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Varian of Old Corona never had very much, but he always made something of nothing, and to him, that was everything.
The plan had been to run out from the darkest rooms of his life, down the corridors where he had been dragged like a rag doll, and into the throne room he had been sentenced to doom, as Andrew and his goons took down guards left and right. They would hide behind the furniture until the rulers arrived with a new enforcement of guards, and stun them all into memory loss. It would ensure that Varian wouldn't need to share so much as a word with the people he had hurt all but a year ago, so that Andrew could steer them into the direction they needed without Varian's "baggage" (a word Andrew used synonymously with "unneeded and misguided moral compass") getting in the way. It had been the perfect plan.
So there is really no reason for the very imperfect and very accident-prone Varian of Old Corona to be falling down the staircase, tripping on the tail of his own coat as he evaded a guard and glued him to the ceiling (don’t ask), and ending up winded on the wrong side of the palace. Conveniently, fate and fortune chose to rub salt in the wound by throwing him weaponless and face-first at the feet of the two most powerful people in the country-by accident, of course.
They had blinked down at him uncomprehendingly, before the very first traces of alarm and dismay had begun to etch into their usually calm faces, and never had Varian felt so low, so despicable, cowering under the such distasteful glares. He deserves it, after all. He had spent an entire year being reminded of it, with the mocking jeer whistled in his direction, the endless whispers about his insanity and his doubtlessly pending execution sentence (“once the brat comes of age” he had heard Andrew hiss to the prisoners across their cell when he thought Varian had been asleep). He had nothing now-he is nothing now. He had been given mercy by life in prison and he had chucked it out the window the moment he had tried to prove himself, engraving his name on a death warrant he had mistaken for his ticket out of that hellhole. Any moment now, an extra enforcement of guards will burst through the door, grabbing him by the neck and dragging him once more through the corridor, only this time to his execution. Any moment now, the dreadful yet inevitable words will leak out of the king’s lips and echo through the room, securing the fate he had cheated until now and tarnishing the fortune he had always sought.
King Frederic does not get the liberty to give the order, for a suffocating mist permeates the air between them, and a familiar hand shoves the boy out of its wandering grasps violently. Varian stumbles away from the sparkling mist and observes with horror as the king and queen crumble slowly to their knees, the blood draining from their faces as their eyes droop lifelessly into their sockets and their arms dangle uselessly at their sides. They collapse, Frederic on his back and Arianna on her side, arms splayed and hair askew and legs trembling as their unconscious bodies quake with an indescribable yet inescapable pain.
The world is numb for Varian of Old Corona as his hands fumble and clasp for some purchase, eyes glued to the kind and unassuming queen, heart palpitating and preening in the cage of his chest as the flashback of the fateful night he had dropped her from his deathly clutches beguiles him, crippling him with pain as he refuses to meet the sympathetic, pleading eyes that had bored back at him throughout the uncoordinated ramble of events that had taken place as he prepared his lab for the Battle of Old Corona, as he was yanked out of the ruins of his automaton, as he bowed his head and awaited for the end of his trial and the beginning of his days in another cage, another abyss of despair, another number of months being unable to sleep without his father’s cries echoing in his ears.
They’re not dead. They can’t be. That’s not how the wand is supposed to work-is it? Varian inhales sharply, trying to summon strength to his knees and stand erect. He had known Andrew hadn’t truly cared for him and his goals, mostly intent on resurrecting new Saporia, but he didn’t think the man would lie to his face on such a drastic matter, especially on the topic of regicide. Andrew himself had reasoned that he had no need to hurt anyone. They had agreed no one would be hurt. That’s why Varian had agreed to it!
This-this was supposed to be a mission to take back forgiveness, his one chance to wipe away the memories of all that he had done and start over with a clean slate. He was supposed to get his normal life back, he was supposed to regain the trust of all those he had hurt. Now the queen and king could possibly be dead. He had aided traitors in murdering the very royals he sought to please.
Ohhh-this is bad. This is so, so bad.
Varian nearly snaps his neck in trying to look back at where Andrew and his friends are, but after hearing the clamor and loud footsteps in the hallway, he assumes they’ve taken to the extra enforcement of guards. Falling to his knees next to Queen Arianna’s limp form, Varian shakily brings his hands above her neck, hesitating before checking desperately for a heartbeat. “Your-your Majesty?” He whispers inquiringly, an unbidden rush of tears filling his eyes as he watches her own remain unresponsive and unmoving, so perfectly closed, just like the night he had whisked the sleeping dust in her face, the night he had kidnapped her and hauled her unconscious body over to his house, the night he had tried to kill her more than once-first in the cold arms of his amber solution, and then the cold grip of his metal automatons.
Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.
A heartbeat. Faint and shriveled, but a heartbeat nonetheless, pulsing calmly and rhythmically under the gentle weight of his thumb. He heaves a sigh of relief, though it does little to calm his own heart as it thunders in his ears. A few moments pass before he dares to plant a reluctant hand on her shoulder and shake her gently, causing her to roll onto her back. “Your Majesty.”
Another minute of painful silence passes before Arianna stirs and groans softly, grunting as she slowly lifts her arm and brings her fingers to her head, which thankfully seems unaffected. “Your Majesty!” Varian nearly cries in relief, voice heightened with hope and anticipation, too caught up in the moment to even worry about if the spell worked. “Can-can you hear me?”
I’ll make them hear me.
Arianna’s green eyes then settle on him soberly, squinting in curiosity and suspicion as she braces her hand against the floor and tries to lever herself up, not breaking away her gaze. “Where am I?”
Varian blinks, before a wave of simultaneous joy and horror, trying to piece together the conundrum of realisations. Andrew had been telling the truth…Queen Arianna is fine-Varian of Old Corona is not a murderer-this plan might actually work. They-they had succeeded. Varian is actually closer to his happy ending than he has ever been in the past year and a half. And it is all thanks to his new friends.
But how much did the queen remember? Did this guarantee that the memory spell had worked on the king and guards? Could this really work on the entire Coronan populace? A spike of fear shoots through his chest with its own trail of endless insecurities beginning to consume the momentous happiness he felt. Was it too good to be true?
“Young man. Where am I?” Arianna repeats, a demanding and suspicious edge in her voice.
“Oh! Sorry, I, um-“ Varian stutters, still trying to recover from his shock. “You’re at your home. This is where you live.”
Arianna nods slowly. “Alright. And, um-“ She scrunches her face in thought, and it feels so strange to see the usually eloquent and composed queen of Corona like this, on the ground and fumbling for words, “who am I?”
“You are Queen Arianna.” He answers honestly, despising every drop of truth that trickles down his tongue and smiles mockingly at the tears that threaten to spill. “You rule the kingdom of Corona alongside your husband, King Frederic.”
“I-I do?” Arianna blinks at him, and for a frightening moment an inordinate fear grips the boy-any moment now, she would snap out of it. The temporary confusion would drift aside, and she would rise to her full height along with her husband, demanding to know what he was doing and giving him a pitying stare as he was hauled off once more. But as he nods slowly, violently shoving aside all of the instincts clawing at his insides, a comfortable sense of calm dawns upon the woman’s face-a kind face, that had been so ready to listen to him before and now so willing to offer such a gift again. “Oh. Alright then.” She tilts her head curiously, squinting her eyes as she examines his face perceptively. “And…why are you crying?”
Varian allows a watery chuckle, but it comes out as more of a hollow bark-not that he can distinguish if it bothers the queen so, for her expression still seems mostly neutral. “I-I was so worried about you.” He breathes through the overwhelming need to allow just a few more tears to slip, completely chucking away the fact that this is the queen of Corona and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Queen Arianna is alive. He consoles the weeping worry and bleeding wound in his heart. I didn’t kill the queen. The queen is alright. “You just collapsed and-and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let you get hurt again!” He chokes out as the last of his despair withers from his voice, replaced by apprehension and self-contempt. On second thought, perhaps allowing himself a few more tears does not seem so bad. Luckily, Arianna either does not notice his slight of words or simply does not care, pulling out of his embrace and beaming so brightly Varian fears he may be blinded-though perhaps the tears have more to do with that. It is so reminiscent of Rapunzel’s smile-a smile that had been reserved for him before he had encased his own father and turned on the kingdom. Rapunzel, who would never smile at him again, especially if she found out what he had just done. Rapunzel, who is enjoying the free world as her parents and home now lie at his feet and fingertips.
“Thank you, dear.” Arianna replies kindly, patting his shoulder assuringly. Varian struggles to not lean into her touch, to not grab onto her arm and beg for her forgiveness, for another hug, for anything. “I feel fine, save a bit woozy, but that’s very thoughtful of you.”
“Th-thank you, Ma’am.” Varian stammers, flustering at how foreign and undeserved the praise feels-plus the fact that the queen actually said the word “woozy.” You monster. Varian chides himself. You awful, awful monster. The boy leaps to his feet and outstretches an arm, heart hammering when Arianna readily grabs onto his hand to lift herself up. “Would-would you like me to get you anything?” He doesn’t know quite why he says it, but seeing Queen Arianna so trusting of him and so willing to listen to what he has to say incites something within him-his instinctive need to please and show others what he’s capable of, his need to prove how kind and respectful and loyal he actually is, and only hope they see his good intentions, his need to use his gifts to help others. And Varian wants nothing more-well, except maybe his parents back and some semblance of his normal life again. But still.
“No, thank you.” Arianna’s brow furrows, and she points shakily at Frederic’s newly awakened face as the man braces his hands against the ground and squints at it curiously. “What’s his name again?"
“Oh! Uh-Frederic. King Frederic.” Varian clarifies, heart stammering when the eyes that had once so callously and coldly glared down at him from his throne, ready to wield his almighty power and pulling puppet strings behind the scenes as he mourned his losses, stare back up at him blankly.
If they don’t even remember who they were, there is no way they would remember Rapunzel. Varian’s mind helpfully supplies, though it does nothing to calm his heightened nerves.
“That-that would make him my husband, right?” Arianna asks cautiously, to which Varian nods awkwardly in confirmation. “Frederic, are you alright?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Why does my head feel so-awful?” Frederic wheezes, and Varian suppresses an amused chuckle despite himself-it feels so strange watching the tyrant that had been crushing him for over a year be reduced to a bumbling, harmless little man in no less than a minute.
Arianna turns to Varian questioningly, and Varian’s heart soars at the familiar coax-nothing spurred him more than someone asking him for explanations. For a moment, he feels like his old self again, smiling as he carefully wraps his hands around Frederic’s arm and tries to help lift him off the floor along with Arianna (though it really seems like Arianna is doing most of the heavy-lifting).
“It must be because of the concussions. You see-you both were extremely ill, and you decided to get out of bed when I wasn’t around.” Varian fibs weakly. “As a result you both suffered a terrible fall and-well, I was just making sure there were no serious injuries.”
Frederic and Arianna nod slowly to that explanation, and Varian examines them closely to ensure there is no trace of doubt lingering in their eyes, which beam back at his so trustingly, every questioning glance and vulnerable cluelessness laid bare and ripe for a new opportunity to be seized. It had been a while since anyone had smiled in his direction-it had been a while since someone had properly trusted him. It had been so long since anyone had ever listened to him. But Varian’s heart protests. These are people he is talking to- real, living people who deserve better than to be used as mere tools for unstable teenagers who had no choice but to ally with terrorists to have some semblance of a normal life back. Well… Arianna deserves better, anyway.
“Well, I’m glad there’s someone here to pick us up and care for us so.” Frederic speaks kindly and good-naturedly…an ability Varian never knew the man could possess, after all that had transpired. “What’s your name, young man?”
“V-Varian.” Varian stutters, heart jolting as he watches Frederic squint, as if he is trying to remember-or rather, memorize-every inch of his face. He prays to the fate and fortune that has never done him good before. Please don’t let it ring a bell. Please, please don’t let it ring a bell. “My name is Varian.” He notices them share a bemused glance over his anxious countenance and repeats the word, more confidently and clearly. It was nothing to be ashamed of, after all. If the king and queen could now look at him so trustingly, perhaps being Varian of Old Corona wasn’t very bad after all.
“Varian.” The king repeats with him slowly, as though testing its taste on his tongue, before smiling. “Well, Varian, thank you for your care and concern. Now-uh-” Frederic’s smile fades sheepishly, rubbing his shoulder absent-mindedly. “-What’s my name?”
“Frederic.” Arianna answers in his stead. “Apparently, you’re a king. And I’m a queen.” She awkwardly pats his shoulder and gestures to Varian, awarding the nervous boy with a large, grateful smile. “Varian here told me so.”
Frederic blinks unfeelingly down at her, before staring at Varian and allowing his pearly smile to return. “Did he now? Well, I’m sure we can trust you. You are only trying to help us, after all. What a kind and thoughtful lad.”
Trust. Kind. Thoughtful. They-they are praising him, rewarding him even. Praise he had always yearned to hear, compliments he never thought he could deserve-and it was all a reward for the horrid deed he had done-an encouragement of the horrid things he has yet to do. Before Varian can reply or properly allow the words to sink in, he hears footsteps thundering in their direction, turning around to see Andrew and the Saporians stopping short in their tracks right in front of the royals. Andrew casts Varian a skeptical glance, but the boy nods numbly in assurance.
“It’s…so nice to see you back up on your feet, Your Highnesses.” Andrew smoothly says, a fake smile crawling through his face as he bends over the waist in a curt and stiff bow. Varian pretends he doesn’t notice the suspicious glare scathed in his direction. “There is so much to do, and we were beginning to worry we simply wouldn’t get it all done in time.”
“Get what done in time?” Frederic queries. “And…who are you?”
Andrew pointedly smirks at Varian, and the boy turns back to the royals with a sinking despair at the hollow pit of his stomach. “So many questions, so little time. We can answer them all over a good dinner, don’t you think?” Varian shrinks back. Of course. The Saporians and he had agreed that he would involve with the rulers as little as possible-he had suspected it was to ensure that they could keep him under their thumb, but he wouldn’t dare throw away the only chance he had left to get out of prison and actually take a step forward to change. Besides, Andrew had reasoned, even if they do forget everything, would you really want to be talking to them again, knowing what you’ve done to them? Varian swallows away the thick lump growing in his throat, feeling empty as Andrew gently places a hand on Frederic’s and leads him towards the dining room.
However, Arianna hesitates, glancing over worriedly at Varian. “What about Varian?”
“He can wait here.” Andrew replies, waving his hand as though he couldn’t care less. He nods towards two of the Saporians, who nod back and flank Varian’s sides in warning. “You two can chat all you like when we’re done.” He adds in upon seeing Arianna’s hesitance continue.
Varian nervously eyes the two Saporians - Clementine and Kai. He didn’t think they really would hurt him-no one had dared to touch him since the day he had been thrown into prison, save Andrew, who had offered half-hearted pats on the boy’s back as he cried himself to sleep. No, they are just present to intimidate him, remind him of his place.
Arianna looks at Frederic, though he offers absolutely no input (verbal or otherwise), before speaking. “…You know, I think we would like Varian here to accompany us. If he so wishes, of course.”
Andrew blinks in confusion, looking back at Varian’s sheepish countenance before allowing a smooth smile to replace his questioning gaze, though Varian struggles to read the expression behind it. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. He has been so helpful, after all. I trust him.” Arianna answers honestly and unapologetically, and as her emerald green eyes settle on him, glimmering with unbridled and untainted hope as she places a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Well, I should hope so.” Andrew grins widely, securing a large arm around Varian’s shoulders when Arianna backs away. Varian immediately stiffens and hunches them close together, disliking the uncomfortable contact. He shouldn’t be surprised. A year of spending a cell together had taught him that the man had no respect for personal boundaries and a special penchant for strange shows of affection-if the threatening taps against the nape of his neck or the sharp pokes at his back counted for anything. “Varian here is your most trusted advisor. ”
“O-Oh?” Varian stutters, not being aware of this particular point of the plan. They were supposed to make Andrew the most trusted advisor, weren’t they? Varian searches Andrew’s face for the gears turning behind the scenes, the untraceable hints of deception the man may be masking. “I- “
“Wow!” Arianna gushes, raising her eyebrows as though impressed. “Well, if he’s our advisor, then I should think that automatically means he has a seat at the dinner table!”
“Um-yes. But you see, Varian isn’t just any advisor.” Despite the loaded words, Varian blushes under the undivided attention. “He’s also an alchemist, and the best this kingdom has ever seen. Why, he can invent things no one has ever dreamt of! Sometimes, he gets so burned out that he doesn’t join us for dinner, which is why he’s been so quiet lately. But I’m sure if you insist, he wouldn’t refuse.”
Arianna gasps, bringing her hands to her mouth. Varian inwardly swears that she must be Rapunzel incarnate. “Is he now? That’s adorable!” She laughs good-naturedly, grazing his cheek fondly as though she has known him all her life, but Varian cannot find it in himself to be bothered. “Such positions at such a young age, and so humble about it! Your parents must be so proud!”
Varian chokes back tears, the words a scalding balm seething punctures into his already wounded heart as his mind races to the rueful image of his father’s agonized grimace in his amber prison, his mother’s sorrowful eyes as she lay sick in bed. No, no, this is all wrong. He doesn’t deserve the unfaltering trust in Arianna’s eyes, their eyes-the people he had vowed to make suffer all in the blind haste of his rage and agony. He had tried to crush this woman, squeeze the breath and paralyze the limbs of her without so much as a second thought. Varian of Old Corona doesn’t deserve the pleasant way Queen Arianna squeezes his shoulders so affectionately, or King Frederic’s encouraging pat on his back. Varian of Old Corona once dreamt of the day they would fall, of the day they would suffer a fraction of the agony he had. Varian of Old Corona couldn’t even forego a plan to earn back their forgiveness right. Varian of Old Corona was a screw-up, a criminal who didn’t deserve friends, or precocious raccoons, or parents.
Varian spares a glance at Andrew, who is still presenting his best smile for show, before staring back at the impressed faces of the people who he had thought he would never see again. Varian of Old Corona never has bad ideas. Just good ideas with the capacity to go horribly wrong (usually by his own error). He wisely waits until Andrew has drawn away from him.
“Actually, I’m not-” Varian protests, wincing inwardly as Andrew and the rulers turn back to him, perplexed. The man’s eyes narrow into a warning glare, and Varian swallows away the shame culminating up his throat like bile to summon the audacity of what he is about to do.
“I’m not j-just your advisor.” Varian dares. “Heh-as it t-turns out….” Don’t do it. Don’t you dare. “I’m your son.” He blurts out without giving his doubts the satisfaction of further thought.
The two rulers’ eyes widen in shock, taking the moment to process the information. Varian of Old Corona waits for them to scowl and tell him they weren’t that stupid. But the blank, thoughtless whims of their faces melt into smiles he never thought he could know and dissolve the thin tension in the air. They are natural, unhesitant smiles, latching onto his every word for guidance and assurance. Quickly, Varian turns to gauge Andrew’s expression, but if his dropped jaw or speechless gawk are anything to go by, he seems to be doing pretty well.
“I-you are? We have a son?” Arianna asks fervently, still smiling and turning to an equally clueless Frederic. “You’re our son?” At Varian’s nod, Arianna asks. “Varian dear, why are you mentioning this just now?”
“I guess…I was too burned out to remember?” Varian answers lamely, stealing a quick glance towards Andrew’s direction to find the man still dumbfounded. The direction this is taking would hardly make sense to ordinary people-but as the royals’ conversation progresses, Varian realizes that the strength of the magical enchantment must be befuddling their common sense much greater than he had anticipated, so he can quite literally take any direction he wants. At their confused faces, Varian nearly panics. Perhaps they were not as far gone as he thought. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make things awkward or anything. I mean, you’ve had a long day, and you can barely remember your own names. I didn’t want to burden you with trying to remember me.” This is it. Every bit of this sounds dumb. No idiot would believe his lie this far in, even if those idiots were particularly concussed and undeniably caring when they had no memory of the pains they had overseen. He had ruined the simplest of lies. They are going to call out his bluff. They are going to call in their guards and have him arrested anyway.
To his great surprise, Arianna’s smile falters into a frown of concern. “Is that why you were being so shy earlier?”
Varian blinks, looking for assurance at Frederic’s equally concerned face, before nodding. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had had such undivided attention solely devoted to caring about his well-being. For longer than he would care to admit, his very short glimpses of Dad were only accompanied with curt questions of whether he had eaten or cleaned the house, and his even shorter conversations with the villagers had only really been one-sided turns of taking furious accusations.
“What are you apologizing for?” Arianna coos.
Varian contemplates that very interesting question, automatically coming up with a list in his head.
I’m sorry I’m not your son. I’m sorry I kidnapped you and nearly crushed you twice. I’m sorry I wiped away all of your memories, including that of your beloved and only daughter Rapunzel. I’m sorry I hurt her too. I’m sorry I helped these guys take over your kingdom and almost hurt you in the process. I’m sorry that none of this is real and you’re being lied into thinking it is simply because I can’t handle the painful truth any longer. I’m sorry I’m lonely and need a family. I’m sorry I thought I was going to die down there, in the cold and damp dungeons that you or your husband never cared to visit. I’m sorry I stay awake every night thinking about the people I’ve hurt, seeing your or my father’s face in agony because of trouble that everyone keeps telling me is entirely my fault-but what was I supposed to do, when I couldn’t leave my own house without getting harassed? I’m sorry that I needed someone to talk to and the only thing I had was a terrorist with three different backstories and who misspells the word “bibliophile.” I’m sorry you remind me of my own mother and a friend that left me alone when I needed her most. I’m sorry I still hate your husband’s guts. I’m sorry I can’t even make a move towards forgiveness without looking like a coward. I’m sorry I’m me. I’m sorry that I need you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Instead of all that, Varian simply replies. “Nothing. Just a reflex.”
“So…” Frederic’s eyes narrow in concentration, moving his hands in front of him as he gestures to all three of them. “-Arianna and I had a son…and we don’t remember?”
“We have a son.” Arianna repeats, as though trying to cement it to memory herself, smiling down at Varian with compassion and pride as she pats his shoulder before looking between Frederic and him. “Well, I’m not surprised. If we raised such a fine young man, we must be very good parents.” She looks to the mirror in the corridor, and Varian notices his face is unusually paler than usual. “And your eyes are such a good mix between us!”
No! Varian of Old Corona wants to scream in response. My eyes are from my mother. My mother, Alda of Old Corona. “Yes, I’m your son.” Varian says instead, more to convince himself than the two royals. Prince Varian. Being the proclaimed son of the absolute monarchs (not really) technically made him the prince of Corona, didn’t it? Oh boy, that came with so many responsibilities and expectations, and he is but a simple farm boy from a humble-
“You’re my mother.” It escapes his mouth before it’s too late-perhaps it is to retort the small voice in his head, which begins to ram against the confines he is erecting and sliver sneakily through to his conscience. It’s not new information to them if they believe it-he doesn’t have to say anything more. He already told him he was their son. Why does he insist on tearing down every ounce of resistance and shred of resilience in his being, salvaging in vain whatever is left of his weaning moral fibre-which had never gotten him anywhere anyway?
No, the voice tries to correct, though his tongue flails uselessly in its cage, licking along his lips in anticipation and thought. Despite it all, Queen Arianna was not his mother.
Varian’s mother had gentle blue eyes meant for swiveling along his face when she thought he didn’t notice, and gentle hands meant for rubbing his shoulders sympathetically and crooning soothing praise into his ears when she thought he couldn’t hear her over the roar of the latest explosion.
Varian’s mother had guided his fingertips along the pages of her notebooks and encircled his small waist securely, pressing her chin against his hair and kissing its strands as he tarried off into a peaceful slumber.
Varian’s mother was Alda of Old Corona, a small yet sharp lady who taught children to read and liked holding his hand as they ran through the dandelion fields together, basking in the new summer sun.
Queen Arianna of Corona is not the mother of Varian of Old Corona, but… she had already said she was proud, and he really likes those smiles and hugs, and he needs his mother so badly, and it’s been so long, and the woman whose pained, concerned face haunts his sleep is right there, so willing to forgive him because she doesn’t know what he’s done-
Varian nods rigorously, even as he feels Andrew’s withering stare burning holes into the back of his neck, even as the bemused whispers of unhappy Saporians clatter his ears. “Y-yes. You’re my mother. And-” His breath hitches when he turns to an expectant Frederic, and a sudden jolt of nausea overwhelms him at the clueless expression on the king’s face.
Dad. This man is not his father. King Frederic of Corona had ruined his life, tossed him into a cage and left him for dead in a prison when he had sobbed and pleaded for mercy, when he had known he had no hope nor home to console his empty days. This man had not spared a second glance to the frozen corpse of his father, suspended in a golden glow and blanketed in sown drapes, before sending men to chase Varian out of his own house and onto the streets, where people would pelt him with apple cores and poke him with accusation.
Varian’s father had kind brown eyes meant for gazing fondly when he thought his son wasn’t looking, and calloused hands meant for stroking his hair when he thought his son was sleeping.
Varian’s father caught little girls from apple trees and plucked pumpkins in a single swipe of the knife like no one else in the village.
Varian’s father was Quirin of Old Corona, a strong and kind farmer that liked whittling away at unshapely blocks of wood and ruffling his boy’s hair in jest, the victim of an unjust fate and an undeserving son, currently suspended in amber and awaiting another useless effort to free him.
“You’re my father.” Varian forces out, feeling a small portion of him wilt disconsolately and bury its scathing shard into the thin fabric of self-preservation cloaking the cage that had become his heart, accustomed to another taint of a lie it cannot take back and another hope it cannot fulfill. Varian says the words surely, and the rulers smile in response, cementing his deed for what he yearns-and dreads-to be eternity. They trust him, and so his word is truth.
He shouldn’t have done it. He had no right to do it-well, not any more right than to take away their most precious memories. He thinks of the additional betrayal he has caused his friend-no, Rapunzel wasn’t his friend. Rapunzel had refused his friendship, lifted her fry pan, snuck up his tunnels and into his house with her father intending to beat him without so much as a second thought. But could he really blame her-after he had sent an automaton to attack her on her birthday and kidnapped the queen?
And why would Rapunzel care? She didn’t need her parents-she had practically lived her entire life without them, and she had spent that entire year after she came back proving to them that she could manage herself just fine and wanting to leave them! Why-the only reason she had abandoned him in his time of need was because she herself was unequipped and unfit to rule, wasn’t it? And that was alright! How could Varian blame her? Poor, naive Rapunzel shouldn’t be expected to drop all her fun and come take such a painfully enormous responsibility. Varian was used to responsibility-he could handle it far better while hurting less people. Rapunzel seemed to be having a perfectly good time out there, away from her parents and kingdom-why would he want to ruin that for his good friend, when he could just take over her responsibilities and take care of her poor parents for her? Why on earth would Rapunzel care, if he borrowed some of her parents’ affections and ran her kingdom for her-better than she ever could? It would free her, and the princess was all about freedom, wasn’t she? Here is a pair of perfectly good parents, just sitting around, and for all he knows, he could be an orphan. He-he needed a family. He was entitled to one, wasn’t he-as their subject and an orphan in need? It was their job to provide for him-just like it had been their job to rescue him before he could feel himself. But this is simply no time to ruminate on the past.
Rapunzel wouldn’t want to come back to her parents, anyway, not when she had been so eager to leave. She was quite happy in her own little world, swinging from chandeliers and chasing chameleons, and she deserved to be happy. Just like Prince Varian did. Surely, he didn’t need to bother her with something as unbecoming as the suffering of her people. Rapunzel didn’t need to worry-Varian would prove he was worth the effort, prove he could be an excellent friend is he tried har enough, prove that he deserved this opportune chance by taking good care of her parents and country for her.
He hears someone clear their throat loudly, and he turns to gaze up at Andrew. “Can we talk? Alone?” He doesn’t wait for Varian’s response before seizing his arm none-too-gently and yanking him a little further down the hall, away from where Arianna and Frederic being to talk to each other and not notice the strange behavior.
The moment of euphoric bliss flees Varian as rapidly as it came, followed by the familiar terror and apprehension he has become accustomed to welcoming. “Andrew, I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me-”
“A prince, eh?” Andrew mutters darkly, simply raising his brow and disallowing any further emotion from his face. “I’ve got to say, I never thought you actually listened when I tried teaching you how to lie. Especially considering you have the face of a lamb and quite literally the most non-lying accent I have ever heard.”
“I-what?” Varian asks, thoroughly lost.
“The way you used the waterworks-the way you had them wrapped around your finger, and had them hanging onto your every word. That was…impressive.” Andrew continues nonchalantly. After seeing Varian’s genuinely confused expression, his facade begins to slip, though his voice remains low and even. “But I feel it’s important to remind you why we’re here. We agreed you wouldn’t be interacting with the king and queen for this very reason. You will get emotional, make rash decisions that I don’t agree with, and eventually crush this whole plan into bits. And I can’t have that.” Sighing, he dons a doleful frown, and a small shred of despair claws at Varian’s heart. If there was one thing worse than an angry Andrew, it was an Andrew that faked sentimentality and still managed to successfully guilt-trip him into demeaning himself. “Varian, buddy, I can’t believe you just threw us under the bus like that. I thought we had an understanding. We worked so hard to make sure you could get out of those dungeons. I thought you would want to work with us on this.”
“I-I know.” Varian keens, and this time he fears he will actually cry, for Andrew is right. He had not only betrayed Rapunzel and the royals, along with his real parents-he had betrayed Andrew and the gang, his new and real friends. He can’t wander about fumbling for everything-otherwise, he would have nothing. Varian of Old Corona and Prince Varian are very horrible people to their friends and family. “I do.”
“Good. So I take it you’ll have no issue if we start things over.” Andrew drawls, and on cue, Clementine taps her wand, eliciting a small spark. Andrew nods her. “Go back to the king and queen. Stun them again.”
Shaken, Varian’s hand shoots out on his own accord, grabbing Clementine’s hand before she can move in the direction of the royals. “No!”
“Excuse me?” Andrew asks calmly, his voice leveling into a dangerously low tone.
“What’s the point of stunning them again?” Varian presses. “I already told them everything they need to know!”
Andrew grits his teeth, closing his eyes as though summoning every ounce of patience he has left. “If I say we’re stunning them again, then we’re stunning them again. And I know it’s particularly difficult for you, but I’d very much appreciate it if you didn’t screw this one up for all of us just like you screwed your past life. Wouldn’t want to be losing another friend now, would we?” He asks pointedly, smirking as he nudges Varian knowingly. “You understand, right buddy?”
Something about that statement riles Varian up. A sudden anger seizes the boy. Who is Andrew, to condescend and order him around as though he was nothing but a puppet? Varian is a prince now-wasn’t he? He had everything now-didn’t he?
“Rapunzel was my friend.” Varian starkly replies. “And look what we’re doing to her kingdom.”
Miffed by his newfound defiance, Andrew leans forward and raises his voice. “Rapunzel is the reason why we all are here, in case you’ve forgotten. I, on the other hand, cared about you when no one else gave a damn, after your precious princess went on a vacation during the worse days this sorry kingdom has ever seen. And I don’t think you need to be reminded that you wouldn’t have managed any of this if it weren’t for our magic!”
“And you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my alchemy!” Varian fumes in response, alarm coursing through his veins as he observes Andrew clench his fist and jaw in rage.
The man breathes sharply through his nose. “I am warning you, kid-“
“No, I'm warning you.” Varian retorts louder, his voice sharp and swift as he steels his glare and leans forward defiantly, unshaken and drunk with the newfound power he now possesses. “Do not ruin this for me- I mean us.” Varian hastily corrects himself without faltering in his resolve. “For the first time in my life, something is actually going right. This-this is my-our reward. No one can ruin this-not even you. In fact-” He turns on his heel and smoothly plucks the wand from Clementine’s grip without thinking, eliciting a sharp expletive. Immediately, the blinding rush of magical energy overwhelms his senses like an overtly sweet aura, numbing him with an almost painful stinging.
He-he had power. After a year of hiding under tables and rotting behind bars and running after people who refused to help him, Varian felt powerful. He waves the source of his power tauntingly in Andrew’s face, a sly grin weaving its way across his lips as his next words drip with sarcastic and satisfied valor. “I will make sure you don’t.”
“We can take you out easily. You know that.” Andrew bites out despite the doubtful and apprehensive way he eyes the weapon in his hands, drawing back cautiously as his goons flank his sides and raise their hands to show Varian they meant no harm.
Varian raises his eyebrow, trying to remain unfazed despite the anxiety that statement brings. Fresh adrenaline pumping through his aching head and yearning heart, he tightens his grip on the wand instinctively, wrist quaking as he points it towards them.
“One move.” He hisses in contempt. “One toe out of line, and I promise you, Andrew, that you will know how well I can take you out.”
No sooner had he said that did the Captain appear at the corner of the hallway, followed by a group of soldiers, sword in hand and poised for battle. “There they are! Get them!”
Varian hears Arianna cry out his name in alarm as he is tackled roughly from behind, slamming his chin against the cold floor painfully as the guard manhandling him tries to twist his arms behind his back. He cries out in pain, tightening his grip unyieldingly around the wand and yet unable to use it. He looks for his ‘friends,’ only to find that Andrew is already leaping into action, drawing his sword out of his sheath and unbuckling a few alchemy balls from his belt as he advances towards the Coronan guard. The other Saporians mirror him and join in readily, not wanting their hard efforts to be wasted.
His breath quickens-would he be thrown back into prison so quickly? He had known it was too good to be true-he could never deserve a happy ending, after all. Such a desire for even the most fleeting moments of happiness would undoubtedly be punished-God, he was going to be punished for that jailbreak and assaulting the royals. Again.
“I-I didn’t-” He tries to plead in his own defense, even though he knows nothing he says will make a difference in the matter. His knees wriggle futilely under the weight. “I wasn’t doing anything to them-honest, I wasn’t going to hurt them! I would never!”
“Wait! Stop!” He hears Arianna’s voice somewhere within the cacophony.
“How did you manage to evade your guards?” The Captain demands, though his voice sounds distant, as though he’s talking to someone else. Is he talking to Andrew? Should Varian answer for him?
“I said stop!” A firm yell is heard, followed by a sharp clank as the Captain sprawls face-first against the floor, metal helmet rolling as the man bemusedly braces his hands against his knees, trying to steady himself and fathom what had just happened. Varian gawks in shock at Arianna, who looms over the Captain with a frypan pointed in his direction-where did she get that? “Who are you, and why are you attacking our son?” She demands unapologetically.
The Captain’s jaw drops. “Your-your son?!” He echoes incredulously. “Your Majesty, that boy is not your son! He is a criminal, and you sentenced him to prison. He just attempted a jailbreak with these goons-” He gestures violently towards the Saporians, who were struggling with the guards. “and was no doubt trying to overtake your kingdom by messing with your heads. It wouldn’t be the first time he has assaulted you. I myself am the captain of your royal guard. I saw-”
“Well, I don’t believe you.” Arianna replies stiffly and coldly, with an air of command Varian had never thought her capable of wielding. “If any of that were true, then why would Varian have told us that we were royals, when it would clearly disadvantage him if he was truly doing what you claim he is? And why would he take such care in making sure we were alright, if he were such a criminal and could easily have us thrown in prison? You barge in here, attack a weaponless boy and his friends, and then you claim that we would throw him in a prison.” She lifts the fry pan away from the Captain and points it at Varian. “A sweet, thoughtful young man who worries so much about our wellbeing! Our own son!” Varian stifles the sob clawing its way up his throat-that would be very inappropriate for a moment like this…but he hadn’t ever heard anyone defend him nor talk about him in such a way, and never dared to dream that he could receive such an honor from Queen Arianna herself.
“Your Majesty.” The Captain’s voice is strained to moderate a tone of respect, but the urgency in his voice does not dissipate. “I don’t know what they did to you, but I must insist that you remain calm and listen to me-”
“No, you listen to us.” Arianna retorts. “That boy is not dangerous, and I will not let you treat him like some criminal. Look how terrified he is!” She gestures furiously to a now very mortified Varian again, who shrivels under the Captain’s now questioning stare. “We are royalty, aren’t we? Any act against our orders would be treason-wouldn’t it?” She turns back to Varian for confirmation, but the boy only stares back blankly.
Varian’s heart pounds in his throat at the tense silence that follows, mind still whirring at the words he firmly latches onto as unbidden tears threaten to spill from his eyes. Not dangerous. Like some criminal. Terrified. Queen Arianna understood him. Her Majesty had sympathy for him, so much so that she defended him in front of a total stranger purely based off of one interaction they had had mere moments ago. True, it was only under a memory enchantment, and she does not remember the awful things he had done-but still. Queen Arianna is defending him, as though he was her own-and indeed, for all they know, he is. And King Frederic, who had once actively tapered and severed his connections to back Varian into a corner like he had to so many other subjects, is now silently watching it all unfold, his hands supportively and protectively positioned at his shoulders just like his very own father - his very real father had whenever an angry villager had marched in his direction, pointing fingers and hurtling insults.
“Yes, but he is the captain of your guard.” Varian replies. “You need him and his men.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then you and whoever just tried to hurt my son and his…friends-“ Frederic manages, and Andrew raises a brow in Varian’s direction, but the boy is still too frazzled to respond. “-are hereby removed from your post. And if you disobey our orders again, you will be tried for treason. Is that understood?”
The inexplicable bewilderment on the captain’s face doesn’t subside, but the man manages to pull himself together to the best of his ability and bow his head dutifully. “…Yes, Your Majesty.” He replies in an automatic, neutral voice. “But by your permission, I would like to leave the guards that did not comply with this mission at your service.”
“Erm…” Frederic turns to Varian for help, but Varian finally finds it in himself to nod vigorously. “Yes. That would be…nice of you?” Frederic awkwardly finishes.
The captain nods as though he doesn’t notice it, turning curtly to his soldiers. “Men. Follow the king and queen’s orders without question.”
Pete blinks, looking around at his equally bewildered comrades to see if they would object first before taking the initiative. “But sir, there’s clearly something wrong.”
“I will be resuming my duties to the crown.” The captain continues. “Rest assured, your majesties, we are at your service and accept your judgement without question. My men and I will not harm your…son, or his friends.” The captain smiles reassuringly, but Varian sees right through it. Seeing as his hands were tied, the man was going to send out search parties for Rapunzel and the gang, no doubt. Varian wants to immediately step in his path, hand itching to point the wand-now safely tucked away inside his shirt pocket- in the man’s direction and eliminate the only threat to his happiness. But then Varian reconsiders: if the Captain sends for Rapunzel, Rapunzel would have to come back from her little vacation. Which would mean she would get to see that everything that once belonged to her now belonged to him. Which could mean she would see both the gravity of the error she had made along with how willing he was to fix his own. Which meant he could try to be friends with her again.
So Varian allows the captain to leave silently, and they all remain frozen at a stalemate, Varian trying to gauge the thoughts behind Andrew’s quizzical gaze as his bewildered stare morphs into something less readily readable, until King Frederic awkwardly clears his throat.
“If you’re the prince and he’s the captain, then why were those men after you and your friends, son? Who are these people?” Frederic broaches with concern as he gestures to the Saporians. Varian makes a miraculous recovery from being called “son”-he can have a simultaneous heart attack and panic attack about it later, but he cannot miss this moment and make things more awkward than they already are.
Instead, he smirks at Andrew’s unfathomable face, wiggling his brow mischievously as the man’s face turns red with rage. “As a matter of fact-” He catches himself short before he utters something he might regret. A part of Varian does want to send them back to the dungeons. All it will take is one command, one word, and you’ll never see them again. Send them back so they can’t breathe down your neck and prod you for inventions anymore. So they don’t whisper cynical lies and cautious tales to sway you. And Varian of Old Corona, who is very tired of being pushed around and condescend and threatened and cornered, very much wants to. But Prince Varian hesitates.
However much he disliked certain…parts of Andrew and sometimes had a sneaking suspicion that the man only cared for what he could invent, Andrew had been Varian’s first and only friend in the prisons-for six months of living alone and an entire year of no other human contact, Varian couldn’t help but wish to pretend that in some way-Andrew was his friend. A friend that needed to be reminded of his place, similar to how he should have acted with Rapunzel form the beginning. Dad had always warned him to grow a backbone, to not throw himself so readily into pleasing others. And indeed, look at where helping Rapunzel had gotten him!
Andrew, for all of his unbearably long speeches of self-praise and unnecessarily detailed legends of places that possibly didn’t exist anymore, had still…been there for Varian in his time of need, when he had thought there was no more hope left to cling to. A friend that wouldn’t want him to stay any longer in those dreaded dungeons. A friend that wouldn’t cheat him, that told him how much he was appreciated. A friend that actually listened to his rambles as he sketched out equations and faces in the glare of moonlight trickling in from his prison window, his suppressed whimpers as he weeped for his father at night, his quiet concerns when the others began cackling over fantasies of watching Corona burn to ashes.
…Andrew could still be his friend, just like Rapunzel still could. They just needed a little realisation to kick their egos down a notch-a little something to shift the scale in Varian’s favor and remind them of how powerful he truly was, how deserving he was of respect. They could be his friends without using him, and he would never be at the receiving end of such terrible friendships ever again.
Besides, Prince Varian keenly supplies, what will you do when Rapunzel returns? You’ll need support, and it’s not like any of the guards here are competent enough to stand by your side and hold out in a fight against that group.
Additionally, a cruel, vindictive, ugly part of Varian-Prince Varian- wishes to waffle and wave the power in their faces-what felt like ages of feeling powerless, of it being flaunted in his face every time he heard the distant footsteps in the world above him, the world he never thought he would be able to see or reach ever again-had all dismantled at his feet in but a minute, leaving him basking in the remnants of whatever cruel twists fate had planned for him. He would no longer need to run from it, hide under guises and desperate attempts to be heard in order to outrun its paces for chances he could never deserve if he hadn’t made the move he just did. No, he can do whatever he wishes.
“They’re my real friends.” Varian answers finally, drawing curious looks from the two parents and a suspicious glance from Andrew. “You see, we’ve known each other for a long time. They work really hard with me to keep the kingdom safe and long to bring it to its earlier days of glory. They work alongside those guards too, but the guards sometimes mistake them for prisoners or criminals because they have to dress in different ways.” It is not technically a complete lie-they had certainly wanted to do so for the kingdom of Saporia. Prince Varian is not a liar. That was Varian of Old Corona, a ghastly boy who couldn’t deserve the affections and protections of the king and queen. “Don’t worry, though! They’re professionals, not some ruffians I fished out of prison or anything. They don’t wear the guard uniforms because…they’re undercover agents. You see, you are surrounded by enemies who try to trick you and take advantage of you whenever they can, so we make sure they think we’re ordinary people to trap them when they least suspect it. And…it also ensures that we don’t intimidate your loyal subjects, who we really don’t want to alienate at a time like this. You know, people tend to listen to you when they liken you as similar to them.” He chuckles to himself, amused at his own jest despite Clementine’s withering glare in his direction. “And my friends know better than to step out of line or disobey your orders, don’t they?” He pointedly adds, his initially small smirk growing wider with irrepressible glee. He has power that no one can take away. “Why, if you don’t believe me, you can have a few guards follow them around and see for yourself.” Though he knows he must be making little sense to them, he gestures confidently to the guards that are now at his command-guards that had spat down at, dragged, thrown, chased, scared and mocked him for so long, now waiting on his hands and feet. Oh, this is too good.
Frederic examines him for a long moment before a small grin stretches his lips-which would have been terrifying if Varian hadn’t been pretending that he was his real father. “You’re the prince, and our son. I trust that you know what you’re doing.”
Arianna places an arm on Frederic’s shoulder, smiling and nodding in agreement. “He’s right. Any friend of our son is a friend of ours.”
Our son. Our son. The king and queen of Corona called Varian their son. Beaming in response, Varian turns to Andrew to gauge his reaction.
Andrew’s expression has changed, eyeing him scrutinizingly as his lips twitch with an unreadable emotion. “Prince, eh?” He pauses purposefully, eyes still locked coldly on Varian’s own unfaltering stare, before a small, snarky smile graces his lips. “Well, my apologies, Your Majesty. It seems I…forgot my place. I’ll be more careful. After all-Varian is the best friend anyone can ask for. He can never do wrong.”
The royals continue to smile proudly, but Varian ventures anxiously as he leans forward, lowering his voice. “So…we’re good?”
“Perhaps my judgement was a little…premature.” Andrew admits slowly, still scowling down at him in distaste. “I don’t know what’s going on in that noggin of yours, but it seems like you have everything under control. And buddy?” Andrew leans in then, so close that their eyes are level and their noses almost touch. “Whatever you choose to do, do not screw this up. Or I swear, there is no one in the seven kingdoms that will hold me accountable for what I do to you.” Doning his charming grin again, Andrew resumes his full height and dramatically waves his hand. “As you were, Your Majesty.” He announces clearly, turning his back and walking out of sight as the other Saporians look to each other in confusion, wondering what to do next-or whether to do anything at all.
Varian notices Kai part from the rest of the group, giving him somewhat of a sympathetic glance before allowing a half-hearted pat to his back. “Nice one, kiddo.”
Varian blinks, tightening his grip on the wand as he watches him and the rest of the group before turning to his very new ‘parents.’ “If you don’t mind, can you call upon some guards to keep an eye on them? I want to make sure they are there if they need any additional help or re-enforcements.”
Frederic nods. “Of course, son.” He pauses when he sees the group of frazzled guards before turning to Varian. “You know, you seem to be very good at keeping things under control around here. Why don’t you take charge, until your mother and I get better?”
Charge. King Frederic-Dad-yes, Dad- was trusting him with running matters of state. His very own, very real father couldn’t even trust him with simple experiments, and here his very new, very fake father was entrusting him with a country. This day couldn’t get any better.
“You two should probably go and rest. Your room is that way.” Varian suggests, pointing in the appropriate direction.
Arianna places a hand on her chest, before leaning forward and scooping him into a large embrace. Frederic follows cheerily, and Varian basks in being spooned so lovingly between his two ‘parents,’ relishing in the affection for as long as they will allow. Pulling away slightly, she cups his chin and kisses his forehead. “Thank you so much for taking care of us, dear, and I’m sorry we caused such a fuss.”
“It-it’s okay, Your-I mean, Mom.” Varian stammers, feeling awful despite himself. He thinks to himself before gesturing for two bewildered guards, who come forward slowly. “Escort them to their rooms, please. And don’t bother them with any of your mindless lies. They’ve had enough for one day.” He adds in, though it lacks the snark he had hoped it would deliver.
As Arianna and Frederic turn to leave, Varian turns to the rest of the group, who glare back at him. Unfazed, he pulls out the wand, waving it threateningly. “Follow the Saporians around. Make sure they don’t come near the rulers or myself unless I’ve explicitly allowed it. And don’t listen to anything the Saporians have to say, especially that tall one with the mean sneer.” Varian warns as he places his hands on his hips in what he hopes looks like a commanding position-it’s either that or his (not very helpful) height. “And don’t forget-disobeying me is treason now!” Ah, yes. The sweet, sweet irony of wielding above them an axe they had so readily positioned at his own neck the moment he had been orphaned forced to retaliate against the king they served, the king that had used them to silence him…the very king that had now left him in charge. “If you step out of line, I can have you all hanged!” He taunts again, wanting to flaunt and rub the doubtlessly irritating power imbalance in their faces for a minute longer. He waves the wand once more, before pocketing it safely in his clothes.
The guards nod without hesitance, muttering amongst themselves as they scatter to their duty.
Varian is left alone, wondering if he truly has everything, but it feels less like the nothing he had become accustomed to, and that’s something. He watches the silhouettes of the rulers he had once despised and now adored begin to disappear down the hallway.
Varian is now a prince. He has two living, loving parents. He has friends who trust and support and even praise him, valuing him and congratulating him for his accomplishments. And soon, he would have the entirety of Corona looking up to him-loving him, trusting him, praising him. He would never be alone again. He-he could remember what it was like to not feel like scum again. This will be better than anything his previous life could have been. This is more than he could have ever dreamed of.
“Wait!” Varian shouts, running towards them as they turn around and gaze back with concern. “I-I just wanted to say goodnight.” He admits.
No! Varian of Old Corona pounds and prods instinctively at the walls he struggles to keep erect, seething with that infuriating self-righteous attitude of his. That is not your dad. The voice hisses disapprovingly as Varian stomachs his troubling wave of nausea and cheerily wraps his arms around King Fredric. That man left your father for dead.
That is not your mother. It scorns as he leans into Arianna’s shoulder, allowing his silent tears to seep into her velvet fabric and the faint aroma of lavender to flood his nostrils, telling her how much he loves her. Your mother smells like rosemary and wears cotton.
But Varian’s aching head and aching stomach and aching heart all growl and yearn for otherwise, blustering movement into his shaky legs as he wanders through the large, empty halls through which he had once slaved away for his friend’s approval, through which he had cautiously treaded away from guards for their help, through which he had been dragged and thrown mercilessly into a blizzard. He finally collapses onto Rapunzel’s bed. This-this all belongs to him now. The realization dawns on him, invigorates him so suddenly, so powerfully with an overwhelming rush of euphoria, a drunken elation barely suppressible or comprehensible as he relishes in the smooth silk bedsheets, in the inordinately large light glittering through the gigantic windows.
He isn’t Varian of Old Corona, not anymore. He is Prince Varian. The king and queen themselves had said so. They want him, they trust him, they love him. As far as they know, he is Prince Varian, the son of King Frederic and Queen Arianna of Corona. He always has been.
Prince Varian has never been accused or pointed at or scorned in his life.
Prince Varian wasn’t wistfully mystified into the world of magic and alchemy by his dear mother.
Prince Varian doesn’t weep by the corpse of his paralyzed father.
Prince Varian didn’t try to crush the queen.
Varian chuckles to himself in an almost dreadfully whimsical- dare he say even nostalgic- bout of childish delight, a peculiar and foreign euphoria he hasn’t caught the glimpses of in years. It soars past the petulant and persistent prowling and prodding that his happiness struggles under the weight of, catapulting it off into the depths of his subconscious and blustering into his soul, throwing his arms out and spinning on his toes until the dull throb in his head escalates into a nauseating clamor and the roar of his heart dies into a faint whisper, a small yet manageable prick to the fingers with which he can now so freely skim the bindings of a thousand books he had never thought he would be able to read, the crude and ridiculous sketches he can so easily crumple and ram his heel against and dig his blunt, dirty nails into.
He grunts softly as his heel hits something hard, and a sudden stream of canvases fall from where they had been messily tucked beside the large cupboard. Varian stares unblinkingly at them for a second, looking between the uncoordinated splashes of color and the barely opened cupboard before a wide smile stretches across his face. Soon, all of Rapunzel’s old paintings are strewn all across the room-white drafts and dried mark-ups she had never dared to imprint onto her own journal or deemed worthy of presenting in the chronicling of her very fantastic life. Varian jeers mockingly at the cheated frown of cruel fate and laughs emptily at the mystery of misguided fortune, allowing the used pages to fly freely from his fingertips and scatter like birds into air-birds that do not know how to fly, birds that fall just as freely and rustle in the rattling breeze. Dead. He chuckles at the random thought, kicking at the sheets uselessly as he tip-toes and prances clumsily around the disgusting sketches. Like dead birds.
Birds.
He turns next to the mural on the large doors at the entrance of the room. You wouldn’t have had any of this if it weren’t for me. Varian fumes silently. Had I not taken another swing at you to remind you to get off your perch, you wouldn’t have been in here and worked up the guts to finally stand up against your father and do something about the situation. You liked painting and dreaming for a freedom that you knew I would get cheated out of, instead of seeing what was right in front of you, the things that truly needed your attention. You left me alone again, running after useless fantasies and leaving at the hands of the very father that caged you in here, the man you knew had backed me into a corner, foolishly thinking that he would listen to you and spare me. Perhaps you leaving isn’t such a bad thing, after all. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Freedom from your responsibilities, renouncing your privilege, freedom from problems that you are far too concerned complaining about rather than solving unless your dearest parents are involved. It’s good thing they’re all mine now. This is all mine now.
Varian fumbles around the room until he finds the buckets of paints stashed in the corner, yanking them out one by one. This place could use some redecoration, anyways. He picks the bucket of black paint first, positioning one hand under the very bottom as he lifts it off the ground, brings it forward and catapults the entire stock onto the mural of colorful birds, splattering the thick black liquid haphazardly and allowing it to seep in every direction through the meticulous woodwork. The ink bleeds across the doors and leaks onto the floor, consuming the golden lining and devouring the painted birds one by one. Rapunzel wouldn’t need it, anyway. She had the privilege of seeing real birds, living in a real world that was still all hers to devour. Why would she need any of this junk, when she was free to roam the world as she pleased? He huffs, observing the paintings that are out of his reach, plastered in obscenely bright colors and horrid shapes and familiar faces. All of these people-each and every one of these people had let him down…and he had let them down, too. But that was alright! They could all be friends again. He had wiped one slate clean-he could continue to wipe more. All of these people and he could stand in each other’s presence with absolute trust-and he would never have to toss and turn worrying about their forgiveness ever again.
Varian’s heart wilts when he is unable to find his face in any of Rapunzel’s paintings, eyes roaming the walls eagerly until they finally land on a small paper stuck to the wall, to a background of Rapunzel’s sorrowful face in front of the black rocks. He hadn’t thought she would think so little of him even before all of that had happened. And it is not of him beaming at her admiringly as she so readily trusts him with life-threatening secrets, nor is it a regal portrait of his glory. It is a silent and suffering glare that challenges whoever’s eyes have the disgrace to fall upon his inglorious image.
Suffer-suffering?! A watery scoff escapes his lips. He-he is a prince! A prince who was blessed with parents and friends and power! Suffering had no place in Rapunzel’s-in his world!
That-that silly little sketch is Varian of Old Corona, and it has no place in Prince Varian’s new room or his new life. And he-he deserved a portrait. He is a prince now, after all. Shakily, Prince Varian outstretches an arm and curls his fingers carefully around the corners of this vile page, untouched by his glee and unimpressed by his victory, grazing its own fingers tantalizingly along pains he is struggling to keep buried, pains he has thrown his entire being-his sanity into hiding, pouring lie after lie to console himself in the little warmth of a bare blanket of grass that would not cover up the corpse of Varian of Old Corona, who still struggles to lay in peace. It sleeps silently, a reminder of what he is, wanting to awaken memories and agonies that he knows his wobbling knees and crumbling patience cannot bear to ruminate upon of any longer.
Varian’s blood boils, gazing up at the paintings that he knows his face will never grace, unless it is darkened with charcoal and glaring up with unbecoming eyes-she had thought him a monster. No, she thought of Varian of Old Corona as a monster.
Burning streams of tears cascade down his cheeks, and Prince Varian hugs himself, latching his twig-like fingers onto each opposing arm as he so often did when he (shamefully) craved affection, unable to keep himself from sobbing aloud and feeling very much unwelcome in what should be his room, his very comfortable-seemingly proper bed for the first time in over a year. He will be eating more than one meal a day, on Rapunzel’s chair. He will get to sleep on Rapunzel’s pillows. He will get to sit on Rapunzel’s special throne, bask in Rapunzel’s special blessings, perhaps even wear Rapunzel’s special crown.
Besides, his mind helpfully supplies to assuage the growing pain in his heart, I can help other people like me. I can remake this kingdom for the better, even name it anew so that we can all start over. It will all start over.
As though nothing had ever happened in the first place. As though Dad hadn’t winced in agony as the gladdened arms of a golden death snaked up his paralyzed arm and greedily gulped the rest of his being into stunned, suffering silence. As though Varian hadn’t slept next to the looming golden statue of a golden soul with a golden heart and thought of how to get the all-too-important golden-haired princess to please help him, to notice him and help him out of the hell he had created as he shivered so that he could open his door without being harassed by townsfolk or mysterious masked men or armed soldiers-why wouldn’t they help him? As though he hadn’t caught the infuriated glare of disgusts Rapunzel and Frederic had sent his direction, crumpling up their image and burying them deep somewhere in the back of his mind as he lay awake wondering if she did remember him, if she did truly miss the days of closing vectors or having full stomachs or being strapped to his machine nodding along to his elated rambles about her magical and indestructible hair. But it had all been for nothing. He hadn’t deserved such a friendship, such a family-no, he had to lose everything
I’m sorry, Rapunzel. I’ve lost everything. And you happen to have everything. Surely you wouldn’t mind if I let myself have this, just this once.
“This is mine now.” Varian-Prince Varian- shakily whispers, until the whisper drifts into his mind’s eye to feed the growing and greedy boldness that tries to fill in the holes punctured through his heart and skewered into his soul, trying to stop the pent-up stream of memories as they threaten to flood his mind so tremulously that the voice is carried through the room, through the walls of the newly occupied and newly refurbished hope with which he can smoothen away the last of his agonizing memories with a clean slate. Everything that once belonged to Rapunzel now belongs to him. He parents, her room, her kingdom. Her endless blessings. Her happy life, her happy ending. He could have a happy ending.
Prince Varian could have a happy ending. Prince Varian deserved a happy ending. Prince Varian deserved to be rich, and free, and loved, and away from that old manor and that old corpse and those old machines that will never do anyone any good, when had they ever? “Mine, mine, mine!” He cheers, he sobs, he screams, swiveling and swerving and waving and slamming his free hands-free, free, no shackles to his wrist, no bruises up his forearms, no strange marks with the shape of the crescent moon that loomed over his every fitful and sleepless night.
He isn’t quite sure of how long it lasted. Perhaps it was when he made an attempt to dance and his sore legs crumbled under his clumsy command, hurtling him to the floors he had once polished meticulously just so Cassandra would be his assistant, floors he would like to think Rapunzel had paced in worry for him as she wondered about where he was, when her father had sent men after him with no regard for the corpse of his actual father suspended in amber. Or perhaps it was when Queen Arianna- Ma-when Mom-yes, yes she is- cautiously sauntered into the-his room to check how he-Prince Varian-is doing after she heard the noises, and rushed over to his curled form as he shivered on the surprisingly cold floor, sides aching and breath faltering as he gasped and laughed and sobbed all at once.
Or maybe it is simply that he can face the woman he had almost killed more than once and throw his scrawny arms around her neck, burying his face in her shoulder and memorizing the tendrils of every breath she took, pretending that the large figure suddenly pressed against his back is his father-yes, that is Prince Varian’s very alive, very loving father and he is simply embracing his very bright, very perfect son-who he is very proud of- with his very alive, very loving mother. Only Prince Varian can desperately clutch onto his mother’s soft hand and hold it against his freckled cheek. Only Prince Varian is allowed to have his mother’s and father’s love-these are his parents, and no one else’s. Prince Varian deserves a mother and a father. There is nothing that the world can deny him anymore, for he has everything now.
He inhales the foreign scents cocooning him so encouragingly and calms the crashing wave of foreign realizations that he can no longer entertain, the soft pattering of a foreign heart and the sweet fragrance from her foreign hair brushing aside his own as he sobs in a foreign room and enjoys a foreign reality. Prince Varian doesn’t have the time for such ridiculous thoughts, such frivolous sentiments. Prince Varian has a mother and a father, he taunts at the protesting, weeping form of Varian of Old Corona-that sad, strange little face that will haunt his nights at the palace for longer than he would eventually care to admit. Prince Varian has a full stomach and a nice bed and a loving kingdom ready to bow to his every whim. Prince Varian has people who stand up for him and praise him to complete strangers. Prince Varian has everything in the world.
Prince Varian had everything and nothing, but it was far better than what Varian of Old Corona had, and that was something nonetheless.
After what seemed like a lifetime of having nothing, Prince Varian now had everything.