#og sasi fans know how i came up with the name ethan lol

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

"We were born in the shadow of the crimes of our fathers"

Title: Like a Sword Upon Our Hearts Pairings: Janus & Remy (Sleep) Summary: When Remy ventured into a tavern for a good drink and merriment during Winter's End celebration, he could hardly expect to find an intriguing figure lingering conspicuously on the outskirts. Word-Count: 1.9k Warnings: Fantasy AU, Magic, First Meetings, Abuse Mentions, Alcohol This oneshot is set in the same AU as Heard No More and it is a prequel fic exploring the backstories of Janus and Remy. You can read this as a standalone fic, Janus and Remy are both in their early twenties in this.

- Remy takes a sip of his mulled wine to hide a smile from curling across his lips. There is a boisterous crowd at Nate's tavern tonight; loud, voracious types that rather fancy an ale than celebrating Winter's End with family.

There is, of course, more than ale to consume. A traveling bard troupe performs on the tavern's meager attempt for a stage, their elbows raised at awkward angles to avoid smacking each other in the face while they play their instruments. Sweet melodious tunes play regardless of their unfortunate close proximity. The crowd shouts more than they do sing the carols, the lyrics confidently incoherent in their sway.

There are straying eyes, sordid whispers and hands grasping other hands leading out the door. Some are bold enough to clasp onto each other in the tavern itself, pressing mouths tightly to one another until inevitably a gasp of air breaks them apart.

As the music swells, the crowd's shouts grow wilder as flickering orange illusions dance above the bard troupe. It takes the shape of fireworks, streaks of lights that flash and fade into bigger and grander bursts of color.

It is the work of the flutist, who is still playing in tandem of their accompanists. A talented Ether-Blessed, to be able to perform music while wordlessly crafting a beautiful light show.

His sister Maude would scoff, her hands flying dismissably: 'So what? The Ether cares not for words, but the innate desires of its Blessed.'

She is right, of course. But their parents have other thoughts on the matter.

But in the midst of this joyous chaos, Remy's attention is relegated entirely to a man sitting alone in the far corner of the tavern. The man sits straight in his chair, his hands folded carefully into his lap. There is a dark velvet cloak resting around his shoulders, the hood drawn back to reveal a face.

One that is handsome by conventional means, a strong jawline that gives way to tousled wavy blond hair. It is darkened due to the dimming sunlight of wintertime, but Remy knows it is a blinding white in summertime. It is also normally slicked back, its waves contained into clean lines. The tunic and trousers look plain, too plain for the wiry frame it covers. The man's eyes give himself entirely away, a hazel with flecks of gold if one examined closely. To which, Remy has.

Remy can't help it. He chortles quietly into his mulled wine. How has the bastard made it this far into a tavern unscathed? People have floated by his table, exchanging hearty good tidings with what they assume is just a traveler passing through.  A few have invited him for a dance or a drink and leave presumably being politely declined.

None have made the same connection Remy has, although very few have lived the life Remy has.

No longer able to satiate his curiosity from afar, Remy rises up from his spot, taking his mulled wine with him. A couple eagerly take his seat, cuddling close together to make it work. Remy minds it no heed, as he causally strolls through the crowd.

"Good tidings to the end of winter!" Someone shouts at him.

"As are unto you!" Remy replies back, as customary.

"Remy, good to see you, come dance with us." Another regular says.

"Another time," Remy says. So, on and on it goes, exchanging pleasantries with stranger and familiar alike until he finds himself sitting down in front of his chosen target.

"Greetings, good tidings to the end of winter to you." Remy says, raising his mulled wine towards the man.

He looks at Remy, examining him in a detached way that one would bear towards a stranger. He is a good actor, but it seems as though he does not recognize him.

Remy could hardly blame him. A man like him as little reason to remember fleeting faces.

"As are unto you," The man says at last, raising his own choice of poison towards him. Their glasses clink and then they both take a sip.

"So what brings you here this Winter's End?" Remy asks, lazily swirling his mulled wine with a finger.

The man shakes his head, smiling, "Why the same as anyone who crosses this tavern's threshold--I simply seek a respite from the cold to that of an atmosphere filled with warmth and merriment."

The man's flowery prose betrays him even further.

"Is that simply so?" Remy asks, "Well then, you are fortunate to have visited this tavern tonight."

The man stares at him, a flash of something in his eyes. "Oh? And why is that?"

"The tavern is packed, and everyone is too sloshed out of their minds to pay you little heed. On a quieter night however..." Remy's voice trails off.

He gives the man a knowing look before raising a hand and flicking his fingers in the shape symbolizing the letter 'P.' He then takes that hand, tapping it on the right front of his chest before tapping it against his left hip. The motion mimicking a sash across one’s torso.

The man's smile doesn't break, but his grip on his mug hardens.

"I am not sure I know what you attempt to convey." He says, coolly.

"Oh c'mon," Remy rolls his eyes, "The tunic and trousers are fine, but that velvet cloak gives you away completely. If not the cloak, then your poise and the way you speak."

"We seem to be at a misunderstanding," The man rebuts, "I am a merchant from Golic, here for business. Nothing more, nothing less."

If Remy didn't know better, he would take the man's word for it. Instead, he laughs as he draws closer to the man in a hushed tone. Not like it matters in a tavern content to revel in the drowning of ale and clamorous celebration.

"Then, pray tell, why you bear a striking resemblance to one Prince Janus?"

There is that flash in his eyes again, yet Janus's face remains placid. He takes a long sip of his beverage, staring Remy down.

"Who are you?" Janus eventually asks, when its apparent Remy will offer no further elaboration of his own.

"My parents gifted me the name Rembrandt Noctis, I prefer the name Remy myself." Remy introduces himself, making a slight bow in his seat, "We met once, in passing, although I forgive you for forgetting my charm and good looks."

"Rembrandt Noctis?" Janus mutters under his breath. There is a dreaded spark of recognition from his surname. "The appointed magistrate heir of the Noctis order?"

"Former appointed heir," Remy says, correcting him, "To my parents' great dismay, I have a love of the carefree, laidback life."

By the display of his scrutinizing gaze, Janus doesn't seem to believe him. He does not challenge him, instead shifting to a different question.

"Why are you here?" Janus asks. It is more than that one question. It is also "Are you a threat?" and "What is a mage from a prestigious family doing in a rowdy tavern?" and "How did you know it was me?"

Remy chooses to answer them all at once.

"Same as what you said earlier, 'a respite from the cold' and all that," Remy gestures all around the tavern. The bard troupe has started up a Tilmaroy ballad, one that draws hoots and hollers from the crowd.

Remy can't help himself as he stomps a foot against the worn wooden floor to the beat of the music. "Although it is more than the cold, isn't it? I think we're kindred souls, you and I. We're here to forget the fact we were born in the shadow of the crimes of our fathers."

"I didn't know a pacifist mage order had sins to bear."

"Pacifist can be defined in more than one way," Remy laughs, "same way that a doting benevolent king to his 'sickly' son can be."

Janus's mouth twists. He raises his glass to that, before downing its remaining contents. Remy has only heard rumors, a tale of a spare button, the fifth horseshoe, a second-born prince seconds away from being the first born.

Citizens of the kingdom know there are two princes. They have seen very little of their second-born prince. The tale that is told is that he is sickly, too weak to wander outside his bedroom for long intervals.

He only had one encounter with the prince before this. It was at a meeting between the heads of prominent mage orders and the royal council. Remy's parents had dragged him in attendance, to sit still and observe.

Janus was there, in place of his brother Ethan. No one had known, for the two looked identical. Or rather, those touched by the Ether looked the other way.

"He is acting in the Crown Prince's stead, for all intents and purposes, that is the Crown Prince, so you will address him as such." His mother explained to him, her nails digging into his shoulder.

The Ether sung otherwise. It sung not of a scorching sun or a thunderous thunderstorm, instead it sung of sunlight on a gentle spring day. A brilliant yellow, spun from fine wool. A lonely howl of a wolf without a pack. Tremors of a sapling without a forest to shield it from fierce gales. A milk snake slithering through the grasses, easily mistaken at a glance for its dangerous counterpart. A puppet hanging by a single thread, forced to echo words and actions that are not its own.

Even in the present, does the Ether sings of such things. Remy wonders what Janus would think of the Ether's portrait of him. Perhaps one day, he'll reveal it to him.

Remy shakes his head from such musings, downing the rest of his own drink. The swell of the music rises, as the ballad reaches Remy's favorite part. Impulsively, he rises to his feet, ignoring the slight wooziness of his inebriation.

"Would you care to dance?" He asks, offering up his hand, "it's not Winter's End without a dance to celebrate."

"Would I look out of place for not dancing?"

"Oh most certainly," Remy says, smirking, "best to not cast unwanted eyes your direction."

That is enough for Janus's hand to slip into his own. It is cold and unexpectedly calloused for a noble. Especially for a supposed sickly shut-in. Remy gleefully pulls Janus into the throngs of the crowd, towards the center where a circle for dancing has formed.

Janus, of course, is a trained dancer. He is not a trained dancer in the folk dances that this ballad dictates. So, Remy readily assumes the lead, guiding him through spins and twirls. To his delight, Janus is a quick learner, latching onto the steps with ease.

The crowd yells in drunken delight.

"Wow look at them go!"

"Hey Remy, save some for the rest of us!"

The ballad reaches its climax, the fiddle's notes screeching faster and faster. Remy looks at Janus, "You ready?"

"Ready for what--"

Remy laughs, as he spins Janus endlessly on the dying refrain of the ballad. He does not stop until the music ends, to which he pulls Janus back to him, his body close against his own. Janus's face is flushed, his face pinched with exertion. Remy worries for a moment the man will puke on him, but then he throw back his head and laughs.

"You're an intriguing enigma, Remy."

"Thank you, I try." He says, winking, "now, as a token of goodwill and our newfound friendship, may I buy you a drink?"

Janus scoffs, slipping free of Remy's grasp. His lips still curve upwards despite that. "You may."

The poorly disguised prince ventures off to the barkeep and Remy follows after. Ether thrums through Remy, clawing through every vein and tissue of his being. Remy may not heed his parents' teachings, but he is not foolish enough to ignore the Ether's calling.

He is certain, even if it comes at the risk of his precious midday naps, he's content to follow after Janus come what may.