empty cavernous rooms with little light, there weren’t any upsides to going down there.

Remus and Virgil had been together a few times, looking for a place to spar when they weren’t on a job and didn’t want to deal with other people. But as their ability to read each other had grown, the need for space to utilize more moves or create new ones had also grown, and Remus had gotten a taste for kicking people out of the way when he wanted to use a space in the upstairs gym areas.

Virgil skips using the doors to check which of the cellars Remus is in. It’s far easier to borrow the pipes and slip through the unsealed cracks in the walls without having to worry about anyone else asking what he’s doing wandering around in the dark and possibly doing something about it.

And well…Virgil doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he’s also not going to tempt fate into making him a believer by just… waltzing around in a possibly haunted basement. Of all places to be haunted, Chimera Tongue’s Guildhall would surprise Virgil the least.

The first two cellars are empty, without dust even being remotely disturbed. It’s quiet as a tomb in all of them, and Virgil is about to suspect that Pride sent him on a wild goblin chase when he plops into the third and finds it surprisingly halfway full of people loitering around like it was a funeral wake. 

Bewildered, Virgil shifts back into his human form, settling on a support beam over their heads encased in shadows that make the prospects of spiders clinging increase tenfold. All at once dozens of more human senses come back: the murky scent of perpetually wet earth, the faint taste of rain and a distinct lack of any type of tingling that might suggest warmth. If Virgil was a creature that actually breathed in the sense of taking in oxygen from the air and pushing it back out, he would have expected his breath to condense as he searched through the heads of guild members for Remus. 

It’s not even remotely hard to find him.

Remus is wearing mostly black today, with green accents and silver chains whose ringing are the only noise this far beneath the castle. The cut of his shirt is jagged and harsh and leaves enough skin showing for his guildmark to be on full display to everyone even with his leather jacket on, which Virgil knows Remus hates people being able to see. He’s sitting on a long forgotten and abandoned table, one foot up on the flat surface, next to a brown paper bag that seems to have been untouched for a while. He’s looking bored out of his mind and angry about it as he swings his free foot back and forth and causes the slight tingtingting of his metal laced laces to make contact with one another. 

At each cling the entire room seems to hold its breath, waiting to see if Remus is going to pounce on the nearest person and start giving them free dental work to solve the apparent lack of entertainment.

Nearby Remus, just out of reach, is a smaller form sitting against the side of the table curled into a ball and slightly shaking. It takes Virgil far too long to recognize him.

Patton doesn’t look good, not that Virgil expected him to. He was familiar enough with Malice and Envy’s particularly sadistic form of hospitality to be surprised that Patton has all of his fingers. 

From his vantage point above, he’s able to see that Patton is covered in bumps and bruises so dense that Virgil can’t tell where one starts and others ends. There’s a shallow scrape along his cheek, something too deliberate to have been a battle accident: Virgil has a sneaking suspicion that if he got close enough he’d be able to see what freckles Malice was playing dot-to-dot with on Patton’s face. 

His arms are bound at the wrists with coarse rope behind his back, tight enough to leave uncomfortable marks digging into his skin every time he twitches. He is sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, and although his ankles weren’t tied, his head is bent in a way that suggests he realized that running wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Virgil can make out the cracks in his glasses where some not-so-gentle force had been applied in order to get him from his safe and cozy Star Burst home to their damp and dark and miserable castle. 

It seems like Malice and Envy didn’t give Patton a chance to activate one of his tracking cards.

Or simply, there was no one to come for him anymore. Like a phone call that will never be answered.

Virgil wonders if Remus had realized that Roman might be dead, or if he cared at all. He isn’t sure how he himself felt other than very super awfully terribly bad.

He didn’t like Roman, and didn’t like him even more after knowing that he chose himself over Remus, chose Patton over Remus, chose and acted like Remus should have still been grateful to call him “brother”, but part of him thought about the pure grief in Remus’s body, about all the words that Remus deserved a chance to say to Roman, about how closure was a lot harder to get when you wanted it from ghosts. 

Also he kinda liked Logan-- annoyance about his assumption that Virgil didn’t try to control his power aside. He was intimidating and strange in the same way that Remus was intimidating and strange, even if his intimidation came from being far smarter than Virgil, where as Remus’s was from being far stronger and a lot more insane at times.

There are a few other guys around, none that Virgil recognizes enough by name. He thinks he saw one of them use gun magic once, and another picto magic, but honestly…they're grunts. The guildmaster probably doesn't even know their faces and he probably would toss them into a losing battle as fodder for fun.

((The grunts don't know that of course. They think they're powerful, part of an elite force, something to be feared. They've never been invited to a fancy study and been handed a contract and watched their best friend try to carve off his skin after he signed his name…))

“Jeez,” Virgil says, letting his voice echo in the otherwise silent room and forcing the weakness out of his mind for now. “Remind me never to let you babysit again.”

Most of the grunts startle, which is somewhat amusing to see in the corner of his vision: sparks of light, a few curses, that break the tenuous silence, and the jerky movements of them trying to get back into their intimidating dick measuring stances while still looking around for the source of the disembodied voice. Virgil’s been making people jump at shadows since he was seven but there’s something magical about seeing grown men suddenly fear for their lives.

The only two people who look up are Remus and Patton.

Patton’s clearly been on edge for far longer than his rich heir or his Star Burst mage body knows how to manage, but also he seems to relax a bit when he recognizes that the newcomer is someone he’s met before. Virgil does not think too long about that-- he doesn’t think about it at all actually. Nope. No thinking. He doesn’t even know what he would do with the realization that maybe Patton felt a modicum of safety in Virgil’s presence, like Virgil was likely to be a wall between him and all the bad people down below and it wouldn’t end with both of them dead.

Remus tilts his head just enough to let Virgil know that he also picked up on the way that Patton’s shoulders had shifted down just a bit and his breathing had hitched and then evened out. But beyond that, in atypical-for-Remus fashion he doesn’t make a move to acknowledge it.

Virgil thinks he might be too busy trying to wipe the relief of seeing Virgil wearing the hoodie he painstakingly cleaned before any of the grunts noticed.

“Oh, hello there, Bath Water,” Remus says cheerily, dropping his foot to the ground and shooting to his feet with an excited maniac energy that definitely causes the grunts to look nervous and back up. Most of them have enough common sense to learn from past mistakes of getting caught in Remus's bad moods. The few that don’t…well they don't usually survive for round two. “I thought you were dead!”

“Unfortunately for us both, I still draw breath on this wretched plane of existence.” Virgil says, stretching as he teeters on the beam above them, watching Remus’s hands for any sign of metal expanding over them. “How long was I out for?”

“Twelve hours, give or take,” Remus waves a hand theatrically in the air as if he hasn’t been worried about him, hasn’t been counting the minutes down, hasn’t been missing Virgil at all. “I would have woken you, but I was enjoying the sunshine, shithead.”

There’s a fierceness to Remus’s grin. His tongue piercing rolls over his teeth with a clink clink clink, but Virgil can get the underlying message easily without it. Clay had called him with an order to assign him to this babysitting job, and Remus had complied.

At least there aren’t any bleeding marks on his arms from what Virgil can see. Virgil counts his blessings, if that could even be counted as a blessing. It seemed that more and more, Remus stopped fighting back and that knowledge paired with their unfinished conversation from last night doesn’t bode well for his mental state.

Virgil doesn’t know what he’ll do if Remus gives up. He doesn’t know what he can do. Hope the Magic Council arrests them both and puts them in a cell together, pretty please?

“Yeah, well, hope you enjoyed the sun while it was here,” Virgil says, boredly because he’s heard every variation of the sun is better than your company and Remus doesn’t actually mean it. Probably. “I’m here to ruin everyone’s lives now. Whoop-de-doo.”

“Aw, and you don’t even try.”

Patton makes a sharp wounded noise. Virgil tells himself that it's because Patton breathed too deep and a broken rib caused a pinch of pain, rather than entertain the idea that Patton had almost just defended Virgil against a Metal Dragon Slayer who put rebars through people on a whim sometimes.

“Got something to add, Ace?” Remus snarls at the card mage and Patton shakes his head. “That’s what I thought. Go back to pretending like you have Roman’s dick in your mouth.”

“Now that was crossing a line,” Virgil sighs, as fury so white hot crossed over Patton’s face that even some of the grunts inched backwards. Remus, however, doesn’t look even remotely intimidated: arms behind his head, each of his metal rings clink, clink, clinking together as he flexes his hands like he’s imagining gripping Virgil’s neck and squeezing. 

“If he didn’t want me to say it, he wouldn’t act like the sun shines out of Roman’s ass,” Remus snaps. 

“If you were jealous of your twin's ass, you could have just asked me for an affirmation,” Virgil says. “I’d let you know that yours is flatter any day.”

"If you wanted me to paint the walls with your insides, you just had to say the word, Virgin! Three more days of sunshine coming right-fucking-up.”

“It doesn’t feel like it would be enough,” Virgil comments with part of a yawn to show just how impressed by the threat he is. Virgil leans against the supporting beam, making sure that Remus can see his bored expression from down there. “I need like three more decades of straight sleep.”

“I can arrange that. I would be fucking peachy to arrange that,” Remus says, cracking his knuckles so loudly that the sound echoes in the room. His black nail polish glints in the low light. “Though I should warn you that no amount of beauty sleep is going to fix your face when I’m done with it.”

“Careful, Remus, or people are going to start assuming you have standards.”

He grins with all his pointed teeth, metal creeping over his neck, shiny and unbreakable even against Virgil’s strongest pressurized water attack. “What exactly are you doing here, other than being extremely punchable, Wastewater? Don’t you have somewhere else to be where you can disappoint your dead parents a bit more?”

“Ouch,” Virgil comments blandly. “Are we at the dead parents' jokes, already?”

He pretends he doesn’t notice how their large audience is quietly watching their back and forth with very little variety of expressions on their faces. Most of them are taking steps back, carving out an arena that Remus looks far too hungry to see, to feel, to use. The tension along Remus’s shoulders reads like a fucking book: the bumbling, brash, bubbling need to destroy something whether it be someone else or himself. Patton looks too soft, too worried, too nervous and Virgil forces himself not to glance at him and ask why do you look worried for me? Why do you care what happens to me? Why do I make you feel safer after everything I did to you?

Virgil swallows and tugs the brim of his hood higher over his head. “Came to see what you were up to, Loser. Heard there was a guest and I’ve never known you to be a good party host.”

Remus barks out a laugh that could have been confused with something gargling glass fragments. Patton jumps slightly at the sound of it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a shuddering breath. 

“Oh! I know how to throw a great fucking party! Me, Patty, and all our friends here are playing a fun party game called no one says shit and I don’t break anyone's face again. Several people have already lost. You can join in if you want, and shut the fuck up before I put you in the ground where you belong.”

Virgil snorts. “Me? in the ground? Please. You couldn’t beat me if you actually tried.”

“I definitely could, spritz.”

“You seem to be misremembering how our last fight ended.”

“What makes you think it ended?” Remus growls out. “Come on down here, Virgie. Unless you’re too much of a coward.”

“I can take you down in forty-five seconds.”

“I’m counting.”

They stare at each other for a second, two, three… and it’s just that Remus looks so ridiculous looking up at Virgil for the first time. He’s a foot taller than him, and had so many times plopped his arm on Virgil’s head as a rest, or accidentally put a fist through Virgil’s face when telling a story because he forgot Virgil’s short. From this angle, he has to crane his neck, nearly breaking it, to get a good idea of where all of Virgil’s limbs are, and it almost looks like he’s just glaring at the sky about to fight the rain for making Virgil sad.

Virgil just can’t help it. His lips twitch upwards. 

Thankfully that's all Remus needs to see for him to throw his head back and laugh his booming laughter that nearly shakes the whole castle at its foundations. Virgil’s chest hums with the warmth of the sound, the familiarness of it, the way that it can curl into a threat when it chooses but Virgil has never heard it threaten him even after Virgil got his bike destroyed. 

The grunts lose their formations; a scattered mess of nameless people all laughing it off with a type of lightness that only comes from desperately trying not to show how nervous they were. Remus made sure everyone knew that Virgil and him had leveled towns in their fights when they were serious and the only people who ever knew when they were serious were the two of them. 

((Patton lets out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping forward like a puppet with his strings cut, and Virgil pretends he doesn’t see it even when Remus’s eyes flick over to their captive guest and something dark passes over his expression.))

He lets himself drop down from the rafters, tracing the metal beams like a raindrop, just to pool back into his human form at the floor level, where he bounces with his landing with ease. The Chimera Tongue mages around him all give him a healthy bit of personal space, and Virgil ignores them entirely. 

Divines, it’s good to have some of his energy back. He feels like a new man-- He’s sure that if it weren’t for the crippling weight of Remus’s contract, possibly being arrested in the near future, the bomb in his chest, the dull thudding of the headache, and the fact that he participated in a kidnapping, he’d actually be enjoying himself right now.

There’s not much in the room, which Virgil can’t decide if it's a blessing or a curse. On the bright side if a fight does break out there’s less things to damage or have thrown at them, which means less things they’re going to have to pay Guildmaster Clay back for, even though the engraving on that table alone is making Virgil’s imaginary wallet weep. On the totally bad side, that means there’s less things for Remus to have been distracting himself with that wasn’t putting his knuckles through people’s teeth.

There’s a bit of blood on the ground not too far away. Virgil pretends he doesn’t see it.

"Hey," Virgil snaps his fingers at the nearest guild member, who definitely flinches back at being addressed. Virgil thinks he might have been the one that called him Window Washer yesterday; crazy how when there’s a Dragon Slayer in the vicinity people get much nicer to Virgil. "Get lost."

"Uh," the guy says nervously, glancing between Virgil and Remus, "the guildmaster said--"

"If the guildmaster has a problem with it you’re welcome to tell him to come talk to me directly. Of course, he would have to, considering that you’d be a stain on the ground for bothering him….” Virgil trails off and then shrugging. “And really, do you think that you have a better shot in a fight with the Metal Dragon Slayer than I do?”

Remus curls his fingers into a fist and all of his bones make a resounding, disturbing, horrible cracking noise that almost makes Virgil glance back at him in terror. The grunt’s eyes widen in fear and he stutters a step back and honestly? Same. 

“Don't make me repeat myself,” Virgil suggests trying to recover without losing his intimidation factor. “Your body is made up of about 40 liters of water. I only need 4 milliliters to drown you where you're standing. And it wouldn’t even cause a mess!"

Probably wouldn’t make a mess. Virgil’s not sure and he doesn’t really want to find out. But you know what? There’s something satisfying about watching grown men turn tail and run.

Most of them are out the door in seconds; the rest of them are scrambling up from where they were shoved out of the way and following after. The doorway isn’t big enough for more than one of them to fit through at a time and the frantic clambering of them struggling to get through is probably the loudest that the whole room had been in a while. Part of Virgil trills at the sight of it, that sliver of power that he wouldn’t get anywhere else. If only he’d been this bold with the bullies at this orphanage instead of playing hide-and-seek until the Orphanage Leader tossed him out. 

Remus laughs as the door slams closed leaving just the two of them and Patton and a room too big for just the three of them. "Ah shit, they think you would do that, still?"

Virgil lets himself sit on the table, pausing only to nod in the direction of Patton without waiting to see if he would or could nod back. "Having a brain isn't exactly a requirement for recruitment around here."

He doesn’t think about the two of them, just eighteen years old, stumbling into the guild hall, grins of nervous laughter and looking for a fight. He doesn’t think about how the guildmaster smiled at them and offered them free lodging for a week while they decided if they wanted to stay. He doesn't think about how having a brain isn't synonymous with not being an idiot, and that a smarter, better, more powerful water mage wouldn’t have just stood there in horror when the red lines of magic tore into Remus’s skin.

And mercifully, Remus doesn’t think about it either.

“Strange bag of unknown origins that hasn’t been touched….Is this for me?” Virgil says, poking at the paper bag of questionable origin on the table. Something in it is sweating, making the paper outside threaten to rip at his touch. “What is it?”

“A severed human head.” Remus waves a hand towards it, in as much of a dismissive gesture as a permissive one. He turns his back to him, stretching his arms over his head in a way that showed off his very impressive arm muscles. His metal toed boots clack-ed on the ground, with the faint jingle of his extra stash of metal bits that he’d no doubt been snacking on. "Muffins, but warning: I only take payment in the form of super sexual favors. You should get on your knees now."

Patton’s ears turn red at the statement and there's a hitch in his breathing that makes Remus grin wider and Virgil rolls his eyes. He doesn’t even want to know what Remus has convinced Patton their relationship is by now, if Remus had even been talking about him at all to Patton. 

"Is that so?" Virgil says, helping himself to the bag where there are, indeed, muffins. Three, to be exact, and all blueberry with crystalized sugar on top, as per Virgil’s preferred muffin specifications. He’d gone on a rant once about it a month after they had first month and he hadn’t thought Remus had been listening or cared, but well… here they were, and Remus was doing that thing that he does where he acts like the far wall is extremely interesting.

There's also a bottle of an energy drink that Virgil likes in there, still covered in condensation from where Remus has stored it to keep it cool. Virgil does his best not to look accusingly at Remus, because those were pricey and they both agree it was frivolous expense Virgil could do without. 

"Actually, fuck you,” Virgil says, making sure that Remus can hear the guilt that put a strangle hold on his lungs. “You know what? I'm really considering it this time. Where's my debt at, right now?"

"Depends," Remus says, bulldozing straight through what anyone else would call an almost-apology. “What did you grab me from Magnolia?” 

((It's easier like this, Virgil thinks. Remus gets him his favorite foods, Virgil finds a new piece of metal to feed him and see what type of mineral upgrades it could give his scale armor for the next thirty minutes. They remember that they're in this together, however hopeless, however dangerous, however draining and miserable and terrible. It's them against the world: Rule One and Rule Four working in tandem so neither of them have to utter the words I'm sorry for the situation I got us both in; If I was slightly less useless, we’d be traveling the countryside without a care in the world right now instead of participating in illegal activities.))

Virgil picks up a muffin and shoves it in his mouth, uncaring for the paper wrapper before he carefully digs through his pockets until he finds the collection of spoons he swiped from Patton’s house and pulls one out to wave at him.

Remus lights up like lightning in the sky, shining so brightly Virgil almost thought he might have been that mystical sun he’s always heard about. His eyes lock onto the metal with an intensity that comes only from being distinctly more-than-human and Remus’s limbs still in a way that reads as preparing to lunge. Virgil flicks the spoon in the air and Remus dives for it like some type of animal, skidding across the cement floor away from Patton. He catches the spoon in his mouth, letting his teeth shatter the handle and gratefully swallowing it in a way that still unnerves Virgil after all these years--He’s seen snakes that don’t look so horrible eating things whole.

But it doesn’t matter much because Remus spits it out in the next breath with a dramatic whine.

“Wet Dream, how could you!” He gags. “Sterling silver?! Couldn’t you have at least bought the stainless steel kind?!”

“You’re lucky it's not plastic!” Virgil says around his bite of muffin and very deliberately does not look at Patton because oh god he thought those were normal ass spoons, he just fed a mostly silver spoon to a trash compactor, the other spoons in his pocket were probably worth more than he had saved up from all his time of working as a wizard.

Actually no, he is looking at Patton because why does he have sterling silver spoons? No one has sterling silver spoons. Those things are expensive as all fuck. 

Remus reads his expression like a billboard in the middle of Hargeon Port, though. The delighted look he’d gotten on his face at the prospect of a new metal is nothing compared to the euphoria that he gets at the sight of Virgil’s distress. He theatrically gasps, grinning all the way as he languidly rolls out his shoulders. “Effluent! Did you steal these spoons? Did you steal these spoons from the guy you were hired to kidnap? How low could you get!”

“Please don’t try to talk to me about morally correct actions,” Virgil says, peeling the wrapper off the muffin while trying to catch all the crumbs before they hit the floor. 

“You’ve been officially converted!” Remus continues. “Wittle Wirgil is growing up! Entering his evil phase! Next thing you know he’ll be--”

“I’ll pay you in sexual favors to shut up at this point.”

“--jaywalking! Or blasting his emo music too loud after 10pm! Or littering! Perhaps even waving a vulgar hand sign at a middle class elder woman--”

“Do you want these spoons or not?!” Virgil snaps, ignoring the blush on his cheeks that should not be there because he’s not embarrassed by Remus’s stupid impression of him that’s not even close to being accurate. Virgil hates littering, and you only get splattered across a windshield one time before you decide that jaywalking as a nearly see-through entity in a black outfit while it's raining is a hazard.

“No wait, I’ll be quiet!” Remus’s grin doesn’t completely disappear, but he does stop talking finally-- a monumental task for him-- and they say to reward even the little victories so Virgil tosses the rest over and watches Remus catch most of them with little difficulty.

Virgil stuffs the rest of his muffin in his mouth and glances towards Patton. “Uh, sorry.” He swallows, “About your spoons. I hope they weren’t an heirloom.”

Patton shifts uncomfortably glancing between Virgil and Remus, with his mouth opening and closing.

Virgil waves a dismissive hand towards Remus, who is thoroughly enthralled with his new meal. His eyes hold a faint green glow to them as he digests the metal, clocking the strength of it against his usual steel and deciding if he likes the taste more when it comes as an apology gift from Virgil’s rare side crimes. He checks the scales on his forearm in the minimal light, tapping his nails against as part of his usual new-metal-check routine or whatever.

 “He doesn’t really care if you speak or not,” Virgil says by way of explanation to the Star Burst mage. “He didn’t want the others making small talk with him. They try to cozy up to him because he’s one of the strongest in the guild.”

“Oh,” Patton says in a small voice that’s nearly overshadowed by Remus crunching on metal carelessly. “Uhm… no the spoons were, uhm, they weren’t really mine.”

Virgil blinks. “I’m going to regret asking this, but whose were they? No offense but I don’t think Roman or Logan can afford silver spoons.” 

Could. Oh fuck why did he open his mouth?

Patton half laughs, more like a sigh, more like he can’t believe that his kidnappers are discussing ownership of spoons which are being actively demolished. And well, in his defense, Virgil also can’t believe he’s trying to have a conversation like that. “Uhm… You know about my dad?”

“Hart enterprises,” Virgil says neutrally. “Uh trains? I think.”

Patton looks down at his scraped knees, with an expression that reads somewhere between I wish I was being run over by a train and I wish you were being run over by a train. 

“Yeah, it’s trains,” Patton says. “My great grandfather started the company generations ago before Magic guilds were a thing. My grandfather made a bad investment when my dad was a kid and it nearly cost the entire company…my dad swore to never let that happen again. That silverware was one of the first things he bought my mother after they got married and he promised her she’d live like a princess.”

Virgil stares at him with muted horror. “Did you just let me feed your dead mother’s sterling silver spoons to a garbage can?”

“That’s mean,” Patton protests. “Remus isn’t a garbage can--”

“Patton!” Virgil says, tugging on his poncho wishing it could choke him. “Are those spoons your mother’s?”

The card mage shrugs as if it's that simple. “Yeah, but don’t worry about it! I’m glad they’re getting, uhm, use! I don’t even think Dad noticed they were missing and I haven’t been able to make myself use them since I unpacked them. All they’d been doing is reminding me of how life used to be before my mom died.”

Patton takes a deep breath and lets it out and Virgil considers slamming his own head against the table. 

“He used to…uhm. He used to be a good person. People liked working for him and with him. He smiled a lot.” Patton glances back up at Virgil. “But after my mom died he kinda lost himself in the company and doing the most to earn profits regardless of workers rights…People started to complain and my dad didn’t want those complaints to reach “people who mattered” so he, uhm. He paid some dark mages to go visit the people who were complaining.”

Virgil isn’t a stranger to those types of jobs. Actually, Virgil had been on more than one of those for Guildmaster Clay’s business. Remus and Virgil were very effective at intimidation and since they weren’t as valued as the other members of Shadow Force it was usually them sent to do it. It always left Virgil feeling a little slimy afterwards, and put Remus in the type of mood that was only solved with copious amounts of alcohol and a good sparring match.

“It got worse after that,” Patton continues. “Ignoring safety regulations, understaffing, paying off people when lawsuits popped up or finding scapegoats to pin the blame on. All while making a fortune at the estate as if he could buy my mother back from death! He forced me to stop practicing magic around the house and forbid me from leaving without his permission and--”

“He sounds like an ass,” Remus says, causing Patton to flinch and squeak as if he had forgotten the Dragon Slayer was there. Virgil doesn’t necessarily blame him: Remus had this ability to look like he was completely absorbed in something else, and yet still be completely aware of what was going on. Remus juggles the last spoon over his knuckles, flipping it into the air one last time before catching it in his mouth and snapping it clear in half and then he lets his silver scales fade back into his skin without looking at either of them.

Patton laughs in a way that comes out as more hysterical than pleased. “Uh yep! Yeah. He’s uhm, not great. He cashed in a favor with Guildmaster Clay to get me brought back to the estate so he can, uhm, marry me off… as part of a business negotiation...”

Virgil feels his stomach drop a little further. “Marry you off? What, like you’re a piece of property?”

“Yep,” He pops the ‘p’ as he says it and offers a watery, wilting smile that makes the cracks in his glasses seem larger and Virgil’s heart hurt a bit stronger and hate himself a little more. “I, uhm, guess I was pretty stupid to think running away would actually get me away from there.”

“What about Roman,” Remus asks, very unknindly. Virgil stares at him, and Remus ignores him in favor of glowering at Patton with all the sympathy of a feral demon looking for its next meal. “You don’t think that Fire Fucker will come save you? He ditched his dead twin brother for you.”

“Remus,” Virgil says.

“I don’t… I didn’t know he would come for me!” Patton says, apologetically. Virgil almost wants to reach out and shake him for it. “I didn’t think he kept the card after I gave it to him and then when everything happened I panicked and pulled a random card--”

“Do you have any idea what the fuck he did to me?”

“No! But--” Patton cuts back, shedding the cover of the scared little card mage and morphing into the kind guy who could go toe-to-toe with Guildmaster Clay without breaking a sweat and holy shit, that’s kinda terrifying; is this what all little business children learn to do? “But the Roman I know is a good person who makes mistakes sometimes! You don’t have to give him another chance, Remus, you don’t ever have to see him again if you don’t want to! But you don’t get to tell me the man I know isn’t real because you’re hurting!”

“You are talking yourself into a fucking hopsital bed,” Remus warns.

“Guys!” Virgil says, but both of them ignore him.

“And it doesn’t matter! Roman won’t come for me again anyway!” Patton shouts, and Remus freezes. “My dad has too much magic around the house-- Roman wouldn’t be able to come even if he did find a real dragon--”

Virgil isn’t sure if it was the glowing green magic circle appearing under Remus’s feet, or the claws, or the horns twisting out of his hair, but Patton clamps his mouth shut nearly immediately. Virgil stands up, a step away, a little too far, and his insides swirl like a tidal wave trying to convince him to throw himself between Remus and his prey.

“What do you mean find a real dragon?” Remus snarls.

Patton squeaks something that is not a response, although even Virgil can’t think of a response that’s both a decent one and also doesn’t end with more blood on the floor.

"You're telling me," Remus says, eyes narrowing into slits, and teeth sharpening. “That dickwad has the audacity to call himself a dragon slayer, after the stories of the bravest heroes who were chosen for their heroic acts, from our hometown that was destroyed completely leaving us as the only ones who even remember those stories, after he left me to fucking die at the hands of cultists, and he never even met a real fucking dragon?"

Patton makes a squeak that sounds a bit like a dying chew toy, his complexion matching the toneless ashen color of the walls around them and that determined persona evaporating faster than Virgil’s insides when he starts to panic. Remus’s tail swings behind him dangerously, metal scales scraping the concrete.

"Uhm," Patton stutters, shaking, wilting so far back that Remus’s shadow completely covers him.  "I don’t--We don't…talk about it!"

Remus reaches out a hand and yanks Patton up by his shirt collar, pulling him completely off the ground with barely any trouble. “You fuckers don’t talk about it--”

“Remus, Rule Three,” Virgil cuts in even though he is not part of this conversation what’s-so-ever.

Remus blinks, caught off guard, and so is Patton Hart; they both jolt out of their…positions, and it's like watching street actors slip out of the roles they’re performing. The room stings with the silence, heavy and biting and Virgil stares at the blank space between Remus and Patton as if it held some answers. It doesn’t fool Remus who for sure is listening to his heartbeat with a beady, suspicious look that borders on being offended that Virgil isn’t encouraging him pummeling Patton into the concrete floor, isn’t outraged on his behalf, isn’t showing just how loyal Virgil is to Remus because loyalty is the only thing that Virgil has that worth keeping him around for--

Remus takes a deep breath, blows it out through his nose, and then lets go of Patton’s shirt. Patton hits the floor with a soft, pathetic oof, and Remus turns his back to him completely as if manifesting the “out of sight out of mind” concept. The green circle under his boots hums for a second and fades, and at the same time his tail disappears and his claws even out back to regular fingers.

“Alright, Virgin,” he says, dragging the metal piercing of his tongue along his teeth to draw out a clinkclinkclink. Then he says, “Ratings of the tea cakes in Magnolia. Start with the worst.”

“I didn’t have any,” Virgil says. “You know I didn’t have any. I wasn’t gone long enough to try any tea cakes.”

“Four out of ten,” Remus decides, hopping up on the table next to where Virgil was eating his muffins, his ragged curls bouncing lightly. “I ate like thirty of them and I’m still hungry! They had no metal razors in them at all!”

“Normal people can’t eat razors, you freak of nature,” Virgil rolls his eyes.

“If they weren’t cowards they could,” Remus counters. “SlapPat back me up: Are Magnolia tea cakes better with razors in them or without?”

For someone who lives (lived?) with Roman and Logan, he looks utterly bewildered by Remus’s change in tone and actions. Virgil isn’t sure why: he can’t imagine that living in a house that has to have a microwave with a sign reading “No Science in this one, LOGAN” is any more quirky than watching Remus forcefully drop a subject and pretend it doesn’t weigh heavily on his mind. Roman probably does something similar, too.

Did. Probably “did” something similar. 

Because Malice probably killed both Roman and Logan and then dragged Patton here by his hair. There’s a part of Virgil that doesn’t believe what Greed said about Malice being in the infirmary; there’s a part of Virgil that shakes from his knees thinking about Malice’s barrage of knives striking through Remus’s skin when his back was turned. He can’t imagine any of the Star Burst Mages managing to counter it.

But would Roman and Logan die to Malice like that? Roman broke out of Virgil’s waterlock from pure rage alone. Wouldn’t that translate to him having enough spite to defy death? But if Virgil was able to almost wipe them out by himself, what true chance did Star Burst’s Strongest Team really have against someone who actually wanted to kill them? 

Knives in flesh. Screaming. Blood pouring from Logan’s back. Envy’s laugh.

He needs to stop thinking about this. He really needs to stop thinking about it.

“--them so, please don’t hit me,” Patton is saying, tensing slightly.

Remus scoffs, “It’s your opinion, dipshit. I’m not going to be offended that you’ve got awful tastes. Who do you think I am?”

Patton shifts entirely to face Virgil, lightyears beyond being distressed. 

Virgil sighs. “Remus, we are currently holding him against his will, and literally seconds ago you almost put him through the wall.”

“Yes, and?”

“Divines, why am I even trying to explain this? How are you the one that got landed with this job? The guildmaster doesn't trust you as far as he can throw you." And probably further than that. There’s a reason why Remus isn’t allowed off the property unless with explicit instructions on who he can talk to and what he can do. 

((Virgil is reminded for a second that if he had run after that first night, after he had patched together Remus’s bleeding forearms and stayed awake for thirty six hours straight to make sure Remus didn’t try to peel through legal binding magic in with his own claws again-- if he had run that first time and told everyone what the guildmaster had done maybe something about all this would have changed.

But Virgil hadn’t been able to take the chance that the guild wouldn’t disappear overnight and that he’d never find them again. It had been the right call, in hour thirty seven, Guildmaster Clay had come to the room to teleport Remus to their new secret guildhall, merely raising an eye, “interesting,” at how Virgil was still there, stubborn and resentful and already attempting to plan how he was going to steal that contract and tear it apart himself.))

Remus snorts. "Well he doesn’t exactly have a choice now does he? Didn’t anyone tell you Envy’s in the infirmary and Malice needed stitching on every single limb of his? Both of them are nursing grudges so large they’re liable to kill out of spite. Pride and Greed are Pride and Greed, and Clay likes fucking with us so...."

"Wait, wait, wait, seriously? Malice is actually in the infirmary? Who landed a hit on Malice?" Virgil turns to look at Patton. "Which one of them?"

Patton hesitates before offering up a soft, "uh... me?"

Virgil blinks, suddenly thinking back to their interactions previously: how Patton went limp as a doll when Virgil drowned him, how when he woke up mostly confused and leaned into Virgil's back to avoid the rain, how even when he attacked he had stopped when Virgil was down and talked kindly to him and told Roman to back down and-- 

Obviously Remus is also stunned for a moment at the new information. He’s quiet for a moment, disbelieving as he stares at Patton, half a scoff on his lips which dies when he zeroes in on what Virgil can only assume Patton’s unsteady heartbeat and decides that No, Patton is not lying about having nearly completely taken out a member of Shadow Force by himself.

“The kitten has claws!” He says towering over their captive hostage, so that his shadow swamps him. “I thought you were a card mage?”

“I am,” Patton says nervously, twisting his hands in their bindings like he was reaching for a card that isn’t there.

Remus is reassessing Patton again: comparing his previous assumptions of him with the new information and coming to conclusions that probably lean more towards the side of things that Virgil doesn’t actually want to know about. It was likely that Remus had been there when Malice and Envy had apparently dragged themselves back to the guildhall and had heard that version of events-- which Virgil seriously doubted involved Malice admitting he’d been bested by a handful of tarot cards and a guy in cat socks.

"No wonder he took offense to your face," Remus says. "I’m almost impressed."

Virgil leans back against the table chewing thoughtfully on his second muffin. "I wish I could have seen it."

"Uhm," Patton stutters. "Aren't you guys friends?"

The bite of muffin lodges in Virgil's throat, rock hard and sharp and Virgil doesn’t need to breathe but he finds himself doubled over hacking it back up at the same time as Remus laughs.

"I have dreams about shoving Malice's cocky ass face into a wood chipper," Remus says grandly. "I want to be there when that asshole dies just so I can kick his corpse around like a soccer ball until his limbs pop off and his brains are splattered across the whole place and his skull caves in!"

Patton jerks back at the tone and the imagery, but honestly that's pretty tame for Remus. Virgil's heard a lot of worse things spewing from Remus's mouth post a fight with Malice specifically. Virgil is kinda surprised that Patton hadn’t realized that the name wasn’t a joke; Malice didn’t exactly get his name from his benevolent acts of goodwill. 

"He controls metal," Virgil explains, raspily. "And he's an asshole. So when they fight, Malice's first move is to always rip out all of Remus's piercings in one go."

Virgil had tried convincing Remus to get rid of his piercings after that first time he’d been on the floor bleeding from sixteen locations, but Remus was a glutton for danger and the second time Malice did it Remus gave him sixteen piercings on the spot and then stood over Malice’s writhing body and spat, “There now we’re matchies, Mal!” He probably would have done worse, but the guildmaster had stepped in and called Remus back like he was a misbehaving dog that had bitten a child at the playground.

"Why would anyone do that?!" Patton yelps. "That's so….horrible!"

Virgil and Remus chorus together, "It's Chimera Tongue."

"A guild is supposed to be your family. Your friends! A safe place that you can always come back to without worrying about anything! The people in your guild are supposed to be closer than anyone else--"

“Are you crying?” Remus asks, squinting at him in confusion.

Patton sniffles, looking like he would wipe his eyes if it weren’t for his wrists being held behind his back. Virgil squeezes his muffin in his hand, feeling the absurd need to make him stop because it's not even that bad! Surely Star Burst is at least a little like this, right?

“A guild is supposed to be your family,” Patton says again. “You’re supposed to be able to rely on them!”

“You rely on my brother?” 

The sharpness of Remus’s tone is like putting a blade to Patton’s throat, and Remus’s grin is about as reassuring as a cliff drop into an open grave. 

“Yes-- No-- Wait!” Patton curls up on himself. “That’s different! He can rely on me! But I’m not-- I am--”

“You’re not what? One of Roman’s bitchboys?”

Virgil makes a sharp noise. “Remus. Knock it off. He’s already been Rule Three-d today.”

“No, I want to know what it is that this bitch thinks makes my brother so great!” Remus swishes back around to Patton. “He can rely on you, but you can’t rely on him? That’s bullshit. That’s not a “family”. That’s not even a fucking friend! That sounds like he takes advantage of you and you let him because your dumb ass thinks that’s better than going home and letting daddy take advantage of you instead!”

“Remus!”

Remus ignores him, staring down Patton. There’s a long tense moment where neither Remus nor Patton says a thing and Virgil thinks that maybe he doesn’t need to worry about the poison in his chest because the tension in the room was going to explode him instead. 

The tattoo on Remus’s neck rolls slightly as Remus swallows and Virgil wonders if he’s the only one smelling bleach all of the sudden, if he’s the only one remembering the taste of wine infused promises all of a sudden, if he’s the only one remembering “There’s nothing different about me with a collar and me without one!” all of a sudden.

“And while we’re on the topic,” Remus adds hard and biting. “You’ve gotta have some pretty big balls to go around assuming that either of us are part of this fucking guild of our own fucking free will. Family, my fucking ass-- If I ever got the chance to burn this place to the ground with everyone inside it, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Patton’s face looks like Remus shoved a whole lemon in his mouth, the cuts on his cheek sluggishly reopening with the puckered expression. His wide blue eyes latch onto Remus’s collar bone as if he would see the same orange handprint on Remus’s chest as Virgil had inside him.

Remus offers him a light sneer when it becomes clear that Patton would not be responding. “I’m sure by the time you’re done thinking about all that, Roman will be here to save your ass anyway.”

“He’s not coming for me.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Did Malice and Envy leave him alive?”

“...uhm. Yes, I think?”

Remus’s face does a silly little thing where he tries not to break Rule 2 before it's even been lunch time. “Then he’s coming for you. Mazel tov, asshole.”

The silence burns for a moment, making Virgil jittery from nerves and unused adrenaline and stubborn relief he should not be having. The urge to do something, say something is coursing through his limbs, but all he can manage to do is wring the empty plastic bottle of the energy drink between his hands and wish that the muffin he’d eaten had been a little less sweet.

Roman was alive. Probably. Virgil isn’t sure why that makes him… feel things. He’s not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing and Remus’s expression is so complex Virgil doesn’t think he knows how to feel about it either. 

How to feel about Roman choosing Patton over him, about Roman leaving him behind twice now, about how likely it is that Roman would do it a third time if Remus doesn’t win their next fight and get the chance to walk away first.

But if Roman was able to break from Virgil’s Waterlock and Patton managed to land several devastating hits on Malice, what was that chance that they didn’t have some other trick up their sleeves that would be enough to tip the scales against Remus? 

Virgil can't help but imagine how pissed off both Malice and Envy must be about all this, too. He’s doubly grateful, suddenly, that he’d gone to Greed instead of them to find Remus’s whereabouts; he doesn’t think Malice or Envy had ever been beaten by anyone other than other Shadow Force members but he gets the distinct feeling that they were sore losers and Virgil’s face would have been a great stress reliever.

The untouchables, being nearly decimated by a handful of idiots. It was one thing for Virgil to come back so dense with mud that he was practically a walking pottery attempt; it was something else entirely to make Guildmaster Clay have to trust Remus with not breaking something.

The dozens of grunts made sense now. They must have been the best assurance the Guildmaster had that Patton wouldn’t get too roughed up if Remus decided to attempt to sabotage the whole plan. They certainly wouldn’t have actually done any damage to Remus but they probably could have slowed him down enough to allow time for another member of Shadow Force, regardless of how injured, to get there.

Actually with Pride being busy with whatever the next phase of the scheme Clay's working on is, Malice in the infirmary, and Envy off cooling off, really only Greed and Remus remain of the elite tier of Shadow Force--

Oh.

"Virgil," Remus says, because even out of the corner of his eyes he can recognize certain body languages and Virgil had not been fast enough hiding it. "No."

"What?" Virgil lies. "I wasn't thinking about anything!"

"Dumbass, I can hear your heartbeat," Remus snarls. "Read my fucking lips before put a rebar in you myself: No."

"When are we gonna get another chance like this?!"

"Your death wish stopped being cute twenty seconds ago," Remus says. "Drop. It."

"Your resignation stopped being cute four months ago," Virgil shoots back. "When are you gonna be done throwing your pity party and wake the fuck up and do something about all this?"  Virgil motions to Patton, "You said it yourself! We need another type of magic, and wow! Look! A card mage, the most versatile magic type that you can get--"

"Shut up.”

“--and he even took out Malice by himself! He’s plenty capable. Part of the strongest team of wizards at Star Burst!"

"Do you know what the number one killer of card mages is?" Remus asks. "Their flimsy little bodies! Look at him! It would barely take anything at all to break his scrawny little neck!"

And yeah, okay, honestly, Virgil can agree. Especially with him already so beat up from Malice, he's barely more than a cheap counterfeit version of his own pictures and certainly not something that Virgil thinks would stand a decent chance against Greed or Pride. Not to mention the semi obvious lack of magic cards in their vicinity, although if Virgil can go collect the deck of cards from wherever they ended up, Patton probably had something that could heal himself! Probably!

"He's got plot armor!" Virgil says. "Scheme armor! They can't hurt him!"

Remus stares at him. Virgil thinks that's his you're-actually-an-idiot look. "Just because Clay doesn't want him fucking dead doesn't mean that Clay can't make his life miserable. He's fucking creative like that."

Remus’s eyes flick towards Virgil's collarbone, and even though everyone in the room is aware of it, Virgil feels the urge to make sure it's not visible. He scowls and pulls on the collar of his poncho. 

“And also Clay gave me the specific order to make sure he stays tied up,” Remus yawns, stretching an arm out and then thumping Virgil on his head, in the way that would probably give most other people a concussion but merely sends ripples through Virgil's body.

"Stop," Remus advises in all the sage wisdom of someone who absolutely needs to get the shit kicked out of him in order to feel something again.

"Fuck you," Virgil says.

"If you're a good boy I'll let you suck me off later."

"You are actually the worst."

"What, you'll do it for Janus Ekans but not for me?"

"Leave him out of this!" Virgil snaps, shoving Remus’s arm off his head. "I'm Rule Three-ing Janus Ekans too!"

Remus squints. "The concept of him or just his name? I can't make fun of your crush if I can't bring up the topic."

"Y-you know Janus?" Patton stutters out and then immediately looks like he wishes he hadn't when Remus and Virgil both turn towards him. He wilts back like he can steal the words right back out of the air if he looks guilty enough. 

Unfortunately, Remus is already clinging to them with his iron grip, a smile so wide it's nearly threatening as he stares down at the card mage. For all his posturing about wanting it to be silent, Remus laughs pretty loudly at Patton’s question and Virgil mostly wants to turn into a puddle and seep into the foundation and never be heard from again.

With one hand he drags Patton into a standing position and sinks his arm around his neck, ignoring the way that the smaller boy pales and panics and probably thinks that Remus is about to enact some horrible physical punishment on him. Remus however points Patton in the right direction and with a nightmarish flourish he presents Virgil in all his half boiled glory.

"Virgil heard him talk once and nearly evaporated!"

"Will you let it go!" Virgil hisses tugging on the drawstrings of his hood.

Patton, despite the mortal terror he must be feeling, lets out a shaky smile, and a partial laugh. His freckles seem to shimmer when he does, as if he finds this utterly humiliating revelation to be amusing. 

"It was one time!" Virgil says. 

"And it wasn't enough!" Remus croons. "He dreams of golden hair glistening with raindrops, hands brushing when they both reach for the same umbrella, then he leans down and whispers--"

"Stop making it weird!"

"That's a weird thing to hope he says in your ear."

"He likes the rain," Virgil says hopelessly without looking at either of them, because they can't possibly understand what it's like to see someone who doesn’t wish for the sun that Virgil will never be able to give them.

Patton bites the inside of his lip thoughtfully. “It makes sense,” he says. “Janus’s magic is stronger in the rain. If you guys teamed up, you could probably do some really cool things.”

“Well it's not happening!” Virgil says quickly. “He doesn’t even know I exist and I’d like to keep it that way because I tend to ruin everyone’s lives when I enter them!”

“Hey!” Patton snaps out before even Remus can say anything, sway on his feet. “You can’t talk bad about my friend! I’ll fight you!”

Remus frowns, “What, Janus?”

“No! Virgil!” Patton says. “Virgil’s my friend! No one talks bad about my friends! Not even themselves!” 

There’s something about the way that he says it-- the certainty and the boldness-- that makes Virgil’s insides churn hard with guilt. Remus’s face goes blank for a long moment, clear of any emotion that Virgil can read and that’s nearly more terrifying than the idea of facing off one-on-one with Guildmaster Clay.

“The same type of friend who can rely on you but whom you can’t rely on?” Remus asks. “Virgil ain’t interested in that vulcanshit.”

“I can speak for myself actually,” Virgil cuts in blandly, and then he turns to Patton before he can witness the clear skepticism on Remus’s face. Patton has this light in his eyes, soft and gentle that reminds Virgil of how Patton’s knee jerk reaction to someone breaking into his house was to offer them food. Virgil steels himself regardless and shoves the guilty feeling away.

 “But he is right. Aside from the part where we are literally on the opposite sides of the law here, and if we get our way, you’re going to be married off and never see us again and that I have almost drowned you like three times--”

“--only two,” Patton says.

“--It’s still bad,” Virgil finishes lamely. “You can’t trust me, I mean. I don’t trust me. If you aren’t going to value yourself as a person worthy of self preservation enough to not try to make friends with someone who very obviously would follow through with an order to kill you, then what the fuck am I supposed to do? Constantly, be on the lookout for you? I can’t do that. I physically cannot do that. My surface tension would get so strong I would explode; It’s a wonder I haven’t already--”

“Virge,” Remus says.

“--If we are going to be friends, you have to rely on me,” Virgil sums up. “You have to trust me as much as you want me to trust you.”

“Oh isn’t that adorable!” A voice sings from the front of the room, and both Virgil and Remus freeze where they are. Neither of them have to turn to know who it is: Remus because he’s unwillingly cataloged the heartbeat, breathing pattern, and gait of every member of the Shadow Force, and Virgil because Envy when she’s really pissed off has enough power to take away his magic and if that happens he’s pretty sure he’ll lose his actual consciousness forever.

((There was a wind mage not too long ago, made completely of air, who dated Envy and broke it off after the seventh red flag got waved in the other girl’s face. She didn’t get more than three steps away before Envy was sucking the very life force out of her and vengefully watched as the mage dissipated into nothing in the middle of the mess hall for everyone to see. The only thing that had been left of her was a palm sized opal crystal, and even that Envy had smashed to the floor and stomped on the shards until the last of the magic had dissipated.

…Virgil had spent the next seven hours staring at the same spot waiting, wishing, hoping that the breeze would tighten and weave back into being, before Remus had hauled him back to their room.))

Remus, on instinct, shoves Patton into Virgil’s arms and then stands in front of them both blocking Envy’s view of them, and growling very animalistically. Patton must have recognized her voice too, because he goes extremely quiet, fingers twisting in his bonds to get a card that isn’t there and Virgil gets about a dozen internal alarms ringing in his head about this whole thing.

“Take a hike, bitch,” Remus snarls.

“Why are you always so mean to me, Gluttony?” Envy whines, with all the childish charm of a girl who practiced setting her dolls on fire at age four. 

“The fuck did you just call me?!” Remus says green light flickering under his feet as a clear warning.

Virgil dares to peek around Remus’s broad form to glance at Envy. She’s always been petite; making up for her height with sheer ruthlessness and disdain for anyone with a flashy power and platform boots. She still had to look up to meet Remus’s gaze but she did it with the smugness of someone who had several tricks up their sleeve and liked to make babies cry. For someone who should have been in the infirmary she was remarkably present down here, bandages wrapped around her arms and her leg and a patch on her cheek that barely hid the discolored bruises and burns. 

In her hands is a large sparkling pink crystal, like a jagged cut of rose quartz nearly the size of new lacrima and practically glowing with energy. She grins in a way that does not bode well.

“Glut-ton-y,” Envy repeats, slower. “I mean, that’s the name you’re going to have soon, right? Might as well get used to being called it now. See, it fits the theme! Pride, Envy, Greed, Malice-- Gluttony!”

“Call me it again and I will make what happened to Malice look like a fucking dream,” Remus says. 

Envy sticks her tongue out at him. “You’re so lame. Is this because of Virgil? You know you can do better than him. All he does is hold you back and make you feel guilty about having fun.”

Virgil feels himself boil slightly, but it's nothing compared to how Remus’s green circle explodes from under him and metal wraps around his limbs like armor, as sleek and unbreakable as a sword. His tail curls to the side, and Virgil distantly recognizes its hooking his ankle as if to make sure he doesn’t move into danger.

“Oh,” Patton breathes shakily into Virgil’s side suddenly.

“Oh, come on,” Envy says. “You know I’m right! If it weren’t for him hovering around you wouldn’t have a problem with the contract! In a year or two once you stop making everything so difficult for yourself, Greed would even hand it over and let you rip it up yourself!”

“You’re under the mistaken understanding that my contract stops me from killing you right here,” Remus says. 

“Look, just because the two of you are fucking on the weekends--” 

Remus swings his arm and a rebar of galvanized steel sweeps barely to the left of her face, shaving off three inches of her hair on that side of her face. She stumbles back, hand coming up to tap her cheek and coming away with a long thin line of blood across her cheek bone.

“You’re out of warnings,” Remus growls. “Get lost Or I send you to join Malice in morphine hell.”

She snorts in disbelief, swaying on her feet and then she smiles again and zeroes in on Virgil, despite Remus very obviously stepping in front again. “Hey, Virgie! Patty! It’s been so long! Do you guys know what this is?”

She holds up the crystal, letting it shimmer in the low light, like something valuable, like something irreplaceable, like something fragile and breakable. For a moment Virgil is thinking about it; about his quick water whip slicing under Remus’s arm, clearing him entirely and knocking that gem fifteen feet beyond all of them, shattering it against the concrete floors and letting the sound ring out infinitely in all the cellars. 

He could picture it: the magic housed in the crystal exploding apart wafting up into the air like colored smoke before it disappears entirely already heading back to the person it came from. Suddenly, all Virgil can remember is Logan saying “...a trap was set up by what I believe is a null-magic user” and “Thomas is okay. For now.” 

Suddenly Virgil has a very bad feeling about Envy being down here.

“This is all the magic power of Thomas Sanders!” Envy says proudly, and Patton’s breath hitches. “I think this is the biggest one I’ve ever collected! Makes sense since that old man couldn’t even when I was done! I probably could have finished him off entirely if the Guildmaster hadn’t stopped me.” 

She shifts it between her hands. “Mal and I were talking, and, you know, the guildmaster went to a lot of trouble to make a plan that would get Thomas out of the way like this! If it breaks, he’ll probably kill the person who’s annoyed him the most recently…Isn’t that you, Virge? He was real pissed that you messed up as bad as you did. Not only did you set his schedule off, but you made him send Mal and me, and now Mal is in recovery so he can’t do the next part of the plan and my nails have been ruined…The guildmaster will probably be mad enough to just…. Poof you out of existence without me needing to do anything!”

She smiles with absolutely no friendliness in it. “Hey, hey, Virgil! You know what would be really funny? Catch!”

And then she tosses that crystal over her own fucking shoulder towards the ground.

[Next Chapter]

[skeletinmoss]

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 12: Lessons in nature

First chapter | Previous

Sorry for not posting last week. I'm out on vacation at the moment. Enjoy the chapter!

“Alright,” Virgil stated as he summoned a few twigs, stones and dried out flowers to lay between them.

“From a seed or some pollen we can grow the plants they belong to. If you want to get fancy you can combine pollen from different plants and with some focus you’ll create a hybrid that would be impossible to grow naturally. You saw Patton apply this quick growing in combat already,” Virgil surmised as he picked up a twig.

“Now, what I want you to do, is see how you can command this twig. It works best if you start with things you are familiar with. Now. Impress me,” Virgil instructed. Sitting back expectantly.

Roman held the twig in his hands and studied it for a long moment. Hoping for a spark of inspiration… Oh.

He smiled and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath and letting his magic flow like with the flower… He could feel the wood shift under his fingers…

“Well done. Not bad for a first time. Usually it takes a few tries to make something recognizable,” Virgil said, feeling impressed and even a little proud.

Roman opened his eyes and smiled as he found himself holding a flute. He brought it to his lips and played a little melody.

“It even sounds right,” Virgil noted. “Good, now try with this,” he instructed as he handed him a flower. “Try to push yourself a little more this time. Use a little imagination,” he probed.

Roman considered that for a moment. Thought of what Virgil said. Commanding the forces of nature. He looked at the flower, then his flute... and got an idea. He picked up a second flower and made them both healthy again before willing them to change shape to his will like he did with the twig.

"Cute," Virgil allowed as roman put the two now humanoid looking flowers down. They had roots for legs, leaves for arms and their buds were their faces though they also wore cute flower petal dresses. It wasn’t very detailed, but recognizable enough.

Roman knew Virgil wasn’t too impressed. The flowers had been more malleable than the twig and these dolls weren't that much more complex.

But Roman wasn't done. He picked up his flute and played a tune. Making the dolls come to life and dance with one another. That did get Virgil's approval.

"Great work. Using Music as a commanding medium, an excellent choice," he praised.

"You are a fast learner," he added.

"Well. I'm not an apprentice anymore," Roman countered.

"No. But it seems a lot of this goes against your previous training. And it's never easy to unlearn a way of thinking," Virgil pointed out.

Roman shrugged. "Not that hard when you have spent time in the memory of a high mage..." he mused.

Virgil nodded. "That's actually a good point," he allowed. Then he gestured to the stones.

"Last one before I take Star out of the house for some fresh air. Stone is harder to command but it will be more sturdy. Let’s see what you come up with," Virgil stated.

Roman glanced to Patton. Recalling Virgil's instructions on how to control the light. Patton had struggled. But Patton was not Roman. Patton was cautious with his magic, scared to accidentally hurt someone. Roman was bold. Patton was insecure about being scary, Roman was confident in his knowledge and control over his inner fire. On top of all that: Roman knew in his heart of hearts that Virgil had no doubt that he could do this and he was not going to argue against the judgement of a well experienced teacher.

He picked up a stone and poured himself into it. Changing it inside and out. Gifting it a piece of his own will. He opened his palm and he felt the stone move. He opened his eyes to see the little guy get up on his feet and look at its creator... wow.

“A little golem. That is interesting. I’ve never seen one so small. Try and make it do something,” Virgil suggested feeling fascinating and endeared by the small, stone creature.

Roman thought on that for a moment. Do something… "Um. Go get me that book please," he instructed. Pointing to a book on the third shelf.

Might as well see how it would fare. Virgil’s surprised reaction gave him the feeling that he might have aimed a bit higher than he’d expected, but he was not going to lose faith that the little guy could do it. He was imbued with Roman’s will after all, not to mention it was a literal creature of Earth. He would figure it out.

The stone puppet made a salute and jumped of his hand before Roman had fully lowered him to the ground. And on he marched. Much to Virgil’s amusement and admiration. He must have done it right then.

"Okay. Now, as for the upcoming fight," Virgil started, pulling Roman’s full attention back to their conversation.

"Using these kind of spells in a combat situation will require quick thinking and a lot of improvisation. Understanding the materials you'll be working with ahead of time will be a big advantage. Having a few tricks in mind is also going to be useful. But it is going to be hectic. So don't work anything out too detailed. Have basic ideas ready that can be adapted depending on what situation you find yourself in," Virgil stated. He summoned a piece of parchment and a quill.

"Based on where we are going, research these plants and minerals. Working with their existing properties rather than forcing them to fit your goal will work a lot better." Virgil instructed handing him the finished list.

"Oh... hello little guy."

Patton's voice pulled them out of the lecture.

Little stone dude had reached Patton and had gotten his attention.

"You want up?" Patton asked as he picked him up and followed signed instructions towards the book it needed. Patton pulled it from the bookshelf for him and then brought it over to Roman. "Um... here?" He said holding out the book and the little stone dude.

"Thank you Patton," Roman smiled as he accepted both. "Have a nap, you earned it," Roman said as he tucked the stone dude in his infinity bag along with his flute.

He looked at the book he'd gotten. "Lake based vegetation and minerals huh? A good start," he smirked, looking at Virgil challengingly. There was no way he'd just gotten that lucky.

Virgil simply smiled and got up. "Star, walk!" He called. In an instant star went from his napping spot in the corner to Virgil's side.

"Good boy." He praised before turning to them. "I'll be back soon. Then we'll sleep, eat, and leave. Until then study up. Pack anything you need another look at on the road," he instructed. They nodded. And he left.

"Desk," Logan stated firmly. Roman got off the ground and joined his friends at the desk. They all laid their books down and started reading.

When they studied together they noticed that, under the right conditions they could study and also hold a conversation about something else. Which was handy now, when they had only a little time alone and a lot had come at them in the past few days.

"This house is so much fun! And so polite!!!" Patton gushed.

"Which does speak to its owner's character," Logan allowed.

Roman wrote down some basic information on a plant and some ideas what it could be used for before putting in his two cents. "I think it is safe to say you trust Virgil now. Great wizard mage Logan of the forgotten path?" Roman pointed out. "I never thought you'd be the first to cave and use a forbidden spell," he added.

"Two words. Moon Flower. Do not think I didn't see you use it on the farmlands," Logan pointed out. "Okay, but that's an ingredient, not a spell." Roman argued as he picked up the map Logan had laid on the table and unfolded it to study the area where the lake was supposed to be, making some educated guesses on the sort of stones the cult would have access to to build their temple. "And the circumstances were entirely different. I used it to save a village. You did it to kiss up to the teacher," Roman insisted when he was satisfied with his list.

He knew a lot about many minerals by heart. Plants that grew at the bottom of a lake, not so much.

"Hypocrite says what." Logan huffed.

"Excuse me?!" Roman gasped offended.

"You are excused. And don't think I haven't noticed you two flirting in silence it’s-"

"So cuuute! Are you two dating!!!?"

Roman felt suddenly very concerned about his penmanship and looked closer at his notes.

"No. No he doesn’t want to split his attention too much between saving his friend and dating me... though the signals are a little mixed," Roman admitted.

"You probably should talk to him about that then," Logan pointed out.

"So you no longer object to me dating Virgil?" Roman concluded.

"I was apprehensive at first," Logan nodded. "Not just because of possible feelings between the arch mage and the night flame. But because on the night flame’s end those might have been negative and I was not sure which side we'd end up on. But after seeing his last memory of him, and considering you didn't seem to have caught onto any preexisting negative feelings, I feel fairly confident we will side with Virgil should we be forced to take a side at some point," Logan stated. That made them all go quiet. None of them had really voiced the possibility that Gustav might turn out to be evil yet. But now it was out in the open and they couldn't take it back.

“Yeah. I think we can trust Virgil to have a good eye on the situation,” Patton agreed.

“Yes, me too,” Roman added, though he didn’t think either of them doubted where he stood on the matter. It just felt good to have it all said out loud.

Then they heard a door open and a bark. Virgil and Star were back.

Next thing Roman knew he was tackled to the ground and showered in doggy greetings.

“Star! Hi!” he gasped. A whistle sounded through the room and Stardust rushed back to his master’s side.

“Stardust is quite fond of Roman,” Logan observed.

“Well, we have a connection so he knows I must be fond of him. And… well, I just told him that Roman set me free, so he’s very fond of him for his own reasons now too,” Virgil chuckled.

“Told… Through animal speak or does he understand us?” Logan wondered.

“A bit of both,” Virgil shrugged. “Now, enough chit chat. There are two guest rooms so Roman, you’ll be coming with me. See you guys in an hour,” he announced.

Roman shot up from the floor. He couldn’t mean…?

“Roman!” Virgil called, already halfway through one of the side doors.

Flustered but not wanting to be left behind with his friends, who’d have their thoughts on the matter, he rushed behind him, following him through the dressing room into… A void? No he could feel the floor. But it was all black. Except for Virgil and Star somehow. Star floating around the room in their blorb form.

Roman turned to Virgil at a total loss for words. And Virgil looked at him like he had no idea what could possibly be wrong with this scenario.

This man was going to be the death of him.

“What’s the matter?” Virgil asked. “You seem flustered all of a sudden,” he observed.

“Well… Don’t you think that was a little forward?” Roman asked a bit nervous. “You said we should take things slow. But then you… You sit me on your lap, and you give me a flower and now you want us to share your bed…” Roman surmised.

“But… You enjoyed being close while we rode the horse…” Virgil pointed out.

Okay… He couldn’t deny that.

“And we slept next to each other before,” Virgil added.

“Not in the same bed!” Roman protested.

“And we won’t be sleeping. We’ll be meditating,” Virgil corrected. “We won’t be any closer than we were the other nights. And if you are worried about propriety,” Virgil stepped closer to him and ran a finger down his sternum. “Maybe you should stop touching me like that?” he suggested.

Roman’s face went hot… He forgot… When Virgil was in his guide form… He’d forgotten…

Virgil’s steel gaze gave way for mirth and he chuckled. “Teasing, it’s not quite as intimate as when I’m human, but still. Perhaps I’ve been more casual about physical closeness due to those things,” he allowed.

“Even so. It’ll be easier to share a dream if we lay next to one another and are truly comfortable,” he insisted. And then he snapped his fingers and there was now a large round bed in the middle of the void, covered in silky black sheets that seemed to have actual stars sewn into them. And when Roman looked back to the darkness it was like looking at the most dazzling night sky.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“Come on,” Virgil chuckled as he laid down on his back on the bed, arms folded behind his head.

After a moment of nervous hesitation Roman mimicked his position.

“In sharing a dream, we could get to know one another better. Or I could teach you some things that might help you become a high mage if that is something that interests you.

Once you’ve become a great mage, if you decide to ascend, it isn’t that difficult. Most mages just need some time to truly accept the power, if they ever feel ready for it,” Virgil explained. The power… The knowledge his guide had offered him when he first meditated… So it wasn’t a shortcoming of his that had made him step back. It was normal not to accept it right away…

“Did it take you long?” Roman wondered.

“Me and my friends had made a pact… But it took me a year to really feel ready, though my guide was pretty insistent I just make the jump after a month or two,” he admitted.

Well, that was alright then…

“I could also teach you other things, in our shared dream. Anything you feel comfortable with. So. What do you say?” he offered.

Roman blushed. “Well… Um… I feel like I should learn as much as I can that can help in the mission,” he said dutifully. Though he really, really wanted to learn more about Virgil as a person…

Virgil hummed in understanding. “Start the meditation ritual, but remember what it felt like to be carried off into my memories. Open your mind to me as I do to you…” he instructed.

Roman closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Letting his magic flow with the in and outflow or air in his lungs.

[kieraelieson]

You want a Good Good Fantasy fic??

Oh, it’s Delightful!

Roman and Remus are princes from a fantasy kingdom in a parallel universe. Remus and Logan get sucked into a book and have to live out the story to escape. Janus and Patton are Super Cool mages. Patton is a big beefy guy with tattoos. Virgil is a bit of a musician and a badass with knives. There’s a Whole Lot of pining that results in polyamory. Logan ends up with the Most Boyfriends cause he’s So Pretty.

I’m trying not to spoil anything, cause this book Deserves to be read! It is woefully under appreciated!

And!!!!! It’s the first of a Trilogy! Reading for Ages!

If you want to be leaving comments and storing up for Cafe orders over at @tsspromptmonth , this is an Excellent fic to read and comment on!

[princeanxious]

Au where Logan Patton and Janus are formally taught mages/magic users who learned from a young age to use ingredients, rituals, and spells to cast magic. Aka magic normies if u will

And Roman and Remus are informally taught mages/magic users who learned from a young age that their magic can be wild and trained but never fully contained. They cast with a constantly changing array of resources and are the kind of spellcasters that rarely ever cast magic spell the exact same way twice, regardless of the fact that it works regardless. Aka magic cowboys/hillbillies, if you will.

And then there's Virgil. The (begrudging) Chosen One. Bestowed with great magical power at like age 16.

One problem, Virgil was a normal kid before this, so. He's got No Training. At All. Somehow, This doesn't seem to interfere with just. Fucking casting magic at will. What are special casting ingredients? What are special spells? "What do you mean you can't just normally block a fire attack at will?? I have?? It's easy?? Your pulling my leg right Logan???" "I cannot express to you how much I am not even close to lying to you about that, Virgil."

Aka Virgils magic is close to broken levels of OP and his actual weaknesses involve teenage angst, spite, and hubris. The powers that be told him to go save the world, and he hunkered down in a bathtub, fully clothed, flipped the world the bird, and said "no." And. The powers that be cant actually revoke his powers now. Whoops.

The others are just glad to befriend this grumpy lump of shadowy teenage destruction with little pushback. (Virgil is a food motivated cat. No I will not elaborate.)

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

everything in this that I explain is very simplified because cultural context would be a nightmare to explain but :3 you gave me DAI TSS AU infodumping permission. Time to regret it.

when you open Dragon Age: Inquisition to play, you’re given a character creation menu. Your gender, race (DnD inspired so species TECHNICALLY) and your weapon class. I wanted to follow this formula for the AU but alas I am not going to because it gives me much more creative freedom to actually make it up

Also if anyone knows this game and I got something wrong, I'm already sorry LMAO I'm not great at remembering details correctly

Roman and Remus are human nobles from Antiva. Their family owns a winery and contributes to the massive export in the international trading. They use a sword+shield and a mace+shield respectively, often training together. They were brought up to carry on delegating the trade for their family business but not everything goes exactly as their parents planned — both kids are gay. No big deal, right? I’m not too sure on Antivan’s views of gay people so I don’t have much of a say. But I do know that — if they were in the AU the same time the DA:I game occurs — they’d leave their family in order to go be a part of the Inquisition. Roman is the favorite child because Remus is a bit of a pariah (we love him tho) and that has caused only minor bad blood between the two. I think that Remus and Roman would get along surprisingly well during this time, to be honest. I also think, if they were to travel and be a part of the game’s story, they’d be incredible allies to have. Of course, Roman is a bit picky about certain things (he’s a noble boy, idk what else to say) and Remus definitely has a fascination with magic and necromancy but. oh well. Roman is fond of the smart elvhen scholar and Remus has a big ol crush on V.

Virgil would be a Dalish elf (nomad elf, an elf that tries to preserve old culture and tradition, doesn’t live in cities, trades, has a clan) and I think he’d be a mage. I don’t think he’d have a particularly strong role in his clan (not like the Keeper (the leader) or their First (second in command)) but maybe he’d learn some healing magic alongside whatever comes to him naturally. I think he’d find Storm magic particularly appealing (I’m not kidding it’s called storm magic he could strike people with lighting it’s badass). I think he’d have vallaslin (facial tattoos dedicated to any elvhen god — later revealed to have a different meaning than what he’d believe but he doesn’t know that) of the god Falon’Din (god of the dead + those who guide others to the afterlife). I think he’d handle the pain of the tattoos well and be quite proud of himself when it’s done. If he were to travel and be a part of the game’s story, I think he’d be a good man to have on your side, as he’s always thinking of things to do and how to protect yourself.

Or he’s a spirit. There’s a character in game named Cole; he’s a spirit of Compassion. Who’s to say Virgil couldn’t be the same? He was once a human (or elf, either work, the main two I see fitting him mainly) and he passed away; a spirit found him and took his form. Became him, in a way. Became Virgil and stayed the spirit. Virgil but he’s a spirit now. There are types of spirits in the game but none that directly fit him — sooooooooo I’ll be lazy and not give him a type :3 he’d be a rogue instead of a mage this time, with daggers that he uses to pop up, fight, and then disappear with. Not everyone in the Inquisition would trust him but Virgil would be very shifty in defense of himself so he wouldn’t mind. Remus and Logan would be fascinated by him though.

I’m so unsure on Patton. I want to make him a qunari (tall, grey-toned skin, follows a strict religious code unless a deserter, then just operates on one’s own as basically a fugitive) but I also want to make him a dwarf. problem with this is I know very little on either culture in game and am not very good at putting it all together through the various wikis I have read. Just know that either he’s very tall or very short and he uses a sword because it’s very convenient and he usually doesn’t like to fight. I can see him trying to be diplomatic and it not working. We love him though. This is literally the one I can’t decide; I gotta make a character for each race and play through to figure it out then decide.

Human Janus who is from Orlais (fancy rich people with their noses so high in the air they can’t see where they’re walking) and is an expert at figuring people out. He’s always drawn attention because he has a massive burn mark over the side of his face that makes people give him weird looks — it was from a childhood accident that healers couldn’t totally fix. He’s in a very rich and noble scholarly family. Yes, he’s met the twins. Lets say he bonded with one and not the other (Remus and Roman). He’s essentially a spymaster for his own family. He runs the diplomatic relations and the family endeavors and if anyone tries to come across his family lineage (trust me, there are some, his family isn’t the most well liked and Orlais is all about screwing others over). He’d join the Inquisition in the main storyline and claim that he “needed a challenge” but it was definitely for a change of scenery. He’d work with the Inquisition’s spymaster and maybe help his own family out from afar. (weirdly fond of the puffball... Patton—)

Then finally Logan. I view Logan as a Dalish elf who was taken from his clan as soon as he showed signs of magic. it wasn’t by his choice. He was sent to a magic school (called a Circle) where he had templars (cops) breathing down his neck to approve what he was studying. He hated it. That’s an understatement. When the mage rebellion happened and mages wanted their freedom to study what they want, Logan joined. He became an apostate and, while unable to return to his clan because of the distance, joined the Inquisition. He was always very good at all sorts of magic and stories and mythos so he was considered a scholar despite his background. I don’t think he’d have vallaslin — too young for it when he was taken. But I think he’d be like this other character Solas (Solas when I catch you Solas you fucking egg /neg /lh) except… better. He’d be considered a city elf by then but he never forgot his family. Just made a new one. I think he and elvhen Virgil would bond over their backgrounds and mutual understanding of one another and that would be the blossom of their friendship. I think he would be intrigued absolutely FASCINATED by spirit Virgil and how it all works and I think he’d be sympathetic and defend the fact he’s a spirit and not a demon. But ngl he wants to kiss the wine guy.

it is one in the am and i’m very sleepy and I’m going to send this now. You can tell I don't know much about qunari or dwarves and I need to play as them in more runs of the game. I’m so sorry it’s so long. I didn’t even talk about the relationship dynamics in depth or the appearances I have in mind or anything. its so long sorry. :3 teehee

— 👑

Bold of you to assume that I (A man who's an absolute S L U T for RPGs) would regret wanting to hear something as cool as fuck as this!!! /light hearted /positive The roles and lore sound S O fucking badass and it really matches each of them perfectly!!! (Vee would absolutely use Storm Magic let the Emo strike bitches with lightning also Jan having a burn mark on his face gives me Zuko vibes and I L O V E it)

[edupunkn00b]

Just Like Magic, Chapter 11: Heal

Prev - Heal - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

From Chapter 10: Help

Slowly, Logan looked up. The man had crouched next to him, and the twins stood just behind. In the man’s other hand sat two bright blue lucis. His lucis, the ones he’d sent after finding Janus. “We’ve come to help,” he said.

“You can really help him?” Logan asked. Between the lucis and the kind glimmer in the stranger’s eyes,  Logan’s fear cracked and he peeled back the corner of Janus’ cloak to reveal his wound. “He’s been stabbed, I think… I…” He shook his head, shame at his failure to heal his new teacher bubbling up, choking him. “I’ve already tried every healing spell in my book… Well, the ones for which, well, I—I am successful, at least. Ca—can… Do you use… magic?”

Worry creased the man's forehead, but he smiled, a warm, inviting grin that softened the splinters growing in Logan’s throat. He was a complete stranger, and the three of them had made an impossible claim. He didn’t even know this man’s name, let alone even begin to understand how—

“Call me Patton,” he said, like he’d heard his thoughts. “And here,” he added, offering the lucis. “These are for you.”

Logan held out his own hand and the lucis flew to him. The lights floated above his palm, bouncing against his fingertips and each other. Warmth washed over his hand and flowed up his arm, filling his chest with each breath. But the lights didn’t change shape the way they had in Janus’ palm, and Logan looked up, question on his tongue. Before he could ask, Patton nodded.

“Kiddos?” He turned and addressed Imaginary—real? And grown?—Roman and Remus. “Will you help Logan with your charms while I take a look at Janus?”

“How…” Tears pricked his eyes and the lucis tapped his palm, reassuring. “How do you know my name? How do you know his name?”

“C’mon, Logie.” Remus took one arm and Roman the other. Together, they helped him to his feet without him having to let go of either the lucis or his staff. “We’ll show you how to use these.”

Roman grinned at him, giving his arm a squeeze. “Then Padre will explain everything.”

Clutching the lucis close to his chest, Logan nodded and let himself be led to the other side of the firepit.

A blend of spice and sage filled the air when Patton loosened the knot keeping his satchel closed. Logan peered over his shoulder, watching as the man pulled several clay jars and a hollowed out stone dish from his bag.

He froze. “You’re a chemist!”

“Yes.” Eyes twinkling, Patton nodded. “Khymiá is my specialty, like Janus’ is protection charms and…” He smiled down at Janus, removing his own cloak to serve as a pillow beneath his head. “And a few other tricks he’ll likely show you some day.” Patton's eyes flashed over to Roman, nodding in silent conversation. “Janus has taken you on as student, yes?”

He didn’t know what else to do but nod. He’d thought chemistry was a myth. There were warnings of it in the few books he could find that mentioned magic. Usually it was as the villain of children’s stories of dragons and telepathy and… prophecy.

Logan’s throat went dry.

“You’re going to learn so much!” Remus bounced on his toes, both hands gripping his sleeve. His eyebrows twitched as his whole body vibrated, a leaf on the wind. Just like he used to when they were little. “You’re going to be just like us! Someday all you’ll need to do is touch someone and you’ll—”

“Re?” Patton interrupted with a crooked smile. “First things first, please. Help Logan with the charms. You heard him—he’s exhausted himself.”

It took Patton’s pointed look at his wobbling knees for Logan to realize he’d have fallen over if the twins didn’t have him in their grip. He tried to straighten, to stand on his own, but only fumbled the lucis. They never dropped, though, and remained close to him, hovering patiently.

“We’ve got you, Lo,” Roman murmured near his ear and carefully sat him in a mossy spot near the fire Logan was sure hadn't been there before.

“And we’re never, ever leaving you alone again!” Remus grinned, all teeth and laughter.

“Don’t scare him, Re!” Roman shook his head. “You make it sound like a threat!”

“Eh, promise, threat…” Remus winked at him and, despite himself, Logan chuckled. “It’s all the same thing.”

Lulled by the familiar bickering and the warm purr of the lucis in his hands, Logan had begun to regain a bit of the hope he’d felt when Janus had first promised to teach him. “You… You really are you,” he said, cheeks warming at the inanity of his words. “I m—I mean…” He peered closely at each of them. The brows above his friends’ familiar green eyes now thick, their voices deep and rough. Hands strong. But their movements, their words… they… “You two haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” Roman smiled, cupping his hands before him, palms up.

“Eh… You’re a helluva lot skinnier,” Remus said, mimicking his brother’s pose, laying his hands on top of Roman’s. “But Pop’s cooking’ll take care of that.”

At the mention of their father—teacher? Was padre the same as Consililario?—Logan peeked past Remus’ shoulder at Patton and Janus. The chemist had lifted Janus’ tunic, tutting quietly as he prodded at the wound. Dipping a cloth in a solution from one of the clay pots, he wiped away the new blood that had collected, whispering under his breath.

Right before his eyes, the wound closed and Janus’ bleeding stopped. With a little rhythmic hum, Patton’s broad shoulders dropped in obvious relief. He tucked the cloak around Janus’ form again, gently stroking the hand he’d laid over top.

“See?” Roman whispered. “Padre takes good care of him.”

Logan’s brow furrowed in confusion. But before he could work out just what felt odd about Roman’s words, Remus moved their hands beneath his, layering Logan’s between the lucis and the twins’. “Now let us take care of you, Logie.”

~

Light danced over Janus’ closed eyes, soft red fading into black. Whispers wove through his dreams, an old melody he’d almost forgotten. Laughter. He was wrapped in warmth and softness, fluffy down and golden sunlight. The fire at his back abated, high tide retreating with the rising sun.

It grew quiet again and he drifted in darkness and dream, honeysuckle fields and the clear blue bay. Starlit paths. A strong, soft hand in his.

He woke to candlelight, a damp cloth at his forehead and a deep voice humming a healing chant. He groaned when he swallowed, throat papery, and licked dry lips. The humming stopped and a wave of nutmeg and clove and honey filled his lungs. A cup was lifted to his mouth and he drank.

Slowly, Janus blinked and eyes the color of the Puget Bay appeared before him. The entire room glowed with their light.

“I know those eyes,” he murmured, voice cracking. He drank gratefully when the cup tapped his lips again.

“I should certainly hope so, Mister,” Patton replied with a put-upon huff and a poorly concealed grin. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been long enough to dearly miss—Logan!” Janus bolted upright, spilling the potion. His head whipped around the room as he fought with the blankets tangling his legs. “Logan? Where’s—” He pulled at Patton’s sleeve. “Please, Pat! My student—He's—Where’s—I sent him to find a sta—”

“Shhh, Jan… Everything’s alright,” Patton soothed. “Logan’s fine. He’s perfectly safe.” He nodded slowly and smiled when Janus stilled. He straightened the covers and dabbed at the wet spot with a towel. “Logan’s in the other room with my boys.”

“Your…” Janus stared at him. “Your boys?”

Patton smiled back, laughter in his eyes. “My boys. If you’re feeling strong enough to get up, we can get you all introduced.”

Janus took his offered hand, surprised at how little his side ached as Patton slowly helped him sit up again. “Lead the way.”

~

The main room in Patton’s home bubbled with activity, a large fire snapping and popping in one corner, a lush sitting area with a low table and puffy cushions and knitted throws across from it. The opposite corner, beneath a window box bursting with herbs and flowers, housed a long worktable covered with vials and jars and the large crucible Janus had helped Patton cast when they young.

At the other end of the room sat the kitchen. Crowded together on the wood stove, three pots simmered and spat, spilling the scent of garlic and ginger and fresh morels into the air. A loaf of bread sat cooling in one corner, and the yeasty aroma wafting from under a towel-covered bowl next to it meant another loaf was well on its way.

The biggest source of activity in the room, though, were the three men working over the heavy wooden table, chopping and peeling and stirring. And laughing.

Janus paused at the doorway, one hand on his staff, the other hooked through Patton’s steady arm. Logan’s face was bright, the warmth of the fire and the company bringing a rosy glow he’d yet to see on his new student’s face. His aura was blinding, waves of deep blue dancing at the edges every time the glittery red and green auras of the others—Patton’s ‘boys’ were fae?—overlapped.

He sighed, a release of worry for his student, for his future, for his ability to find peace enough to practice and learn and live after all he’d already been through.

The soft sound managed to alert the trio to their presence. “Janus!” Logan cried, smile growing as he rushed to wipe his hands on a towel tied at his waist. He dashed past the table and ran to him arms open wide, hesitating only at the last moment before embracing him.

“Is this your doing?” Janus stepped closer and released Patton’s arm to pull Logan into a hug.

Logan melted against him, nodding before giving a little shrug. “They came for us when I sent luminaria.”

Pride burst from Janus’ chest and he pulled back to meet Logan's eyes. “You sent them on your own?”

He caught Patton’s eye over Logan’s shoulder and Patton beamed. “He sure did!”

“I’m so proud of you, Logan,” Janus whispered. “I showed you the spell only once.”

“You needed help I couldn’t give,” Logan whispered back. “My magic could not help you.”

“Oh, Logan,” Janus shook his head and cupped Logan’s cheek. “Look where we are. Your magic did help me.”

Grinning, Patton ruffled Logan’s hair. “He’s right, Kiddo. And you should’ve seen him, Jan.” Logan’s eyebrow quirked up at the nickname but he only listened. “He looked ready to take our heads off with his staff before I could convince him we wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Your staff?” Janus’ eyes widened. “You found one?”

“Well… It is uncarved, and…” Logan demurred. “And I…”

The thinner twin turned and stroked his back, nudging him toward the door. “Logie, show him.”

Logan looked back at each of them and the twin fae grinned at him with matching smiles. Lip caught between his teeth, Logan hurried to the doorway where a tall bluish branch lay propped next to a row of cloaks and boots.

The room exploded in light no-one else could see as Logan drew near the bough, a bright blue-white streaming from his hand as he reached for it. Logan and his staff’s aura filled Janus’ vision, slowly dimming until he could just make out his form as he returned, presenting his staff to him.

“Logan,” he gasped. “It’s remarkable.” Fighting to clear his vision, Janus blinked until he could see the broad smile brushed across his student’s face.

Logan looked over his shoulder at Patton’s ‘boys’ and smiled. “I had help from some old friends. I…” Moving the staff to one hand, he held it upright like Janus held his. He let his free hand float near Janus’ and the staff responded, golden light spraying out to meet his hand. Logan smiled and stretched his fingers, likely feeling the light.

“The first wood I found was just like yours. Buzzy and… warm. I thought it was the wood I should choose. But then…” He grinned at the twins. “They helped me find this one and…”

Janus gripped his shoulder. “And you knew.”

“And I knew,” Logan nodded, a bit of pride spilling into his voice. After a moment, he cleared his throat and turned to face each of them. “Janus…” A blush dusted his cheeks as he gestured to the twin fae still working in the kitchen. “I’d like you to meet Remus and Roman.”

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Spoke No More

Title: Spoke No More Summary: Humans are pattern-seekers. They seek to find patterns, specifically ones that are pleasurable and add meaning in life. Humans are not meant to be limited to seeing the same four walls day in and day out. Solitary confinement means there is only one pattern that is pleasureless and meaningless in every way possible. Even with the daily visits of shades that masquerade as his friends, Virgil is still so alone. Such an existence messes with one’s grasp of self after a time. An hour feels the same as a day and a day feels the same as an hour. Cramped, filthy cell or gleaming, luxurious castle--Virgil knows the truth. It matters not his surroundings, he is still in a machination designed by his captors for his impending demise. Yet when a new pattern emerges, one that Virgil has not witnessed within the hundreds of iterations he has endured--there is a question that lingers with it; is it yet another ploy of his captors to extract valuable information from him? Or could it be a sliver of reality shining through? Sequel fic to Heard No More Word-Count: 15k Pairings: Platonic Lamp Warnings: Whump, Malnutrition, Starvation Mention, Disassociation, Nightmares, Aftermath of Torture, Panic Attack, CPTSD, Crying, Injury Mention, Blood, Villain OC, Portrayals of Unsympathetic Sides (None of them are actually unsympathetic), Unreliable Narrator, Guilt, Angst with an Ambiguous Ending (It’s Part of a Series) Hello there, I'm posting this because if I don't post this it will never see the light of day even though this fic could use more time to bake in the oven. This was created as part of the @tss-storytime big bang and @virgeandhis-pocket-protector was my artist partner. Please check out their amazing contribution here! I have felt like I've been drowning the last few months due to ongoing events in my irl so I sincerely apologize for my infrequent communication on here and hope your year is going better than mine. Without further ado please enjoy.

-

Part 1: Foul is Fair

Virgil stares at the huge swaths of fabric that frame the huge window of the Prince Quarters. There is a name for them—curtains, he thinks. Even though his mother made her living as a weaver, they did not have curtains in their small cottage. Instead, they used wooden shutters to block out unwanted light and slept close to the fire during the cold months to keep warm.

As a Shadow, he slept wherever he was commanded. A cellar, a field, a stable. He was fortunate if he was able to even have a blanket for his weary body to curl underneath. No, it was when he became Patton’s apprentice, that extravagances such as curtains became known to him. His mage apprentice quarters had white curtains. Not a bold, regal red such as the Prince’s Quarters.

It is still peculiar that His Eminence chose the Prince Quarters as the setting of his new lavish confinement. Why not Virgil’s former quarters? Or a supposed guest quarter? Even Patton’s quarters would be somewhat believable.

Furthermore, where does “Roman” supposedly sleeps? Virgil has not even seen his likeness in some time. In all the lies that His Eminence tells Virgil, He never informs him exactly why he is being kept in the Prince’s Quarters. It is almost insulting if He thinks Virgil is incapable of rational thought.

The illogicalness of it could simply be His Eminence’s ploy. He desires for Virgil to think this is a dream and dreams do not make sense. An obvious absurdity could be purposeful to hide away the more subtle absurdities. Virgil cannot let his defense falter for a moment against His Eminence.

The Prince Quarters is certainly a more appealing sight on his eyes than that of his cramped cell. It does not mean his eyes have not grown tired at looking at it. Isolation in a singular environment is torment regardless of one’s surroundings.

Humans are not meant to be limited to seeing the same four walls day in and day out. Humans are pattern-seekers. They seek to find patterns, specifically ones that are pleasurable and add meaning in life. Solitary isolation means there is only one pattern that is pleasureless and meaningless in every way possible. Such an existence messes with one’s grasp of self after a time. An hour feels the same as a day and a day feels the same as an hour.

The only way Virgil has survived is through sheer spite. If he doubts himself for more than a moment, he could not endure otherwise.

Virgil still cannot seem to grasp a coherent sense of time within the Prince Quarters. Time is a rushing fierce current of water and Virgil is helplessly caught in its current, tumbled and thrashed about.

Even so, time does run differently within the confines of the Prince’s Quarter. It is seemingly more linear, consistent in some ways. He continues to not dream—or at least possess any dreams he can remember. There is really only one dream he remembers. He does not know if it is even a dream. It is very possible it is another ploy, another form of His Eminence’s trickery.

All he knows is that he is in the Prince Quarters and it is dark. The intricate décor of the Prince Quarters is reduced to nothing but vague, shapeless silhouettes of the night. Within this darkness, is a figure. A person. Or at least he thinks this shade is a person. It moves around the room, muttering syllables under its breath. Virgil stays still, not giving any indication of being aware of it. But somehow, it knows.

“Virgil,” The shade says, assumingly turning sharply to face him. Virgil does not make a noise. He does not even move. He only stares at the living shadow looming above him.

“Why didn’t you—why did you—” It’s words dissolve into stifled sobs, “You were right, Virgil. I should’ve listened but I—I didn’t, I refused to—and—and I am sorry.”

The shadow collapses onto itself, falling, falling, falling—

“You’re still a moron, you know that?”

“While I am offended that you’d speak so lowly of me, the kingdom actually did not fall apart within the few hours of my absence.”

“Yet.”

 The shade huddles near the foot of his bed. Virgil continues watching it with half-lidded eyes. The voice sounds vaguely like Roman. But a form of Roman that Virgil has never seen or heard. Even His Eminence’s frail interpretation is closer to the original than this one. Roman is always too haughty, too prideful to admit his faults. Even so, there is no wrongdoing for Roman to admit. It doesn’t make any sense.

Virgil has no one to blame for his torment, no one but himself. It is because he is weak, he is a shadow—an apparition. He should’ve died long before Patton claimed him as his apprentice. Yet selfishly, he cherishes it nonetheless. For a fleeting, few years—he knew some semblance of happiness he hadn’t known since his mother’s passing. It was everything to him and nothing to them.

Even though within the recesses of his mind, he dares to refer to Roman, Patton and Logan as friends—it is a lie. A sweet lie that comforts him through the groves of more bitter, twisted lies.

This shade, barely comparable to His Roman, insists otherwise, “I should’ve been the one—I deserved it, you didn’t—you shouldn’t have—”

Virgil doesn’t understand it. This must be a dream—there is no other explanation for it. His Eminence would not ever portray the others taking the blame—He enjoys twisting the knife that is reality too much. It cannot be anything else. It cannot.

There is also no explanation for what Virgil does next. Dream or not, he should not react. He should stay still, stay quiet. No rustling of the covers, no creak of the bed as his weight leaves it. All he knows is that somehow, he ends up kneeling by this shade, offering a hand.

“V-Virgil? You were--What?” This shade, Roman-But-Not, asks. Virgil prods his hand closer to the other’s line of sight. He does not think at first this Roman will accept it. But then a trembling hand clasps onto it. Virgil stands up, tugging Roman upright with him.

“Where—oompfh!”

He pulls them onto the bed. It’s where Roman should be resting—it is his bed after all. Perhaps this really is a dream—in that his mind is attempting to put to rest the absurdity of reality. Although in its own illogical rationale—as dreams often are apt to do.

He does not say anything to this Roman. If he did, then this dream would be that of a nightmare. So instead of words, he clasps tightly to Roman’s hand when the other tries rising from the bed. As tightly as he could muster—for his strength is oh so meager.

Somehow, it is enough to stop this Roman from leaving the bed. The probable prince also does not say any words of his own. A squeeze on Virgil’s hand and heaving breaths are the only things that indicate there is another person beside him.

Yet when Virgil regains consciousness, the Prince Quarters is empty of any indication that its true owner had visited within the last night.

Strange dreams aside, he starts to be able to eat solid foods more easily with only the occasional puking incident. His body hurts, but not like before. It helps when His Eminence has avoided any torments of the physical kind. His skin can no longer be described as raw and bleeding as a fresh cut of meat.

Not-Logan has remained the one to watch over him. Patton-lookalike has made a few visits, keeping up a cheerful stream of nonsense. Virgil refuses to acknowledge it, but there is a small part of him that has been growing too comfortable at the sight of this Patton. But the Piper Prince, the person whose quarters he currently inhabits? It has been a while Virgil has seen a glimpse of him aside from that odd specter. Virgil almost misses his appearance, even if it is just a fake. Even though he should feel more relieved that His Eminence has decided against using his face.

His Eminence has invited him to view the Library a few more times after the first visit. Like a stranded traveler in a desert thirsting for a drop of water, Virgil seeks it every time. It is a new pattern, an opportunity to briefly leave the confines of the Prince Quarters. Virgil still cannot find a crack, a weakness in the illusion. He suspects that the Library is a ploy to gain forbidden knowledge from Virgil’s mind.

It seems like a logical line of thinking. If you lead your victim into an illusion of a highly protected confidential library, the victim will associate it with their own forbidden protected knowledge. Sometimes, Logan asks him if he wants to read a book. Virgil simply shakes his head, willing to sit among the books. Logan oddly enough, doesn’t insist on it.

Virgil wonders how much His Eminence is willing to be patient before he gives up on this ploy. Eventually, He will snap. He has to. But the Prince Quarters is still a prison cell and he is still a man slowly losing every bit of his sanity. The truth is that his most paranoid thought is that none of this is real. Or real in the sense that he is still living and breathing.

What if this was some cruel afterlife designed by the gods for his failures to live a more fulfilling life? Best case scenario, it involves him fulfilling a requirement to pass on to the true afterlife, where he can be with his mother. Worst case scenario, he’s trapped here forever.

Or maybe instead of the last moments of his life flashing before his eyes before he dies, the Ether has chosen to leave him with this absurdity.

He blinks and the curtains are nonexistent. He sees not curtains but lines upon lines of rusted iron bars. A face lies half-hidden behind them, with eyes that gleam a bit too unnaturally. Virgil stumbles aback, his heart beating faster at the sight of it.

“What do you want?” He demands, baring his teeth in an animalistic fashion. He doesn’t understand why the visitor is here. He wants to be left alone in the few remaining moments he has left.

The visitor looks at him, smiling. It is a semi-circle that does not convey cruelty but something just as violent; kindness. There are lines on the visitor’s face—crinkles that indicate this visitor has done much of this smiling in his life. The visitor opens his mouth and says—

“Virgil!”

Without any rhyme or reason or explanation, Roman is here. It is too much of a coincidence. It makes Virgil on edge as to what His Eminence has planned in this. This Roman does not, however, weep or make guilty proclamations. Instead, he sits by the bed, detailing his latest duel against his sword fighting instructor. 

“So just as he was about to disarm me, I managed to parry and then with quick thinking on my part–”

There’s a knock on the door. It startles Virgil. Never before has there been a knock at the door. Even Roman seems surprised by it, or at least acts surprised. He stands up immediately, positioning himself between the door and Virgil.

“Who is it?” Roman growls, a hand clutching tightly to the hilt of his sword.

“Why, only the most beguiling knight of the realm,” Answers a seasoned, witty voice. It’s familiar. Why does it sound so familiar?  

Roman’s hand flies away from his sword as the tension is sharply swept from his demeanor. He practically bounds across the room to open the door. Virgil watches, his reed pen loose in his grasp. It’s the first time he’s really seen Roman this excited since…well. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think this was really his Roman.

“You’re back!” Roman cries, throwing the door wide open. His back blocks Virgil’s view so he has no idea who he is speaking to. Only that the visible tuft of peppered black hair confirms it can’t be Logan or Patton.

“What, missed me?” The person asks and their question is clearly answered by Roman throwing his arms around them in an encompassing embrace. They share a few words, but Virgil can’t hear them.

“Virgil, look it’s Remy,” Roman says, eyes bright. He clearly expects Virgil to know who it is, but he doesn’t. Is this another ploy of His Eminence? Did He expect Virgil to be more at ease with a foreign face than that of those he treasured most?

Virgil stares, refusing to give His Eminence any sort of reaction.

“Hey Virgil, it’s been a while.” The Knight, apparently Remy, greets him. His voice is softer, more rounded than the shrewd mirth thrown Roman’s way. That isn’t…that doesn’t feel right. Virgil does not know why, but that feels just as wrong as any of the uncharacteristic quirks that occur when His Eminence portrays Roman, Patton or Logan.

Virgil takes a long breath. It does nothing to quell the racing of his heart or the frost that creeps up every inch of his body. If this Remy is disappointed by Virgil’s lack of acknowledgement, it is not made known. Instead he turns to face Roman.

“Your father, The King, is requesting an audience with you.” The knight tells him.

Roman stiffens, the brightness within him extinguishing to burnt coals. “What does he want?”

Remy coughs out a dry laugh, “As much as His Majesty would like it to be the case, I cannot read minds. That is for you to find out when you go to speak with him. I’ve heard you’ve ignored his last two summons, I suggest for the sake of everyone’s benefit, you do not ignore this one.”

At the end of his words, Remy glances towards Virgil. An unspoken message, one that Virgil does not understand. This Roman seems to understand, as his posture straightened, elongating into the perfect poise expectant of a Crown Prince.

“Virgil, I–I must go,” Roman says, “but Remy will keep you company.”

“My prince, I am a busy servant of the crown, so presumptuous of you to claim I may be able to spare the time to keep him company.” 

The reed pen in Virgil’s hand drops with a dull thud into his journal pages. It is one thing for Patton and Logan to speak so freely with Roman–who is this Remy to speak with the same nonchalance? 

“Must I make it a command?” Roman huffs, exasperated more than any hint of outrage,  “you would not be here unless you had the time and desire to spare.”

“Right you are, my prince,” Remy smirks, leaning back against the wall, “your sense of perception seems to have grown in my absence. Go now, lest you want to keep His Majesty waiting.”

Roman rolls his eyes but he does not protest the idea. As his hand makes contact with the doorknob, he looks over his shoulder at the two of them.

“Remy, promise you’ll keep him safe?”

“Of course–your will is mine to fulfill,” Remy says, faithfully reciting the knightly pledge to their lords, “Now go.”

This satisfies Roman at last, who leaves without sparing one last look towards Virgil.

He leaves–and for the first time for perhaps many, many months, Virgil is left in the presence of a face that does not belong to either Roman, Logan or Patton. Early on in his imprisonment, there were other faces. 

Faces he did not recognize—the faces that captured him and presented him to His Eminence as a treasured sacrifice to earn His Eminence’s blessings. There were also the faces that shoved him into the cell and had occasionally been the faces to bring him food and water. Slowly, those faces faded from his awareness as His Eminence isolated him—insisting to be the only one to have the honor of breaking his will and spirit. 

So why has His Eminence taken this unrecognizable form? If Virgil has refused to say anything in the face of Roman, Patton or Logan, why would he say anything to the face of a man he has no attachment to?

A soft clink disturbs Virgil from his thoughts. A knife. There is a small silver knife in Remy’s hands. Oh, oh. This is it, then. Virgil can see the ploy for what it is, now. This is His Eminence’s way of still inflicting pain onto Virgil. This Remy figment will slice into his body, cut him up and tell him that if he says anything to the others, he will produce the same harm onto them.

Remy’s eyes latch onto his own. He steps closer to Virgil, still clasping the knife. Virgil does not move away, remaining the same position as if he is just a statue that also happens to breathe air. He waits for the knife to knick his skin, narrowing avoiding vital arteries or organs but causing pain all the same.

“Here.” Remy says instead, holding the knife out to him, “This is for you.”

Virgil is no longer a statue that happens to breathe air. He is a statue that does not breathe air because statues do not need it to survive. Why is Remy offering him a weapon? Is this a taunt? A demonstration to show that even if Virgil is armed, all of it will be meaningless? 

Yet Virgil cannot help himself as air flows through his lungs at long last. He reaches out, snatching the knife away. It is a simple practical knife, like the ones he once used when he was just a shadow and nothing more. He does not take time to admire it, slipping it away into the folds of his clothes. Remy stands there, making no attempt to take it away from him.

“It is hard isn’t it? To feel safe without a sliver of metal close by your side?” Remy says, the words slicing Virgil deep. 

For it is true–the feeling of a knife close to his person is far too soothening to his soul than it should be. More than the steadiness of a comfortable resting place and food could ever provide. It almost makes Virgil prefer it if Remy had used the knife to inflict actual pain. 

Remy continues on, “Now, I know this goes without saying but don’t let the others know of that knife–they wouldn’t understand that feeling the way you and I do.”

Then his hands move, making crisp, smooth motions. Knight, report?

Virgil cannot speak. He must not speak. As long as he can draw air from his lungs, he will not let words fall from his mouth. But his hands can speak. They were taught to speak first by his mother–forming simple words that allowed them to communicate with the Deaf merchant that would occasionally buy his mother’s crafts. Then as a Shadow–communication by other nonverbal means was essential. Silence is often a necessity.

His hands move before his mind can think. Good, all good. His throat burns all the same–just as it would if sound had attempted to come out. His hands tremble. If he had held onto the knife, he might’ve accidentally cut himself by now. His Eminence now knows he can speak–perhaps this is why His Eminence has never damaged his hands. He should’ve known this would be a possibility, an exploit that His Eminence would use. Similar to the attempt with the journal. 

Hands hold onto his own hands. It is a gentle pressure, one that Virgil could easily escape its grip if needed.

“Sorry, Virge–I had no idea that would–well,” Remy’s eyebrows pinch together, “as I’m sure you know, I’m a man for impulsive follies.”

No, Virgil does not know this. Nor does he intend to convey such a sentiment in any discernible method of communication. More to the point–nothing that has occurred in the last five minutes has made any sense. For months, he has known what to expect from His Eminence’s mockery of Roman, Patton and Logan. He cannot predict the actions of a character that has no purpose in this pseudo play. 

He blinks at Remy. This is enough for the knight to release Virgil’s hands, somehow.

“May I show you something?” Remy asks.

Now, this. Virgil knows what this means. It does not matter what Virgil wants, Remy will show him and it will be whatever His Eminence wants him to believe.

Even knowing this, there is a festering curiosity within Virgil. A small emotionless detached part of him idly wonders where His Eminence is attempting to accomplish.

Slowly, Virgil nods his head. This is all that is needed for a flame to burst into life in the cusp of Remy’s palm. It does not stay contained onto his palm. It dances from hand to hand, winding through the air as it morphs into various shapes. A dragon with terribly fierce teeth descending with a burst of flame. A bird, no a phoenix rising high before crashing and turning into flickers of flames. A great cat of some sort, prowling at some imaginary prey.

But the fire is more than a dragon, phoenix or great cat. There is something Remy is showing him. Remy is a Blessed–one who has been touched by the Ether. This is not surprising information to Virgil–for His Eminence could not twist his visage into the likenesses of others without calling forth the blessings of Ether.

“There is one other thing you should know about illusions,” Patton tells him after a show, “those trained in the illusionary arts are usually capable of concealing their Ether signatures–but sometimes if you concentrate and focus on following the Ether to its source, you can find the individual behind the illusion.”

Virgil can scarcely feel the stirring of the Ether within him. But the Ether that flows through Remy–weaving back and forth in bright fiery images? There is no concealment on his end, no masking the Ether that sings loudly through him. Ether that is untainted and unpolluted unlike the dark, oppressive Ether that His Eminence wields with force.

But that can’t be true. This has to be His Eminence. Because otherwise this would mean this is real–and that somehow, some way, he is not enduring another of His Eminence’s machinations designed to torment and agonize him until he gives up what He wants– 

“Do you understand, Stormy?” Remy asks, the flame dissipating entirely from his hands. 

No, Virgil very much does not understand. But even if he wants to express this, he does not. Instead, he turns to his journal, drawing wavy lines that have no purpose or meaning. Remy does not punish him for not responding. He just takes out a knife, running his fingers against its dull edge. He says words, things that have a sense of meaning and purpose behind them, but Virgil does not hear them. He waits and waits for Roman to return, for something to bring more clarity to his situation.

Roman does not return back. Instead it is a harried Logan who thanks Remy for keeping Virgil company and does not say why Roman did not return. 

Part 2: More is Thy Due Than More than All Can Pay

That night, Virgil sneaks out.

 The castle, like many old structures, is imbued with Ether. The lifeblood of the gods flows through its every nook and cranny. It is said there is a sentience to it that even non-Blessed have felt. The Castle knows its purpose–it is meant to keep unwanted intruders out. It will not let in those who will bring harm to its inhabitants. Such is the reason that there hasn’t been a successful assassination on castle ground for centuries. 

Virgil can barely sense the Ether flowing through it now. It is so faint, he is not sure if he can trust that it is nothing more than the Ether of His Eminence, crafted and manipulated to imitate its more purified form.

He comes across the entrance to one of the lesser used castle towers. It is a familiar sight to him. When he first came to the castle as Patton’s apprentice, he used to sneak off there during nights wrought with insomnia. Now he seeks out its solace as an escape for the anxiety gnawing in his chest.

He rushes up the steep stairway, ignoring the growing ache in his legs from such exertion. But when he reaches the top, there is someone already there.

Roman sits there, his arms wrapped around his knees. His head is tucked into his chest, face hidden from view. Virgil wavers on the stairways. He should not hesitate. The choice is simple–he should flee before Roman is made of his presence.

Virgil does the exact opposite. He creeps closer, keeping his footsteps silent on the stone floor of the tower. He is about a foot away when he realizes he doesn’t know what to do.  So he does what Patton would do. Virgil taps Roman’s shoulder, causing him to startle and turn to face him.

“Virgil?” Roman whispers, his face blotchy from tears.

He reaches his arms out as he tilts his head. Hug?

Roman latches onto him immediately and continues crying as Virgil awkwardly pat his back.

“I shouldn’t have ever insisted on leaving the castle. You wouldn’t have had to save me and go through all of that. Gods, Virgil you have every right to hate me and I don’t blame you,” Roman babbles, leaning his head against Virgil’s shoulder, “I hate myself.”

Virgil is reeling. He doesn’t understand what Roman is saying. No, no His Eminence told him he’d been taken because he was—is—weak. He doesn’t remember saving Roman. He pulls away from Roman to get a look at his face. Roman holds still, barely making eye-contact with him. Virgil opens his mouth.

“W-whaafgk—" He goes into a coughing fit, “W-w-w-wagfk?”

It is low and raspy, barely decipherable but still it is a word communicated through voice. He wants to elaborate more on his question, but his vocal chords freeze up. Because oh gods—he spoke. He shuts his eyes tightly, letting go of Roman completely. He shakes, and he is certain the world has ended because he spoke. Not once, but twice now through his hands and his voice. He has been able to be strong for a long while now–why is he allowing himself to falter now?

A hand touches his shoulder, but he doesn’t flinch. He leans into it. A soft voice whispers  reassuring words to him.

“You’re safe now, my dark and stormy knight. I will not allow harm to ever befall upon you again, I swear it.”

He calms down, once he realizes that Roman hasn’t died because he spoke. He thinks—no, he knows it has to be Roman here with him. It shouldn’t be real. Because if it is real then it means everything that has been in the castle has been real. The food, the textures, the people. Everyone is too kind. But most importantly, Not-Roman never cries. It is Virgil who always cries.

Not-Roman is always placing the blame on Virgil. He always hates Virgil’s guts. He’d never claim it is his fault and that he hates himself more than anything.

Roman looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed.

“You asked me ‘what’ earlier, right?”

Virgil nods.

“Do you…not remember what happened before they took you?”

He shakes his head, staring at the floor. Roman squeezes one of his hands, causing him to look up. The Prince’s gaze is determined and resolute.

“You deserve to know.”

Roman starts telling him, and as he listens, Virgil remembers.

-

There is a day where Virgil happens to utter the words: “This is a dumbass idea and you know it.” 

These words are directed towards the Crown Prince, who scoffs in response, “Oh hush, Mordread, it’s a brilliant idea and you know it.”

“We’re going to get caught.”

“We’re not going to get caught!” 

“Yes we will. We will get caught by the guards or worse yet, you will be murdered outside castle walls and subsequently your father will have me executed for being an accomplice to your murder.”

Roman groans. He is digging through his wardrobe, tossing garments left and right. He then very intentionally flings a blouse into Virgil’s face, “Listen, I am sick and tired of wasting away inside this castle! If I have to spend one more day here, I am going to die!”

“Then perish,” Virgil says wryly, picking up the blouse off his face, “tell me, why have you come seeking my help?”

“Well, Patton and Logan are obviously too busy in their duties to assist me in my endeavors–” “Wrong, you knew Logan would say no because it’s illogical and reckless meanwhile Patton wouldn’t do it because he’s too much of a rule follower for the most part.”

“Do not interrupt me!” Roman cries out, jabbing a finger in his direction, “I could have you hung for your insolence.”

There is once a time in a not so distant past that sentence would’ve struck some amount of fear into Virgil. Instead, he merely raises an eyebrow at it.

“Alright, fine, yes you are right!” Roman admits, “But please Virgil–a good prince needs to know the happenings of his kingdom. How can I do that behind a stone wall?”

“C’mon Princey, we both know it’s more than that chivalrous bullshit,” Virgil rolls his eyes, “out with it.”

“I’m curious what it’d be like to…not be Prince Roman,” The Crown Prince laughs sheepishly, “I mean, not be the Crown Prince? I couldn’t fathom such an idea of a world without my fabulous self!”

Roman twirls in a circle, practically giddy.

“But—” He nervously wrings his hands, “It would be nice to interact with my citizens without the formalities. Plus, with this disguise, I’ll be incognito!”

He wraps a shawl around his shoulders, doing a poor job of concealing his identity.

“What do you think?!”

Virgil withholds a chuckle.

“First off, is that a tablecloth you stole from the dining halls? Second, you’re not going to fool anyone with anything from your wardrobe. Everyone around a ten mile radius is gonna know you reek of royalty.”

“Oh? Can I take your words to mean that you’ll help?” Roman asks. 

Virgil freezes. He isn’t actually going to help him, is he? The idea is ludicrous—there are so many reasons why and how it could go wrong and yet–well.

He can’t help but think back about how Roman dropped his bravado façade for a brief moment. Not enough to fully admit his insecurities. But just enough to reveal them to Virgil. Roman and Virgil don’t get along well—they had a rocky first meeting. Virgil assumed he was your typical pompous noble. Roman assumed Virgil would stab Patton in the back the first opportunity he received.

They have come to tolerate one another since that first meeting. Roman still refers to him by demeaning nicknames and disdain. Virgil still fires back at him with his biting sarcasm. But it is much better than before where the two couldn’t be left alone in the same room without starting an all-out brawl.

Roman has lived most of his life behind the castle walls. The time he has spent outside has been during parades or celebrations, where everyone has been on their best behavior. Or on hunting parties, in the forest where the common people are not allowed to hunt. He doesn’t know what the real world is like.

Still, Roman has enough brains to seek out Virgil rather than execute his plan by himself. Roman’s plan, as idiotic as it is, isn’t entirely without its’ warrants. It'd be good for the Prince to see what his people say when not in the supposed company of nobility. But most importantly, he trusts Virgil.

There is also the other fact that Roman is stubborn. Once he gets an idea stuck in his brain, it’s hard to convince him otherwise. If Virgil says no, he’ll definitely find a way to do it by himself. By the looks of the dinner cloth shawl, that does not bode well. But if Virgil says yes, he can ensure Roman’s safety. He’ll protect him.

“Ugh, alright. I live to serve, my liege.”

“Wait, you mean you’re–”

“--actually gonna help you with your crazy stupid idea? Yeah, I am. Let’s just hope neither of us regrets this.”

“Oh no regrets will be made, trust me!” Roman says, clasping Virgil’s hand, “this is a great favor you are bestowing upon me and as such, I promise to repay you tenfold.”

“If we’re going to go through with this,” Virgil says, holding onto Roman’s own hand firmly, “there’s a few rules you need to promise me you’ll abide by.”

“Such as?” 

“Rule 1, outside these walls–you’re not the prince, you’re a lowly commoner. You have to believe that because otherwise nobody else will believe that.”

“Oh that is easy–I’m a natural born actor.” Roman boists.

“Rule 2, what I say goes. You listen to me out there–or else this is not going to work. And Rule 3? The minute something threatens your safety, we go back. Got it?”

“I swear by my mother’s gravestone, I will uphold your terms and conditions.” Roman says, his hand cradled close to his chest. 

And well–Roman does listen. Throughout the walk through the hidden passageways of the castle and out into the bustling marketplace. When Virgil determines that they should leave for the castle before too many people take notice of the missing Crown Prince, Roman does not protest. All in all, it is rather...underwhelming how nothing went wrong.

In the passageway that leads back into the castle, Roman lets out a laugh. There is a grin stretching wide across his face, one that is a little too haughty in Virgil’s opinion. 

 “Look!” He proclaims, “We’re fine! Back without a scratch! What do you say to that?”

Virgil snorts, “You’re still a moron, you know that?”

“Ah!” Roman sprays a hand across his chest as if struck by an arrow, “While I am offended that you’d speak so lowly of me, the kingdom actually did not fall apart within the few hours of my absence.”

“Yet.” Virgil says, “we still have yet to return properly to the castle.”

Roman just hums, his glee untempered by Virgil’s coarse words. Somehow, someway, it is almost endearing. Despite the crown prince’s frequent open displays of emotion, Virgil has never seen him this happy before.

So when Roman asks him a few days later for an excursion outside the castle walls, he does not have to twist Virgil’s arm too hard on it. Until two outings turn into three and four, and they keep on going out. Virgil grows way too complacent, until the Ether calls out to him in warning one evening. It is a bright evening of a festival that has no purpose other than to be an excuse for good spirits and laughter.

It does not take long to decipher the Ether's meaning. There are several individuals that are trailing them, following their every move. One of them wears a distinct silver gauntlet–a silver gauntlet Virgil knows all too well. He does not know how they know of their presence, but it does not matter. They need to leave, now.

“Roman, we need to go. They’re here.” Virgil hisses.

“Who? I don’t see—”

“Shh! We go now. Rule number two, remember?” He grabs hold of Roman’s hand and tugs him along in a zigzag pattern.

“Hey—what’s wrong?” Roman yelps

“Danger.” Virgil answers, and leaves it at that.

He thinks they have lost them. But really, he should’ve known better. As they duck into an alley, they spring upon the two. Virgil does the only thing he can do—magic.

It is barely his second year as a mage’s apprentice and his connection to the Ether is weak. But he has to try—even if it kills him.

“Og Omeh!” He shouts, placing a hand upon a startled Roman’s chest.

His hand glows and with a bright flash Roman is gone. Virgil is left, collapsed at the foot of the Haldoofse, their pursuers. The spell has taken every ounce of his energy –but Roman is safe and that is what all that matters right now. Virgil has kept his promise.

One of them picks up Virgil by the shirt.

“What’d you do?” The man demands.

“Abracadabra.” Virgil mumbles, spitting blood in his face.

The man doesn’t like that. He raises his fist and then before Virgil can react everything fades to black.

-

Virgil cries in the midst of Roman’s own account of the events that happened. Roman thinks it’s his fault, but Virgil refuses to accept his apology. He keeps shaking his head. He does not have the words to tell him. They remain stuck in his brain, swishing around.

He saved Roman—he isn’t weak after all. But he still feels weak. If he’d refused to help Roman at the beginning, then he’d never been in danger in the first place. He’d grown too complacent in their numerous outings. His captors were right—he does deserve to be in that prison cell.

He doesn’t understand why the others freed him.  Suddenly things feel too big, too open. He shouldn’t be here. Open is bad. Open means freedom and he doesn’t deserve freedom. He yanks his hand out of Roman’s grip and runs down the stairs.  

“Virgil, wait!” Roman calls out, attempting to follow after him.

Weak as Virgil still is, adrenaline is a miracle maker. He races down the windy corridors until he discovers a small broom closet. He opens the door and closes it, dousing him in darkness. He scrambles away from the door, until his back hits the wall of the closet.

He breathes heavily and waits for Roman to open the door and drag him away. But he doesn’t want to leave. Warm soft beds and visits to the gardens aren’t for people like him. He does miss his journal. Virgil has taken to running his fingers against the raised edges of the cover. It helps ground him in times of panic.

Roman doesn’t open the door, though he can hear his voice in the far-off distance. The Crown Prince does not know he is here. He breathes a sigh in relief. Virgil sits and sits in the darkness. He does not think he falls asleep yet when the door does open, it jostles him from slumber.

“Virgil, are you here?” Logan.

He does not respond. He tries not breathing, but it only results in him breathing noisier. There is light streaming in from the doorframe. He is certain Logan knows he is here. Yet he does not attempt to drag him away from the closet.

Logan instead sits by the doorframe.

“Roman did not mean to frighten you by bringing up bad memories.”

Virgil says nothing.

“He is upset that he caused you such anguish. He is concerned about you being lost and hurt somewhere—Patton and I had been as well.”

He hesitates, before slowly crawling forward. Logan, concerned? The Royal Advisor often proclaimed how he wasn’t affected by such sentimentalism.  But there is a soft look on Logan’s face. He does not make a big deal of Virgil showing his face to him. Though his lips do twitch upwards.

“I am pleased to see you are unharmed.” Logan informs him.

Virgil shrugs.

“It is not yet lunchtime, but I am certain we can find something to eat in the kitchens—”

He offers a hand towards Virgil, who shrinks back. Logan’s expression morphs.

“Do you not want to go to the kitchens?”

Virgil shakes his head. He doesn’t want to go to the kitchens or the garden or the library. Not even to Roman’s quarters and his soft bed. He does not know why Roman gives up his bed to him. He doesn’t know why any of them would love him after what has happened.

Logan studies him for a moment. It is not in a cold, callous demeanor like he has seen when They use his face. But more of a quiet, considerate one.

“Would you like to go back to Roman’s quarters?” He adds on, “We can arrange food to be brought up to the quarters.”

A slow shake.

“No?” Logan asks, puzzled, “You want…you want to stay here?”

Furious nod.

“Why?”

Virgil’s lips part—but all his thoughts come careening to a halt. He cannot speak, whether it be through words shaped by voice, hands or ink. He instead stares at the ground, unsure how to tell Logan why he belongs here and not outside.

“Here.”

Something rectangle is pressed into his hands. He looks to see it is a small brown leather journal. It is the perfect size to fit into a breast pocket and half its pages are filled already with Logan’s messy shorthand. There is a reed pen resting where there is blank paper. He glances up towards Logan, confused.

“I wish to help, Virgil,” Logan begins, “but I don’t know how to help if you don’t tell me—or in this case write to me about what’s wrong. Why do you want to stay here?”

Virgil frowns, his fingers curling around the writing instrument. Writing is bad—but that is only because he thought he’d hurt his friends. He’d thought this hadn’t been real but just a ploy by his captors. But this is real—isn’t it?

Virgil doesn’t know what to think anymore. He is a leaf blowing aimlessly in the wind. He is a ship lost at sea. He is a broken compass. What is up is down and what is down is up. Two plus two equals five. Dragons are benevolent, and unicorns are malevolent. The cow jumps over the moon and the dish runs away with the spoon.

If he writes, surely something will go wrong. It’s what the tightening of his throat, threatening to cut off his oxygen, tells him. But that is wrong—the thought, not the actual writing. He has refused to write to protect his friends. But Logan is his friend and he is with him right now.

If he wants to help Logan, doesn’t that mean he should answer his question?

No, he has to know that this is Logan and not His Eminence. Something that Logan possesses, that His Eminence would not know.

Shakily, he draws dots. Meaningful dots, with a line that connects through every single one of them. The Locutus constellation–the very one tattooed on the real Logan’s back. He shows it to Logan, pointing between him and the drawing.

Logan looks at it. He looks at Virgil. His Logan is smart, he figures it out without asking any questions. He turns around, raising up his blouse to show the beautiful ink etchings that stretch across his back. It is on skin that is blemished with irreversible blotches of an illness that nearly took Logan’s life long before Virgil met him. Both things that were always, always, always absent among the welts and cuts and broken bones that Not-Logan would endure.

He starts writing. His hand is shaky, and the words look like chicken scrawl, but they are words nonetheless. He doesn’t look at Logan as he hands it back to him.

I bEloNG hErE. It’S WhAt I DesErVE.

Virgil’s cheeks are wet. He is crying. He does not realize this fact until Logan uses his thumb to wipe away his tears. The journal is abandoned on the ground in the favor of comforting Virgil.

“I do not know what they told you, but I do know whatever they said, it is all falsehoods,” Logan tells him solemnly, “No human being deserves to be treated the way you were. You are entitled to basic human decency. You deserve adequate amounts of food, water and freedom. Most importantly, you deserve love. Do you understand?”

The words take a while for Virgil to process. He knows that His Eminence told lies–He’d execute ploys and tricks, anything to get Virgil finally break and tell Him what He wanted to know.

Where are the castle’s weak points? Does the Court Mage have any lovers? What is the Crown Prince’s fighting style?

The list goes on and on.

Virgil knows He lied and tricked and deceived him—and yet, he still believed the biggest lie of all; he deserved it. His Eminence told him he was there because he was weak. He was there because no one would miss a charity case of a mage’s apprentice. He was there because he deserved it.

But none of that is true.

It takes until Logan’s words for him to realize that fact.

Logan never lies. He likes cold hard facts. He says what’s on his mind—to the point that he’s sometimes too blunt with his words. Virgil thinks that maybe he can trust Logan’s words. They don’t magically fix all of his doubts and fears. But they help.

Virgil nods his head, hiccupping.

Logan envelopes him in a very loose embrace. He places his hands gingerly over Virgil’s back, prepared to draw back at the slightest hint of Virgil being uncomfortable. But Virgil leans into the hug, resting his head against Logan’s chest. They stay there until they hear the distant voices of Roman and Patton.

They are still looking for Virgil.

“We should go to them.” Logan says, breaking away.

The royal advisor stands up and offers his hand yet again to Virgil.

He takes it, after a moment’s hesitation.

-

He doesn’t see Roman for a few weeks after the incident. Patton and Logan both say that the prince is busy with his royal duties. Virgil doesn’t believe them. Especially with how their eyes dart away and they quickly change the conversation.

They start leaving him alone for short intervals of the day. As much as Virgil appreciates not being under constant surveillance, a panic arises from being alone. He feels safe in the others’ presences. When they are with him, it is easy for him to remember that they are here and that they won’t abandon him.

Once, Virgil liked being alone. He enjoyed long stretches of solitude. There is a peacefulness to it, listening to nature’s sounds or the noise of your own heartbeat. But that is then, and this is now. Now being alone brings back memories of the cell.

He’d liked being alone in his cell. Being alone meant His Eminence wasn't there to torment him. That was good. But just because it meant Virgil was away from Him didn’t mean he still didn’t suffer chained in a cell, with no food or water.

The nightmares are back. Nightmares where he screams and screams but no one comes and saves him. Worse, They show up to taunt him and make him think he’s brought harm to his friends. Sometimes, they make him doubt again if being in the castle is a dream and those nightmares are truly his reality.

So, no he doesn’t really like being alone.

Oftentimes, if it is not official royal business, they will let him tag along. Patton has taken him down to the room where he keeps all his magic scrolls and supplies for potions. There, Virgil sits in a corner as Patton conducts his work. The mage explains it to him as he goes, and Virgil listens raptly.

The two have been working on trying to relight Virgil’s connection to the Ether that has been extinguished. It took a lot of coaxing on Patton’s part to get Virgil to try again. Because what if he cannot ever use the Ether again? How can he be the mage’s apprentice then?

Nothing has occurred yet, despite numerous attempts. Virgil has grown disheartened at each failure. Patton keeps faith.

“Virgil, you performed a high energy spell and then you went malnourished for nearly a year,” Patton says firmly, “It is going to be a long while before you recover completely. And that is okay.”

It’s hard to believe that, especially when the Ether remains mostly silent. But Patton believes in it, and so he keeps trying for his sake. Because Virgil trusts him.

Virgil is alone, drawing, in Roman’s quarters. He does not know where Roman sleeps. Virgil has never asked the others that question. Nor does he question who it is that quiets him after a nightmare and lulls him back to sleep with lullabies.

(He already knows it is Roman. It has always been Roman who comforts him with a lullaby. Because neither Patton or Logan sing. Patton whispers soft reassurances while Logan distracts him with the names of the constellations. But he is half-asleep when it occurs, and the prince is always gone by morning.)

He is working on a drawing of a thunderstorm. Virgil is working on the shading when there is a rhythmic knock before the door opens. He tenses, scanning his surroundings for potential escape routes and makeshift weapons. He exhales slowly when he realizes it is only Patton.

“Hello Virgil!” The mage chirps, as he strides over to the bedside. He is hiding something underneath his cloak. It is bulky and cube-shaped. A box of some sort? A gift, perhaps? He notices Virgil’s inquisitive gaze and chuckles.

“I got a surprise for you!”

Virgil smiles nervously. He knows that Patton’s surprises are good things. Like flower-crowns or cookies. But the uncertainty still haunts him.

Virgil hasn’t attempted communicating with words since that moment with Logan. Strangely, the others have not pressured him to communicate, thankfully. What he does instead of words, is nod approvingly towards Patton revealing the surprise.

Patton grins, and reveals what’s underneath his cloak. It is a plain wicker basket with a lid. Something rustles from within the container—something alive.

“Go on, open it.” He encourages Virgil, holding the basket towards him.

Virgil places his fingertips on the lid, takes a breath, and then pulls it off. A pair of glimmering green eyes peers up at him. They are big and round and so, so curious. Virgil gapes at the sight for a long while—long enough for the being to get impatient and let out a pitiful wail.

“Go on,” Patton encourages, “she doesn’t bite—much.”

Virgil lets out an amused huff, before he reaches into the basket and picks up the creature. Now that it is out of the dark interior of the basket, he can see it more clearly. It is a black kitten—old enough to be independent from its mother. A ribbon is loosely tied around its’ neck. Its’ purple. Virgil’s favorite color is purple.

A slow smile spreads across his face as he pets the kitten. That can’t be a coincidence, right? He looks over to Patton for clarification, his eyes flickering to the purring kitten in his lap and back to Patton.

“The kittens are ready to be weaned from Lady Mittens,” Patton explains, reaching out to scratch underneath the kitten’s chin, “and I thought maybe this little lady could keep you company whenever Logan, Roman and I are all busy.”

Virgil freezes, his hand levitating inches above the kitten’s fur. The young feline is discontent with this, batting its paw at him to continue. He ignores it, as he blinks rapidly. It doesn’t stop a few stray tears from falling, however.

Patton knows he struggles with being alone. But rather than making fun of him or call it silly—he found a solution to Virgil’s problem. With this kitten, Virgil no longer has to be alone anymore.

Patton misinterprets the tears completely.

“It’s okay kiddo if you don’t want her! I am sure she can find—”

A finger presses against his lips, causing Patton to stop. Virgil withdraws his finger and the two stare at one another. Virgil breaks it first, an odd guffaw rising from his throat. He carefully deposits the black kitten onto Patton’s lap. The kitten makes little fuss about this, purring with content almost immediately.

‘No.’ Virgil signs, snapping his index and middle finger against his thumb, ‘love kitten. Love you.’

“I’m so glad!” Patton sniffles, throwing his arms around Virgil’s neck. The kitten squeaks in protest of being squished between the two. Thankfully Patton withdraws within seconds.

“You can name her, you know. I called her Blacky but since she’s yours now, you can choose a new name.” Patton says, petting the kitten to assuage it.

Virgil considers it for a moment. His eyes drift to the unfinished thunderstorm sketch in his journal. He thinks of the patron goddess of his home village and her signature weapon; lightning bolts.

‘Taran.’ Virgil decides.

Patton’s eyes widens at the name. The name of such a ferocious god seems odd for a harmless kitten. However, in his home village, to name an animal after a god is to invite their blessing upon you. Virgil doesn’t know how much he believes in that.

But he can’t argue that the distant rumble of thunder that happens moments later is just a coincidence.

Part 3: Toil and Trouble

Divine blessings or not, Taran’s own presence is its own blessing to Virgil onto itself. She is a reminder of the others’ love for Virgil. Being a growing kitten, she sleeps a lot. But during the hours Taran isn’t sleeping, she is energetic, demanding pets and pouncing on insects.

Caring for Taran gives Virgil a sense of purpose, a responsibility to uphold. It’s small yet significant for him. Logan goes on a long ramble about it—Virgil doesn’t catch all of it. But Logan essentially thinks the kitten is good for Virgil’s health.

It certainly keeps Virgil busy and on his toes, making sure Taran doesn’t get places she shouldn’t be. Such as in the present where he is chasing after the black streak that is Taran. He’d snuck out of his room, taking Taran along with him. He planned to go up to the tower, in the hopes of finding Roman once more. Just as he has done for the past week to no success.

It is doubtful he’ll discover Roman up there again. But he has to try. He has no hope of running into Roman during the daylight. The castle is massive and certain parts are restricted. It has been made clear that Roman does not want to see Virgil. Maybe not directly with words, but through action alone.

He is not content with that answer. Virgil has never been one to respect rules without question. He has always been the one to doubt things, to rebel subtly but rebel all the same. Even more so, he cannot understand why Roman is avoiding him. 

Virgil thinks back to the last time he truly saw Roman. It’d been after Logan found him hiding in the broom closet. While Patton fusses over Virgil’s wellbeing, he stands there silently. His eyes bloodshot, his outfit rumpled—unbecoming for a prince. He doesn’t make eye contact with Virgil at all. He averts his eyes to the ground instead.

He leaves as soon as he can. And outside the hysteria of waking up from nightmares, Virgil hasn’t seen him since.

Virgil thinks about the state he found Roman in at the tower and the words he said to him.

“Gods, Virgil you have every right to hate me and I don’t blame you—I hate myself.”

Roman, the haughtiest prince in all of the nine realms, hates himself. He told Virgil he has a right to hate him as well. Virgil, for all his own self-loathing, knows there is some truth to the prince’s words. It is Roman who insisted on the escapades outside the castle walls. But it hadn’t been for Virgil, then Roman would’ve endured the same torment Virgil had gone through.

Virgil would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant he could spare Roman or the others from enduring that dungeon.

He thinks that Roman is hiding from him because he thinks Virgil hates him and doesn’t want to see him. Or rather, he thinks Virgil should hate him. Virgil does want to see Prince Idiot and tell him personally that he doesn’t hate him. He never could.

So he continually keeps visiting the tower and hoping for Roman to show up. He starts taking Taran with him. Usually the kitten falls asleep in Virgil’s arms halfway to the tower. But tonight is different. Taran’s ears prick forward at a sound not audible to Virgil.

Before he can do anything, the kitten wiggles out of his arms and takes off running.

Virgil stares, aghast, before the panic sets in and he races after the kitten. Because oh my gods, what if Taran gets hurt? What if she disappears and never comes back? What if she dies?

His breathing picks up, and it is not due to exertion. Trying to keep track of a black cat in the middle of the night is almost impossible. Virgil is almost certain he is going to lose sight of Taran. The cat ducks into a room and he stops.

There is a faint light coming out of it. Someone is awake and oh gods, Virgil is going to have to go in there, isn’t he?

Virgil could leave Taran in there. She is not an unusual sight in the castle, after all. There are several cats that roam the castle's parameters, keeping it free of mice, rats and other vermin. It is doubtful that the person would harm Taran.

He is worried for Taran’s safety regardless. Yet there is no way in hell he can confront another person like Remy who isn’t Roman, Patton or Logan. They are safe.  Strangers are not. They’re dangerous and unpredictable. He refuses to interact with them, even with one of the others by his side.

As he deliberates a few feet away from the partially opened doorway, there’s laughter that comes from the room.

“Well, aren’t you charming?”

Virgil nearly collapses with relief. He knows that voice, even if it’s been a few weeks. It’s Roman. After all this time, he’s finally managed to find him. It is all thanks to Taran--though god or kitten, he does not know who to sing praises to. 

He barges into the room without a forewarned knock. The sudden entrance startles the prince. He whips out his saber on instinct, cradling Taran in the other hand. The act of aggression causes Virgil to stop within a few paces of the doorway.

“Virgil,” He exclaims in a hushed whisper, sliding the sword back into his hilt, “what are yo—you scared me!”

Virgil doesn’t make any indication he heard Roman’s words. He’s too focused on Roman’s attire. He is not dressed for bed or in his prince regalia, but armor. Gauntlets, breastplate, the whole works. It is not his royal armor either, but that of an ordinary guard’s. There is a burlap sack beside him that is suspiciously bulky.

He doesn’t know what Roman’s planning. But by the guilty look on his face it can’t be anything good. Because unless the castle is under siege, there is no reason for Roman to be dressed in armor in the dead of night.

“Virgil, please, I can explain—”

But Virgil refuses to listen this time. He will not let Roman be in harm’s way from one of his crazy schemes ever again. He storms over there and takes hold of Roman’s gloved hand by force. He pulls Roman off in the direction of his own royal apartment.

The crown prince is taller and weighs more than Virgil. He has always been physically stronger than Virgil, who excels in other areas such as speed and stealth. Roman could easily break free from Virgil’s grip with little trouble. But he is too stunned to even attempt protesting.

When they reach his quarters, Virgil takes Taran from his grasp. He places the cat safely on the ground.  Taran stretches before trotting off to go find a resting spot. Virgil then turns his attention back on Roman. He tugs at one of his gauntlets, wanting it off.

“What are you doing—” Roman protests at last, “I have to go, it’s for your sake Virgil—Ow!”

Roman cries out as Virgil stomps hard on his foot. Virgil who desperately wants to cry out how stupid that is. How could it possibly be for Virgil’s sake, if the last thing he wants is to see is Roman hurt? But the words evade him. Even though he knows he is in the company of friends he is—afraid.

Fear clenches at his throat and refuses to release its’ grip. What is once helpful in survival is now hindering in life.

He instead lights the candle by the bedside and writes something in big, blocky letters. With each letter his stomach threatens an upheaval. He ignores it, tapping the journal repeatedly once finished with the message. Roman leans over to inspect it.

“Don’t go,” Roman reads out loud. He looks up at Virgil, “But I have to go, Virgil.”

Virgil’s response is to push Roman, causing him to fall onto the bed. The prince attempts to rise but gets knocked flat on his back again by Virgil. He climbs into the bed beside Roman and clings onto his left arm. It’s too dark for him to use his journal or his hands to sign and so he hopes his actions are enough to convey their meaning.

Taran, apparently upset to be left out of the cuddling party, leaps onto the bed. She curls up at the base of their feet, purring loudly.

“You’re not…you’re not going to let me go easily, are you?” Roman asks, whispering so quietly Virgil wonders at first if he imagined them.

He shakes his head before realizing the light is too dim for Roman to see him. He leans closer to Roman as an alternative, holding onto him tighter. Roman lets out a defeated sigh.

He shifts, placing an arm around Virgil to embrace him.

“If you so wish, I will stay with you for the night.”

Virgil does, and so Roman stays.

There’s so much he needs to know from Roman. But now is not the time. For now, he is content to coexist peacefully by Roman’s side. Knowing that he is here, safe with Virgil, is all that matters. He falls asleep with his head on Roman’s chest, hearing the steady thrum of the other’s heartbeat.

-

When he wakes up in the morning, that heartbeat is gone. Instead, Virgil is left clutching at a pillow that is decidedly not Roman. All signs of sleepiness dissipate at once. He flings off the covers, as his eyes scan his surroundings of any signs of Roman. None. There is none.

Because Roman said he’d only stay the night, didn’t he? Virgil hadn’t thought too much of it at the time. But He should’ve done so. Because Roman is a dolt and did what he wanted to do anyways. Something white catches his eyes. It’s on his night stand. A white letter addressed in a fancy cursive script.

V I R G I L

He stares at it, breath hitching. With a shaky hand, he reaches down and grabs it. Taran meows, rubbing her head against Virgil’s leg. She probably wants something to eat. Virgil ignores her. He doesn’t want to unfold the piece of paper. He knows he’s not going to like whatever Roman has written.

But he hates uncertainty more than anything, and that ultimately wins in the end. The paper crinkles as he opens it up. His eyes dart across the piece of paper. Left to right, left to right, left to right. He reaches the end and starts over. Repeatedly.

“Dear Virgil,

It is my obstinance that has caused you unimaginable pain that you never should’ve had to endure. For that, I am deeply sorry. I cannot live another day knowing your tormentors still go unpunished. I have left to right that wrong.

Sincerely,

Roman.”

Teardrops fall onto the paper, marring the ink. The words swirl together until they’re nearly unintelligible. But it doesn’t matter. Virgil knows the words by heart already. He knows what they mean.

Roman is gone. Roman left him. Roman is dead.

Virgil isn’t stupid. He has gone to face His Eminence alone, by himself. There can’t possibly be any scenario where Roman doesn’t die. He is going to die, not before being beaten and bloodied. His Eminence is rather fond of slow, suffering deaths. Virgil has heard the screams of the other dungeon occupants.

He doesn’t want this. He could care less about vengeance. All he wants is for Roman to stay. Stay here, with him and the others, in the safety of the castle. But Roman is gone.

When Patton and Logan find him, he’s rolled up in a ball on the bed, hyperventilating. He clutches the paper tightly in his hands. Taran meows worriedly at him. They deduce rather quickly that he has heard the news.

Patton places a hand on his shoulder, causing Virgil to stiffen.

“Virgil, breathe.” He says.

Virgil tries. But the air feels too thin like he’s going to suffocate—

He can’t do it. Can’t, can’t, can’t!

“C—ca--c--” Virgil tries, grasping for breath. But he can’t even say the word “can’t”. How ironic.

A weight settles on the bed to the left of him. Logan.

 “In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.”

What?

It takes him a moment in his state of panic to realize what that means. Logan patiently leads him through it. Even when he fails it repeatedly. Patton squeezes his shoulder, encouraging him to keep trying.

Eventually his breaths become steady again and Virgil is exhausted. He has woken up barely an hour ago and he is ready to fall back asleep again. He slumps against Patton, who massages his back. Virgil lets Logan have a look at Roman’s letter. 

It takes Logan some time to decipher the tearstained letter. When he does, he reads it out loud for Patton. By the time Logan finishes reading it, three of them remain huddled close, and not a word is exchanged between them. 

-

Patton and Logan explain later that day to Virgil when they launched an attack on Haldoofse that resulted in Virgil’s rescue, His Eminence had not been among those captured or killed by the King’s army. Assumingly, Roman had gone looking to seek vengeance against Him.

“The King’s best knights are out searching him,” Logan informs him, “they’ll bring him back before he does something stupid.”

Despite his confidence, Virgil knows Logan is just as worried as Patton and him. He can tell by how Logan clutches his hands together until his knuckles are white.

Virgil can’t stay put, however. He needs to find Roman. He needs to be the one to haul him back by the ear. He can do it. Virgil knows all about how to track down someone who doesn’t want to be found. He needs to do it—he can’t fail Roman again.

He does not tell Logan nor Patton about these thoughts in his head. He knows they’d reject the idea immediately. But Patton is intuitive, he’s smarter than anyone gives him credit for. He looks Virgil in the eyes and takes hold of his shoulders.

“Please, don’t go after him, Virge. We can’t afford to lose you again.” Patton tries smiling, but it’s too wobbly and more of a grimace than anything else.

Virgil sees those blue eyes, dulled with that unspoken sadness, and he can’t do it. If he leaves, then it means Logan and Patton will possibly lose not one but two of their friends. Virgil hardly thinks he is as valuable as the prince. But for whatever reason the others thought he was worth risking death to save him. The most he can do is to live and be there for them.

He can’t do that for Roman. He has made his choice. But he has to be there for Logan and Patton. For now.

Part 4: Blood Will Have Blood

Blood, there is so much blood. Gods, it won’t stop pouring out. Virgil can’t move—there are chains holding him still, restraining him. He can’t move—he is stuck in the cell again. Dark, dark, dark—the sun is gone. Yet somehow he can still see the figure slumped lifelessly in front of him, crimson stains on their armor. This is a…dream, right? This can’t be reality.

“Oh, but this is reality.” A voice says, causing him to flinch.

Had he said that last thought out loud? He can’t remember. Maybe His Eminence can read minds—that thought terrifies him. No, no that can’t be true. That’d mean all his efforts to not talk have been in vain. His mind has always been a safe haven. He could think and think whatever he wanted, and He’d never know. The idea that He trespassed into his safe haven horrified him.  It’d mean His Eminence is just toying with him after all this time. It means he has always been a plaything for His amusement.

As if in response to that last thought, His Eminence laughs. It is a loud, manic laugh. Virgil flinches. Never has he so desperately wished he is deaf to avoid ever having to hear that awful sound ever again. He twists his face away from the horrific sight in front of him. Away from the cackling.  He doesn’t get away with it.

Someone roughly grabs ahold of his chin and forces him to gaze upon it again.

“Looook,” His Eminence hisses, “Look at what you did.”

“I—I didn’t do it,” He protests, those wretched words freely pouring out of his lips, “I’d never!”

“Oh?” His Eminence tilts His head in mock ponderance, “So our beloved prince just happened to run into his own sword?”

White hot anger pierces Virgil’s stomach. He’d never hurt Roman or the others. Never, never, never. His Eminence knows that. That is why He hates Virgil. But with that anger is fear. As the two are oft linked hand-in-hand in joint matrimony with one another. Which is why he so vehemently denies it. 

“No, I’d never—” His throat closes up with emotion but he presses on, “No, you did this—you killed him!”

His Eminence laughs again at him, that cruel, despairing noise far from what laughter should sound like.

“Me? I did nothing. You on the other hand?” Hjs Eminence smirks, “look at your hands.”

Virgil shakes his head. No, he won’t listen. He knows how this will end. But he can’t stop himself. He looks down at his hands—no longer encased with chains. Instead of metal chains, he sees blood. The fingers start trembling, but he can’t feel them. Are they really his hands—do those bloody, bloody hands really belong to him?

No, they can’t—he wouldn’t hurt Roman, it’s not real—it can’t possibly—

A hand squeezes his shoulder. He squirms, trying to escape its’ hold.

“Virgil!”

He freezes. He knows that voice. Patton. Virgil gasps, looking around. There’s no more chains, no more blood and no more Ro—he is awake. Or at least he believes that he is awake. This reality is at least more comforting. Patton is there, Virgil’s head rests on his lap as the mage massages his scalp. The touch is gentle and grounding. He is outside somewhere with Patton. He can feel the warm breeze and hear birds sing nearby. But where outside?

Virgil opens his mouth, words at the tip of his tongue. But the image of bloody hands causes his mouth to slide shut.

“I’m here, I got you,” Patton whispers, reassuring him, “You fell asleep and had a bad nightmare but it’s over now. You’re safe with me in the gardens.”

The gardens. Virgil remembers now. Patton had insisted that Virgil was in need of some fresh air. Patton was right, as he typically is. Virgil had been holed up in the crown prince’s quarters, having no motivation to leave it. Instead he has spent his time pacing the rooms and scribbling in his journal.

Sleep has not been a friend to him. It hasn’t been a friend for a long while. He has accepted by this point that nightmares will continue to plague him. But without the prince’s lullabies or rather—the prince himself, the nightmares have evolved.

Everything he closes his eyes, he sees Roman. Lifeless. Eyes glassy like dolls. Crimson red staining his white satin tunic. His arm outstretched, towards Virgil. He dies with a smile on his face. He dies, his last words reassuring Virgil it is okay. It isn’t okay.

Sometimes Roman knows that. He doesn’t die smiling. Instead he angrily blames Virgil for his death. Virgil thinks he prefers these dreams over the others.

His mind has crafted a hundred deaths for Roman, each more gruesome than the last. Each and every one of them Virgil’s fault. Sometimes he’s back in the cell, chained and unable to move. Other times he’s in that alleyway with Roman and unable to magick him away from the Haldoofse. But no matter what, it is always Virgil’s fault in the end that Roman dies.

Virgil can’t sleep. He tries avoiding it as much as he can, as futile as it is. The images of his nightmares lurking in the back of his head, sleep or no sleep. He is exhausted. The world is blurry, and his head hurts and he can hardly concentrate on anything. His journal pages have been reduced to squiggles.

He can’t sleep, but he must sleep to function. Logan and Patton have tried their best to help him. But nothing much can be done with his nightmares. Even Patton’s sleeping potions can’t prevent that. 

Virgil shifts his gaze towards the sun, noticing it is significantly closer to the horizon than before. He had to have been asleep for about an hour or two. That would be the longest amount he’s had in the last few days. He wishes he hadn’t slept at all. He feels even more drained than before.

It has been nearly a fortnight since Roman left. It has seemed like years to Virgil, especially in his sleep-deprived state. The kingdom’s finest knights scour the lands in search of him. Still, there is no news whether he is alive or dead. For now, the majority of the kingdom remains blissfully unaware. They think he has simply gone on an extended hunting trip. It is the perfect season for hunting. The weather pleasant, the prey plentiful. It is, however, an illusion that will not last for long.

He hears a muffled sound and he looks up at Patton, who is still playing with Virgil’s hair. Patton is saying something, but it is too soft for Virgil to catch.

Virgil looks at him, confused, mouthing, ‘What?’

He still can’t talk. It isn’t like he is physically incapable of the action. His vocal chords are still intact. Yet nothing comes out, as if Ursula the great sea-witch herself snatched his voice away.  He can only really speak in dreams. Bad things always happen when he speaks. Bad things that linger in the back of his mind and keep him from speaking when he’s awake. He knows it’s irrational. He knows they’re not real. But what if he makes them real?

He’s shaken from those thoughts when Patton repeats his words, this time a little louder.

“I said that we should probably head back inside,” Patton says, trying to muster up a grin, “let’s see if we can coax Logan away from his studies to join us for dinner, hm?”

Virgil sits up, offering a small nod.

Much like Virgil has shut himself away in his room, Logan has done likewise with his work. He is Roman’s personal Royal Advisor, positioned to become his right-hand man once he becomes king. As such, Roman’s father, the King, has ordered him to be in charge of recovering Roman.

Virgil sees very little of the King for someone who occupies the same castle as the royal. Even from before, this holds truth. But this is not an anomaly. The King has always preferred to be as far removed from the servants and the common people as possible. He hardly attends the royal council meetings, instead sending a representative in his stead.

“Of course he sends you in his stead,” Roman rolled his eyes once at a meeting, “couldn’t be bothered with actually showing up once in a while, did he?”

There were a few stifled gasps, Virgil included. Only the cocky, bullheaded prince could get away with saying such things.

“The Divine King does not need to meddle in such lowly matters himself,” His representative responded in a droll manner, “Please do try to show proper respect to your father, Crown Prince Roman. When one day you are in his position, you will understand how precious the Divine King’s time is.”

Roman’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he held his tongue. All throughout the meeting, he hardly spoke. Virgil caught him at times, glaring when the representative wasn’t looking.

As Patton and Virgil reenter the castle, they pass by two female servants. One with blond hair, and the other with ebony hair. They do a short curtsy  towards them, a common act of reverence towards nobility. Virgil doesn’t think much of it. He is often trailing after Patton and Logan, both who are considered nobility.

Logan had been born into the nobility class. He grew up knowing Roman practically since birth. Whereas Patton, like Virgil, had been a peasant. His parents are farmers and he himself had the destiny of being a farmer until his link to the Ether was discovered. The title of court mage is of nobility, meaning he became nobility when he took up the title.

“Lyla, Aurora, you don’t have to curtesy for little ole me!” Patton says, attempting to wave them off.

A smile graces Virgil’s lips, a rare sight these days. Of course Patton knows these two servants’ names. He is good at remembering every person’s names that he comes across. Or making friends with everyone he meets for that matter.

“We know.” The blond-haired one says, glancing towards Virgil. He does not know why. Is there something distracting about his appearance?

He doesn’t have time to reflect on it. Patton quickly excuses themselves and they continue on their way. They walk through the stone passageways, lined with tapestries depicting battles long gone. Until at last, they reach Logan’s quarters within the castle.

Patton knocks in his patented rhythmic fashion. Two knocks, a pause, followed by three quick knocks in succession.

“Come in,” Logan says from within.

Patton bursts through the door, Virgil following behind.

Logan is sitting at his desk, papers and scrolls cluttering it. He is writing something, his back facing away from the two. Patton gets a sly look on his face. Virgil watches as he walks up to Logan, carefully to keep his footsteps light.

“Guess who?” Patton says, his hands covering Logan’s eyes.

“Patton?” Logan says, a soft warmth to his voice.

“Yup! And Virgil’s with me as well!” Patton removed his hands, allowing Logan to turn and look up at the two.

“Ah, Virgil. It’s good to see you up—up and about.” Logan says, yawning mid-sentence.

Virgil catches himself yawning as well. Patton follows suit. None of them have managed to achieve a full night’s sleep these past few weeks. There are dark circles hidden beneath the spectacles of the other two. Logan appears worse off than Patton. He sways in his chair, eyes bloodshot.

Virgil narrows his eyes, marching forward to pluck the feather quill from Logan’s hand. The royal advisor lets out a muffled cry, reaching for it. Virgil hoists above his head, away from Logan and hands it to Patton. He shoots Patton a desperate look, urging him to say something. 

“Logan, Virgil and I came here to see if you’d like to join us for dinner…but I think you need more than that. I think you should take a break—until the morning at least.” Patton says, pressing his lips firmly together.

“I appreciate your concerns, Patton, but I cannot give up—not like before—“ Logan lets out a strangled sound, and he turns his head to look away from the two.

Virgil and Patton exchange looks. Virgil’s eyebrows are furrowed with worry. There is concern shining in Patton’s eyes. But there is also something other emotion flitting across Patton’s face. Virgil can’t discern what it is, and it bothers him.

Patton steps forward, “I’m not asking you to give up. We will find him, Logan. But Virgil and I aren’t going to let you destroy yourself in the process. Please, Logan, you can’t help like this. A person needs sufficient food and rest in order to perform their duties well.”

“You are using my own words against me,” Logan croaks, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes, “but…I suppose I see your point.”

 Logan doesn’t admit often when he’s wrong. It irks him. For him to come close to it is a sign of his exhaustion.

“I’m glad,” Patton says, “You are important to us, Logan. We can’t afford to lose you.”

“Well I am not sure--” Logan starts, before crumbling underneath Patton's’ gaze, “Er, thank you Patton and Virgil. It would be...most inopportune to lose either of you as well.”

At the mention his name, Virgil startles. He doesn’t expect for Logan to acknowledge him. Patton did all the talking after all. 

“Of course,” Patton says, smiling thinly, “now let’s get out of this stuffy study and get some food, hm?”

They take dinner in Roman’s quarters.  It is mostly silent, other than the clinking of cutlery. All of them are on the verge of using their bowls of soup as a makeshift pillow.

Halfway through, Patton lets out a strained giggle. Both Logan and Virgil shoot him a questioning look.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was imagining what it’d be like if—if Roman was with us right now.” Patton says, voice cracking.

Virgil leans over and squeezes Patton’s hand gently. A small gesture of comfort. It is not a reassurance that Roman will return. Virgil can’t promise that. No one can. But it is Virgil showing Patton he also wishes Roman is there with them.

Logan huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Knowing Roman, he’d be making a fuss about the carrots in the soup,” Logan halfheartedly grumbles, “Despite my lectures, he did—he does not seem to comprehend the importance of carrots or vegetables in general.”

“You say that as if you wouldn’t eat Madame Crofter’s jelly for the rest of your life.” Patton teases.

Logan’s cheeks burn red from embarrassment, causing Virgil to snort in amusement.

“I—in any case, when Roman returns, perhaps a fitting punishment would be forcing him to eat nothing but carrots for a week.” Logan says, in an attempt to avert the topic away from him.

 The conversation continues after that, but Virgil drowns it out, focusing on one word: When. Logan said “When Roman returns” not “If Roman returns.”

Did Logan really believe that? Logan “I’m Always Serious” Golic? Logan who always berated Patton and Roman for their flights of fancy? Logan who always advocates for logical, sensible thinking?

If Logan believes Roman will return, maybe Virgil can as well. Virgil badly wants to believe the next time he sees Roman, he'll be riding atop a white horse and not inside a white casket. Virgil knows better. He’s lived enough to be wise to the world’s tricks.

Reality is harsh and cruel and oh so unforgiving. It sets you up into thinking your fairytale ending will happen, only to snatch it away at last minute’s notice. Until the next thing you’re aware, you’re imprisoned in a dungeon and you’re never getting out—

No. He refuses to dwell on that right now. Virgil gazes down at his half-empty soup bowl, his appetite deserting him. Patton and Logan are still talking. Patton glances at him, concerned. Virgil doesn’t look back. He’s still thinking.

Maybe Logan doesn’t truly believe Roman will come back. Perhaps it’s only a charade, to keep Virgil’s and possibly Patton’s hopes up. Both Logan and Patton treat him at best a small child. They tiptoe around certain topics, incredibly careful in their interactions with him.. He is damaged, he knows this. But he can take the truth. If Roman is dead, he’d prefer to know rather than live in an illusion where Roman could either be alive or dead.

Virgil wants to use words to demand Patton and Logan to tell him the truth. He doesn’t do it. Instead, he sits and thinks how the others must’ve felt about his own disappearance. The others didn’t give up on him, even when he’d believed they did. He can’t imagine having to experience something like this a second time. Logan and Patton are better than Virgil will ever be. They have a continual faith that things will be alright. A faith Virgil cannot even hope to possess.

Someone places a hand on his shoulder. It pulls Virgil out of his reveries and back into reality. Weeks ago the sudden contact would’ve startled him. But Virgil recognizes that warm, gentle touch and knows he is safe.

“Hey Virgil,” Patton says gently, moving his hand to tuck a piece of Virgil’s hair behind his ear, “Are you finished eating?”

He nods, mouth twisting to form a yawn.

“Okay, we’ll send it away then.” Patton says, not at all angered that Virgil hadn’t finished his meal.

A servant comes and collects their dirty dishes. Logan rises from his chair, presumably heading to his bedchamber for the night. At least, he starts for the door but freezes midway through. Patton doesn’t move either. It appears none of them are eager to leave each other’s presences.

“Sleepover?” Patton suggests, his smile lacking its usual spark.

Logan’s face scrunches together. He inhales deeply, words already formed on his tongue then stops. Why, Virgil doesn’t know. Something causes Logan to change his mind. Patton’s wide, pleading eyes, perhaps. Or maybe he’s too tired to put up a fight he’s likely to lose.

“I will participate, as long as Virgil is alright with it.” He says.

 The chair creaks as Virgil leans away from their questioning gazes. He should say no. The last thing he wants is his nightmares to disturb the others’ chances of a good night’s rest. He should say no, and yet, he doesn’t. His selfish desire for physical affection wins in the end.

Virgil nods yes, and he doesn’t regret upon seeing Patton’s smile grow wider.

The three of them don’t even change into sleepwear. They barely make it to the bed before they collapse. Logan and Patton fall asleep before Virgil. He can hear the steady sounds of their breathing.  Patton’s head leans against Virgil, an arm draped across Virgil’s chest. Meanwhile Logan’s back presses against Virgil’s side. He is encased between the two, and he does not mind it at all. It is comforting, grounding even.

Still he lays between the two, wide awake despite his exhaustion. The bed is supposed to be Roman’s. The whole spacious bedroom is rightfully Roman’s. Virgil is hardly deserving of such lodging.

 Yet, he understands now why Roman insisted on him staying here; guilt. Roman thinks Virgil deserves a royal’s quarters more than he, the rightful prince, deserves it. The fact the King allowed it is astonishing. But then again, when Roman gets an idea stuck in his head, it’s impossible to persuade him otherwise. Virgil knows this from personal experience.

Unsurprisingly, his fatigued mind is incapable of thinking about anything but Roman. Hot tears spill down his face.

Damn Roman for having the audacity to be more than a snobby, selfish noble. He never imagined wishing that until this moment. A snobby, selfish noble would be safe, behind their castle walls. Not traversing the kingdom, unguarded from its’ perils.

Instead, Roman happened to be a nearsighted, selfless fool. How dare he place his royal birthright in jeopardy for the sake of vengeance? He is the King’s only child. If he fell, the throne would fall to one of his cousins. If they chose to squabble over it, it’d mean anarchy for the whole kingdom.

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. Virgil isn’t worth the whole kingdom. An apology is all he needed. Not this impossible task Roman has placed upon himself.

Roman wrote he couldn’t stand remaining idle while Virgil’s tormentors went unpunished. But how could he not realize they couldn’t bear to live in a world without him? That after everything, Virgil could hardly live with himself knowing he’d been—that he’d been the catalyst to Roman’s…doom.

Virgil closes his eyes, his consciousness growing fuzzy. The world swirls into a black hole of nothingness. He’s asleep. Not entirely. A fray of his consciousness stays awake. Just enough for him to hear muffled voices, a soft kiss pressed upon his forehead then nothing. The part of him that’s mostly asleep thinks it’s a dream. A pleasant one, compared to the others. But then the bed grows cold, and that sends warning bells to his brain.

He opens his eyes to find Logan and Patton gone. Just like Roman. Heart in throat, Virgil tears the bedsheets off of him. He abandons the bed, standing up as he surveys his surroundings. It is still dark; the sun has not yet rose.

He refuses to look at the nightstand. He will not read another letter claiming their actions as right and just when that’s bullshit. A noise erupts from outside, startling him. Footsteps. Loud and heavy, belonging to the palace guards. There are shouts. A commotion like this can only mean one thing; there is a threat against the castle.

 Assassins? An enemy kingdom invasion? The remaining Haldoofse launching a surprise attack? Virgil doesn’t know nor does he care. The only thing he cares about is making sure Patton and Logan are safe. He refuses to let another person face danger because of him.

Virgil goes for the knife hidden underneath the bed frame. The knife the others have no idea exist. The knife Remy had bestowed upon him. 

The knife at his disposal, he heads to the door leading out of the quarters. Something brushes against his legs, and he whips out his knife to see two glittering irises. It’s Taran. The feline looks unimpressed at his knife, her chin held high.

He puts the knife away. With a shaky hand, he reaches out and pets Taran. She responds by headbutting his legs some more, purring. It appears Taran came to send him off. Whether it is god or cat, he does not know. It is reassuring all the same. He withdraws his hand and opens the door. He makes sure Taran doesn’t dart out before closing it shut.

Virgil stays away from the light of the hallway torches, keeping to the shadows. The halls are silent. Too silent after the ruckus from earlier. With each step, he could be a step closer from engaging with an enemy. He hears rapid footsteps and holds back, behind a wall. It’s an enemy—it has to be.

As the person rounds the corner, he tackles them. He holds his knife underneath their chin, ready to slash—

“Virgil?!”

He pauses. Even with the hallway lit by torches, it is dim. Yet there is no mistaking Logan gaping up at him in shock. It’s more than just that. There are tear tracks on his cheeks. Logan never cries. Never.

Virgil’s anger from earlier gives way. He removes the knife away from Logan’s throat, unpinning him from the floor. Logan lays on the ground, making no attempts to move. Virgil frowns, reaching out to caress Logan’s cheek. His thumb gently running across the tear-stains. Logan surprises him by leaning into the contact.

Logan is not a very affectionate person. He will offer physical comfort, knowing others reciprocate better to it. Rarely does he himself seek it out. He primarily shows and seeks love in other ways; words rooted in comforting logic and acts of services towards others.

He’s only seen Logan actively desire physical affection in times of duress. Something is wrong. Virgil withdraws his hand, causing Logan to whimper. His eyes widen in horror at the pitiful sound that emanates from his mouth.

“I—I apologize—”

Virgil doesn’t let him finish that sentence. He pulls Logan away from the ground and into a protective hold. Logan lets him. He clings to Virgil, sobbing. Virgil scans the hallways, straining to hear any possible intruders sneaking up on them. But the halls remain silent.

Virgil hums, rubbing Logan’s back. Words still fail him, but humming is okay. He hums, the melody sounding suspiciously familiar. As if he’s heard it sung to him by a certain prince. The soft lullaby appears to calm Logan down, his sobs petering out into small sniffles. Eventually Logan is breathing normally, slumped against Virgil. For a moment, Virgil thinks Logan has fallen asleep.

Then Logan jolts, gripping Virgil tightly by the shirt. There is a wild, almost manic glint in his eyes. It’s far from his usual calculating, reserved demeanor.

“Virgil,” He says lowly, “Roman, he is—he’s—”

Logan inhales deeply, collecting his thoughts. Virgil’s heart rings loudly in his ears. It is only a few seconds, the blink of an eye. At the mention of Roman, and what are merely seconds has transformed into literal years for Virgil. He knows what’s coming. There is no other explanation for Logan’s anomalous behavior. He knows what’s been coming for days. Still, it will hurt to hear those words spoken out loud. To know that Roman is actually de—

“—alive.”

[dragonjanusisthebestjanus]

The Dragon Lord

Pairing: Janus x Logan (Loceit)

Logan becomes the first ever mage to study in the dragon lands.

Trigger warnings: Fire, depictions of violence, attempted drowning.

Read it on ao3 here!

Taglist: @prince-rowan-of-the-forest @sleepy-nova-tea

Logan quickly tucked the mail into his messenger bag. He raced back up the stairs to his dormitory, attempting to avoid any students in his way.

“Excuse me, Pardon me, coming through!”

He finally reached his room and threw open the door.

“Patton,”

His roommate looked up from where he was studying his potions textbook.

“It’s here!” Logan gleefully plopped down next to Patton and dumped his bag all over his bed. Quills, ink, scrolls, binders, papers, and multiple letters fall from the bag. Logan quickly snatched the one sealed with a green stamp, and quickly opened it with a letter opener that had also come from his bag.

“What’s it say what’s it say?”

“They… I… I…” Logan put the letter in his lap, eyes wide and jaw agape.

Patton slipped the letter out of Logan’s hands. He read it and then wrapped his friend in a hug.

“Oh my gosh Logan! They said you can go! You get to be the first wizard to study in the dragon lands in a thousand years!”

“I get to, I’m; I’m,”

Logan’s smile widens. He returns his friend's hug; then stands and spins them around their room.

“I GET TO GO STUDY IN THE DRAGON LANDS!”

…

Logan hugged his roommate again as Headmistress LeFay opened the portal to the Swamplands.

“You’re gonna do great, Lo. I know it.”

“You are too! You get to study potions with Matilda the Swamp Hag!”

“I know! And it’s a dream come true for me! But it’s nothing like what you get to do, Logan. You have to tell me all about it next semester!”

“I will Pat, I promise.”

The roommates let go and Patton waved goodbye as he stepped through the portal.

“Alright, Crofter. You’re the last one. Are you ready?” Logan nodded at Headmistress Le Fay. She opened a new portal, and Logan took a deep breath as he stepped through.

“Good luck.” Headmistress Le Fay said.

“Thank you, Headmistress.”

The portal closed behind him. A few moments later a large, golden dragon descended in front of him. Logan stood in awe as the dragon transformed in front of his very eyes. A bright, golden glow appeared, then a man about a foot shorter than Logan appeared.

“Logan Crofter, I presume?”

“Um, yes, yes sir.”

The dragon chuckled. “No need to worry, Dragon’s don’t bite.”

Logan continued to stare in awe.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I tried to engage in what you humans call ‘humor’. Was that, was that not humorous?”

Logan shook his head. “I’m sorry. Yes, I suppose it was, humerus. I apologize, this is, this place is, amazing!”

The dragon around and took stock of his land.

“Yes, yes I suppose it is.” He turned back around. “So, you are Logan Crofter, correct?”

“Oh! Yes. Yes. I apologize again. I am Logan Crofter. Do you have a name? There isn’t much information on dragons in our realm,”

The man held out his hand, stopping him. “Yes, something I am trying to rectify. Beginning with allowing you to study here.” The man took a deep bow. “I am Janus, the New Dragon Lord. It is my pleasure to welcome you here, Mr. Crofter.”

…

Logan had the best time of his life.

He had learned Janus had recently won the title of Dragon Lord in The Gauntlet of Fire, after the previous Dragon Lord died of old age.

“So, you’re Dragon Lord for life? The old Dragon Lord’s child won’t try and usurp the title from you?”

“Of course not. I won the title fair and square. Is this not how it works in the human world?”

Logan shook his head.

As it turned out, The Previous Dragon Lord had been the one who kept the dragons isolated from the rest of civilization. Janus was now determined to reunite them with the rest of the world.

“It can only make us stronger. Why wouldn’t we want to be the best we can be?”

Logan had learned dragons were extremely vain. It made sense, from all the legends about them collecting gold.

Or other pretty objects.

Logan didn’t miss the ever-revolving rotation of pretty boys who left Janus’s chambers every evening.

“Janus, do dragons usually partake in…”

Janus had laughed from his throne. “As many sexual escapades as I? No. But being Dragon Lord certainly has its perks. And honestly Logan? I don’t even have as many as you think. Most come to me for this.”

Janus pulled down his shirt collar and showed Logan a bright red gemstone.

“Whoa…”

“Whoa indeed, my little mage. This is the last remaining Fire Ruby. It is the only thing that can heal any ailment any dragon may suffer. It is my duty as Dragon Lord to protect it.”

Logan sat on the armrest of Janus’s throne. “May I?”

The Dragon Lord nodded. Logan unbuttoned his shirt, fully exposing the Fire Ruby.

“It’s gorgeous.” He said.

“So are you.”

The mage allowed The Dragon Lord to connect their lips. Janus pulled him into his lap, and ran his hands under Logan’s shirt.

“Wait- wait.” Logan pulled away.

“Is everything alright, Logan?”

Logan stood up and took several steps away. “No, no, I just-“ he shook his head and sighed. “I don’t want to be another notch in your bedpost, Janus.”

Janus rose from his throne and took the human’s hand.

“Have you learned anything about how dragons court, Logan?”

“N-No.”

“You know dragons are jealous, possessive creatures Logan. If a dragon wishes to court another dragon,” he pulled the human back towards him. “They attempt to make the other dragon jealous by…bedding others.” He pressed kisses to Logan’s neck. “I understand now humans don’t see it that way, but,”

Logan’s eyes widened. “You’ve… you’ve been courting me?”

Janus nodded. Logan turned and pressed their lips together again.

…

Logan’s going away party was supposed to be magnificent.

Janus had mandated every dragon in the land show up. He spared no expense to make sure it had the best food, decor, and entertainment in all the lands.

“You promise you’re coming back?” Janus was in his halfling form, with his wings covering them both, his tail wrapped around Logan’s waist, and claws tangled in his hair.

Logan chuckled and pressed a kiss to his lover's ear. “Yes Jan, I’m coming back I promise. But I have to return to school and present my findings. Then I have to see my family for a little while.”

“Hmmm. I don’t see why I can’t write to the Headmistress. Insist you need to stay here. Then your family could come stay here! You can all be under my protection.”

“A tempting offer. However I doubt my Aunt Patty could make the trip. And before you offer to fly her here! I doubt she could manage the rocky terrain either.”

Janus grumbled and nuzzled back into his lover’s neck.

“I promise Janus. I will come back to you.”

The day was supposed to be perfect.

Logan happily watched the party from beside Janus.

“Why does that weak human get to sit by the Dragon Lord?”

Janus had gripped Logan’s hand.

“Yeah, like this whole party is already for him. Let someone else have a turn!”

Logan placed his other hand atop of Janus’s.

“You know, I could probably eat him in two bites! If we were allowed to be dragons, that is.”

“You know, the human probably knew we could! The human probably convinced the Dragon Lord to make the ‘halflings or humans only’ rule for the night.”

Janus had started to growl.

“You know they won’t try to do anything. Not with you around.”

One thing Logan knew: as self absorbed as most dragons were, nobody challenged The Dragon Lord.

The thought seemed to calm Janus. He slithered his tail around Logan’s waist again, although it was much more possessive than it had been that morning.

The two dragons that had been gossiping soon moved on, allowing Janus and Logan to resume enjoying the party.

After it was over, Janus and Logan indulged themselves by taking a long walk along the river outside Janus’s castle.

“You promise you’re coming back?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yes, love. I promise I am-“

A fireball appeared in the air. Janus quickly shifted into his dragon form and tackled Logan to the side.

“What the-“

Another fireball headed towards them. Logan quickly cast a spell, reducing it to nothing.

“Hold on,”

Logan hugged Janus’s neck as he took to the air.

“WHO DARE FIRES UPON THE DRAGON LORD?”

Another fireball came, specifically aiming for Logan. Janus spun in the air, allowing the flames to breeze past them.

Logan closed his eyes as he felt fire literally form in Janus’s throat. He let out a blaze all around the cavern, reducing several rocks into ash.

“SHOW YOURSELVES!” Janus roared.

Another fireball was launched. It would have hit Janus’s wing, had the dragon from earlier not came and swallowed it.

“You?”

“I’m, I’m sorry my lord! I was… I was aiming for the human.”

Janus snarled at the dragon.

“How dare you,”

The other dragon from earlier flew out and knocked Logan off of Janus. Logan watched the two dragons struggle for a moment before he cast a floating spell.

“Janus, look out!”

The second dragon came flying back around. He bared his teeth and bit Janus’s right hind leg. He kept it between his teeth as he dove towards the river, only releasing The Dragon Lord when his wings were in the water.

“Janus!”

Janus was struggling to keep himself above the water. Logan flew down near him, but ended up having to dive into the river when the dragon came back.

“Gostir, what the hell are you doing?”

The dragon didn’t reply to his friend.

“Logan! Logan!” The Dragon lord started thrashing violently, creating large waves in the river.

“Janus, Janus calm down-“

Logan was swept under by one of the waves. He tried to cast another spell, but his head hit the side of some rocks, knocking him out.

…

When Logan awoke, he was laying in a plush field beside a forest.

“Logan, Logan thank the gods! I thought I’d lost you!”

Logan coughed and tried to sit up, but Janus pushed him back down.

“You’re, you’re bleeding.” Logan pointed to Janus’s leg, which had bright red patches all down it.

“I don’t care.” Janus pulled his lover into a hug. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Logan returned the hug, but noticed something.

“Janus, the Fire Ruby?”

Janus shook his head. “It’s… it’s gone. I-I lost it going after you.”

“What? Janus! You-you should not have done that! The Fire Ruby is much more important!”

“Not to me.”

The two managed to somewhat pull themselves together. They tried to travel into the woods, back towards the Dragonlands. However, it soon became apparent that Janus’s leg was going to be a problem.

“Love, you’re, you’re limping. Here, let me make you a walking stick,”

“NO!”

Logan was taken aback. Janus had never yelled at him before.

“I’m, I'm sorry my love. But I am the mighty Dragon Lord. I have a reputation to protect.” Janus looked around, and eventually spotted a small cave. “Why don’t we stop there and rest for a while?”

Logan nodded. He took Janus’s hand and led him into the cave.

He worried about when they would be able to come out.

[maddstermind]

Find The Word!

Yippee!!!! Thank you @veneritia!!

rift

     He'd been trying to befriend the Port Guard since the incident. The animosity had gone on far too long. The group seemed more than happy to welcome him in, but a rift remained between them; Addison felt much older than he actually was. Only two or so years apart, and it felt like centuries.

luck

     Ignacio hopped aboard the boat, opening the doors to the cabin. "Scout! C'mon, time to go home."      Grumbling, the child emerged from the cabin. Ignacio tried to pat their shoulder, but they ducked under his hand, disembarking from the boat. "See you later. Good luck."      Ignacio's face fell as he watched Scout go. He stood on the edge of the boat and called down the pier, "I love you! Be good for your father!"      They paused, looking back over their shoulder. "I will. I love you, too." They continued walking, and soon disappeared from sight.

hold

     A shout caught his attention, and he ran toward the sound. It sounded enough like Sutton, but he was hesitant to believe it, lest it was another trick from the mage. Even so, he was willing to take the risk — especially when more shouts followed, clearly from combat and pain.      "Sutton!" he shouted, scanning desperately for them. "Hold on, I'm coming!"      "Ashton?" they called back. "Find some high ground!"

star

"Do you remember Ainsley Patton?"      Addison wasn't sure of the relevance, but thought back. "I think so. We were in the same grade, but I think she was in the Magic Guild, wasn't she?"      "Yeah. And she went missing the semester before I did."      The memory resurfaced and Addison frowned. Her disappearance had been a big deal at the time — she was a star pupil, scouted for the Magic Guild and excelling in it. A talented, well-liked girl who vanished in the night.      "What about her?" Addison asked, a growing feeling of dread in his stomach.

I shall tag @ayzrules, @365runesoftheamalgamations, @dontcrywrite, and anyone else who wants in! (Feel free to tag me back!)

Your words are: group, child, pain, and deal.

[possibly-god]

Jane “JJ” Doe Jr. – the Wizard

(1975 – 4mg/2000 – 24)

Did Zhanna and Soldier pick that name as soon as they found out they were expecting? Yes. Did they know the sex? No.

Was Zhanna in the trenches against OHM in her delicate condition? Absolutely.

Soldier’s growing family settles into a lovely bunker on the outskirts of Teufort, with a little help from Heavy and the other mercs to make it suitable for human habitation.

Medic had to deliver his kleine nibling when Zhanna’s labor hit unexpectedly. Heavy cried. Soldier mocks him for this. Soldier also cried.

When the Does sprung surprise babysitting duty on “Uncle Merasmus”, the mage locked the babbling nuisance in the Orcish Oubliette – and was rewarded with Baby’s First Fireball straight to the face when retrieving them for pickup.

JJ’s magical abilities are almost entirely self-taught through a deeply bonkers process of trial and error – it’s hard to tell if Merasmus’ constant screams of “YOU SHOULD BE DEAD” is an expression of ancestral hatred or concerned bafflement (he refuses to give in and train them himself, no matter how many times his keep is destroyed).

They seem to have taken their parents blasé approach to their gender to heart – this kid doesn’t know what a pronoun is, has never voluntarily worn pants, and is cultivating an impressive beard because “every good wizard needs a beard.”

Junior is the eldest of six, their siblings all angling to join different branches of the military (the navy for Orel, the army for Mariya, the marines for Mikhail, the coast guard for Patton, and the air force for Georgi).

Heavy may not be Soldier’s biggest fan, but if there’s one thing the two (and “kuzina Pasha”) can agree on, it’s doting on the kids (and Zhanna, of course) – Soldier just can’t keep up his drill sergeant act with his little monsters.

The limited education offered by Teufort’s public school is supplemented by regular visits from RED and their families – magic aside, JJ and their siblings have quite an eccentric knowledge base.

JJ’s arcane interests certainly do not preclude the use of more traditional weaponry – Soldier has trained them well (“I may be out of mana, but I’m not out of options!”)

Their raccoon familiar, Mandible the Merciless, is the granddaughter of Lieutenant Bites.

JJ drives Hedy in particular up the wall – or rather their enthusiastic embrace of magic does (every week she’s roping them into a new experiment to try and figure out how their spells work). Christoph, with his interest in the parapsychological, is rather more nonchalant about the mystic arts.

They were the last approached to join TFI and among the first to accept – the bosses were reluctant to approach someone so young and… unpredictable, but while everyone else hemmed and hawed, JJ was instantly on board to be the team’s Wizard.

Next up – What about Pyro?

TF2K Master Post

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

One would say that anything you can't tell your boyfriend about shouldn't be done in the first place. What do you think oh wise mage?

(Logan scoffs,)

Logan: That sounds like something Roman would say. What an incredibly toxic mindset— People are allowed their personal thoughts and secrets, and you're allowed an identity outside of your partner.

Logan: What, now do I need Patton's permission to engage in my hobbies? Rediculous...

[skeletinmoss]

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 10: The nightflame’s home

First chapter | Previous | Next

Read on Tumblr:

If you’d asked Roman what he imagined the fabled NightFlame’s home would look like a week ago, he’d imagine an imposing tower in a deep dark forest with massive trees of similar heights surrounding it, glowing half inviting and half ominous in the darkness.

If you’d asked him that same question only yesterday, and he’d been asking himself the question ever since they started on this journey to said location, he might have altered his answer to a little cabin in similar dark woods. Not as imposing at first glance but isolated and hidden. But once you noticed it, it would be so obviously magical that any person with any sense would stay away.

Roling fields were not where he thought he’d end up. And there was no tower, or castle, or cabin to be seen anywhere. Just fields with tall grass and wildflowers and hills that looked like children should be playing tag and racing clouds in them.

It was almost idyllic. It filled Roman with a nostalgia for his childhood.

Especially with the setting sun. Virgil was fidgeting on Roman’s shoulder. Waiting for the exact moment he’d be human again so he could let them in. The sun got lower and lower and then Virgil launched himself forward to turn back to his human self in front of the horses.

“Home sweet home,” Virgil sighed in relief as he walked ahead of them. Roman and the others quickly got off and followed right behind Virgil, looking for any sign of a house somewhere.

Virgil walked forward with certain steps though. Following a path that was obvious only to him.

It wasn’t until he turned towards a specific hill and they joined him that they saw a door and a window in the hillside, a garden built into it. The garden was in dire need of weeding but it was still obvious that Virgil put a lot of effort and love into it when planting and maintaining it.

“Oh, that’s so cute!” Patton gushed. It did look rather endearing.

“We can let the horses roam free here. No one can get in this field without my permission,” Virgil offered moving his hand unbridling the horse while taking in his home, feeling elated to be here.

“We best hurry. There is no telling when the king will request Terance to check in on us. Or when he will decide to cut out the middle man completely,” Logan pointed out, clearly a bit excited to see the inside of this private high mage residence as well. From the sound of it Virgil fully expected it to be in a better state than the arch mage’s home and that had been mind blowing enough.

“Especially since he knows where we are headed,” Logan said, side eying Roman a bit.

“It was a direct request from the king! I agree that we should keep our cards close to our chest but I’m not quite ready to commit treason!” Roman argued.

Last night, after Virgil restocked and before they started their meditation the sending stone had alerted Roman that someone was trying to contact him.

“Lord Roman. I’m terribly sorry if I disturb you,” Terence had stammered. “But the king. He wants to know exactly where you are going right now,” he said.

Roman had panicked a little, looked to his companions for advice.

Logan and Patton had been startled. Virgil had just smirked at him and nodded his permission.

He trusted him to make the right call.

“Well. We are on our way to what we think might be a second residency of the arch mage. But we are making a detour to another location first. His notes mentioned the Night Flame High Mage a lot. So we hope that maybe there is some clue in his home. We uncovered its location and are on our way there now. We’ll likely arrive tomorrow evening,” he said, as honest as he could be.

There was a long pause. “I’ll inform the king,” Terance said. Strangely serious.

“What were you thinking!?” Logan chided.

“Likely that he has no clue where you guys will be going after we find my friends and he can’t make up a location on the spot without even the most guilible apprentice catching on,” Virgil stated in Roman’s defense. “The best way to keep a lie going is to speak the truth as much as possible. So he told the apprentice what he could without openly admitting that I am with you guys,” he added. Logan didn’t look very happy, but he couldn’t argue with Virgil’s logic.

“… I don’t like that the council is missing. Or that it took the king’s order for them to give us permission to look into the arch mage’s disappearance,” he admitted.

Virgil nodded. “That is all pretty suspicious,” he agreed. “From the sound of it the apprentice is reporting directly to the king though. And him you can trust. I am willing to stake my life on that,” Virgil stated sincerely.

“Lord Roman?” Terence called once again.

“Yes, Terence,” Roman replied. “Um, I told the king… He said that he trusts your judgement but to be careful. The NightFlame was not exactly fond of uninvited guests. He likely would have put up defenses against intruders and there is no guarantee that these simply weakened over time,” The apprentice explained.

Roman nodded his understanding, feeling Virgil’s smugness and considering it a confirmation.

“Of course. We will abandon the lead if it seems to dangerous,” he promised. “Have a good night Terance,” he bid. “Yeah. Good night sir,” Terance replied.

Logan still wasn’t happy with the choice to share this information but there was nothing that could be done about it now. The only path was forward. Into the home of the High Mage.

Virgil made a gesture and Roman could feel something shift in the air.

Virgil walked forward and Roman and his friends followed.

With a hand on the door Virgil turned to them. “Okay, if you see something move, do not freak out or try to attack. Nothing in there is going to cause harm unless you act aggressive first, understood?” he warned. Whispering for some reason.

The group nodded. Virgil looked at them for a long moment and then relaxed before turning to the door. Nervous excitement building.

Putting Roman at ease. Virgil cautiously opened the door. “Star?” he said carefully.

And the next moment he was on the ground buried under a massive black wolve, laughing in delight.

“Down, boy. Down. I’m back, I know,” he chuckled while the wolf greeted its master by sniffing and licking every of his face.

Meanwhile Roman realized that the wolf wasn’t just black. There were stars in his fur. Stardust, Virgil’s pet dog, was a Stellar wolf. Very rarely seen, and yet he had domesticated one. Roman would love to hear that story sometime.

“Oh!!!! The doggie is okay!” Patton exclaimed. Allerting said ‘doggie’ that his master had brought friends. And with a firm ‘woof’ and a yelp, Patton was tackled next to be inspected.

Logan was more prepared for Stardust jumping up against him and held his ground. “Yes. I am also here. Nice to meet you,” he offered, trying not to appear too excited by the fact that he was being befriended by an elusive magical creature.

Then it was Roman’s turn and stardust bounced between him and Virgil as though unable to decide who to pay more attention to.

“Yes Star, that’s a friend,” Virgil nodded before looking to Roman. “He can tell we are bonded,” he offered before looking back at Star and whistling making the big, loving, dog sit at attention and whine pleadingly. Breaking Roman’s heart.

“I know Star. I’m sorry for being gone so long. But if you show them how good you can be, I’m sure my friends won’t mind you coming along when we leave,” he offered looking at the group questioningly. Roman and Patton wouldn’t, and Roman didn’t think Logan was that practical that he’d make the poor dog be left behind once again so soon after being reunited.

“An extra protector could be beneficial,” Logan allowed.

“See? Now let’s go to the pantry alright? I need some things,” he offered as he held his dog’s face between his hands and scratched him behind the ears.

He got up and walked back to the door, closely followed by his dog, who kept sniffing his hand.

“Poor thing doesn’t trust he won’t disappear,” Patton whispered heartbroken for the wolf.

If whoever did this somehow hadn’t been on Patton’s naughty list yet, this would put him right at the top.

It didn’t exactly endear them to Roman either. And he was already hoping for an opportunity to give them a piece of his mind.

He stepped inside behind Virgil and completely forgot what he was thinking about.

Virgil’s home was… Breath taking.

Natural moon light streamed in from several windows that had not been visible from the outside and filled the wooden and stone interior aided by softly glowing crystals all along the walls. Which were lined with cupboards and bookshelves that all seemed to be part of trees that made Roman wish they’d arrived in spring so he’d be able to see if the foliage changed with the seasons.

There were shelves built into the steps that went to a higher level that should’ve at the very least be visible from the outside. They could look into the living room that had massive windows that looked out on a clearing in a forest with a lake and a waterfall that Roman could guarantee was nowhere near the fields that he could still see when looking behind him as Logan had stopped in the door opening to gape at the interior.

Logan was probably most taken by the countless books. Roman wasn’t a connoisseur, but even he could tell that some of these were handbound.

Books were not the only things on the shelves. There were all sorts of trinkets and accessories and nicknacks that Roman felt came from vastly different eras.

The home smelled like lavender and cinnamon.

They moved on to the livingroom. They passed a kitchen and something that looked like sleeping quarters and a study. Stardust jumped on the cushioned bench and looking at the group expectantly.

Roman though had noticed something else. “Is that music?” Roman wondered.

“Yeah, I like a little atmosphere around, it usually adjusts to my mood. But… I think the house mainly wants to welcome me home,” Virgil mused after listening for a few moments. The piece was indeed slightly celebratory.

“I’m going to my pantry to gather some ingredients then I’ll show you guys where we can rest before moving on… I’ll come back later,” he said the last part more to the house than to them.

He moved to one of the bookshelves and pushed against it, making a door in the wall open… Okay. That was very cool.

“How many rooms are there?” Logan asked.

Virgil paused and thought on that. “30, little more or less depending on how you count,” he informed him before turning to the collective. “You are guests so just, ask for something and if it is within reason, she’ll help you find it… Oh, that reminds me. Dex!?” he called out. A book flew up to him. He pointed at Logan. “He’s probably going to be in the library for the remainder of his stay here. Help him out,” he instructed before turning to the group again, the flying book moved to a fascinated Logan’s side. Hearing that in this home filled with books there was a separate library must be quite the revelation to their book loving friend.

“Feel free to try and find some books or stuff you think will help you out in the coming days. Read up on a new branch of magic, or see if you can learn something new with the one you are familiar with. Whatever you think is best. You have three hours, and then an hour rest, and after that we’ll be heading to the lake where they are holding Remus. Everyone okay with that?” Virgil asked.

The trio nodded. “Can I join you? I’d like to learn about some herbs I’m less familiar with,” Roman offered. He wasn’t going to say high level out loud. But he felt that everyone knew what he meant. He also wanted an excuse to be alone with Virgil for a little bit.

“Sure,” Virgil nodded, acting casual but Roman could feel that he was happy that Roman wanted to join him.

Virgil led the way through the door, past a room that Roman assumed was his study based on the desk the potion station and a window in the ceiling that showed the night sky. They moved through it and found themselves in a room of similar size, the walls filled with bottles and boxes and drawers of all sorts. Stardust pranced around the room looking up at the many boxes. Virgil chuckled and retrieved something from one and with a whistle, Stardust turned around and caught a treat that was tossed his way.

“Okay. I’m pretty sure I still had some crystals left last time…” Virgil mused as he moved past the walls and found the box he was looking for, pulling it out and smiling as he retrieved three crystals. “Got em,” he grinned as he put the box back. Roman looked at them for a long moment and his eyes widened in realization. “Those are mooncrystals,” he said.

Virgil nodded. “Yep. I use them as some extra light around the house and just in case I’m in a hurry and need moonlight. If those creeps are keeping Remus in his guide form with a sunstone then these should help us maintain human forms during the day. Though I won’t know how well it’ll work until we actually test it out. I don’t have sunstones but I’m sure we’ll be able to pick some up at the lake. Then we’ll be able to shift at will, hopefully,” Virgil stated.

Roman nodded in understanding. “So, what did you want to hear about?” Virgil wondered as he left the pantry to put the crystals out on the table to charge them… Hmmmm.

Roman was pulled out of his train of thought by Stardust nuzzling the pocket with the sending stone in. Roman was being called.

He took out the sending stone. “Yes Terence?” he asked.

Virgil looked up from the desk. He’d found a bag of his own and was transferring the contents of the borrowed bag into the new one.

“Lord Roman! Are you at the residence yet? Are you alright?” Terence asked, sounding worried.

“Yes. It is amazing here- woah!” he exclaimed as Stardust decided that he needed attention.

“Down boy!” Roman called out with a chuckle as he started scratching the wolf’s neck. “Yes you are very handsome and very good, but I’m talking here,” he chided playfully.

“Sorry Terance. It seems that the NightFlame’s wolf is quite happy to have company,” he offered.

“Oh, a wolf… He’s in good health? After so long?” Terance asked.

“Yes. It seems he is. Just very clingy,” Roman ensured him. The house is very helpful too. If there is something of use in here, I am confident we will find it. We’ll be moving on to whatever next clue we might find in a few hours,” he promised.

“Good. But don’t forget to rest. I’m sure the NightFlame wouldn’t mind you taking advantage of the shelter of his home for a night,” Terance argued. That was sweet of him. “Judging by how he decorated… I think you might be right,” Roman said, looking fondly at Virgil who rolled his eyes.

“Good. Yes… I’ll inform the king that he doesn’t need to worry. I’ll hear from you all soon,” Terance bid.

“Goodnight Terance,” Roman offered before putting the stone away.

“Can tell I’m a gracious host by my interior huh?” Virgil mused.

“Well, one. There is this guy here,” Roman pointed out, kneeling to pet Stardust more thoroughly.

“Who clearly isn’t too surprised or upset at you having guests over. Leading me to believe that despite this being your private, secret home, there have been visitors over the years and that they were treated as welcome guests,” he deduced.

“The table in your kitchen was too big to sit just one. And then there are the keepsakes,” Roman added.

“Keepsakes?” Virgil repeated curiously.

“Yeah. There were some accessories that don’t match your style and stuff like that. Things that didn’t quite belong,” he explained.

Virgil chuckled. “Not bad,” he complemented.

“Now, enough about me. What did you want to ask about?” Virgil wondered. Heading back to the pantry to restock his bag, put away the herbs that Lucas had salvaged for him and gestured for Roman to do the same.

“Well…” Roman found it difficult to ask about things he didn’t know. He had no clue where his knowledge lacked. What ways his education differed and lacked compared to the high mage…

Education. That was it.

“You were a teacher right?” Roman asked. Virgil smiled, a warmth spreading through him that Roman couldn’t recognize but he did have a name for it. Teaching had been Virgil’s calling. Whatever else he did, he enjoyed teaching the most.

“Sometimes,” he nodded.

“Teach me. I want to know how you would teach a fledgling herbalist,” Roman mused.

Virgil smiled as he put a leather drawstring bag from Lucas’ box in his bag.

He led the way out of the pantry and then went through a different door.

It held bags of different types of fibers, a few boxes filled with spools of different types of thread, a spinning wheel and a loom. The latter two looked very old but well taken care off.

Rolls of fabric were stored along the wall.

Interesting enough there was also a mannequin on a stage to the side and a cupboard full of what Roman would guess were sewing supplies.

That was right. In the memory… The clothes he’d been wearing. He made them by hand.

“Well, I’d take you apart and ask you, what made you decide on this path as your first specialization,” he mused as he walked to the mannequin and pulled the clothes he’d been wearing when they first met from the bag and started to carefully put them on the mannequin.

“Well… I guess, when I was little, I’d visit Patton’s family farm, and I’d watch Patton’s mother at work in the herb garden, and she’d tell me about the properties of certain spices and even weeds my parents would try to get rid of in our garden… well. That seemed pretty magical to me. So when I learned that certain herbs were actual magic, I wanted to know all about that, I wanted to discover which everyday plants that I hadn’t paid a second thought secretly held great magical power,” Roman explained.

Virgil put on the last piece on the mannequin and took a long look at the complete ensemble. Roman could tell he felt proud of it. He then made a dismissive gesture with his hand, making the outfit disappear, replaced by a different one.

Another luxurious looking set. Silks and gold and jewels put together to make a piece of art that Roman just knew would look gorgeous on him.

Another gesture. A new breathtaking set. And another one…

Wait a minute.

“You are bragging,” Roman realized amused.

Virgil blushed at getting caught.

“I… No. I don’t know what you mean,” he insisted.

“You are showing me your work,” Roman stated, looking around the room at all the gathered equipment. “You spun the threads yourself. You wove them into fabrics and you sewed them together,” he said, certain of his case. “Did you make the jewelry by hand too?” he asked, it wouldn’t surprise him at this point. He took Virgil’s hand in his own and held it to his chest, looking into his eyes, as though that would make his sincerity more obvious.

“You truly are an artist. But for whatever reason you don’t wish to brag. But you showed me your work and basked in the silent praise of my awe. You enjoyed feeling me be amazed at your work. The honest admiration that left no doubt on whether I’m just being polite. If you are uncertain of your talent as a tailor, then I am even more confident that you have been underselling your talent as a mage since we met,” he rambled.

Virgil was blushing hard now and looked away bashful. “Okay, you got me… You don’t have to lay it on that thick,” he muttered.

“I have half a mind to accept immortality just so I can spend the next century singing your praises,” Roman insisted. “Though I get it, artists are their own worst critics I suppose,” he mused.

“You’re an artist?” Virgil asked, curious.

“Well, I have been known to write a song or two. When I was ten I was so desperate for my parents to bring me along on their journey I wrote song upon song trying to prove I could entertain myself and them and maybe even help. I loved exploring the farms with Patton. But I also missed them…” Roman recalled, feeling nostalgic.

“It turned out a good thing that I wore them down. Because two years later… Me, Logan and Patton were found to be blessed. And so we went to the academy and I saw them even less…”

He didn’t fight the homesickness he felt. It was actually something he wanted to know about too.

“Is it… Hard? Never seeing them again?” he wondered carefully.

Virgil looked at Roman for a long moment and then chuckled. He took Roman’s hand and led him to the stool in front of the loom. Guiding him to take place on his lap. Roman was too taken aback to fight it.

“My parents were tailors. Mother taught me to use the loom. It was my older brother who showed me around in the garden. I loved helping him. Mostly I loved finding flowers among the weeds to gift to mother,” he mused as he picked up a shuttle and laid it in Roman’s hands, laying his own over them and guiding Roman through the motions of weaving in gentle, patient moves.

“I found that loved ones tend to teach you new things to love,” Virgil mused.

“I never set out to be much of a singer or a poet, but I once loved a man who asked a very similar question and he found my answer so profound, he had me help him compose a poem that I could recite to myself whenever I missed someone,” he offered.

“You wonder about the ones I left behind,” he hummed in Roman’s ear, making a shiver go down his spine. Weren’t they supposed to take it slow? He had to know how flustered Roman was right now. He hadn’t so much as held a boy’s hand. He’d been too busy studying with Logan and Patton ever since joining the academy. Figuring there’d be time for romance after they saved the kingdom.

“You ask how I cope with so much grief,” A deep sorrow brought tears to Roman’s eyes. The longing for all the ones who were forever out of Virgil’s reach.

“Let me ease your mind,” Virgil insisted, and the crushing grief lifted from Roman’s heart.

“Though their existence may seem brief, against my eternity,” he mused gently.

“And sure, it may have gone by fast. But the time they spent with me, it is forever in my past,” he offered, letting the silence ring and finishing another row, embracing Roman and leaning in even closer. “And now that we have me. You too have become a thread. In this tapestry of me,” he promised and Roman felt Virgil’s affection to him clearer than ever before. Virgil gave Roman some more room and continued weaving with him.

“My first memory, is in my mother’s lap just like this,” he smirked brushing his nose against Roman’s temple.

“The smell of flowers everywhere. On the walls and in her hair. I can hear her singing, I feel her kiss,” his hands on Roman’s tightened for a moment as his voice wavered before coming back strong. “And even after all this time, I still feel her hands over mine and remember the first fabric I ever made,” a nostalgic pride filled Roman’s heart.

“And I feel her lips so near, I hear crystal clear, My darling you did great,” Virgil whispered in his ear.

“Now that we have met, you have become a thread, in this tapestry of me.

And so I keep them all close, it’s true In the things we used to do.

My brother in the garden, my father in a horse’s prance. My little sister, I take her to every dance. The first man who I ever kissed, is sorely missed but he’s with me when I play his lyre. So you see. They are all with me,” Virgil was wistful, mourning… But not sad, Roman realized. His grief had become a joyous thing for it was proof of the bond that had been there.

“And now that we have met, you too have become a thread.

And forevermore you will be, a part of my tapestry,” he promised once more, and Roman had to take that in for a moment. This adventure, no matter what happened after, it would become part of Virgil. He would forever be remembered by him… Wow.

“Well, I think it’s time we regroup and talk strategy before we rest up, eat and head out,” Virgil mused as he made them both stand up and walk back towards the living room.

Right… Virgil’s friend was waiting to be set free. He’d been in that temple for far too long.

Roman righted his shoulders and made himself a promise that Virgil wouldn’t have to wait a second longer to be reunited with his friend. One of two people who might still remember the people Virgil had loved other than Virgil himself.

Learning more magic, getting closer to Virgil, bonding with his guide, coming up with a spell. All of that could wait a million years.

First they had a mountain mage to rescue.