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justatiredpotato · 4 years ago

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Set Me Free | Chapter 4

Chapter List

Pairing: hybrid!Yoongi x human!reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, coffee shop AU, hybrid AU

Word Count: Chapter: 5,000~ Total: 40,000~

Updates daily at 10pm MST

Warnings: anxiety, panic attacks, implied abuse and sexual exploitation

Summary: Yoongi, a cat hybrid, has been hurt time and time again by a world that would have him believe he’s worthless. One day he finds himself in your protective care, and gets a new family to boot. But is it really that easy to escape the past and embrace a new beginning?

Author’s Note: In this fic the reader’s name is Yeoji

You woke up the next morning delightfully warm. You shifted to tuck your nose back under the edge of the blanket, but found you were curling into someone’s back instead. Startled, you pushed yourself up on one elbow and blinked at the figure tucked against you. Your arm was wrapped around Yoongi’s waist, legs tangled together. You blushed and quickly detached yourself from him. He let out an almost childlike whimper and turned to try and pull you close again, but you tucked the blankets around him and moved out of his reach. How could you invade his space like that? You must’ve drank too much.

The air was cold even through your sweats as you climbed out of bed. It was still early morning. You never slept soundly when you drank. Figuring you wouldn’t be getting much more rest if you tried to go back to sleep, you started getting ready for the day. You quietly pulled out a simple fitted black dress and a baggy cardigan, creeping into the bathroom to slip them on over a pair of knit tights. After grabbing your work shoes you exited the bedroom, closing the door as quietly as you could so as not to wake a still sleeping Yoongi. The shop opened in about two hours, so you figured you could get some of the office work done before then.

You settled on the couch with your laptop and a notebook that held your accounts information, spending about a half hour making sure everything was balanced properly. You decided to spend the rest of the time reviewing your inventory and preparing the order for your supplier that month. As you stood to move to the kitchen, the bedroom door creaked open. A bleary-eyed Yoongi emerged, hair sticking up in all directions, partially obscuring his ears.

“Where’d you go?” he croaked, voice hoarse from crying the evening before. “Why didn’t you stay?” His eyes widened as he took you in, already in your work attire.

“Am I late?” he asked, suddenly awake.

“No! No, you’re off today.”

“Really? Why? I can work,” he said, almost sounding hurt.

“I have Jimin coming in today, don’t worry. Why don’t you work on your music today?”

He nodded, pondering. He seemed to acknowledge that it would be nice having some time to himself after yesterday's incident. You didn’t mention the fact that you were trying to hold off a bit longer before introducing him to the other boys. They were a bit energetic for Yoongi at the moment. You feared that Jimin’s affectionate nature would stress him out.

“Okay, well call me if it gets crowded. I can get ready and come out,” he eventually said.

“Thanks.” You smiled, walking over to ruffle his hair. “But don’t worry, this is my job.”

He mumbled some kind of acknowledgement, ducking his head but also pushing into your hand so you scratched his ears some more.

“Are you coming back here for lunch?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll eat with you. I usually go at two, can you wait that long?” He nodded. “Alright, I’ll be back then.” You turned and headed out front as he grabbed his bag and the bundle of papers you’d salvaged.

“Ah!” you exclaimed, turning on your heel. He jumped, looking at you questioningly. You hurried over to the bookshelf and pulled a notebook off of it. “Use this,” you offered, holding it out to Yoongi.

“Thanks,” he said, flipping through it and giving you a gummy grin. You suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to curl up next to him and ask him about his music. It felt like an actual tug at your heart, wanting to know the thoughts and feelings that he’d put to paper. You pushed the thought away, pulling your laptop closer to your chest.

“You’re welcome,” you said, turning to continue your way out front.

You went over inventory, finishing up about a half hour before opening. The order could be written up that night or the next morning so it could go out on Friday. You put your laptop aside and went out to the counter, making your regular coffee and Yoongi’s. You also made breakfast for the two of you.

He glanced up when you entered the room. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch. He flashed a smile, pulling one side of his headphones off his ear.

“Thanks!” he said, already going for a sip of his coffee.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you at lunch,” you said, already turning to leave.

“You aren’t staying for breakfast?” he asked a little sadly.

“I have to go let Jimin in and open,” you answered over your shoulder. “But it’ll be lunchtime soon. And maybe you can show me some of your music after I finish up tonight?” you asked hopefully.

“Sure,” he replied, running a hand through his hair and smoothing over his ears.

Jimin was already waiting outside when you returned to the cafe. He waved cheerfully as you jogged to unlock the door for him.

“Noona!” He tumbled into your arms as soon as the door was open. You laughed, squeezing him tight and rocking side-to-side with the hug.

“How’s my Chim Chim this morning?” you asked, burying your face in his hair as he held you. To anyone else you might’ve looked like a couple, but Jimin just really liked holding people and being held, always had. It seemed to help him heal when he first arrived at Jin’s shelter, and you had been one of the first people he grew close to.

“I’m good, I missed you though!” he answered, finally pulling away a little. “You spent the whole weekend with your new kitty friend!” he pouted.

“We had a few things to do so he could settle in.” You laughed at his obvious jealousy. As excited as he was about another cat hybrid in the family, you knew he’d be jealous too.

“Is that why you smell like him? Because it smells like you’ve been all over each other,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. You chuckled awkwardly pushing him away and rolling your eyes.

“We’re staying in the same tiny two room apartment. And I gave him my bed the first day, so that’s probably why.”

Jimin nodded dubiously, slipping past you and inside. He headed to the kitchen to put his backpack away while you locked the door so you could finish preparing for the day. Jimin took down the chairs and straightened the tables while you made him a coffee.

“You hungry?” you asked as you put the finishing touch on his mocha.

“Nah, I ate with Tae before I left.” He came back to the counter, accepted the beverage gratefully and took a sip.

“How’s he doing at the shelter?” you asked as you straightened cups and checked the register.

“He seems to like it. There are… hard parts of the job. But I can tell he feels good about helping people like he is there.” A sad smile flickered over his face. “He’s really strong, you know? Staying there, seeing all those things.”

You put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “You know there’s nothing wrong with you choosing to do something else? Not everyone is suited to a job like that,” you said gently. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“But you are doing it!” he said confidently. “With your new kitty friend. You’re totally helping him!”

You laughed, releasing him to go unlock the door. “He’s not ‘my new kitty friend.’ His name is Yoongi. Yoongi-hyung, to you,” you scolded. There was no real firmness in your tone though.

“Another hyung?” Jimin whined. “Man, I wanted someone to boss aro- I mean take care of.” He seemed pleased with his joke.

“Chim,” you turned your best older-sister-look on him. “Play nice.”

He pouted again. “I’m always nice!” he argued, but you could hear the barely-suppressed giggle in his voice. “When can I meet him?”

“I’m not sure yet. Whenever he’s ready, I guess.”

Jimin nodded understandingly.

The morning passed relatively slowly. The festival only made things slightly more busy than any other Wednesday. Around one, you ran back to your house to make Jimin lunch and brought it back out front for him. You made him eat in the kitchen. He complained, but you explained that Yoongi was working back in your apartment and you didn’t want to interrupt him.

You slipped away for your own lunch a little after two. Jimin was clearly miffed that you were allowed to disrupt Yoongi’s work. But the sulking you’d have to endure was all worth it when Yoongi’s face lit up at your arrival. He already had stuff out to make sandwiches, slicing up tomatoes and cheese.

“I’m not a great cook, but I figured I could make this for you,” he said sheepishly, gesturing to the sandwich that was already made on the counter next to him. You grinned, running over to wrap him in a side-hug. Once he finished his sandwich you settled at the table to eat. Your break seemed to be gone in a blink as you chatted about what Yoongi had been working on (he said it was a secret), and you told him about your latest dumb customer (this Karen who’d come in demanding a fat-free breve, claiming she got one at Barstucks all the time). His laugh gave you this fluttering in your stomach, leaving a warm and cozy feeling that you chose not to read into.

You glanced up at the clock, cursing under your breath. You stood quickly, the chair scraping a bit on the floor. You’d taken an extra 15 minutes.

“I’ve gotta go, Yoongi,” you said, already heading for the door. He hurried after you, catching your sleeve and wrapping you in a quick hug, so light you barely processed it had happened.

“I’ll show you some of my lyrics tonight,” he said. He waved you off as if you weren’t just going out to the front part of the building. You waved back, chuckling at the silliness of it.

When you returned to the front counter, Jimin fixed you with a questioning look, eyes sharp.

“Yeah, he’s totally not glued to you,” he said with a sniff. He rolled his eyes, laughing as he no doubt smelled Yoongi on your sweater from the hug a moment before. “You’re so whipped.”

You grumbled but didn’t argue, knowing he would only take a stronger denial as confirmation. You weren’t trying to have him give the other boys the wrong idea. You would never take advantage of Yoongi by trying anything with him. A customer mercifully pulled you from your ethical quandaries about relationships with dependent hybrids.

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By the time the last customer left and you and Jimin started cleaning up, you were eager to go check on Yoongi.

“You can go, Noona. I’ll finish up here,” Jimin offered.

“What? Why? I can help you finish up.”

“Just go see him. I’m sure he’s been waiting for you since the second you left anyway.” He snickered, eyes scrunching up with his smile.

You blushed, cursing hybrid noses and their ability to see right through people. You turned your back on him, energetically scrubbing at the counter. “Don’t be silly. If anything he’s waiting for dinner.”

“Well then you better not keep him waiting. Jin-hyung said he’s way skinny,” Jimin said.

You turned back to him, brows raised. “Jin told you about Yoongi?”

“Just a little. He said we should all help you so he can get better.” Jimin was already at your back, gently guiding you toward the kitchen. He pushed you through the door, toward your apartment. “Go take care of your boyfriend. I’ll lock up before I go.”

The kitchen door thudded shut behind you as he went back to cleaning up. If your face wasn’t red before it certainly was now. You took a second, hoping the embarrassment would fade along with the color in your cheeks, before continuing into the apartment. You were certainly surprised by what greeted you.

“Yoongi…?” you called, noting the set table with a couple dishes of food already on it. You started toward the kitchen just as Yoongi’s head popped up from behind the island, making you jump.

“You’re back!” He smiled nervously at you, a couple of glasses in his hand.

“What’s all this?” You reached the table and looked over the spread: spaghetti with meatballs, garlic bread, and a shockingly pretty salad.

“Ah, this?” he said, as if you might be talking about something else. “I just figured that since you were working all day I could do something around the house. I cleaned a bit, but I thought it might be nice if you didn’t have to make dinner. I hope that’s okay.”

“Okay? This is amazing!” You passed the table in favor of going and wrapping Yoongi in a tight hug. “I haven’t had someone make dinner for me in a long time! If I ever let Namjoon cook he’d burn down the house.” You felt Yoongi’s chuckle rumble in his chest, a faint rumble of a purr already starting as well.

“Well, I didn’t burn anything. I just hope it tastes alright.” He pulled away and led you over to the table. “I tried to do it just like the video, so I think it isn’t bad.”

“I’m sure it’s delicious!” You took your seat and watched as Yoongi returned to the kitchen for the glasses he’d been getting.

“The guy on Viewtube said wine goes with this. Does that sound good?”

“Sure! Whatever the chef recommends.” You eyed the food, and noted that Yoongi had even put on music in the background. Soft piano music played from his laptop on the counter. Yoongi grabbed the bottle of wine out of the fridge—which happened to be the only wine you had—and joined you at the table. He removed the cork and poured you each a glass, which you smiled and took.

You weren’t a big wine fan in all honesty. The bottle was just the remainder of a bottle Jimin had brought over a while ago. But you took a sip anyway, wanting to cooperate with what he’d prepared. Yoongi took the plate in front of you and started to serve the food, but you reached out to stop him.

“You don’t have to, I can get it myself,” you said.

“It’s okay, I want to do it.” His gummy smile made you sit back down. You smiled as he spun the pasta, something he must’ve picked up from the Viewtube tutorial. He set your plate in front of you with a hint of a proud smile, then made a plate for himself.

You glanced at him to find he was watching expectantly, clearly wanting to see your reaction. So you spun your noodles and took a bite. Your eyebrows rose as you looked at him, chewing for a moment.

“Edible?” he asked.

“Very edible. Delicious actually!”

He beamed at the praise, taking a bit himself. He gave a thoughtful hum, considering for a moment. “Not bad. I think the sauce should be thicker though? The guy in the video’s sauce was definitely thicker.”

“Maybe you can tweak the recipe a bit to get it just how you like it.” You smiled at him encouragingly. “I think you have real talent for this, Yoon.”

“Thanks, noona. Maybe I’ll try something new my next day off.”

“That sounds great. I appreciate this so much, truly.” You ate in pleasant silence for a moment before a thought struck you. “Did you get to work on your music today? I hope you didn’t just do housework.”

“Yeah, I got some stuff done. I can show you some tracks I’ve made after dinner, if you’re interested.”

“I would love that!”

“Actually… This is something I made.”

You blinked at him, not quite getting it. “This?”

“Yeah, the piano music. It’s all my stuff.” He nodded towards his beat up laptop, still playing soft melodies from the counter.

“All these songs have been yours?”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze. “Yeah. I mean, none of them are finished or anything. I don’t really have the tools I need to make a polished track. These ones don’t even have lyrics yet. And I don’t know any vocalists to do the melody. But I thought they would be good enough for backgr-”

“Yoongi.” You interrupted his ramble. “They’re beautiful. All of them. I had no idea you wrote stuff like this.”

The way you looked at him, truly amazed, made him shift in his seat. He didn’t know what to do with a compliment to his work, which was so dear to him. He cleared his throat before he spoke, not wanting to sound too... He didn’t even know what. “Thanks,” he finally said before quickly returning to his meal.

Once you’d both finished dinner you helped him clear the table and do the dishes. As you put the last plate in the cupboard you glanced at him expectantly. He snorted, grabbing his laptop and heading to the living room. You smiled and hurried after him. He opened his laptop, and seemed to steel himself, before turning to you.

“Now remember, these aren’t finished or polished or anything. I don’t have the tools or the skill to really make these good so don’t-”

“Yoongi,” you whined. “Stop selling yourself short. I’ve heard you perform. You’re really talented. And the songs you played during dinner? Amazing. So stop dissing yourself!”

Yoongi’s serious expression turned into a smirk. “Dissing myself?” The smirk turned into a grin, and you couldn’t help but start laughing. Any nerves he felt about showing you his work faded into the background as he laughed with you. Once you caught your breath, he played the first song he wanted to show you. You bopped along to a high energy club beat, then an intense diss track. Yoongi could spit rap so fast you almost couldn’t keep up, yet every word was clear. You glanced up at him as he focused on the computer screen, realizing how truly talented he was. A slightly slower tune with a driving beat behind it came on, something in the realm of a sexy slow-jam. Your eyebrows shot up, face heating along with the whole room as you listened. You weren’t expecting his lyrics to be so… bold.

The song ended and Yoongi clicked around a bit, glancing at you and noting your expression. “What did you think?” He was clearly nervous, but also proud of his work.

You smiled at him, trying to school your expression. If he noticed your flustered state, he was kind enough not to comment. “I would definitely dance to that. Or buy tickets to that concert.”

He grinned a gummy smile, a laugh escaping him. “I don’t think we’re anywhere near that yet. But I appreciate the thought.” He looked back at the screen, queuing up something else. “Okay, this one is a bit different than the other stuff. It’s not as… up as the other stuff. But I wanted to try writing something real. I don’t know if it’s any good, so tell me what you think.” He pressed play.

A soft piano melody began, and you quickly recognized it as something he’d played at dinner. But it quickly became clear this was a newer version of the piece as a base synth came in. After a moment of piano, Yoongi’s lyrics began. His voice was more familiar as the Yoongi you knew, not the cocky club persona from the other songs.

As you listened you felt your heart clench with every word. This wasn’t a song, it was a story. His story. He told you about moments, flashes of love and joy, broken and torn away by loss and violence. His voice strained, trying not to break as he told of greed and hate and finally, emptiness. When so much pain builds up that you are hollow. With nothing left to push you forward, you only need the tiniest push to send you over the edge and into oblivion.

You sat for a moment, looking at the coffee table in front of you but your mind was far away. Yoongi wrapped an arm around your shoulder and you looked up at him. His eyes were wide with worry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, scanning your face before wiping at it with the sleeve of his sweater. You hadn’t realized you were crying. You didn’t answer him, instead you pulled him into a tight hug. He seemed to understand because he didn’t press you further. The two of you stayed like that for quite a while.

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It was just you and Jimin again on Thursday. Business was picking up as the weekend approached, so you were kept busy with customers almost constantly throughout the day. At noon you ran back to check on Yoongi, but you didn’t even have time to take a real lunch.

Mid-afternoon there was a bit of a lull. You had just slipped back into the kitchen to take a breath and drink the coffee you’d made yourself when a customer out front caught your attention.

“Is your owner here?” the man asked. His voice wasn’t very deep, but his tone was imposing, almost threatening.

“I beg your pardon?” Jimin responded politely.

“Your owner. I want to speak to them.”

“You mean the shop owner?” The man must’ve nodded because Jimin called for you a second later. You came out of the kitchen and looked over the man in question.

He was average height, but stocky. The suit he wore was probably expensive, and you could see a fine gold chain peeking out of the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. You glanced up to meet his eye and were surprised to find a generally handsome face. A tattoo crept out from under his collar, under his jaw, and up behind his ear. He looked you over in return, mouth curving into a smile, but it had no warmth behind it. Actually, it almost sent a shudder through you.

“Are you the owner?” he asked.

“I am. How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a lost hybrid. A client of mine mentioned she saw him here?”

You frowned, glancing at Jimin but making sure your unease didn’t cross your face. “A hybrid? I can’t think who you’d be talking about. Maybe he came in with a customer?”

“No, she said he was working here.” The man dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone. “This one, a cat. Name’s Suga, but he calls himself Yoongi sometimes,” he said, turning the phone to show you. The image you saw made your stomach drop. The photo was dimly lit by pink and purple neon lights, but you still easily recognized the boy in the photo. It was Yoongi, curled up on the floor against a couch. He was in just a thin t-shirt and underwear, obviously trying to avoid the camera. You schooled your expression before meeting the man's eyes again, feeling nauseous.

“I can’t say I’ve seen him. My friend here is a cat hybrid, so maybe she mistook him for this guy?” You glanced at Jimin, who nodded. He looked uncomfortable, probably sensing your anxiety.

The man sneered. “Believe me, she wouldn’t mistake this kid for any other kitty.”

You cringed internally but put on a polite, apologetic smile. “Well, I’m sorry we can’t be of more help.”

“Oh don’t worry. I’ll check in with the local patrol station. You know how the police have been cracking down on strays. When they find him they’ll get him right back to me.” You nodded tightly at him, still trying to keep a smile. “Let me know if you see him,” he said, pushing a business card across the counter to you. The name on it was Kwon Hyunjoong. You nodded and the man bid you farewell, You watched until he exited the shop and the door settled shut behind him.

You turned to Jimin. “Call Jin and Namjoon,” you said, already moving back to the apartment. You burst through the door, startling Yoongi from his place at the kitchen table. He pulled his headphones off and stood, walking to meet you by the door.

“Hey, what’s going on?” His brows were furrowed as he looked you over. “What’s wrong?” He placed his hands on your shoulders and that was when you realized you were shaking. You looked at him, panic in your eyes.

“There was a guy looking for you,” you blurted. You took a deep breath, but it ended up more of a sob. You couldn’t seem to catch your breath. “He had a picture of you. And he’s going to the police. He said they’ll find you and take you back to him and I said I hadn’t seen you but…”

Yoongi stopped you from saying any more, pulling you into his chest and stroking your hair.

“Woah, woah. Slow down,” he said. He was trying to sooth you but you could feel how he’d begun shaking as well, muscles tense as you clutched his shirt. “He doesn’t know I’m here right? And you said you hadn’t seen me.”

“That woman. That disgusting b**** told them she saw you. That you were working here. Yoongi, do they have papers? Can they take you? Oh god, even if they don’t I’m not sure what I can do. What if I can’t protect you? I promised I’d keep you safe and now I- I-” You dissolved into gasping sobs, imagining the police coming and dragging Yoongi out of your home. If they had evidence that they ‘owned’ him, or even had in the past, there’d be nothing you could do. Most of the police didn’t care, and you had no legal right to protect him. “I have to protect you,” you cried. You held him so tightly he winced a little, but he just held you closer.

Your sobs had quieted a bit and you were catching your breath when a knock came on the apartment door. Yoongi carefully disengaged from your arms and had you sit on the couch while he went to get the door. He glanced through the peep-hole before opening it to reveal Jin and Namjoon, along with Jungkook. Namjoon surveyed the older man, who was shaking, eyes puffy and watery. Then he glanced over Yoongi’s shoulder and spotted you curled up on the couch, trembling. He hurried past Yoongi and over to you, the others trailing behind him. You looked up at him as he crouched in front of you.

“Joon…” you whimpered weakly. He pulled you into his arms without a word. You started crying again, sobs renewed when you glanced up to see Jungkook with his arm around a terrified Yoongi. “You have to help me Joon. We have to keep him safe. We can’t let them take him.”

Namjoon glanced up at Jin, before gently pulling away from you. “Can you tell us what’s going on? Jimin only explained a little on the phone.” You nodded, sniffling and taking a shaky breath.

“Jungkook, why don’t you go help Jimin out front?” Jin said. The younger boy nodded, giving Yoongi’s shoulder one last squeeze before hurrying out to the cafe.

Yoongi came to join you and Namjoon on the couch, leaning close to you. Namjoon glanced at him and removed his arm from your shoulders, taking your hand instead. Yoongi quickly wrapped you in his arms, nuzzling into your neck in an attempt to soothe you. Jin sat in the armchair across from you. They waited patiently for you to gather yourself before you started talking. You told them the whole story.

“I don’t know how to keep him safe. Legally, I can’t do anything for you, Yoongi.” Your free hand came up to clutch at his arm, still wrapped tightly around you. “I can’t protect you without legal guardianship. You know how the police have been about so-called ‘strays’. Without papers, they’ll take you to a shelter and notify your previous owners. They’ll take you and I won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.” You released Namjoon’s hand, tears returning as you turned into Yoongi’s chest again and held him tightly.

“Well the easy solution would be to have her adopt you,” Jin said. He looked at Yoongi expectantly. That was the obvious solution, but you knew how Yoongi would feel about it. You felt him stiffen in your arms and you cried harder.

“Yoon, I know you don’t want an owner. And I don’t want to own you. But I can’t lose you. Please, please, I just want to keep you safe.” The room was silent as your pleas hung in the air for a moment.

Yoongi let out a shaky sigh. “Okay.” You froze, suddenly quiet except for the occasional hiccuping breath. “I trust you, noona,” he affirmed. “I… want you to adopt me.”

You pulled away to look him in the eye, scanning for hesitation. But as hard as those words must’ve been for him to say, you couldn’t see a trace of doubt on his face. He smiled softly at you and you smiled back, tears still falling.

“Thank you,” you choked out and he held you close again, burying his face in your hair. You turned to look at Jin. “When can I sign?”

“You got a computer and a printer?” he asked, already standing from his chair. Less than an hour later you were all seated at the table, papers printed and pens in hand. Jin had been able to pull up Yoongi’s records from the database online. Luckily, his former owners hadn’t bothered to keep the papers up-to-date since they first ‘acquired’ him years ago, so nothing was preventing you from adopting him. You signed, and Yoongi placed his fingerprint on the document.

“I’m going to run these to the registration office before they close. I’m signing as a reference, so luckily we can forego a background check or interviews as a first time owner,” Jin said, already standing and heading for the door. “Unfortunately, they’ll want you to have tags. But you only have to have them when you go out. They make earrings now too.”

“That’s what Jungkook and Tae have,” Namjoon added. “They’re actually pretty cool looking, for what it is.”

Yoongi nodded, clearly not thrilled with the idea of wearing a tag again. But when he saw the remorseful look on your face he smiled at you. “It’s okay, noona. Look, my ears are already pierced anyway.”

You looked and sure enough, he already had earrings: three on one side, two on the other. “We’ll get whichever one you want. Maybe we can find one that just looks like a regular earring,” you suggested hopefully.

#yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #suga fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #hybrid!au #cafe!au #hybrid!yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #suga #bts #bts suga #bts yoongi

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helenbeligirl · 6 years ago

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The art of thesis-ing while spiralling

Saturday. 10 AM. I wake up to a few less-than-pleased messages from my normally chilled out supervisor. I’ve fallen behind on my timeline, I’ve fallen behind on my work, I haven’t handed in anything for advisory in weeks.

I know this. I also know that these ‘weeks’ of no work have been me gathering the courage to live, the willpower to read anything related to my thesis, the drive to even bother taking a shower, putting some food in me, putting on some clothes and facing the day afresh.

She doesn’t know this because I’m too ashamed to tell her. Nobody knows this, because I’m too ashamed to extrapolate. How else does a high-functioning depressive survive, if not by sitting on the box of their problems and grinning at the world?

It’s Ramadan. I’m fasting. I’m already slightly dehydrated and the lack of food isn’t helping with the growing anxiety. I stare at the laptop on the side of my bed. It hasn’t been shut down in weeks, because I tend to not shut it down unless I have ‘finished’ my work.

Of course, I have not ‘finished’ my work in weeks, so neither my laptop nor I can have any peace.

The idea of touching my thesis document wrings a family fear in me. I am afraid, of what, I can’t quite tell, but I am afraid, is all I know.

12PM. More unhappy messages from my supervisor. I need to be on track with my timeline. My dissertation is worth half my final grade. My heart thrums, signalling the sign of an oncoming panic attack. It’s Ramadan. I’m fasting. I can’t afford to have a panic attack that’ll leave me dehydrated and even more exhausted. Not when I have so much work to do.

I look at my laptop.

I take a nap.

3PM. I wake. More messages. I hide my phone under my pillow with trembling fingers and try to sleep again, but I’m all slept out and sleep won’t come.

My period tracker says it’s three days till my period. That might explained the heightened sense of… you know that feeling of like… casually wanting to die. PMS makes me suicidal, but I’m used to it I guess.

I gather up the courage to check my phone. She’s sent an exclamation mark at the end of her message - I have not sent her anything to look at in weeks! It sounds so much like a scolding that I have to put distance between me and my phone, as though standing far away from it will lessen the hurt. I can’t take criticism, I know. Especially when it’s my own fault.

I decide that after I pray, I will tackle a single paragraph of my work. A single paragraph is doable. I can do that. One paragraph. That’s achievable. That can be done.

I repeat that to myself while I go to the bathroom, wash up, pray, and sit for another hour, psyching myself up. I peek at my phone.

No more messages.

I start my work.

5PM

I do more than one paragraph and I’m exhausted. It’s probably not good enough, far off topic, and grotesquely over the word limit.

I shouldn’t care but I care.

I think about the messages. I start to cry.

I can’t sleep off the next panic attack but what I can do is squeeze down on it. Tears leak down my face like I’ve left a tap open. There’s no sound, just endless rivulets. I shower. Being alone in there sucks. I pray again. Still crying. I get back into bed. Still crying.

At least it’s close enough to iftar that I can rehydrate soon. At least I’ve done one section of what I meant to do. One more section and my lit review is drafted - but that was actually due to be done last week.

I think about what started the spiral, and I get angry. I knew graduation week would wear me out, but I didn’t anticipate or schedule for losing more than a week of work. I said yes to make my mother happy, but I am tired of making my mother happy while ravaging my own self.

I fully saw this coming, but there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.

It’s easier to agree with her than to fight.

I try to watch a pottery video to calm down, but I’m still crying.

My best friend wakes up and says hello.

I stop crying.

Post-iftar, I’m wrecked.

I scheduled more work for myself after eating, but I’m terrified of doing it. I know it’ll be haphazard, I know it won’t make a lot of sense. I know I’m missing a myriad of things, nuances I wanted to slot in to sound as smart as I want to be. What I have is rubbish. Rubbishy rubbish. A crap excuse for a draft that’s already late and has no business being crap.

I try not to cry again. I barely make it.

I tell myself that it’s just one section, maybe two paragraphs. That I’ve already made notes on Mendeley and I can use them to extrapolate. That’s all I need to do. Extrapolate.

My supervisor wants more than my lit review. She needs my methodology section too. I tell myself that’s mostly done too, the last assignment dealt with that. Just need to cut, paste, and add.

It’s the ‘add’ part that’s getting to me. I can’t read something new, I can’t concentrate. It’s hard. I’m scared of it. I’m scared to open a book of qualitative research and continue to understand nothing because it has no examples.

I’m not smart enough for this, or further research. I’m not mentally equipped to handle this kind of stress.

My PhD dreams fizzle into mush.

I try not to cry.

I go for a walk.

Imagine if they had serotonin boosters that you could take. Tablet form. Injections. Anything at all.

I come home and I make myself a cup of tea. I always take my tea no sugar and a splash of milk. I load it with sugar and fill half the cup with milk. Basically milk with tea.

I drink it.

Seretonin boost.

I take a deep breath and open Mendeley for my notes, and I ask my best friend to check over what I’ve already written. She helps me tweak my sentences, cutting through run-ons, fixing awkward phrasing.

As in, she tells me what’s wrong and I fix it. Criticism from her doesn’t sound so life-threatening.

I want to die a little less.

I pull up an article to take notes from and I get distracted five times. I manage to finish it eventually. I copy quotes into the note-box instead of making my own. There’s no time for it, but I’ll figure out how to paraphrase them. I’ve read this article before, the highlights are all there, but for some godforsaken reason, I didn’t think to note anything down.

(I know why. I was probably depression-studying, too exhausted to go beyond highlighting.)

You know this, I keep telling myself. See, you can put this quote here, link it with that other thing you read. You can put this here and this one there. You got this. You know how to structure it.

The other voice is louder. You’re not producing anything good. You’re already late. You’ve failed this. You’ve failed this. Your draft is shit. And late. And shit.

You’re shit.

I try not to cry but that doesn’t work. I work through the tears anyway. I have to keep blinking hard because my vision is fucked through them, I can barely see. My stomach is in knots, from the sheer terror of looking through my own work. It’s so bad.

It’s so bad.

I glance at the time. 11PM. It’s so late. I wanted to be done an hour ago. I’ve barely begun.

I’m still so terrified. I don’t know what I’m afraid of exactly, but I am afraid.

I keep typing.

1 note · View note

izaswritings · 7 years ago

Text

Title: Labyrinths of the Heart

Synopsis: Plagued by cryptic dreams, Rapunzel leaves to find the origins of the black rocks and face her destiny— only this time, she takes Varian with her.

Notes: A special mention to @soofireanon and @sakura-petal91 — thank you so much for your support and your absolutely stunning art for this fic!!! Soofireanon drew some downright marvelous pieces, including the fight scene, Varian being sassy and evil-ish, Rapunzel and Eugene being Cool Adults, and Varian hugging Rudiger!! (Plus, a FANTASTIC sketch of Varian’s design/appearance in this fic, if you all don’t mind some spoilers on how he will eventually look!!) Sakura-petal91 also drew an amazing furious Varian!! Just, so many beautiful pieces!! Thank you both so much!! And to all my other reviewers, viewers, kudos-ers, and just, all my readers— thank you so much for all your support and love for this story. It means the world to me.

Warnings for some cursing (not as strong as the last chapter, but still present), some violence (a bit more intense than canon, but not gory), and conscious infliction of pain (very mild, and very brief, but I thought I’d mention that.) As always, if there is something you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add it on here!

AO3 version is here.

Chapter I is here.

Chapter II is here.

Next chapter is here!

Chapter III: The Sword

Rapunzel is standing at a crossroads.

The world is lost in the same gray fog as before, with only the dark silhouettes of looming trees to serve as a locator. It is the pale brightness of early morning, the world dimmed but still visible, everything awash in otherworldly blue. Beneath her feet the road is the same cold dark stone, turned polar white where her bare toes touch—only this time, the path does not stretch forward, but out.

Split evenly down the middle, the road trails in two opposing directions. To her left, the path stretches on into the gloom, winding like a snake to an unknown destination. The path to her right is its mirror down to every twist and turn, its equal and its reflection, every bit as sinister and foreboding as its counterpart.

She stands tall on the path, feet braced and shoulders back, her face lifted to the obscured sky in a silent challenge. She stares out into the unknown with all the regal bearing of a queen. The path of black stone, the fog, and those awful icy colors—they have led her here, led her to a choice. Before her the fog, turned soft and blue in the morning glow, ripples like the surface of a lake. When she raises her hand to it, wondering if perhaps there is another path she simply cannot see, it presses against her palm as strong and as solid as a brick wall.

Rapunzel stands on a crossroads, still and silent, unsure of where to go or what path to trust.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?”

For some reason she is not surprised to hear him, to know that he is there. For some reason it makes perfect sense, that he would stand at this crossroads with her. She pulls away from the unyielding wall of fog and turns to look behind her.

“Varian.”

Varian looks up at her. He is sitting cross-legged on the dark path, the black of his shackles near-indistinguishable from the black of the stone. He is fiddling with a section of her hair, pulling out the tangles in the long golden strands, draping them over his knee to braid.

She turns to him, faces him, settles down before him. Face-to-face, mirrors of each other—equals like the paths that stretch on behind her.

Varian watches her sit with a blank expression, then hums and turns his eyes back to the braid. His fingers are bare, long and thin like a musician’s, uncharacteristically careful as he combs his nails through the strands. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Rapunzel looks down at the path. Her fingers brush the stone, and blue flares like a flower, wisping out like one of her watercolor paints. They both stop, pausing for only a moment to watch the colors fade, and then she says, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Varian smiles. His expression is unreadable, unknown to her, as mysterious as the path she follows. “Of course you did.”

She looks up at him, watches his face. “I’m getting close, aren’t I? To the end.”

“Close,” Varian echoes. His eyes trail away from her, drop back to the braid. He looks at it for a long moment and makes another knot into the chain. “You could say that.”

She frowns, and looks behind her, back to the crossroads, the split path. “Not the end, then,” she guesses. Her eyes glance back, search his impassive face. “A choice?”

His shoulders lift in a shrug, his chains clinking at the movement. “Both. Neither. Or maybe it’s me who has to make a choice. Maybe we’re all making choices.” His head rises, and he gives her another smile, soft and full of old bitterness. “Did you really think finding answers would be easy, Rapunzel? As easy as asking a question…” He reaches out, taps his fingers against the black rocks. “…Or merely following a path?”

She has nothing to say in reply to this, just watches him braid her hair. Her thoughts twist and tangle like a hurricane in her head. “Varian,” she says finally. “Which way should I go?”

He laughs at that. “How should I know?”

“Both are wrong,” Rapunzel admits, her voice soft and breaking, torn with indecision. “They aren’t… they aren’t right. I don’t know which way to go.”

Varian shakes his head. “Why are you asking me?” he tells her, and lifts one hand to point out into the gloom. The shackles on his skinny wrist dangle like a noose. “No matter which way you go, it’ll always be your choice.”

“It has to be me,” Rapunzel echoes softly, and Varian smiles one final time, soft and genuine and sad.

“Ah,” he says. “Now you’re getting it.”

Cassandra wakes up to a dark world.

At first, she isn’t sure what, exactly, has roused her—she is usually the first one up in their camp, no matter what watch she takes, but it is rare that she wakes this early. The sky is still dark, not a hint of sunrise to be seen, and the air is blessedly cool against her sunburned skin, a thin fog drifting through the shadowed silhouettes of the trees. It’s chilly and dewy, the sort of cold wet only very early morning can create, and Cassandra pulls her up her blankets, frowning out at the fog.

A sharp hoot breaks through the silence, and Cassandra turns, lifting one hand in an automatic motion. With a soft beat of his wings, Owl flutters down to her, talons digging into Cassandra’s bare arm. He croons at her, chittering softly, tapping his long talons against her skin in a specific rhythm.

Cassandra grimaces, displeased by the news, and breathes in deeply through her nose. After a moment, she lifts one hand and trails her finger down Owl’s head, a careful show of affection. “You sure?”

Owl croons again, then jumps off her arm into the sky, vanishing back into the shadow of the trees. Cassandra watches him go, and sighs, one hand rising to rub at her face, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“All good?”

His voice low and careful, but it still startles her. She tilts her head to the side, squinting through the darkness to see the shadowed form of Eugene, sitting up by the ashes of their fire. She cannot see him all that well, not at this time of day, but she can make out the faint outline of his shoulders against the tree trunk, a flickering motion that might be the wave of his hand.

That’s right, Cassandra remembers suddenly. It is his turn for watch.

“There’s a storm coming,” she replies, voice just as soft. There’s no need to wake up Rapunzel, after all. She squints into the darkness, trying to get a read on him. “And a town, nearby.”

She thinks Eugene might be smiling, but it is hard to tell. Typical of him. It is usually Eugene and Rapunzel who head to the towns, a makeshift date of sorts for the two of them; he would like the sound of another one. “Soon?”

Cassandra considers this. “The storm? Maybe tomorrow night. Within the next two days, certainly.” She frowns at the reminder, scowling into the dark. “The town… today.”

He sounds excited. He won’t be, when she tells him the rest. “We’re close?”

She sighs into the dark, looking to where Varian should be, now only a shadowed lump in this morning gloom. “…No. And yes. The rocks go straight through the city.”

There’s a long silence, and then Eugene whistles lowly. She can’t be sure, but she thinks he’s looking the same way as her. “…Damn.”

She sighs again, unsure if she is tired or simply annoyed. “We’ll deal with it.”

There’s the sound of a grimace in his voice, grudging and reluctant. “Yeah.” Eugene’s sigh is just as soft as hers, but longer, drawing out into a low whistle. She can’t see well in the dark, but she can almost catch the white gleam of his teeth as he grins, mood slipping back into flippancy. “Maybe I’ll give ‘im another lecture, get him off your back?”

Her anxieties fall away, her irritation returning. Cassandra rolls her eyes at a sky she cannot see and scoffs at him, glaring out in his direction at the reminder. “Oh, shove off.”

Laughter, warm as sunlight, threads through his words, his voice nearly sing-song. “You still haven’t thanked me for that, you know.”

Cassandra narrows her eyes to slits, smirking into the dark. Strangely enough, some part of her is fighting the urge to laugh. “I don’t need you to fight my battles. Which of us is actually skilled with a sword, again? Besides,” she adds, humor fading at the memory, “I was trying not to skewer him, not running from him.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Eugene says, and there is something odd in his voice, something warm and fond, something unlike the usual teasing tone she usually gets from him. “But hey, I have better luck getting a compliment from you than I do him! Don’t think he’ll thank me for that.”

“He should, I was very close.”

“I know. You had the murder-look in your eye—you know, the constipated-face one?”

She scowls out in his direction and his laughter floats soft and wispy in the air between them. Her ire breaks, and she rolls her eyes back up to the heavens. “It’s too early for your nonsense,” she decides, raising her voice just slightly over his echoing laughter. “I’m going back to sleep. Good night.”

“You know I’m right,” Eugene sings, and Cassandra grumps wordlessly at him, plopping back down on her blankets and yanking them over her shoulder. She drapes an arm over her head and rests against her pillow, and closes her eyes to the sound of his snickering echoing in her ears.

When she opens her eyes again, it feels like no time at all has passed, but the bright morning light shines incessantly on her face. Head pounding, Cassandra squints into the sudden glare, rubbing at a crick in her neck and sitting up with a yawn. Rapunzel is a still and snoring lump beneath her covers, Pascal hiding underneath her hand. Maximus blows out soft breaths beside her, ever the watchful guardian even in sleep. And Eugene—

Eugene is passed out against the tree.

Cassandra stares at him, more bemused than irritated, biting back the urge to laugh. Some guard he is, she thinks to herself. Why, if Varian had decided to—

Her breath catches, thoughts stuttering to a halt as every hair on the back of her neck rises. She feels abruptly cold in a way that has nothing to do with the morning chill.

Varian!

Her heart pounding, she flies up on her feet and whirls on her heels, searching for him amongst the trees. Damn Eugene! What was she thinking, laughing at his carelessness? Time that no one was watching, time that Varian could have used to escape, or hurt Rapunzel, or—

Cassandra stills, her frantic thoughts halting in their tracks. Varian…Varian is still here.

Cassandra draws herself up to her full height, wishing for the comfort of her sword, sharp eyes darting up and down Varian’s small frame. He is stuck in the grips of sleep, curled up in a small ball between two wide tree roots, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and Rudiger by his neck. The iron shackles stand out starkly against his pale wrists. His chains are still tied to the tree, untampered and whole, exactly as she left them. He hasn’t moved even an inch.

Her breath releases in a heavy sigh, her shoulders sinking, her hands trembling by her side. Cassandra rubs at her face with one hand, palm digging into the hollow of her sore eyes. She has just woken up, but she feels suddenly very tired, drained and fatigued like she’s pulled an all-nighter, exhaustion tugging at her mind. She sits down hard on her bed-roll, relief making her knees weak.

Maybe it’s unfair to Varian, to treat him this way—maybe, but not really. Cassandra… she knows, in truth, that she is not objective; that Varian is a sore subject for her, that her own hurt feelings are clouding her judgment. But she is not wrong about this. Varian is dangerous, not just because of his short temper and biting words, but also for what he could do—and what he is willing to do. Only a boy, but he is a boy without limitations, and that is the most frightening thing of all.

There are no lengths he wouldn’t go to achieve his goal. If nothing else, his actions in Old Corona proved that much.

Admittedly, he is better now, at least compared to how he was at the start of their journey. It’s nearly been two weeks now since they left Corona, one week since that… incident, and ever since that, he’s been quiet. Still biting, still sullen, but… better. Restrained. She can almost forget he’s there, which is both a blessing and a security risk. Cassandra can never have nice things, apparently.

Of course, today’s events may put an end to his good behavior. She doesn’t trust his silence to hold in the face of a city overrun by the black rocks.

Cassandra cannot help but wish he wasn’t here. She wishes Rapunzel had just left him in that cell. She knows it’s an awful thought, but Varian is like a plague, tainting everything he touches. Their journey could have been pleasant, if not for him. Cassandra is forever aware of the threat he poses, of the hatred he holds for Rapunzel—a hatred he makes no secret of. Every spiteful comment, every baleful glare, every vaguely threatening motion… Cassandra sees it all, notes it, holds herself back from retaliating. He is constantly toeing the line. His anger, his hatred— he is so vocal in it, it exhausts her. Cassandra wants him gone. She wants to rest.

Bad enough that Varian betrayed them, tried to hurt Rapunzel, tried to kill her. Now they have to deal with him every waking hour of the day, as well?

Whatever. Cassandra knows why Rapunzel did this. She may not like it, but she understands—can even, on the nights when she is alone and untroubled, admit it is perhaps the only right thing to do, the only thing fair to Varian. It is only her heart that doesn’t understand—that sense of being betrayed, that childish anger and spite. Only this part of her that wishes so vehemently that Varian would just leave.

Cassandra shuts her eyes with a grimace, shaking her head. She is being childish, mopey, even; and Cassandra has never done mopey. Varian is here to stay, vicious personality and all, and Cassandra will just have to suck it up and deal with it.

She’s lucky, all things considered—Varian rarely talks to Cassandra unless she engages first, but he’s as cold towards Rapunzel as he always is, and Rapunzel is the one who actually wants to help him. At least Cassandra can ignore his existence without fear of being on the end of one of his outbursts. Small mercies. She’ll have to thank Eugene for that, even if she didn’t really need it and the thought of thanking Eugene for anything makes her want to gag. Still, she can stomach it.

Cassandra rolls up onto her feet and brushes the dirt off her tunic. The sky is still rather dark, but it’s lightening, turning to the paler blue of sunrise as light creeps out over the hills. The sun is rising, the horses need to be woken and fed, a fire to start and breakfast to prep—the day is fast approaching. There is no more time to waste.

Cassandra pushes her worries aside for another night, and goes to start the fire.

They reach the town by noon.

The whole way there, Cassandra keeps a sharp eye on Varian. Ever since the incident from a few days back, he has been riding on Maximus with Eugene, while Cassandra and Rapunzel ride together on Fidello. Cassandra isn’t sure whether to be irritated or pleased about it. On one hand, the ride is far more pleasant talking with Rapunzel. On the other, she despises the fact this change was necessary.

The bright side is that the new angle gives her a better look at Varian’s expression. Riding ahead of him means she only has to glance back to tell what he is thinking. She can quite literally see the moment he recognizes a town in the distance, and then the slow realization when he understands where the stone path is heading.

Cassandra watches him, but other than grit teeth and tense muscles, Varian does not react. Yet, neither does he look away—his baleful glare remains fixed on the path and those black rocks the whole time. His eyes track the stone where it breaks through the far-off guard wall, catch and linger on the sporadic spikes skewering the city ahead.

Cassandra grimaces and turns away, fixing her eyes back on the road. She’ll deal with Varian if she has to, but she’s really hoping she doesn’t have to.

The closer they get to the town, the quieter their talk becomes, until the whole group falls into a tense silence a few miles out from the gates. No one mentions buying food—for today at least, hunting would probably be the better option. None of them want to stay a minute longer in this city than they have to. They are all hyper-aware of Varian’s intense stare, of his taut shoulders and shaking hands, can almost hear the grinding of his teeth as they draw closer and closer.

About a mile out from the gate, Rapunzel draws up her cloak hood, and Eugene throws Varian a blanket, who scowls but grudgingly lets it cover his legs despite the midday heat, hiding his chains, the iron ball, and his foot cuffs from view. For a moment Cassandra thinks this, here, is where he will break—almost hopes for it, for they are at least far away enough to not be overheard—but Varian breathes in deep and holds it, and not a sound slips past his lips.

As they draw up to the city, a guard walks up to them, wielding a short sword and wearing dull iron armor inscribed with the crest of this country’s king. The stone path has cut straight through the city’s border wall, a makeshift door into the city with no locks or gates, only the guards to defend this unexpected breach in their defenses. Wickedly sharp spikes poke out from between the bricks, violent and obtrusive, likely due to previous attempts to build over the stone path. The black rocks, Cassandra knows, don’t appreciate being hidden.

She chances a glance back. Varian’s head is bowed, his blue eyes cold as they stare up through his fringe. He looks at the broken walls and overrun town like a prisoner would at a guillotine.

“Travelers,” says the guard, looking wary. As he probably should, seeing a bunch of weird, hooded people riding along an unofficial path that decimated their village. “What brings you here?”

“Adventure,” Eugene says brightly, taking the attention upon himself. His smile is wide and gleaming, and perhaps a little desperate, too. “We four here are exploring this black stone path, seeing where it goes for the sake of… science! Yes, science.”

The man looks suspicious, but his weapon is lowering. “All of you?” he repeats, eyeing their group. How odd they must appear to him, Cassandra realizes abruptly. A hooded teenager, an armed woman with a sword, a rogue-ish looking man, and… a fourteen-year-old boy looking like he’s stared death in the face. Plus a raccoon, chameleon, and an owl. No wonder he looks so skeptical.

Sure enough, the guard points one suspicious finger at Varian, who leans back as if he thinks the man might stab him, eyes snapping to the guard like a flash of brilliant blue lightning—all danger, all threat, ready to strike without warning. “This one’s an explorer? What, he your kid or something?”

Varian’s eyes go wide, reeling away as if the guard has slapped him, lips drawing back in a frightful snarl. “He’snot myd—”

Before he can finish, Eugene reaches out and claps a hand over Varian’s mouth, pinning him back against his chest to keep Varian from lunging forward. Varian freezes, looking momentarily stunned.

In the abrupt silence, Eugene laughs loudly, almost too loudly, nerves pitching his voice unnaturally high. “No, no! Good sir, I am far too young for that. No, this is… my little brother, Vari… tas.” His voice is strained. Sweat trickles down his brow.

The words must jolt Varian out of his daze, because he starts to twist in Eugene’s hold, looking furious, his protests muffled but the raw emotion in them still showing through. He almost looks like he might start biting, which would be hilarious if Varian himself didn’t appear so frightening.

The guard, reasonably, does not look convinced. Cassandra sighs and slings herself off the horse, trusting Eugene to handle Varian for now. Time to do damage control.

“We’re travelers,” she says shortly. “We’re from the Kingdom of Corona.” She rifles through one of the saddlebags and holds out a stamped piece of paper triumphantly to the guard. “I have the official documentation right here.”

The guard scans the papers, frowning slightly, but some of the threat in his stance has eased. “…It checks out,” he says finally, reluctantly. “But why you four? Wouldn’t the King of Corona send people more….” He waves his hand vaguely upward, and Rapunzel, bless her, pipes in.

“Taller?”

Eugene sucks in a little breath, a sure sign he is about to start talking again, but Cassandra cuts him off with a smile. “Corona is going through some hard times lately,” she says. “We were recently attacked by a dangerous criminal, an alchemist named Varian.” Her eyes dart back, cold and unfaltering, to the frozen form of Varian. “Isn’t that right, Varitas?”

Eugene and Varian both stare at her, before Eugene starts and warily draws back his hand, releasing Varian with extreme reluctance. Varian does not move. He stares down at Cassandra, his face pale, lips pressed into a thin line. In the midday sun he looks washed-out and near colorless, his freckles like flecks of black ink against his skin. The bags under his eyes are as dark as bruises.

Eugene glances between them, gritting his teeth slightly. The look he gives Cassandra is all irritation, eyes lidded with disappointment. He nudges Varian carefully with his elbow.

“Right,” Varian says, very quietly. His eyes burn like hot coals on her back.

Cassandra ignores him, turning back to the guard with a confident smile. Strange though their group may be, the official papers and somewhat official story will work in their favor. Cassandra has got the situation under control. “We’re recovering, of course,” she continues, as if the terse exchange hasn’t happened, “but the king didn’t want to waste any real firepower. So, here we are. Can you let us through?”

The guard scans them over, then finally relaxes with a sigh. “I suppose,” he says grudgingly. He waves his hand up to the wall. “Just be aware that if you cause any trouble, even the seal of a king can’t help you here.” His dark eyes are old, knowing. “This isn’t your kingdom.”

“We know,” Cassandra mutters back, and swings herself back up on the horse with Rapunzel, taking the reins and spurring them forward through the broken wall.

Rapunzel waits until they are out of sight, then leans in closer to Cassandra. “That was mean,” she murmurs quietly.

Cassandra glares down at the reins and snaps them sharply, Fidello putting on an extra burst of speed that takes them out of hearing range from Varian and Eugene. “So?” she demands.

“This is hard enough for him without you adding more on top of it, Cass.”

“Oh, yes, let’s worry about the feelings of a convicted felon.”

Rapunzel doesn’t reply, but her wide eyes are filled with disappointment, lips twisted down into a deep frown. Cassandra scowls at the pavement and urges Fidello into a trot.

Despite the busy hour, the streets of this new city are fairly empty—or, Cassandra suspects, the locals are simply avoiding the path of black rocks cutting through their homes. It is almost like walking through Old Corona again, seeing the far-off clusters and ruins of old houses and streets. The only difference here is that the damage is contained, constricted to only a straight line, an unfaltering path through the city. Yet, even with the differences… the resemblance is uncanny.

Varian’s voice is quiet, drawn tight and strangled, barbed with old hatred. “I wonder. Do you think their king is ignoring the rocks, too?”

Rapunzel’s arms squeeze around Cassandra’s waist, tight enough to be uncomfortable. Cassandra clenches her jaw. No one answers.

Varian’s laugh is a soft and broken thing, bitter and ugly, the sound breaking on what might be a sob. He doesn’t say anything else, and their trek through the town continues in utter silence.

The whole atmosphere of the town should be welcoming. Instead, it just feels cold. Children run and play on the side, people walking around and talking in low voices. But they are distant, straying away, their eyes catching and following the group as they pass. The homes are built of gray, lifeless stone, and to Cassandra’s eyes the city’s colored banners look bright and false, garish against the gray.

There must be some charm to it though, because Rapunzel starts to crane her neck, wide green eyes taking in every inch. Even Varian looks a little stunned, face fallen open with interest and for once looking curious rather than spiteful, his dark mood vanishing briefly as he marvels at the city.

Rapunzel, Cassandra is not surprised at. This is the norm for her. But Varian…

He looks suddenly and uncomfortably like how he used to. Like a kid, like that kid, the one Cassandra once called a friend. Something icy runs along her spine and Cassandra turns her eyes back to the road so quickly she nearly gives herself whiplash, teeth grit and grinding.

Rapunzel touches her arm. “Cass?”

Cassandra takes a deep breath, fighting past the sudden pain in her chest. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, Raps.”

Rapunzel draws away, but her eyes are watchful and knowing. Cassandra pretends she doesn’t notice and busies herself with watching the roads for any threat instead. She has to force herself to look at Varian again, her discomfort not enough to sway her from her duty.

Much to Cassandra’s relief, they reach the center of the city within the half-hour, inching ever-closer to the exit. Watching Varian’s face grow darker with every destroyed house, seeing his eyes flash with rage at every ruined path or home…. Even with this darkness faded in light of his new curiosity, it is nerve-wracking, unnerving, enough to make Cassandra keep a hand on her blade at all times. She cannot wait to be rid of this place.

Unfortunately, it seems Rapunzel must have other ideas. As they enter the city market square, the dark path cutting into a far corner of the busy street, Rapunzel perks up in the saddle. Her wandering eyes must catch on a stall, because the next thing Cassandra knows Rapunzel is swinging herself right off the horse. She is on the ground and running before Cassandra can react.

“Wait just one moment, Cass!”

“Raps!”

“Aw, Blondie, c’mon—”

“Just one minute!”

Rapunzel darts down the street, dodging pedestrians with ease, apparently unaware of how their eyes track her, how they shy away from this stranger from the dark path. Cassandra isn’t. She grips the hilt of her sword to ebb her unease, and traces Rapunzel’s trail with her eyes. The only reason she doesn’t disembark to follow is because Rapunzel stays in sight.

She watches Rapunzel run up to a stall, talking excitedly, hands plucking at her purse. There’s a crowd forming, guards looking uncertain and eyes following her every movement. People are gathering, the low murmur of their voices swelling to an annoyed buzz. For a brief and terrifying moment, the market crowd surges and Cassandra loses sight of Rapunzel in the mob.

Cassandra snarls under her breath, gripping her sword hilt in a white-knuckled grip. “Damn it, Rapunzel!”

She swings herself off Fidello, marching up to Eugene and shoving the reins into his hand. “Hold this. I’m dragging our runaway royal back.”

Eugene looks exasperated. “Cass! She’s just shopping.”

“We need to leave,” Cassandra says, tone brooking no argument. “We don’t need any more unwanted attention. This journey is risky enough.”

She marches away before Eugene can respond, striding up close to Rapunzel, who is thanking the nervous-looking shopkeeper profusely. Cassandra grabs her arm, pulling her away from the stall, dragging her back towards the horses. Rapunzel stumbles a bit in surprise, one arm pinwheeling, her hood slipping off as she catches her feet. She sees Cassandra and blinks in surprise. “Cass? I said I’d only be a minute.”

“What are you doing, Raps? We need to go—” She catches sight of Rapunzel’s purchase and the sheer incredulity of it nearly drives her speechless. “—Apples? You ran off to buy apples? Of all things?”

“And cinnamon!” Rapunzel enthuses, holding a little glass vial of the spice.

“Raps.”

Rapunzel gives her a sheepish smile. “You’ll see,” she promises. “I think I’ve almost got it down by now, so I just thought…” She must see the look on Cassandra’s face because she trails off and her shoulders slump. “…You’re right. I should have waited.” She offers a weak smile. “Sorry, Cass, I just got excited. Um, let’s head back?”

Cassandra casts an uneasy glance around them, worry twining in her gut. The crowd has grown in the few minutes they’ve been talking, strange eyes watching them from all sides. These people do not know Rapunzel, do not love her like Corona does, and she doesn’t like how their eyes linger on her, gawking as if they are a show at a carnival. Women and children and guards and strange men, circling and staring.

“Let’s go,” Cassandra agrees, pulling Rapunzel back to the horses. She wonders if it’s just her imagination seeing the shadows flicker in the alleys, movement in the crowd. She keeps one hand on Rapunzel’s back and grips her sword hilt a little tighter, tilting the sheath so it is more visible. The people draw away, but the cool curiosity in their faces goes a little colder, a little more hostile, a bit more biting.

Her skin crawls, a shiver tiptoeing down her spine, phantom fingers running down her back. Cassandra urges Rapunzel forward and sweeps herself up on the horse, helping Rapunzel get on, trying not to rush but unable to help the restless urgency in her motion.

Maximus draws up beside them, shuffling nervously on his hooves. Eugene extends his arm and passes Cassandra Fidello’s reins, but he must also be unnerved, because for once he doesn’t make any smart quips. Cassandra snatches them back and settles Fidello again, and she is moments away from driving them forward when something flashes in the corner of her eye.

Her breath catches, her instincts screaming in alarm, ringing like bells in her head. Her blood freezes in her veins, every muscle going tense and tight. The world feels as if it is stuck in a thick jelly, every motion turned slow and stupid, and even the simple act of turning her head takes too long, too much time.

A hand—there is a hand, reaching out—broken and dirty fingernails, pale skin rubbed red and mottled black-and-blue—Varian, it is Varian, and he is reaching out to Rapunzel.

Time restarts, and Cassandra strikes.

She whirls in the saddle, heart in her throat, and catches Varian’s hand mid-air. Her fingers wrap fully around his skinny wrist, press against his raw and reddened skin, his bruises from the nightly chains. His fingers spasm in her grip, and Varian cries out in pain, trying desperately to yank back his arm. Cassandra doesn’t let go. She tightens the force of her hold, pressing hard against his bruises in warning. His strangled hiss of pain is ignored.

“What were you doing!” she snaps, feeling breathless, shaken to her bones. She almost hadn’t seen him in time. She almost hadn’t caught him. The near-miss terrifies and enrages her. “Varian! What were you trying to do!?”

Varian flushes, red blooming on his pale cheeks, meeting her glare with shaky defiance. Pain wars across his face, but he doesn’t move, holding himself carefully still. “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he says, voice shaking with anger but eyes wide with fear. “I wasn’t—”

His voice trails off, and Varian takes a breath, as if to calm himself. This time his voice is steady. “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he says, stronger now, growing livid. His eyes cut away from Cassandra, and he gives Rapunzel a dark look. “Your hood is down, Princess. What happened to not wanting to draw attention?”

Rapunzel’s eyes go wide, and her hands fly up to her hair. Eugene swears under his breath, and Cassandra feels her heart drop. She hadn’t even noticed. She’d been so worried about the crowd, she hadn’t even considered why they might be staring. She is so used to seeing Rapunzel with her long and shining gold hair, that she hadn’t considered that such a sight would be unnatural to anyone else.

Rapunzel yanks up her hood quickly, looking pale. Her eyes are wide and fearful. “Oh,” she says, very small. “That’s right. I’m, um… that is—” She stops, shakes her head, tries again. “Uh, thank you, Varian.”

She sounds uncertain, and for good reason. Cassandra grits her teeth and grips Varian’s wrist a little tighter, fingers pressing hard against his skin. Varian’s expression dissolves into a wince of pain, and Cassandra steels herself, refuses to feel guilty.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” she hisses at him, keeping her voice low. “Instead of reaching out—”

“Like you lot ever listen to what I say,” Varian snaps. “And I wasn’t thinking, okay? I just noticed and reacted. It’s not like I was going to—”

“I don’t believe you,” Cassandra says lowly, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t give me that. I know firsthand what you can and will do if given the chance, Varian. I’ve experienced it, remember?” She lets go of him in disgust, tossing his arm away from her. “Don’t do that again.”

Varian draws his hand back, rubbing at his wrist. The bruises stand out starkly on his skin, raw-looking and flecked with blood from where the chains have bitten his flesh. His face is flushed an angry red, and for a moment Cassandra almost thinks he is going to fight on her on this, right here on this city street—and then Varian falters.

He goes pale, his fury falling away, even his fists loosening into open palms. He looks Cassandra right in the eyes, and it is like his resentment drains out of him, shoulders rising up by his ears and eyes going wide before dropping away, sullen and quiet. He draws his arm close to his chest as if seeking comfort.

“Fine,” Varian says shortly, looking strangely small. He angles away from them, head lowered so that his hair hides his face.

Cassandra stares at him, too stunned to speak. However she thought Varian might react, this was not an option she considered. Even Rapunzel looks surprised—her horror at her dropped hood forgotten, her eyes flickering back and forth between Varian and Cassandra. Her gaze is thoughtful, distant as if looking at a memory.

Eugene’s eyebrows are arched, but unlike Cassandra and Rapunzel, he looks not just surprised but also a bit pleased. There is an odd warmth in his face as he looks down at Varian.

Eugene must take pity on Varian—who, well aware of the silence, is quickly curling up into a ball on the saddle—as he picks up the reins with a laugh and says, “Well! Shall we head off, then? I can see those walls in the distance, and if Blondie is done shopping and giving us heart attacks…”

Just like that, the frozen atmosphere shatters, and Rapunzel shakes her head with a soft and guilty laugh. Cassandra rolls her eyes and picks up Fidello’s reins, pushing back her unease and confusion. Varian has never made sense to her. She’ll think about it later.

She feels suddenly and strangely guilty for how she’s been acting towards him. As if, in a strange twist, she has become the childish one.

Maybe it is more than Varian’s quiet. Maybe, whatever Eugene said to him, all those days ago—perhaps something stuck. Maybe… Maybe Cassandra should give Varian a chance, too, the way they both have. Perhaps for once, talking is the better option.

She’ll have to wait and see. It doesn’t sound like a good idea, but— if Eugene could do it, then why not Cassandra?

Besides—she wants answers. She wants to know. Varian does not make sense to her. His reasons, his logic, how he became who he is—there is a disconnect, a gap in her knowledge. One day he was a friend and the next he was an enemy, and all she has to bridge the divide is a day in a snowstorm, a few seconds of desperation and a frantic plea for help. A plea for Rapunzel—and not Cassandra. What happened after that, she has never been privy to.

She knows now, of course, what happened—the truth delivered in fits and bursts from Rapunzel, weeks after the storm had passed, guilt in every halting word. But the truth, Cassandra is finding, is not enough for her. Varian has been betrayed before. People have lost family before. She is ill at ease with this explanation.

If she should give Varian a chance… if perhaps Cassandra too should try to listen—maybe she will finally have an answer. Maybe there is something she can find, a missing piece that will connect the puzzle and put her turmoil and guilt and childish hurt to rest.

Perhaps. But this is a problem for later, and for now she must focus. Cassandra takes a deep breath and pushes her tangled thoughts aside, steering her horse back down the path.

“Let’s go,” she says, and urges Fidello into a canter, rushing in front of Maximus with a sly grin, hearing Eugene yelp in offense behind her at the pass. She eases Fidello into a trot and notes their approach to the end of city border with some relief. The path is leading them out, and soon they’ll be free of this town and back into the forest. Soon there will be time to think again—time to come to a decision.

For the remainder of their trek through the town, Cassandra keeps her eyes open and watching. No one follows them. No one attacks them. No one stands out to her.

But the shadows make her uneasy, and the whole ride through, even when they finally leave the walled city behind, her skin crawls with phantom fear.

It is late afternoon, only a few hours out from the city, when Cassandra calls them to an early stop.

The sudden jolt of the horse nearly sends Varian toppling, head bobbing like he has a loose joint in his neck as he is rudely forced from his dozing. He has barely slept at all the past few months, and the journey has been no help. He spends more of the day half-asleep than he does awake.

“What’s going on?” he asks blearily, too tired to feel anything but sleepy and vaguely confused. He tilts dangerously on the saddle, and a warm hand presses against his shoulder and holds him in place, keeping him from falling. He leans into it almost subconsciously.

“There’s a storm coming,” Eugene says, and his voice is bright, cheery and lilting, and so unlike the low warm tenor Varian half-expects to hear. For a moment he can literally feel his heart drop as reality sinks in, when he remembers that it is not Dad here with him but strangers, enemies who he once stupidly called friends.

He shoves off Eugene’s hand like it’s burned him, his heart in his throat, his eyes burning. “What?”

“A storm,” Eugene repeats, damnably patient, and points over and above Varian’s shoulder.

Varian follows his finger, staring at the sky. At first, he doesn’t understand—just sees the bright-blue skies of late afternoon and the dark looming silhouettes of far-off trees—except when he squints towards the horizon, at the shadowed hills in the far-off way, he realizes suddenly that those hills might not be hills at all. And then he sees the strange swollen look to them, the dark gray coloring, the way they roll slowly but surely closer. The wind blows cold against his face, howling in his ears, foreshadowing the violence to come.

“Is that…?”

“The storm,” Cassandra confirms, eyes sharp on the horizon. She hefts Fidello’s reins and urges them to the side of the road, away from the rocks. “We’ll have to find the path again tomorrow. We can’t stay here—we need shelter.”

Unease stirs in Varian’s gut. “Why?” he asks, eyeing her doubtfully. “It’s just rain.”

“Summer storms are the worst of the lot, especially outside of Corona,” Eugene says cheerfully, spurring Maximus forward. The horse grumbles like a dog and tosses his neck in annoyance, leaving Varian to scramble for a hold on the iron ball. “One time, years ago, Lance and I—” He coughs into his hand at Varian’s blank stare. “Er, well, that’s a story for another time. The short of it: more rain, more lightning, thunder… and don’t get me started on the wind!”

The description is chilling. Varian casts a troubled glance at the sky.

“We’ll be fine,” Eugene tells him, softer now, as if he’s noticed Varian’s apprehension. “Just got to find better shelter.”

Varian glances behind them at the rock path, already obscured by the trees, and grudging faces forward. “We better not lose sight of the road,” he mutters under his breath.

“We’ll be fine,” Cassandra calls back, startling Varian upright. “I know how to track, and Maximus is the best guard horse ever trained.” Her side-eye is cutting, and Varian flushes with anger and embarrassment. He hadn’t realized she’d been listening.

“Guys!” Rapunzel calls out from ahead, and Cassandra turns away, freeing Varian from her stare. She unsettles him, if he is being honest. She looks at him as if she can see right through him, like he’s beneath her. She never looked at him like that before, back when they were all still pretending to be friends.

His insides twist like there is a knife in his chest, and someone is digging it deeper, wrenching the blade. He scrapes his nails down the iron ball to keep from clenching his fists and bites down hard on his lip. It doesn’t help.

Ahead, Rapunzel has dismounted, arms outspread to present her find—the side of a great hill, a deep dark niche leading inwards. The top of it slopes like a ramp, the sides jagged and torn as if the small niche had been haphazardly carved in the hill with an unskilled and sloppy hand.

“Caves!” Rapunzel enthuses, voice bright with delight. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think,” Varian says blandly, before the others can reply, “that we’re all going to be eaten by bears.”

“We can hold them off!”

Varian gives her a close-lipped smile. “Do you make a habit of displacing people from their homes for your own comfort, Princess?”

Rapunzel’s sunny smile flickers and falters, and Varian has one brief second of satisfaction before a hand hooks in his shirt collar and pulls him forward and off the horse—Eugene, again, damn him. Ever since he pulled Varian around like disobedient kitten five days ago he’s been doing it with increasing regularity.

Varian twists in his hold and claws at his fingers, accidentally letting go of the iron sphere, and just narrowly missing crushing his toes. The close call makes him yelp, and he scrambles at Eugene’s arm to drag himself up, dangling midair like a bedraggled cat. Someone—he isn’t sure who—snickers.

He drops back to the ground with red cheeks and hot shame curling his gut. “Let go of me,” he hisses at Eugene. He glares at all of them, Rapunzel especially, who is hiding a smile behind her hand, the sting of Varian’s words forgotten.

At this point, Varian is starting to think Eugene is doing this on purpose.

He snatches his bag from Maximus’s saddle and marches into the cave, refusing to look at them. The iron ball drags like a leaden weight behind him, tugging painfully at his ankle.

The caves are, thankfully, blessedly clear of any wildlife. Varian suspects it may be the proximity to the black stone path—animals tend to shy away from the rocks once they appear, with exception to Rudiger, who got used to them after enough time with Varian. Every other animal Varian’s seen, however, has avoided those unbreakable spires like the plague. It makes him wonder if there is something they can sense about it that humans cannot, or if perhaps the animals are more aware than most of the sheer unnatural structure of the rocks.

Regardless, their small group is free to settle down and rest without fear of imminent bear attack. As Cassandra and Eugene gather branches and get a low fire started, and Rapunzel leads the horses inside, Varian settles down against the wall of their low shelter, shifting to get more comfortable against the unforgiving stone. He watches the sky from inside their cave, tracking the movement of the oncoming tempest, seeing the light and roiling storm clouds stain the sky a brilliant pink and orange-gold.

Eventually the color becomes so vivid it reminds him uncomfortably of the amber. Varian turns away, searching for a new distraction. A thump of a tail catches his attention. Rudiger is snoozing at his side, eyes half-lidded and little nose twitching, paws scrambling for imaginary food. His tail smacks into Varian’s leg again.

A smile pulls at the corner of Varian’s mouth, tired and small but genuine. He digs through his pockets until he finds a leftover nut from the day’s lunch, then sets it carefully down in front of Rudiger.

He watches intently, waiting for his raccoon to notice the treat. Sure enough, Rudiger’s nose starts trembling, paws reaching out for the nut. Varian bites back another smile and carefully moves the nut away. Rudiger’s eyes snap open. He looks at Varian.

This time Varian does smile, practically a grin, and gently tosses the nut away from him, near the wall. Rudiger scrambles to his feet and ambles forward in a scurry, rolling forward and batting the nut back, looking delighted.

Varian taps it with his foot, sending it spinning, and Rudiger tumbles after the nut like an oversized kitten. His paws slip on the cave floor and he flips head-over-heels after the treat, and Varian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Rudigertapsthe nut back to Varian, and they play catch that way for a while, tossing the seed back and forth until the sky outside is more red than orange and the awful gnawing pain in his heart eases away to something more manageable. When Rudiger finally tires of the game, Varian breaks open the shell against the wall and sets the halves down so that Rudiger can eat the meat of the seed. He leans against the wall as he watches, smiling without realizing it, feeling calm and sleepy and blissfully alone.

As if on cue, the heavy thump of footsteps echoes in his ears, heading towards him. Varian casts a glance to the side, good mood faltering and then taking a nosedive once he sees it’s Cassandra.

Varian watches her approach with suspicious eyes and a sinking heart. Can’t they all just leave him alone? Bad enough they are here at all; so why does it feel like they are trying to crush whatever bit of peace and happiness he manages to find in this whole ordeal?

Still, however nasty his thoughts, Varian holds his tongue. Cassandra… she confuses him. Ever since Eugene dragged him off and tore Varian down word by word, he hasn’t been sure of what to make of her.

Varian knows how the Princess and her group see him. He knows they look at him and see the bad guy, and that’s fine, because Varian knows the truth. He is right, and this is justice, and if they can’t see that than it is no fault of his.

Eugene had vehemently disagreed with this notion. And as much as Varian would like to ignore him, to brush off his words…

He can’t forget it, is the thing. He can’t ignore it. “She’s done nothing to you,” and Varian thinks—no, that can’t be true, but he can’t… he can’t remember why, exactly, he was so angry at Cassandra. He can’t remember why it was so easy to hold her in the hands of his automaton and crush her slowly, why he felt nothing but satisfaction and a tired sort of victory. And he can’t remember why he was so convinced she’d betrayed him too, when he can’t recall talking with her, can’t recall her denying him the way Rapunzel did.

Her only crime, then, was not caring enough. And where once this would have been enough for him to justify his actions, now he is not so sure.

All those things he did, Varian did them because he was certain. He has never doubted himself. But for the first time… the doubts are there, and they are swarming. They whisper in his ears and crawl beneath his skin. They are “She has done nothing to you,” and “Why do you hate us,” and “Not everyone is like you.” These doubts, they remind him that no, his food in the prison wasn’t tampered with after all, and that no, he never gave Cassandra a chance to deny him, and no, Eugene never broke a promise.

And this terrifies Varian, these doubts, this uncertainty. Varian cannot afford doubt, cannot afford to hesitate or falter or second-guess himself. He can’t waver, he can’t be anything less than absolutely certain, because anything less is an obstacle, a hindrance in his task to free his dad.

If Varian falters, his father dies, because who else is willing to go the lengths to save him? Not Rapunzel, that’s for sure; all she cares about is Corona. No, it is only Varian, only ever Varian, and if he loses himself here his dad will never be free.

He almost thinks he hates them for that, too. For making him doubt himself. But he still cannot deny the truth in their words.

For this reason alone, Varian stays quiet when Cassandra approaches, draws away back against the wall, but doesn’t say a word when she stops before him. She is standing where he is sitting, unbelievably tall to his eyes, and it makes something in him squirm and pull away, fear seizing at his throat.

Cassandra doesn’t seem to share his unease. Her back is straight, her hands loosely propped up on her hips, near her sword hilt. Her dark eyes are frosty and unreadable to him. She isn’t smiling, but she isn’t frowning either, and Varian doesn’t know what to do with that information, whether it’s good or bad or maybe nothing at all.

“Varian,” she says, in that careful detached way of hers.

“Cassie,” he returns, and only sneers the name a little bit.

For once this does not seem to shake her. Her head tilts up, eyebrow rising. Everything about her is cold—cold like ice and steel, as sharp as her blade. “Only my friends can call me that,” she says coolly. “It’s Cassandra to you.”

“Whatever you say, Cassie.”

She waits. Varian glares. Her eyebrow inches a little higher. “Is that all?” she asks finally. “Just that? I expected more, really. You were so talkative a few days ago.”

He flinches at the memory, back bowing in what might be shame, hands curling into loose fists. Varian looks away first. He pets Rudiger, silent and still at his side, and rubs at one of the raccoon’s ears before gently pushing him away, sensing Rudiger’s unease with the situation. He watches his friend scamper off to avoid looking at Cassandra, missing his presence but knowing Rudiger will not react well if Varian makes him stay.

Besides. Varian is not afraid of Cassandra. He refuses to be afraid of her. He can face her on his own, plagued by doubts or not.

Cassandra watches Rudiger run off, and then looks at Varian, quiet and contemplative. Her eyes rest heavy on his shoulders, staring through him, judging him. At long last she moves, scoffing under her breath, the threat in her stance bleeding away as she leans casually against the wall. She doesn’t sit, still towering over him, but there is something looser in the way she holds herself now, something less like a challenge. As they are having a polite conversation rather than an interrogation.

“I don’t get you,” she says abruptly, without prompting. Varian glances up, but she isn’t looking at him, just away, towards the fire where Rapunzel and Eugene are setting up a spit to fry food. She slumps against the wall, looking suddenly and frightfully exhausted. “I really don’t. Every time I think I’ve figured it out, you change yourself again.”

“Is there a point to this?”

Cassandra snorts. “Oh, probably. But why bother? You’ve never given a straight answer anyways.” She looks down at him. “You’d think I’d know, right? We were friends, at one point.”

Varian bares his teeth at her. No matter what Eugene says, Cassandra makes it so easy to hate her. Maybe he was wrong in how he handled the situation, but Cassandra has always treated him worse than the others do.

“You can cut the act,” he spits back. “‘Friends,’ hah! Like you ever cared about me in the first place.”

Cassandra’s eyes go narrow and flinty, and she draws herself up to her full height. “I did, actually.”

“Only after I proved myself useful,” Varian counters bitterly, old hurt seizing at his heart.

“Only after you proved I was wrong,” Cassandra corrects, her words frosty but rising in both volume and emotion. “Is that what you want to hear, Varian? That I was wrong to leave you behind then, at the expo? Because I was wrong; I admit that fully. But I apologized for that. You forgave me for that.” She shakes her head, eyes shadowed, dark hair fluttering around her face. “I admired that, Varian. That ability to forgive.” Her eyes cut over to him, sharp as broken glass. “Though maybe you never really had it in the first place, huh?”

Varian glares at her. “What,” he snarls. “You think because I was dumb enough to forgive you for that, I should forgive Rapunzel too? What about you, then? Would it be enough for you if I just say I’m sorry?” He pastes a sickly-sweet smile on his face and holds out his cuffed hands like an offering. “I’m so sorry, Cassie, I never meant to do it, pretty please can you forgive me and let me go off on my merry way?”

Cassandra reels back, expression shuddering closed. Her hands are white-knuckled and shaking, held stiff and unnaturally still by her side. “This was a bad idea,” she says, more to herself than to Varian. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

He drops the smile off his face and the sweetness from his voice. “Yes, let’s hear it, Cassie. What were you expecting, coming up to talk to the big bad villain?”

“I don’t know, Varian,” Cassandra snaps, standing so suddenly from the wall that Varian flinches back before he can stop himself. “I don’t know why. Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out. Maybe I’m trying to understand, how you—how you became this!” She gestures wildly at him, at his ragged frame and the bruises on his wrists, the chains clinking at his ankles.

“You don’t make sense!” Cassandra shouts at him, striding forward. “You’re a selfish and brutal kid, but at times you’re almost helpful and sometimes you even—act, or look like you used to, and I. Don’t. Get it!”

“So sorry to make things confusing for you,” Varian spits back, pulling back his shoulders to mirror her offensive stance. He is trembling, from fear or anger even he doesn’t know. “What, would you like a flowchart? A graph, maybe? Test results?”

Abruptly, Cassandra deflates. She pulls back, pulls away from him, one hand rising to rub at her hair. “This was a bad idea,” she says again, almost a whisper. Her hand tightens, pulls at the strands, then falls. When she straightens again, it is as if all her anger has vanished. Only her exhaustion remains.

“You were my friend, once,” she says finally. “I think. Tell me, Varian, what happened to you? I miss that boy, sometimes. Do you?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“I don’t know, Varian. Is it? Sometimes I don’t even recognize you. Do you recognize you?”

Her words dig deep. Varian bristles at the accusation, temper flaring like a spark. “Fine. Fine! Let’s go with that, then. That boy trusted you, thought the princess could keep her promises, thought you were worth noticing. I—I looked up to you guys! I thought we were friends! And then the, the moment I needed you, none of you were there for me! None of you cared!”

Cassandra remains undaunted. “We cared,” she says, quietly. “We just couldn’t help. Not then.”

Varian laughs at her, bringing up his hands to hide his face, digging his palms into the hollows of his eyes. “And after? After the storm? Where were you then, Cassie?”

She sucks in a little breath, the sound whistling between her teeth. She doesn’t reply. The silence sits heavy with guilt.

Varian curls into himself, gritting his teeth. He won’t cry here, he won’t, not in front of her. God, why did Varian ever doubt his anger towards her? Why did he think for even a moment that Eugene might be right? They have never cared, and he is—he is an idiot for wishing otherwise.

“You’re right, Varian,” Cassandra says suddenly, voice raw. Varian looks up slowly. “We… we let you down. I let you down. But you never—you never came back. We didn’t come for you, you’re right, but—you never came for us, either. We thought…” She trails off, making a low noise of frustration. “Varian, I thought whatever had happened, I thought it was over! We all… when the storm ended, everything was suddenly okay again. I guess—I guess we thought that would apply to you, too.”

“It didn’t,” Varian says dully, the words scraping past his throat.

Cassandra meets his eyes with difficulty. “No,” she agrees, and her voice is very soft. “We just wanted it to work that way. But life—isn’t like that. And…”

She turns away sharply, shaking her head. “Damn it,” she whispers. “Varian, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened, okay? But that doesn’t change what you did. That doesn’t change—what you’ve done.” Her voice grows cold again, strong and unwavering. “You committed treason. You kidnapped the Queen. And you tried to commit murder three times, that night. And that—Varian, I don’t understand that. I don’t understand how… you could do that.”

Her eyes bore into him, knowing, questioning. They tear through him, peer past his defenses, demand a truth Varian doesn’t know himself. “You changed. You changed. Do you even know who you are now, Varian? Do you know what kind of person you are? Because I sure don’t.”

Her words shake Varian to the core, striking deep at insecurities he didn’t even know he had. He bares his teeth at her in a smile but cannot muster up the anger or the energy to make it real. It sits weak and trembling on his pale face, shaky like his conviction.

“Getting philosophical, are we?” he asks, and even his voice betrays him, sounds small and flimsy to his own ears. He’s shaking head to toe, throat aching from the tension, feeling like all his arguments are slipping through his fingers. He scrabbles for purchase, for a reason, for something to hold onto.

“Or maybe just curious,” Cassandra returns, shaking her head again, a sigh echoing out. She brushes back her bangs, looks at him, something lost in her expression. “I just don’t understand.”

“Let me know,” Varian spits back, desperate to escape her, escape this, escapethem— “when you figure it out.”

Her eyes go cold, and whatever vulnerability she revealed, it is gone again, locked away behind a blank mask. “I will,” Cassandra snaps, and turns away, striding back to the campfire. Her hands are curled into fists.

“I don’t accept it,” Varian calls to her retreating back, unable to let it go. His good mood is gone, spoiled rotten, bitterness clawing at his heart. “Your—your fake apology. You can make whatever excuses you want, but I know—you never cared about what happened to me! You still don’t care! You’re a liar and a traitor, and I wish—I wish— I wish you’d all just go away!”

Cassandra stiffens, head tilting back. When she turns to face him, her eyes are as dark as the oncoming storm clouds, and just as furious. She opens her mouth again, lips pulled back in a snarl—and then her eyes go wide.

Before Varian can react, Cassandra sprints towards him, one hand grabbing the front of his shirt. She yanks him clean off his feet with one tug, dragging him off the ground.

Varian yelps, anger fading as his panic spikes. He scrambles at her hands, trying to pry her fingers from his collar, but only a moment later Cassandra throws him to the side and shouts, loud enough for everyone in the cave to hear, “Find cover, damn it!”

A muted clink has Varian whirling to look behind him. He turns to see an arrow hit the wall and clatter to the ground right where he’d been sitting only a second ago, and looks up just time to see the archer draw back her bow.

At the moment when danger strikes, humans have three instincts— to fight, to flee, or to freeze.

Varian looks up at the archer, sees the gleam of the arrowhead aimed in his direction, and goes absolutely immobile. He is still shaken from his argument with Cassandra, still struggling to make sense of the rush of events that happened just before this—Cassandra darting forward, grabbing him like she was going to hit him, throwing him to safety. He is dizzy and he is sleepy and he is tired, tired to his bruised and aching bones, and so Varian looks at the arrow and goes stone-cold.

“Move!” Cassandra snarls, grabbing the back of his shirt and throwing him clear once again. Varian tumbles across the rocky ground, the iron ball bouncing and rolling beside him, tugging uncomfortably at his leg, just barely missing his fingers. The painful scrape of stone against his skin jolts him back to awareness, and Varian rolls to his feet, gasping for air, so panicked he can barely think.

“Who— what— who is that!?”

Another man comes roaring into the cave, broad-shouldered and wielding a sword about as long as Varian is tall. Cassandra draws her own blade with a soft shing of sharp steel and parries his swing, ducking underneath his arm and punching the taller man in the throat with a merciless jab. He goes down coughing and gagging, and she kicks his sword from his hands and brings her heel down on his back, sending him slamming face-down to the cave floor.

Varian stares, awed and a little intimidated. His hand rubs his own throat self-consciously, and he winces at the awful noises the man is making against the ground.

“I was afraid of this,” Cassandra says, her voice dark with irritation. She shoots the mouth of the cave a sour look, and leaps off the attacker moments before an arrow hits her face. She rises from her perfect roll with a scowl. “Bandits.Or worse, bounty hunters. Take your pick. Probably a group from that city—”

She ducks behind a jutting stone alcove nears the side of the cave and drags Varian with her, as if the weight of the iron ball is little more than an annoyance. His ankle throbs from the pull. “They probably saw Rapunzel in the square when her hood fell. Goddamnit.”

Across the other end of the cave, arrows littering her feet from where she’s parried them with her frying pan, Rapunzel is pale. “But how did they find us!?”

“How else,” Varian snaps, mind whirling, fear and anger spiking at her words. He feels oddly breathless and terribly small. Rudiger scurries to his side, trembling visibly, and he pulls the raccoon close in his arms to reassure himself that they are still in one piece. “What, did you think we were the only ones who could follow the black rocks?”

Rapunzel goes red. “Well, no, but—”

A loud war cry breaks apart their conversation, and more men come rushing in, heading straight for the princess. Without looking back, Rapunzel smacks her frying pan into Eugene’s gut and slings her hair around one man’s arm, yanking the bandit off his feet and towards her. Behind her, Eugene is waiting with a grin and a raised weapon, frying pan swinging at the man’s face full-force. The man goes down hard. Eugene twirls the frying pan in his grip, laughing. Rapunzel and Eugene meet the next group of bandits head-on.

Even Maximus, standing guard over their stuff and a frightened Pascal, is mauling the ground and looking moments away from charging. The horse pulls a sword out from his saddlebag, jabbing the blade at any bandits who draw too close, Fidello pawing dangerously at the air beside him. Pascal, yellow with fear, jumps on the face of any attacker who gets too close, spiky tail going for the eyes.

Cassandra looks back at Varian and scowls down at him like he’s a problem she doesn’t know what to do with. Her hand reaches out and pushes him deeper into the alcove, out of sight. The rocks dig painfully into his back, the stone rough and gritty beneath his hands.

“Stay here,” Cassandra says, all ice, and then she too is running out to join the battle, her sword a silver flash at her side.

Varian stands behind his rocky shelter, holding a trembling raccoon in his arms, feeling small and ignored and a little silly. He feels like a kid. He feels angry, because once again—once more—Cassandra is tossing him aside.

“Do you know who you are now?” Cassandra had asked, and Varian thinks, I am not the kind of person who runs away from my problems.

And he is not the kind of person to let other people—people he hates, especially—solve those problems for him.

His decision is impulsive, spiteful; a choice made in an instant. He puts Rudiger down carefully behind the rocks and winces when the raccoon clings to him with his nails. Rudiger’s dark eyes are wide and fearful, ears laid flat against his head and whole body scrunching against the rock in an effort to make himself smaller.

Varian gives Rudiger a warm smile, wide and bright and maybe a little manic, and carefully pries his claws off his arm, ignoring the burning sting of new cuts on old bruises. “Stay here,” he whispers, and then he drags up the iron ball, settles it on his hip, and sprints out from behind the shelter.

He almost trips the moment he ducks out from his cover, but it’s too late to back out now. Varian catches himself moments before he falls on his face and keeps running. A split-second glance around the cave shows that the others are handling themselves well— there’s more of the bandits than there are of them, but the princess and her entourage are more skilled, so it balances out.

Still, there are enough men to make the battle a struggle. Varian spies one thug rushing past with club held high, heading straight for Eugene’s unprotected back. He is so focused on Eugene he misses the boy right beside him, and Varian sticks out his foot with a wicked grin.

The man goes crashing down face-first on the unforgiving stone, and Eugene whirls in alarm at the noise. He stares. Varian gives an impulsive little wave, impish smile still lingering, and slips back into the fight.

Beyond the few strays, most of the bandits are being taken care of rather quickly. The only one they haven’t yet caught is the archer, who is wisely staying out of range from the main battle, shooting infrequently but accurately now that the majority of the bandit group has joined the fray.

Varian aims for her. Ball settled against his hip like how one would carry a basket, the weight present but manageable after nearly two weeks of lugging the damn thing around, he runs flat out towards the archer. He gets all the way out of the cave, almost to the boulder the archer is using as higher ground, when the bandit finally catches him.

He has only a moment to notice the gleam as the steel arrowhead catches on the light of the twilight sun, bright and golden in his eyes. Only a second to drop to the ground to avoid it, the weight of that iron chain dragging him to the earth with a hard thump, the first honest use he’s found for the thing.

The arrow flies uselessly over his head, ruffling his hair as it whizzes past.

Varian scrambles for the iron ball as soon as the arrow is gone, nails digging in the dirt as he pulls the ball-and-chain roughly to him. He rolls on his back and then up to his feet, throwing himself forward without hesitation.

Varian is close enough now that that the archer cannot really shoot, and judging by the angry pallor of the woman’s face, she is well aware of that. Varian is face-to-face with her, looking up right into her pale eyes.

“A child,” says the archer, shortly, scornfully. She drops her bow and arrow to the ground with a scoff of disgust, and Varian has a split second of hope before she yanks free the knife from her boot.

“This,” says the archer, “will be too easy,” and Varian grins up at her, hard and furious.

“I am not a child,” he says right back, and then he grips his chains in his clammy hands and swings the iron ball at her with all his might.

The dead weight of the iron ball and the pull of gravity work in his favor. The solid iron sphere hits the archer’s leg with a heavy snap of metal against skin and bone. Varian can feel her leg give out beneath his swing, a sensation that makes him feel sick to his stomach.

The crack of bone, sudden and brutal, makes him flinch back, pull his swing. Varian falters in his momentum, the chains swinging limp in his hands. The archer goes white, eyes widening as she recoils, her scream loud and strangled. Varian has the sudden and strange urge to apologize, a notion that fades almost as soon as it appears, because the archer—the archer doesn’t fall.

She pulls back, but she doesn’t fall, and she doesn’t drop the knife either. Unlike Varian, there is no hesitation in her eyes or her motion. Only fury, hatred, and a terrible pain that only serves to fuel the others.

Her fingers tighten around the hilt, dragging the knife above her head. The light catches on the clean blade, shines in his eyes. Varian has a split second to stare, a moment to realize just what the archer intends, to know that he doesn’t have enough time to move away. A moment to freeze, and watch helplessly as the archer’s hand falls, and her blade with it, aimed with deadly precision at his neck.

Before the archer can slit his throat, a dark form leaps over the rock and kicks the archer into the trees. The knife goes flying in one direction, the woman the other, her body arching like a doll’s, before she crashes against the ground with a strangled yelp.

With aching slowness, the archer tries to rise to her feet, but her injured leg gives out, sending her crashing to one knee. She looks up, face furious and eyes all-white all around, fixed solely on Varian. Her hatred is chilling in its intensity.

He almost thinks she will try and attack him again, injured leg or not, but the tip of a sword comes to rest beneath her chin, and the archer freezes like a deer in a lantern light.

Varian freezes too, startled from his stupor, head snapping around so quick he almost gives himself whiplash. It’s Cassandra, Varian realizes. Perhaps it should have been obvious, and yet, this realization sends him reeling. Cassandra who came flying over that boulder to stop the archer from stabbing him, Cassandra who has kicked this woman away, Cassandra who stands here in front of him, sword blade gleaming like a diamond in the sunset and blood smeared across her knuckles. Cassandra who stands with her back to him, one foot in front of him, protecting him, her sword resting light as a feather at the bandit archer’s vulnerable throat.

“Don’t move,” Cassandra says, and her voice is unlike anything Varian has ever heard before, even when she was talking with him. Everything about her is steel and ice and razor-sharp fury, cold and impersonal. There is no feeling in her words. No mercy.

“Unless,” Cassandra adds, when the archer eyes her blade, “you’d like me to slit your throat?”

The woman goes still again. Her pale eyes burn like hot coals in her sunken face, white with pain.

“That’s what I thought,” Cassandra says dispassionately, and jerks her head back at Varian. He jolts, meeting her gaze uncertainly. He draws away without thinking, glancing at her sword, but Cassandra makes no move to threaten him or berate him for going against her orders.

Neither does she seem to notice his reluctance. “Go grab the rope,” she instructs. “Raps and Fitzherbert are using it to hogtie the others. There should be enough there for us to use for this one, too.”

Varian hesitates for only a moment, then turns and heads back to the cave, something stuck on the tip of his tongue. It is almost second nature to say “Thank you,” to call it over his shoulder.

He swallows it down just before it slips loose, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

Just as Cassandra said, Rapunzel and Eugene are tying up the remaining thugs with pools of rope, the many members of the bandits sprawled out in various painful positions at the cave entrance. Varian lingers outside of the pile, suddenly uncertain, and Eugene looks up before he can wonder about how to approach this.

“Rope?” he asks, and when Varian gives a short nod, replies with a short nod of his own, and hands Varian a spool of the stuff. Short and to the point, and yet the exchange is oddly warm, almost friendly. Varian leaves, turning his back on them, feeling vaguely unsettled at the compassionate treatment and weird sense of camaraderie that the fight has left him with.

He reaches Cassandra as quick as he can, feeling off-center and wrong-footed, uncertain of where they stand with each other. The fight has drained his earlier anger, calmed his mind and his heart, as if their argument took place weeks ago instead of mere minutes. He dislikes it, unnerved by how quickly his mood has changed.

He shoves the rope to her like its burned him. Cassandra doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

“Tie her up,” she tells him, and when he gives her an incredulous look, raises one eyebrow at him. “Unless you’d rather I remove this sword from her neck and have her try to strangle you.”

Varian flushes and snaps the rope back to his side. He marches in sullen quiet to the archer’s back, looping the twine around her wrists and pulling it tighter than he probably should, spite in the face of his near demise at her blade. The archer tugs at the restraints with a snarl, and Varian steps away from her, uneasy.

“Good,” Cassandra says, and slides the sword back in her sheath, picking up the woman by her bound arms and marching her back towards the other bandits. She gets three steps away before she pauses.

“Varian,” she says finally, in that cool voice that is not quite the icy tone she’d used on the woman, not quite the warmer lilt she’d talked with when he was a friend. Something different, something he once thought of as cold but now suspects is something unique. “Don’t do that again.”

He draws away as if she’s slapped him, and then he rocks forward again, digging his nails into his palms, something bitter bubbling in his throat. Of course. Of course this is what she tells him, after everything. Of course this is all Cassandra has to say.

“I don’t trust you,” Cassandra continues, in that same strange tone. “And quite frankly? I don’t really like you. You go against my orders again, and I’ll treat it like the threat it is. Like the threat you pose.” She pauses, and then she glances back, just a flash of her dark eyes before she turns back to the cave, hiding her face from view. “But…” She stops, sighing out into the air. When she speaks next her voice is the softest he’s ever heard it.

“Thank you, Varian.”

It is not a gasp, or an exhale, or even a sigh—merely as though Varian has been holding his breath, and these are the words that knock it loose, rushing through his teeth and taking all of his emotions with it. His shoulders drop, his fists falling open, his eyes going wide and his mouth a soft ‘o’ of faint surprise. She walks away from him and Varian stares after her, shaken to his bones, more affected by those words than anything else she could have said. He had not thought them—he hadn’t known they had it in them to thank him, when only seconds ago Varian himself had refused to thank her.

As if they are allies, instead of enemies.

He wants— he wants to feel angry, wants to find the fury and hold onto it, remind himself of the what and why. But either that lingering sense of belonging, or the way Cassandra rushed to save him, or maybe just the quiet sincerity in Cassandra’s voice as she spoke… whatever it is, it chases away his anger before he can even try to hold onto it.

Maybe, Varian thinks, watching Cassandra walk back to the cave, maybe he was wrong, to attack Cassandra as he did, back then in Old Corona. The mere idea unsettles him—he can’t be wrong, he can’t, because if he was wrong about this what if he was wrong about other things? He can’t be wrong, he isn’t at fault—but the thought doesn’t fade.

He sucks in a breath and tears his eyes from her back. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t so much that he was wrong, as it was… an overreaction. Yes, that’s it. He just… overreacted a little, that’s all. He’s right to be angry at Cassandra. He was right to do what he did. He must be. He just went a little too far, that time.

He won’t apologize, but he doesn’t have to act that way towards her anymore. A compromise, Varian thinks. Yes, he can do that. Eugene isn’t right about Varian, he’s not, but that doesn’t mean everything he said was wrong.

And just like that, Varian realizes what it is about Cassandra that is different. The thing about her voice that changed, when talking to Varian versus talking to the archer. She had been cold to the archer: icy, unfeeling, indifferent. But when Cassandra speaks to Varian, her words are sharp and biting and… hurt. Searching for a reason, just like him.

He doesn’t know what to make of that, doesn’t know what to do with this revelation. He pulls his gaze away from her, drops his eyes to the ground—and then he stills.

There is an arrow left discarded at his feet, from when the archer tossed aside her bow. An arrow, her empty quiver… and her knife.

Varian hesitates. His head rises, eyes seeking them out, Cassandra and Eugene and Rapunzel, talking in low voices as they finish tying up the thugs. They aren’t looking at him. They aren’t looking his way at all.

Hands shaking with an unnamable emotion, Varian drops to his knees behind the boulder, picking up the arrow and the knife. He uses the knife to cut off the bottoms of his sleeves, already worn from travel, re-rolling them to hide the missing fabric. Then he takes the stripes and wraps them around the arrowhead, fingers shaking so bad he almost slips and cuts himself. When it is wrapped, he shoves it feather-first down his boot, the wrapped head pressing against his leg, held securely in place by the tight chains around his ankles. When he drops down his pant legs, the little that shows through the top of his boot is completely hidden.

Varian freezes, knife in one hand, a quiver by his side, a single arrow pressing firm against his skin. His breath rattles in his chest. He feels oddly cold, and strangely guilty, an emotion he brushes away as soon as he realizes what it is.

“They aren’t my friends,” Varian reminds himself in a low hiss. His voice trembles in his ears, weak with uncertainty. “Theyaren’tmy friends, they don’t care, and I owe them nothing.”

They aren’t his friends, and the fact he is starting to doubt even that is proof that Varian is faltering. The arrow… it reminds him. He has chosen to be here, but he is here for his reasons, not theirs. He can play along, make nice, but he will never be their friend. Never again.

Thus assured, he breathes out, slow and careful, and stands up from behind the boulder. He smooths out his tunic and picks up the abandoned quiver, and just barely keeps from startling when Rapunzel calls out to him.

“Varian?”

“Right here,” he replies calmly, bland and uninterested. He walks with shaky knees back to the group, hyperaware of the arrow in his boot. “I got the quiver and knife,” he adds, and when Cassandra’s head snaps up, meets her eyes deliberately as he drops the items on the floor.

“What do you take me for, an enemy?” he asks her, and turns away before she can reply. The look on her face would be amusing in any other circumstance, but Varian is too nervous to really enjoy it.

He wanders back to the alcove where he left Rudiger, and manages only a thin wisp of a smile when his raccoon scrabbles out of hiding to crawl up on his shoulders and chitter like a worried mother in his ears. He can feel Rudiger’s trembling, and Varian picks him up off his shoulders to settle him in his arms, sliding down the wall until he sits, breathing shakily. Rudiger turns in his grasp and curls up on his lap, crooning, and Varian pets him with a gentle hand, his fingers cold and stiff, not quite feeling like his own.

He picks at the tangles in Rudiger’s fur, mumbling reassurances and apologies for scaring him under his breath, ignoring the others studiously as they walk into the cave. The bandits are gone, tied to their horses and sent running wild back through the forest. It is just them in the cave now, their voices low and hushed with excitement, the adrenaline from the fight fading slowly.

Varian pets Rudiger until the sunset fades completely and the dark night envelopes them, the pale glow of a low-burning fire shining in the corner of his eye. He doesn’t move and he doesn’t speak, and the others do not acknowledge him, and yet he cannot shake the sense that this time it is different. There is a sense of belonging that had not been there before, a bond built by fighting together. It sends shivers clawing down his back even as some small, weaker part of him soaks in the acknowledgment like a man dying of thirst.

Against his leg, the arrow presses hard enough to bruise.

Varian turns his head away, back to the sky. He watches the tall dark silhouettes of the trees, all one being in the darkness, catches glimpse of the stars through the heavy clouds, thick as cotton but dark as coal.

The fire crackles, and someone laughs, and it does not grate on him as it used to. And slowly, starting as a drizzle and then quickening to the drumbeat of a downpour, under the supervision of Varian’s watchful eyes, it begins to rain—the storm, finally upon them.

#tts #rta #varian #tangled the series #varian the alchemist #rapunzel #rapunzel’s tangled adventure #eugene fitzherbert #cassandra #varian tts #iza fanfic #fic: labyrinths of the heart

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kuno-chan · 7 years ago

Text

Sea of Chains - Ch.34, Walls of Stone

Rating: T

Summary:Years after the events of Anchor, Captain Kai and Jinora Gyatso remain famous names on the seas and their children are literally born pirates. Now, their daughter, Nima, is becoming a little too pirate for comfort. When trouble with Captain Quil of the Blood Moon Pirates turns tragic, Nima is viciously dragged into what can only be be described as every parent’s worst nightmare.

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How this crew had never done a music night, Nima didn’t quite understand. Several people played instruments including Janje and the Captain himself. If nothing else, Tehan played a Fire Nation styled fiddle expertly. It was all they needed. Then again, maybe they’d just never quite thought of it being such a small crew. Even smaller than her family’s.

Hyun seemed a spark happier than normal, having someone to share in his dance interests. “You normally do it with a dramyin, but if you don’t know how to do one of those then you can honestly just clap your hands while someone else plays it,” he grinned. “Or if you were like me and were too poor for any of those things then just clap your hands and make do.”

The dance steps themselves weren’t overly complicated, but it did take her a moment to catch up on the actual rhythm of the movement and get in tune of where her feet were supposed to be at one point. Back and force her feet went, her body turning in the same manner as she clapped her hands and Hyun played for her on his old dramyin.

“Like this?”

“That’s it, girlie! You’ve got it,” Hyun let out a laugh. “Gods, you learn fast.”

It was Nima’s turn to grin. “My mom says I kicked a lot as a baby.”

“I bet.”

Her feet sparked some dimmed light in her soul that she hadn’t tended to in a while. For her first time doing this particular step, her moves weren’t perfect, but it… it made her feel something right.

And by the way Hyun played, by the way he closed his eyes and walked around playing whatever old tune he’d had in his heart for some time, he felt the same thing. He stopped playing and sighed. “It’s been so long,” he said fondly. “Years since I played that. Never had anybody to play it for.”

Nima smiled. “Who taught you how to dance?”

Hyun snorted. “Taught myself. Couldn’t keep still as a kid. Gods bless good ol’ Miss Nii for putting up with me as long as she did. That was the lady who ran our orphanage for the longest time.”

“Did you…”Nima looked for the right word. “Like it? At the orphanage?”

Hyun shrugged. “Yes and no. You’re usually at an orphanage because you’re an orphan so that wasn’t ideal, but… I met Janje and Tehan there. So, it wasn’t that bad. And we were lucky lil bastards. Miss Nii tried to do right by us. Would you believe she remembered every kid’s birthday?”

“She sounds like a sweet person.”

“She was,” Hyun replied.

Tehan cheered when Janje and Koika came up on deck, carrying a keg. He filled a cup with what looked to be wine.

“Not beer?”

“It’s a special night. First night of a new tradition,” Koika grinned. “I’ve been saving this Fire Nation wine for a solid decade. Figure it was time to use it.”

He offered Nima a cup and she took a sip. In the corner, she spotted Dan. He wasn’t exactly involved, but he also wasn’t downstairs all by himself. She considered that a victory.

True to his talent, Tehan began playing a lively song on his fiddle. The first to move their feet to the song was Ranaka, pulling Saika into a dance with a big grin. Despite his two left feet, Saika shared the smile. He was just enjoying the time with his beloved, hands and arms joined with Ranaka in full swing.

Hyun came in behind them hooking arms with a reluctant, but resigned Foba. Foba was a decent dancer. Stiff as he was, Nima could tell that he didn’t do it often. The rest of the crew filed in as the song came up, came down, then up again, filling the deck with joyful feet and full laughter. Koika nudged Nima, encouraging her into the swing of things when he noticed she’d just been watching from the sidelines.

Normally, she wasn’t the type to sit out, but she’d needed to check on Kehra who’d been content with Koika as a babysitter feeding her fish pieces. And… well, they all looked so happy. Happier than she’d seen any of them, really. She hadn’t wanted to actually intrude on the moment.

But then everything felt real again. Her life, if only for the time she was with them like this, felt good. Alright. Nothing was wrong. Even when the song stopped and Tehan played began playing again, things were still good. Fine.

She danced with Foba who turned bright red when she came into his arms. “You need to loosen up your shoulders,” she told him, shaking hers for example. “Like this.”

“I uh,” he cleared his throat. “This isn’t my thing.”

Nima laughed. “That’s okay. We’re just having fun.”

Janje pulled him away and stuck a cup of wine in Foba’s hand, mentioning something about having a remedy for stiff shoulders. Off to the side, Dan was watching, but she swore she’d seen a foot tap or two. “Don’t you want to join us?”

“Not particularly,” he replied, arms crossed.

“Oh, come on. Don’t you do anything for fun? We’re going to have a bunch of difficult days ahead of us. Why not just enjoy the night for once?” He almost seemed to make some kind of face at her, but that stony expression of his still prevailed. She sighed. “Suit yourself.”

“Nima!” Hyun called her back over. “C’mon, girlie, show us what you’re made of!”

Putting Dan aside, she joined the floor again.

-:-:-:-

Nima went back out, the crew clearing a space for her to show off. She twirled, her dress lifting around her in one smooth motion. He’d never seen her actually dance before. He had heard about it though. Here and there, this bar and that tavern.

The famous Wave Dancer. A Dancing Siren. The Pearl he’d hear about among tavern owners discussing what entertainers could bring them a boatload of business. She was always among them.

And here she was, in the flesh, moving seamlessly to the music, light on her feet and fire under her soles.

Her arms swept through the air and her green eyes lit with the melody.

Her legs padded along as she was living through the music.

Her hips swayed in tandem.

Tehan let out a low whistle. “She’s a natural.”

Dan didn’t even glance at him. He grunted.

“Hard not to look at her, isn’t it?” Dan looked beside himself. It’d been a soft tone for a pushy question and Tehan was smiling. He eventually got the hint, but was still smiling -- grinning even behind that cup of his -- when he left Dan’s side to go find more talkative companions.

Dan didn’t stare too hard after him. Nima had finished twirling herself on one foot and taken Kehra back from Koika, dancing with the baby in a stir of laughter.

-:-:-:-

“You’re really quiet.”

Momo looked up from his book. Reading wasn’t normally his go to this late at night. Normally, he was chatting up Pabu until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. But he’d told no story nor fallen asleep right away as he was accustomed to do from time to time.

Momo shrugged, half-heartedly going back to his book. Truth be told, he could barely read it. He began rubbing his throat. His scar bothered him at night sometimes when the air was a bit too warm.

“Hey,” Pabu put a hand over his husband’s. “You can tell me, you know. What’s on your mind?”

Momo let Pabu close his book and nestled into the crook of his arm in silence. It was a thoughtful silence. How would he say this?

“I’m worried.”

“About?”

“Everyone.” Momo sighed. “It just… doesn’t feel right. I’m worried about Cap. You know he hasn’t been acting real right lately. And Jinora can see that, too. I’m scared she’s holding it all together by herself. She hasn’t talked about what happened much and nobody really thinks it’s a good idea to ask. And the twins are aware of all of that, I’m sure. Especially Rama. You know how observant he is. Taani’s been clinging to Imaru more than usual, lately. And, you know, that all means Yung and Lefty have been keeping everyone together, including me and… and everything just feels wrong.”

Pabu didn’t say anything right away. “Yeah… I get what you mean. It’s like someone threw a rock in our shoe. It just feels bad the whole way.”

“And, you know,” Momo’s voice croaked. “I’m worried about Nima, too. She’s scared. I can feel it. And she’s smart and all, really smart, but what if Dan didn’t find her? What if she’s doing it all by herself. Even if we get her back… what’s going to happen? Is she even going to be okay?”

At that, Pabu began running his fingers through Momo’s hair the way he always did when he was trying to be soothing. “Don’t talk like that. Nima’s going to be okay. We’re going to find her and bring her home and then we can help her through whatever it is she needs help with.”

“And what if the witch is lying?”

Pabu had no answer for that. Just a kiss on the forehead and a tight huge. They fell asleep with no answer.

-:-:-:-

When Jinora noticed the light in Rama’s room, she knew both her twins had decided to hunker down in there for the evening. She knocked on the door. “Rama, Taani? It’s time for bed.”

Taani closed her book, got up without a word and headed to her room. She would be expecting Jinora next door for a last word and kiss goodnight before bed. Rama didn’t even look up from his book. Jinora sighed on the inside. It was going to be one of those nights, huh?

Gods, here they go.

“Rama, I said time for bed.”

“I’m not done.”

“You can finish tomorrow.”

“In about an hour it’ll be tomorrow.”

Jinora was not having this tonight. “Ramashan,” she said sternly and walked over to him, ready to physically take the book out of his hands. “Bed time. Now.”

Rama actually turned over, keeping the book out of her reach. He snapped at her, “I’m not going to bed yet.”

Jinora raised her brows. They quickly narrowed. “What has gotten into you? Rama, you need to get some rest. We have things to do tomorrow and--”

“I can’t go to bed yet, Mom!” He snapped again. His next words were quieter. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Jinora blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Okay, this wasn’t normal.

“Why can’t you go to bed yet?” she asked him.

“Because,” he said simply. “I can’t sleep.”

Jinora sat on the edge of his bed now, putting a gentle hand on his head. She noticed then that Taani was lingering in the door. Whether she had even gone to her room, Jinora didn’t know, but she felt a pit opening somewhere in her belly.

Rama continued. “Taani can’t either. Neither of us can, really. We… we didn’t even get to say goodbye, you know.” Jinora’s mouth was suddenly bone dry. That was right. The twins had been left almost completely in the dark. One moment their sister was here and the next she… she wasn’t. “We didn’t even get to see the body for ourselves. So, I can’t go to sleep yet… because Nima’s not home.”

When he was finished, Rama turned over, his eyes bright against the candlelight now that he’d put his book down. Jinora forgot to breathe the whole time. She opened up her arms for her two children and immediately they both fell into her, Rama physically holding back his tears and Taani clutching her mother tighter than she had in a very long time.

She held them both for as long as they wanted to be.

-:-:-:-

The twins eventually went to bed, tired both physically and emotionally. They had long days ahead of them and Jinora hated that. She wished she could give them easy days. Just one or two where they wouldn’t have to worry about anything. She was their mother. She was supposed to be doing the worrying for them. It was her job.

But their sadness broke her heart. Broke it into a thousand tiny pieces that she didn’t even have the motivation to pick up right now. Numbly, she walked the halls below deck until she reached the upper level that led to the deck itself.

To feel everything and nothing was a special hell on its own.

She reached the intersection of the halls and turned toward the way to Kai’s study. She stopped short and waited on herself. Waited for her feet to move so she could go get her husband and convince him with great difficulty to quit obsessing over maps and papers so he could get some rest.

She turned her back on that hallway.

On deck, she found Skoochy near the spot that he and Kai usually took their smoke breaks. It was a bright night despite the lack of a full moon. Jinora wondered if the goddess Canyue was letting the crescent moon shine brightly tonight just so she might not bother to trip over her own feet. Below, the waves lapped lazily.

Jinora settled her back against the wall beside Skoochy. Skoochy let out a puff of smoke, raising his eyebrows a little. “You’re not usually up here this late.”

“I can’t sleep,” she told him, her throat feeling sore for some reason. “And I don’t have the energy to go drag Kai out of his study and into bed. Not tonight.”

Skoochy blinked, quiet for a long moment. He took his cigarette out of his mouth. “Jinora, what’s wrong?”

That was all it took before her breathing hitched and lost to her tears and her sore throat tightened up. She bent over, the palm of her hand finding her mouth as she began to cry. “Everything.”

-:-:-:-

The crescent moon was pretty on a cloudless night. Sometimes, when her Uncle Momo was on duty for nightwatch, Nima would sneak out of bed and join him because he liked to tell her stories about Canyue. She’d get in trouble in the morning for being out of bed, but only a little bit. Uncle Momo always helped her out there.

“Iluq looks mostly like me, but he has his mother’s passion,” Koika smiled fondly, watching the moon with her. “He has her spirit. I used to tell Takara that and she’d come back at me and say he was a gentle giant like me.”

“So, he’s pretty tall.”

Koika shrugged. “Not really. He does have more of my height, but he’s more lean than I am. Like his mother, but he’s got more of my height. Takara was pretty average height.”

They both went quiet. Then, Nima said, “You know. I’m sure that Iluq still loves you. I know he does. Despite everything that may have happened?”

“And what about your feelings?”

She looked back at the moon. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Koika said slowly. “I’ll tell you this, lass. When I held my boy for the first time, it was and still is the single greatest moment of my life. I loved him and I would protect him from anything, but I couldn’t protect him from me. As a father, if my son hated me for what happened then I wouldn’t really blame him. It’d be hard and I wouldn’t like it, but I would understand. And even after I’ve said all of that, that’s how I feel right now. When he’s not in front of my face.”

Nima didn’t say anything, working through the words in her head. What did he mean that was how he felt right now?

Would he hate his son if he was in front of him? Would he be angry with him?

Surely, when she met up with her own family everything would be okay.

Their love for you is waning, my dear .

Tianmei’s words rang in her head like a disruptive bell too early in the morning. She shut it out as hard as she could. As fast as she could.

But what if her father didn’t even really care if she came back? Why else would he have sent Dan? Tianmei had given him a chance to reunite with her right away, but he hadn’t taken it.

Not that she would have trusted Tianmei, either.

But then she didn’t know why he hadn’t given Dan any instructions on where to find them? If he really wanted to find her, why wasn’t he right here, right now?

She shut her eyes, knowing that every morsel of those thoughts were irrational and coming from a bubbling place somewhere deep within her. It wasn’t as if he could be here right now. Even their ship didn’t travel that fast and she was the one that had told Dan she didn’t want to go back yet. Most of their situation, at the end of the day, fell on her shoulders and she knew it.

Round and round she went in her head and somehow her focus shifted to that day, a long time ago -- Gods, she’d only been eight years old. Half her lifetime ago --when she’d snuck onto the deck of their ship when a raid was going on. There was fighting and she’d gotten in the way. Then, someone had taken the blow meant for her. Her Uncle Momo’s cry was cut short in the worst, thickening way and he was coughing, holding his throat.

Her heart stopped when she remembered her father’s face after it all went down. She forgot what breathing was and her eyes stung immediately. It was the same way she felt when he was yelling at her that day.

He’d been furious. He’d never been that angry with her before in her whole life and she could remember her mother striding up and putting her arms around her. She’d been saying something to her father, but he wasn’t listening. Finally, it was her Uncle Pabu who got a very loud word in demanding her father to stop.

By that time, Nima had felt incredibly small facing her father in her mother’s arms.

Koika, bless him, could probably see whatever it was she was going through at the moment and put a hand on her shoulder.

Somehow, she still managed to feel worse than ever.

-:-:-:-

The next morning, they reached their destination. Nima was a bit disappointed that in all this time in the Wujin Sea they hadn’t met up with Tikaani at all. These were her seas, after all, but she wondered if even her Pirate Lord sister had visited this place. It felt… ominous at best. After giving Kehra a quick rinse and wrapping her in a bundle, Nima joined the crew on deck to observe the island.

The stone castle was in ruins, falling apart at all angles. Gaping holes exposed it on every wall and the towers appeared as if they had been torn down from the inside out.

“So…” Ranaka clucked their tongue, looking over the place. “This is the lord’s castle, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure.” Nima checked the comet stone. It was humming like crazy on the desk. “Yeah, this has to be the one.”

Koika stroked his beard. “We’ll port, but… I don’t want to do anything quite yet. Let’s just observe the place. See what’s around. This island isn’t charted on any of the maps we have.”

Janje snorted, sharpening one of his knives. “That’s inviting.”

“Just be on alert. After we rest up a bit, we can go look at the place a bit more, alrigh’?

And so they did, the morning passing by in relative peace. Nothing stirred. The waves didn’t even really betray anything beneath the waters. Gods knew Nima was recalling all those sea monster stories her Uncle Lefty would scare the daylights out of her with.

The grey clouds didn’t help though. The whole crew was abit on edge. Foba especially was antsy. He couldn’t seem to keep still, glancing at the castle a bit too often and sticking too close to the gunwales like he was ready to jump onto land quicker than any of them could think. It didn’t make Nima feel better. Hell, she even noticed Dan keeping an eye on him. She hoped nothing would come of it because some part of her knew that if Foba did anything that would endanger the rest of them, crew or no crew, Dan would take care off it.

But it wasn’t Foba who was causing the problem this time around. Tehan rushed on deck. “We have a problem,” he told Captain Koika. “Icho’s gone.”

“He’s what?” Koika demanded. “What do you mean he’s gone? He was locked up.”

“Well, he’s not anymore. Kid found something to be picking at the locks with and we were the ones who had him fix it, remember? He’s probably been waiting for an opportunity to slip off the ship.”

Koika cursed the air blue. “I won’t even ask how he got off, then. Bastard probably found a window and just jumped out.”

“Could have been the one in the kitchen,” Janje suggested. “Skinny as the snake he is. Probably slipped right through.”

Koika grabbed his scabbard and wrapped it around his hip. He gestured to Ranaka. “Janje, Tehan, you stay here and guard the ship. Everybody else, let’s go. I’m not letting that weasel escape where he’s going to end up hurting anyone else. God only knows who might live on this island.”

Ranaka raised their hand as they followed Koika. “Can I kick his ass when we find him?”

“I expect you to.”

They pumped their fist in the air.

Nima went with them, but not before making sure Kehra was comfortable with Tehan. Thankfully, she was and Tehan even volunteered to cut up a salmon for her to eat while they were away. Dan followed Nima. They searched the island in parties, deciding to meet up in an hour on the beach. Nima and Dan found themselves with Koika. There couldn’t have been another living soul on this island. It was small enough that they should have ran into somebody by now.

Empty-handed, they met the rest of the crew on the beach. The other parties found nobody else either. Least of all, their subject at large.

“I think we might want to leave him, Koika,” Hyun said. “This don’t feel right.”

Koika regarded Hyun. “Is that what your gut is telling you?”

Hyun nodded. “Isn’t that what yours is telling you?”

Before Koika could answer, Foba butt in. “We should check in the castle.”

“In the castle?” Hyun looked at him like he was crazy. “That place is probably the reason why my gut’s trying to tell us to turn tail and run. If that slimy bastard wants to stay on this island then he’ll probably kick the bucket. Nobody’s coming here for a while.”

“Or someone could pass by and pick him up,” Foba argued. “Shouldn’t we at least check?”

Hyun blinked. “Kid--”

“He’s right, you know,” Saika agreed. “That is the risk we take if we just leave. He’s our prisoner. The least we could do is check the place that’d be easiest to hide in. If he’s not there, we can get what we came for and leave him if we still don’t find him.”

Hyun looked up at Koika. “Your call.”

Koika looked at the castle for a long time, weighing the decisions on his plate. Eventually, he said, “One look. A quick one. That old gut of yours isn’t usually wrong, Hyun.”

“It’s old for a reason.”

“That’s why we’re making it a quick look.”

-:-:-:-

The unadulterated stench that permeated the inside the castle was nothing less than exhausting on the senses. Gods above, Nima looked back at Dan who was keeping an eye on things near the back of their party, but even she could see his nose wrinkled in disgust. If Dan was actually moving his face more than two entire inches in any expression then whatever was causing that rank smell had to be impressive indeed.

Inside, the castle was in collapse. Rooms had been decimated, stairs were crumbling, light seeping in from the grey outside, but even light itself seemed to just… shy away from the inside of the castle. That was the most peculiar part. It was a real thing to see how light just wouldn’t -- couldn’t enter this place.

More peculiar was how much looking around Foba was doing. So much so that Koika had to bark at him not to stray.

“You think there’s that monster around here?” Ranaka asked.

“We’re fine,” Saika replied. “There’s no such thing as monsters.”

“How do you know?” Foba bristled.

Saika pursed his lip at him. “Because. Look, at least, there’s not monster in here. Don’t you think we would have met one by now? What would it even eat?”

“You don’t know--”

“Stop talking.” Nima twisted around at Dan’s clear voice cutting through the conversation like a knife. They listened. His voice got lower. “It smells like death in here.”

She glanced at Koika and Hyun, who were also both looking both serious and apprehensive. “He’s right.”

Dan glanced at Nima, slowly closing the gap between them. “We need to leave.”

Koika stopped the crew. “I’m with Dan on this one. If Icho’s out there then he’s out there, but we’ve gone far enough. We don’t know what else is in there. That smell shouldn’t be here if nothing lives here.”

“It ain’t right,” Hyun said. “Something ain’t right in here. We should to get the hell out.”

Foba shook his head and backed away from the group. “We need to keep looking. I’m going in farther. You go, but I need to look around.”

Nima frowned and reached out for him. “Foba, that’s crazy. Don’t you think that’s dang--”

He lurched out of her reach, eyes wide and… something desperate?

“Not yet,” he told her. “Give me time. Give me a little more time.”

“Foba--”

He paced down the hall faster than she could follow. She went after him. Behind her, Dan and Hyun both called their names. If she could just grab Foba and bring him back then they could leave this place. They could go with or without Icho because Hyun was definitely on to something.

Something wasn’t right in this place. She latched onto Foba’s arm, digging her nails into him if she had to. She could apologize later. Chills were wreaking havoc on her spine.

Then, the ceiling slithered.

Exciting things happening! I’ve been waiting to write this next part we’re going into for a while here! I won’t say much else or risk spoilery things, but stay tuned.

As always, guys you know I love those reviews. They really keep me motivated and keep me writing. Thank you for reading! Tune in for next chapter!

#kainora #legend of korra #korra #lok #jinora #my fics

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