Dig a hole, lie in it

by Diyna

Summary:

So. Varian, village outcast, somehow makes friends with the Princess. For a while, he's not so alone anymore, but it doesn't last and it's all his fault. Until it isn't.

-

A rewrite with a few changes.

Notes:

This is kind of a canon divergence AU because I change a lot of aspects of canon, smaller in the beginning, larger as the plot moves along. It's still mostly a self-indulgent Varian-centric rewrite.
A tiny guide for which chapters belong to which seasons and more is in the End Notes for the fic ^^

Chapter 1: The joys of alchemy

Summary:

A Princess' hair is tested. A machine (or more) explodes. All in all, a productive day.

Notes:

Contents: puppy love, inventions going wrong (boom), mild injury.

The day Varian meets the Princess is shockingly unremarkable at first.

 After months of sneaking off to install his water tanks under the village and of creating whole barrels of his reactive compound, Varian’s finally at a point where all he can do now is monitor the current reiterations, maintain and possibly, update his designs where he can. It's going even better than last time, like Varian’s finally got everything right! (Unlike last time…)

Oh, that and setting up traps for the wild animals that always seem to be sneaking into his lab. Okay, that’s an overstatement, there’s really only one raccoon that keeps trying to steal his things (especially his lunches, unsurprisingly).

The glue compound in his traps has worked well so far though, Varian notes with a grin as he deposits some more of the glass spheres filled with the stuff on one of the shelves above his desk, next to the bottle of solvent for it.

He doesn’t even notice said trap going off at first, busy with welding another ring for the central boiler, one that should, theoretically, offer the whole thing more stability, but the ruckus that follows is distinctly not made up of animal noises and Varian’s head shoots up. He turns off his blowtorch and tiptoes his way to the building’s entrance. Oh God, if he somehow accidentally caught his Dad again, he’s gonna be in so much trouble. It doesn’t sound like him, though…

Cautiously, he approaches and blinks. The silhouettes in the mist are unfamiliar, but maybe they’re some women from the village? It’s hard to tell.

“What do you want?”, Varian asks, voice echoing inside of the helmet. He’s frowning, wondering if this is where another one of the village people goes on a tirade on how his alchemy is dangerous (it isn’t, it’s, like, 99.44% safe! Or was it .43…), and Varian’s not really in the mood to hear the same complaints for the hundredth time.

“Oh, uhm. Hi! Hi, sorry, we’re here to ask you about my hair, actually!”, the voice of a young woman replies, taking him by surprise, “Since you’re an expert in magic-”

Now that makes Varian place his hands on his hips, ready to give a lecture on all the differences, subtle or not, between his refined use of engineering and alchemy and the far too ephemeral nature of magic of all things. He settles on offendedly screeching:

“Magic!? I do not work with magic!”

The echoing caused by the mask is probably not helping though, and Varian is a scientist! He must remain composed, after all!

So he waves his arms around to dispel some of the mist and takes the welding mask off, smiling sheepishly.

“It’s alchemy, technically!”, he continues, “But, yeah, don’t- Don’t sweat it!”

And did he hear that right? They need his help with-

Oh.

Hair. Long hair. Really long hair. Really long, twisted into a thick plait that conceals its true length, golden hair. 

Instantly, remembering what Dad had taught him about protocol in front of the royals, Varian falls to one knee, bowing but unable to stifle an awkward laugh.

“Your Highness”, he breathes out, hoping he’s not messed up too badly.

The woman, the Princess , Varian reminds himself, looks a little surprised before a small smile tugs at her lips and she lays a hand on her chest.

“You know who I am?”, she asks.

“Y-yeah, it’s kind of hard not to! Heh”, Varian flails to answer, gesturing at her hair, and then he clears his throat, “Your Highness.”

A hand taps his shoulder, and when he looks up, the Princess smiles, bright as the sun sigil of her family.

“Please, just Rapunzel.”

Varian smiles back.

“Rapunzel”, he says, only hesitating a little.

“Alright, kid, if the introductions are done, could you get us out of… Whatever this is?”, the other person asks and Varian looks over at the woman dressed in what almost looks like hunting clothes and.

So. 

He looks at her and his heart skips a beat.

“And this is Cassandra! My best friend and my handmaiden”, Rapunzel whispers to him while all Varian can do is watch her with an awed expression. 

After shaking himself out of his stupor, Varian jumps up with another nervous laugh and goes to grab what he needs.

“Oh, that is a compound I created! It’s usually for local pests that try to sneak in here, but not to worry!”, he explains, raising a victorious hand, fingers clasped around the bottle of solvent.

He shakes his head fondly when he returns to Rapunzel and Cassandra, only to note that there’s a third guest in this odd little meetup. Namely, the raccoon he keeps having to chase out of his lab.

He shakes some of the solvent onto the glue where the little guy is stuck, picks it up and lets it run back outside into the sunlight.

“That’s fascinating! How did you-”, Rapunzel says, excitement shining in her green eyes.

“Oh, well it’s not even that hard. The color is given by heavily altered resin. To make everything sticky, there's actually these beans that-”

“RIveting, but”, Cassandra interrupts, “Let’s leave the details for later. There’s more urgent things we need to get to. Kid?”

“Right…!”

So Varian just nods, pours some more solvent over the rest of the glue and smiles, gesturing for his guests to come further into the lab. It’s a bit of a mess right now; keeping all of the water tanks in working order has taken a lot more organization than he’d thought, and the notes that help him do that are strewn all over, though he hopes the Princess and her friend don’t mind.

Throwing a glance at them now, Varian bites his lip. He should have actually been preparing to do a maintenance visit some half an hour ago before the two women showed up, but now, Varian has to cross his fingers and hope everything will remain stable a while longer. It’s not like the water tanks are functioning at maximum performance yet - he’s still doing test runs, so everything should be fine. Will be fine, he corrects himself.

“So!”, Varian starts while gathering some empty sheets of paper, tapping a pencil against his chin, “Fantastical stories of your hair returning have spread throughout Corona. Yep. People say it’s magic , but personally? Don’t really believe it.”

Oh, he could have it tested for structure, support, tensegrity, components! And he’s got just the thing…

He leads Rapunzel to lay onto a wooden stool as he adjusts some of the arms of his machine so they will actually work on her hair instead.

“My machine will run some, er, mostly harmless tests now, so don’t worry about any sudden movement, or uh, impending impact. It’s all so we can scientifically explore the traits of your hair. And we shall get to the bottom of this with the power of alche-”

Cassandra interrupts him with a less than pleased tone:

“Yeah, the power of alchemy. We get it. Now listen, kid? We need your help, but let me make something clear…”

Varian grins nervously when she approaches him, her glare a threat, but a very pretty one.

“What happens here stays here. Got it?”

“Got it!”

And with that, Varian starts his machine with the press of a button, watching to make sure everything runs smoothly. 

Now, maybe he’s relying on luck a bit at this point, but where else can he get an opportunity to study the Princess’ famous hair? Not to mention, if he does a good job, maybe Cassandra will stop glaring at him, will be impressed , actually, ha ha-

Ahem.

After a few minutes, the first test is about to come to an end, the only thing left of it being a trial with the rotary saw to see if centrifugal cutting would yield any better results on the end of one of Rapunzel’s hair strands, but evidently not.

“And with that…”, Varian comments, “We’re done!”

“Yay!”, Rapunzel grins, her face bright with it, but Varian rubs the back of his neck and points at the clock mounted on the wall with his other hand.

“...With the first test.”

The clock dings down from a bolded 87 to an ever so slightly less intimidating 86.

“Oh, but don’t worry, this should take, eh, an hour or so. Max! Even less if your hair keeps doing…”

An ax is swung at it and shattes. It had been an old ax, sure, but yikes.

“That. I'm starting to think it might genuinely be unbreakable!”

Varian’s about to explain what the other tests will entail when, not for the first time today, someone slams open the door to his lab.

“Blondie, what are you- OHMYGOD”, a man shrieks. Thankfully, he doesn’t trigger any of the animal traps, but he does seem to know the two women. And if he’s bold enough to refer to the Princess as ‘Blondie’, then he must be-

Oh God.

Holy smokes!

“Eugene! Hi”, Rapunzel says while Varian all but vibrates in place with excitement.

“Blondie! You’re okay! You wanna tell me what’s going on here?”

“She’s fine, Fitzherbert”, Cassandra groans.

After heaving a sigh, the man - and it must be him, who else would it be? - finally seems to notice Varian. He gives him a confused raise of the eyebrows, before looking between Rapunzel and Cassandra.

“You’re Flynn Rider!”, Varian whisper-yells, pressing gloved hands to his cheeks.

Another glance at Rapunzel, and in an evasive way, the man says:

“No. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen you before in my life”, a pause, “You can’t prove anything!”

Varian just slowly backs away to pull a curtain aside and reveal one of the shelves filled with his more personal belongings, the crown jewel of which is his well-loved, well-read favorite childhood book series, The Adventures of Flynnigan Rider .

“I am your biggest fan. See?”, Varian beams, even pointing at one of the wanted posters of the ex-thief he’d managed to snatch years ago to complete his collection. Dad hadn’t been very amused at the time, but he’d indulged him.

And right now, Varian is face to face with none other than Flynn Rider himself! Or, er, the Princess’ current boyfriend too, but c’mon! It’s Flynn Rider !

At that, the suspicion from before eases and the man steps closer, which only makes Varian smile wider. His cheeks are starting to hurt with it and Varian can't even be bothered to mind.

“Huh. Hey. Flynn Rider. Nice to be met”, he smirks and stretches out a hand, which Varian vigorously shakes.

“I used to see your wanted posters all the time before, you know”, he gestures vaguely in the Princess’ direction, “You’re my hero!”

“Oh, well… ‘Hero’ is a bit much.”

“I’ve read every single book about you!”, Varian points to his books again, barely stopping himself from squealing. Flynn purses his lips.

“Uhm, ah ha. You see, that’s not actually me, I just took the name from the book and-”

“Hey, hey! You remember the time you dueled that evil knight, blindfolded?”

“Nope. Once again, not me-”

Varian takes out one of the modified saws he’s been using to cut metal sheets for the water tanks and he does a pretty good imitation of the scene, if he says so himself.

“-You wanna put that down or-”

“Oh, oh, oh! Or the time you took on the Earl of Camembert!”

As Flynn keeps denying his own heroic deeds, humble as he always is, Varian notes that, in the background, there is another conversation being held.

And, gosh, today is really proving to be the best day of Varian’s life. He’s not only met royalty, but also the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and his hero! How could anything go wrong now?

Finally, after Varian has relented and put the saw back down, still grinning like a little child on Christmas, Flynn turns back to the women.

“Would someone please explain to me who this child is?”, he implores.

“I’m Varian!”, Varian says proudly, puffing his chest out, nearly tripping as he does. He should really clean up in here.

Flynn opens his mouth to say something else, brows still knit together, when the ground rumbles below their feet.

And just like that, Varian snaps out of the happy spell, eyes wide and staring at the ground, already imagining what he will find. Oh no. Oh no , no, no, no!

“Wait. What’s that rumbling?”, Flynn asks instead, but Rapunzel shrugs, about as confused as he seems. Cassandra gives Varian an apprehensive glare.

He laughs nervously. 

He has to get out of here, has to make sure the pressure isn’t going haywire. 

He hadn’t been lying, the tests really should go smoothly, so if he just manages to sneak away before they’re done, everything will be fine. 

And hey, the printing will give him a few extra minutes as well, the spectrometric press has certainly seen better days. So-

Oh. He’s left the press somewhere in the cave systems, hasn’t he?

Oh, Varian, you fool , he thinks to himself.

“Trembling? I didn’t notice any trembling, haha. I mean, what”, he tries, then, “But uhm, I do have to get my spectrometric press. The tests are useless if we can’t read the result, h-huh?”

With that, he makes to push past Flynn, when an idea strikes Varian. Suddenly, his wish to awe his childhood hero overwhelms any cautionary warnings going off in his head that sound suspiciously like Dad’s voice.

“Hey! Flynn Rider! Wanna come? I can show you a super secret project I’ve been working on on the way and-”

“A secret, you say?”, the man’s eyes light up, “You wanna tell me a secret? Did you hear that, everyone? Varitas- V- Var-”

“Varian!”

“A complete stranger wants to tell me a secret! He trusts me , unlike some of us - ahem. Lead the way, kid!”

And so Varian does, stomach a mixture of roiling nausea and fluttering enthusiasm. But everything will be fiiine .

 

---

 

Everything is not fine.

Varian basically chews a hole into his lips, keeping his worried mumbling and ranting to himself as they approach the central water tank. Yes. The trembling is coming from here, Varian knows, and he knows why .

He’s still tweaking the pressure release valves, they don’t quite work properly yet so it has to be done manually every so often, but the reaction has never seemed quite so strong before. Is there a leak somewhere? Damn it, how didn’t he notice before?

Still, he should keep up a confident face in front of Flynn! He wants the man to be impressed, not to think Varian’s messed up his calculations again, after all!

“Ah, there it is!”, Varian runs forward and grabs the press, then looks at the tank with narrowed eyes.

“Alright. Listen buddy, I need you to tell me everything that the Princess told you”, Flynn suddenly speaks up, making Varian nearly drop the press.

He turns to meet the man’s eyes, then laughs.

“Oh! Yeah, well, okay. First, she said-”, and he launches into another one of his rants, oh God, maybe the other kids in the village are right, he does speak too much - Flynn asked him to, though , explaining everything he’s heard, from seeking aid for the mystery of the returning ‘magical’ hair, then backtracking to when she and Cassandra got stuck in one of Varian’s booby-traps, and oh, the claim of him doing magic, that wasn’t very nice at all and-

“Right. That’s great, but what I mean is, tell me the important stuff!”

Varian looks at Flynn, then at the water tank, then at the press in his arms, which he slowly lowers back down. He can talk and work at the same time, because the rattling metal sounds behind him are really frying Varian’s poor nerves right about now-

“Well, Mr. Rider, when the Princess of Corona speaks directly to you”, Varian begins, climbing over some of the not-boiling-hot parts of his invention, taking out a wrench and hoping against all hope that, if he does this fast enough, the released steam won’t blast him with a face-full of scalding air, “Every word she says important!”

“Yeah, but- What are you doing…?”

Varian laughs again, a bit louder and even more nervous as sweat begins to build on his brow. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon-

“Oh, just, heh, doing some minor fixes if we’re already h-here! And I believe I-I promised you a secret, right?”

Flynn stares at the large machine as if this is the first time he’s actually noticed it, either awe or abject horror plastered over his face, Varian just isn’t quite sure which.

“Here? This ?”, he asks.

The ground shakes again and Varian turns back to the valve he’d been working on, arms moving faster. Flynn’s eyes widen.

“Y-yep! This- My creation, it uses a chemical reaction that produces heat near instantaneously and the pressure leads the water through the pipes! These tunnels run through my entire village, you see”, in spite of himself, excitement still creeps into Varian’s voice; he so rarely gets to show off his inventions, and to do so in front of the Flynn Rider-

“I… Don’t get it…?”, Flynn’s face is still unreadable, but Varian smiles, still thinking it’s a positive sort of confusion all the same.

“Using this machine and my newest compound”, he pauses, thinking, then grins, “Named Flynnoleum , I’m going to surprise my village with hot, running water!”

Varian makes a wide motion with his arms, rench still held tight between gloved fingers.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait”, Flynn shakes his head, “Your machines are causing the tremors?”

Not exactly .

“No! No, certainly not…! It’s the compounds interacting and the explosive energy they produce to-”

“And no one knows you’re doing this?”

“Oh no. If my Dad knew what I was doing down here, he’d probably kill me”, Varian chuckles, brows furrowed.

Flynn looks at the tank, then at Varian, who’s putting all his failing strength back into working the wrench. Something is stuck, but he knows he can fix it, he’s done it before, he can-

“Okay. Listen, kiddo, I’m no expert in. Whatever this is. But something that can cause earthquakes cannot be safe. We’ve gotta warn people about this. We’ve gotta - oh my God, Rapunzel!”

He mumbles something along the lines of and the harpy, yeesh under his breath, but Varian freezes. The air around him is getting hotter. He needs to fix that valve, and right now, but Flynn’s words have snapped him right out of that zone.

“But, we can’t-”, he tries, only to be interrupted again when Flynn runs a hand down his face and speaks, voice leaving no room for argument.

“I’m gonna go get Blondie and Cass. You- You need to get out of here and tell the others, kid. Got it?”

And then he takes off running, just like that.

If nothing else, at least Flynn proves that he is the brave hero who tries to save others that Varian knows so well from his books, but he doesn’t understand . His inventions aren’t dangerous , they aren’t! They need a bit of work still, but Varian’s done the math, so why-

With a sigh and a hand placed over his suddenly too quick heart, Varian gaze narrows with determination. He picks his wrench back up, but instead of trying to work on one of the stuck bolts, he just starts hitting it against the metal components, hoping the force will knock something loose.

He gasps, feeling the heat to his left growing worse and worse, even through his gloves, but then, suddenly, with a hissing sound, something gives.

“Ow!”, he gasps when something strikes his left arm, through the glove, but he doesn’t linger. The machine has stopped shaking.

Not wasting any more time here but still feeling satisfied with his own perseverance, see, he can do this, he has got this , Varian runs through another tunnel. The pressure in the central tank must have affected the other five machines set up throughout the caves. Two of them have been inactive for days now, so that leaves - three. Varian can deal with three more possibly life-threatening escapades.

This won’t be like last time, it won’t, it won’t, it won’t-

His previous iterations haven’t been successful, not quite, but this time, he thought he had it, it’s why he’s started spreading out the water tanks and it won’t all get ruined, it won’t!

The cave lets out into the village, and for just a moment, the sunlight disorients him, but before he can shake it off and go towards the other water tanks, someone grabs him by the arm and Varian finds their grip too strong to jerk himself out of.

When he looks at them, his jaw drops.

“Listen, kid”, Cassandra says, “We gotta get outta here!”

He isn’t even sure how she found him, or why she’s trying to, to get him out of here, he can leave by himself if needs to, but that’s not what he needs to do right now, no-

“No! No !”, he tries again to get her to let go, but her eyes are hard and the fingers are even harder where they tighten their hold on him, “No, there’s still time, I’ve got three pumps to shut off and-”

And I can’t let this happen again!

“Look out!”

Something flies towards them as the chain of explosions begins, all at once. Much sooner than Varian had anticipated. Had he been wrong? Even in the calculations for the fail-safes? Crap, of course he’d been wrong, of course-

Everything turns dark.

For a second, Varian thinks that, either he’s fainted, or whatever struck them in the explosion actually took him out. He does hope Cassandra wasn’t caught up in it though, she was only trying to help and - Cassandra!

She stands above him, like an angel, and looks at him sternly until she notices that he’s awake. Something brief passes over her face and then she’s helping him up.

There’s that intoxicating feeling of relief, because, holy crap, he didn’t die, he’s alive , and it makes a bubble of pure exhilaration pop in his chest.

“Thank you”, he says, climbing out of what he realizes is a cylinder piece from one of his tanks, and then, more lightheartedly and with a little bow to counter his shaking voice and his unsteady movements, “M’lady.”

Cassandra groans and the corner of her lips twitches up.

But whatever cheeriness he’d felt at not being dead bleeds right out of him when he looks around.

The people are starting to gather outside their houses. Thankfully, they seem uninjured, but the houses…

Cracked walls and shattered windows and fallen doors and roofs that curve more than they ever did before, with missing tiles that are now implanted in the road. A tree that’s fallen down over a loaded cart. So much rubble in the streets, most of it pieces of his own, now broken, inventions.

Then, Varian shrinks in on himself as he hears his father’s voice, distant at first, then getting closer, calling his name.

“Varian!”

“Oh no…”, he whispers to himself.

When Cassandra raises a curious eyebrow, he continues, hanging his head and raising a hand to try to signal his presence to the man quickly approaching them.

“That’s my Dad.”

“Varian? Varian, where-”, he sees them and runs towards his son, “Varian!”

Quirin falls to his knees to embrace his son after a cursory glance reveals that is mostly uninjured, if a little dusty.

“Varian, what happened?”, Quirin asks after the moment passes.

“I… I’m sorry, Dad.”

He’s used to seeing disappointment reflected in his father’s brown eyes, but somehow, it doesn’t hurt any less now. Oh, if only the ground had swallowed him whole when it had been shaking because of his stupid, stupid, stupid mistakes.

“Oh son. Not again…”, there’s a heavy sigh, tired and world-weary, before Quirin gets up, turning his back on Varian and addressing the small crowd watching them.

Varian himself turns to Cassandra.

“Thanks. Again. For, uh… For that. I’ll see if I can still get the results a-and get them to you and… Yeah. But you should probably go now”, he trails off.

Cassandra looks in the direction of Varian’s lab and simply pats Varian’s shoulder before she leaves.

“Try not to get into any more trouble, kid.”

The gesture is a little comforting.

He half-smiles as he starts picking up the rubble. Cleanup will take a while, but he dreads it much less than the talk that he and his Dad are sure to have later tonight.

 

---

 

But the part-expected, part-feared conversation never happens.

In fact, even as Varian brings the rest of the rubble back to his lab so he can sort through everything in the morning in the hopes of finding something useful, his father barely acknowledges him on his way to lock up the animals for the night.

Dinner is a silent affair, and that only changes towards the end, when Varian picks up the stack of dishes to take them to the sink, only to wince and change his grip with his left hand.

“Varian. Show me your arm”, Quirin says, quiet and deep, exhaustion covering up whatever emotions he’s feeling. Disappointment, embarrassment, shame, he guesses. Varian bites at his lip, finishes placing the dishes in the sink and faces his Dad.

“I-it’s fine”, he tries, laughing, “I just moved it wrong when I-”

“ Varian . Your arm.”

Silence.

“Yes, sir.”

As Varian slowly takes off his left glove, he has to quickly look away. The burnt skin isn’t pretty but the dried blood makes him look away with a wince. Thankfully, he doesn’t faint.

Quirin looks, holds his son’s small wrist and turns it this way and that, only to gesture to the stairs that lead to where the bedrooms are.

The silence persists in Varian’s room.

Even after, when he’s done bandaging the burn, the air is too still, stuffy and uncomfortable in a way Varian can never stand. He feels so small, and he knows it’s his own fault, but…

Varian watches his father where he is kneeling before his bed, tying a knot in the bandages with gentle fingers that don’t quite mirror his distant demeanor. Varian watches and he can’t help but wonder when he will stop. Stop making a mess wherever he goes. Stop causing trouble for everyone, but especially his Dad. 

Varian loves his father. He is everything Varian has. And what does Varian do to repay the love and support and safety his father offers him so readily?

He nearly kills people with explosions because he couldn’t be bothered to be more cautious. Or to not do anything at all. Whatever childish fantasies Varian has of doing something that will make life easier for his village, it’s all a dream. He can’t get anything right anyway.

He lowers his eyes to the carpet in the middle of his bedroom floor, avoiding Quirin’s gaze in return as he asks:

“Dad?”

But there is no response. Quirin gathers the medical supplies and leaves his son seated on the bed. He leaves and doesn’t say another word.

For a long moment, Varian just waits in silence, chest growing tight.

Then he forces himself to breathe.

Varian looks at his desk, his goggles placed neatly on top of scattered pieces of paper and parchment, alongside one of his gloves.

Maybe… Maybe tomorrow he can find something less risky to work on until things calm down. Something small. But tonight, he starts gathering up all of the boiler plans, stuffing them in his drawer and slamming it shut harder than he’d intended, his teeth aching with how hard he clenches them to keep from giving into his emotions.

Tonight, he stares out the window, at the moon and star lit sky and wonders, wonders, wonders.

Is this all he will ever amount to? Just a stupid kid (and he’s not a kid, but for how he acts, can he blame people for calling him that?) who delves into strange sciences that frighten the people around him and who puts everyone in danger?

 

---

 

Notes:

Might insert a comic or sketch here and there. I actually prefer to do visual storytelling, but comics take me ages to make :(

Chapter 2: Seek and find

Summary:

Some weird rocks have sprouted up in the forest near their village. Varian finds that they've taken a captive while he explores.

Notes:

Contents: father-son talks, animal injury (it gets taken care of).

Things don’t instantly get better, but Dad never does stay mad at him for too long. Usually, at least.

The following few days, Varian tries to stay in line: he does his chores, helps out with the animals, goes into the village and makes sure no damage has been left unfixed after the accident.

It’s not like the people of Old Corona hold grudges easily, not for things like these anyway. Most of them are farmers and have faced far worse disasters with less understandable causes, and this time, no one has been hurt, thankfully. That’s one of the few things that Varian keeps repeating in his mind, that no one got hurt, that things can always be replaced when broken, and no one got hurt.

But there is one thing that Varian is still working on…

He looks at it right now, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes, wiggling the wet paper in front of him. The writing on it is barely still legible, but it's not like it makes much sense. I mean, unbreakable, uncuttable, un-everything-else hair? Still, Varian owes it to the Princess and her friends for all the trouble he’s given them.

Grabbing a paper and quill, he transcribes whatever conclusions he can make out and fills in the gaps where he has a hypothesis or another, but it's all… Incomplete.

All in all, without the full story of how it even grew back, or a sample from before, when the hair had still supposedly been magical, but possessing entirely different abilities, it’s hard for Varian to dig deeper into things. Maybe he can… Mail the results and ask some additional questions? There’s just too little information to go off of.

What a conundrum.

Varian sets the quill down and looks at the results and at the transcript again.

He hears his Dad coming down the steps of his lab before he sees him, and Varian scrambles to hide the pieces of paper underneath some other plans he has laying around.

“Varian? What are you up to now?”, Quirin asks, and though he sounds tired, hey! He’s speaking to him again, so Varian counts it as a win. He’s not even doing anything bad this time around, so double win.

“Oh, hi! Hi Dad! I was actually thinking I’d clean things up a bit around here!”

It’s not a lie. He should have done it before, and with the mess left after the explosions, his lab needs more help than ever before.

“Ah. I see”, he moves in closer, voice a bit lighter.

Varian actually looks around at the lab, his father mirroring the action and he thinks for a second before he decides to bite the bullet.

“I am… I’m sorry about the tanks… You know?”, he says, trying for nonchalant, but he thinks he lands closer to just a bit too miserable still.

Quirin looks down at him, really looks at him, and then draws Varian into a one-armed hug. Varian feels his muscles loosen a little.

“I know, son”, and that’s Varian’s cue.

“I never meant for them to explode”, he begins, “And things were going well. For a while, anyway. I still had to monitor them, ‘cuz the pressure kept fluctuating. But i-it was sloppy.”

To admit it to himself is one thing, to admit it out loud is another. Like admitting that he’s still a ways off from getting things right is any less embarrassing than having his machines explode at the drop of a hat. Somehow, that’s what it feels like.

“A-and… Last time, last time was… More of that…”, he gulps in a deep breath of air, but it doesn’t reach his lungs properly.

“Varian”, his father starts, slowly, carefully, and his tone is oddly neutral, intentionally so, “I know that your intentions are good. I know that you have a bright mind and a kind heart…”

But.

He looks up at Quirin’s face, noting the forlorn look in his eyes.

“But this cannot keep happening. I know your alchemy and your inventions make you happy.”

“But you don’t want me to hurt people”, Varian says, then. Unable to look, unwilling to look at his Dad right now, he studies the floor instead. Wood. Some burn or skid marks here and there. A nail sticking out further towards the window. He’ll have to fix that. “I… I never meant to, I only wanted to… T-to help, right? To do something right, for once.”

But intentions and consequences always make a show of going in opposing directions, that’s been Varian’s experience.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Varian.”

That makes him blink hard. Once, twice. He still can’t look at his father.

Then he snorts.

“Pf. That’s not a pro-”

Quirin raises a still bandaged forearm, fingers holding onto the wrist softly. Varian squints.

“...Alright, so a little scratch. But it’s - it isn’t that important. A few bumps and bruises, that’s nothing!”

“And if one day it’s not just bumps and bruises anymore?”, Quirin asks quietly.

That doesn’t matter. Why would that matter? It’s all in the name of science , Varian wants to say, but instead he tilts his head further down, slumping his shoulders.

“That’s not what anyone else cares about. They’re scared I’ll do something to them”, Varian clarifies. The arm around him tightens suddenly.

“People… Are scared of the things they don’t know, or don’t understand”, Dad says, tentatively, “Varian. I’m not asking you to give up alchemy.”

Varian stops breathing for a bit there.

“I’m asking you to be careful .”

And this would be easier if he were wrong. Dad isn’t wrong, though. Varian looks at him again and tries to go for a smile. It’s a bit shaky, but all things considered, it’s good enough.

His father looks at him with warm eyes. Not disappointed, but soft, in a way.

Quirin isn’t a soft man. Respectable, yes, caring, sure, but not soft. Not with anyone except his son. Varian’s breath stutters out of him and he goes to hug his father fully, dropping his forehead against his chest.

Dad isn’t wrong .

“I can be more meticulous”, he whispers, thinking, I can be better , “Sometimes… Sometimes things go wrong regardless, but I can try to - to be more careful.”

Just wait. You’ll see.

Quirin’s hold only seems to tighten, and there’s comfort in that. There’s a kiss pressed to the top of his head, like he remembers from when he was younger, less reckless. It’s a rarer gesture nowadays.

“You’re a smart boy, Varian. I believe in you, I always have.”

Varian smiles, then, and it’s not quite what he wants to hear, but maybe it’s what he needs to hear.

But one day… One day, he’ll make his father change his mind, he’ll show him that he can do so much more, be so much more.

 

---

 

Quirin tells him of some business he has to take care of in the village, something about solving a dispute between two shepherds before things escalate and they take it to the King. Varian laughs, then clears his throat and pretends seriousness again, though he can see how his father’s lips quirk up ever so slightly as well.

When he’s alone, Varian looks around at his mess of a lab, estimating how long organizing would take. Then, he takes the list back out and decides that his Dad will be busy for a few hours. It should give Varian enough time to run to the castle and back, right? If he hurries.

And Quirin is always telling Varian he should go out more, so really, Varian’s just following advice.

 

---

 

The journey is uneventful, except that the letter, which Varian had carefully placed in a sealed envelope, sits heavy in his bag and he isn’t quite so sure of this anymore, as the castle island comes into view.

What are the logistics of giving this information to the Princess without any of the guards somehow sniffing him out? He remembers how secretive Cassandra had seemed, even more so than the Princess, and so he assumes that keeping the mere existence of their visit to Old Corona should likewise be kept hidden.

Varian supposes he’ll have to wing it.

Still, the streets of the castle isle are always nice to wander, he thinks.

The people move in busy lines, but some seem to just be out here to enjoy themselves, watching their children dance and run around or gathering outside of small shops and talking amongst themselves.

When he passes the most renowned of Corona’s blacksmiths, even closer to the castle now, Varian smiles at the image of the man animatedly sharing a riveting tale to a circle of children that have gathered around him. Varian thinks his name is Xavier, but he’s sure of one thing only: the quality of his work is astounding and Varian can afford none of it. Still, though! The craftsmanship of it all!

Finally, courage beginning to drain out of him, Varian finds himself standing at the beginning of the sloped road leading right up to the castle.

“Okay, Varian”, he tells himself, “You’ve got this.”

Surely, he can pretend to be another one of the citizens who has come to talk to the King. Maybe… Ah. Sheep conflicts. And Varian’s just the spokesperson. Then he’ll run off and try to find a familiar face. Rapunzel had said Cassandra was also her handmaiden, right? So maybe-

The plan is abandoned in favor of simply waving his arm in greeting and sprinting towards the castle’s entrance portal. He’d been overthinking this afterall!

“Hi, Cassandra, hi Your H- Rapunzel!”, Varian calls out; some guards look at him warily.

“Huh?”, Rapunzel is the first to answer back, surprise turning to a very wide smile, “Oh! Varian, hello!”

He approaches the two and notes that they’re… Painting? The inside of the wall gate is covered with pastel-colored birds. It’s quite pretty, actually, and he raises an eyebrow in question.

“Redecorating?”, he asks lightheartedly, but he oomphs when he nearly trips over a paint can.

“Careful there, Varian”, Cassandra says in lieu of greeting, sarcasm dripping from her words, ”Wouldn’t want to have to ‘redecorate’ you as well.”

”Heh. Why are you painting the wall here?”

“Oh! Oh, this! This is just the consequence of Cass getting rapunzeled!”

Varian blinks.

“It’s a prank thing”, Cassandra adds, covering another painted twig with an easy stroke of the brush in her hand. Oh.

“You did this?”, he asks her, taking a closer look at the birds. It looks more like a mural than a prank. An even closer look reveals that the inside of the castle wall is painted up as well, with even more animal variety.

“Yep. You should have seen the look on my Dad’s face when he saw it! Or on Cass’ when he told us to repaint it by nightfall, hm!”, she giggles and the sound is contagious.

“It’s really nice! The rumors about you being a painter were right, huh?”, Varian asks.

“Awww, you think it’s nice? Thank you, Varian!”, and Varian isn’t prepared to be tackled into a hug for just a compliment.

“But you didn’t come here to just admire Raps’ paintings, did you?”

Varian raises a finger. Lowers it. Looks sideways and mumbles.

“Er, no. No, not really.”

He looks at the guards again and Cassandra catches the movement, sending them off with a dismissive gesture of her hand before she looks back at Varian, expecting something.

Taking out the letter from his bag, he goes to hand it to her. When Rapunzel is close enough where Varian can just whisper without being overheard by any other guards or castle staff further in the courtyard, he says:

“Other than the fact that your hair is unbreakable, there’s not much I found out. B-but, you know, if you ever need anymore help, I can-”

“Of course!”, Rapunzel says just as Cassandra mutters, “We’re good, thanks.”

Varian rubs the back off his neck and takes a step back, voice back to normal volume when speaks next.

“Well, that would be all. Sorry I couldn’t help that much. Good luck to you ladies with the paintjob!”

Cassandra goes back to painting, but Varian thinks he sees a hint of her smile on her face and that leaves him grinning, face flushed.

“Aw, no worries, Varian. You did what you could. Oh! If you’re ever around the castle again, you should totally pay us a visit!”

Wait, what?

“You want me… To visit you?”, he asks, not quite getting it. Rapunzel’s enthusiastic nod deepens his confusion until she elaborates.

“It’s what friends do! I could show you more paintings and you , sir, could show me how to make that glue thingy!”

“Please don’t-”, Cassandra calls, prompting both Varian and Rapunzel to burst into giggles, Varian’s perhaps only a lick more hysterical.

It’s what friends do .

“Bye Cassandra, bye Rapunzel!”, he says when he finally leaves, but the words are still stuck playing in his mind, over and over. He doesn’t stop smiling as he makes his way home. 

Friends! The Princess had called them friends! Is it just because he had tried (and failed, Varian rememembers, cringing) to help them back in Old Corona? But, friends !

Varian’s never had many of those, and so of course his heart is all over the place.

Friends .

 

---

 

“Something’s got you in a good mood.”

“I, heh… I went out today. You know how you always say I should leave the lab more, and yeah..”

“Hm?”

“Yes! And… I may have met some friends!”

Quirin smiles at him softly as they eat their dinner, the quick pitter-patter of the rain outside the windows aiding their conversation with a more muted, comfortable air.

“Varian, that is wonderful. I take it they’re not from the village?”, his father asks.

“Nope! They’re from the isle! And… They’re really nice. Rapunzel even said she wanted to know more about my alchemy!”

“That’s wo… Wait. Ra- The Princess ?”

For once, Varian manages to surprise his Dad, and not in the way he remains stunned when one of Varian’s inventions goes wrong in ways he could have never even imagined, but rather, it’s just pure shock.

Varian nods, still smiling when he shovels more porridge in his mouth.

“Hm. Hmmm. Unexpected, but… How did you meet her Highness, of all people?”, his father asks after clearing his throat.

Varian waves his hand.

“Oh, you know. Just… J-just, around here! Somewhere. She, uhm… Likes… Meeting her people?”

If Quirin sees the obvious lie for what it is, he says nothing and Varian internally breathes out a sigh of relief. His Dad won’t push him on it tonight, but Varian should really try and find an excuse as to how exactly he’s met Rapunzel without outing her secret visit days prior.

“And you say that you are friends?”, Quirin finally settles on a different question.

“Yeah, totally! And her other friends are so cool! She’s got this really awesome lady in waiting, oh, oh, and Flynn Rider! Can you believe it, Dad? Okay so-”

He spouts everything he knows, with some flourishes to hide the visit that started this whole thing, but Varian is just so excited, because nobody’s ever tried to be his friend and he’s so excited and-

And to his credit, Quirin just listens.

Something in his face remains wary because, Varian notes; the Princess is the Princess, and his Dad’s always respected the King and his family, but he smiles at his son’s tales all the same, happy to see Varian happy. And Varian is! He really, really is!

Quirin supposes that, even if the Princess had just wanted to be polite to one of her subjects, there isn’t much harm. Varian’s rarely made friendships that lasted beyond the playground, so to speak. His interests tended to isolate him as a child, and now as a teenager, his reputation has spread a bit too quickly.

So he indulges his son just as the Princess likely has and keeps listening, smiling and lovingly ruffling his boy’s hair.

 

---

 

Finally, the day comes that Varian tackles cleaning his lab. But! While sorting through his messes, he does find a bunch of older plans and sketches that he could turn into something new, something different. Most of them are simple reactive solutions, and (almost) none of them explode! Others are simple mechanisms for harnessing centrifugal energy.

Things to work on while the memory of his latest accident is still too fresh. Small things. Easy things.

It’s no grand invention that changes the standards of comfort of the entire kingdom like what his imagination flings itself towards when he isn’t careful, but at least it’s something .

As he puts away more sheets of paper, Varian even finds a formula for glow-in-the-dark ink. Not that most of the compounds he makes aren’t already mildly bioluminescent, but hey, he did tell himself he’d stick to small stuff. And this could be some type of lightsource as a more practical application, or…

Or a very interesting component of an artwork .

And he wonders if maybe… Rapunzel would like something like this?

The thought of sharing an invention with a friend, an actual friend who hasn’t pushed him away because his alchemy isn’t easily understandable. Maybe, maybe…

Well, he would have to first make the ink anyway before anything else. But he’s more excited about it now.

Oh. And finish cleaning.

Varian groans and gets back to work after stuffing a bite of a ham sandwich into his mouth.

 

---

 

When Varian has the ink ready along with a few other bits and bobs, whispers of future projects made miniature and harmless, he decides that a proper demonstration is in order.

The formula isn’t dangerous, and he’s done a few tests to see if the mild acidity does anything to his skin or other materials already. It’s as safe as can be! Still, when Quirin asks where he’s going after dinner that night, he tells his father that he’s just going on a walk to see the fireflies, like he used to do when he was younger instead.

Quirin raises an eyebrow, but then he throws Varian an apple.

“For the road”, he says, bemused, and Varian yells his thanks, already running out the door not a moment later.

Oh, but there really are fireflies outside now. Pretty, but not what Varian needs! They light up the moonless night a bit too well.

He needs a darker place. Humming, a hand flies up to the vial of ink he’s tied with a string around his neck, under his collar. It seems to glow faintly, but it could very well just be the light of the fireflies reflecting off of the glass container.

Varian nods to himself and heads deeper into the woods. He’s been traveling this forest, with his Dad, and then on his own in the last couple of years, since he could walk. It’s hard to get lost, even in the near utter darkness that surrounds him the further he delves into the trees.

Finally, when it's so dark Varian can’t even tell the difference when he blinks, the darkness darknessing just as well either way, he stops and takes a breath.

Slowly, Varian retrieves the vial, shakes the liquid inside it to stir its calculated reaction and, suddenly, in a small circle around him, a pink glow lights up the trees and bushes and grasses and Varian lets out a small sound. 

Victory! 

It’s even more intense than what he’d expected!

“It works. It works!”

And maybe it’s not the easiest to make, but for short-term lighting fixtures? It actually works! And nothing’s exploded this time, so-

Varian’s racing thoughts stop as soon as he hears a strange, muffled sound.

Mouth half-open, he falls completely still. Maybe… Maybe he’d just heard himself stepping on a branch or-or a bit of gravel underneath the leaf-covered floor of the forest. Or it could be one of the nocturnal animals prowling about. They rarely actually attack, but then again, everyone in the village always says they shouldn’t venture out after sunset. A rule Varian has disregarded for years; many things scare him, he's not the bravest man around, but the forest rarely does.

Varian holds his breath and, as swiftly and noiselessly as he can, he cups his hands around the ink vial, extinguishing its light and crouching into a stance, ready to run.

He listens.

Silence.

And then…

There it is again !

It sounds like… Like rumbling earth, like a giant something . Or.

Varian steels himself, squaring his shoulders and approaching the direction of the sound with quiet steps of his own. In his mind, he plans the route he should take to go home, but his nerves still prickle with something, with this odd combination of apprehension and curiosity. He needs to know.

And finally, a silhouette reveals itself just so. 

Or . 

It looks like spikes, too straight, but in a clump that doesn’t really look human made. It’s not moving, so with a shudder, Varian unclenches his fingers from his light source and the pink light finally illuminates the scene.

As soon as the light hits the strange objects, a hiss echoes in the air and Varian has to blink a couple of times before he processes the image before him.

It’s so… It’s such a…

The spikes are just that, spikes, but though they seem stone-like, their facets glow like crystals in the pink light. Oddly enough, the air feels colder around them and the shadows not banished by his little ink vial seem even darker.

Some of them are twice as tall as Varian himself is, while others are small enough that Varian could have stepped on them and not even noticed.

Were these… Always here? Sure, Varian likes staying in his lab, his Dad had been right about that, but he goes out! He likes walking around when he needs to clear his head and he doesn’t have other chores to do. It’s nice. But he’s never seen these rocks, or anything like them for that matter.

Oddly enough, they look like they’ve sprouted directly from the ground. Looking a little further, he can see the cluster trailing off between the trees, towards the outskirts, towards another part of the wall, but his light doesn’t reach far enough for him to tell how much further the spikes actually go.

This couldn’t be a prank, could it? Varian tilts his head to the side. Well, it would be a very non-practical, practical joke, these things look like they weigh tons!

Walking around the cluster, Varian hears another hiss, the noise so much smaller than the rumbling. But he has heard this one before too, just when he’d shined the glowing ink over the rock formations. And now he’s found the source.

“Oh. Oh no”, he gasps. He immediately covers his eyes and holds his breath, nausea roiling in his gut.

Somehow, something’s gotten stuck in the spikes. Possibly fell from a tree.

Even while he’s not looking, Varian can still hear the poor thing, yowling in pain.

It’s not impaled, thank goodness , but it had hurt its front leg and its cheek and it’s started bleeding. Varian had only caught a glimpse of red, darker in the animal’s fur, but bright against the black surface of the spikes it is wedged between.

He has to do something.

Fingers shaking a little, Varian reaches into the pocket of his apron and fishes out a rag. He usually uses it to wipe his hands when he’s busy building his inventions or messing with chemicals and is too preoccupied to go wash his hands properly, but for now, it will have to do. It's clean and the best alternative to straight up fainting.

Very slowly, he takes a step towards the rocks, hesitating only when he hears a growl in response.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I don’t want to hurt you…”, Varian coos.

Then, thankful for how thick his leather gloves are in case the poor animal lashes out in fear, Varian wipes at where he can somewhat feel its leg, then picks it up with his other hand, holds it against his chest, and risks another glance down.

He does hold his breath, and it’s a good thing too, for how his vision blurs a little at the sight of the remaining droplets of near dry blood goop, but he wipes it off, stuffs the rag back in his pocket, and secures the animal, a raccoon, with both of his arms.

The poor thing had struggled right up until it had noticed Varian was taking him away from the - now that he looks at them - awfully sharp edges of the rocks. Now, he watches Varian with too shiny eyes, sniffing at his apron, but still shaking.

Varian’s brows knit together in concern.

“Gosh, how long were you out here, buddy?”, Varian asks, using his fingers to, very carefully, caress the raccoon’s head.

It chitters, but it’s a weak sound; much weaker than its hissing had been before.

Varian thinks for a second, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It doesn’t seem particularly aggressive now that Varian’s rescued it somewhat, but those wounds could be serious. Well… Well, Dad won’t mind , Varian decides, lips thinning into a line.

He just has to get this little fellow a little help and then Varian will release him back into the forest.

“What say you we go get you taken care of, huh, buddy?”

He swears the chirp it makes sounds like an affirmative. That settled, Varian begins walking, but he stops not even two seconds later when the raccoon keeps nosing at Varian’s apron, then lower, at his pockets.

Varian frowns, then blinks, then smiles.

The apple, of course!

He takes it out of his pocket and at that, some energy seems to flow back into the fluffy animal. It reaches towards it with its little paws and its striped tail does a wiggle.

Varian chuckles. Now that he looks at the guy, it’s strikingly familiar to the visitor that kept sneaking into his lab. No wonder he hadn’t seen him around if- Oh…

And now Varian wonders if it had been here this whole time, trapped, and in pain, and his resolve to help it becomes even stronger.

Varian hands the raccoon his apple and, as quickly as he can, he walks home, only sparing the sharp rocks behind him one last look before they fade from the range of the pink vial.

 

---

 

Notes:

I hecking love Ruddiger, he's just drawn so adorably and he's such a rascal, it's heartwarming! I'm no good at writing animal characters, but let's see how this goes. Plotwise, if I understood it correctly, he joins Varian sometime between the expo episode and blizzard mess, but hey. Liberties.

Chapter 3: Sharing is caring

Summary:

The mystery of the rocks eludes Varian. A distraction comes in the form of one bubbly Princess, a chubby raccoon and a trip to the castle.

Notes:

Contents: so many apples, developing friendships.

Varian doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

Treating still sluggishly bleeding wounds when one faints at the sight of blood is harder than anticipated. Who knew?

He manages, though, and after a while, it gets a little easier; either because the bleeding very nearly stops or because of the way the tired raccoon purrs, almost catlike, obviously in much less pain than before, makes Varian feel lighter, it doesn’t matter. 

Point is, by the time the sun finally starts shining through one of the few windows in his lab, he’s got a patched up raccoon sleeping on one of his now clean desks, a vial of pink ink still tied with long string around his neck which looks so much darker in the light and three apples less than before.

All in all, a very productive night!

There’s an undulating pressure behind his eyes and his knees buckle slightly when he pushes himself away from the desk, but Varian can’t seem to mind. Aw, but the little guy is so sweet when he sleeps, mouth open and snoring-chirping, one of his little fangs pointing outwards.

Sure, he’s a wild animal, but with the understanding that he keeps coming back to Varian’s lab and yet he’s never made much trouble, there is a sense of fondness for him.

Varian takes a moment to think, taking his gloves off and leaving them near the raccoon. If he goes to bed now, he may still get an hour or so of sleep. But he’s supposed to go with his father in the fields today, so being tired for that won’t be fun. Being sluggish and feeling too heavy after an attempt to lay down even less.

Humming to himself tunelessly, Varian takes the ink vial in hand and holds it against the intensifying sunlight from outside before putting it in a little cup filled with pencils, bistouries and other trinkets on his desk. 

Sighing, Varian decides that going to sleep now wouldn’t really help much at all, so instead, he goes to make breakfast.

His father finds him like that half an hour later; he looks ready for the day. He does blink at seeing Varian already up and about, the table in the kitchen covered with fresh fruit, a cut loaf of bread, jams and empty cups.

“Woke early?”, he asks Varian, going to make his own coffee while Varian fills a pitcher with water, “Or didn’t sleep? Again.”

Varian laughs a bit too loudly and that must be answer enough because his Dad sighs.

“You need your sleep, Varian, at your age even more so. You didn’t stay up late working on your alchemy again, did you?”

Almost sounding surprised himself, Varian says:

“For once, no, actually!”

Dad raises an eyebrow at him while Varian waves his hand for them to sit down. He does set a few more apples on the counter for their newest guest when he wakes later and the action only furthers Quirin’s curious expression.

“I had worked on another invention - glowing ink - remember I told you about it yesterday during lunch?”

“Yes. But you say that’s not what kept you?”

“Nope. I actually just went on this short evening walk to test it outside and-”, Quirin laughs, disbelief and amusement mixing in the sound and Varian looks at him, stumped.

“The fireflies weren’t to your liking then? It’s why you said you were going out?”, he prompts.

…Oops.

“Ah, heh, you see… Okay, so I lied a little. But I wasn’t doing anything dangerous!”, Varian winces and tries to cover it with a smile. Though his father is smiling, he also shakes his head slowly.

“Just tell me next time, son. I do not appreciate you lying to me, you know that”, Quirin says, more seriously, and Varian nods. It’s such a small thing, but it makes his shoulders slump. He cheers back up as soon as his gaze falls on the apples he’s placed on the counter, though, thinking about the raccoon currently sleeping in his lab.

“Okay, but! As for me not sleeping-”

“Which I would also prefer you did less of. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Sure! Anyway - so I was out in the forest, but I found this poor raccoon who’d managed to cut himself on some sharp stones. He was hurt, s-so I took him home and took care of him!”, he explains hastily, ending the little speech with a big bite of a honeyed slice of bread.

“That’s… A kind thing to do. Is the animal better now?”, Quirin asks, smiling warmly and sipping on his coffee.

“He seemed to be. I bandaged him up, fed him some apples and left him to sleep in the lab”, Varian says.

“Bandaged him? Got over that silly fear of blood, then?”, Quirin asks, pleasantly surprised, to which Varian flushes and looks away.

“...I may or may not have looked away and done things by touch, mos-tly?”

“Oh, son”, his Dad laughs, but it still sounds warm so Varian smiles in return. Varian has found over the years that, of all his senses, seeing and smelling blood has been the quickest way to make him faint or throw up, though touching the warm sticky liquid isn't pleasant either. It’s, frankly, embarrassing. His Dad has no such problem, but beyond mild teasing, he’s never commented on it much.

The rest of their breakfast conversations are more unfocused and then they head out.

They pack food with them, so Varian only comes back to check on the raccoon after sunset, but before dinner. While Quirin sets the table, the boy rushes to the lab. He’d left the apples near the injured and still sleeping animal in the morning, alongside a bowl of water, but now, he brings with him some berries and nuts and whatever else he could find in the house.

Varian is content that the raccoon has eaten the apples, core and all, and drunk most of the water, but the perpetrator of the eating is nowhere to be found. Huh. Well, Varian supposes, he’s not trapped up the place after cleaning, so he would have had an easy way out. And if he did get out, then he’s most likely doing better injury wise, so no worries, right?

But Varian does feel a little sad. He shrugs anyway and makes to go back to the kitchen to get something to eat for himself, when, suddenly, he’s tackled to the ground. 

Okay, that is a bit of an exaggeration, but Varian still stumbles and all of the fruits and nuts spill all over the formerly recently cleaned floor, only for a gray blur of fluff to chitter by happily and use his head as a skipping stone to jump into the sea of bounty before him.

“You little rascal”, Varian laughs from the floor before getting up, watching his assailant feasting without a care in the world. Oh, what the heck.

Varian crouches back down and reaches a hand towards the raccoon. The raccoon hesitates at first, then he takes a berry in his mouth, leaves it in Varian’s hand, then goes back to eating.

Varian bursts into laughter and gives the berry back, patting the animal, who seems surprised, but enjoys the gentle touch nonetheless. Silly thing.

And Varian thinks about it for a bit.

 

---

 

“Dad, how do you feel about a pet?”

“Hm?”

“You know, a pet. I would keep it in my room and take care of it and… All that…”

“You… Want to get a pet? Hmmm.”

“Er… May have one already, but-”

“Please tell me it’s not the raccoon, Varian.”

“It’s… Totally not the raccoon. Mh. Oh! But he’s so tame, Dad, I swear! If you just give him some food, he just eats and naps! He’s awesome!”

“You’re attached, aren’t you?”

“...Y-yeah, kinda.”

“Hm. Hm . Alright, then. You may keep it.”

“Really!?”

“Yes. But he is yours to care for and watch over. Are you willing to take on that sort of respo-?”

“Yes, sir! Thank you so much, Dad!”

 

---

 

It takes so little time before his raccoon buddy starts to fit right in, as though he’d always been there, stealing bites from Varian’s meals, curling up on and around him, terrorizing the chickens and running through the forest only to return through the window in the middle of the night and spook Varian out of his socks. Varian even catches Quirin sneaking him pieces of fruit and meat when he thinks Varian isn't looking.

And so, for such a noble beast, Varian needs just as noble a name.

“Hm, I think…”, Varian flips another page of the book he’s got open on his lap, making a face at it, “You don’t really look like a Mobius, do you, buddy? It’s a cool name, though.”

The raccoon in question makes a so-and-so sign, then noses at Varian’s left hand, now fully free of bandages, urging him to pick up another book he’d had on his pile. So Varian picks up another book, tossing another cut slice of apple in the air, giggling when the raccoon catches it easily.

“Let’s see. Ah! Werther, what do you say? It sounds so dignified”, but the raccoon doesn’t seem to think so, his entire little gray and black and white face scrunching up. Varian raises his hands in defeat.

A few more books later, Varian says:

“Ruddiger… Rud. Hmmm. Well, I like it. Do you like it?”

The answer of a happy squeak is quite clear; Varian closes the book with a thump and places back on the now very unstable looking pile of books.

Then, holding the last two remaining apple slices in his other hand behind him, Varian holds out a hand to the raccoon.

“Pleased to meet you, Ruddiger. I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”

Ruddiger, as cheerful and sneaky as ever and seemingly entirely accepting of his name, shakes Varian’s hand, climbs up it, then somehow reaches Varian’s other side where he steals the remaining apple bits and reaches his final destination, Varian’s shoulder, where he munches and chitters while cuddling around his neck. Varian laughs and holds a hand up to flick one of Ruddiger’s fluffy ears.

On that day, Varian removes Ruddiger’s bandages as well, to check whether he needs a change of bandages or if anything’s infected, and beams when he notes that all that’s left of the scratches is drying scabs where he pulls the fur away to look.

On that day also, the two adventure back into the forest after Varian is done with some house chores and has already made some mock-plans for a few more of his future projects. Whether because Varian wants to get another look at the rocks again, now with the sunlight making seeing things a bit easier, or because Ruddiger wants to catch some lunch for himself, it all works out in the end.

And when Varian finally estimates where he’s seen the strange spikey bits of stone and arrives back into the small clearing, he gasps.

Because even if he’d had limited light when he’d first seen them, he’s pretty sure they didn’t look like this.

In fact, it’s almost like they’ve not only grown in size since Varian’s last seen them, but they’ve multiplied as well, advancing just a few more steps from where one of the jutting pieces is still stained a dried brown color; old blood. It doesn’t make him faint, but it still makes his stomach clench.

“Huh”, Varian approaches, running a gloved hand over the surface of a particularly large spike. And really, he thinks this might clear out natural causes and invite manual influences into the whole thing. “They shouldn’t be… Moving, well, ‘moving’, not this fast. It seems like something that would form underground, with a lot of pressure. Would seismic activity be enough to push them to the surface this quickly without, I don’t know, gigantic earthquakes?”

Ruddiger doesn’t answer. Instead, he’s mostly just clinging to Varian’s shoulders.

“It couldn’t be the water heating tanks exploding that did this, r-right?”, he gulps, remembers the tremors his compound had been capable of causing and guilt squeezes at his lung before he realizes the logic doesn’t quite track either, “I mean. If I did this, any movement would have happened during the explosion a few days ago. But these shifted after . Uh…?”

Ruddiger lets out a sharp sound, hiding his face in Varian’s shirt collar. Varian frowns and takes the little guy in his arms, smiling gently.

“You know what? You go off for now and I’ll join you in a bit. More practical that way, buddy.”

With a very soft, affectionate paw strike to the face, Ruddiger jumps out of Varian’s arms and, squeaking with energy, he runs off back into the woods.

He turns his attention back to the rocks.

“Just…”, he mumbles to himself, “What even are these things?”

He won’t get his answer for a while longer, but the question sparks Varian’s interest, and as a scientist, it’s hard for him to leave such a mystery unsolved.

So every day, or every day when he has the time, instead of locking himself to his desk and working on small-ish inventions, even creating different shades of the ink as more of a way to pass the time than any serious alchemy, he more often than not goes out to document his findings about the rocks.

Measurements are taken, sketches are made, tools are brought out and then used against the crystalline structure, only for most of said tools to break, especially impact tools. Varian loses his best hammer like this, but really, it is fascinating . Certainly worth having to save some coins and buy some of his instruments anew, Varian thinks.

Quirin doesn’t seem to mind Varian going out into the forest, and Varian even considers asking him about the rocks. His father’s always had a certain air of mystery around him, because he’s a farmer, yes, but he knows how to wield a sword, and for so long, it’s been known to the village that he’s somewhat close to the King himself, but no one is sure how that came to be. Who knows, right? So maybe he'd know a legend or a rumor that could push Varian’s investigation further.

But for a few weeks, Varian just keeps his obsessive research to himself.

 

---

 

Then, one day, he goes to the capital to get himself a new stone file and hammer (for totally no reason, none at all, tools break all the time, Quirin needn't worry about how Varian has achieved such a thing when he’s usually rather careful with his instruments) and he’s got a small pieces of papers with him, a few vials of colorful liquid and more apples than any single man can eat in a day stuffed in his bag. He finds apples to be Ruddiger’s favorite and Varian can’t just deny him.

He goes straight to Xavier’s shop this time, trying to blend in with two other customers as he looks at the collection of hammers.

Gosh, they’re so masterfully made. Forget the file, if he can just get this… He may just have enough to pay for it and-

“Varian!”

“AH!”

Ruddiger immediately hisses at the newcomer and Varian very nearly drops his own bag.

Then Varian turns around and comes face to face to face with a pair of wide, bright green eyes.

“Rapunzel?”, he asks after he’s taken Ruddiger into his arms, where the raccoon stops with the aggressive sounds and just narrows his eyes at Rapunzel, “I-I didn’t see you there, hi! Hello!”

“Hello”, she sings, then her already blinding smile widens just so when she looks at the pouting ball of fur in Varian’s arms, “Oh my goodness, and who’s this little guy?”

Varian raises an eyebrow at the raccoon until he lets out a chittering sigh, but he looks at Rapunzel at least!

“This is Ruddiger! You remember the raccoon that kept sneaking into my lab?”

“Oh. Oh! I do , actually! Aw, you adopted him?”

Varian nods.

“Well, I think there’s someone you two should meet as well”, she says, and then pokes at the air on her shoulder until, out of nowhere, a chameleon appears there. Had it been blended into the golden color of her hair this whole time!? Awesome!

“Hey, Rud, look!”, and Ruddiger did look, but he feigned not to be impressed and Varian snorts, “Odd. I thought chameleons usually changed colors more based on mood or temperature. But really cool!”

Rapunzel chuckles, takes the slight lizard in her hands and holds it up to Varian’s face to get a better look at it. From the way its brown eyes narrow, it studies the boy too.

“His name is Pascal. He’s my oldest friend”, she says, voice soft and smile even more so.

“He’s amazing”, Varian says, reaching out to pet Pascal’s little head with a gloved finger, before both he and Rapunzel giggle at the little growl Ruddiger lets out in response, “You’re amazing too, Ruddiger.”

And to appease his jealous buddy, he takes out an apple and lets Ruddiger have it.

“Huh. Animals in this kingdom sure do have a thing for those”, Rapunzel observes.

“Oh, yeah. We have a few trees near our home, but Dad’s sure Rud’s just gonna eat all the harvest before Fall is even through”, he says with a fond sigh, going back to studying the hammers as he talks, looking between perfectly shaped and oiled metal and Rapunzel’s curious expression. She nods in agreement.

“Sooo, what does bring you to the castle, Varian?”

“Haha, funny story… Somehow, I managed to break some of my tools, and Mister Xavier is the best blacksmith around, you know?”

“Ohhh. What tools are you looking for?”, she asks.

“Heh. Well, just a hammer for now, I suppose”, Varian laughs. Ruddiger climbs back onto his shoulders as soon as he’s done devouring his apple. “Oh! Rapunzel, do you have some time? I-I know, Princess duties, probably, but I-”

“For sure”, she then leans in to whisper, like sharing a secret, “I’m actually hiding from Cass and Eugene right now. I tried another, ahem, plan of my own devising to get them to spend more time together! You’d think they’d be more grateful I didn’t use the dungeons again, but…”

Varian can’t help but guffaw at that.

“The dungeons?”, he asks, coughing to cover up his laughter.

“Yes! With a treasure hunt for the way out, too! Compared to that , a boat trip is basically harmless!”, she explains with a shake of her head, golden hair following the movement.

Varian manages to only grimace-smile instead of laughing out loud again, especially after the other customers throw them a series of curious glances.

Varian does end up making his purchase from Xavier, and then, he follows Rapunzel out of the blacksmith’s shop and into the streets of Corona. They do seem to stick to the narrower, less populated alleys, but Varian doesn’t comment.

“So. Hiding?”

“Yep. Cass can be a little scary when she gets her halberd”, Rapunzel notes, and she grins at how Varian’s eyes light up at that and he whispers so cool under his breath, “Ha, ha, you really like her, don’t you, Varian?”

He chooses not to respond, blushing instead. Then he remembers.

“Oh, I forgot why I even asked you - say, while you hide from your handmaiden, do you wanna see something I made recently?”

In front of them, Pascal and Ruddiger seem to have temporarily put their differences aside, with the chameleon riding on the raccoon’s back like a steed in battle, the two of them chasing a couple of hissing stray cats.

Rapunzel’s curiosity lights up her whole face. Varian’s heart actually squeezes a little, because it's not often that someone is excited rather than terrified when he announces a new invention. Sure, this one is probably not his best or most original idea, but still! (It's also on the safer end of the spectrum as far as his inventions and chemicals go.)

“Yes, please!”

And so they huddle in a corner, Rapunzel jumping to sit on a wooden crate nearby, looking so informal and friendly that it’s hard to think that she will one day be Queen.

Varian takes a few seconds, nearly turning the contents of his bag inside out, before he takes out the note he’d brought, then, one of the vials. It’s the original color he’d made, dark pink in the light and something darker otherwise.

Rapunzel follows along as Varian unstops the glass bottle and uses his finger to smear a simple flower into the empty note.

“It’s actually nothing too complex”, he admits, a nervousness sticking to his words, “But I thought, hey, it could be something. So I give you…”

Then, Varian cups his hands around the small slip of paper, leaving only a small hole between his fingers that he guides the Princess to look through into the makeshift darkness.

“...Glowing ink!”

There’s a gasp, then a squeal, and then Rapunzel takes the note and looks at it in her own fists, laughing near incredulously.

“S-so, what do you think? I thought, since you seem to like to paint, maybe you’d find it intere- Woah-!”

She shakes him by the shoulders.

“Varian, it’s amazing! And… You thought about me?”

“Yeah”, he admits, too happy to feel shy about it when his friend, oh my God, his friend , seems so enthusiastic, “I kept thinking it could be fun to try out, and you seem fun-loving, n-no?”

“Uh, heck yeah!”

Varian laughs. He fishes the rest of the vials from his bag and hands them to her alongside the swatch note. She watches on, eyes large and mouth slightly agape.

“Here. I only managed to get the pink, red, orange and yellow. Cooler colors are still a bit difficult since they get kind of muddy if you don't get the formula just right, but there’s a blue and-”

He stutters and blushes when she jumps forwards to hug him.

“They’re wonderful! You’re a genius, Varian!”

He laughs again, feeling small, but so, so happy at the praise.

And then there’s a crash from somewhere nearby, where the cats have gotten the better of their pets, and so the two chase after, laughing all the while.

Rapunzel stays around a bit longer, while she shares more about what has been going on around the castle, redeemed thieves and sweet shop owner fiends and Cassandra finally stealing Euegene’s shampoo as a prank and more, and Varian listens happily, mostly talking about Old Corona (quite a bit more boring in comparison), then about finding and keeping Ruddiger (and she coos at the story, leaning down to pet the raccoon after Varian placates him for being defeated by cats with another apple).

Then, she sighs and tells him that she should probably go back, but that she’d had lots of fun today!

Varian mirrors the sentiment.

When he finally returns home, the sun setting behind him, there’s a goofy grin on his face. His father does ask about why he’s stayed out so long; he seems mildly surprised, but more than that, overjoyed when Varian explains he’s just been hanging out with a friend.

It’s just such a good day, even though Varian didn’t get to see the beautiful Cassandra, or his idol, Flynn- Er, Eugene.

And, for a while, he’s not thinking about the rocks, just listening to his Dad as he talks about how their animals are doing, about how a storm is approaching, one of those long bouts of late Summer, early Fall rain, all in his deep, soothing voice.

 

---

 

In the morning, when Varian looks at his new hammer and brings it back down to his lab, wondering where he should hang it near the other tools on his walls, he does remember the rocks.

Ruddiger has gone out and about in the forest in the middle of the night, but Varian’s found he does that every so often and always comes back not too late after breakfast, ready to beg for table scraps and belly rubs, so he doesn’t worry. Instead, Varian wonders if he should head back to see the spiked oddities again. 

He’s not keen to wreck more tools on them, but maybe he can just look at them for a bit. Perhaps, follow the trail of them that extends in the direction of the coronan wall beyond the trees?

He could try chemical experimentation, but until he knows more about the molecular makeup of the rocks, Varian doesn’t want to start throwing random substances on the black-blue crystals. That’s not science , he snorts. That’s just messing around . But… He would be lying if he said his curiosity wasn’t tempting him to do just that.

What makes Varian abstain is his father calling for him back in the house.

Then, Varian’s handed a letter, and a letter with the royal seal stamped onto it no less.

The postman seems to be just as shocked as Varian, while Quirin looks on with a questioning look.

I told you we were friends, Varian mouths, grinning. As soon as the postman shrugs and leaves with a shake of his head, Varian carefully opens the envelope and laughs.

“What does the letter say, son?”, Quirin asks, serious expression melting as soon as Varian shows the too-colorful doodle of a raccoon with one fang that’s too large for his mouth.

“The inks work then, hah!”, Varian says, and Quirin doesn’t say much else in reply to the odd comment, but he does smile, and it fills Varian with a sort of warmth and reassurance that leaves him reeling and almost laughing once his Dad leaves the house to start on his work around the house and around the village.

It’s only once he tries to gently fold the envelope closed again, heading towards his room to hang the drawing onto the walls littered with plans and notes, that Varian notices there’s something else there. A poster?

He takes it out, reads it, and his jaw hits the floor in record time.

In the corner of a paper with all the details about an up-and-coming science exposition/contest/chance for Varian to prove himself, Rapunzel’s hastily written:

This sounds fun! You should totally join! :)

Smiley face and all.

To his credit, Varian only screams a little.

Notes:

Let's see how fast writing friendly scenes between Varian and cast comes back to bite me when blizzard plot starts unraveling. To be fair, at this point, he still heavily looks up to them, so it's not quite equal footing, but it's nice to write a closer relationship between him and the rest of the cast. But maybe that's all my interpretation, who's to say?
I did mess with the timeline juuust a little bit but don't think about it too much ;;

Chapter 4: To the drawing board

Summary:

After receiving news of the Science Exposition, Varian tries to come up with an idea to show exactly what his science is capable of. But his inspiration comes from the very thing that's been on his mind for a bit too long now.

Notes:

Contents: science expositons (in progress), Varian's mild awkwardness, Cassie.

There’s no need to stress about this.

Science Exposition. At the castle. No big deal!

And with participants from all Seven Kingdoms (though, due to location, Varian expects quite a few more to be last minute participants from Corona, which, fun!)

No biggie, not at all.

Oh, and it will all be judged by a scientist with enough renown that his name is known even in Old Corona. Pressure? What pressure?

Okay, so it’s not only a big deal, it’s a huge deal. This is Varian’s chance to prove himself, to his father, to everyone , to show that his inventions are worth something, that alchemy is more than a pretty show of colors to laugh at and cry ‘witchcraft’ against.

So. So? So!

So Varian tells his Dad, who raises an eyebrow at the poster, then smiles, actually smiles and asks him if he already has any idea.

The answer is a very enthusiastic, very rambling-on-and-on-and-on yes.

And Varian promises he’ll help so much after the expo, that he only needs a few days even if he knows Fall is no time to be slacking, but it’s only for a few days !

Quirin nods. There’s that edge of precaution in his gaze, but Varian knows that if gets this right, even that won’t be a problem, because he’ll have shown that his inventions (and Varian himself, by extension) can be trusted.

And when Varian gets his first free moment of the day, he covers all of the tables in his lab and his bedroom desk (and his bed and the floors and a few steps on the staircase…) in plans, schematics, concept sketches, pages littered with alchemic formulas and modes of preparation, if only he can find something befitting such a grand occasion.

And… He has no idea what the heck he should present.

Varian covers his face with his hands and groans, getting charcoal all over his cheeks from the stick of it he’d been using.

A pair of paws pull at the edge of his ever-present apron before all four of those legs push and pull at his clothes, climbing him like a tree. Where Ruddiger usually likes wrapping himself around Varian’s shoulders, now he plops himself on Varian’s head. They both sigh.

Varian pushes his chair back, looks up at the ceiling and catches a glimpse of raccoon ringtail. He picks the charcoal back up and grabs another mostly blank piece of paper.

He wouldn’t call himself the creative sort, Varian muses, but being able to put some of his ideas to paper is kind of necessary in this line of work. So he puts whatever’s floating at the top of his brain on that poor piece of paper, losing track of time, hoping it will clear his mind enough so Varian can actually work.

It had been sunset after he and Dad had dinner and Varian had gone off to his bedroom right after. Now, the sky is pitch black and, under his hands, the paper is covered in spikes just as dark. Or, two dimensional renditions, but still.

Varian puts the pencil down and picks Ruddiger up from his head. The raccoon looks at the paper with wide eyes, then decides he doesn’t like what he sees and he sits on it.

“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?”, he grins and doesn’t move Ruddiger, “But, really, can you imagine if there was a way to use those for our inventions? Material of such durability, you could use it for so many things! But they can’t be broken or shaped into much, unbreakable as they are. Stubborn, ain’t they? Makes me wonder…”

Varian’s words petter off and he looks at the candle still burning on his desk.

Ruddiger tilts his head to the side curiously.

“And if we could make something similar?”

Ruddiger, being a raccoon and not yet educated in the ways of science, doesn’t respond, but suddenly, Varian grins.

“Rud, I think I know what I’m gonna do!”

At that, Ruddiger does his own chittering cheer alongside the laughing boy. Then, they get to work.

Hours later, he’s even got the plans made and is staring at them with blurry vision, blinking one eye at the time; Varian’s brain is fried up for the evening. When he stands up with a quiet groan, he feels his back pop and decides that he can do more tomorrow. The exposition isn’t until next week anyway, he should have plenty of time even if he doesn’t rush. 

But it’s not his fault he’s finally found an idea he wants to pursue! Those rocks sure are something, Varian thinks to himself, yawning and placing his gloves and goggles next to the small stash of papers he’s burned through before blowing out the candle and taking a moment to adjust to the deep darkness after.

Ruddiger settles himself into a fuzzy ball at the end of the bed. Sometimes, he’ll go out at dawn, but right now, he seems content to sleep on Varian’s bed.

“Tomorrow, tomorrow”, Varian murmurs into the silence, stifling another yawn.

 

---

 

The week passes by in a blur of helping out around the farm and working on his machine every free moment he gets.

Dad asks about the expo once. Varian is even more jittery than usual, which is probably not good when his strength doesn’t exactly help him and they’re carrying sacks of potatoes back to the shed to store them for the upcoming months.

“Is your project going well, son?”

And Varian, wide-eyed and just waiting for a moment to tell his Dad everything, grins wide and bright and thus tells him everything.

“You have to see it, Dad! I just got the calibration right, and actually, oh, let me show you-”, as soon as they reach the shed and he’s abandoned his sack somewhere near the others, Varian reaches into the pocket of his apron, where he’s got a few of the stone pieces.

“I am glad to hear that”, Dad says, smiling, but there’s something more serious in his voice, “But you have taken precautions, yes?”

And Varian squeezes the rocks in his gloved palm and thinks, if I show him how the device works, the rocks would seem more impressive. Hey, maybe I can do that at the expo-

“Uhm. Yeah! Ye-yeah, sure!”, he mumbles, thinking about the expo again, kinda nervous and kinda excited out of his wits, “There’s some, uhm, some safeguards in place. It’s even supposed to be operated by two people, just in case! Buuut that won’t even be necessary, Dad, I calculated everything!”

There’s a hand on his shoulder.

“I just want you to be safe. And this will be close to the castle. What happened the last time… It cannot happen there”, Quirin warns and snaps Varian right out of his plan-making thoughts. It’s ‘cuz he cares, ‘cuz he’s trying to look out for him, Varian reassures himself. He pushes the stone samples back in his pocket and smiles.

“It won’t, Dad. Promise”, and it is fine, it is understandable that Dad would be quite a bit more worried about safety. Somebody has to make sure Varian doesn’t lose himself in his work and make some stupid mistake or another. Then, a thought strikes him. “You - you’re coming with me, right? It’s gonna be double safe if you’re there, Dad. And you can see my remogrifier! It’s one of my best inventions yet!”

The hand on his shoulder grows ever so heavier as Quirin looks out at the fields. It’s nice though, comforting and warm. His father lets out a long breath, then nods.

“I’ll do my best to be there, son”, he says, genuinely.

Varian smiles, putting his whole heart in it, and then it’s back to work.

 

---

 

The day of the exposition has more than just Quirin and his son traveling towards the castle; Corona is known for encouraging celebration wherever it can - festivals for any conceivable occasion, small parties and bigger parties every day and night if one knows where to look, and if there’s a competition of any sort, the people are bound to make a show and a day of it.

No one else from Old Corona or from the other villages nearby is competing, though Varian thinks he sees some curious looks from a few of the people they meet on the road. They don’t ask, but they don’t look suspicious or scared or like they’re about to tell him off either. Basically a win.

(Maybe if the people are already forewarned that they’re about to witness science, they don’t get so panicky? But that never works when Varian tries to explain.)

He’s thrown a sheet over the machine, if only to make the surprise of what he hopes will be a big reveal when it actually happens more, er, surprising. But that will be later. Right now , Varian hums a song under his breath and keeps his eyes forward, only occasionally slowing down to throw Ruddiger another hazelnut from his bag. 

And right now , Varian keeps looking to his side, where his father is talking to one of the older farmers about some thing or another, looking quite amicable. He smiles in acknowledgement when he sees Varian watching.

And he’s here , he’s coming to the expo and Varian has to stop himself from grinning like a fool and jumping in place. Oh, this will be grand, he just knows it.

They split up after crossing the bridge, what with Varian having to go to the expo site a bit early to get the schedule and begin setting up, but he gets a firm hug and a cautioning encouragement. He and Ruddiger wave before finally making their way to the castle courtyard.

There’s already a few people around, not the most Varian’s ever seen, not like the Lantern Festivals or the Goodwill Festival, sure, but it’s still a lot. Don’t get nervous now , he tells himself, trying to soak in the happy atmosphere instead.

The crowds are bustling with conversation, louder and cheerier the closer he gets to the castle.

“Did you hear, about St. Croix?”

“Man, I wouldn’t want to be put on the spot in front of him. The guy’s a genius!”

Some people speak about the judging.

“I saw so many inventions already. They’re awesome!”

“Not so sure about the goat milk bath, though…”

“Oh, you just don’t understand science and luxurious lifestyles, Henry.”

“Eugh. I do think I rather prefer the pancakes, thank you.”

Some about the inventions themselves, those that have already been revealed.

“You know what I’m really looking forward to?”

“Getting dru-”

“Getting drunk at the afterparty!”

Varian coughs to cover his snort, but his smile reaches his ears all the same. 

He adds to the conversations here and there, trying to plant some excitement for his own entry, as any good competitor should, but it seems like his reputation precedes him, which is good for his chances at the first prize!

(He ignores the fact that they call him a wizard, or that they keep warning each other of impending explosions. It’s all in the past and Varian is here today to turn a new leaf!)

At the castle gates where he’d seen Rapunzel and Cassandra painting the walls, Varian looks at the decorations and the guards stationed all over, more of them than he’d ever seen in one place; it’s a semi-important event with a very important guest, it makes sense.

And then, working on tying a banner for the exposition and mumbling to herself, dressed in the pretty pale blue dress that doesn’t quite fit her image is Cassandra . Next to her, perched on the very top of the pole a bit higher up, is an owl.

Looking down at his covered machine, then back at Cassandra, and then taking Ruddiger off of his shoulders only to place him on top of the sheet, much to his confused chittering, Varian runs his hands through his hair, arranges the collar of his shirt and tugs his gloves into place.

Then, as suave as possible for the most beautiful woman in Corona, he greets:

“Who’s ready for the expo?”

Maybe his voice cracks a little. Irrelevant. It gets her to look at him before she groans and goes back to tying the rope of the banner. Varian, undeterred and with the clear memory of how she had saved him back in Old Corona, which must mean something, simply starts rambling, as he often does.

“Hey! Hey, Cassie!”, he says with a grin, “You wanna see my new invention?”

She doesn’t seem particularly excited, but she does look his way. Varian can’t seem to stop speaking, whoever.

“Rumor has it, it’s gonna win the first prize”, then, more conspiratorially, “I started the rumor!”

He winks.

Cassandra leans her elbows against the top step of the ladder.

“Oh. Hey. Varian”, she deadpans, then, a bit more vigorously, “And first off, it’s Cass, if you must, no Cassie ”, she rolls her eyes - so, okay, a correction to be made there, that’s fine! “Secondly, I’m slammed. Sooo…”

And she turns back on working the knot around the pole.

“I hear ya. Been a couple of busy days, but hey! Today looks like it’s gonna be real fun!!”, he says, eyes sparkling when she raises her eyebrows. It’s almost done in curiosity. Upgrades, upgrades.

Varian thinks about what he could say to actually, pleasantly , surprise Cassandra, and it hits him suddenly. Maybe he flushes a little. Hopefully, she doesn’t see it from that far up. Mind made up, Varian says:

“Did I mention that my invention can make a whole new element? I call it-”

A guard runs up to them before Varian can finish, so he steps back to make room, watching the interaction, mouth slightly agape. Ruddiger’s tail twitches and he manages to wedge himself out of the makeshift cart, only to plop himself next to Varian’s boot, staring curiously as well.

“Cassandra, I thought you should know; the Captain is short on guards for the expo”, the mustached man says, and, oh? “This could be your big chance!”

Oh!

Cassandra grins like this is the best news she could have gotten, basically jumps down the step ladder, her headdress somehow still in pristine condition and grabs the guard with the mustache by the arm, dragging him along.

“Come on, let’s go!”, says Cassandra, already gone.

Varian looks after them for a moment, unable to help a silly smile of his own as well at seeing Cassandra so excited suddenly. Being a guard sounds like something she cares about, he thinks, and Varian thinks he can see it. He remembers she had a sword on her when she and Rapunzel came to Old Corona.

Now, Varian exchanges looks with Ruddiger, wondering where he should go. Maybe he can set up or-

A panicked shriek breaks up their silent conversation.

Looking back at the banner, Varian rushes forward when he sees the rope loosen, the owl from before barely able to hold it in place as it flaps its wings agitatedly.

He grabs hold of the end of the rope just before the banner crumples and re-ties the knot himself, looking at the owl.

“Aw, you’re really cute actually”, he coos. When he holds out a finger to lightly stroke its head, it hesitates for a few seconds, then leans into the touch and hoots softly.

When Ruddiger also climbs up the pole, then up Varian, nosing at the bird, it bonks its head against Varian’s hand and takes off in the direction Cassandra had run to.

Ruddiger, back at his rightful place and digging tiny claws into his hair, chitters and his fluffy tail thumps against Varian’s back.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?”, he asks, to which Ruddiger plops down, clinging to his head and messing up the position of his goggles. Varian doesn’t mind, busy as he is with blushing and giggling to himself.

He snaps out of it quickly enough when his name is called again.

“Varian! Is that you?”

Rapunzel!

And so the Princess of Corona approaches, Flynn- er, Eugene just behind her, and she’s wearing this kinda odd pair of binoculars hat that Varian is totally not interestedly hmmm ing at.

“Hi!”, he greets back, not nearly falling down the ladder also, and once his feet have solid ground under them again, he waves cheerily.

Rapunzel waves back, takes off the hat and says:

“I haven’t seen you since-”

“Since your last invention nearly killed us!”, Eugene finishes, a mask of confidence firmly in place, “So glad you’re here. With what looks like-”, he glances at the covered cart, “Another invention!”

“Not to worry, I do not make the same mistake twice. Live and learn, r-right?”, Varian asks with a nervous grin, though he brightens up when he continues, “Besides, I have a different prototype to present today, heh.”

Eugene shrugs, raising one eyebrow.

“Right, of course. So no explosions today, kid?”, he smirks.

I certainly hope not!

Ruddiger hisses at the man, which does break Eugene’s easy smile and makes him nearly fall over. Rapunzel and Varian laugh before she comes close enough to hug him. Varian lets out a brief squawk, still not quite used to her casual shows of affection. He’s really happy to see her though! And happy that his new friends will also see his invention! 

Nothing can go wrong, he thinks to himself, already panicking.

“I have thought ahead and, this time”, he winces, remembering his conversation with Dad (or one of them, at least), but covers it up with a nervous smirk, “Safety has been considered, er, more! More than… Last time…!”

Even Ruddiger doesn’t seem completely convinced.

He did consider it. Varian’s not entirely sure why he’s so nervous all of a sudden. Then again, big presentation, big chance, big risk, many people that he’d like to impress watching, yadda, yadda.

“And you brought Ruddiger!”, Rapunzel says. She comes closer and pets Ruddiger, who leans into her touch with a very happy brrr .

“You know, I never thought you’d be a cat guy”, Eugene comments, eyebrows raised.

“He’s a raccoon!”, Varian smiles, picking Ruddiger up and holding him towards the couple proudly.

“Eh, street cat, forest cat, same thing”, Eugene says and Varian giggles a little, despite Ruddiger’s chitter of protest.

“Are you guys also here to see the expo?”, Varian asks when they start heading back towards the stalls of the other competitors.

“Yeah. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”, Rapunzel asks, green eyes glimmering as they pass by a couple of, albeit, unexpected inventions, pausing to look and ooo and aaa with the other people gathered around. “So inspiring!”

Varian nods.

“When I get to see other people’s stuff,I like to try and figure out how they built them sometimes”, Varian says, cheeks heating up a little, “Like, there’s much you can’t really tell from just looking, but it’s fun! Haha! Rarely have the chance to, though.”

They stop at a goat-milking machine, and when a very small, very old man bursts out from the wooden container tub, Eugene gags:

“Now, that , I do not want to know how it is built. Eugh!”

Varian, himself not in possession of a very strong stomach, claps a hand over his mouth and drags his cart further along. Rapunzel doesn’t even seem to mind, simply walking on with a dance in her step.

“I was actually thinking of competing myself, after seeing all these creative inventions”, Rapunzel says, all but dancing ahead, “But, oh, I don’t know…”

“You made inventions too?”, Varian asks, stopping in his tracks, gaping at her.

“Oh, all morning, she’s been at it”, Eugene says, throwing an arm over her shoulders and offering a winning smile, though Rapunzel sighs.

“None of them were really any good, though. Too many things that had already been invented, nothing too practical”, she says morosely. Varian’s already perked up.

“Can I see?”

And that seems to bring Rapunzel right back to her cheerful disposition.

Eugene looks between them with an expression like he wants to run away and isn’t yet sure what route to take. Aw, but this could be so much fun.

“Sure! Oh, oh! I can show you the castle while we make our way there!”, she grabs both of Varian’s hands and drags him along, leaving Eugene alone with Varian’s cart and a slightly confused Ruddiger.

“How long do you think it will take those two to start a house fire or something?”, Eugene asks. The raccoon shrugs, but he trots along as Eugene sighs and grabs the kid’s cart, pulling it into the castle.

 

---

 

Truth be told, though Rapunzel’s own inventions steer towards the weirder side of things, he has fun talking about the ideas she’s already built but discarded.

As they talk, something seems to click for Rapunzel, which ends up with her pushing Varian out of the mostly unused room where she’s shoved quite a few of the things she’s built. She winks and, in a sing-song voice, says something about waiting to be surprised at the expo itself. 

Varian laughs. 

Eugene is pulled into the room as assistant and soon, from the other side, Varian can hear the telltale sound of tinkering, slightly manic laughter and a chameleon’s squeaks.

Varian is surprised to see that Eugene had carried his invention all the way into the castle. Ruddiger’s fallen asleep on top of it at some point, lazy and content, kernels of corn hinting at exactly what has brought on his food coma. 

Varian smiles, and prepares to go back down. If he sets up for the expo early, he can go find his Dad and maybe hang out a bit before the actual expo. Oh! And he has to start looking for an assistant.

On his way back, Varian starts to understand just how massive the castle really is.

He stops only a few hallways later. What stops him, however, isn’t that he gets lost. It’s that he hears a familiar voice. Is that-?

Before Varian can approach the closed double doors and try to make sure he’s not just imagining things, the doors burst open, and a figure in light blue sprints out, determination in her steps. It really is Cassandra. And what if - oh. If he asks- 

That could bring them closer together. She’d see that he can engineer functioning things too and not just explosions. She’d be impressed And then he wouldn’t have to-

It would be brilliant! He just has to ask her. (Easier said than done.)

Varian pushes the cart next to a wall between two sturdy looking wooden cabinets and gently nudges Ruddiger until the raccoon blinks up at him and shakes himself from ears to ringed tail, still not looking fully out of dreamland when Varian leans down to whisper:

“I wanna go ask Cassandra to be my assistant, buddy. Can you watch the remogrifier while I’m gone?”

What Ruddigers looks to the side, already trying to curl back into a ball for more naps, Varian laughs.

“Sure. The presentation won’t be until a few hours, you can nap a little more. But if anyone tries to mess with it…”

Ruddiger makes a clawing gesture, which, funny, but Varian has to shake his head.

“Just hiss at whoever or come get me, yeah? No scratching or biting, Ruddiger. I’ll be back soon.”

He fluffs up the fur on Ruddiger’s back before taking off after Cassandra, grinning.

It’s a bit hard to follow the shortcuts she takes, but Varian somehow manages, even if it leaves him out of breath when Cassandra reaches what looks to be the dining hall, arranged and decorated in honor of the Science Exposition.

Cassandra is ironing a tablecloth a few tables away and Varian takes a moment to catch his breath, then bounds up to her, all smiles and somewhat shaky confidence.

“Hi, Cass!”, not Cassie , he firmly repeats in his mind, “We, uh, haha, we didn’t get to finish our talk earlier!”, he says (asks?), but though Cassandra seems to hear him, she seems quite busy still, not really looking up even when she finishes with the iron and starts preparing some drinks for the table.

“I did”, she shrugs and Varian rubs the back of his neck. She’d seemed so excited just a bit ago, when the guard had called for her.

“Aha-ha!”, so proper, “But, uhm, I had actually wanted to ask you! Maybe, if, uhm, ifyouwantedtobemyassistantattheexpo!”

He blurts it out. Not intentionally, but it feels easier like this, even if his whole face’s flushed either way.

It seems to surprise Cassandra as she processes what he’s just said, then she frowns, opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again.

“Assistant?”, she keeps pouring grape juice in a cup as she asks, which Varian uhm s about intelligently, but she continues mumbling, somewhat confused, then very much in opposition, “What? No. Assistant ? No, look, I-”

The sound of the drink leaking onto the floor finally distracts her and she gasps sharply. Varian winces in sympathy.

“Ugh! I can’t catch a break today…!”

Still mumbling, Cassandra walks away while Varian looks at the stain, then wonders if he’s brought anything to- Oh, yeah! Rock salt! And with the flower water-

Varian works quickly enough. A quick wipe and, woosh! Bye, stain. It’s actually a light-save. Many ink stains have been slain by the wondrous powers of alchemy.

When Cassandra returns with a wet rag, her confusion becomes palpable. She looks between Varian and the not-there grape juice stain and connects the dots.

“You… Don’t happen to have a knack with these things, do you?”, she asks, a smirk slowly rising on her lips. And Varian feels his cheeks heat up even more, but he shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively.

“Oh, it’s just, just alchemy!”

She raises an eyebrow.

“And is there any chance you’d want to-”, she starts to say.

Varian’s eyes widen.

“Help you!? Yes! I-I mean, I’d love to!”

Smooth .

Before Cassandra can say something in return, Varian grins as the idea hits him.

“And, hey! If I help you, you can help me! And be my assistant! At the demonstration! It’ll only take a couple minutes!”

Maybe he sounds a bit too excited, but Cassandra actually looks like she’s considering it, and after a moment, she says:

“Hm. Deal!”

And Varian is about to jump out of his skin with happiness. So starts the domestic adventures of two co-ladies in waiting.

(Cassandra protests about labels; though Varian thinks it’s kinda funny, he shakes his head agreeably and gets to work.)

Notes:

Imma be honest with you, chief, I have no idea how crushes work or how to write them proper, I'm just going off of the way I've seen it done in other media/writings lol. It's really just puppy love, but yeah. Hard to write :(
Also, you may notice that I try to fill in gaps with some headcanons. It be how it be, and all that. I thought it would have been nice if Quirin went to see the expo, since it seems like an imprtant occassion, but mayhap... Oh well, you'll see.

Chapter 5: Cleanup, cleanup

Summary:

Varian helps Cassandra get her opportunity as a guard and then gets his own chance to show off his invention. Here goes nothing.

Notes:

Contents: cleaning montages, the exposition (going wrong), some feelings, a minor act of violence against an animal, more father-son talks.

Though cleaning had not been the expected chore for the day, Varian does his part happily, and thank the Heavens he’s brought a few raw supplies along. Dad always says he packs too much, but look, an occasion where that comes in handy! Heh.

And it’s… Easy. To do the work. To use his alchemical solutions on the castle floors, to make small machines for tupperware and more organizing. It’s easy ; he’s been fiddling with alchemy and inventing since he was old enough to hold a wrench and mix ingredients, this is the sort of stuff he enjoys doing. So, a casual thing, but it’s nice to do it with someone beside him.

They do most of the cleaning in silence; Cassandra doesn’t seem like the type for small talk and Varian is used to either working alone or with his father, who isn’t the most talkative man either. But sometimes, when Varian spins a tale about how he’s come up with this compound or that, she will smile, or laugh, or tease him in a way that is… Light. Humorous and not-mean and just. Nice.

Cassandra is efficient with her duties already, but she seems to enjoy the way Varian can speed some things up with chemicals and other miscellaneous tools he makes up along the way.

“I suppose your alchemy can do more than explode, huh?”, she jokes.

And even as his heart starts quieting in his chest the more time he spends with her, Varian can’t help but look at her in a different light, affection budding in his chest.

Together with that affection, however, is also that feeling that he’s been familiar with for years: he wants to impress her, he wants Cassandra to see him and… Oh, well.

“And there’s more where that came from!”, he responds, after a moment, jovially.

The expo may be his chance to do just that.

The quick pace slows only when they reach a hall of paintings, where Varian’s chemicals may be more dangerous if not calibrated properly, so Cassandra tosses a rag to him and they start wiping down the paintings in their golden, decorated frames.

Varian is cleaning at the last painting, standing on his toes on a wooden ladder, when Cassandra approaches him, lips pulled in a small half-smile.

“Huh. Would you look at that”, she looks at Varian, holding up a bucket of clean water for him to place on the top step of the ladder, “You make a pretty good co-lady in waiting after all.”

Varian dips his rag into the water and wrings it out, only barely stifling his laughter.

“You sure you wanna, ahem, ‘put a label on it’?”, he raises an eyebrow and starts on going over the last picture frame once more, just to make sure no more soap suds remain.

Cassandra rolls her eyes, but there’s a quirk in her expression and her pale cheeks pink a little.

“Okay, okay, fine, maybe I could have been a little nicer earlier”, she agrees and Varian nods solemnly before his facade breaks and he giggles. She snorts.

Then, looking away, smile falling, Cassandra sighs and leans against the ladder.

“It’s just… Today’s kind of a big day for me. Not the expo, but…”

It sounds oddly sincere and then it clicks.

“Oh! Oh, you mean, you mean the guard assignment from your Dad, don’t you?”, it’s what the mustached guard had said.

And when he climbs down the steps, her back is to him, but her form is a little crumbled, compared to how she confidently carries herself most of the time. Painfully relatable, is what this is.

“It’s just”, it sounds like it bursts out of her, a frustration tinged with sadness, “No matter how much I want it or how hard I work, his standards for me are just higher than for anyone else.”

Which is weird, isn’t it? Because he knows his own feelings regarding her (that is, his heart speeds up a little whenever he thinks about Cassandra), but she’s also always seemed dependable. Strong and standing tall. Someone that, for all intents and purposes, he wouldn’t expect to see struggling to achieve their goals.

“Yeah…”, he whispers it because it’s even weirder to say it aloud, and let alone to have someone hear it, “I understand. My Dad’s kinda hard to impress too. But hey, dads? Am I right?”

He tries to offset the tone of the conversation to something lighter, and when Cassandra looks back at him, it’s with a hint of amusement.

Surprising them both and making Varian jump a little, a bell rings loud enough that Varian can swear the paintings rattle on the walls. It’s noon.

The tentative softness of their conversation snaps, just like that and Cassandra groans.

“Ugh. Who am I kidding? None of this even matters. It’s already late, and I still have to make up all the guest rooms…”, she mumbles, gathering her skirts in her hand and starting a brisk pace down the hall.

Oh God, it is noon already, isn’t it? He should be getting ready, the competition will start in an hour or so. But… He’d seen the list before, when looking at other inventions with Rapunzel and Eugene. He’s presenting towards the end of the expo. And if Cassandra helps him with the machine, then he won’t even need to tap out early to look for an assistant. That would give him…

“Cassi- Uhm, Cass, Cassandra, wait!”, he calls after her and reaches her just in time. She looks at him, brows furrowed.

“Varian?”, Cassandra prompts.

“What if… What if you go do your guard thing, and I can finish with the rooms for you? It’s just changing sheets and airing, right? I have some time before the expo anyway!”

She stares, so Varian stutters to continue.

“And then, later… Maybe, maybe you can take a few minutes to be my assistant…?”

“I-... Varian, are you sure you can get all this done?”

And Varian only nods.

It’s what friends do , Rapunzel’s voice rings in his head, clear and bright, making Varian feel even more confident in his decision.

“Of course”, he winks, “It’s the kind of thing friends do.”

Cassandra’s eyes soften at that.

“Right”, she says, mostly to herself, “Friends.”

And when she smiles, it really is a beautiful sight. Varian can’t help but smile right back.

 

---

 

Varian sees Cassandra again after, when rooms have been aired, sheets have been changed and stairways hidden behind awfully similar looking doors have been stumbled down. What are a few bruises anyway.

The last load of dusty sheets he’s collected along the way makes it down the laundry chute, and there she is.

She’s wearing the golden, sun-emblazoned chestplate and matching helmet that all of Corona’s royal guards wear, and she looks so content and Varian just stares for a second, his poor heart doing a little summersault against his ribs.

“Wiped out?”, she says and leans against the wall. Varian lets out a long breath and pushes his bangs from his sweaty face.

“Who, me? No, just faint- I mean finished! Just finished”, he waves his arms frantically.

Cassandra blinks.

“Already? Wow”, she says and punches his shoulder with that sort of firm camaraderie (ouch, bruise), “Varian, I have to say, I’m impressed.”

Wooo! , he cheers for himself.

“Oh, it was nothing. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a contest to win! Oh. We do! Assistant ”, he says with a wink. Cassandra bites her lip.

“Only a minute though, yeah?”

“Yep!”

He waves happily and runs down the halls, careful where the floor is still drying.

Behind him, a few moments later, there’s a bit of commotion, but Varian really can’t stop - he really pushed the timing, but only a bit further and-

There! Obviously, Ruddiger is still napping, but that’s fine. He makes a sound when Varian ruffles his fur with a grin.

Varian pushes the cart out into the sunlight, finding the courtyard even fuller than before, the sound of the excited crowd inciting both excitement and gnawing fear.

Varian cuts his way through the throngs of people with high, apologetic sorry and so sorry and coming through ’s, his eyes settling on the stage at the forefront of it all before returning to the quest of finding the one thing that seemed to be missing: his father. He can probably say hi before he has to present his device, maybe get a good luck wish or something.

He spots a familiar face, and it’s not his father, but it’s someone Dad knows. Varian himself isn’t overly familiar with him, but he can tell the man recognizes him.

“SIr”, Varian gasps once he’s close enough, “Sir, did you see my Dad, uhm, b-by any chance?”

The man winces, smiles, then winces again.

“Oh. Hello, Varian”, he says, loud to be heard, but somehow still apologetic, “I think Jonah fell and someone had to get him home, so Quirin… Yeah. You just missed him.”

And Varian stands there, mouth open but mind entirely blank on what to say. Oh. The old farmer. Ah. Yikes.

So Varian nods his ‘thanks’ and just continues towards the stage. In the background, he can hear Dr. St. Croix giving the opening speech, talking about the respect the winner would get and utter humiliation of everyone else. Varian is still thinking about his Dad. Welp.

He’ll just have to win and bring home the machine with said winning story so he doesn’t face aforementioned total humiliation. It’s all good. Varian doesn’t need a competition to show his father that he can do something right.

So it’s all good. All good.

Backstage, he first spots Rapunzel, with an even bigger invention, a fan of sorts, and beside her is Eugene and a large, white stallion. He waves and grins as he should before pushing his cart along. There’s guards around here, but he doesn’t see Cassandra until - oh, there.

“Hey, Cass!”, he says, trying for cheery, “Ready for the demonstration? Because I-”

When she spots him in turn, she frowns and Varian just.

“Sorry, Varian. Some stuff happened, and... I’m St. Croix’s personal assistant now”, she admits - hey, that’s amazing, right? It must be a great opportunity to prove her worth amongst the royal guard - and she puts her hand on his shoulder consolingly, “I can’t help you anymore.”

He just.

“Aw, that’s alright. Bet this is a big deal though, right?”, he snorts, shaking his head when his voice comes out a bit too quiet, “It’s okay, though! I’ll, uhm… There’s a few more minutes, I’ll go find another assistant! See you on stage, then!”

Cassandra opens her mouth to say something else, but Varian smiles, waves and turns around, leaving his cart somewhere off to the side of the backstage area, scanning the few people not in the audience and who aren’t competing.

He asks if anyone would be willing to help, but a few of them apparently recognize him when he gives them his name, muttering something about wizards and dangerous, much too dangerous before nervously making up some excuse to leave. 

That’s okay too, just. It’s okay, gotta keep looking. It’s a few more minutes. He’s got time.

Eventually, Varian nearly stumbles over an old, very old, and very short man. Literally stumbles, that is.

He’d been sleeping beside a few barrels and when Varian hesitantly asks him, he says yes and tells Varian that he once had a great-great-great-once-removed-on-his-mother’s-side dogfather who was a scientist.

All good .

When he returns and starts checking under the sheet covering his invention and the sand he’d brought with, Ruddiger wakes up and nudges at Varian’s palms. 

Varian looks at him, then takes the raccoon in his arms and squeezes tight.

A wet nose presses into his neck and Varian sighs again.

“Aw, what’s got you so affectionate?”, he whispers, then, quieter, “I wish you had opposable thumbs, buddy. But let’s see how this goes. Let’s do this, yeah?”

A chitter is his response.

At least, now, he can’t really feel the fear of presenting in front of the crowds of the capital, not with the odd sensation building in his lungs.

The old man comes to stand beside him and asks what kind of invention has such a monochrome color-scheme while pointing at Ruddiger. Varian opens gives up on an answer and just shrugs with a polite smile plastered on his face.

He watches and listens as people present. Dr. St. Croix doesn’t seem to like or analyze much of anything, Varian thinks. He thinks, but really, maybe Dr. St. Croix has just seen dozens of inventions like these already. He is a scientist, after all.

Still, when Rapunzel presents, bubbly and cheerful as always, hey, that’s not too bad, equine power sure is something , Varian can’t help a small smile.

When it’s his turn, he slaps both hands over his cheeks and shakes his head like a wet dog, only to get his face to look right, to loosen up.

Varian peeks at the crowd through a crack in the curtain, then looks back at the old man; his assistant.

“Sir? It’s almost time for the presentation…”, he whispers, then pokes the man in the shoulder and he rouses into a fighting stance, before switching right back to a more passive, barely-present smile.

“Woah-ha, my alarm clock has grown legs”, he says. Varian winces and tries to keep himself hoping things turn out.

“You only need to pull that lever after I pour the sand and then I’ll do the rest, sir”, Varian reminds him with a tight smile. The old man gives him a thumbs-up and a toothy grin. Some of his teeth are missing.

Then, it’s time.

Varian steps on the stage, feeling smaller than he’s felt in a while.

Dr. St. Croix waits with a critical expression just at the edge of the stage near a wooden podium, Cassandra stationed a few steps back, standing proudly in her uniform.

So Varian smiles as wide as he can, and in large gestures, he presents:

“Behold! The power of alchemy!”

With that, Varian pulls on one of the curtains to reveal his machine to the public.

There’s intrigued applause, but it fades a bit awkwardly when the other curtain remains shut, only for a string of mumbles and tame curses to follow. Finally, the old man bursts through the curtain, still leaving it closed. In response to Varian’s pained expression, he also adds:

“Behold, the power of… Of that guy! ”

He points at Varian. Varian’s smile grows ever tighter. He does pull the curtain though, and hey, maybe things will go smoothly from here.

“I give you…”, he says, teeth clenched so they don’t chatter as much, “The Elemental Remogrifier!”

There’s still… A few people cheering. For him. It surprises him enough that for a moment, Varian just stands there, and then, he springs into action, bringing over the sack of sand he’s prepared just for this.

The old man is swaying on his feet where he stands, and as for Dr. St. Croix, well, Varian’s too nervous to look and see the judge’s reaction.

“It is a simple concept”, he presents as he pours, doing his best to keep his voice clear and steady, like his father does when addressing the village, “Using readily available materials to create something new.”

Then, the sand sack emptied, Varian has to prod at the old man to get him to jump into action, and Varian is nearly sick with relief when he does just that, pulling the lever on one side of the machine easily enough and holding it down until Varian does his part. It should be smooth sailing now.

The click and the slow turning of the device seems to capture the audience well enough, so Varian does the rest: turns the wheel to set the pressure and pulls the last leaver.

The innermost centerpiece of the invention begins spinning rapidly and as the process takes place, Varian finishes his explanation, now confident that everything will turn out, for once:

“The rotation causes friction, which heats the sand, while the counter-centrifugal forces promote particle compression. The result?”

The rotations stop and Varian reaches inside, floored with relief when he can feel the heat of the newly-formed material under his fingers.

“Fifty pounds of sand turns into…”, he holds up the glistening rock and it seems to catch the light just right as the crowd exclaims enthusiastically, “This!”

Now, he does throw a hesitant look at Dr. St. Croix, surprised to see him staring, but Varian keeps talking before he loses himself. Just a bit more and it will have all gone perfectly. He sees Cassandra from his peripheral vision and he knows exactly what he wants to say next.

“As unbreakable as diamond, but with the benefit of being synthesized at will, I call this new element”, he flushes, but the confidence lended by the interested crowd keeps him standing tall, “Cassandrium.”

The crowd cheers, but Varian only has eyes for the woman standing next to the judge. And Cassandra is looking at him too, at the purple stone held between gloved fingers, and her eyes widen. They’re hazel, Varian notes. They’re very pretty. 

For a moment, everything is perfect. Maybe he even has a chance at winning.

Oh, but Varian should have known it wouldn’t last. Never does with him.

A few things happen very quickly, then.

The old man stumbles off of the stage, asleep again, and before Varian can leap to catch him, he falls onto another competitor, a man in a winged helmet and dressed in furs. 

Why he was holding a knife, Varian doesn’t know.

Why the man’s instincts make him throw it straight at Dr. St. Croix, Varian is also unsure.

How Cassandra snatches the knife midair, a breath away from the judge, Varian can only assume to be because of training and instinct.

The horrified gasps from the people fade back into relief, but Varian’s world zeroes in on the fury suddenly taking over Dr. St. Croix’s face.

When the man speaks, it isn’t loud or violent, but it’s seething in its softness and Varian is suddenly paralyzed. He says things, but it takes Varian a moment to realize what the words mean.

“Despite its lack of flair and panache, I was almost inclined to give your device a mediocre assessment.”

That‘s what he says.

And as much as Varian cringes at the mediocre part, he blinks at the rest of the statement.

Fear to confusion.

It’s not-

“Flair? What does that have to-”

“ However ”, Dr. St. Croix continues more harshly, “Considering your assistant nearly lanced my nasal cavity, I’ve no choice but to disqualify you.”

Varian jolts, but he feels like what the man is saying is just - it’s like he hears the words now, but they don’t make sense to him.

“But-”, Varian tries again.

“Next!”, Dr. St. Croix yells. Cassandra is frowning. Varian feels the fight drain out of him with a long, controlled exhale. He rolls the remogrifier off of the stage with stiff movements, then goes to check on the fallen old man.

He’s curled up, sleeping. He doesn’t look hurt, so Varian looks down at his invention one last time and pockets the piece of Cassandrium. Names mean things. It had felt like a good idea at the time.

Now, it seems a bit pathetic.

Before he can wonder what to do next, even as his fingers numb with the familiar sense of utter embarrassment, the next competitor steps on stage.

A woman with fluffy, black hair, dressed in pinks and reds, steps onto the stage.

She presents herself as Fernanda Pizazzo. She has a chocolate canon, a pink smoke machine and a floating orb, suspended between decorated magnets.

“I give you… The Fantasphere!”, she presents, bubbling with pride and a certain type of actorly demeanor.

Varian frowns, but the crowd seems to love it at least. Dr. St. Croix loves it too.

Confusion to disorientation, to more questions about the how’s and why’s. More importantly…

“But. What does it do?”, Varian asks.

And it’s ‘cuz magnetism is definitely interesting and all, but if there’s more, then maybe-

“The question is, what doesn’t it do, kiddo?”

She dismisses him easily and steps back towards the front of the stage, soaking in the raging applause.

And compared to earlier, Dr. St. Croix smiles like he’s never seen something of the sort before and Varian thinks, thinks, thinks, because it feels weird, feels bad, doesn’t make much sense.

“Its luster is glorious! I see no need to continue this pathetic contest”, Dr. St. Croix declares. A blue ribbon is pinned on the woman’s dress lapel.

It’s not fair .

Ah. There it is, finally, the disappointment, quickly followed by shame. He’s been overthinking this and for nothing.

He flinches when something touches his shoulder before he realizes it’s just Ruddiger.

“Well!”, Varian tells the raccoon, “That could have gone better! Could have been a lot worse. No explosions this time, eh, buddy?”

As he puts a sheet back over the machine, Varian lets himself be comforted by the pawing at his hair and goggles and the nose pressing at his shirt’s collar, but he can’t quite find it in himself to leave just yet. Maybe he can just take a moment. It’s a beautiful day today. Still warm and there’s this slight breeze that contrasts the lingering heat.

“Could have gone worse. Nothing exploded”, he’s repeating himself.

Varian walks towards the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, somewhere behind the stage and crowd and everything, and he sits down on its edge, elbows on his knees.

“Varian?”

Eyes widen and he looks up at the last person he’d have expected to follow after him.

“Oh. Hey, Cassandra”, he acknowledges with a small wave.

To his surprise, she sits besides him, which makes Varian frown. Can she do that, just leave Dr. St. Croix unattended? Would she? It’s an important assignment for her and-

And she just sits with him. Willingly. Why?

He frowns some more, then exchanges looks with Ruddiger, but that doesn’t bring about more enlightenment either.

Varian’s about to ask if there’s something he forgot to do or if something is wrong when she finally says:

“You should have won.”

It’s not fair! The sentiment is there.

Varian blinks. She didn’t just say that.

No, but she did say that! What the heck!

He smiles, frowns, sighs, shrinks in on himself further before looking at her. There’s a softness in Cassandra’s features, very subtle, something he’s not seen before. Why? It’s not that big of a deal. It doesn’t matter. 

Oh. He should tell her, then.

“It doesn’t matter”, so he tells her, “Truth is, I just wanted to… To prove myself, I guess? To them”, to Dad , “To you . I wanted to impress you, and then, maybe… Maybe you’d see something in me. But I was just being dumb, huh?”

His laugh after is a little too humorless. Varian can work on it. Then again, he nearly chokes at the end, when Cassandra interrupts, sounding both happy and surprised at once.

“But you did impress me. Varian, you’re a great kid, you’re kind, compassionate… You’re unique.”

“Isn’t that just a nicer way to say weird?”, he snorts, but awfully enough, his eyes sting a little.

“Varian”, she places both hands on his shoulders and there’s a pleased chitter from Ruddiger, “Thank you. For today. Helping me out when you didn’t have to, even when I… When I didn’t do the same. You were a good friend. A good person. I should have done the same, and… I’m sorry I didn’t.”

And there’s still a pesky sentiment floating somewhere around his head, why, how, what, unfair , but it seems so insignificant in the moment that Varian can’t not discard it. He smiles. For real this time.

“Thank you. For- For saying that.”

Cassandra’s fingers squeeze gently. He doesn’t feel quite as fluttery as he did before, and his face is a little hot, just like the space behind his eyes, but they’re both smiling. It’s a nice moment.

When she turns to leave, Varian notices her back tense.

“Oh. Would you look at that…”

So Varian looks.

Why is his invention uncovered again? He could have sworn he-

“Looks like St. Croix liked your invention after all, Varian”, Cassandra narrows her eyes.

It’s the judge. He’s… Why is he…?

Pulling a lever. Turning the wheel. Then-

“Master St. Croix, no! No- DON’T!”

He’s running towards his invention before it even processes in his brain.

Ruddiger jumps off from around his shoulder at one point, skittering faster along the ground than the boy can run.

But the man only looks up, scoffs and reaches for the lever before Varian is close enough to tug on his sleeve, to try to pull him away, because it’s a two step process and he’s not- Not using it right, the device shakes too hard and it’s not calibrated properly and-

“No, DON’T! You’re- You’re building too much pressure!”

Ruddiger bites and scratches at Dr. St. Croix’s legs, trying to drag him away, but when the man swings his leg to kick him, Varian cries out.

“Back off, child ”, the man sneers, pushing Varian off too, “I’m a scientist !”

Cassandra is there too, suddenly, and she reaches out to pull the man back. It’s too late. He pulls the last lever of the machine that’s shaking, rotating, about to blow .

And the machine does just that.

Varian’s tackled to the ground by a strong pair of arms, while Dr. St. Croix ends up in much the same position when a large piece of metal strikes him in the stomach, crumpling him instantly.

It’s over sooner than expected and all that is left is pieces. The explosion had been small enough, only affecting the three of them while the crowd goes right back to celebrating the day now that the exposition is done. Varian looks at Cassandra. Cassandra, who was supposed to guard St. Croix. Who saved him.

“You chose me…?”, he asks, dazed for a second.

Then, Varian’s eyes widen and he nearly stumbles in his hurry to reach his raccoon where he’s lying just a few steps away. Ruddiger jumps up when Varian approaches, hackles raised, but he settles when he notices who it is.

Varian scoops him up, protectively, and holds him out as he looks him over for any major injuries, either from the explosion or-

A feeling that Varian’s felt only prickles of before is now boiling and bubbling.

He turns to where St. Croix is still on the ground, holding his raccoon gently. How could- How can a man be so cruel ?

Not even sure what he’d been planning when he stomps towards the downed man, Varian still turns to glower at Cassandra when she grabs him by his arm and pulls him back. He calms at the cold look in her eyes, especially as it isn’t directed at him.

“Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

“Yeah, no kidding…”, Varian mumbles, then hugs Ruddiger a bit tighter to his chest, receiving a jittery purr in return.

“Is… Did that old geezer…”, she asks, gesturing to the raccoon.

“No. No, no, Ruddiger is okay”, Varian says softly, eye twitching when there’s another pained groan next to them; he turns to Cassandra, brows drawn together, “Will you be okay? Cassandra, what if your dad gets mad that you didn’t help St. Croix, this was supposed to be your big chance and I-”

Ruined it, didn’t I? He doesn’t voice that when Cassandra laughs at the way Varian’s already riling himself up. And it’s so… It’s genuine and a bit nasal and just a wonderful sound. It makes Varian happy, and his shoulders lose some of the tension.

“Hey. It’ll be fine”, the eventually goes unsaid, “And I was helping a friend .”

He hugs her.

Varian doesn’t have many people to be this physically affectionate with, but he hugs her and it’s a little awkward before she hugs back, chuckling.

“You’re a good kid, Varian”, she murmurs before letting go.

“Not a kid”, Varian complains, laughing.

Cassandra raises an eyebrow and shoves up against him as Varian turns to look at the remaining pieces left of his invention.

He reaches into his pocket, finding the piece of the Cassandrium he’d made today, more clear and larger than the rest, and he places it in her hand.

“I think this was meant for you”, he offers, “And, for what it’s worth, today was fun. Thank you for… Thank you, Cassandra.”

“Hey”, she says, face carefully neutral for a moment, “Call me Cassie.”

She expects it this time, when Varian goes to hug her again, not really sure of what to say, of what he could say when he feels so happy he could explode too. Cassandra ruffles his hair when he pulls back to look at what’s left of his invention again.

“Welp, I suppose I should get to cleaning this up. See you around, Cassie?”, he says, grinning, heart too big for his chest.

Cassandra looks like she wants to say something else, before someone else pulls her aside. From the more decorated headpiece, Varian assumes this is the ever-hard-to-impress Captain of the guards; Cassandra’s father.

Varian watches them for a few seconds, the man looking quite rigid at first as they talk, before his expression melts into something else. Pride.

He turns back to picking up pieces with one arm, Ruddiger holding his other captive with his claws, making chittering and complaining as Varian hums along.

“Hey, Varian!”, Cassandra calls out again, running towards him. 

“Huh?”

When she stops beside him, bending down to gather some of the pieces of metal and other materials, she winks:

“I think we make a pretty good cleanup team, no?”

Varian laughs in disbelief and can’t bring himself to stop smiling. It doesn’t take long before the area behind the stage looks like it hasn’t seen any minor explosions in a while, despite a couple of castle physicians carrying a hurt scientist back to the infirmary.

They exchange amused looks, though Varian does have to sigh. 

He doesn’t like seeing people hurt, but that doesn’t make the angry feelings from before fade fully. At least Ruddiger is fine now, having gone off into the crowd to steal himself some pastries before returning with a suspicious amount of crumbs mixed into his fur.

By the time Varian is ready to start his trek back to Old Corona, Rapunzel and Eugene have joined them, Eugene’s hair still somewhat fluffier than usual.

“Hi, Rapunzel, Eugene! Again”, Varian greets, dumping the last armful of scrap metal into his cart, then the sheet, then he lets Ruddiger rest in one of the less sharp spots, making himself comfortable.

“Aw, are you leaving already, Varian?”, Rapunzel asks, “And what happ- Oh, hi, Cass!”

“Nice going with the fan, Raps”, she smirks, though Varian nodding enthusiastically besides her minimizes the teasing jest.

“Right? It was so fun to make”, she confesses, then leans closer to Varian to say, “Though, I think I may prefer my more artistic pursuits.”

“Engineering is an artistic pursuit!”, he says, “Of a sort…!”

“Not if St. Croix is anything to go by. I think I really don’t like the guy”, Eugene rolls his eyes.

Varian just groans at the name.

 

---

 

Quirin is understandably worried when Varian arrives home closer to midnight rather than sunset, even more so when he sees his son unload his invention in pieces to be carried back to the lab.

He also seems somewhat sheepish, Varian notices, even as he sets up dinner for the three of them. Cheese and bread and some fruit, which Ruddiger seems particularly captivated by. He’d had some cookies for lunch when Rapunzel insisted he had to try (of her own making, they’d been really good actually) before going home (thus the lateness).

(That had been nice too. Spending a bit more time with friends . Heh.)

“So”, Quirin starts.

“So!”, Varian says.

A bushy eyebrow is raised in question. Varion knows quite well exactly what said question is, but actually addressing it is too… No.

His Dad lets him get away with it for all of two seconds before he puts his hands on the table, looking very expectant.

“Varian”, he says, “What happened today? At the exposition? I saw the pieces.”

Oh boy , Varian thinks to himself, though he tries to reassure his own raging thoughts that it hadn’t been his fault, so why is he even worried in the first place? Habit? He composes himself, but his mouth remains twisted in a little pout even when Varian finally speaks:

“It exploded… But Dad-”

“Oh, Varian”, Quirin runs a hand down his face, “What did I tell you?”

Are they gonna fight? Varian doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t.

“No, but listen, it wasn’t me this time, it wasn’t!”, Varian argues.

“I don’t want to hear excuses, young man. I told you, again and again, that you need to be more careful with your invention. This cannot keep happening!”

Varian stands up suddenly, even making Ruddiger jump and clamber out of the room. He’s horrified to feel his face heat up as well as his eyes, but it isn’t his fault . Not this time.

“I did well! ”, suddenly, “You don’t- But I did ! And that- That judge, St. Croix , he didn’t care! And fine! I can use practice. I can do with learning more. That’s f-fine! But when I was done - and I told him not to touch it, but he did and it just-”, Varian falls right back into his chair, anger leaving him just as it had done earlier today.

Varian expects, for a moment, that his Dad will remain as undaunted, that he will tell Varian that he should have thought about this, putting other safety protocols in place, but that’s not what he gets. Instead, there’s a scraping noise against the floor, a couple of footsteps, then there’s a pair of arms closing in around him.

“I understand”, Quirin says, softer than usual, almost hesitant, “I understand. I am sorry. For leaving today and for just now. Varian…”

“I-”, Varian’s voice cracks, “It’s- It’s okay, Dad.”

Can he really blame his Dad for not trusting him or his experiments and inventions and devices? Today could have proven something, maybe, but Varian just ended up being humiliated in front of everyone.

Hey. Call me Cassie.

Well. Maybe not everyone. Varian smiles, to himself, then to his Dad and brings his arms up to return the hug.

They stay like that for a while. Then, shaking out the woozy feelings still lingering and wiping at his face with his forearm, Varian thinks of the next best thing besides showing his father what he’d worked so hard to present at the expo.

He still has some of his earlier test rocks that he’s made. Like he used to do when Varian was younger and his alchemical experiments were easier to understand, Quirin listens, just listens and nods along, even when Varian’s retellings and explanations go from technical construction to helping out a friend today; at the castle, you know? Not quite, but Quirin wants to know and he asks.

Tomorrow, Varian will receive another letter addressed to him from the castle (though not Rapunzel this time), and in it will be a handmade blue ribbon fashioned like the one from the expo, a brief note just alongside it, reading: And I believe this was meant for you .

Tonight, Varian just gets to speak to his Dad.

Notes:

Losing because of technical difficulties stings, but it's fiiine.
Wanted to change a few major things from how the episode went. And some of the best parts of canon work better as visual humor anyway, me thinks.
I know I tend to write Varian and Quirin having a difficult relationship, but then again, they are where they are emotionally, with Quirin just trying to look out for a whole village and for his son and Varian feeling misunderstood and alone. You know how it is. Hope it's not too melodramatic, heh.
There's also the black rocks ending that I changed, but I'm planning something. Next chap, we'll be back with the rocks.

Chapter 6: The scientific method

Summary:

How much of a coincidence is it that the rocks are only the second indestructible thing he's stumbled upon in the last few months? Well, if there's any chance of things being connected, Varian thinks Rapunzel should know.

Notes:

Contents: black rocks, inaccurate science.

With the expo out of the way and feeling emboldened by how things still ended up alright after all, Varian takes advantage of the extended free time he has with Fall harvests now slowing to a standstill. 

There’s still work to be done, sure, but Varian’s daily tasks tend to boil down to the more mundane stuff. Putting things in jars, boiling things and mixing them and then putting them in jars, boiling the jars themselves before anything. It’s easy work, but time consuming, and even then, it’s more of a waiting game. It’s something they should have done more towards the Summer, actually, but Varian doesn’t mind the easy coverup now.

That is to say, it gives Varian plenty of time to sneak back into the woods, ready to do a more thorough investigation of the mysterious spikes growing more numerous and larger by the day, if slightly (at first). Even the new part of his day (evening, rather) dedicated to exchanging letters, mostly with Rapunzel, sometimes with Cassandra, isn’t enough to distract him fully this time around, despite how exciting that is.

Heck, it’s even been a while since Varian’s worked on one of his own personal projects. This is what he gets for encountering something unknown and suddenly feeling the need to know everything about it. Mainly, he’s kind of become a little obsessive about the black rocks. There’s just something about them, you know?

But Ruddiger doesn’t much like the rocks, glaring at them on a good day and hissing and running away on a bad one, so Varian doesn’t force him to come along, leaving him with a bribe of the raccoon’s own weight in fruit so he behaves.

Varian really wants to figure out what these rocks are and where they came from, but he won’t put his friend at risk just for a bit of company as he does.

So, all by his lonesome, Varian trots forward, the leather of his gloves squeaking when his fingers tighten on the straps of his bag.

Varian takes out a notebook and a lead pencil as soon as the rocks come into view, making a face at what he sees.

Flipping through the pages, he sees past renditions of the rocks. Most of them are from before the expo, but the most recent one is from just two days ago. Not exactly a proper progression, but it shows what Varian’s already concluded: the rate the rocks are multiplying at is increasing exponentially.

On a rough, handmade map, Varian’s managed to track their path after traveling a bit further into the woods, walking right up to the edge of the wall, where he’s been confronted with the awkward confusion of how they could have possibly grown naturally if they’ve literally grown over the wall of Corona’s center like a climbing vine.

And if his calculations are correct… Varian looks down at the slightly smudged lines and the dotted trajectories he’s drawn this morning.

They could very well head to the capital. Which is preposterous. They’re rocks! They’re not headed anywhere. But something is causing them, somehow, and Varian has to presume they are synthetic. And the something seems to be targeting the seat of Corona’s power.

Varian sighs, then turns a new page in his notebook, where he recounts what he’s managed to learn about these strange rocks already. It’s good practice to go over the information as many times as he needs to, in case he’s missed something.

 

• UNBREAKABLE VIA USUAL MEANS (sawing, hammering, drilling, hacking, etc. - need to check with harder materials?)

 

He’s still got some pieces of Cassandrium, so he writes that down on a different page, before continuing the recap.

 

• INSTANTANEOUS GROWTH (have yet to document the appearance of one in person, but they can spread or increase in size in less than a day)

 

The closest he’d come to seeing the rocks grow was when he found Ruddiger, actually, but he hadn’t seen it properly at the time.

 

• CAN GROW THROUGH ANY SURFACE, INCLUDING: dirt, stone, brick (NOTE: it does not seem to “grow” out of living matter, such as trees, only from the ground, but it can uproot most plants and it becomes a danger to surrounding wildlife)

 

And then there’s also the question of how having these things around affects the roots of the plant life around, but it’s not an easy thing to see.

 

• DIGGING WILL NOT ROOT THEM OUT (how far down?)

 

Admittedly, it’s not… Much. He hasn’t gone about things properly the first time around, as it had been about curiosity, but now, Varian’s ready to do this the scientific way.

He doesn’t repeat the tests that have broken his tools last time, but he documents everything else, takes measurement, compares the sheen of the rocks, the structure he can sometimes glimpse when the sun shines just right and makes the ridges almost glow. He’s taken to carrying encyclopedias all about geology, mineralogy and gemology whenever he goes to see the rocks. He’s read these books before, but it’s best to have the exact data on hand when he writes his notes. His poor muscles don’t appreciate the extra baggage, but his research has priority.

 

---

 

The fourth day of his studying the rocks begins with Varian hiding in the kitchen, surrounded by jars of dark-colored fruit jams and jellies, and larger ones full of brine and vegetables. They’re piled on the table and Varian sighs amongst them, looking down at his notebook, frowning.

“Well. We’ve done most of the physical tests we can do, buddy”, he tells Ruddiger where he’s ineffectively fighting with one of the still warm jars.

Varian turns his head this way and that, as though it would help him read something different into the few facts he’s managed to gather and the schematics he’s drawn up. That the notations on said schematics are mostly question marks is a testament to just how hard it is to research the rocks.

There’s one last thing he wants to do before starting alchemical analysis. One last physical test. It probably won’t have a great yield, but he has to try. After all, the Cassandrium was made with inspiration taken from the black rocks. If anything can break them, it would be that. Using a small machine with a Cassandrium tip is his best bet to see how that would go.

“You think Dad will conveniently misplace me if I go now?”, Varian asks Ruddiger, who’s taken to offering Varian the saddest possible eyes until his boy laughs and tosses him a large, yellow quince, now that his nose is out of his notes. Varian closes his notebook, propping his chin in his hand while he watches Ruddiger devour the tart fruit. He doesn’t like those as much as apples and they don’t grow that many, but it seems to do the trick of making sure Ruddiger will stay set for a bit longer.

Well, it’s now or never.

Varian stands, leaving Ruddiger to guard (and hopefully not shatter) the jars until Quirin climbs back out of the cellar to take the next batch down. If he asks, Varian can always say he needed more ingredients for his experiments. Things have been oddly explosion-less for some time. It would be understandable that the cause is lack of raw material to work with rather than a new obsession.

Mind made up, Varian goes back out. Luckily, the rain has paused for now, but things have been moody for days and will probably continue like this for another week or so.

There’s one more thing Varian has noticed about the rocks, but he’s been… Hesitant to add that particular note. Mostly because he isn’t even sure what it is. Thing is, they just. It’s like they vibrate , they hum if Varian stands still long enough and listens.

They do it now, as Varian stares at them, his breath fogging before him. It’s still a few hours until sundown, but it’s already quite chilly, contrasting the usually mild temperatures of Corona.

Varian makes a mental note to bring a jacket or coat with next time. Then he realizes he’s been stalling and he forces himself to take a deep breath before he takes out a piece of Cassandrium, the sharpest one he has. It’s a bit smaller than the others because it is the first sample he made, but it should be structurally sound.

The small machine is mostly reinforced metal and thick leather straps that he attaches directly to a spike. Then, he adds the crystal tip.

“Welp. Here goes nothing.”

Varian winds the little lever on the machine, then lets go and watches it turn the other way, much faster.

When it hits, the impact has Varian reeling. He falls on his bum with a shocked expression, his ears ringing at the piercing sound echoing in the air. The frequency of the low hum changes, but only for a moment.

“That’s not… Not what was supp-supposed to happen…?”, he blinks at the now destroyed contraption, then winces when a sharp pain registers. The Cassandrium shattered with the hit, and as he looks down, Varian notes that a piece has embedded itself in his glove. In his hand too, if the sensation is anything to go by.

Varian averts his gaze as soon as the shard is out. It’s barely a scratch, but just the idea that it could be bleeding… No, thank you.

Varian slowly rises back up, controlling his breathing and pointedly not looking down at his hand while he gathers the scrap pieces around him.

“Ugh, that was useless”, he mumbles to himself, throwing one last frustrated look at the rocks, “And here I thought I’d made something durable. Maybe not… Cassie would be disappointed, ugh!”

After all, he’d hyped it up so much and Cassandra had actually seemed happy when Varian gave her a piece of it. Inspiration or nor, these rocks are the real deal, after all.

But… Thinking about Cassie leads to Varian thinking about Rapunzel too, and for a second, he thinks to himself, I can’t believe I would encounter something practically indestructible twice . Isn’t that weird?

Isn’t that weird? And then, for a second, Varian has to wonder. But - no.

There’s no connection there just because both hair and rocks are unbreakable via all logical means. Not to mention that Rapunzel told him once through a letter while they were discussing that first meeting that her hair had actually protected her when the water tanks exploded. So if anything, the hair could have some magic behind it (which Varian thinks very tentatively, because even then, that magic would have some logic behind it to be studied), but the rocks can very well be just… A natural anomaly. That’s all.

That’s all! Surely!

Because it would be a coincidence, otherwise. A very large, very strange coincidence based on, what? A hunch? A stray thought? A mild similarity? As if.

Varian frowns.

Yet, if there is even the slightest connection between-

No, surely not. Varian’s just seeing things adding up where there’s no summing to be done. He does that sometimes, but chance should never be interpreted so freely.

But what if , Varian feels his mind turn, curious and yearning to know.

And if ?, he asks himself.

He has to write Rapunzel. Just in case. Worst case scenario, he shows her something cool and they laugh about silly coincidences together. And best case…

 

---

 

Varian stares at the blank page, then uses his other hand to scratch at Ruddiger’s dangling front leg where he’s stretched across his Varian’s shoulders, watching curiously.

“Sun, what am I even supposed to say? Oh yeah, I had this hunch that is most likely sooo inaccurate, wanna waste some time on it, your Highness? ”, Varian asks the raccoon, who shrugs and claws to get more scritches when Varian pulls his hand away. Varian acquiesces with a smile. “You attention-hungry, little monster, you.”

A claw pats his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, Ruddiger”, Varian laughs, straightening his back and turning to start on his letter again, only to jump, throw the quill up in surprise and leave his ceiling decorated with some newly made blotches.

“Varian? Varian, dinner is ready”, his Dad had called.

AAA , Varian had nearly screamed back.

Alright; to be written after dinner then, Varian decides.

 

---

 

Hi, Rapunzel!

Would you be interested in seeing me test the durability of your hair again? I’ve finally found some conditions that I haven’t tested it under yet, and I think it could be fun (like the experiments when we first met, testing, testing, all that), if you have the time! These things actually inspired me to create the Cassandrium, so! You could bring the others and it could be a fun day, right?

Yours truly, 

Varian.

 

---

 

“Dad, I’m gonna hang out with my friends today!”, Varian calls and he receives a wave from where his father is loading some of the ripe pumpkins into a cart.

“Stay safe and be back for lunch, Varian”, Quirin calls back, then he does a double take and seems to mutter to himself ‘Wait, you don’t mean her Majesty, right? Son-’, but Varian chalks it up to the wind, to which he has no justifications to give.

Varian waves back and then he’s off running up the road leading towards the village itself and then, further along, through the wilderness and towards the capital, ready to greet his guests for the day.

He had received a note from Owl, Cassandra’s owl (as the note also explained), before sunrise today. He’d sent his own letter yesterday, at noon.

Soon enough, a few steps outside of the village, he sees them. Three people spread across two horses, all of them cloaked to hide their identity. Varian frowns a little. But, well, it may just be so they don’t draw suspicion by coming here too often either. Varian may be a friend, sure, but who knows?

Varian opens his mouth to greet the three before the lone rider dismounts, already standing next to him and placing a hand over Varian’s mouth.

“Not here”, a voice, Casandra’s, Varian recognizes, says, and before Varian can protest, he’s dragged under the cover of the trees. He rolls his eyes. It’s not like people were out and about in the village, not at this time and not with all the dark clouds roiling overhead. But safety is safety, and Cassandra does want to become a guard.

So Varian follows.

Rapunzel is the next to dismount and as soon as they’re far enough to not be heard and Cassandra has taken another look around, nodding her all clear , she goes in to hug Varian.

It’s a quick thing, but her hands remain on his shoulders as she pulls back and gives him an indecipherable look, her green eyes wide.

“Varian. You found something else? Something to do with my… With my hair”, Rapunzel says. It sounds more like a hopeful statement than a question.

Varian laughs nervously. He hadn’t expected this tense atmosphere, and suddenly, he wonders if he called her out here for nothing. Varian shakes himself. No, this could be something. He’d said as much. Could be, not is, but could be . If the rocks are strange enough in their characteristics that they beat Rapunzel’s hair in unbreakability, that’s something she might want to know about. How they would test things, Varian isn’t sure yet, but he’s got gears and metal scrap and a few more bits and bobs in his bag, alongside all of his notes, should it come to that.

Could be.

In the stilted conversations they’d held in Varian’s lab on that first day, she had confessed that having her hair back was more a cause for worry than something she herself wished for. It just feels… Right , to let her know.

But first things first, he has to show them the rocks.

“In my letter, I-I said something about the Cassandrium”, he starts, gulping and taking a moment to gather his thoughts, gosh, why is he so nervous, Rapunzel is his friend , “It is the closest thing to some of the hardest materials known across the Seven Kingdoms. But I found something that broke it. Just like that. I was thinking… It’s…”

Cassandra steps up to him, her face hard, though not as cold as it had once been.

“What about it?”, she urges.

“...It’s the one thing we haven’t tried against your hair. It was a stupid thought, at first, but I thought… I thought it could be worth seeing for yourself…?”

“You didn’t call us out here just to run another test and then explode us again, did you, kid?”, Eugene asks, still sat atop a white stallion. Varian rubs at the back of his neck and laughs again. He appreciates the lighter tone the comment brings, though.

“No explosions! B-but… You could see it as another test, kiiinda?”, he confesses, “Agains, it was actually what inspired me to make the Cassandrium in the first place”, he turns to Cassandra when he says this, looking at her earnestly, “I had already run some tests on them when I first found them, but I only got into actually analyzing them more closely after the expo. I didn’t try the alchemical tests yet, but at least physically… Rapunzel, this stuff seems just as unbreakable as your hair.”

There’s a heavy silence all around them, only the occasional sound of a scuffle of animal feet or a chirp nearby breaking it up.

Did he say something wrong?

“Did I say some-”

“Let me see.”

Varian feels quite a bit creeped out by the way these three people that have always seemed rather cheery have fallen silent now, staring at him like he’s just said the worst thing he could have said. Like they know something he doesn’t.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he hears his father’s voice, reminding him that Rapunzel is a Princess, even if he’s befriended her. And Varian wonders, now, if he’s pushing things too far, somehow.

There’s this feeling bubbling in his throat, awkward and strained, but Varian pushes it aside and covers it with the confidence of a scientist. He has to know, and if, for some reason, those rocks can do anything to get them closer to understand Rapunzel’s hair, she deserves to know as well. Varian leads them through the forest.

 

---

 

Varian starts wondering if he should have forced Ruddiger to come along.

It’s not even that the tension hasn’t faded somewhat. It has. But now Varian watches a non-verbal argument that he lacks three quarters of context for and he keeps blinking, trying to understand why Rapunzel seems so scared about, looking guilty even, or why Eugene has this I told you so look on his face or why Cassandra looks like she’s ready to murder something.

Pascal jumps onto the black rocks at one point and Varian catches him when even his lizards’ feet don’t help him climb up them and he slides instead.

“Do you get what’s going on here?”, Varian asks and sighs at the squeak and headshake, “Yeah, I’m not so sure either. Maybe-”

“Varian”, Rapunzel says and both he and Pascal look up at her as she approaches them and the newest rock cluster.

“Huh?”

“Varian, how… How long have these been here? What did you manage to find out about them?”

She sounds more serious than he’s ever heard her before. Varian deposits Pascal back on her shoulder before he takes out his notebook.

It takes him a moment, but he shows them all the sketches he’s made, the notes and measurements, and then, the map.

“Uhm. Maybe a few months. Though I can’t be sure. I found a cluster just a bit further away and it took a while for them to get this far, but I don’t know how long they’ve been ‘on the move for’. And not much”, Varian concedes, “Except… They can’t be cut or broken or damaged in any way, they can’t even be pulled out of the ground - they seem to go down for, ugh, I don’t even know , but…”, he points at the map again, “They’ve spread, and over a significant distance too. Went straight over the wall and every day, they advance a little more. It’s exponential . I think they came from somewhere South of here…? But I can’t be sure. My father would never let me cross the wall on my own and it’s harder to spot them properly from a distance. But, when I first saw them…”

When Cassandra holds out her hand, he gives her the notebook and turns his back on the rocks to look at the three people before him.

“They were incredible. And terrifying. I’ve never seen anything like them. So that’s why I thought… If anything can break your hair? It’s these things. Uhm. That or the other way around…”

Rapunzel’s lips thin and she frowns, looking between the notebook and the rocks behind Varian. With a deep breath, she takes another step forward. There’s just the smallest change in her expression when her hair starts to glow, but she doesn’t seem surprised.

Varian, on the other hand, yelps and steps back, only for his back to hit the rocks. That’s when he notices that Rapunzel’s hair is not the only thing that glows. He turns to look.

Gasping, Varian looks at the light that’s spread across the cut of the rocks, illuminating them from the inside. Not only that, but that - sound. That hum, it’s grown stronger, higher-pitched. Like when he’d tried to strike them with the Cassandrium shard. The change is constant now, rather than just a possible figment of his imagination.

He looks between Rapunzel and the rocks. This is… Are they…? And if so-

“ Fascinating ”, Varian says softly, “It’s like they’re… Like the rocks are demonstrating an actual physical response. To you.”

He looks at Rapunzel when he says it, but she jumps at the last part.

“Shhh”, suddenly, her face pales and as she drags Varian away from the rocks, both her hair and the rocks themselves going out, leaving only the pale light of a cloudy day within a mist-choked forest, “You… I need you to promise to keep this between you and me.”

Varian looks at Cassandra and at Eugene, frown deepening as he does. Pascal squeaks from his perch on her shoulder.

“And them”, Rapunzel adds.

“Wha- Why?”

“Because! Because my Dad has forbidden me from talking about these rocks. To anyone.”

It’s so weird to see her like this, but it makes a couple pieces of the puzzle shift in his brain. Quieter this time, Varian asks:

“Wait. You already… You knew about them?”

One of the horses lets out a high neigh, the white stallion he saw at the expo too, but when Rapunzel sighs, it’s a sad sound.

“Yes? Kind of? I… I think these rocks are what made my hair grow back.”

What she says evades him for a moment in favor of thoughts about timing and synchronization. Because they move slowly, the rocks, or they used to move slower than now. It would have been a while before they’d be anywhere within Corona’s wall, and it is well known that the King has limited his daughter from leaving beyond said wall.

“But they weren’t here until at least before you even came to Old Corona and - oh. Unless. You went on the other side of the wall…?”, Varian asks and receives a small nod in answer.

Then the facts themselves load up in his brain and suddenly, Varian has very few words left to give in his shock-confusion-curiosity.

“We were out one night and found a cluster of them near the southern cliffs. They’d been there for a year. It seemed like a weird event, but a singular one, not… Something that could spread”, Cassandra says in a hard, calculated voice.

Rapunzel whips her head around and opens her mouth to say something, but Eugene is the one to intervene, words careful, but as amiable as ever.

“But obviously that was wrong and they did. It’s a good thing you told us, kid. But, yeah. For Blondie’s and Corona’s safety, these have to remain a secret for now.”

Varian shakes his head.

“But they’re going to… If my calculations are correct, they have some sort of direction to them. Soon, there will be no hiding them. It could be a few months until they reach the castle, but-”

“Then just until other people start seeing them, try to keep them and your research about them secret. Varian, people can’t know about Rapunzel’s connection to them. Not now”, Cassandra amends, “This is a matter of national security. Of the King’s orders. Please, kid…”

“They’re- They’re right, Varian. But! We, collectively , are going to figure this out”, Rapunzel bends down just a bit, to be at eye-level with him. Varian gulps. She sounds hopeful. Again. And she also sounds determined. 

Slowly, he nods.

Rapunzel smiles and her hands are delicate on his upper arms, her green eyes bright even though her own worries are evident on her face.

“So, can we trust you?”, Rapunzel finishes. It’s wrong to hear her sound so worried.

And how can Varian deny the request? She’s the Princess, and more than that, she’s a friend. These three people can do amazing things, have done amazing things, if the story of Rapunzel’s rescue is to be believed, not to mention all of the tales about their adventures after returning to the castle. He’s seen Cassandra in action first-hand, after all. He’s been idolizing Flynn Rider for years even before meeting Eugene.

How could he not trust them? It’s not a big ask anyway. Varian can keep a secret.

“You can count on me”, Varian smiles, and Rapunzel does the same, more relaxed now.

Cassandra looks at them, and when she does speak up, it’s hesitant, like even she isn’t sure about this:

“You say you didn’t use your alchemy against them yet, yeah?”

She exchanges a look with Eugene and Rapunzel and Varian isn’t quite sure what they’re discussing. Using words besides the weary looks would make this easier.

“What’s the harm?”, Eugene shrugs, smiling easily in contrast to the other two.

Cassandra clears her throat.

“Then… So long as no one knows what you know about Raps, see if you can find anything out with your stuff. Once circumstances change, we’ll do what we can too.”

Varian blinks. They want him to-

She’s encouraging him to-

Varian’s grin splits his face.

“Already on it!”, he says with barely contained excitement, hoping his face isn’t too red.

“Thank you, Varian. I’m sure we’ll figure this out in no time”, Rapunzel adds. 

Thunder resonates somewhere in the distance, then, and all four of them (and the two horses) look up at the sky.

“I do believe that’s our cue, Blondie.”

Goodbyes are bid and Varian watches them leave, the rocks now back to their original eponymous black coloring. He hopes they make it home safely before it starts pouring properly. Nobody should be stuck traveling in that kind of weather, but deeper down, Varian considers what he’s just seen.

It’s not in his nature to assume the improbable, but for a second, he thinks about what he’s heard. Of Rapunzel’s magical hair, how she’d gained it, lost it, possibly gained it again. He thinks about the word that’s too broad to mean anything.

Varian still thinks alchemy is the way to go. After having one hunch proven right today, Varian is eager to see if his scientific knowledge can do more than expected, before he turns to the esoteric unknowable.

Well , Varian thinks. Only one way to find out.

He is genuinely excited to see how things pan out. He hadn’t been lying. He’s never seen anything like these black rocks. They’re possibly the most interesting non-Varian-caused thing to have happened in Old Corona since he can remember! 

And Varian’s gonna figure them out.

Notes:

Any science-y talk is just me being delusional, don't take any of it too seriously.
I added Eugene because I heckin' love Eugene.

Chapter 7: Mystery to solve

Summary:

Whether or not the people of Old Corona know that the Princess is connected to the black rocks doesn't matter when the rocks themselves prove more dangerous than expected. Varian thinks he's found a vulnerability in them, meanwhile. Now, just to find a way to use said vulnerability...

Notes:

Contents: proprety damage, more inaccurate science, rocks and stressed people all around (and a possible answer for it all).

It’s around a week of secret-keeping before the first cluster of rocks is spotted by another villager. The whole family comes to Quirin for help when their best equipment can do nothing to dislodge the black rocks, and Varian overhears the urgent plea by accident from the kitchen. He’d been about to go back to the lab to prepare a series of test-solvents precisely for said rocks.

Instead, he accompanies his father, feigning pure curiosity. Only one man, the one who first spotted the rocks, a bit younger than his Dad, guides them there. Obviously, Varian questions him.

“How large were these things?”, Varian asks, keeps on asking, eyes large and innocent, “Did you figure out what they were made from? How quickly did they pop out from the ground? Oh, you say just like that, in front of your eyes? Wow. Maybe they’re organic.” Not that they couldn’t be, but there’s been no traces of carbon, or none that Varian’s found so far, but he's not gotten into it properly yet either.

“Varian.”

“I’m just curious!”

He does a very good job of keeping up a facade, thank you very much.

Dad doesn’t suspect a thing.

Dad also holds an arm out to keep Varian from stepping any closer to the rocks once they reach the aforementioned villager’s field.

“I don’t want you getting any closer, Varian”, he says, gravely. Varian narrows his eyes.

“They’re just rocks, Dad. I’m sure I could-”

The sound of rumbling fills the air. Finally, Varian actually sees that near-instant change he’s been writing in his notebook about. Just like when Rapunzel had approached the rocks, the spikes glow blue and climb a little higher, while more of them sprout forward.

The warning arm before him now pushes Varian roughly back, leaving him to stumble in the black dirt, and for a moment, Varian wants to protest. Then, he sees his Dad’s face and freezes, because Quirin looks haunted. Varian’s never seen him look quite like that. Disturbed. Scared. Not surprised , however. Stoic in his terror.

But Quirin composes himself, and a second later, he goes to talk to the farmer, his eyes flitting back to the rocks every so often, interspersed with cautioning glares in Varian’s direction.

The message is clear.

Stay away .

Bit late for that, thankfully.

Varian frowns. Looks at this new cluster of rocks, at where they seem to trail off beyond a broken fence that’s so crooked with age that it’s a wonder it still stands, disappearing into the trees. In his mind, Varian sees his own map and he connects the dots easily enough. 

His theory had been correct, that the rocks would reach the village sooner rather than later.

Varian thinks he could run away now. Take off into the forest to look at the original site of where he’d first found them, but he’d need a detour to his lab, to grab his supplies. His Dad keeps watching him, face flashing between warning and troubled. It would be suspicious if he went right now.

But Dad’s being suspicious too.

Should Varian have asked about the rocks when he first saw them? Maybe. Would he have known something? Or is this the look of a man who can sniff out a natural disaster before it’s about to strike? What if’s, what if’s.

His tongue is tied now, though.

Welp . Varian sighs. Rapunzel knows. She said her King-father knows too. So really, whatever this is, it’s only a matter of time until someone steps up with a solution. 

Varian can wait a bit longer.

…Or eventually be the one to step up with that solution. He just needs to do more research, try a few more things.

Alchemy hasn’t failed him before, beyond his own still developing knowledge, and Varian’s confident it won’t fail him now.

 

---

 

After Quirin has settled the distressed family somewhat, and they’re people who have lived in Old Corona for generations, but they are scared that these whatever-they-are things will uproot them better than any drought or insect infestation or landslide ever could, Varian and his father go back home.

With gloom in the air, Varian does his best to lighten things up, talking about everything that comes to mind, but steering clear of the rocks for now, until he can parse out the situation from everyone else’s perspective more clearly.

It’s not really clear if Varian’s succeeded, but Dad’s steps don’t seem quite as heavy when he changes directions and goes to check on the animals. He was supposed to clean the goats’ hooves today, Varian remembers.

Varian follows just out of habit, handing off tools, still going on and on in circles. This is weird. After the well of words and sky-is-blue remarks dries up, Quirin speaks, low and tired:

“Varian. Whatever those rocks are… I want you nowhere near them, understood?”

And he could say yes. Should say yes, so the charade continues more seamlessly. But he remembers dried blood splattered on spikes and a poor raccoon too, frightened half to death because of them.

“But what if…”

“What if what?”, his Dad sighs. He continues his work. The scraping sounds are slight, but loud in the absence of an answer. Varian bites at his tongue to think of exactly what he should say.

“I don’t know. They’re just weird. I want to know more. Maybe alchemy can fix them up”, there. Close enough to the truth.

“Son…”, Quirin tries.

“They’re just rocks”, Varian shrugs, “But it’s also a weird phenomenon. You agree with me that it’s weird as heck, right?”

“ Whatever they are , it should be none of your concern. Let me handle them, son. Please.”

Varian wants to speak up. To be irritated that his father assumes he knows so little about things he’s studied for a while now, long before anyone else noticed them. To tell, explain, speak, speak, speak because what if he can do something for the rocks?

Instead, that drive fades from flame to sparks at the way his father looks at him, hands having stilled. He’s worried and Varian wishes he didn’t have to be.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Varian just mumbles a lousy whatever and turns back towards the house. It might have sounded upset enough that it read as resignation, and that would be good. Because Varian is not giving up so easily! But Dad should think he did. Easy.

Back inside the house, Varian basically flies towards his room, urgent in his search for all of his notes of compounds and solutions, acids and solvents. He takes a look under one of the floorboards in his room, where a few more vials lie, hidden in cloth. These are more… Special. Some are rare. Some, he’s still trying to understand fully. In a corner, there’s even a small vial of Flynnoleum. Next to it, there’s one more green liquid in dark glass. He grabs that too.

Ruddiger startles at the franticness, but he still jumps on Varian’s shoulders, watching him work as he sorts through the hidden stash as well.

“Not today. It would be too suspicious if I went today. But he’ll be out tomorrow”, Varian says, “He’ll be out tomorrow and then I’ll go”, a hesitant chirp is followed by a farm paw thumping against his face. Varian’s eyes widen before he smiles, “You wanna come with?”

A nod is followed by a wet nose nuzzling into Varian’s neck.

“Alright, alright. Don’t worry, bud, I’m not gonna let you get hurt again”, Varian says. Then, he continues stuffing as many things as his bag can carry for the day to come.

 

---

 

It’s a disaster of a day when he finally does the alchemical tests, actually, but it’s fine, thank you very much .

Thing is, Varian already doesn’t have any ways of isolating outside conditions. But that it starts raining as soon as his father is out in the village and Varian has the chance to sneak away, now that is cruel irony if he’s ever seen it. Still, Varian has experiments to run, he can’t worry about cold water seeping into his socks and into his hair and into his shirt and into Ruddiger’s fur (the raccoon is getting a bath as soon as they get home anyway, Varian decides, so he can warm back up properly), and so the weather remains an afterthought as Varian runs all the tests he’s used before when analyzing a material. A few more calculations to account for the formulas being either more diluted or slightly altered can’t be too hard.

To add to the unfairness, though, he doesn’t even find out nearly as much as he’d hoped before he starts going through solvents and the likes, which is usually not good to do slo blindly. The rocks are inorganic, that much he manages to conclude, and they are practically unreactive to most of the things Varian has brought, leaving him a little desperate. The Flynnoleum, when he mixes the reactor into it, explodes predictably, and the rocks survive, pristine as ever. Acid that Varian has seen melt through steel sits on the smooth surface so very innocently. Extreme cold via nitrogen does not a brittle black rock make. He can’t start a fire in this weather.

But finally, as he reaches for the last thing he’s brought with, something he can’t account for on a good day, let alone one like this one here, he finds it.

The bottle isn’t too big and it only has a bit of compound in it. It’s actually a really simple solution, if not so easy to make. Or use. Or keep from randomly going off and doing its thing . It’s not even Varian’s idea, for what it’s worth, so Dad can’t say he’s been creating dangerous stuff again (although…)

First he’d heard about this green solution, a woman, tall and dressed in clothes too heavy for Corona, had shown it to him. She was a trader from Ingvarr, and she came through the countryside on her way to the castle island years ago. Carrying with her, she sold all manner of things, from ice that didn’t melt and animal bones and strange plants to gunpowder and a special wax for ship wood and many, many solutions of alchemical make.

One of which…

Varian looks at the small bottle, and the green-ish liquid inside it moves against the sides of the dark glass weirdly. It’s more like molten metal, but it isn’t quicksilver, he’d noted that when he first saw it too. It’s unlike everything Varian had ever seen before, and at eleven, it had turned a hobby into a lifelong passion.

She had called it bottled lightning. A bit artsy for a name, but it seems accurate.

Unstoppering the bottle brings out a sound like birdsong. Slivers of light snake off of the surface of the liquid. It’s not really lightning, at least not in the way most people think of it, but it creates a similar reaction when exposed to air. And other materials. Perhaps a certain, non-carbon based, randomly growing and unexplainable material too?

This isn’t the bottle the trader had been offering, she’d been asking gold coins for it. But she did let Varian have a closer look at it, way back when.

He’d made his own sample after, even though it took him months to get it somewhat right. He’d tested it, made more, tested it again, but it always proved a bit harder to handle. Something explosive like what he’s used for the boilers is dangerous, yes, but in a way he can predict. This stuff, though?

A single drop falls out of the bottle

Nothing happens for a second.

And then…

Smoke. It tastes bitter and cold, somehow, but as it billows and billows from the one droplet of formula, Varian’s eyes widen and he staggers back. The liquid begins bubbling gently, which signals the end of the smoke too. But if he looks very closely, the color has lightened just a little on the spike he’d poured it on. It’s fading now, but it did the thing! Like with Rapunzel, but on a very, very tiny scale!

And smoke means reaction. And bubbling means it had been exothermic. And a reaction means something. Something, but what? Something to learn!

Suddenly grinning, Varian nearly spills the rest of the compound into the wet grass in his excitement to get closer.

“Well, well, well! So well!”, Varian says to Ruddiger, clasping the bottle with both hands, then, “A reaction we wanted, a reaction we got, buddy.”

Soon, the bubbling stops too, and that’s when Varian puts the stopper back on the bottle and shoves it in his bag amongst dozens of empty vials. Then, he’s nearly pressing his nose into where the green had boiled the rocks around it blue just seconds before, looking for any sign of lasting change.

There’s not a single scratch, but ever so slightly, if Varian leans this way and squints, he can see where the surface of the spike is more uneven than before. just so. Perhaps… Perhaps even a little blurry because of it. Like just the tiniest layer, nearly invisible, and not significant enough, had been needed to dissolve into smoke. If he could look at it under a lens, he’d see it as negligible. But these rocks are unbreakable. If anything can take even a negligible edge off of them, that is enough. Maybe it’s not the mind-bending, world-saving type of solution, but it’s a direction to take.

Ruddiger seems mostly confused, but not to worry, Varian will tell him all about how the formula works while he works on theories about how they can use it to their advantage and save Old Corona! Oh, it will be so awesome.

When Varian goes home, it’s with a sense of victory and the stuffy feeling of an impending cold.

Quirin raises an eyebrow at seeing his son, sopping wet and grinning a bit too wildly, slam the front door open and glue himself to it after it’s closed again, sliding to the floor.

“Varian? Are you alright? Where-”

“There was lightning”, is the frankly illogical (though not completely untrue, given what he knows about the compound he’d copied from the trader) answer he comes up with, but he’s still breathing hard as he gestures around, as though he were making sense.

“Silly boy”, his Dad sighs, not lacking affection, “Go get changed. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Oh, Varian is so gonna get a cold in the next few days anyway, regardless of that. No matter, he’s got chemical formulas to calculate anyway, what’s the difference between doing that at his desk or while laying feverishly in bed?

“Sure, sure!”, he replies, still grinning.

 

---

 

Varian needs time to get the calculations right. To make the reaction of the ingavrrian compound last longer and to find something that will somehow further the reaction into some kind of dissolution is not the easiest task in the world, and Varian is far from a master of alchemy with all that he still has to learn.

But the black rocks keep growing in the meantime.

They grow and expand and take over more and more land. The first time a cluster of them breaks through actual village grounds, no longer content with the outskirts and the fields and the wall and the forest, it gets the people talking, sharing thoughts of doom for any future harvests and for their safety inside their own homes.

Quirin barely spends any time at home these days, always at one house or stable or pasture or another, helping rebuild/relocate/pacify.

It’s not even like Old Corona hasn’t had its fair share of natural disasters. That’s not what scares the people. What scares them is the lack of understanding, the lack of logic in the black rocks’ ruthless evolution.

Nothing can break them (yet), they cannot be dug out and, to Varian’s surprise, who’d expected the rocks to beeline through the village like they had through the forest on the projected trajectory they’d indicated before, they linger ; they spread through Old Corona rather than cutting through it on the trajectory Varian had expected.

It’s one of the few times in his life that it’s Varian’s turn to monitor his father, to make sure he gets home to eat and sleep and take care of himself. This only ever happens when he gets the rare cold or bout of seasonal flu.

He writes to Rapunzel.

He tells her the rocks are getting worse, and even if he may be onto something, it doesn’t help much. Because it’s getting really scary now. He tells her he misses hanging out. Maybe they can meet again some other time? And if Cassie is there, and Eugene, too, even her chameleon. Anyone, at this point, anyone that isn’t so-

No, that’s not a good thought.

The rocks keep growing and the people start fearing about whether they’ll be able to even use the lands and harvest anything, come Spring. Quirin keeps coming and going and talking, gathering larger and larger crowds around him each time. How he always, without fail, manages to calm the people of Old Corona, is beyond Varian. Even Varian can tell that’s getting harder to do with each passing day, though.

But when the annoyances sprouting up around people’s homes morph into true danger putting the people’s lives at risk, that’s when the panic bursts into flames.

He and his father live further away, and it takes Varian a while to see the shift, with how rarely he’s anywhere besides his lab or secretly in the forest, where his father doesn’t know that he’s going against orders.

But Varian does see the shift eventually.

One morning, he’s just going into the chicken coop, basket in one arm, Ruddiger held under another arm so he doesn’t attempt to steal any eggs this time around - you’ll get your share once we get these in the house, buddy - and Varian is a little distracted, but otherwise, the morning seems okay on all other accounts. He reaches into the coop.

A few minutes later, Quirin has to drag a freshly fainted Varian back into the house, where he takes a few more seconds before he comes too, pale and shaky.

One of the black rocks had skewered one of the hens right through. There had been a fair amount of blood. Varian had peaced out then and there. He gets a hug and the coop receives stilts to stand on for now. They have chicken soup for dinner.

Impossibly, his tests on the alchemical properties of the black rocks progress even slower than before, even as Varian grows more and more hectic if only he can find another way to use the single reaction he knows does something (something useless), but it’s. Yeah. Slow .

After the chicken incident, it feels like invisible walls are slowly closing in on the life Varian’s always known. He can see it more easily now, the way everyone is scared.

The rocks are pushing people out of their homes, and no matter how mild Corona’s winters are, being out in the cold during these months will only lead to worse things. And Varian’s moving too slow.

Only way forward is to keep going, though.

“Well. What do you say we write a few more compounds to try out tomorrow, eh, buddy? Dad’s probably sick of me shadowing him by now”, Varian says, mostly to himself, but Ruddiger’s answering noise is quite welcome.

And the weird truth to that joking remark would be that Quirin may prefer Varian stay close to him right now. Varian thinks his Dad is slowly catching on to how thin Varian’s excuses have been running lately, about why he’s always away from home or rarely working on any of his inventions when, usually, he’d have three or four projects running simultaneously at any given time.

Ruddiger chitters and watches from the window as Varian scribbles away with hesitant fingers, already back into work mode, but it gets easier as he goes on, when he loses himself in it.

In the morning, he wakes up at his desk, sore and a bit shaky, with a blanket draped over his shoulders that Varian doesn’t remember getting and, by then, Dad is already out in the village again. Right. Another day in the forest it is.

 

---

 

Varian’s plan of going to his secluded corner of black rocks in the forest goes sideways: the rocks come to meet him instead.

In the laboratory, they burst straight through the floorboards and Varian nearly shares in the fate of that one unlucky chicken. Life doesn’t seem to be done with him, however, and he manages to step away just in time, screaming shrill and loud as he rolls away from the fall.

A hissing, spitting sound can be heard when Ruddiger comes in from where he’d been raiding the pantry again, and Varian runs over to him, picking him up silently before he leaves the lab.

“Right. R-right”, Varian mutters to himself, then to Ruddiger. The raccoon looks at him, shaking slightly, pupils large. “It’s okay, Rud. Close, but not too close.”

This time .

After a moment, Varian asks, to no one in particular:

“Should we tell Dad, do you think?”

“Tell me what?”

And for the second time on this awful, awful morning, Varian jumps and nearly has a damn heart attack as his father appears in the front door, the cold sunlight from outside shadowing him into a more imposing silhouette.

“D-Dad! Morning! Ahem. Morning. That is-”

“Did something happen? Another experiment or- Are you hurt?”, Quirin asks, immediately walking over to his son and cupping Varian’s face, looking him over.

Varian, after his heart stops trying to crawl out of his throat, sighs and tries to smile, though it comes out more nervous than intended.

“I thought you’d be busy in the village today”, Varian confesses.

“Hm. I was over at Annie’s, just downhill. I heard you scream.”

“I’m okay, Dad”, Varian says earnestly and Quirin’s mouth twitches, but he does take a step back. He’s still waiting for an explanation.

Varian prepares to give one, but perhaps words would do earlier events too little justice.

“...Why don’t I show you?”

So he shows him.

Quirin stares at the large spike speared right through the laboratory and Varian pats Ruddiger, who’s taken to hiding inside his shirt.

“And it just… Appeared.”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t… You stayed away, yes?”

“Dad, I don’t think my alchemy could have made them grow here even if I for some reason wanted them to. Unless, you know, they have an interest in the sciences, which I couldn’t blame them for, but-”

Quirin hugs him. It feels heavy with relief and Varian is a little confused even as he hugs back.

“...Dad?”

“I’m just happy you’re alright.”

Toys, animals, houses impaled on spikes. Right. Those images again. Varian shakes his head.

“O-of course… Of course I am. How is…?”

A deep, long inhale and words that come out like a whisper:

“I should- I have to go back, now that I know you’re alright.”

So getting worse, then.

Varian hangs his head. To himself, he thinks that this cannot go on like this. He says nothing to Quirin, but his Dad still echoes the same warning he’s been preaching for weeks now.

“Stay away from them, Varian.”

But this time, Varian can’t keep himself from giving a response.

“No.”

Quirin freezes. Blinks. His face shifts into a grimace. It looks pained, but Varian’s hands are shaking now.

“No, I… If I can just use my alchemy. Then… Then I can do something about these rocks.”

“ Varian , this isn’t - they’re dangerous”, his Dad says. The calm facade is cracking.

“Yeah. I know”, Varian says, glancing at the rocks in the lab, “Which is why we have to do something. And if I-”

“Varian! Leave the rocks alone”, it’s not quite shouting, but close. Varian still stands his ground.

“I didn’t go seeking them out”, he lies, but continues more honestly, “But they’re here anyway. I may as well try to study them!”

Or keep studying them . Same difference.

Dad seems very close to furious now, but the fight breaks with a woman’s scream for help and Quirin wrings his hands together, the leather of gloves too loud even for Varian, who should be used to the sound.

“We will continue this conversation later. Until then, you stay away from the rocks.”

“But-”

“ Later .”

At least it isn’t the first time Varian is going against Dad’s orders. He’ll take being grounded over seeing the whole village suffer more than it already has any day though.

No sooner is Quirin out the door that Varian goes out into the woods to get his supplies back. He’s got his samples close enough to study them in the lab after all, and by now, it doesn’t matter if Dad finds him messing with the rocks anymore.

 

---

 

They don’t get to talk, later.

Quirin gets home long after the sun has set; Varian can barely help him get from front door to kitchen to bedroom. Something must have happened in the village; Varian sees the splatter of brown-red on his father’s vest, just barely visible against the rough texture of it, and just barely keeps his own dinner down as he helps his father to bed.

Varian doesn’t ask and Dad doesn’t tell, but the implication is there. Animals are the most recent victims, as the black rocks turn more vicious than ever, too quick to avoid for lazing cows and sheeps being taken to warmer pastures for the Winter. Nowadays, children aren’t let out of sight of their families.

“Varian”, his Dad calls before Varian makes it out the door.

“Good night, Dad. I’ll… See you in the morning”, Varian says with a tiny smile.

“I love you, son”, the words are heavy like the weight of the world is resting on Quirin’s shoulders, and Varian reasons that it may as well be in this corner of the kingdom.

“Love you too, Dad. Sleep tight.”

Varian goes back to the lab. The night is still young, he reasons. Doing something productive while giving himself something to distract from spiraling thoughts is exactly what he needs.

But spiral he does, anyway. 

Somehow, he can’t stop thinking, and at one point, back in his bedroom to retrieve more papers, he finds himself sitting on the bed, holding a dark glass bottle and thinking. It’s like he can’t help it, even when he shakes his head to shake off all the ways his brain isn’t helping when he needs it to focus. Instead, the shaking moves into his hands until Varian tenses fingers into fists and his lips curl into a frown.

He thinks about rocks. About the color blue. He thinks about Dad and how he’s been looking worse lately. He thinks about many things. He thinks about the few times he’s seen the castle and he wonders how his friends are. He wishes they’d answer. He wishes he had something to give them too, by way of information.

The last note he’d sent was brief, talking about the effect of electric stimulus on the rocks. After, the postman stopped trying to navigate the streets, overrun as they are now. Not that people are sending many letters these days. They seem to be expecting something, and Varian thinks he has an idea of what, but it’s unclear around the edges and it makes his head hurt.

He forces himself to breathe, slowly, and then Varian is putting the compound back under the floorboards. He’s got more of it brewing, these days, but it’s taking a while, and he still needs another element to add to it.

So Varian keeps mixing solutions, late into the night, until he hears the crackle of thunder. After his heart’s calmed and Ruddiger’s landed himself neatly on Varian’s shoulders, he realizes it’s just birds outside and not a still confusing solution gone awry. With a sleepy smile, he finally turns a fresh page and lets Ruddiger bully him into bed.

Notes:

A filler chapter, of sorts. I tried not to make it too boring, but I needed the time to write out more of the rocks. With fake science sprinkled on top like oregano.

Chapter 8: Royal audience

Summary:

When things go from risky to critical, Quirin goes to see the King. Varian just wants to help.

Notes:

Contents: Quirin being Quirin, amber.

The way the rocks spread had been somewhat moderate at first. Every week, a new area of the village would get its first cluster.

Then, every day, more areas would get new spikes, and the clusters that were already there would expand.

For days now, it has been every few hours that the iridescent glint of eerie blue will add yet another house or barn or abandoned cart to the suspended collection all around. It’s like a very morbid theater set.

Today, even as Varian just walks out of his lab to find his father to force him to get some rest, because it’s Varian’s job to lose sleep as the teen of their family, he has to duck and jump as more and more black rocks blast through whatever inch hasn’t yet been claimed by their brethren. Every few minutes.

It’s infuriating. It’s terrifying, leaving Varian’s shoulders and neck so tense that they ache while his fingers freeze. It’s already cold today.

“Dad?”, he calls, “Dad, are you-”

When he catches a whisper of his father’s voice on the chilly wind (is Winter really this close already?), Varian’s off like an arrow, doing his best not to stumble and feed the rocks his own blood. That would not be good. Especially, since-

Today , Varian thinks he might have genuinely found something, and he rushes to catch the people gathered in one of the yet to be spiked-through corners of the village square. Varian has to give the others some hope, even if it’s with the ‘magic’ that they don’t understand. If his alchemy can finally fix this… Dad has to know. If Varian can fix this, everything will be alright again!

“Take ease, friends”, Quirin says, calmly, and if Varian didn’t know any better, his wide, steady gestures and the firm look on his face would have fooled him too. But Varian is his son. “We mustn’t lose hope.”

Varian merges with the crowd, hiding behind one of the spikes as he listens in.

“But, what are they? Where are they coming from?”, one of the men surrounding his father says, taking his hat in his hands. The weariness is evident. Quirin prepares to answer, but Varian knows this is the perfect moment to step in. His Dad hasn’t been able to stop him from researching the rocks once they burst through the lab, but Varian had been discreet about it, just in case. All his earlier notes from before the situation had grown closer to tragedy are swimming before his eyes.

“I’ve been studying them”, he offers, and for once, it’s not groans or apprehensive looks he gets, just more confusion as the people pull back a little and Varian gets to look his father in the eyes before he lays a hand on the rock next to him, “They are completely immune to physical force, but through their alchemical makeup, I’ve discovered a vulnerability.”

He sounds much calmer than he feels, but hey, small victories.

Quirin stares at him like he’s grown a second head, and Varian is prepared to argue, ready to quote all his observations and experiments, when his father speaks.

“Son, I told you to stay away from those rocks.”

And Quirin leaves no room for argument. Well, like father, like son, they share in their stubbornness. Varian tries anyway.

“I know, Dad, I know. But something has to be done about them. And I may be onto a sol-”

Suddenly, Dad is there, hands gentle on shoulders, eyes hard but so, so tired and Varian frowns.

“Varian, this isn’t something to be solved by a child”, he says, quieter, so only Varian hears.

“I’m not a child”, Varian protests, rolling his eyes, but he still lays a hand over his father’s, a reassurance for the both of them.

“And something is being done”, Quirin continues, addressing the people again, “In fact, I plan to travel to see the King this afternoon about this very matter.”

Varian’s eyes widen. He knows Dad knows the King, but still! And, if his father goes to the capital, then maybe he can finally-

“Oh! Then, um, can I- Can I come with you?”

A contemplative moment passes.

“Very well”, Quirin finally sighs, smiling a soft smile, “You can travel with me.”

And Varian whoops and jumps because, boy, would a roadtrip not save such a weary day. He says as much in a merry little jingle. Can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about it, honestly, he's smiling too much for it.

“Haaa!”, Varian gasps, “I’m gonna pack ham sandwiches!”

“Yes. But in the meantime, stay away from those rocks”, Dad chuckles before his voice peels back to its original seriousness and that puts only a hamper on Varian’s enthusiasm.

Though, what stops him entirely from running back home is the view of the road; barely traversable.

“Uhm… Okay, but that’s getting harder to do by the”, he has to take a step to the left as another spike turns blue and grows by his ear, ominously close, humming and droning, “By the minute.”

 

---

 

Sandwiches and journals full of notes packed, they make their way to the capital.

His shoulders slouch less the fewer rocks pepper the roads in front of them and Varian realizes with a start that he hadn’t even noticed how they seem to almost add weight to the air around them just by existing. No wonder everyone has been so stressed and gloomy.

That is to say, Varian’s mood improves tremendously and he chatters up a storm as the winds bring darker and darker clouds overhead.

In between rambles and his father’s little answering comments and quips, Varian says:

“That looks like a big storm incoming.”

Quirin looks at the sky too and shakes his head.

“We may get some snow early this year”, he comments.

“Woah, really? That’s so weird, it usually takes a few more weeks this time of the season before it starts snowing”, Varian notes, squinting up at the amalgam of gray and yellow and purple clouds neatly blocking out the bright blue sky Corona is so well known for.

“We shouldn’t linger, then. I don’t like the look of it”, Quirin says.

Varian laughs.

“If it actually snows, I’m not leaving before we get a snowball fight in”, Varian decides, “Ain’t that right, buddy?”

The raccoon clinging to his shoulders chitters happily.

“Not out here. It’s not safe to be on the road during snowfall”, Dad says, but he is smiling, one corner of his lips lifting up.

Varian shrugs, still grinning.

Neither of them comment on the fact that enjoying the snow in Old Corona would be quite difficult. How much worse are the spikes if you can’t see them through the snow before they strike?

Soon enough, they’re crossing the bridge from mainland to castle island and Varian is nearly downed by how strong the wind feels here.

After successfully not being plunged into the probably unpleasantly cold waters below. Varian’s nerves start to spike at the thought of speaking to the King. He’s accompanied his father to the castle exactly twice before, and both times had been when Varian was too young for inhibitions, but now? Now Varian has something to prove too.

The notes in his bag suddenly seem to weigh a lot more and Varian fiddles with the straps of his apron. A paw pats at his cheek reassuringly and Varian reaches up to scratch Ruddiger between the ears. It’ll be fine , he tells himself, I have Dad here anyway, and he’ll do the talking (he and the King are friends, it’ll all be easy-peasy, right?) and I will show what I’ve studied and then everything will be just fine . Man, why didn't we go to the King earlier?

The capital is as bright as ever, despite the dropping temperature, and the castle guards let Quirin and his son in with a tilt of the head and a smile.

They leave Ruddiger in the courtyard, where he’s already zooming away the moment Varian sets him down, chittering happily. Varian laughs at the antics he catches only the beginnings of.

Then, there’s the long line, stretching from the entrance hallway that Varian remembers from the day of the Science Exposition right into the Throne Room. 

“Oh, Dad! Did you know Cassie showed me around a little?”, Varian says, already dreading the long wait and desperate for something to fill the silence.

“Ah. One of your friends at the castle?”, it’s an invitation as good as any, so Varian launches into an explanation of the day, avoiding some details here and there (he wasn’t supposed to have his chemicals with him at the time, so a cleaning adventure turns into a tour of some of the lower levels of the castle and Varian certainly doesn’t talk about falling down an entire flight of stairs; that had not been fun).

So the time passes. His Dad shares a story of one of his visits to the King, before Varian had even been born, and things are nice for a while. They’re both just biding their time, but they may as well make things easier on themselves.

Tensions rise as they slowly approach the Throne Room, and when there’s only a few more people before them, Varian switches topics like he’s been wanting to for a few minutes now.

“Okay, Dad, what’s our strategy?”, he asks, brimming with anxiety and jittery excitement.

Quirin leans over the door and looks into the Throne Room, listening to distant voices, so Varian takes that as his cue to continue.

“Alright, well, even though I failed to get samples - they just wouldn’t cut - I have a few notes with me and a map showing the… The… Dad?”

“Son.”

Dad swings back around and his resigned look morphs into something harder when he meets his son’s wide-eyed expression.

“Wait here while I speak to the King”, Quirin continues. Stubborn. But Varian has a good reason to insist he come with and so he does.

“Dad, I think I should be there to help explain the scientific and-”

“ Varian ”, softer now, “Children have no place in court.”

“But I- I’m not a…”

Aaand he’s gone. Uncalled for and inaccurate, Varian should definitely be there. He keeps any other thoughts or feelings down as best as he can. He’s stressed , Varian reasons. He doesn’t mean to be so… So… Doesn’t matter.

Brows furrowed, Varian looks this way and that and tries to recall the layout of the hallways from last time, running to the side door the subjects leave through after their audiences. It’s as good a place to snoop as any. The guards look at him as he walks up to the open door, just in time to hear King Frederic say:

“Quirin, my old friend. What brings you from Old Corona Village?”

Catching his breath, Varian’s mind drifts a little off axis. Does the King suspect? He knows of the black rocks existing, he asked his daughter to not talk about them, after all. Does he suspect how the situation evolved? Does he know ?

“Your Majesty, Old Corona is facing quite the dilemma.”

Maybe not. Who would have told? This time of year, people barely leave Old Corona and the citizens of the capital rarely visit. Maybe news of Old Corona’s situation, dilemma , wouldn’t have reached the King so easily. And Varian has only ever told Rapunzel and she’d also been keeping it secret.

Quietly, to himself, Varian thinks the logic doesn’t track properly.

“Oh?”, the King prompts.

Varian snaps himself out of it. He’ll think about that later. It doesn’t matter, everything will come to light now anyway. The King will help. Maybe he’ll even explain his confusing methods. Varian smiles from where he’s hiding behind the door frame, only his head somewhat visible. He blinks when he notices that all three thrones are occupied. Rapunzel isn’t looking at him though, as both King, Queen, Princess and one of the royal advisors listen to Quirin.

Varian listens too.

His face falls at what he hears.

“Yes. It would appear this year’s harvest has proven quite bountiful!”

His father lies so easily .

“What…?”, Varian reels back.

“So much so that I humbly request more land to accommodate such bounty!”, Quirin finishes, bending the knee, bowing before the King, awaiting a verdict.

The advisor whispers something in the King’s ear and Varian just stares, unseeing, realizing what his father is doing. But he wouldn’t, no. No, his father is noble in that regard, always has been. He rarely sugar-coats things, especially not when they get ugly. No. No, maybe that’s just something to open discussions with, then he’ll tell the King.

But such bounty won’t be seen again when our fields are plagued .

He could say. He will say. Aaany minute now.

Dangerous rocks, slicing and impaling from the ground.

He’ll ask for help, like he said he would.

Help us, your Majesty .

Nausea makes Varian’s blood go cold, makes his hands shake as the King considers his Dad’s words.

“Quirin.”

Does he know? Does he realize? Does he?

“I am pleased to hear how well Old Corona is faring.”

No .

“And even more pleased to grant your request.”

Say something, say something now!

The King stands, his full authority on display, and Quirin looks up, smiles and bows again before he turns to leave. 

Through the side door. Varian’s heart is beating too hard in his chest, and barely registers a head of golden hair following the movement, spotting him where Varian interjects his father.

“Dad, none of-”, he chokes when the clink of metal signals the guards watching them, and continues in a panicked whisper, “None of that was true!”

When Quirin tries to walk past him with a grave look in his eyes, Varian jumps in front of his father, still flailing, something awful, awful gathering in his chest.

“Old Corona’s being destroyed !”, fear that had been gathering for days now bursts out like sprays of poison.

His Dad turns to face him now, jaw clenched.

“Old Corona will endure. You’ll have to trust that I can handle this.”

“How!? How can I- How can I trust anything when my own father ju-just lied to the King’s face ?”, the words falter with Varian’s own disbelief, but he won’t stand down, he won’t -

Then real anger crosses over Quirin’s face.

“ That is enough, Varian ”, he says quietly, precisely, looking into wide, blue eyes, not flinching, not pulling back, expectant , and Varian crumbles under that gaze that usually reassures him. Now, it only makes a shiver run down his spine.

Varian steps back.

He’s crossed a line.

“Yes, sir”, he says just as quietly as his father. He wants to look the other way but can’t until Dad walks away, steps heavy and hands clenching and unclenching.

It’s all Varian can say, frozen to the spot while he watches his father walk away, mind drawing blanks. Does he really have no arguments or rebuttals to that? He does, but it’s like they’ve been temporarily wiped from Varian’s brain.

He knows Dad will want to leave right away, won’t want to waste time when the village is expecting them, but he can’t quite put one foot in front of the other. 

A moment, just need a…

Then a hand reaches for his arm and Varian flings himself in the opposite direction, only to get twisted around and come face to face with-

“Rapunzel…?”

It sounds quiet to his own ears.

She seems a bit shocked at the extreme reaction, but when she meets his eyes, she comes up to him, hesitation forgotten.

“Varian? Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

He stares at her, not quite sure what to say.

Just peachy. Everything is getting worse but I’m fine! How else could I be?

It would be rude to say that. She is genuinely asking and Varian shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek just to keep the lingering hurt from his words before it dissipates a few seconds later.

“No”, he says after gathering himself, “No, it’s- It’s not.”

He looks into her pretty green eyes.

“I told you they would… That they would progress further”, he tries, voice a little tight.

Rapunzel blinks. Then, she slowly brings her hands to hold him by the upper arms, taking in his expression, his demeanor. There’s a question in her face and Varian nods.

“The rocks”, she gasps softly.

Varian frowns.

“We… I did what you asked, Rapunzel. They don’t know the rocks are… That you”, he gulps, trying to put the words in the right order, “I didn’t tell. But they’re worse now. Things have gotten worse.”

Her grip on him tightens just so.

“...How much worse?”

For a second, Varian thinks back on the state of the village. Words come unbidden, ways to describe what is happening, but it’s all jumbled up and it wouldn't come out right.

“A lot worse”, he pushes out. There. Something simple, but understandable.

Rapunzel takes a deep breath. She hugs him. She’s a very physically affectionate person, Varian already knows. Hesitant hands come up to hug her back.

“Don’t worry, Varian”, Rapunzel whispers, “I haven’t forgotten our agreement.”

We, collectively, are going to figure this out , Rapunzel’s voice echoes in his mind.

“I… Think I may have found something”, Varian admits, then looks away, suddenly shy, “But I don’t know if it’s actually going to help. Or do anything at all. I can try to keep you guys updated like before, but…”

“Just try to hang in there for now. You don’t have to do more than that. My parents will leave today, so I have to step up as Queen, but after... Just give me until my father returns.”

He nods and manages to offer a small smile that Rapunzel returns tenfold. Her optimism is contagious, and Varian has never liked being pessimistic himself. His own endeavors give him some hope, but with failure after failure, it wears him down a little. She helps.

“Okay”, he breathes out.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, Varian. I promise. ”

When Varian returns, Dad’s anger has mellowed and he looks like he wants to say something, but Varian cuts him off, smiling nervously.

“Welp. I suppose we should get back now, right? You’re… You want to move the people, don’t you?”, Varian asks, “That’s why… More land. Right?”

Quirin sighs, then squeezes one of Varian’s shoulders.

“You have to trust me. It’s the safest thing to do, right now.”

Varian shrugs, though he does lean into the touch.

And I’ll do what I can so you can trust me. I’ll help the people, you’ll see , he thinks.

Varian looks for Ruddiger then and sighs. Only his tail is sticking out from a trashcan set up next to the castle wall. He seems reluctant to leave, but has this sheepish attitude when Varian winces at the smell (and he’d just bathed him yesterday, too…)

That done, father, son and smelly raccoon begin the journey back to Old Corona.

 

---

 

It starts snowing when they’re still a fair distance away from the village, just a few early snowflakes carried by a cool wind.

The trek back is quieter. Varian can tell that Dad is a bit suspicious of his current (verbal) compliance, but Varian doesn’t want another fight. He just needs to get home, to go to his lab and test out the last few solutions he’s spent days on. One of them will work. It has to.

Then, everything will (should) be fine and Dad will understand. He’ll be proud of Varian and it won’t matter that he hadn’t trusted his son from the start.

Varian rushes inside to give Ruddiger a bath while Quirin addresses the village, sounding confident and composed and all that. If Varian’s predictions are accurate (and if he has at least a little luck), Dad will then have some other business to do in the village (and there always is, there’s always another lifted barn or blocked off path or dangerously high cluster of spikes to be troubleshooted), but he should hurry just in case.

With his raccoon wrapped in one of the too-nice towels meant for guests, after a quick wash, and snuggling grumpily in his arms, Varian leaves Ruddiger by the fireplace in the living room and then books it to the lab.

“Right. So…”

 Slowly, Varian shifts through the vials he’s already pulled off of the shelves for this, starting up the burner on the base compound flask, which glows a muddy green. It has taken days to perfect, but it’s missing one ingredient that’s supposed to actually take advantage of the electric charge’s effect.

He raises another vial and holds it in the pale light coming through the single window of the lab. It’s the most promising thing he’s made. It has to work. It will work.

“Expanding resin”, Varian murmurs to himself, just to make sure the logic tracks, even if he’s gone over this too many times now in his own head, “If it can get inside the crystalline structure, it can put pressure on the rocks from the inside , making them unstable. And that? That could be the way to break them.”

It’s colorless, but where it catches the dim light just right, there’s an orange-ish shimmer to it.

Taking a deep breath, Varian pours it into the base compound, murmuring to himself only to keep his thoughts from running wild.

“Electric compound first. Then the resin. Easy peasy. No problem!”

The empty vial nearly slips from his fingers before Varian places it on the desk, picking up a stir bar and watching as the base gradually turns to warm, glowing yellow instead.

“It will only react once it comes into contact with the stone. I got this, I got this”, Varian murmurs.

Still, he hesitates as he picks up the flask and turns off the burner with his other hands. 

The goggles come down and Varian approaches the black rocks with slow, but steady steps. He leans over one of the near horizontal spikes that appeared more recently and, with his attention pooled in one place, Varian tilts the flask just so, letting only one drop of his concoction drip over the glass lip of the container.

His hand slips when the door opens suddenly and a voice shatters the silence.

“Son”, Quirin says, “I just want to-”

A few things happen in quick succession.

The entirety of the solution is upended over the rock as Varian jumps, nearly knocking his own head against another one of the spikes in his hurry to pull up his goggles and to hide the now empty flask behind his back.

“Oh, uhm-”

And Dad looks furious.

“Varian, I told you to stay away from those rocks! ”

Behind him, Varian hears the solution bubble as the reaction begins.

“Y-yeah, I know, Dad, I know what you said, but-!”, Varian tries, breathing a little harder as his father stomps over.

“Then there should be no misunderstanding!”, the volume surprises him almost as much as the rough hand pulling at Varian’s arm. The liquid bubbles still, but it hisses and now, chirping joins it as well, it’s working , so Varian stands his ground, “Now, listen to me, you-”

“No!”, hissing like the alchemical reaction behind him, it’s Varian that explodes instead of his compounds, “You listen to me , Dad!”

Varian pushes him away, more determined than ever, and it must be due to surprise, but Dad is pushed back despite Varian’s lacking strength. Then, taking a few steps backwards, toward the black rocks, Varian feels too much.

“Our village is dying! You think running away from this problem is gonna fix it? No . These rocks aren’t going away!”

If his voice trembles too much, Varian doesn’t care, pointing at the scenery outside the lab window, where the spikes have taken over everything.

He can see his father wince and he winces in return.

“I know, Varian, I know ”, Dad says, gruff and just - exhausted - rubbing at the bridge of his nose, “But there is more to them than you can possibly imagine.”

Hissing, hissing, hissing. Then cracking, like moving pieces of broken glass and birds.

“Then why won’t you tell me!?”, and that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? “ Dad! If- If you tell me, I could- I can- I deserve to know! ”

His father is only a few paces away, but his back is to Varian. Even from here, Varian can see him looking at his hand before he takes the glove off, a mix of emotions flashing across weary features. When Dad speaks next, it’s almost soft, the fight from before running cold.

“Varian…”

“Why won’t you!?”

But Varian’s still angry. His own father doesn’t trust him; he’s trying to help their village, he’s trying to do something right for once in his life, and Dad won’t trust him.

“...I’m sorry, son.”

Ringing has filled Varian’s ears, replacing all sound except for his father’s voice, whose eyes are closed when he faces him again, as though he were in pain. Varian feels a muscle twitch painfully in his neck, pressure building up and up and up. Quirin says, so quiet that Varian almost misses it:

“You are not ready.”

You are not ready .

Varian flinches, blood thrumming in his head.

You are not ready .

Dad opens his eyes, looking at him and - Varian knows that look. Is so familiar with it that it’s almost pathetic. Disappointment, clear and deep-woven. Varian wants to say something, anything, to change his Dad’s mind, anything to prove that, no, he is ready, he is more than ready, he needs to know .

But his father’s brown eyes grow round, face turning to ash, and before anything else-

“Varian, watch out! ”

Confusion. 

He’s shoved away, face smashing painfully against the stone floor, and only after a moment does he hear it again. Glass. No . Crystal. Movement.

Varian just barely lifts his eyes, but what he sees pushes him up, making his insides freeze.

The… The compound… The resin , it’s…

His father groans, his arm ensnared in yellow crystal which grows rapidly.

It malfunctioned.

It-

“D-Dad! Oh God- Hold on, Dad, hold-”, it hurts to see, but he’s over there immediately, grabbing Dad’s other arm, pulling and pulling for all he is worth, but he is pushed back again.

No . It’s a mistake .

“No, son, please-”

Varian looks all over his own lab, brain running in circles as he tries to think of something, damn it!

He needs to break the crystal. That’s it.

“I’ll get you- Get you out, hold on! ”

“ Varian !”, Dad yells, but Varian has to do this.

Varian grabs the only mallet he has down in the lab and with all the strength he has, sheer adrenaline giving him a boost, he raises it above his head and brings it down on the yellow crystal that’s twisting as it grows.

The mallet shatters when it touches the crystal.

That stuns him more than falling back with the rebound. He’s broken tools before, when studying the rocks, but if- 

Then-

“N-no…”

Chin quivering, Varian looks at his father, taking in the frenzied glare. He tries to come close again.

“Stay back!”, Dad yells.

The yellow crystals crack and shift and grow all around, too fast, too fast, it malfunctioned, it went wrong, it failed again .

“No”, Varian whispers in horror, tries to breathe but can’t, tries to run forward, but his legs don’t listen to the order, he can’t force them to move .

A second of pure panic passes, hard breathing mixing in with the sounds of the wind from outside, but it is all drowned out by the churning glass, hissing, hissing, his father crying out, he’s hurt . I’ve hurt him .

And Varian watches, helpless, but only for a second.

Help. I need help.

It’s like lightning strikes him; everything feels like it’s burning around him, except the way his chest is filling with ice.

“I’m gonna”, he rasps, then louder, louder, “I’m gonna go get help-”

He runs away as his Dad gapes at that, screaming, crying out -

“No, son. Don’t!”

Varian, wait-

But Varian is already gone, everything shaking and shivering and warping, because he has to go, he has to, has to run and get help, he can’t help, he needs help, he has to-

Opening the front door batters Varian in the face with the same ice spreading in his lungs and it’s dark, already late, but it doesn’t matter.

Still panting and wheezing for breath, he grabs a cloak and the lantern from the porch. He has to help his Dad, he has to go, he needs to go get help now .

He has to go, he has to run . Everything outside is already covered in snow, blinding white despite the darkness.

Where? , his mind supplies as he pushes Ruddiger back into the house when he tries to come with, having heard the commotion. Varian chokes on a gasp, barely able to button up the coat.

Where, where, where?

A different voice responds.

Everything’s gonna be alright, Varian. I promise.

Blue and gold flash before his eyes and that’s all Varian needs, his body moving without him, leaving his mind behind.

He needs to get Rapunzel. He needs to get Rapunzel and everything will be fine.

I promise .

Varian still runs, but his breaths come a little easier. He has to hurry, but everything will be okay if he just finds Rapunzel. He just has to find her.

He leaps out into the snow.

Notes:

...And then he finds help, frees Quirin and everyone uses the power of friendship to bury those pesky rocks. No?
Keep an eye on the updating tags from here on out. Things get a bit rough and since I have so much blank room, I maaay go a bit too angsty. As I am prone to do 😔

Chapter 9: The blizzard

Summary:

If he can just reach the castle in time, Varian knows Rapunzel will help him. She promised she would.

Notes:

Contents: extreme weather, emotionally traumatic experiences (amber).

In all his fourteen years, he’s never even seen a snowstorm like this, only heard about them from other Kingdoms where the cold seasons are harsher.

It could have been an interesting experience. Without panic biting at his heels as Varian treks through the growing snow heaps, maybe it would have been.

But for all the glowing, white shimmer of the snow, all Varian can see in his mind’s eye is yellow, yellow, yellow. The snow and ice and sleet crunching under soaked boots cannot compare to the awful sound of growing, encompassing, encasing crystals.

But he’ll fix it, he’ll fix it and then he won’t have to think about it anymore.

Just a little further.

C’mon , he tells himself as he pulls the hood of the haphazardly grabbed coat lower to work a little better against the wind. C’mon. You know these roads better than anyone, you know the shortcuts. Keep going .

Then.

Dad needs you. Keep going.

And he can’t run, he’d tire himself out too fast and the road stretches out before him for a while longer, but Hell, if Varian isn’t desperate to move faster than the snow that reaches up to his knees will allow. His goggles protect against the precipitations and wind, but the rest of his face aches with how cold it is.

His goal is clear, though, and it keeps him going.

That is, until he slips into a ravine when the snowy ground below his feet gives way. Varian doesn’t even have time to scream as he tumbles down, down, lantern rolling from his grasp, the flame inside it going out.

He’s left in the white and gray abyss without it, still trying to get his bearings, but Varian thinks he recognizes what this is. A deeper riverbed that turns more dangerous when the water levels get too low in Winter.

He’s close now. And if he remembers correctly-

Yes .

Somehow, he’s in luck. The mouth of a cave system is right in front of him, and though it’s not the most familiar way ahead, Varian thinks it's easier than facing the blizzard head on. He forces himself toward the cave, grabbing a branch from the ground and using it as one would a ski pole, so he can move forward a bit more easily until, finally, he’s reached the cave’s entrance. He lands on his knees against the stone floor m, gulping down freezing, dry air and enjoying the lack of the wind’s bite.

Now, Varian has to brave a dark cave without a lantern, which would be near impossible if he knew how to navigate it better, let alone with so little knowledge besides the fact that it lets out next to the main bridge towards the capital.

The idea comes to him in a bout of shaky-fingered desperation.

He’s got some of his chemicals with him, tucked into his apron’s pocket underneath the coat.

It’s not too hard to rip part of a strap from his apron before tying it back in place and use that to secure some glowing vials to the stick from earlier. It’s not the best light source, these aren’t like the ink he made so long ago, but Varian can’t afford to be picky anymore.

He ventures deep into the bowels of the cave.

It’s eerily silent. The wind from outside tunes itself out with every step and what might have once been a more cavernous space is now cut through with walls of ice where the blizzard froze everything too suddenly. Varian’s pace is brisk, but now that he doesn’t have to wade through mountains of snow, it’s a bit easier to progress.

The darkness doesn’t bother him as much, even when he has a few close calls with the thin, slippery sheet of ice covering the ground in places. Instead, it’s the silence that gets to him. Somewhere, further away, there’s a dripping sound and it feels more like a countdown than background noise.

If he focuses too much on it, his heart starts speeding up unexpectedly, so Varian tries to think about anything else.

His thoughts meander and he lets them, but it’s tricky.

The black rocks? No. Alchemy? It went wrong, it malfunctioned, it was a mistake - No. Blizzard? Unusual. Almost unnatural. Probably safe to think about. Dad…

His Dad is back in Old Corona, with yellow crystals - amber , his mind supplies - growing around his arm, holding him hostage, encasing him slowly. Dad is back in Old Corona, in pain, because of him.

Blinking hard, Varian makes up for the spiraling thoughts by walking faster. Drip, drip, drip , the cave says as the wind howls from further ahead. Just a bit further.

When the cave ends, Varian walks back out into the storm without hesitation.

The snow is thicker than it’d been before and the bridge is tricky.

It feels like the wind will do him in the second time around and blow him right over into the frozen waters below, stronger than it’s ever been before, but Varian keeps going, using the stick to try and keep himself anchored, to drag himself forward when he almost gets stuck.

In this weather, he cannot see the castle, can only barely make out things a few feet in front of him. There’s other people walking towards the bridge, holding their children or each other bundled close. They must be looking for refuge on the mainland as the blizzard keeps on howling. 

They move slowly. Varian runs past them.

Being so close has doubled his desperation, but by now it’s only the adrenaline that keeps his legs moving as slivers of exhaustion make his muscles ache.

But he’s nearly there.

The guards standing watch at the courtyard portal look like they’re barely standing in the throes of the blizzard themselves. As Varian approaches, they exchange looks.

“You shouldn’t be out in this weather, kiddo”, one of them says. He’s faintly familiar, with his bushy mustache and his golden armor.

Varian has slowed to a stop, but it almost feels like the momentum keeps his body moving forward. Or the wind. Either way, it makes him feel sick.

“Where’s your parents?”, the other guard says, narrowing his eyes, first in concern, then in caution.

Varian flinches hard.

“He’s… My Dad is… He needs help. I need to speak to her”, is all he says. Varian doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he breaks into a sprint. Behind him, the clamoring and clanking of armor and weapon is swallowed by the roaring of the blizzard.

Inside, the castle is warm. Varian goes straight for the Throne Room. It’s where he saw Rapunzel before.

The memory of seeing it just earlier today feels too distant, and that it’s dark now, completely bereft of people, makes it seem even more eerie.

Not here. Not here, then where ?

He jumps when he hears the commotion from outside the empty Throne Room, thinking it’s the guards from outside. He hides himself behind the large doors at the room’s entrance, keeping them open a crack, to see what is happening, heart thundering in his ears.

Multiple men, some quite large and intimidating, walk down the hallway, but they’re not talking. Their heavy footfall is enough to shatter the silence anyway. In the front… It’s Eugene? His face is pale and his frame is tense from what Varian sees, but then, just as quickly as they’d appeared, the men leave the castle.

Why are they heading out into the storm?

Varian shakes himself.

That’s not what matters right now. But, luckily for him, now that he knows the direction they came from, maybe he'll find Rapunzel if he follows.

Unluckily, just as Varian bursts out of the vacant Throne Room, the two guards from before burst into the castle and they spot Varian easily enough.

He straps the staff to his back and runs.

Down the halls, up the stairs, until he can see a warm light at the end of one of the upper halls.

Behind him, shouts and thuds and clinking metal. Ahead, voices.

He isn’t sure where he is, but the moment he throws open another door to a large room with a fireplace burning off to the side, he nearly collapses with relief at the sight of her .

“-arkest hour!”, someone says.

Varian doesn’t hear. He barrels through a dozen people just to get to Rapunzel.

“Rapunzel!”, he shouts, everything inside him buzzing.

He runs and she turns around, her green eyes wide and her mouth twisted into a pained grimace and Varian keeps telling himself, everything will be alright , but it sounds like her voice instead and-

An arm stops him mere steps away from her, then his own arm is twisted behind his back and he only catches a glimpse of his captor, stunned to realize who it is; the Captain . 

“Wait!”, Rapunzel’s voice calls, commanding but edged in distress, “It’s okay…”

There’s a murmur behind him. The guards. “Sorry, Princess, he ran right past us”, they say.

The Captain doesn’t let him go for another second, and when he does, it’s relucantly so, when Rapunzel looks at him with a torn expression.

Varian gasps and stumbles forward at the sudden lack of restraint, but there’s no time to catch his breath.

“Rapunzel”, he tries not to cry, “My Dad’s in danger! You- You’re the only one who can help, please! ”

She stares at him as though he were speaking another language.

Varian feels a sob building at the back of his throat, but he cannot let his words fail him now.

“You have to come to- Come to Old Corona with me. Now”, he says/pleads/begs.

Yellow amber, sizzling and churning and groaning.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Why is she looking at me like that? Why do I still hear…

She drags him away with a gentler hand on his arm than the Captain’s had been and out into another hallway, where it’s darker, colder, where people don’t hear. For a moment, Varian wonders if she knows. If, somehow, she can tell just by looking at him, what he’s done, and she’s sparing him the terror of a confession.

No, I-I didn’t do… It went wrong, I didn’t-

“Varian, what’s wrong?”, she asks in a mild tone.

With a bit more breath in his lungs, Varian gathers himself.

“Please. Please, the rocks”, he doesn’t miss Rapunzel’s flinch at the mention of them, ”They’re encasing my Dad.”

The last part gives her pause. She looks at him like she did before, but Varian has to make her understand, has to tell her, so she can help him.

“Encasing? Wh-what are you saying? Varian-”, Rapunzel tries to say, but Varian’s already talking again, stumbling, unable to quite follow his own train of thought.

“Come! C-come see for yourself! You can help, I don’t-”, deep breath, she’ll help, she just has to understand, ” I know you can help, you have a connection to the-these rocks!”

But Rapunzel says nothing.

He looks at her, at her freckled face, at her green eyes, at the twist of her lips. The moment before she speaks again feels like it won’t ever end and Varian cannot shake a terrible dread that doesn’t make sense. No, ‘cuz she’ll help, she-

“Varian, it’s a state of emergency here. I’m sorry, I… I-I can’t help you. Not right now.”

Varian takes a step back. But no, it’s just that she doesn’t understand. Rapunzel is his friend , and just because Varian is bad with words doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try again! That’s it, he just has to…

“No. No. No, no, no, listen to me, my Dad doesn’t have m-much time, you are the only one who can help. Rapunzel, please!”, he tries again, smiling now, but his eyes are wide; the cold from outside must be coming in through some small crevice, because Varian’s shivering again.

Rapunzel looks at him. Her eyes are shiny and Varian frowns. Why does she seem so sad? She’ll fix it, she’ll fix the mistake and then there’ll be nothing to be sad about. She’s just got to understand.

Before Varian can launch into desperate explanations again, a man steps up. The advisor, he remembers. His gaze flitters between Varian and Rapunzel, critical, but there’s urgency in his voice when he speaks:

“Your Majesty, please. Whatever the boy’s problem, it must be set aside! The storm’s growing stronger by the second-”

What?

“No-”

Why is he saying that?

“We need you to make a decision!”, the advisor exclaims.

Dad needs help. Dad needs help .

Rapunzel has to make it alright. She promised she would and Varian can’t-

He swallows and feels a shiver go down his spine right to unfeeling fingers. What kind of son is he when he can’t get his father help? No, Rapunzel has to understand.

He grabs her by the upper arms, like she did him when he showed her the black rocks in the forest and he made his own promise to her.

“No! Please ! Please, Rapunzel, you, wha- Yo-you promised you’d help me!”, he shakes her, or maybe he’s still shaking from the cold. Varian is going to choke on the sobs that he keeps trying to push down. He swallows and he grimaces and he tries to keep everything away from the surface, but Rapunzel only looks at him with wide eyes.

The advisor moves his hands in some sort of gesture beside them. Varian only has eyes for Rapunzel.

“You promised!”, he cries out, suddenly, chin trembling even when he sees her expression crumble.

That’s when he’s pulled back. Two pairs of unyielding hands, the guards , grip his arms and drag him away. Varian tries all he can to wrench himself away, to go back to Rapunzel.

“Rapunzel!”, he calls her name, screams it. 

Something in his shoulder gives and suddenly he’s off balance, only kept up by the guards, but he tries to dig his feet into the carpet as he yelps, tears springing in his eyes.

“Princess, my Dad needs help!”

No .

“No, don’t hurt him…!”, she says, but the guards keep pulling him away.

I can’t help him.

“Princess!”

Please .

“You promised!”

You have to come.

“YOU PROMISED!”

Someone’s yelling. Varian thinks it's him. He’s yelling and he’s struggling and they won’t let go and Rapunzel stays frozen on the spot, come back, until he loses sight of her.

The guards drag him around a corner, or try to, but he snags his foot onto the wall’s edge, shoulder burning, ribs creaking as his heart pounds and pounds and pounds.

“Stop that!”, one guard says, the mustached one, “Stop that right now! Kid, please-”

She won’t…

She won’t help him, will she?

Varian blinks, but this isn’t a dream.

He goes suddenly limp in the guards’ hold.

“Kid? You should... The others, they're moving to the mainland. Are you-”, the guard speaks again but cotton fills Varian’s head, muffling the words and muddling all thoughts except one.

Dad .

He can’t make himself move or breathe or speak.

His Dad still… He’s still…

The cotton only burns away when the sting of the cold brushes against his exposed face again.

“My Dad needs”, he tries, chokes, tries again, voice barely more than a whisper, “My Dad needs…”

The guards look at him, but Varian can’t see their faces properly, like they morph before his eyes.

They look at him and then they dump him into the snow.

He yelps at first, but the cold of it numbs his shoulder and so Varian finds the strength to look at the castle’s doors just in time before they slam closed.

Briefly, Varian considers laying there, letting the snow bury him as tears and snot freeze over his face. The opposite occurs to him. He could bang on the doors, beg to be let in so he can ask her again and again, because he’s getting scared now.

The moment passes and the same thing that brought him here brings him back home, despite the thoughts.

It will be…

It will. Alright.

All alright.

Everything will be.

He just has to run. Run and tumble and fall and rise and go back home.

Go see and help Dad.

Go free Dad.

So Varian runs.

The storm is worse, worse and worsening with every step, but Varian keeps on running. Maybe Dad will have thought of something. Maybe Varian will, once he’s back in his lab, and even if Rapunzel didn’t help, he and his father will figure this out.

They will figure everything out together. It’s what they’ve always done.

The journey back feels like it passes in a blink. One second Varian doesn’t feel his own body anymore, the next, he’s rolling down a hill towards his village, having stumbled at one point. A black rock stops him and he tries to get up, despite the weakness that threatens to overtake him for a second.

He gets up.

Almost there.

I’m coming, Dad, just a bit longer .

He leaves the front door open in his haste to get to the lab.

He ignores the way Ruddiger tries to claw at his boots, to get him to slow down, and he leaves the raccoon shaking back in the kitchen.

He ignores the way he keeps losing his balance, legs not holding him up properly, toes frozen and numb in his boots.

Varian enters his lab.

“Dad, Rapunzel refused to help, but I-”

And all he sees is yellow. Amber , he hears himself think.

“Dad…?”

In the middle of the laboratory, under the dim light of a single, covered window, stands his Dad.

No .

His father, one arm pointed up, as though he were reaching for something.

No .

Dad, face scrunched up, worried-pained-angry, with one glove off and his fur vest.

No .

Quirin is a large man. He looks small, inside of the amber.

No .

The amber. It grew. It expanded. It took Dad’s arm first, didn’t it? Would he have reached up with both hands, otherwise, reaching to be pulled out, to be saved?

“Dad”, Varian doesn’t hear himself over the sudden static slithering through his thoughts, drowning everything else out, “Dad, I’m back.”

But he knows he is speaking, his mouth is moving as if he were, at least. So Varian keeps speaking.

“I’m here, Dad. I’m back. I’m back, do you hear me?”

And he keeps speaking as he walks forward and all the soaked, cold clothes in the world, all the exhaustion he feels, none of it is enough to hold him back from walking to the amber, from lifting hands and pressing them against mild-glowing yellow.

Dad doesn’t answer.

“Dad, can’t you hear me? Dad. Dad…?”, Varian keeps asking, brow furrowed, not understanding. The static gets louder for a moment, and Varian recognizes it as birdsong.

His feet move without him, one more step, one last step until he’s pressing his forehead against the amber, but Varian’s heart races and he keeps blinking, as if it would make the image in front of him make sense.

 A rough edge of amber has taken out nearly half the room. Everything trapped in it is suspended. Dad is suspended in the center of it all, encased completely, Varian standing right in front of him, looking and blinking and mumbling, because there is something to understand and he doesn’t understand it.

Did I…

One short glance at his own feet reveals a single abandoned leather glove, and when Varian bends down to pick it up, he staggers back at the way everything crashes into him.

He understands.

“I…”

He understands, and when it becomes clear, what happened, what Varian let happen, what Varian did , it feels like being back out in the blizzard, cold enough to burn.

“D-Dad… DAD! NO, PLEASE -”, he’s shouting, suddenly, and Varian can’t hear, but his throat aches, so he must be, and he’s scrambling at the amber, then pounding his fists against it.

This isn’t-

“Dad, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, plea-se, please”, he cries out, face folding so hard with the beginning of sobs that the skin hurts where it pulls and pinches.

Varian falls to his knees, a tremor working its way through his body, making the entirety of him shake; in contrast, his hands are steady on the amber, kept still-frozen by the contact and his head thumps against the amber as he shakes it.

“Please, please, please”, he begs, but there is no answer, not even when Varian screams again, so he goes back to pleading because this can’t be happening, “Please, I can’t- I can’t! ”

It all hurts, the prickling numbness, the crackling silence, the cold, the smooth surface, and all Varian can do is stay, head bowed, now, crying and crying, grabbing onto his own face when his hands do nothing against the amber, grabbing and clawing with fingers blunted by soaked gloves, muffling his own sounds, but it doesn’t help either, and he can’t breathe, something is pressing against his ribs, pinning him down, pushing until Varian gives, and he has nothing to keep him standing anymore and he can’t breathe and-

And Dad is…

In the amber, can he breathe?

“No, no, no”, he whimpers, “No, please. I was wrong. I’m sorry. Dad, Daddy, please, I-I’m sorry- ”

He’s encased. Can he breathe?

“Please…”, he sobs.

The rocks, they’re encasing my Dad .

All the fight leaves Varian boneless, but tears still fall as he looks up again, colors and shapes blurring, but his father’s face is clear through all of it.

Can he breathe? Is he… In there, is he-

Varian slaps one hand over his mouth at the thought, lurching forward, but there is no blood, so there is no reason to feel like this. The hand stays in place all the same and he keeps gagging on something bitter.

It’s such an ugly thought. It isn’t his, it can’t be his own mind reaching such a… Such…

No.

So Varian takes the thought and throws it in a box and locks it and covers it and buries it and he keeps looking at his silent father all throughout. No. He’s right there, see? , he thinks, instead, and the pressure on his chest eases a little. Enough to breathe, but not right.

Face sticky with snot and melted snow and tears that won’t stop, Varian blinks again, still shaking.

His father is trapped. Varian made a mistake. He made a mistake, because maybe Dad was right and-

No .

He made a mistake because he should have paid better attention, but he was doing the right thing and Dad was doing the right thing too, but Varian made a mistake.

It isn’t my fault, it isn’t what I wanted, I was just-

Dad is trapped.

Varian doesn’t register the sound of small paws padding against the rubble-covered floor of the lab until a soft head wiggles its way under a limp hand, nuzzling into the cold skin.

When he looks down at Ruddiger, a sliver of affection through the cold waves of too many thoughts and too much silence surfaces.

Still, it takes Varian a few seconds before he can get his own fingers to move, to pat Ruddiger’s fur. When he does, it clears a lot of the static and Varian breathes out, the exhale stuttered and so, so very slow.

“You’re here”, Varian tells Ruddiger, wincing at how hard his voice cracks with the words, then huffs.

Ruddiger only keeps nuzzling into Varian’s hand before worming his way into his lap, but it’s a response, and Varian feels like he could cry again, like he should , but the weight on his chest, his mistake, the malfunction, and how it hurts , keeps him strangely calm.

Not right now , she said.

That hurts too, the memory of the words. But Varian forces himself to look at Ruddiger instead. Shiny black eyes glance back and Varian doesn’t quite manage a smile, but he tries anyway.

“We have to… We’re gonna get him out ourselves, won’t we, Rud?”

And still, he stays there, kneeling on the cold, hard stone of the floor for a while longer, unable to rip himself from his father’s side. It’s like his body knows that he should have been the one trapped in amber and acts accordingly to compensate.

But this newfound goal that he’s carving with shaky fingers and harsh breaths has all of Varian’s attention, all his hope, all his heart, all of the tears he’s already shed, and it’s what pushes Varian to stand up some (how much?) time later. He stands up because Dad needs him.

“I will get you out, Dad”, he says, then, “I will. I’m here now. I’m… I am so sorry. I will set you free”, then, “I-I won’t… I won’t stop until I do, no matter what happens to… I won’t stop”, then , “I swear.”

That’s Varian’s promise.

Notes:

"Queen for a day" is such a good episode, I hope I did it some justice, even though I didn't add too much.
But! But, but, but, now we're approaching a pretty important blank in Varian's POV, and you know what that means: connect-the-dots with my mediocre plotting skills!
I'm not gonna lie, I was ahead with chapters for a bit, but I keep getting stuck at how exactly I'm characterizing Varian in the events between the blizzard and the scroll retrival and other such bits. I have a few plans, but I've had to do a bunch of rewrites. However! I think I may have figured something that doesn't stray too far from canon but that works with what I had in mind! It may just take a little while tho 😔

Chapter 10: Inbetweens

Summary:

The people of Old Corona have a very strange reaction to Quirin's temporary absence. Varian thinks everyone's lost their collective minds.

Notes:

Contents: oddly timed wakes, denial, a chest full of secrets, Ruddiger doing Ruddiger things.

And this is where the old list of experiments done on the black rocks comes in quite handy. Varian is more organized this time, and without having to run to and fro, it takes less time to work on the amber, much less time. By the time dawn arises on the day after the blizzard, Varian is already done with all the physical tests again, and the amber has proven itself to be as unbreakable as its cousin crystal formation. Varian had even entertained the fact that breaking off one of the almost organic-looking tendrils that have grown off of the main body of the amber might release enough energy to shatter the whole thing; he’s seen a similar experiment once, done on a glass bauble. But the tendrils don’t break.

No part of it seems any more vulnerable than the rest.

Familiar frustration comes up, but it’s different somehow. He feels like he’s wasting precious time, feeding it all into the growing pit in his chest, but at the same time, Varian can’t afford to not be thorough, to not try everything in hopes that he’s missed a small, essential detail.

Reluctantly, Varian moves back into alchemical tests. For a moment, his fingers twitch and remain unresponsive as he goes to grab one of the vials from the thankfully intact cabinet of ingredients in the lab. It’s very silent, then.

Varian shakes his head. If there isn’t room for error ( not again ), then there isn’t room for hesitation either.

Then, it starts all over again. The amber is organic. The resin base was somehow expanded by the reaction forced on by the black rocks, but outward, and more chaotically than it ever should have reacted. The amber doesn’t hum, but it’s also not quite as cold as the black rocks, even if it’s by no means warm. The surface doesn’t feel so glass-like. The amber shows plenty of reactions, it burns different colors depending on the solution Varian pours on it, it crackles in its entirety when he uses the one from Ingvarr, threatening to shake the whole house to the ground, it smokes when in contact with Flynnoleum and it remains permanently charred in some small areas where he’s used more explosives.

But nothing changes the fact that the amber remains entirely unharmed. It doesn't break. It doesn't crack. It doesn’t show any sign of releasing Dad anytime soon.

By the time the sun starts to set, leaving everything grayer and cooler, Varian is calculating some of the more complex compounds he should try out, having already tested the simpler solutions and raw ingredients.

Waiting while the beakers bubble away over their burners, Varian has to keep shaking his head, eyes slipping shut every few seconds if he doesn’t. That’s when he decides a walk is in order. Most of these compositions, he’s made dozens of times before. They take hours to boil properly, and even after, they need to be left to settle a while longer. He has some time, and spending it around waiting seems like a waste.

If Varian doesn’t want to run out of materials, he may as well go out now in hopes of finding the old physician still in her office. She usually has some extra material to give. Maybe some scraps from the blacksmith? He’s more tricky. But Varian has been making plans for a particularly heavy drill…

What’s the worst that could happen?

 

---

 

It’s not the worst , but being crowded as soon as he sets foot into Old Corona proper doesn’t a happy Varian make. He’s gotten exactly one tiny, leather pouch of extra ingredients in powdered form and a hard to read look from the physician, but she has always been a hard to read woman, as far as Varian can remember, and he’s seen her more often than most of the people his age precisely because of his experiments. She doesn’t say anything. The other people do:

“Where is your father, Varian?”

“Did you see Quirin? We haven’t since yesterday, but-”

“He does realize that he was supposed to help organize the move, right?”

“We can’t just waste the King’s generosity! We have to move now !”

“Where is he?”

“Where is Quirin?”

“Where is your father?”

Varian freezes. The voices swell and gather and they start sounding so much like static that it’s all he can do to whip his head around like a particularly nervous dog, looking for a way out of the small crowd of worried faces, some young, some old, and wringing hands, some calloused, some soft.

There isn’t a way out, they’ve got him completely surrounded.

What should he do? What do I do ? 

Then.

What would Dad do?

And then, Varian takes a deep breath and tries to speak. It’s not like his voice is particularly commanding, but curiosity and fear can turn anyone more attentive. Having so many eyes on him makes his skin crawl.

“He can’t come. He’s… Something happened”, Varian says, “He can’t help you right now…”

At that, the people share in Varian’s stillness.

Until someone says:

“What?”

And then it’s all chaos again. Varian has never been the best with words, and right now, he doesn’t feel like he’s about to be struck by inspiration, so he does what he’s never done before, since Dad had gifted him the room that they used to store old boxes and larger farming equipment in so Varian could make a proper laboratory out of it. He leads a few of the people to the lab.

In shock they follow.

After, in shock, they leave.

There aren’t many more words exchanged, though murmured questions fill the air as soon as Varian’s quiet words ring out:

“I-it was an accident… The rocks, I was only trying to-”, he looks down so he doesn’t have to keep looking at the amber, but he can feel the movement of some of the braver people walking closer to the amber, and for a crazed second, Varian wants to hiss at them to back off, “I was try-trying to help. I didn’t… I haven’t found a way to get him out. Not yet.”

“...You?”, someone else says.

“You did this?”

“Oh, poor Quirin.”

And Varian winces, but he doesn’t look up at anyone, even when a few hands pat his shoulders, as if…

Oh.

Is that what they think?

“I will get him out”, Varian reiterates, slowly, still staring at his shoes, but frowning.

There’s more words, more questions, some remarks about the black rocks, and more about how they should go about evacuating. They seem to conclude that that’s the only logical step forward. King’s blessing, all that.

Varian frowns further at how eager everyone is to go, to leave the man that’s led them for years, but then he remembers that he’d seen smaller, younger faces in the crowd too. They have their families, and Varian has his. He supposes Dad would be - pleased? - to find that Old Corona can move on without him, that they can care for themselves; but then, who will take care of Dad?

They leave, and Varian hasn’t felt so much relief as he does when he closes the door and finds himself alone in the lab again, the leather bag from the physician abandoned on his desk. Dad remains expectedly silent.

Ruddiger crawls out from under a desk and moves to brush against Varian’s legs before Varian bends down to ruffle his fur and sigh. Then, there’s the sound of something boiling over and Varian rushes to tend to his compounds once more.

 

---

 

They come again, on the second night. Or well, a few of them do. Some of the older women in the village, dressed in dark clothes and looking awfully serious, and Varian sees them because he spies them out of the lab window when he’s taking a break and trying to find something for his eyes to focus on so he doesn’t clock out with how tired he is because there’s more to do still.

And he sees them because they’re carrying lit candles.

When Varian opens the door, because they knock, even the sound of knuckles on wood softer than it should be (or maybe Varian’s head is just fuzzy), they look at him with big, glassy eyes, and one of them gives him a candle with an embroidered black and red cloth wrapped neatly at the end of it, while another leans forward and lights it with her own before she pinches Varian’s cheek.

They’re saying something as they leave, sounding very, very sad, and all Varian can do is look and just keep on frowning. He’s been doing a lot of that lately.

“What?”, he says, “What?”, once more, for good measure.

Ruddiger comes to join him, a stolen corner of bread in his paws, and he bumps his head against Varian’s shins, offering what comfort he can while Varian shakes his head. Maybe lack of sleep really does lead to hallucinations. Or maybe everyone else has snapped. After the stress surrounding the black rocks and the panic caused by the blizzard and, now, the haste to leave and go somewhere safer, it wouldn’t be that unrealistic. Yeah. They’ve all lost their marbles, every single one.

Conclusion reached, Varian goes back inside, turns off the burners, takes a some last notes on what few other concoctions he’s managed to brew up with his remaining supplies and how they (don’t) affect the amber, and then he is finally weak enough that Ruddiger is successful in his attempts to bully him to bed.

The raccoon also shoves a half-eaten apple into his hands on the way out of the lab, and all Varian can do is pick Ruddiger up and hug him close, remaining very quiet and very still for a few minutes. Varian hears crackling static and he sees amber crystal, but he focuses on burying his entire face into coarse, gray fur.

 

---

 

Varian doesn’t wake up in his own bedroom. He doesn’t wake up in his lab either, with his head leaning against the cradle of his arms on his desk, as he sometimes has in the past when staying up late to work on an experiment. He wakes up, cold and stiff, curled into himself, at the door to his father’s room, by one of the towers of the manor house. He must have… In the night, he probably-

He gets up slowly.

Varian can’t even remember coming here, let alone the reason why, but maybe, deep down, his father’s situation has yet to sink in, even though his absence remains painfully raw.

He tries the door. It’s locked, and Varian remembers, half-smiling, a very fuzzy memory from when he was short enough that he barely even reached the door knob. How he’d made a little creation from string and sticks to help himself to all the rooms not under lock and key that the house had to offer. Dad had been horrified, but also slightly amused.

With a sigh, Varian finds his hand twitching to try the door again, despite the obvious. Dad has spare keys, as Varian recalls, a whole ring of them, hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets. Why Varian wants to go inside so bad, all of a sudden, is anyone’s guess. Maybe because being near the amber feels more lonely than anything, even if Dad is right there ? Because Varian can hardly bear more of the silence and the way his lungs squeeze whenever he remembers the last words they’d exchanged before the accident. Because he just… Misses him.

So Varian says heck it. He finds the spare key and swoops it off of its metal loop before tiptoeing back upstairs after he sneaks one glance to his own bedroom and notes that Ruddiger is sleeping like the dead, even his tongue lolled out and his nose twitching with his strange, raccoonish snores.

Inside, his father’s room is very cold. The windows have been left open. He may have been trying to air out the space before everything went sideways. Otherwise, it is exactly as Varian remembers it, from the neatly made bed, to the horn hanging on the wall above it, to the desk with organized stacks of papers and leather pouches and small wooden boxes, to the still-full water pitcher on a bedside table, to the hole in the wall, to the wardrobe, to the painting of-

Wait.

The wall.

Why is it half demolished ? And from its stoney entrails… A chest.

What? Why? Since when ?

It’s Dad’s, it must be his, but what the heck? Though…

Dad has a hollow wall and a hidden chest and Varian has a loose floorboard and more than a few dangerous chemicals stashed underneath. It would be unfair to judge.

But Varian’s vision has basically tunneled towards the old-looking, unfamiliar chest.

There’s more stuff to do. Well, not that much more, not with his remaining resources and whatever few combinations Varian hasn’t thought of yet, but there is and Varian should be getting back to that because Dad is still waiting and Varian doesn’t have the time, but-

But.

What if… 

Dad had acted strangely since the rocks first appeared. He’s never been the most open person around. So he’d acted even stranger than usual.

What if, then… What if in this chest that already seems suspicious enough, he’s been keeping something, a clue, a hint, anything , that could guide Varian along as he does what he can for his father?

What if there is nothing but pieces of a man’s long forgotten past and Varian wants/needs to see it? Standing near the amber doesn’t feel like being close to Dad. It feels like nothing but static and a weight that keeps pushing and pushing and pushing.

Varian isn’t sure if he’s looking for comfort or if he’s looking for answers or if he’s looking for solutions anymore.

Regardless, he kneels next to the chest, sneezes at just how much dust that simple action kicks up, and when he raises a hand to wipe some of it away from the lid, he sees a discoloration where someone must have done the same thing before and he freezes.

Then, gently, he lowers his fingers to the very faint symbol crudely carved into the lid of the chest and Varian feels the breath push out of him.

He’s seen the symbol before. He’s been seeing it every time he looks at the amber, on a hand curled around a letter that, no matter how hard Varian tries, he cannot read, and the implications of which he keeps trying to burn away, has been imagining it every time he holds the lone glove that he’s placed on a shelf above his desk in the lab.

A circle and three lines crossing it. Varian has no idea what it means, besides the fact that, to Dad, it means something .

Varian opens the chest.

Quirin is a man who doesn’t share much about his own past. That much is established. He likes to listen to people talk, and he can sometimes be wise, if very direct and not very wordy about it, but kind in a way. Where that manner of approaching others comes from, heck if Varian or anyone else knows (Varian has asked). At most, sometimes, he’ll say things and won’t realize he’s said them, and so it’s only nuggets that Varian has clung to for some time now, because he knows how Dad is. Varian will probably get gray hairs himself before Dad decides he’s ready .

More so now…

Ouch. Into the box it goes.

In the chest are answers, but without the proper questions and followup-questions, they seem so… Random. Varian lifts up a helmet and stares at it critically, until he goes a little cross-eyed and has to blink. Helmet. Like a guard’s, but not really. It isn’t gold, for one thing, and it looks like it’s seen use. The horn over the bed could be decoration. Would this be decorative as well, in this state? Now, tracing his finger down the groove over the eye slit, then over the same circle and lines design that keeps eluding him, he has to reconsider. The horn. Dad.

“Why is”, Varian starts, shakes his head, “ When did”, stops again, “Huh”, he finally settles on. A used decoration. Could be, right? The damage would make it cheap enough to sell more carelessly, and who knows, maybe Dad’s secret hobby has been collecting odd trinkets throughout his life and-

No, that’s not it either.

Packed in cloth that Varian’s fingers shake as he tries to unwrap, he finds the armor to match the helmet.

Then, it’s like Varian’s switched into automatic mode, like when he’s been working on a project for a while and keeps doing the same repetitive motion even without thinking about it, hands following his plans and patterns mindlessly. Unpack. Look. Question. Despair. It would be funny, but right now, it’s just mind-boggling.

He keeps unwrapping metal armor and pushing it out onto the floor like puzzle pieces, seeing what image they make. Varian has an eye for measurements, he likes to think he does, and it would… Well, Dad is taller than most of the people Varian’s ever seen. The armor looks like it fits and Varian has no idea what to do with that conclusion except sight at it and keep on digging into the chest.

There’s more stuff. And, hah! Dad said Varian was a hoarder, but look at all… This! A sword, a few daggers, a stack of letters in a foreign language that Varian stares at for a long time before setting them aside, shaking his head. It’s a lot of stuff. Not much of it gives Varian any answers about Dad’s past except for the fact that he sure has one. And Varian can’t even ask him about because of what he’s-

Yet. He can’t ask yet. Right.

A cloak. A flute, of all things, carved with minutious details and little patterns. A few books.

And the books, Varian does recognize. He lays them out a bit more fondly.

They’re encyclopedias, one about stars, two more about plantlife, and one that is entirely miscellaneous and too heavy to lift without a small grunt. When Varian had asked his father to read to him, but not the stories like usual (it’d be a few more years before Varian would discover the adventures of Flynnigan Rider and Dad would definitely not know peace after the scene reenactments began), real stuff, at the so very-grown-up age of four, Dad had obliged. It’s a happy memory, but it feels heavy now and it shouldn’t and Varian doesn’t know why it does anyway.

He flips through a few of the pages.

The margins are lined with notes in small handwriting that doesn’t look like Dad’s and Varian hasn’t seen these books since he was four, so not his own either. Maybe… Oh, but they could be second-hand. More likely to be than the full suit of armor, actually. Varian keeps his back to the painting he knows is there and keeps going through the last few things the dusty chest has to offer.

When Varian’s hand closes in on cold metal, he doesn’t think much of it. When he pulls it out, the bronze glints in the early, cold sunlight, and Varian turns it in his hands, trying to understand just what he’s looking at.

Varian throws a glance back into the chest, raising an eyebrow, but no. His hand scrapes against the bottom of the chest. There’s nothing else.

He squints at the object.

It’s cylindrical, and as he runs a finger down a line of bronze, he realizes it’s an opening, and, oh! He has seen something like this before!

Varian wracks his memory for it, but he thinks it might have been inside a museum. A big one, in the capital. Some of the older scrolls in one of the exhibitions, the ones they wouldn’t let visitors even get close to, they’d been kept in similar holders. A capsa would be made out of leather, though, and this one looks just strange enough to be something else. Varian gives it another critical look. On one end of the cylinder is a sharp-looking crystal, clear and very, very shiny, and on the other, a tiny, irregular keyhole.

A graphtyc , Varian realizes. Shaking it brings forth some very soft noises. It’s definitely some paper or parchment inside.

If everything else has been mysterious so far, for some reason Varian feels even more drawn to the bronze graphtyc, tapping his fingers on it, trying to unscrew some of the panels of it, basically trying to see if there’s any way to open without the key, because the chest lies empty beside him.

After a few more minutes of useless struggle, Varian huffs and takes in the mess he’s left of the chest’s contents. Not to mention the heaps of stone dust from where the wall of Dad’s room had been broken to reveal the cavity inside. Well… Maybe he should get things in order before anything else. Organized messes are Varian’s thing, but not so much his father’s. If he wakes up only to find his own room a mess, he wouldn’t be happy.

It doesn’t take as long to get everything back inside the chest, but he regrets it when he tries to push it back into the wall space and struggles for a good few minutes. Would have been easier to stock everything up with the chest already inside the empty wall space.

Varian’s not very quiet in his struggles, and at some point, even Ruddiger shows up and tries his best to help move the heavy thing back where it was hidden before.

When it is done, both boy and raccoon proceed to dust off their hands before shaking hands with a very serious nod. Then, Ruddiger jumps onto Varian’s shoulder and starts pulling at his hair insistently, crying out for, of course, some breakfast. Varian chuckles and pets him with one hand, while in the other, he holds the graphtyc.

“We’ve got more to do today, Rud”, Varian says, making his way downstairs, almost laughing again when Ruddiger all but buries his head in the collar of Varian’s shirt resolutely, clearly not happy at the prospect of more work, “Aw, c’mon, bud, it’s only a few more solutions to try out.”

There’s a very flat chirp and Varian shrugs as best as he can.

“Plus… Dad would definitely make you something good for helping me out once he’s out. And it’ll…”

The pause is unexpected, like the words fade out. Varian clears his throat and wrings his hands together, graphtyc in between both palms.

“Once he’s out, it’ll…”

No luck; he stops again.

Ruddiger perks up and where he’d been pulling at black hair strands in demands for food, he pats at Varian’s face now, his tail twitching where it’s slung around his boy’s neck like a slightly itchy scarf.

Varian’s fingers squeeze around the graphtyc and he closes his eyes. His thoughts are too loud, and too many of them are currently fluttering about in his head. Pick out the important ones . Focusing is hard.

“There’s a few more alchemical solutions I can try out with the current ingredients we have. The physician gave me that pouch of powdered ingredients when I went into the village, before I got swamped, remember? Oh, well, you weren’t there, but that’s what happened”, Varian says very slowly and reaches up to take Ruddiger in his arms, looking down at his conversation partner, his face twitching oddly as he tries to concentrate. Ruddiger looks at him with sad, beady eyes and he nuzzles his face into the front of Varian’s sleep shirt. He’s got to change at some point. It’s still early, there’s time.

Go on .

“I’ve got the plans for that drill, too…”, he mumbles, closing his eyes, feeling Ruddiger reach up to bury his tiny, fury face in Varian’s neck.

And…?

It’s like there’s an expectation there, something that has been left to grow and fester ever since the blizzard. No. Ever since his last talk with-

“I can… Maybe- Or rather not…”

Varian hates how small his voice sounds. He hates how, amongst the locked boxes in his head, he’s tried and failed to keep this other feeling down, how it’s now scratching at him from the inside, no longer a small itch of too deep desperation left unfulfilled.

In his hand, the graphtyc is heavy, but skin-warm.

It’s not instinct as much as it’s a hunch. The last time he had a hunch and acted upon it, he’d been handed a secret.

But… This was- This is Dad’s. And Varian needs to, deserves to know. Maybe he isn’t ready, but maybe that doesn’t matter so much. Everything is already worse now.

 

---

 

Later, after Varian has stared at the amber for an unknowable amount of time as the last solution sizzled away without any effect except for making Varian’s eyes sting and hands shake, he’s left looking at the last letter Dad got to write before the amber, longingly.

Focusing on the paper and trying to understand what it means makes the stinging effect of the last solution worse, so Varian stumbles back out of his lab and decides on another, hopefully more productive activity. 

The amount of guilt he feels for not just going back to finding ways to free his father is like nothing Varian’s ever felt before, but if he doesn’t do something else right now, Varian thinks he will snap as well. The embroidered cloth from those old ladies has been thrown together with some other pieces of folded tablecloth in the parlor. It’s not big enough for that, but Varian can’t stand to look at it. The candle’s been seeing a more productive use. Varian is not losing it, like everyone else around him seems to have done.

The graphtyc needs a key, and there must be one in the house, somewhere. Varian just has to keep looking.

He cleans the house as he goes, because it’s been a few days and Varian has been distracted and Dad is much more orderly in these things and Varian doesn’t want him to be more mad once he’s out of the amber, he keeps telling himself.

But the key is in the last place he would expect, when Varian does actually find it.

There’s this music box Varian’s had since he was a baby, and it’s simple, really, just a wooden thing with animals painted all over it. He doesn’t keep anything inside it, and it’s been shoved into the back of his closet for years now. Kept fondly, but away. Varian thinks Dad made it, but his memory neither confirms nor denies things by itself. Strong evidence is given by the fact that when, on a whim, Varian tries to use the winding key of the box on the graphtyc, it suddenly opens with a click.

You are not ready .

But Dad must have thought he would be, one day, this proves it; somehow, it hurts to know that now, when he’s alone and when it feels like his ribs are going to snap under the emotion weighing down on him ( for no reason, he’s not gone, I’ll get him out, I just need more time, I- ), so what else can Varian do but sit down on the bed, and look at what the graphtyc has to offer?

It is a piece of parchment. A scroll - well, a piece of one.

Why Varian would break down crying over old paper is anyone’s guess (still the effects of the solution, that’s all this is), but he doesn’t see clearly through the tears, so it all looks like wiggles and nonsense, and he only starts to calm down when Ruddiger pulls the parchment out of his hands and looks at it even more unknowingly than Varian would, the perfect image of raccoon confusion.

It’s so silly that Varian can’t help a muffled laugh, and then it’s a little easier.

 

---

 

Notes:

With all my rewriting this chapter and having to desert Old Corona but not knowing how, why NOT have some dark humour there and some extra randomness?
I think, all in all, Varian isn't like, the most popular (regular explosions will do that), but still. Villages tend to have tight-knit communities and death and mourning is a pretty big deal. Maybe the gentler approach is better for this fic. Maybe they'd be sympathetic, but distant.
Or, well, I just need to get from point A to point B, hhhhh.
For all the chaos, have a bad paper sketch because my laptop monitor is broken, so no digitalisation for a while 😔

Chapter 11: A father's love

Summary:

Varian tries to show Rapunzel the scroll, but it's not that simple. In the castle, he's met with a surprise.

Notes:

Contents: how (not) to deal with an emotionally unstable teenager, King Frederic being King Frederic, Varian on the run.

The scroll piece is made up of wiggles and nonsense, actually. Okay, that’s not fair. It’s probably written either in code or in an ancient language that isn’t spoken anymore (both?), but it doesn’t change the fact that it gives Varian a headache just to look at it.

Luckily for him, though, the wiggles also have accompanying illustrations .

 

---

 

“-I mean, what are the odds, Ruddiger?”, Varian says, a bit deliriously, looking at where he’s spread out the scroll and weighted down the corners, scribbling all manner of notes on the side in his notebook as he does, “Dad knew ! That’s why he said, why he kept telling me not to go near them!”

Ruddiger tilts his head to the side, looking down at the unfamiliar writing, then back up at Varian, unconvinced.

Varian scoffs.

“I mean, sure , we don’t know what exactly it says, but these?”, he points at the three and a half illustrations drawn in coloured inks. Varian has run his tests on it. Both the paper and the ink. They’re old, old.

“Sun, flower”, Varian explains, tracing the lines of symbols from the stylized sun to the flower, “Moon, rocks! Black rocks! ”

Of course, the rocks are part of the half-illustration. This is only a piece of a bigger thing, after all, but Varian is pretty sure that is what the drawn black spikes represent. It must be.

And Varian thinks about it carefully, about the most well-known legend in all of Corona: a drop of pure sunlight falling from the sky and growing into a magical flower. It was a myth. A bedtime story.

Until around nineteen years ago.

The story of the Queen falling ill and then being healed by said flower is one that circulated even years later, when Rapunzel was still missing, and he’d had more doubts about it when he was younger than he does now, because magic? Really?

But Rapunzel’s hair used to be magical. Then it was cut. Then it grew back, still magical, but in a different way, and it glows when she goes near the black rocks and-

And Varian’s tried not to think about Rapunzel for days, because it hurts and because she said not right now , and for some reason, even the thought of his last visit to the castle sends cold shivers down his spine, but now…

Now he knows more. There’s something here , on this scroll.

Sun, moon. Flower, rocks. An antithesis, a connection.

Rapunzel is his friend, one of the first few friends Varian’s ever made, because he’s been a bit lonely for most of his life. She’s his friend and he trusts her and, now, after the blizzard has already passed, it’s easier to try and understand it, why she… Why… Yeah.

And he’d gone to seek her out even before he had concrete proof that the flower that gave her her hair was somehow tied to the rocks! 

Now he knows for sure that that's how she’s connected to the rocks.

Now Varian’s supplies have dwindled, and he’s tried everything his alchemy allows him to do. 

Now, he needs help.

It’s been a week.

In the amber, Dad hasn’t changed at all. The letter he’s holding onto remains as elusive as ever. Despite his best efforts, Varian hasn’t found a way to free him, sleepless nights of research or no.

He needs a different approach. More selfishly, he wants to see Rapunzel (misses her? Misses not being so alone, even if Ruddiger tries so hard, and Varian isn't sure he'd have made it this far without him), hopes that he’ll be able to make her understand this time. He’s got the scroll. She’ll understand now.

“Buddy, how do you feel about going to the castle? Together”, Varian says, looking at his father’s face.

There are three chittering noises from Ruddiger, and they change from suspicion, to reluctance, to agreement.

“Rapunzel will help us, I know it”, he adds, and Ruddiger likes her, so he cheers, running off to the kitchen with Varian’s bag in his paws, ready to stuff it full of more food than they need for the journey to the capital, possibly planning to stuff himself as well while he does.

Varian only smiles, hoping there’ll be enough room left for a couple of vials and extras.

 

---

 

It’s still cold, but not that cold. The road is all mud, with a few of the puddles frozen over, no snow in sight. It’s all very gray, but Varian doesn’t mind too much. At least he can see where he is going this time around.

This is the first time he’s gone out of the house, besides that one walk to the village square and little trips to get water and feed the few animals that survived the blizzard.

Old Corona is completely devoid of other humans.

From the distance, watching from a window, one can almost mistake the spikes for people’s silhouettes, but this close, it’s not so easy to ignore the absences. The village is very silent, and now, it does feel colder than any blizzard, record-breaking or not, could make it.

Well, if everything goes well and with Rapunzel’s help, Varian should have no trouble getting rid of the rocks. But first, Dad.

“It’s a little creepy, isn’t it, buddy?”, Varian asks, suddenly, unintentionally keeping his voice low, as though disturbing the peace were a crime when there isn’t even anyone around to hear it. Ruddiger, safely deposited in Varian’s bag so he doesn’t get all muddy again, nods. They did not need to take a whole sack of apples with them, and without, there's enough room in the bag. Ruddiger isn’t as nervous around the black rocks as he once used to be, but of course, he still doesn’t like them much. Completely understandable, Varian thinks. He doesn't either.

The forest paths are easier to traverse this time, and without the snow, there is no sudden fall either. Varian doesn’t take the cave routes, mostly because, though the sun is chill and not as strong as during other times of the year, it’s still pleasant.

“No worries, we’ll get to the castle in a jiffy”, Varian cracks a small smile and looks ahead.

The rocks have spread out further, slowly encroaching on Corona’s capital, as Varian has predicted, and now, they only start to wane a few ways away from the expansive fields before the bridge, edged with trees and flower bushes that paint the whole scene in color during springtime.

Varian crosses the bridge easily enough, after some more walking.

There’s not that many people around, though whatever damage had incurred when the blizzard hit seems to be mostly patched up by now. Varian doesn’t look around much, his goal clear in his mind, even if things don’t feel as terrifyingly urgent as they had the last time Varian made his way to the castle.

Once more, there are people inside of the castle halls, waiting for a royal audience, though there’s notably fewer of them. Varian only follows for a short time, the guards eyeing him strangely. They’re not the same people that Varian encountered during the blizzard, but who knows; they all look a little similar.

Still, he manages to evade them easily enough, one hand urging Ruddiger to hide completely in the bag until they’re in the clear.

Then, there’s a breathtaking amount of stairs he climbs.

He remembers, dimly, his way around to where Rapunzel had shown him one of her rooms, so he concludes that’s likely at least close to where he’ll find her. It’s not as big of a guessing game as last time, and that, at least, is a relief.

He’s almost made it, the painted walls covered in a familiar artstyle telling him he’s right, and there’s only more of the paintings in the direction Varian intends to follow, when he is stopped by… Guards?

Three of them. They don’t don the usual golden armor. Instead, they’re dressed in black and red and white uniforms and they block Varian in, not uttering a single word initially. Varian blinks. He had thought he’d done a good job at sneaking around, but apparently not.

So he smiles nervously and raises his hand in a little wave.

“W-well, hello! I, uhm…”, he stumbles. His voice sounds a bit wrong to his own ears, but. But.

“We were ordered to keep an eye out for you”, one of them says simply.

Varian blinks some more.

An eye out for…

But, oh! Right-

And that little hope that’d been overtaken with worse things lately flickers on.

“By the Princess, right? I’m a-a friend. I came to talk to her, but I didn’t realize she’d be expecting me, heh!”

Well. They’re not moving to throw Varian out, so he takes it as affirmation enough. An awkward moment of silence passes before Varian says:

“Sooo, can you let me through, or…”

“Come with us”, one of the guards says and they start walking in the opposite direction to where the paintings on the walls seem to lead.

Varian shares a look with the hidden raccoon in his bag, then shrugs.

“She’s got her duties. Who knows, maybe she’s helping out with the audiences again today?”, he whispers before he starts to follow, reaching his hand into the bag, letting Ruddiger push his nose against gloved fingers. He seems awfully tense all of a sudden, and Varian will admit, the sudden appearance of these strange guards has scared him too.

But now, everything will be fine.

His fingers find the graphtyc too, before he withdraws his hands and tugs at one of his apron’s straps before settling on pulling at some loose thread on the scarf he’s wearing.

They walk for a long time, in which Varian tries to make conversation, mostly about Rapunzel, and whether he’s left her waiting long, since maybe she’d expected he would come back to ask for her help again as soon as the blizzard was over or something, but the strange guards remain awfully quiet and it’s starting to get to Varian a little.

So for the last leg of the journey, Varian bites at the inside of his cheek and just tries to relax instead. It’ll all be fine. Rapunzel will understand this time. Reason dictates so. Totally. Totally.

So why does Varian feel like he’s gonna throw up whatever he’s managed to eat today the further into the castle they go?

Eventually, another set of double doors looms before him, and the strange guards shove him inside without any preamble, leaving Varian to barely catch himself on the doorknobs on the other side so he doesn't instantly faceplant.

And the room they bring him to is… Long.

The curtains are halfway drawn, leaving it semi-obscure, while in the middle of it, there is a fittingly long table as well, onto it a carving of Corona. Practically, a three-dimensional map.

There also isn’t a single soul inside besides Varian and Ruddiger themselves. Not at first. 

Varian considers just opening one of the doors again to ask the guards if they’re sure this is where he should meet Rapunzel, that she’s never been particularly formal when they’ve met before, that he isn’t here like that, that he’s here to see his friend and that-

He sighs. Looks at the map again and tries to recall where everything is. It gives him something to do while he’s left waiting at least.

He’s not the best at geography, but the map is detailed enough that Varian can actually recognize some of the individual buildings of Old Corona though, and that makes a half-smile spring to his lips. He’s left staring when he notes the black flags littering the miniature of his village and - ah. Rocks. They don’t seem very accurate, even if they’re supposed to represent the larger clusters. Too few. And they've already impaled the house of the registrar, quite severely, Varian saw it during his walk here. Luckily, the village was already empty when it happened.

As he ponders this, another side door opens, and Varian looks up, already grinning a bit sheepishly with his relief, and then he realizes exactly who has stepped through the threshold that he hadn’t even noticed before. It isn't Rapunzel.

With heavy, firm steps, King Frederic of Corona enters the room, two more of the guards dressed in a different uniform on either side, and behind him, a slim man with a ponytail and a stack of papers in his hands. Varian saw him before. An advisor.

Varian bows on instinct, all but gluing his eyes to the carpeted floor beneath his scruffy boots, but he can’t get himself to greet the King as would be proper, because Varian has kind of stopped breathing, and the only thing keeping his confusion from spilling over is a sense of surprise. Beneath it, an unnameable fear. Rebellion against authority figures, is what Varian tells himself, that's what he's feeling. It’s a nice lie, one that makes him feel more at ease.

The carpet has faint details sewn into its rough texture.

When the King speaks, his voice isn’t as loud as the one he’d used in the Throne Room on the day of the blizzard, but it isn’t any less commanding. If anything, he sounds a bit cold when he says, to the advisor:

“This is him, Nigel?”

“Yes, I am positive. Do you know this boy, your Majesty?”

Varian doesn’t quite know what is happening. He’d like to, but he doesn't. The bag shakes against his thigh. Ruddiger is quite nervous too. There’s something wrong in the air inside the room suddenly, and Varian can't pin down what it is exactly.

“Not myself, but I know of him”, King Frederic says.

Varian wants to take a step back. Is that an okay thing to do in the presence of the reigning Monarch?

Did Rapunzel tell him about me? , Varian wonders. Or is it because Dad-

Why is the King here?

The question fills his vision as though it were actual blocks of text drawn in thick ink before his very eyes, and Varian thinks he’s still not really breathing. He tries to, but everything feels like too much and he doesn’t understand .

“Varian”, the King says.

“Y-your Majesty”, Varian stutters, very quietly.

Dad would know what to say. Maybe he’d been right when he’d said that Varian didn’t have a place in court.

“Why have you come back here?”, King Frederic finally asks after a long silence, during which Varian squints, actually counting the thread on the carpet just to not spiral further. The question throws off his counting. Varian tenses.

He’d asked those strangely-dressed guards if Rapunzel had asked them to keep an eye out for him. They didn’t deny it, and Varian has to wonder what they’d have to gain by letting him believe so when it is starting to become quite clear that that isn’t the case. But… But Quirin had been a friend of the King’s, right? The flags are inaccurate. Varian has the graphtyc. Maybe…

He tries to go through answers quickly, picking at his words, not knowing what’s formal enough, and, to the sound of dripping, drip, drip, drip, for the first time in a few not as bad days , Varian says:

“Your Majesty, I-I… I was… Ra- I mean, the Princess, I wondered i-if I could see her, if I… I have to talk to-to her.”

It isn’t clear enough. Varian doesn’t know what Dad would say.

“I needed- Need help. The rocks , my father, they’re-”, Varian tries to rectify, but he is interrupted by movement he spots from the corner of his eye. The King has raised one of his hands.

“The rock situation”, King Frederic says, slowly, as if he were measuring the weight of each word, “Is under control. Quirin already took care of everything. You were there to see it.”

“B-but-”

“Do you contradict his Majesty?”, the advisor, Nigel, asks, one eyebrow arched up suspiciously and Varian shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“No! No, I’m- It’s just. Running away isn’t… The rocks are still…”, he mumbles quietly.

“Speak up, boy”, Nigel prompts, so Varian does. He thinks about his father, about the empty village, and slowly, his hands stop shaking. He looks up.

“They’re getting worse”, Varian breathes out, pointing at the map, at the flags. Looking at the King is daunting, but Varian, somehow, manages. He doesn’t meet his eyes, but he makes out the tight wrinkle lines of a frown. “That’s… It isn’t a-accurate. And…”

Varian makes his decision then, because maybe he should have done this first. The King knows something. Rapunzel’s hair glows when she’s near the rocks, but it’s her father who ordered her away. He knows something . Varian takes out his notebook and flips a lot of the newer pages he’s filled out in the past week before he reaches his own shoddier map, pointing at the trajectories he’s traced months ago. The carved map on the table hadn’t accounted for the speed and intensity ramping up. Varian had.

“In a few months, they’ll hit the capital, too… You know? Y-your Majesty”, he adds, more shyly.

There’s an exhausted sigh, then.

Something in the air shifts. A few more guards enter the room while the first two leave. These ones are wearing golden armor, and they crowd around Varian. The King gestures for Varian to sit down. A second audience, of sorts.

Varian sits, gulping hard, but firm with what he’s decided. Maybe this is what Dad would have done, after all.

The King holds out his palm and is handed a stack of notes as well, which Nigel looks down at with a suspicious gleam in his eyes, but he seems more worried, than anything, for just a moment, as he looks at the sketched-out map Varian is still holding up.

And Varian recognizes the notes the King spreads out on a flat corner of the long table, between where they are seated facing each other, Varian with his shoulders hunched slightly and King Frederic curling his fingers under his chin as he looks between the boy before him and the letters. Varian’s letters.

“How did…”, Varian gasps.

“They are yours, are they not?”, it’s not the King who asks, but Nigel.

Varian’s letters. Not all of them. Not the ones before the expo. Or no… Before Varian showed Rapunzel-

The letters that had gone unanswered. About the rocks.

Varian feels the room around him tilt sideways, and the only thing keeping him anchored is his own gloved fingers digging into the edges of the chair he’s sat on.

When Varian doesn’t answer, King Frederic speaks up instead:

“You say you are friends with my daughter.”

Varian’s eyes move between his own shaky handwriting - he hadn’t been thinking about legibility when writing these as much as he’d been panicking - and pale, blue eyes, cold and unyielding. There had been something else, when Varian had pointed out the actual status of the rocks, but it’s gone now. Varian looks off to the side quickly, flinching.

“Y-yeah… She’s been. She’s nice to me.”

I-I can’t help you. Not right now.

But she could now. Her father is back. It had been believable that she’d be expecting Varian again, this is a misunderstanding. It’s just-

“A friend”, King Frederic suddenly scoffs, “And yet you still attack her? Nigel was there. He saw what you did. She is your Princess .” She is my daughter , he doesn’t say, but it’s there.

The accusation hits it target with a resounding thud. Varian nearly jumps back from the chair, but one of the guards lays a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place and Varian hates it. The doors he’d come through are behind him, where he can’t see, and he hates that too.

“I didn’t-”

“You barged in, demanded that her Highness, what was it, abandon her people? For you? It was lucky the guards were there to stop you before things escalated”, Nigel scoffs.

“I didn’t hurt her! I would never -”, Varian tries, wincing at the sound of his own voice, rough and louder than it should be in the presence of the King, but it isn’t right, it isn’t fair, I didn’t-

“When you sent these letters, you were aware that I had ordered Rapunzel to stay away from the rocks”, it isn’t phrased like a question, but Varian still nods, trying to keep it together. 

With every passing second, that glimmer of hope, that King Frederic would help, fades, leaving room for something he still doesn’t understand, that’s wrapped so tight that Varian can’t see behind the knots it leaves behind.

“Sh-she said we’d figure it out… Together”, Varian says lamely. Unseen by the guards and everyone else in the room, small claws prick against the fabric of his pants and dig into Varian’s thigh. It doesn’t hurt, but it draws Varian out of his head, keeps him more present than he would be if he were alone. And it reminds Varian of one other, important thing he has in his bag. Maybe… Maybe he’s doing a bad job. Again.

King Frederic had seemed different when he was shown Varian’s map. He is the King. The people say he is a hard, but fair man. Maybe Varian just needs more solid proof, that’s all.

“Does Quirin know about this? About your involvement with these rocks? Your acts of treason?”, the King asks.

“He said the rocks were dangerous”, Varian admits, everything sounding very far away all at once, as though he were underwater, or buried under layers of snow, “And it wasn’t treason… I was just trying to help. I wanted to help. They’re worse…”

“You went against his Majesty, the King’s, orders. The letters confirm it”, Nigel points out.

“I… I was only trying to help. I was studying the-the rocks. I didn’t…”, Varian continues regardless, hands grasping his bag and holding it until his fingers hurt with his grip, but he doesn’t move to take out the graphtyc yet, as though his body were protesting the idea. Ruddiger is looking at him from the dark confines of it, nose twitching, “And my Dad is trapped in the rocks now, be-because…”

“Because of your own foolishness”, Nigel says, dropping another paper onto the table between Varian and King Frederic. It’s some sort of report. Varian’s eyes blur when he tries to read it.

“Nigel”, the King says, more firmly this time, warningly, but then that coldness is turned back towards Varian, “We know. We have the reports from other citizens of Old Corona about what you’ve done to him. It is-”

“It was an accident! It was an accident, a mistake ”, Dad wouldn’t want him to speak to the King like this, but Varian can hear what they aren’t saying. Just like the villagers. “I will get him out, I will-”

“You have failed so far, and in your naivety, dragged others down with you. Varian”, softer now, but not by much, speaks the King, “Quirin was a trusted friend of mine. He has always claimed your intentions to be good when you and your… Experiments were brought up, and I would have been willing to overlook what you’ve done to him, but after you’ve implicated my daughter in this, after attacking a member of the Royal Family, my daughter -”

Varian pulls out the graphtyc, face set in stone.

He unlocks it with the winding key and unrolls the scroll piece.

The King stares, silent.

Very slowly, not sounding like himself, he says:

“She’s tied to the rocks. It’s because of the flower. I’ve seen it, that they react to her. Because of the flower. She can help. She’s- She could help, if she knew.”

Everything’s gonna be alright, Varian. I promise.

You promised. YOU PROMISED!

“Boy-”, Nigel tries.

“She needs to know”, Varian whispers, looking at the scroll in his own hands.

“Varian“, King Frederic, dangerously.

“She’s my friend. She-”

“ Enough! ”, the King stands and all the air in the room turns electric as the silence fills the empty spaces.

Varian’s mouth snaps shut and his eyes are wide and his heartbeat is erratic and there are claws digging into his leg, startled and afraid. Varian isn’t, anymore.

King Frederic is pacing furiously as he composes his next order, looking into Varian’s eyes where he’s still holding up the scroll, as though he were looking at something else.

“You have done enough harm, but I am not a tyrant. I will… For Quirin’s sake, too. I won’t condemn a child ”, he says and the guards around Varian shift when he stands up too, “Relinquish the graphtyc and its scroll, stay away from my daughter. For… Cases like yours, there are homes where you will be taken care of. On these conditions, I am still willing to grant mercy, Varian, despite all that you’ve done.”

Mercy. Cases like his. The harm Varian’s caused. Assault and treason, they’d said, claimed, accused.

Varian gently places the scroll back into the graphtyc and locks it back up with a click.

The guards part when Varian makes to step aside, looking between the boy and their King’s extended hand.

But Varian says:

“I will free my father if it’s the last thing I do.”

And all Hell breaks loose.

The guards ready their halberts the moment Varian takes off running, reaching out with their grasping hands, shouting to one another when Varian manages to slide under the table, where he finds an opening among the many clamoring boots.

Somewhere in the room, another door opens and slams shut, sounding like thunder. The King’s words echo after him, but Varian doesn’t care right now, he can’t. 

Mercy . What a joke! Dad’s trapped in amber, Corona is being destroyed by rocks, and the King offered mercy -

Varian takes the opening, eyeing the double doors, but the guards move quickly too.

Luckily, they don’t see Ruddiger coming. He jumps out of Varian’s bag and attacks the nearest guard, all claws and teeth and raised, spiked fur.

Varian ducks when the shaft of a halbert appears in front of him, and he barely has time to jump when another follows it in an attempt to trip him, but then, he’s at the doors anyway, and the momentum carries him through.

He feels Ruddiger land on his shoulder, after having left quite a few of the (now-angrily-shouting) guards with a few shallow wounds that Varian doesn’t see on his way out. They may be bleeding. Varian doesn’t want to see it. 

He runs the moment he finds the corridors outside of the room nearly empty, only a few servants walking around.

It’s easy to avoid them, even if they shriek in panic at the teenager shoving past them and the guards following close behind.

“We won’t”, Varian whisper-yells to Ruddiger, “Make it to the entrance like this!”

A blurry glimpse of the scene outside one of the many castle windows gives Varian an idea. They’re not as high up here. He catches a glimpse of brown wood.

Bracing himself and tucking Ruddiger inside his winter jacket, Varian grabs a piece of laundried cloth, scaring a small maid half to death, before he promptly uses it as protection to bash himself against the window he'd been eyeing.

Varian jumps.

“Hhh-”, he makes a face as he lands stomach first onto a thick branch, but the rush from earlier keeps him moving. Varian had been right though; the guards don’t jump to follow Varian. 

They must be headed to the entrance, so they can cut him off in the courtyard. Varian doesn’t wait a second longer and tries to keep his balance as he jumps from branch to branch, gloves making his grip better than it would be otherwise and protecting him from splinters that he really doubts he would feel right now.

Then, at the very edge of the large tree he’s landed in, there’s one more leap to make. Either towards the top of the castle walls or right into the courtyard. Behind, he can hear the sound of guards approaching.

“Wall it is! Hang on Ruddi- WOAH!”

Somehow, Varian survives it, but he clings to the very top of the wall with both legs and arms, eyes squeezed shut. It gets a little easier from there. Using some dumpsters and hay carts on the other side of the wall, Varian manages to hop from one to the other, and then, it’s off towards the narrow streets of Corona’s capital.

Only the distant sounds of the guards chasing him, now joined by the more terrible sound of horse hooves striking the pavement, keeps Varian from collapsing against the walls that seem so very tight around him, as though they were closing in with every step.

As it stands, his lungs and his muscles and his head burn, but something about it is similar. A week ago, he’d run because of sheer desperation and because of the storm on his heels. Now, it’s more manageable. It's only guards, right?  

With that thought used to prop up some less than stellar sense of bravery, Varian starts looking at his surroundings more closely, looking for places to hide out in until he can figure out what exactly just happened, what his choice to run means for him and what he will do next.

From stone alcove to alcove, Varian sneaks around, sometimes hiding behind the wooden stand of an abandoned stall or another too, and soon, there is silence. 

Varian exhales.

“ So be it. Guards, arrest him! ”, the King had said during Varian’s escape.

Varian does, finally, collapse behind the ruins of an old, broken down fountain, hidden amongst the rubble in a less populated part of the city. In his lap, Ruddiger chitters incessantly, still scared, and Varian does his best to calm him down, rubbing his belly and whispering words of encouragement and holding him as he catches his own breath.

Notes:

'tis a difficult one, this chapter.

Based on Varian's quotes of having asked for help and having been ignored, I kept on thinking about who exactly he would ask for help, at least, besides Rapunzel during the blizzard and later, during the flower theft. Somehow, it's public knowledge that Varian attacked the Princess (even if Rapunzel doesn't know about the accusation, which??? Is this legal or?? Damn Freddy, you really into this whole keep things from your daughter deal, huh). An arrest makes sense. Combining those two things, I give you: a castle reprise and a runaway boyo.
I try not to go too cartoon villain with the King and Nigel, but it's kinda... Like, his actions leave a lot to be desired hjdksfhdjkshf so I said heck it and tried to leave things ambiguous so future me can figure it out.
A fun fact is I was headcanoning those guards that tell the King and Queen that Raps is back to be a more personal assortment. They only work in the castle and are better for more... Ahem. Sensitive issues. But the royal guards handle arrests, thus the switch lol.

A question of more organisatorial topics: should I finish this fic with season one and stick it in a series, a work for each season, or just do the whole rewrite in one place? I don't think there's many chapters left for season one, depending on if I do a super long chap for the finale, or another chapter between flower theft and Old Corona battle. Opinions?

Chapter 12: Not too keen

Summary:

Life on the run is not nearly as glorious as the tales of his childhood hero had him believe, but Varian will keep his promise.

Notes:

Contents: mentions of animal slaughter, unsafe enviroments, Ruddiger doing his best, sleep-deprived Varian.

Knowing that he won’t be safe on the island, at least not for long, Varian picks Ruddiger up as soon as he’s caught his breath and then they’re off again.

He has to go home, has to take some time to come up with a new strategy, because, no really, what is he even supposed to do now? Varian has burned through his ideas and resources in the alchemical department, he knows that physical force will not break the amber and going to the castle has turned out to be a big mistake!

In circles, he thinks.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Even when it starts to snow and the snow melts before it even touches the ground, all but forcing Varian back into the now ice-wall-less caverns he used during the storm, he’s still circling.

So dumb, this was dumb! How did I actually expect this to go?

On and on, because something’s still dripping in the background, so he walks faster, even when his knees begin to buckle. At some point, Ruddiger takes the lead. The single glowing ink vial Varian has brought along isn’t as good as Ruddiger’s eyes in the dark, and for a moment, Varian just breathes before going back to stomping his way home.

Well, every time I met up with Rapunzel, it was either random, or she came to me, I suppose… Or I went to her, just the once. Did I expect to just… Just like during the blizzard, to just march in and-

Well. He did. And it worked about as well as last time.

His mouth twists and he frowns into the semi-darkness, the sudden urge to throw something nearly blinding (and it’s not like his vision is so great here), but he has nothing he can throw.

“I just”, Varian says, sighing at the curious chirp he receives, “I thought it was just gonna work out…”

And that was his first mistake, thinking everything would work itself out.

But that’s a rather unscientific thing to base his decisions on - that sort of probability. He thought he might be lucky. It’s foolish. It’s so stupid, and the frustration just keeps growing, making his lungs squeeze around not enough air until Varian puffs out an exhale and shakily tries to breathe more calmly. He can see the light at the end of the cave tunnel now, and Ruddiger has slowed down so he can make some circles of his own around Varian’s legs and rub himself against his shins, offering what comfort he can.

Varian sighs again, but the small smile the action brings to his face stays.

Being back outside is a relief, and now, the wet snow has turned into rain. It’s still cold, but it won’t be long till he makes it home now.

There, he’ll think of something else to try. Some miraculous solution that only comes to him in his worst moment, like it always does in the books, so the adventure can have one last twist. Maybe it won’t be like that and he’ll just rest before he tries to reach Rapunzel again. It’s later now, isn’t it? Her parents have obviously made it home safe, so she should… So she can definitely come now. She just doesn’t know she should and she wasn’t convinced last time, that’s all.

And Varian has his proof and…

Taking out the graphtyc, Varian takes a quick peek at the scroll when he’s just minutes away from their house, eyes drifting over the unfamiliar symbols again, trying to make sense of things, but no, there is no sudden flash of inspiration. 

Maybe that will come later too. Varian almost scoffs, but then he’s standing at the front door and he just can’t keep any expression on his face for long. They all slide off like water down waxed metal.

Ruddiger quickly climbs up onto Varian’s shoulders and holds on while Varian throws the front door open. On the other side, he waits a moment before he actually closes all the latches they have on the door. There's three. One of them is of Varian’s own making, though it doesn’t look that much different from the others, besides maybe being a little more wonky.

Varian stays there only for a bit, hand on the uneven metal piece. He’d been, what, ten when he made it? Quirin hadn’t been too excited at the prospect of metal-working, though, and hence, gloves , because a fear of shaping and welding dangerously hot metal, ten-year-old Varian had not.

That’s a bitter-er memory now too. It was supposed to be something to chuckle over fondly. It’s all so strange now.

With a forceful shake of his head, Varian heads down to his lab, legs trembling even worse than before. 

In the lab, the amber has not changed, but Varian still walks up to it, eyes wide, as though he could have ever expected anything else, and with his forehead and palms glued to it, he leans forward, closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths.

“If that’s your friend”, Varian hears himself whispering, suddenly, “He’s very rude and he’s very stu-stubborn.”

Dad remains silent, no hint of admonishment at Varian talking ill of the King on his father's face. A few more steady inhales and Varian pulls back, looking at Dad’s pained expression with more lingering questions than he can find answers for on his own. Yet, Varian continues speaking, eyes closed, a negative imprint of blue replacing the shape of the amber behind closed eyelids.

“I didn’t get to talk to Rapunzel. The King thinks she shouldn’t know about… Well, you know. The rocks. That’s wrong though. I still need… I need… And she should-”

A sound from upstairs, from the kitchen, rouses Varian. Ruddiger is in search of lunch after all the troubles from today, no doubt, and Varian doesn't feel like eating, but he should go up just to make sure Ruddiger doesn’t eat through their Winter supplies all at once. After, he should see to the animals. Maybe… Maybe take care of the house a little? Then seek out some books on philology and see if that doesn’t help him progress further with the scroll. There’s some time still, isn’t there?

Distantly, as he climbs the steps up to the main body of the house, he has to wonder about how today’s events will affect things. It’s an easier subject to think about than Rapunzel, so Varian thinks about it as soon as he’s ensured that Ruddiger has gone to take his usual nap on the sofa instead of continuing his snack break, curled up in a folded blanket at one end of it. He wonders as he checks the chickens (no eggs) and the three remaining geese (at least they seem somewhat subdued and they don’t try to attack Varian today, as they have done since forever) and the one goat. He keeps wondering as he draws water from the fountain nearby, arms shaking even worse than his legs while he hauls the large, wooden bucket inside.

He wonders and wonders and wonders as he observes just how much the rocks have grown in the last few hours, well on their way to fencing their house off from the rest of the empty village. That last one is a bit harder to consider, so he tries to discard it, but-

No. The rocks aren’t going anywhere. Varian had been right then, and he is still right now. There. Conclusion reached. Onto the next problem, the thing with the arrest…

Varian stares at the water bucket after placing it on the counter and wonders how long it will take the guards to follow. They have their arrest to make, and Varian doesn’t intend to be arrested, but what is he going to do about it? It would be unfair, if they got him, and Varian has so much to do, no matter what the King and the villagers and everyone else seems to think.

So, while he waits, he gathers all of his remaining supplies, stuffing glue bombs and ready-made flagons of other compounds in his bag, and the rest  of the unprocessed materials go into a backpack alongside his notebook and pencils and the graphtyc. Quirin’s glove. All necessities, at least for the most part.

Because King Frederic demanded Varian hand over the scroll. He even looked like he expected Varian to obey. Varian scoffs. Not if it holds the key to freeing Dad, he won’t. There’s a few history books on one of the higher shelves in the parlor. Varian grabs those as well. The writing on the scroll looks ancient.

They would know where he lives, they'd know where to go find Varian, is what he keeps thinking.

He goes to wake Ruddiger, but when the raccoon shifts and yawns, all fangs and squirming limbs, Varian smiles and sits down on the couch alongside him.

Only for a few minutes , he reminds himself sternly, closing his eyes and keeping them closed for dozens of seconds at a time, but jerking awake whenever his chin hits his chest. A few minutes of rest can't be too bad, but Varian knows what’s gonna happen soon, he's 99.84 percent sure of it. The guards will show up and repeat King Frederic’s ridiculous demands and Varian will probably glue them down and go somewhere else until they realize it’s aaall fruitless, because he can be sneaky if he has to, right?

Because it’s how things always go in books. At the end of the day, nobody ever catches Flynn Rider when he sneaks into a place where he’s not supposed to be, and he always saves said day. Varian just has to… To stay put and. Yes, to think about… How to get to… How…

His eyes keep sliding shut.

Varian almost jumps at the sound of heavy boots, and this time, Ruddiger wakes up without further protest, black eyes wide and his fur all spiked up in different directions as he claws his way on top of the backpack that Varian shoulders without any more hesitation.

They’re close and marching closer.

Varian squints and tries to listen more closely, but he can't tell how many there are, just that there’s more than he’d expected. He’s only one person.

He reaches into his bag and closes his fingers around a ball of pink goo before he walks into the hallways on his tiptoes, where he’s mostly out of sight. If he leans forward just so, he can keep an eye on things, and that’s exactly what Varian is doing when the front door bursts open.

He pulls back immediately, breath caught in his throat.

What?

Why are they dressed like- They’re not dressed like those strange guards from the castle, nor are they wearing golden armor. They’re masked, wearing iron masks that kind of look like buckets but worse, and why!? Red tunics, black capes, staffs instead of crossbows. Why?

“Varian, of Old Corona! You are under arrest by order of the King”, one of them says, voice ringing a bell, but it’s muffled by his mask, “Surrender and we can ensure no harm will come to you.”

Ruddiger sniffs the air and Varian and him look at each other before Varian takes another peak at where the guards have entered the house. They start talking amongst themselves when the silence of the house persists and Varian tries to do a headcount.

“Are we sure he even came back here? I mean, for all we know, he could have tried to sneak back inside…”, guard three says, twirling his staff in the air casually.

“C’mon, why would he stay there? He jumped out a window . Conli saw it, didn’t you?”, guard eight says with a hint of laughter while walking around and poking his head into the kitchen, as the other guards move, ruining Varian’s counting. Someone nods.

The first guard who entered, some kind of leader, shakes his head and calls Varian’s name again. At the silence, he simply states:

“Search the house. Don’t make me bring Max here.”

Well. At the way everyone jumps into action, Varian isn’t sure he wants to meet this ‘Max’ either, whoever they are.

Instead, he takes off down the hall as softly as he can. heading for his lab. The other door, the one that leads directly outside or the hatch in the floor that leads into the tunnels beneath the village are his best bets unless Varian wants another dramatic exit out a window.

“Found anything?”, someone says, voice muffled by thick, stone walls as Varian advances slower than he’d like, but at least the guards seem to be thorough and they take their time examining the kitchen, parlor and entrance hall.

“Nope, no sign of him yet, but I did find this - ACK!”

There’s a loud poof and Varian has to slap a hand over his mouth when he nearly bursts out laughing. They must have stumbled across a forgotten raccoon trap.

Eventually, Varian makes it down to the lab, and softly whispering, he tells Dad:

“I’ll be back in a bit, I just- I’ll see you soon, don't worry, yeah? I have a plan, I-I promise I do.”

And then Varian leaves the house through the back door in his lab, only to be greeted by a cool wind and a gray sky that will take a few more hours before it fades to black. He sprints towards a cluster of black rocks, Ruddiger looking back at the house. Suddenly, he digs his claws into Varian’s neck, or rather, pokes him with them, but Varian still lets out a hiss. His brows shut up when he realizes why. He looks back. He sees just how many of the masked guards are gathered outside in front of his house. He feels the shock for a moment before he retreats further behind the tall spikes, finding himself partially retracting his opinions on chance and things somehow working out sometimes, because it doesn’t look like anyone’s noticed Varian yet. They mostly face the road they came up and the rest of the village.

So Varian goes into the woods instead, hiding amongst barren trees and deadly spikes of rock that have grown in between like weeds.

 

---

 

Hiding out in the forest is made easier by having Ruddiger around. As a forest critter himself, he leads Varian around, head shooting up at every mysterious sound, but he gives his boy the go ahead whenever it is safe to continue.

Wintertime makes food scarce. Varian hasn’t packed any in his hurry, but at least they find a small, relatively clean river some few hours into their escapades. Close to it, Varian decides to set up camp.

The weight of the extra books is starting to get really noticeable.

It’s not much of a camp, nothing like when Dad would take him out to look up at the stars on Mount Saison and they'd set up a tent and everything, but with the coat he’d been wearing over his Winter jacket under him so he doesn't have to sit directly on the hard, wet ground, Varian thinks it could have been worse. It stopped raining, so.

If any of the guards have figured out that Varian has escaped from right under their noses, they at least haven’t sent anyone after him into the vast forests around Old Corona yet, and Varian hopes things will remain that way a while longer.

He doesn’t stay in his chosen camp spot through the night, but when the night is at its darkest, Varian takes out another glowing ink vial. This one is bright green and it’s one of the stronger lights he can manage. He’d figured out the cooler colors, see? With his backpack stored inside the small spaces formed by the roots of a large tree, but with the graphtyc safely in his apron pocket, Varian walks back to the village.

Ruddiger is left behind to hold down the fort, and instantly, without his small noises in the dark or the touch of his fur around his neck, Varian can feel a stronger wave of nervousness creeping in. But that’s not something he has time for. Sheer determination (and maybe a little bit of hunger; he should have eaten before) keep him moving forward.

When he reaches the village, he can see lamplight around the hill where their house is, near the wall, and in the darkness, moving shapes. Varian hides the vial in his coat before he leaves the treeline.

Then, Varian goes through abandoned building after abandoned building, vision blurring slightly and his ears strained to catch any sound besides his own shuffling feet and the clank of the graphtyc against the glue bombs he’s brought with him in his bag, just in case.

He returns to Ruddiger with a fuller bag, one less glue trap (it had only been a stray dog and Varian had let it out of it immediately, whispering apologies all the while) and a few small pears stashed in his coat, at which the raccoon cheers and Varian cheers with him. He eats, because he’s hungry, but his appetite is mostly stolen by how distracted Varian is as he tries to take stock of everything he’s found.

(As he tries to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling in his chest.)

But the village is empty. The people of Old Corona won’t miss a blanket and some food and a few other, smaller things, surely?

Yet the guilt remains.

He’ll fix it once he thinks of a way to go home, he’ll replace what he’s taken, and everything will be fixed by the time things go back to normal.

 

---

 

The weather starts warming a few weeks later, yet Varian still finds it hard to sleep.

He’s got a few more blankets with him, just for comfort, and, well, he and Ruddiger aren’t starving. When they evacuated, the other villagers must have really left in a hurry. There’s a lot more they’ve left behind than Varian would have expected. Granted, sometimes, he finds sacks of grain with worms inside.

So, anyway, things are going well, Varian keeps watch during the day and Ruddiger takes advantage of his actual, instinctual sleeping schedule and stands guard at night. While helping himself to whatever food Varian has brought for them for the day, but still.

On most nights, Varian still joins him and, in silence, he works on the scroll under the light of glowing ink and, after he’s found a bunch of unused, mostly dry candles, under candlelight. The flames are small, but they still offer some warmth. He can’t sleep well, so it’s mostly naps here and there that Varian indulges in.

He does progress with the symbols on the scroll, though, realizes a lot of it is written from the bottom up, and he starts marking down repeating patterns and looking into one of the history books he’s brought with him. It’s nothing concrete, but there are some possible similarities to ancient saporian, and that’s something. The book has images of carvings and other scrolls and it’s a start.

Sometimes, when he gets too sleepy, Varian goes under without meaning to, even during the day. Sometimes, he wakes up hearing the sound of boots and voices, but when he opens his eyes, nothing has changed.

 

---

 

Things are very quiet for a long time, and even if something has changed back home, Varian doesn’t know of it.

So he decides to risk it, and he goes back one day, early in the morning, when it’s still dark but he won’t have to make it back to his camp through the confusing maze of trees and rocks in the darkness if he has to make a run for it.

It goes well. Kind off. He manages to get away with all of the ingredients he hasn’t managed to take with him the first time, but he’s pretty sure one of the guards heard something when Varian snuck downstairs after having gone up to his father’s bedroom.

He leaves with above-mentioned ingredients and a long dagger, because the guards seem to have set up shop in his kitchen and kitchen utensils are out of the question under those circumstances.

From the few words he catches from longer discussions, Varian figures that they’re waiting for him to come back, but they’re running raids in the capital and in the rest of the village too. That makes Varian’s breath catch. He hasn’t met anyone on his own village raids, but the thought that he’s just been lucky has him looking back over his shoulder every few seconds as he makes his way back to the camp.

Ruddiger has gotten his tail stuck into a thorn bush. Varian cuts at the branches with the new dagger he'd swiped from the chest in his father's room, and it takes longer than it should because his hands are shaking, but the dagger helps. It’s very sharp.

“I think I should start going to the village at night, Rud”, because it’s quieter among the empty houses and shops then, and he would better hear if someone else were around, “Or maybe we can start foraging?”

Or…

He looks down at the dagger. He’s still got some glue traps, and if he finds the proper ingredients and takes some time, he could probably make more, even out here, and Varian knows, in theory , what to do.

Don’t leave them to suffer. You have to do it like this, see? And quickly. Then a cut here and-

But Varian has never been good with blood. He helps, after, but never during the actual-

He shakes his head and sits down beside Ruddiger just as the first morning rays of sunlight break through the skeletal branches of the trees stretching above them. Ruddiger goes to cuddle up against Varian’s thigh.

 

---

 

What leads Varian to change things up, to do the unthinkable and go back to the capital, is exhaustion. A sense of odd boredom underlines it, along with something else that has him waking up suddenly and with bated breath.

He’s tired of the guards, of how their patrols extend to the edges of the forest now, how, a few times, they’ve come close to Varian’s camp. Of how stubborn they are, just like their King. Just how big of a secret are the rocks for him, if King Frederic is willing to expend this many resources on hounding Varian down?

He looks down at the scroll where it’s unrolled over one of the blankets, papers filled with notes nearly covering it up completely.

There’s two paragraphs over the scroll piece that remain a complete mystery, written somewhat differently from the text filling the rest of the parchment, and Varian’s barely managed to get a few words completely translated from the rest of the scroll, coming to the conclusion that it’s some ancient dialect of today’s coronan, with some encoding going on that makes getting the actual meaning out even harder. But he’s got some things, and he can fill in the blanks for himself and get out some useful conclusions.

‘Heavenly powers’ are mentioned twice, ‘destruction’ four times, ‘healing’ and ‘time turn’ thrice and always together and ‘golden flower’ only once, but followed by words that Varian hasn’t yet fully figured out, but they have something to do with brightness and glowing and something else. It’s ‘opposite forces’ and ‘darkness to its light’ (the phrasing isn’t entirely nailed down, but Varian is getting there) that lead him to think he’d been right about the illustrations, of course , and everything else is only more supporting evidence.

Rapunzel’s hair was once blessed by the legendary flower, so now it reacts with the rocks, which are the opposite of the Sundrop Flower. Yes, that makes sense.

And Varian doesn’t like magic. Doesn’t like the idea of taking his chances again. He isn’t sure about his plan, but from here, there’s only so much he can plan for without a reconnaissance mission to guide him into something more concrete. Still.

Maybe it’s time history repeats itself.

The flower that gave Corona a miracle once, that was mysteriously never mentioned again after its healing of the Queen and the birth of the Princess, that’s what Varian has to look for, but he can’t do it alone. He has no idea where to even start.

And who else would know more about it than one of the people the flower saved in the first place, the Princess of Corona and Varian’s friend? It hurts to think about her, it hurts because he hasn’t really seen her in a while, and he doesn’t know why it keeps hurting, why, for all his reasoning to himself, the feeling persists.

And… And she isn’t… She never even-

But she’s a Princess. So Varian just has to do what he did on the day of the arrest, but he has to be sneakier about it. To be smarter about it.

 

---

 

Initially, Varian’s plan is to scope out whatever’s happening on the castle island, perhaps in the hopes of getting a clue as to what Rapunzel is up to, but as it turns out, Rapunzel’s outings since the blizzard have been rather limited. No songs sung in the street, no mural of hers painted in chalk in one of the city’s plazas (though Varian hears rumors about a new gallery being opened holding a mural painted by the Princess herself; he nearly chokes on spit when he hears about it, for some reason), no daring adventure, not much of anything.

Varian doesn’t know what to make of it, but he sticks around to find out more. It’s… Surprisingly easy to take care of himself while he’s here. Nobody’s particularly cautious. He’s left Ruddiger at the camp, just in case, but he misses the steady weight of his companion on his shoulders, is actually anxious about it. And, well, Ruddiger was the reason why Varian managed to escape during the day of his arrest, right? And the capital is teeming with guards. These ones don’t wear masks and the curiosity as to why is just about killing Varian.

And as he snoops, making circles, always closing in on the castle, but never coming too close, Varian realizes that there’s more to what’s been happening since he went into hiding. Actually, probably since he went to get Rapunzel’s help during the storm. The story must have not circulated enough back when Varian had that awful ‘audience’, so it hadn't been as obvious.

He notices it for the first time after finding a coin on the street. It’s not that lucky, considering what it leads to minutes later.

He goes to buy something, actually, and he finds himself shooed out of the store without knowing why. And as he stands there, in front of the little bakery, he hears the people around him start to whisper.

About attacks. About their Princess. About how Varian must have no shame.

They don’t call him by name, they say ‘that wizard kid from Old Corona’ and ‘oh, that boy, I always knew he was up to no good!’ and Varian frowns at them. When he steps forward and opens his mouth to ask about it, the people step back.

And then he’s shoved forward roughly and the whispers get louder.

It’s irrational, but Varian runs just like he did on that day, when he fled the castle, and then he’s hiding again as he tries to understand what has just happened. What has been happening.

Crowds pulling away from him. People pointing. Whispers. Guards appearing at random, dragged along by some random citizen or another who would be staring at Varian with suspicion; by the time said guards would look towards him, Varian would already be gone.

It doesn’t make sense until he sees the poster, hours later, when it’s already dark, but a street lamp pushes his own features into sharp focus from where they’re drawn in ink, with his name written underneath, along with small script forming a block of text, from which, Varian only picks up on the words ‘assault‘, ‘Princess Rapunzel’ and ‘dangerous’.

And above his own face, in bold letters:

 

WANTED

- alive -

 

Varian stares for a long time, until he hears the clank of armor and he runs again. It all seems like a dream that’s gone very, very wrong, but Varian hasn’t been sleeping that much lately..

 

---

 

With his emotions tangled together, Varian lets his promise guide him: to do everything to free his father. That’s all that matters. His chest feeling so tight and his eyes burning and his chin trembling when he holds the hood of his cloak down with both hands so nobody recognizes him, that all has to be pushed away. It’s unproductive. It doesn’t help .

The only thing that helps is that he’s still in the capital and he can still take whatever he needs when his stomach grumbles and that the weather is getting warmer and that he’s starting to memorize the rotations of the guards, starting to recognize some faces, and all Varian needs is an opening.

He goes back to his camp only once, when it rains so hard that even sitting under a rooftop ledge, Varian’s clothes still end up drenched.

There, after changing and hiding out under the makeshift wooden roof he’d been so proud of when he first built it, he holds Ruddiger for a long time, face buried in his fur, trying to push everything down. Varian has always had big emotions, though. It isn't so easy.

When he pulls his face away, Ruddiger tries to clamber higher, to push his nose into the crook of Varian’s neck, but it doesn’t feel like much. Varian’s hands are shaking. Maybe he’s caught a cold? Well, that wouldn’t be good. He needs to go back, to look for his opening, because in Old Corona, the masked guards wait, and no one else besides.

In the capital, there are golden helmets and halberds, but Rapunzel is there too.

“I’m going again. I have to get to her, to get her to listen so that-”, he whispers, and finally, Ruddiger wriggles up to paw at his chest and Varian finally lets him even as his eyes water, “I just need a-an opening.”

Ruddiger licks at his cheek and pats his face and, still, Varian makes him stay behind. He steals him more shriveled apples from Old Corona (he actually catches a glimpse of an iron mask through an open door, this time, but they don’t seem to notice Varian) and the bribe seems to work, even if Ruddiger refuses to look at him for the rest of the night while Varian packs a few more things, a few more alchemical solutions. The dagger.

Just in case.

He leaves his backpack under the roots of that larger tree again, and after a second, he takes the winding key out of the graphtyc and places the bronze cylinder amongst some of his remaining alchemical supplies. Bronze is hard to destroy if they don’t know what chemicals to use, but Varian assures himself that the King wouldn’t want to destroy such a relic. Hide it just like he hides the truth, yes, but surely, his men won’t risk damaging the contents of the graphtyc just to crack it open by force. And it’s well-made anyway. It should stand a few hits.

 

---

 

While crossing the bridge, Varian hears:

“Have you heard about the treaty with Pittsford? They say the Griffin himself will come to make the deal!”

“Shall we expect another celebration, then?”

“Oh, not for another few days, I wouldn't think. He's coming by boat.”

And that's something.

Notes:

Uh oh, who let him get a knife?
Anyway, it's a montage chapter! *to the tune of Final Countdown*

I have. So many rewrites of this chapter too. In the end, I've settled on this because every time I tried to do something clever, I ended up with more plotholes and stunted pacing and things are ALREADY moving slow and aUGH-
(I am not that smart. This much thinking about plot hurts the old brain!)
In the end, the reason for this chapter going as it does is that Varian mentions having to lie low because people think he attacked Rapunzel and haven't been very happy about it.
As for guards wearing masks... I have a reason, but I'm not sure if it works that well or if I'm gonna have to call it a plot contrivance.

From an alternate version of this chapter where Varian struggles a bit more with the scroll (outside of the incantations for which I have plans!):

I figured it out!

...Is what I would say if I wasn't stuck-

Chapter 13: Room for surrender

Summary:

Varian finds himself fumbling when he's finally closer to the Princess. Elsewhere, a raccoon has a plan.

Notes:

Contents: impulsive alchemical experimentation, failed plans (multiple), attempted arrest, mild violence, hurt Ruddiger, crossbows (brief).

Thusly go the following days:

Keeping an eye on things as the chaos of such events spreads out, staying safe - staying hidden! - and finding a way to wiggle his way into talking to Rapunzel to show her the copies he’s made of the scrolls’s symbols and his translation notes before he can bring her the real thing as evidence. Before she comes to help him.

(Why doesn't she go out like she used to, by the way? Why didn't she already- No. He didn't convince her last time. She didn't know about the letters either, so. Yeah.)

There’s more guards, but they aren’t as attentive with keeping an eye out for Varian and other such ‘criminals’ as much as they are with keeping the castle safe. They switch from offense to defense, kind of. And, well, the welcoming committee for the Griffin of Pittsford will take place between the castle and the docks. It’s that middleground that Varian has to keep an eye out for.

He does a lot to keep up to date.

Listening in on guards from a distance, tracing out what route is likely to lead the Griffin towards the castle, jotting down the itinerary of what he hears is rumored to happen before and after the arrival of the man of the hour.

At this point, Varian thinks he probably knows more about the celebrations than even the master of ceremonies, but then again, the castle and what will happen in it remain a very big blank spot. Fixing that would mean getting closer to it, though, perhaps sneaking inside, and that's exactly where guards swarm and-

And Varian doesn’t want to do that. Things haven't been too bad so far, but he shouldn’t push it.

And then, as the anticipated day comes, Varian sees his chance and misses it completely.

 

---

 

The Griffin of Pittsford is a short man who wears decorated armor and whose helmet has a garrish, golden sculpture of a bird on top of it. Truly, how it doesn’t wobble or just fall off of his head must be some engineering feat.

Still, though, the Griffin takes his time, waiting for his things to be delivered to the servants that have come to greet him from the castle, and by the time he even considers getting into the royal carriage that’s arrived to pick him up, Varian finds himself bored where he’s hiding on top of a rooftop, behind a small tower.

But he can see now, lined with guards, which route the Griffin will take, and he knows that the Royal Family will greet him at the castle, seeing no big gathering along the way. It is customary to do so for the welcome of guests, though not unheard of for the royals of Corona to meet important allies or those of similar rank outside of their own castle. Today, however, is not such an exception.

This was always a possibility, the most likely one, at that. He’d just thought… Well, Rapunzel is quite unpredictable. He’d thought maybe she’d do something out of the ordinary here. It doesn’t matter though, Varian decides as he follows the Griffin and his entourage towards the castle, making his way from roof to roof, careful not to fall. An opportunity will present itself aaany moment now.

These are the most chaotic moments in and around the castle, after all, if the running around of guards and servants alike is anything to go by. Varian just has to get close enough to-

He stops when he hears voices. Very familiar voices. Those of his friends!

”Huzzah!”

But… Is that really- No. No. She would never say huzzah . Even the tone is all wrong.

“Non-paved road trip with my two best buds!”, oh, but she continues, and now it’s undeniable.

“Cassandra?”, Varian whispers to himself, and with a startle, he looks at where he’s ended up. It isn’t so easy to orient himself from up here, but he recognizes the surrounding buildings. He’s right above-

“There is no time to go ourselves. Max, Pascal-”

-Xavier’s forge. And that’s Rapunzel’s voice. She sounds absolutely ticked off and Varian glues himself to the roof and flinches, then shakes his head and blinks, scrambling to get up and get down and go to her.

“-You clowns got us into this mess, now you have to get us out of it. We need that antidote made, pronto!”, Rapunzel continues, and Varian nearly does fall off of the roof, stifling a yell. 

“Do not worry, Princess. Just as soon as I have the ingredients, it will be done”, and that's Xavier.

There’s a neigh and a squeak in response. Varian feels a little dizzy trying to figure out what is happening, but his confusion slows him down enough that, by the time he’s at the edge of the rooftop, he sees three figures walking away, Rapunzel looking more tense than ever while Cassandra… Dances around her? And Eugene, sticking close to Rapunzel’s side, is hunched in on himself as though he were in pain. In the distance, in the opposite direction, he sees a white horse, possibly the same one he’d seen when Rapunzel came over before… Before. The horse gallops away, and on his head, there’a green blur of a thing. Pascal, Rapunzel’s chameleon.

Varian forces his own attention back to where Rapunzel is still walking away and towards the castle and does his best to follow. He’s close enough to call for her, Rapunzel, I need your help , before someone else says:

“Rapunzel, where were you? The Griffin could arrive any minute now.”

Ah. The King. And Varian falls flat on his face against the roof. Thankfully, the ceramic tiles offer some good soundproofing for the frustrated groan drawn out of him.

His eye twitches when Rapunzel says ‘whatever’, nonchalant and sounding nothing like herself.

Then, he hears more horses, more voices and he peeks at the welcoming committee, holding in the urge of just flinging himself down from where he’s spying on everything. It looks awfully official. Varian doesn’t think he should care too much about interrupting, not considering what's at stake, but his body just won’t move for some reason, so he stays hidden for a bit longer, feeling every bit like a small child who’s just broken some antique vase or something. The King looks awfully imposing even from a distance.

The Royal Family and the Griffin of Pittsford walk into the castle.

Varian’s head thunks against the roof tiles again, but hey, at least the dizziness that follows distracts him from the awful frustration itching under his skin, though it makes the beginnings of a headache that he’s been doing his best to ignore since his little mission first started just a bit worse.

Welp.

Varian, face against the roof, boiling under the heat of the Spring sun, starts his thinking again and reevaluates.

Rapunzel is currently out of reach. And there's a mission her chameleon and the horse are on. Pascal and Max. 

The Captain had mentioned a Max... So he’s a horse. And Pascal is Rapunzel’s chameleon friend. Cassandra had talked about a road trip and… Rapunzel had sent a horse and a lizard instead. Messes to get out of, and all that. Ingredients and an antidote too. 

Varian closes his eyes.

But, if some logic is to be forced into this muddy context… Rapunzel had been at Xavier’s shop when she sent Max and Pascal on some miscellaneous trip. It’a all about some antidote . Which Rapunzel requires. Which Xavier will make, apparently. Rapunzel is in the castle now , but might not be later, because later, there'll be an antidote she needs… And since Varian can’t go into the castle… Then maybe…

Sticking around the blacksmith seems like the most reasonable course of action, all things considered. 

It’s laughably easy to sneak inside the forge.

 

---

 

Xavier is a man that Varian doesn’t know very well. He produces quality products. He’s always liked sharing his legends and tales. That’s about it. He seems friendly enough. And…

Varian stretches a little, wincing at how sore his back feels, but stuck between barrels, it’s not like he has much space to move around. He can only partially see the shop from where he’s hidden inside it, but more than that, he can hear Xavier whistle as he works, completely unaware of the teenager hiding in his smithy.

…He’s not too observant. Varian won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

And where Xavier can take his time and be relaxed as he sets up a table with utensils that looks so similar to Varian’s own beakers and burners and vials, like he’s about to whip up a concoction just as Varian would do every day in his lab (before), Varian struggles to stay awake and alert. The rhythmic clinking and the whistling don’t help.

He’s violently thrust back into wakefulness when Pascal and Max the horse return (they are not very quiet) a few hours later, and an echo plant is held proudly between lizard fingers and Varian frows, leaning slightly forward and squinting. Did… Did they make the trek to Mount Saison? And back?

If Ruddiger were here, Varian thinks he would snap and just turn to ask his raccoon, completely outraged, and he'd say:

Can you believe this? What the heck!

He isn’t here, however, so Varian snaps in silence and bites his lip.

Then something else snaps, or rather, falls over. Something happens, and soon, Xavier’s voice has faded from whistling and greeting to-

He snores.

Carefully, Varian moves a little and sees what must have happened. The blacksmith is knocked out cold and one of the weapon racks is in disarray, with one of the spears laying on the floor near Xavier.

Pascal looks at the horse, seemingly quite worried, perhaps a little guilty. The echo plant is left on the table near an open book, the contents of which Varian can’t read from this distance, and then Pascal and Max leave. To get help , Varian realizes , but he doesn’t wait a second longer to jump up and go kneel besides the unconscious body in the forge.

Luckily, Xavier looks asleep more than he does unconscious and Varian’s relief almost makes him stagger. He catches himself on the table that Xavier had been setting up and, finally, Varian has a chance to look at everything more closely. It really does look like the tools and components for an alchemical experiment.

Varian corrects himself once he takes a look at the book. 

Potion experiment. Xavier was about to brew a potion, because Rapunzel said there was a mess that needed getting out of and this is the antidote, apparently. Varian picks up the three-leaf echo plant and twirls it between his fingers, genty, because it’s harder to tell how much pressure he applies when wearing his gloves (and because his fingers feel more like gelatine right now anyway).

A potion. That’s what the book shows. A recipe for a potion. His eyes drift between the plant in his hand and the rest of the ingredients laid out on the table, then they move back to the text detailing how such a… Thingy is brewed.

The title reads ‘Mood Potion (dangerous, exercise caution in quantity!)’, brackets and all.

Max the guard horse and Pascal the Princess’ chameleon don’t seem to be anywhere close by.

And Xavier is sleeping.

And, well, everything is right here.

Gosh , but Varian is actually burning with a strange sense of pure curiosity. It's eating him up!

So, obviously…

Varian sets to work. Using some shortcuts he implements when creating his own solutions, he halves the time required to make the potion. In the end, he even stirs it as the instructions say, swirling a pattern into the purple substance.

It shimmers after. It glows , but not like bioluminescence or the flickering of a flame, it’s something else entirely. More like black rocks and golden hair and-

Varian nearly yells at that, but he regains his control and just clears his voices after totally-not-a-surprised-squeak. He is very grateful that Xavier is asleep.

Then, it’s done.

He fishes out a small vial out of his own pocket. It only has some self-made liquid soap in it and is, perhaps, not the most useful supply he’s brought along, so Varian empties it into one of the fires of the forge and winces at the way the flames flash blue for just a second before settling again. Then he scoops up a portion of this ‘mood potion’, eyes skimming over some more of the details at the end of the recipe, about effects and after-effects and-

And then Varian does stagger back.

 

---

 

By the time the guard horse and the chameleon companion are back, accompanied by someone wearing what looks like a hastily pulled on medic’s gown, they find Xavier propped up on a chair, still asleep, and the little cauldron filled with a still bubbling purple liquid that Pascal and Max bottle inside a flagon before taking off towards the castle, leaving the medic with Xavier. Whatever the situation looks like, they don’t call for more guards, because who knows? Maybe Xavier has a thing for brewing potions in his sleep.

All the while, watching from further away, crouched behind an abandoned cart, Varian is muttering what the heck, why did I do THAT, what the heck, what the heck, what the heck , like some sort of mantra.

Today is a very weird day.

He’s failed to talk to Rapunzel and he has a vial of apparently magical potion in his pocket and the headache is now in full swing and all Varian wants to do is lay down right here, head resting on one of the cart’s sides, and sleep for a week, but there’s more to do and he has to talk to Rapunzel, even if he failed again, he needs her, he needs help.

Breathe .

What to do, what to do, what to do…

Turns out, Varian doesn’t need to do much of anything before his situation changes.

Trouble finds properly him when he’s meandering around the castle, looking at a slightly crooked sewer grate set in the castle wall, not daring to go any closer, but this one grate seems out of place, the distance between it and its neighboring sewer grates inconsistent. Varian is wondering if he should walk around the castle to check if this really is just a construction mistake or something useful to help him do the impossible instead and break in. There’s crowds around him. It wouldn’t look that strange if he walked in circles for a while.

Then, there’s hands grabbing at him again. Always, always, they’re grabbing him like he’ll slip away if they don’t, and he wants to slip away actually, because when Varian cranes his neck painfully hard to look at who is behind him, only to be slammed chest-first into the castle wall, he realizes what is happening.

“Who knew we’d find you stalking the castle… Don’t you know better, alchemist?”

A guard, without the iron mask, but Varian knows the voice. This man had gotten caught in a glue trap when the guards first came to Varian’s house. Varian says nothing at first, only struggling when both of his arms are brought behind his back and held there, the position pulling at joints and ligaments and it hurts -

“Stop! Stop, let go, I-”, he cries out, suddenly, but the grip gets tighter and the plea ends in a whimper.

“Where is the scroll, alchemist? Won’t you cooperate, just this once?”, he whispers it, so only Varian can hear him.

The people around them have fallen silent, but they start whispering to each other after a tense moment. They sound scared and Varian turns his head sideways, looking at them over his shoulder, behind the guard holding him pinned in place like an insect.

And they look scared, too, eyes wide and features stony, clinging to each other.

“Please”,Varian says, but they only move further backwards. Varian’s face scrunches up at what it means. Scared, yes, but not for him.

“ I always knew he was up to no good, did you hear what he- ”, someone hisses, the toddler in their arms squirming. They glance away when Varian looks directly at them. All of the people in the crowd do. They just keep moving back.

The guard is still speaking. Varian isn’t strong enough to push him off and he doesn’t know what else to do, but if he could just reach for one of the alchemical supplies he’s brought, just in case …

“By order of King Frederic of Corona, you will hand yourself over, that is-”, the guard starts, loud and clear, because, oh, that part the crowd already knows.

Varian forces himself to stop struggling, to go limp, and the action surprises the guard, leaving Varian with enough leeway to jerk one arm away and reach into one of his pockets, and then everything is pink smoke.

“Hey”, the guard coughs, voice growing smaller the further Varian runs, pushing past hands that cling and shove and grab , but he pushes in turn, “HEY! STOP THAT BOY-”

More smoke erupts as Varian smashes two more glass balls into the stone pavement, and from inside the swirling mass, there’s screams and a spreading panic. It won’t hurt them, but they don't realize it yet. Still, more guards gather, because this close to the castle, what else could Varian have expected?

Of course he’d fail. Of course, of course, of course. He’d been so dumb and now he’s wasted even more time and he just saw Rapunzel and he missed his shot and it’s useless, he should have known it would be useless, I’m sorry, Dad, I’m so sorry, please, please, help me-

Even the caves don’t feel safe, when Varian finally reaches them. They’re too silent, and he can still hear the wind whistling outside for a while longer and his own feet striking the uneven stone of the cave. He’s more used to navigating them now. He won’t fall yet, even in the dark.

If he can just make it to the temporary camp, he’ll be safe. All he has to do is get there, check on Ruddiger and regroup. Find something else. Something that will work. All that Varian’s ever done is watch everything he plans go up in flames, literally more often than not, but this can’t be how this ends. Because Dad still needs him and Varian needs him .

Tears fill his eyes and Varian rubs at his face until it stings, red and raw, but he doesn’t cry at least.

The forest is quiet, letting all other sounds echo. Varian’s panting and gasping and the sound of twigs snapping under his boots don’t make for too calming of an ambiance. His lungs are on fire and his heart beats fast in his chest, but eventually, he starts slowing as he approaches the camp.

He feels a cooler relief sink into aching muscles when his surroundings change into the more familiar ones, and heck, he even spots a rotting apple core from the corner of his eye. His own, because Ruddiger eats them whole, core and seeds and all.

Everything will be okay now, and Varian will think of something else. How many times have you said this already?

The wood planks and sticks hammered and bound together, the blankets underneath, the minimal fire pit. Small crates and sacks that had held food provisions, once. A large tree with roots that have more room underneath them than one could tell from simply looking. Safety. It isn’t home, but it’s safe.

Except…

“Ruddiger?”, Varian whispers, clearing his throat before he tries again, louder and shakier than before, “Ruddiger? Ruddiger, I’m back.” 

Nothing. Not a single chitter or a scramble of paws against the ground or against the rough bark of one of the trees around him. The forest is quiet.

“I’m back, buddy. You can come out now…?”

It feels like when he first stepped into an empty house, but before he’d seen the amber.

Looking closer and rubbing at his face, Varian notices the little things. The little bed of blankets he’s made isn’t folded, as he’d left it. He’d known he’d be gone for a few days, and he hadn’t wanted the blankets to get wet. Some of the empty papers Varian has left behind are scattered around. Some apples lie on the ground, uneaten.

He feels like he’s going to collapse if he doesn’t do something, so he steps towards those tree roots that had felt like such a smart hiding place and he looks inside. Broken vials, scattered dusts, the smell of chemicals that shouldn’t be mixed together wafting through the air, but it must have been a while, because it isn’t that strong anymore. His backpack is open and whatever had been inside has been pulled out without much thought or care. His supplies. The graphtyc-

It isn’t here. It isn’t here and Ruddiger won’t answer.

“Buddy? Ruddiger?”, Varian tries again. No matter how many times he clears his throat and coughs, he can’t call for him with more than a small whisper. Against a twisted, thick root, there’s a splatter of browning red. He looks away, tasting bile.

From his bag, Varian pulls out the dagger he’d taken from his father’s chest of secrets, though his fingers brush against a smaller vial. Shimmering purple. What's the opposite of duty-driven guards, anyway?

He has some idea of what to do, now.

But Varian has a hard time with just making himself move. He takes a moment. After, Varian starts walking and he knows it won’t be safe. The cloak around his shoulders hides his hands and his face, but he isn't sure it would hide his identity if they expect him to come.

Even so, Varian goes home. He still has enough sense to try and maintain his only advantage, the element of surprise, and he takes the less easily patrolled forest paths, but he doesn’t hide behind illusions of how everything will turn out eventually anymore. They took the graphtyc, but they took Ruddiger too.

(The alternative is… No. It would be a wasted resource to them. Ruddiger is with them, he isn’t-)

He knows a trap when he sees one, but it doesn’t matter. If springing it is what Variwn has to do…

The backdoor to the lab is guarded. The hatch door might be safer, it blends in with the wooden planks of the floor if one doesn’t know where to look, so Varian circles back until he finds one of the many entrances to the tunnels.

Time crawls and Varian stumbles behind it.

Surprisingly, there aren’t any guards in the lab itself, only his father, and they have covered the amber with a mess of hastily sown together sheets and blankets, leaving only holes in the fabric for the amber’s glow to break through and he doesn’t know why they would do this. Can’t they stand the sight of what the black rocks have ultimately resulted in? He can’t see his father, but Varian can hear the guards inside their home, in the halls and upstairs and in the tower rooms and everywhere and he has to remind himself to keep going, just a little longer. To keep quiet and to keep moving forward. They took Ruddiger and Varian has to get him back.

He closes his eyes and tries to envision the layout of the house and what route would be the most discrete so he can do a sweep, and so, when something bumps against Varian’s leg, he has to slap his hands over his mouth to not reveal his location instantly with a surprised shout.

When he looks down, the leather of the gloves digs into the skin of his own face hard as he stifles another type of noise.

Instantly, Varian drops to his knees, and a second later, he drops his hands and sobs quietly:

“Ruddiger…?”

At his knees, a blob of gray and black and white fur whines quietly, slowly moving closer to Varian. And Varian, not knowing what else to do, holds out his hands, but he draws back with a dawning, stinging sense of realization when the raccoon hisses at the contact. That’s when Varian notices the blood.

But he has to try and keep swallowing vomit and he has to blink to not lose consciousness, and he does, because after a tense moment, Ruddiger leaps into Varian’s arms, shivering and still hissing as he stains Varian’s clothes red.

“Wh-What did they do to you, buddy?”, he whispers, trying and failing to find a way to hold Ruddiger that doesn’t hurt him. 

Ruddiger doesn’t make any more noise in response, he just lays there for a bit, obviously in pain, but he seems to find some comfort in his arms, on his lap, and Varian can’t deny him, even as his own tears fall into matted fur.

Then, after a few moments of silence, Ruddiger shifts again, and Varian lets him.

There’s a lull in the conversations going on outside of the lab, and both of them freeze, but when nothing happens, Ruddiger moves away slowly, and Varian understands and follows, tucking Dad’s dagger into the waist strap of his apron. 

He is led to that shelf of books, and he frowns. The… Flynn Rider shrine.

Why?

When Ruddiger moves his head, pointing at the books, Varian swallows, but despite his confusion he reaches out hesitantly towards the first book in the stack. When Ruddiger hisses again, Varian moves his hand a bit lower and he keeps listening until there’s a very soft chirp instead. He grabs the book. It feels slightly heavier than it should, and Varian only notices because he remembers the long summer nights when he’d read the Flynnigan Rider books until dawn, remembers how they felt in his hands, against his stomach, held up as he poured himself into them.

He opens the book.

The pages have been chewed through, and in the hole they form, there is bronze.

From the outside, no one would be able to tell.

Varian nearly bursts out crying again, but his chin keeps trembling and his voice wobbles when he says:

“You wouldn’t let them have it, would you, Ruddiger…? O-oh, buddy, but how?”

Ruddiger presses his face against Varian’s legs repeatedly, still shivering, still bleeding and Varian looks up at the ceiling as he blinks hard, his grip on consciousness already tentative. He brings Ruddiger up into his arms gently, as gently as he can, after he places the book back; it's a hasty decision.

Now, Varian can hear them (they did this, they did this, didn't they?) more clearly. They’re in the parlor, he guesses, and even the fear is gone. He feels nothing except for Ruddiger’s wet fur.

“-orry, Cap. He used some of his magic stuff. Kid’s lost his mind!”

How long did it take that guard from the capital to travel here? Did he take a horse? Was Varian so slow? He must have taken a horse. Distantly, Varian wonders if it’s the horse guard he saw at Xavier’s shop, Max.

“Magic”, ‘Cap’ - Cap, Captain, Cassandra’s father, that’s why his voice seemed familiar - scoffs, “You cannot even catch a child. You were warned to be careful”, then, after a moment of muted discussion from other guards in the house, “What was he doing in the capital anyway?”

“Well, when I found him, he was stalking the castle. I suspect he was taking advantage of the crowds and festivities caused by the arrival of the Griffin. Who knows? Maybe he’s not that smart. He came right to us. Honestly, I think-”

“Enough, Henry”, the Captain sighs, “At least you have delivered some news… We found the boy’s hideout and his critter, but not the graphtyc. Damn animal followed us here, for some reason, but it's taken up residence in the basement.”

“The la- Where the boy’s father is? Why?”

“Mh. An animal’s sense of loyalty, perhaps. But it’s been acting strange. Violent. It might be rabid. It's covered itself in scratches. Pitiful thing.”

“Ah. But if it belongs to the boy and I’m sure he’s got the scroll on him, so at least you have bait for-”

Varian’s eyes widen and he looks down at Ruddiger, vision still slightly blurred by tears. There’s a small chitter and a nose that presses into Varian’s stomach, through his shirt and coat and apron.

“You… They didn’t take you…?”, he asks, zoned out of the discussion of the guards, even if it would probably be important to keep listening, but he can’t help it. He sniffles.

Ruddiger sniffles too.

His eyes flit back to the books.

“...They found the camp. You-you didn’t want them to find the scroll… You followed them? You hurt yourself so that… Oh, Ruddiger…”

Ruddiger chitters. Varian runs his hand over his fur, not even reaching for the skin under, just barely moving enough that Ruddiger feels it; he’s still shivering. They both are. 

Once more, he focuses back on the Captain’s words. Him and the guard from the capital haven’t stopped talking, but the topic has changed.

“I should be going back now. I trust you can hold fort while I am gone, men?”, the Captain receives a chorus of affirmatives.

“Let me come with you. I need to be going back to my post too anyway, Cap”, the capital guard says.

“I suppose.”

Varian and Ruddiger look at each other and Varian changes his hold so it’s more stable when he stands up. He is heading for the hatch in the floor when the the guard from the capital says something else:

“Actually , wait-”

Varian freezes.

“Can I see the basement too, before we go? I’m pretty good with animals. Bet I could get the vermin to calm down. If nothing else, if it really is sick, we’ll know to put it down. The boy would come anyway”, the guard continues.

Varian rushes then, and his fingers fumble with the small handle of the hatch door, but it’s stuck.

“Knock yourself out”, the Captain says dismissively.

“Why. Won’t. It. Open. Agh-”, Varian whispers furiously.

The handle gives, finally, just when the door to the lab is thrown open.

There’s shouts.

There’s something else. The masked guards have staffs, but the capital guard is still dressed in gold and in his hands, he has a crossbow and-

THUNK!

It burns, and then it fades near instantly. His skin buzzes with muted sensation on his upper right arm.

“Henry, what are you-”, someone asks, but the sound of it is already lost by the time it registers.

Varian slips inside of the cavern system under the lab and he splashes a glue bomb against the door, flinching as the goo expands, and it’s only Ruddiger’s claws, digging harder into his skin than Varian thinks Ruddiger is aware that keep him present, and he flees.

All Varian does is flee.

But Ruddiger is still hurt.

Ruddiger, who could have escaped and let the guards find the graphtyc after they found their little camp. 

Ruddiger who got hurt because he was trying to help Varian. He’s still bleeding.

For him, Varian keeps fleeing, running and running and running, crying out loud while he does. There’s a small scratch on the patch of skin between where Varian’s gloves end and where his shirt sleeve is rolled up and the sting of it makes Varian’s breaths come out more ragged, but the bolt didn't get either of them. He barely feels it. They keep going.

Through the tunnels.

Out of the tunnels.

Past the black rock clusters.

Through the sloping hills around and outside Old Corona.

Through the trees.

Past a small river.

Through the trees.

Past their camp, because there’s nothing here, they smashed Varian’s ingredients and the graphtyc is in the lab and Varian has the key and he’s taken some strange potion from the capital and there's nothing here-

Through the trees.

Through the trees.

Through the trees.

The sky is darker when Varian finds the small, crooked shack inside of the woods. He’s heard of it a few times.

Only criminals go here. Dad said never to come here, once, that it's a dangerous place precisely because of who its patrons are. A sign just as crooked as the shack itself reads ‘The Snuggly Duckling’.

It’s a pub for criminals and Varian has exactly one unlucky coin on him and his shirt is sticky with Ruddiger’s blood, but if Varian thinks too much about that, he’ll faint, so instead, he pulls his hood up and changes his grip on his raccoon slowly, gently, one hand resting on the hilt of the dagger under the cloak. They have rooms to rent out as far as Varian knows, and that's exactly what he needs.

Varian stops and walks inside.

Notes:

So I got hella insecure about this chapter. I actually liked it just fine at first, even if the potion bit veers into absurd humor (teenage curiosity be like that) and even if the Ruddiger bit got a bit dark.
Then I kept rereading it to edit it and eaugh. So I'll yeet it out here now before I get too sad about it lol.

Snuggly Duckling Interlude next chap!!

Chapter 14: Coin toss

Summary:

An alchemist, a raccoon and two ex-thieves walk into a bar...

Notes:

Contents: blood and vomiting and treatment of wounds (look at the paragraph below to see where to skip), Varian and Ruddiger getting a goddamned break, Lance doing his best, Eugene being conflicted, orchestrated misunderstandings.

To avoid the scene where Varian patches Ruddiger up, skip from 'We've done this before [...]' to 'Shakily, he gets up [...]'.

The pub is chock-full of people, most of whom tower over Varian, and there’s a lot of fur and leather and iron (they don't really look like comfortable clothes), a few weapons strewn about as though they were only accessories and not lethal instruments. The people seem to be partying, raising their cups and smacking them together, liquid splashing over the rims and onto the floor.

The place doesn’t look that bad, made of wood and stone, it could be cozy, and he can see stairs leading up to another floor, and yet... Is it always this busy? It’s very - loud. There’s barrels set up like stools near the bar-counter and Varian figures that’s likely where he should ask for a room for the night.

A tall, bearded man dressed in a fancy red jacket that doesn't quite fit in with the aesthetic of the establishment, the golden earring he wears glimmering against dark skin, greets Varian as though he were an old friend, arms arcing with wide gestures.

“Hello, treasured customer, and welcome to the Snuggly Duckling! What would you have on this fine evening?”

Varian takes the last few steps towards the counter at a slower pace. The man seems very friendly, if nothing else, but given the reputation of the place, doesn’t that just come across as strange? Varian doesn’t care. So long as jumping over a too cheerful barkeep and his rowdy guests lands him with a safe place for Varian to spend the night and treat Ruddiger’s wounds, then he's not complaining.

He stares at his feet, face entirely concealed by his hood, but tilts his head towards the stairs, hands tightening on the hilt of the dagger, but he keeps his other arm loose and gentle around Ruddiger. 

The man looks at the upper floor and his warm expression turns curious.

“Ah. Looking for a room, then? Why, that can be arranged, dear - uh. Sir? Madam?”

Varian doesn’t really react outside of stepping forward.

“Valued guest!”, the barkeep settles on, “Follow me.”

So Varian does.

On the short way towards the stairs, he learns the man’s name is Lance and he works mostly as a chef for the Snuggly Duckling, but with Gunther (?) gone on vacation to see his extended family, he supposes he’ll take over room assignments too. It’s still a temporary job but he doesn’t dislike it so far, Lance explains in the ensuing silence, seemingly unbothered with a one-sided conversation. Varian is secretly quite glad and he keeps his head down all the while. Just after taking the first step up the stairs, he notices a wall covered in enough wanted posters that they look more like tapestry. He sees a few faces in the crowds that look awfully similar to some of the ink portraits. He almost makes a mindless quip about it, ruining his own cover, when he sees his own face, and the shock feels just like it did back in-

Ah. Right.

That shuts Varian up, and soon, they’re standing in front of one of the wooden doors on the upper floor. The door is crooked as well.

There, Varian comes face to face with the issue of payment as the hinges creak and a small, dark room is revealed beyond the threshold. Lance stands besides him and, with an extended hand, he says:

”Now, we don’t get that many patrons looking for rooms, and they rarely stay for more than one night, but”, and his expression smoothes over into something more convincing, but Varian is already panicking internally, letting go of the dagger and searching for something else inside one of his pockets, “May I tempt you with one of our deals for week-long stays? You will not regret-”

Then, Varian plops his one unlucky coin into the man’s hand. It’s golden, but it's only one and it had him kicked out of that bakery (well - kinda). They both blink. Varian reaches up to tug his hood a little lower while the man stands there. He looks stunned, but he recovers quickly.

“Aha. Alright.”

He is looking at him, Varian can feel his gaze burning holes into him, but he is already inside the room by the time Lance calls out:

“Enjoy your room!”

Varian slams the door shut, heart racing. And as soon as the floor vibrates with the man’s departing footsteps, Varian barely stops himself from falling into the bed.

Instead, he throws his cloak onto the floor, and gently, cringing at the soft hissing, he lays Ruddiger onto the small desk in the corner of the room. Then, he cringes for another reason. The bleeding has slowed, but…

“It’s okay. We’re okay, Rud”, he whispers, voice hoarse.

Varian bites his lip and unshoulders his bag, shuffling through the contents quickly. He’s got a few raw ingredients he can use to make a salve, and there’s a very thin blanket that Varian’s been using while out spying, but it isn't ideal. Glancing at the bed behind him, Varian eyes the sheets too. They’re cleaner. 

He needs heat if he wants to do this somewhat properly.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.”

There’s a window. Ventilation. Also another exit, technically. There's a tree just outside the window and it looks climbable enough. But does Varian have anything to fashion a burner out of? Or something to heat water in? His flasks wouldn’t be enough.

Beneath the nightstand, there’s the chamberpot. No, not that.

Varian looks at Ruddiger again and focuses on his little, furry face, holding his palm out. His shoulders relax ever so slightly when Ruddiger leans into his touch, breathing slowly now.

“Stay awake for me a little longer, buddy. I’ll get you taken care of in no time, I just… I need to get a few things, yeah?”

Ruddiger puffs out a breath and curls up, licking at a spot on one of his paws. He seems relaxed, but is obviously still in pain. Varian doesn’t waste any more time and puts his cloak back on. He can still hear the many people in the pub below. They seem even louder than before, despite the sound being more muted from inside the room.

There’s a key in the door on the inside. Varian grabs it, walks out into the hall after listening at the keyhole for a few seconds, and then he deposits it into his apron pocket after locking the door.

Then, it’s all a game of making himself even smaller (not as difficult) and looking at things to grab. A box of matches. A fresh, dry log from the pile set up next to the fore place. A few pieces of random metal. A small stone. A metal cup. A wooden bowl full of mushroom stew and a piece of hard bread. A bottle of alcohol.

Varian finds his pockets filling quickly, and he's just about ready to go back. He just needs…

Someone has a set of sewing needles on their table next to a hankerchief in the middle of being stitched together and embroidered, and when they throw their head back, laughing at something a companion shouts out, Varian swipes one of the smaller needles.

Finally, nearly overwhelmed with panic and with his loot hidden under the cloak just as his identity is, Varian slinks back upstairs, unlocks the door, and he only breathes openly once he’s back inside safely.

The door is locked again. Varian turns the key three and a half times, until it can't turn anymore.

Then, after making sure Ruddiger is okay (he’s fallen asleep and he doesn't have the heart to wake him just yet), Varian opens the window.

There’s a well nearby, and it looks very old, like a hard kick would be enough to demolish it completely. Thankfully, the bucket draws up clean-looking water. Varian detaches it from the chain keeping it in place, and it’s a little harder to climb back up the tree and then inside of his room with the bucket, but somehow, he manages.

He takes a few sips directly from the bucket. Then, he rouses Ruddiger with soft touches behind his ears, just so he can drink some as well.

Varian encourages him to have some of the mushroom stew while he sets up his own burner onto the window ledge. The stone he’d grabbed works well enough as a hammer, for what it's worth. It's not ideal, none of this is ideal, but Varian will make it work.

Soon, with water warming inside the metal cup over a small flame, Varian rips into the sheets with the dagger, setting threads aside as he goes.

Boiled cloth. Alcohol to clean the needle and to soak into a small corner of the sheet fabric just for cleanup. A needle, now accompanied by thread, in case it’s worse than Varian thought. Would he even be able to use it, if it came to that?

He’s restless all the while, unable to sit still.

We’ve done this before , he reminds himself, I helped with the patch-up when I first found him. Just go by touch, gently, gently, and don't make them suffer, so-

And just like the night when he first brought Ruddiger home with him, Varian works slowly, only looking down when Ruddiger licks at his fingers insistently. Not much blood left, he signals. He’s got claw scratches in all areas he could reach on himself, and Varian can tell they’re not too deep for the most part, they just need a bit of cleaning up and then Varian applies some of the salve, but the worst injury is a bite on his striped tail.

Varian shivers as he looks at it. Droplets of blood bead at the torn edges of skin; it's not just teeth indents - Ruddiger must have pulled, ripping the flesh with the force of it. He dabs and cleans around the open wound very carefully and picks up the needle, before threading it. He looks at the wound again. It's already bloody again. He’ll have to clean as he goes and he'll have to look .

He remembers reading about stitching wounds, how some methods are quite similar to sewing. He remembers being thankful that the illustrations were simplistic and didn’t depict the reality of the injuries presented. Now, he tries to imagine everything he sees as just another drawing in a book, but not like the faces staring back at him on a wall below, no, no, just illustrations, visual instructions-

Dad usually treats his wounds. Quirin has always seemed to have a surprising amount of knowledge on how to keep even a little scratch from getting infected, how to wrap bandages so they're firm but not too tight. Maybe it has something to do with the armor Varian found in the chest in the wall, Varian thinks distantly. He’ll ask when this is all over.

Varian barely finishes tying the last thread before he makes use of the chamber pot and vomits into it.

Ruddiger makes a worried noise, but Varian just waves a hand to reassure him, still puking his guts out. Ah, there’s all that water from before.

Shakily, he gets up and sets about wrapping the boiled and now dry strips of fabric around Ruddiger’s cleaned wounds.

Then, it's a matter of rolling up his own shirt sleeve ( peeling it up where the fabric is wet and sticks), blinking quickly at the way his skin burns when he cleans it up, eyes fixed onto the ceiling, but it really is just a scratch, it doesn't feel like more, at least… Varian wraps it up loosely. The sleeve is wet where Varian’s done his best to rub the blood out of it. He doesn't have enough supplies to make a mixture that'll help with that, so this will have to do.

He’s still weak later, after he’s placed Ruddiger on the bed. The sheets are ripped at the edges, but mostly whole, and the blanket is scratchy but warm when he runs his hands over it.

He climbs out the window to return the bucket and empty the pot.

Climbs back in and nibbles at the bread while sitting at the desk, sweaty and pale.

Checks the lock.

Drinks from empty flasks he's left filled with water for later.

Closes the window when the wind intensifies outside. After a second, he closes the curtains too. They’re trimmed with yellow-instead-of-white lace.

Checks the lock. Checks the lock once more.

Grabs the dagger and stuffs it under the thin pillow on the bed.

Then, Varian toes his boots off, keeping them close to the bed, before he cuddles up around Ruddiger, welcoming the warmth of him pressing himself into Varian’s stomach. They escaped. The scroll is hidden. Dad is still waiting inside of the amber, under stitched together blankets and fabrics. Rapunzel is in the castle.

As his eyes drift close, Varian wonders if the banquet for the Griffin of Pittsford has already started. Or already ended.

He shakes the thought off. It’s not productive. Varian just needs a new plan, but for now, he sleeps.

 

---

 

It would be more surprising if he slept through the night at this point, but it's not too bad. The first time he wakes up, Varian feels weird and woozy and awful all over. He opens the window for a breath of fresh air, then closes it again when the cold gets to him. He can't sleep on his right side. The pain isn't that strong, it's just persistent.

The second time, the sun hasn’t risen yet, but birds are singing outside and the branches of his tree/ladder slap against the glass with the wind. Varian just rolls over on his stomach and Ruddiger shifts, somehow ending up on Varian’s back.

That makes the final time he wakes up a little more difficult, but Varian eventually manages to gently push him aside, letting the raccoon laze in bed after bringing another water bucket in and making him drink.

“You keep resting buddy, I’ll just be downstairs to get us breakfast”, Varian says.

After fixing a small piece of leftover wood into the window to keep it open a crack without the wind slamming it shut, he still locks the door. There. Ruddiger has an escape route, but people won’t be able to get into the room and- Yeah. Yeah. Only if it comes to it, of course.

Varian leaves the dagger behind, as well as most of his supplies, but he keeps both the winding key and the room key in his apron pocket and then dons the cloak, covering his head with the hood.

The contrast between how the Snuggly Duckling looks now and how it appeared last night is dizzying. There’s only stragglers behind, some of them snoring loudly, some sipping at empty cups, unknowingly.

The barkeep/chef isn’t at the bar. It is a bit early, all things considered.

Varian goes to look at the posters again. Murderers, thieves, arsonists and more. Some are petty criminals, some are more serious. And some are outdated, if a ripped poster of Flynn Rider is anything to go by.

Looking around, Varian takes his own poster down and stuffs it alongside the keys. No one notices and that’s good. It doesn’t mean much, but somehow, it eases something in him. 

Back to the issue of breakfast, now; where the lack of other guests is good for how many people could recognize him as the guy who attacked the Princess, it also means that nobody is ordering food (from the chef that isn't here, heh), and there wouldn't be enough distractions for Varian to, er, borrow some of it.

Well… With Spring in full swing, maybe Varian could just go back into the forest and look for those early berries, maybe more mushrooms, something, anything , but just the thought of walking past those gnarled trees sends a spike of fear through him. They could still be out there. Probably are right now, if Varian is lucky and they haven't found the scroll yet. They have to believe Varian has the scroll so they don't look inside the house too closely. They have to.

Through his moments of theoretical conspiring and hopeless planning, Varian loses track of time, still keeping his eyes on the posters, and by the time he blinks back to himself and tries to focus again, more people have entered the Snuggly Duckling.

Loud and boisterous is the entrance of the chef when he also shows up, moments later. He greets people and is greeted with groans, though one guy does hum a tune of some song and that seems to make Lance the chef smile wider.

Varian is debating whether he can trade anything for a warm meal, or if he can fake some complaints about the room and get food that way (which he won’t, because if Lance would go to check the room, he’d find ripped sheets, potentially stolen goods and a fire hazard. Varian is also unsure about the pub’s policy on keeping pets), but in the time it takes him to decide, keeping himself in a sheltered corner where he hopefully doesn’t stand out too much, the man comes up to him.

The same bright grin he’s worn since Varian first saw him slips a little as he approaches and Varian pulls back, but, ah. Wall. All of his muscles tense up and he looks at the stairs and at the front door. Maybe he can-

“Ah, you from last night! Good morning. Was the room alright?”, the man asks.

Varian frowns, but (hopefully) Lance can’t see it, so he waves back briskly to return the greeting. Then, the fact that he’s asked a question as well registers and Varian nods belatedly. The movement is a bit exaggerated. 

Lance only looks at him.

“Say, I’d have liked to have a chat yesterday, but, ah, busy times. What can you do! How about a talk over some breakfast?”

A talk.

He sounds very serious all of a sudden even if he's technically smiling. There's a crease between his brows. Varian gulps.

“...Now?”, he asks very quietly, so his voice doesn’t crack so damningly.

“Sure!”

And Lance goes to the bar. 

In a small side-room, he starts cooking up breakfast for the patrons awake enough to request it. They pay in copper coins, though some hand over silver.

Varian watches from where he’s perched on one of the barrels, and his feet swing in the air while his fingers thrum against the grain of the counter. It’s all nerves. When a plate of fried eggs, soft bread and thick slices of cheese is placed before him, Varian can hear his own stomach growl. It’s the nerves that keep him from mindlessly digging in. He needs to know what the chef’s angle is.

Which Lance reveals it all by himself a few moments later, after serving a man with a smile missing some teeth, saying:

“So, what are you running from, kid?”

Varian stares at the eggs. They’re perfectly made. Varian’s stomach grumbles again and he feels like the very unfunny punchline of a joke the universe is currently pulling.

“I-I’m not-”, he tries.

Of course it’s in vain. Lance pulls out a set of sewing needles. Exactly one of the needles is missing, the one resting on Varian’s desk. Last night hadn't gone unnoticed is what the gap says. Then, he holds out a piece of paper. Another poster of Varian, because of course it is. Of course there wouldn't be just the one currently balled up tight in Varian's pocket.

Varian looks at the people around them, but the ones that are awake seem zeroed in on their own plates. His hands aren’t steady when he reaches up to pull the hood down. Goggles and a lighter strand of hair which match those on the poster become suddenly obvious.

“Huh”, is all Lance says at first, then his eyes drift to the plate he himself planted in front of Varian and he nods, “Dig in.”

Varian blinks at the man. He tries to do so angrily, aggressively, to cover for the way surprise has kind of stopped any functions that his brain might have served previously.

Lance walks towards the side-room again (kitchen?), and when he returns to find Varian still unmoved, he sighs.

“C’mon, I can hear your stomach complaining from over here. I’d say I'm a pretty good cook, you’ll insult me if you let that get cold!”

His tone is lighthearted. He’s joking. Varian is just staring at him like he‘s grown a second (and third, and fourth, and…) head, and he’s joking. A joke is so far out of the realm of everything Varian would have expected after the reaction his presence had roused in the capital that he can’t help but gulp. Still, he reaches for the fork next to the plate. An egg yolk, orange and paler towards the sides, breaks under the stabbing motion Varian makes when his thoughts keep stuttering. Lance laughs.

“You’re not gonna”, Varian says, clearing his throat at how high his voice comes out, “You’re not gonna call the guards or…?”

That poor egg, it breaks apart easily under the prongs of the fork. It’s well-cooked, the edges crispy. The smell is mouth-watering.

“Ah! Haha”, Lance says, ”No”, and the smile falls from his face, “But really, go on. You’re hungry, aren’t you, buddy?”

Buddy . Ruddiger. Oh no!

Varian jumps off of the barrel-stool so quickly that his head spins for a few seconds. Looking back at Lance reveals wide eyes and arched brows high on his forehead. He looks upset. Sheepishly, Varian sits back down.

“Y-you don’t happen to have any, uhm, any apples?”, Varian whispers.

Varian isn’t sure what to make of the fact that Lance just brings over a few apples and that he says nothing when Varian stuffs them in various pockets. He is turned around when Varian breaks a sizable chunk of the bread and stores that away as well. It’s not like Ruddiger even prefers bread, but Varian keeps it for later anyway.

When Varian does finally start on the food, he swears he can see the man smile before he leaves to fill more orders.

The eggs taste as delicious as they look. The cheese is a bit hard, but it’s nice and just salty enough. Varian soaks his remaining bread in the yolk. He’s not sure he’s ever eaten this quickly before, since he tends to peck at his food, but he’s done in barely more than a minute.

Lucky for him, Lance is swamped by then, handing out plates and bowls and cups, and he isn’t looking when Varian slips away, leaving behind a clean plate of his own. It's a bit rude, but Varian just knows something is up. Lingering could spell danger.

Ruddiger, predictably, goes for the apples first, but he does nibble on the bread. Varian brings more water from outside. Then he sits in a corner and cringes until his breathing picks up; he starts pacing.

“I mean, he-he said he wouldn’t call the guards, but c’mon! I’m not dumb!”, he tells Ruddiger, who’s settled in for a nap after his breakfast, but he'll still be awake for a few more minutes, so he blinks sleepily at his boy.

Varian has checked the bandages and even braved a look at the stitches. The tail had to be wrapped again, but Varian managed not to lose his breakfast, at least. The bite doesn’t look infected and that’s good.

Varian scoffs to himself, walking faster.

“And, sure, even if he doesn’t call for them, he recognized me! Anyone could! I just-”

He stops and changes the direction of the circles he walks around the room.

“We have to leave”, Varian stops suddenly. He looks at Ruddiger and from the bed gets another sleepy blink as answer.

Varian’s face falls.

“I know, Rud, I know… But it’s not like we paid for much, heck, that guy must have known something already and just didn’t mention the problem with the price. We… We gotta keep…”

Varian’s words drift off. Keep trying to reach Rapunzel? She’s where Varian can’t go. Keep trying to free Dad? The masked guards are there, and Varian doesn’t know how .

They’ve got to do what, exactly? Keep going? Keep running and keep failing?

A shiver runs down his entire body and Varian closes his eyes, swaying in place. He says:

“We-”

And is promptly interrupted by someone knocking at the door. It’s locked, obviously, but Varian jumps and bites his tongue enough to taste rust anyway. 

“You okay in there, kid?”, Lance asks. 

Varian should have expected it would be him. As it stands, Varian backs up into the desk, and some of the things on it clatter to the floor loudly. Varian manages to find the dagger amongst the pieces of the improvised burner and the water bucket he’s yet to return to the well.

He doesn’t answer, but Lance sounds weird (afraid…?) when he says:

“Oh. Hey, uh, I’mma come in, okay?”

Varian watches the key turn from inside the lock - which it shouldn't do, it shouldn't - and everything goes cold.

And what a terrifying image Varian makes, when the door swings open, cowering half-hidden under the desk, dagger pointed directly at the man standing in the doorway. Varian’s hands don’t shake, it’s the entirety of him that does.

Lance lets out exactly one incredulous sound that mirrors laughter, but it’s slightly different. In his hand is a tool with thin, long metal rods. He picked the lock. His eyes are fixed onto the dagger. He does laugh, then.

“Ah-ha! I think, ahem, I think you may wanna put that down, buddy. You know, just for everyone’s safety and all-”

Ruddiger chitters.

Lance and Varian look at him. Whether Ruddiger had been planning on it or not, when he burps and grabs another one of the apples Varian brought up for him, it dispels some of the tension and Varian does lower the dagger, though he doesn’t let go of it. Lance’s shoulders untense. It’s a whole thing.

“Don’t you have, like, other clients, or…?”, Varian tries. C-c-clie-clients is some of what comes out. He shouldn't feel this cold.

“Oh! I’m on my lunch break”, he says. It’s not lunch time, it’s barely late morning, “But you know, I just had to check on one of our more unpredictable patrons, you see…”

Varian puts the dagger down finally and regrets it near instantly when Lance steps forward, but he doesn’t grab Varian. He holds out a hand instead. This feels like a repeat of the events from earlier in the morning with how Varian stares at his palm.

“I think you should come out. The floor can’t be that comfortable”, Lance reassures in the same tone he used earlier, even if Varian hasn’t asked him if he is going to call the guards again, “I only want to talk, you don't have to- Uhm. Hey, kid… Did you know your shoulder was bleeding?”

Looking down at where the coat has come undone and slipped down to his elbows, Varian finally does faint.

 

---

 

When he wakes up, he’s tucked into the bed, boots still on, but hanging off of the edge. The movement of his right shoulder is a little restricted. More bandages? Varian doesn’t remember, and that’s concerning. Fainting for this long isn’t a good idea (long enough that he missed things), so unless he fell asleep like Xavier did - is it two days ago now? More? Varian can’t tell - then the whole situation just became a lot more complicated.

But maybe he did just sleep.

He has half a mind to get up and go down to the pub proper and listen in on the conversing patrons to figure out what day it is. It must be evening again, they’re quite loud.

As he does struggle out of bed to do just that, Varian finds a lot of the things that he accidentally knocked down in his earlier panic have been placed back on the small desk. The burner looks to have been put back together. Not correctly, but, you know.

There’s a note next to it.

Looking back at the bed, Ruddiger is napping on the pillow, which has somehow ended up at the foot of the bed. That explains why l Varian’s neck feels so stiff, he supposes, but he can’t be mad. He’s just glad Ruddiger is okay.

The window reveals that, indeed, the sky is purple-blue.

The note is still on the desk, even if Varian wishes it would suddenly disappear because it would make things easier. The bucket is gone and the window is closed properly.

Varian goes to read the note after gathering his courage. He’s not at his bravest, but he guesses the confusion of having slept through the day overwhelms most of the suspicion and fear. Maybe that’s a good thing.

 

Varian, I take it? It’s what the poster said!

Anyway, I figured you must have been tired yesterday. I wrapped up that scratch of yours a little more and then you just clocked out! That critter you have didn’t seem too worried so I let you get some rest. However... The offer for a discussion is still open, y’know? That and dinner. On the house!

Lance.

 

Varian can almost hear Lance’s voice in the barely legible words hastily scribbled on the paper. Just how touching the gesture is doesn’t register yet, nor does Lance’s actual intentions. Varian is still a little (a lot) woozy.

So, cloak back on, he does go down to the pub after listening at the door for a long minute, and indeed, the image of partying guests greets him again. No one pays him any mind. The dagger has been left back in the room, but Varian has both keys and the crumpled poster he managed to take down this morning on him.

Lance is swamped with orders. It should be easy for him to miss the small figure drifting down the stairs, but he meets Varian’s eyes almost instantly and he smiles, teeth a very shiny white. He gestures for Varian to come closer, still handing out plates and drinks, and impossibly, Varian does just that.

Because there’s no guards around. Because the man gave him breakfast and is offering dinner now. Because Varian is desperate to just stay for a while, to not go back to running, lacking even the semblance of a plan this time.

If Lance notices how long Varian takes before he closes the distance and sits on one of the barrels, he says nothing about it. Instead, he places a bowl of soup and more bread in front of him; then, he winks and pushes forward a bowl covered with a plate. On the plate, there is an apple. For Ruddiger.

Varian gets up and takes the covered bowl and apple up first. Once he’s back, he inhales his soup and doesn’t dare ask for more, but gets more anyway. Taste doesn’t even register, Varian is that hungry, but after three bowls of the meal, the taste of peas and beef lingers.

Once things calm down at the bar (and pick up with the guests partying in the Snuggly Duckling, but the bar is surprisingly deserted), Lance says:

“I told you I was a good cook. More?”

Varian shakes his head.

“Uhm… Thanks”, he tries for a polite smile.

“Don’t mention it!”, Lance smiles back. When he takes Varian’s empty bowl and walks into the kitchen, Varian grabs a shirt sleeve that feels very fine under his fingers. His gloves are off. Huh.

Lance stops and looks back at him.

“Why?”, Varian asks simply. For some reason, it seems to baffle the man and Varian’s frown deepens. “Why did you… Why are you doing this?”

Lance looks at the people behind Varian, then at Varian, whose face isn’t obscured this time around, but the hood is still up.

“It isn’t the staff’s job to report Corona’s criminals. We’d lose two thirds of our clientele if we did.”

It makes sense, is the thing. It’s what the Snuggly Duckling is known (infamous) for.

Even so, Varian feels the need to say something to the accusation that hasn't been made yet, but that's lingered over Varian’s head ever since he'd first set foot back in the capital after his ‘talk’ with the King.

“I didn’t do it”, so he says it.

“Huh?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t attack her”, he forces the next words out because they’re true, he knows they’re true, but they feel heavy on his tongue, “She’s my friend. I only… I never wanted to…”

He almost feels as though he were back with King Frederic, trying to convince him that he has to go see Rapunzel, to tell her to come again, to tell her that there’s more to her connection to the black rocks than she realizes. To show her the scroll that Ruddiger chewed a book through for and then bit and scratched himself to defend. To ask her why she never-

“It’s alright. I can’t judge. I am not directly close to the Crown myself if I’m being honest. I did fool them once or twice, but yeah. Jobs, am I right?”, he says, rubbing at his beard.

I believe you , he doesn't say out loud, but he seems to mean it.

Varian stares at him. The sleepiness that his impromptu nap gave him is gone, and instead, he feels warm and heavy after the meal.

“Do you know Rapunzel at all?”, Varian asks.

Lance places a hand on his own chest, and with the other hand, he tosses a bottle of something into the hand a guest holds up from one of the tables at the end of the room. His aim is impeccable, to be honest.

“Why, of course. But again, it’s not her I’m close with at the castle.”

Varian nods and promptly changes the subject. The feeling is too heavy. He can’t bare it all at once.

“I”, he starts on a different subject for now, until he can gather his thoughts, “I don’t have any more money. Not on me. And I can’t get any from home, so…”

It’s Lance’s turn to stare.

“I did say it was all on the house, didn’t I?”

The surprise is almost immediately overwhelmed by more suspicion, but Varian tries to keep his feelings under a blank mask.

“But why ?”

“Hm. Let’s just say I feel for us young criminals. Fighting the forces that be to survive, making the best of not the best situations. You’ve gotta admire the fortitude, right?”

His words would imply ego, almost, but he says them very softly.

“You were…”

“Until not too long ago. But! New leaves, as they say, and I think I’m turning them pretty well.”

Varian laughs. Lance places a mug of water in front of him and gestures at it. Varian takes a sip.

“That sounds nice”, he whispers, after.

But it isn’t for him. Everything he’s doing, keeping the graphtyc from the King, trying to find ways to reach Rapuznel, it’s all to free his Dad. If it makes him a criminal in the eyes of all of Corona, so be it, but he can't stop.

And yet …

And yet, here’s a man who’s been kind to Varian, and for no other reason than that he seems to be empathetic to whatever he thinks Varian is going through. It's unexpected.

Varian takes a deep breath and decides to finally just ask:

“Who do you know at the castle? If you don’t mind me asking, sir.”

“Just Lance is fine”, Lance laughs, “And, I suppose I’d have to ask which name you’re more familiar with, ‘cause he-”

Lance interrupts himself when the front door to the Snuggly Duckling opens. Varian wants to run at the first word spoken in a voice that is loud and clear, carried even over the jolly crowd:

“Lance! Buddy, do I need a drink tonight, you’re not gonna believe what happened with the Pittsford guy-”

“Eugene!”, Lance calls out, and already, he’s jumping over the counter to go and (likely) embrace the friend he was just about to name-drop anyway. Because why not?

Varian, contrary to the logical side of himself telling him that this is his golden opportunity, pulls his hood down with both hands and cowers. It's starting to become a habit and he isn't that happy about it, but, well. When Lance and Eugene make their way to the bar and Eugene sits down on the barrel right next to Varian, Lance looks at Varian and beams and-

Oh no.

“Ah, Eugene, I was just talking ab-”

Varian shakes his head as subtly as he can, gulping air down hard. The fabric of the cloak wrinkles under his fingers.

“About Pittsford! Of course. So how did it go?”, he says instead. He only sounds a little lost, to his credit.

Varian is about to let out the biggest sigh of relief of his life when, instead, Eugene turns. He’s looking at Varian. He’s frowning, from what Varian can see between the fibers of his hood.

“Huh. Ain’t this fella a little young to drink? Or is this just another Shorty case?”

Correction. He is looking at Varian’s mug. 

And when Varian, running on the impulsive need to shriek out I’m not that young, I’m fourteen, I can drink whatever I want, thank you very much- , moves his head a bit too quickly, the hood falls down. It’s so stupid. It’s literally the dumbest thing, seeing as he was hiding his face because of irrational fear anyway, so this shouldn't even matter. The patrons don’t notice and keep partying on. Eugene Fitzherbert, A.K.A. Flynn Rider, Rapunzel’s boyfriend and a man that, last Varian knew ( before) , had some sort of collaboration going on with the royal guards, stares at him through wide, brown eyes and Varian stares back.

“You!”, Eugene cries out.

Varian, to his credit, flinches back hard enough to fall from his barrel-chair.

Despite what the accusatory tone implies, Eugene does pull Varian back up to his feet, all while Lance switches his focus between them, one eyebrow raised and slowly inching higher. Hah! Seems they both know the same guy at the castle. Who would have thought? This is hilarious.

Varian does laugh and he decidedly ignores how strained the noise comes out.

Eugene, on his feet still, looks like he too is about to flee. Varian keeps his eyes on the floor. Lance is pouting at both of them, trying to understand what the connection is.

“I suppose I should be glad I don’t have to make the introductions?”, Lance tries to go for a more breezy, amused tone, but tension runs thick in the air.

Varian laughs a little harder and then stops suddenly.

It’s like things have come to a halt, things that Varian has been pushing down for so long that he’s forgotten they’re there. They push him to take his chance, and he does.

Eugene has sat himself back down, and he is eying Varian with a questioning look and Varian understands what it means, but it won't stop him now.

“I have to talk to Rapunzel”, Varian says finally, pushing all of his confidence into this one statement.

Eugene’s face is similar to the expression he’d worn when they first met. When he’d asked Varian if his boilers were causing the tremors. Apprehension had been clear then, and it’s even clearer now.

“Please”, Varian amends. The hood is down and stays down for now.

Eugene looks away and meets Lance’s gaze. Varian isn’t sure just how close these two are, but it’s like they have a whole conversation through looks and gestures alone. Eventually, Lance sighs, shakes his head, and his voice lacks the amusement he’s been sprinkling into it ever since Varian has met him, even when he was basically threatening the man with his father’s dagger.

“Eugene, he said he didn’t do it.”

Does… Does Eugene believe that I…?

Eugene sighs. Right now, he doesn’t look like Flynn Rider at all. He only looks like a man who’s a little tired and more than a little frustrated. Varian isn’t sure what that combination means for him.

He’s not going to be like them, like the people from the capital, he’s not, Varian tells himself. He was there too. He saw the rocks .

“...I know”, Eugene says.

“You- You do?”, Varian whispers.

“Lance, how about that drink?”, Eugene smirks, but his eyes are a bit dull; he looks at his own hands where they’re folded against the counter. Then he glares at them.

Lance nods and goes into the kitchen.

“On the day of the blizzard”, Eugene begins, once they’re alone, “Cass was there. She said you came looking for help. We didn’t know why you were accused of attacking Rapunzel, but…”

Didn’t . They do know, now?

“But a few weeks later, when me and Cass saw the posters, she asked her dad.”

“And Rapunzel…”

“Nah, she didn’t see them. I only did ‘cuz I am kinda supposed to know what thieves run around Corona. Or in this case…”, Eugene says and nods his head towards Varian. He genuinely sounds concerned and Varian doesn’t understand.

“But I-”

“And Cassandra knows almost everything about what the guards are up to.”

“I didn’t attack her”, Varian defends himself, but he’s missing something. Something that makes Eugene run a hand through his hair. A second later, he does so again, to arrange it back into the neat hairstyle from before.

“We know.”

“Cassie talked to… She asked her dad?”, Varian asks, remembering the moment he finally recognized the man’s voice. Remembering how he’d been there, during the storm, and he’d grabbed Varian, but he’d let go when Rapunzel ordered it. He’s wearing an iron mask now and Varian has to hope that Eugene and Cassandra found out why, because heck if Varian knows.

“I still can’t believe she let you get away with calling her that, by the way”, Eugene snorts, and briefly, it’s easy for Varian to blush and bite his lips, easy to look past everything else. Eugene looks like he enjoys the respite too.

Lance returns, lips pursed into a grimace when he places a mug in front of Eugene, but before he can say anything else, more orders come in and he rolls his eyes.

He says something about the burden of his own culinary talents as he walks away again.

Eugene sips his drink.

“Yeah, she did talk to him. They said the ‘threat that the boy presents against the Royal Family is real, even if labeling what happened as an attack was more of a precaution’”, he does the air quotes very dramatically and Varian’s chest feels tight again, but for now, he just listens, “Kid, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“That’s their claim? That I’m a threat?”, Varian demands, and he can’t help but sneer at the thought of it. It’s ridiculous! It’s as ridiculous as everything that’s been going on for the past months, doesn’t anybody else see how-

“Well… You did almost kill us when we first met you.”

This time, Varian’s cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Whatever…”, he looks at the remaining water in his mug, but suddenly, Varian doesn’t feel very thirsty anymore, “But how am I… What did they say, exactly? How am I a threat?”

“I don’t know that much. So you tell me, Varian”, he says, but there's more he isn't saying. Varian closes his eyes.

“I think… The rocks. I think I found something about them, something else. But I. My Dad. He-”, Varian exhales the words, but they come out all broken up.

“The… The black rocks?”

“I did what you all said. I tried t-to use my alchemy against them but I… I made a mistake. I went to the castle for help, but she didn’t-”

“She couldn’t”, Eugene says, something shifting in his face.

“I know!”, Varian exclaims, feeling the desperation crawl up his throat, “I know, I know, I know, it’s just… She needs to know. The rocks, they’re... And the King-”

“The King ordered her to stay away. For her own safety”, Eugene argues.

“No…! They-They’re connected. She needs to know. I have to talk to her. Eugene, please ”, he meets his eyes and Varian can feel this chance slipping away too, because Eugene’s features are all twisted with distrust.

“And if whatever she needs to know puts her in danger?”

“But-”

“I know that- I know Blondie trusts most of the people around her. She’s kind . I love that about her, I do… But I couldn’t stand to see her get hurt because of it.”

“Sh-she wouldn’t be hurt. Just let me. Let me talk to her; bring her here! I-I-It’s safe, here, it’s…”, why won’t his voice stop shaking? Varian’s jaw aches with how hard he snaps it shut. He takes a moment to compose himself.

Eugene isn’t looking at him anymore. He downs the rest of his drink and he’s resting his chin in his hand. It’s a relaxed posture, but the tension rests just beneath the surface.

“We’re friends , right? I-I need help.”

He still won’t look at Varian, but he does look at Lance when he comes back again.

“I don't think that will be a very good idea, kid. Not now, at least”, Eugene exhales, finally, and then he speaks more loudly, smiling at Lance, “Well, I suppose I’ll leave off the whining for another, more boring day. I think tonight has been exciting enough. For now, I shall take my leave”, he announces, jumping off of the barrel and bowing dramatically, “Lance, kid”, he greets, and he’s gone into the crowd not a second later, then out the door.

“...Huh”, Lance seems confused, “Well, that was somethi-”

Varian just gets up.

“Thanks for dinner”, he says softly and goes back to the room.

Because he knows there’s something else going on. Eugene isn’t saying something and he looks at Varian as though he were lying and Varian doesn’t know why.

He thought it would be easy to convince everyone, but it isn’t.

His notes won’t be enough, because nobody believes him .

His word is worth nothing, because people think he’s threatening Rapunzel, but they don’t get it.

Varian needs that scroll back and he needs Rapunzel to see it.

Notes:

Ok, this chapter's notes are gonna be rambly because this chapter messed me up (in a good way, I had a lot of fun with it at least!) and because I feel the need to explain myself a little, lol.

Right so-
Lance is so much fun to write, but hard to capture. Practice makes perfect, though, right?
My explanation for his extended role in this chapter (and in this interpretation/rewrite of season one) is based on this little line in the finale:
"Maybe Rapunzel was wrong and we overestimated the little guy?"
Like. It really throws the whole "attack Old Corona because of one teenaged boy" into perspective for a second there, huh? Plus, I enjoy the way it could make some moments in season three feel more connected, heh.

Meanwhile, with Eugene (and Cass by extension, though she isn't here herself), I had to do more thinking. On the one hand, unless everything about Varian's alleged attack on Rapunzel and the legal repercussions have been kept secret (which, unlikely, because Varian mentions having to lay low due to people not being keen on guys who attack their Princess. It's what ch.12 was named after, heh), I am 99.99% sure the guy who works with guards for thief catching training and the daughter of the Captain of the guards would know something about Varian's situation.
But they'd need to be misinformed, otherwise, I don't think Eugene-let's-help-these-orphaned-criminals-Fitzherbert and Cass-'call-me-Cassie'-andra would immediately jump to arresting him so readily in 'The alchemist returns'. Using truth serum on the castle staff is serious stuff, but you can't tell me they wouldn't at least hesitate (in truth, I actually thought Eugene and Lance's interaction with the Silent Strikers + Cass bonding with Varian + Rapunzel helping with Attila's defense in a trial setting when everyone thinks he's guilty would somehow reflect in the Varian situation when I first watched the show, lol).
I've tried to keep things vague-ish, but honestly, with how overprotective everyone is of Rapunzel this season, just a seed of doubt could do plenty of damage to their trust in Varian. It'd be more than nothing, at least.

As for why Eugene is here in the first place, because I could have implied stuff with him and Cassandra in the background (though it might have ended up a little cramped 😔) and kept things a little simpler for myself, I point you to him saying this when Rapunzel and co. find the lantern and letter in 'The quest for Varian': "It's always something with that guy."
It gave me a few ideas, so I ran with it.

(This chapter is also toootally not written the way it is because I need to set up the Team Awesome origins cuz I forgot in the first chapter, haha, what-)
(Yes, it is.)
(I also kept titling the chapter 'Toin Coss' and couldn't tell why it looked funny for like five mins straight. Brains, am I right?)

Chapter 15: Ignorance is bliss

Summary:

With Varian's new approach to their dilemma, Eugene reluctantly agrees to help. Then, Varian gets to go home.

Notes:

Contents: minor lies, birthday celebrations, brief scene that includes drinking, bittersweet ending.

The second time Varian gets to talk to Eugene goes, on all accounts, better than the first. That is, he finds Varian trying to modify the dish soap at the end of the first week of his stay, because he's still in hiding (working on what to do and how to convince Eugene that he can be trusted in the meantime) and Lance keeps giving him things for free and Varian just wants to help in the ways familiar to him! It makes sense and isn’t just an excuse to practice alchemy because he’s missed it. Of course. 

The soap has turned a very vibrant green. It smells like lemons now. Varian didn’t use any lemons in his composition.

“Uh…”, Eugene says; meanwhile, Lance is scrambling to use it, giddy enough for all three of them, perhaps more.

“It, uhm. Works well on grease stains, or it should, if I remembered the formula right. Heh”, Varian says.

He's back in his cloak, and after getting sick with too much coddling and too few treats, Ruddiger has chosen to wind himself around Varian’s feet when he isn't stealing from the customers today. It's lunch and it isn't as busy as it will be later in the day, but there's still a significant amount of patrons around, resulting in also many plates for a raccoon to taste-test.

But, at the sight of Eugene, Ruddiger jumps up onto Varian’s shoulders, minding his boy’s arm (it only stings a little when the skin pulls on the scabs, really) and his own tail. He looks like he's about to hiss, but he waits for Eugene to make the first move. It strikes Varian that the only time these two have met would be the expo.

“Be nice”, Varian whispers to him, then, “Hi, Eugene.”

“Varian. Listen, kid”, Eugene starts, scratching the back of his neck, looking a lot more awkward than he did last time, “About what I said, I still-”

“Water under the bridge”, Varian adds quickly. He smiles, wide and toothy, ‘cuz it’s got to be convincing.

Eugene looks sideways, then frowns, then narrows his eyes.

“Uh-”, he says again.

“No, really. I think it may be for the best I just lay low a while longer, right?”, Varian lies. Well, even if it were for the best, he doesn't want to, not without doing something else to get him closer to freeing Quirin.

He’s spent his nights thinking about how to win back some modicum of trust from those around him. In the end, if everyone thinks Varian is a threat, whether because of his actual history or because of someone else’s lie, then they won’t believe anything he has to say about the scroll and the flower and they won't help and that's unacceptable.

The easiest way to get over the hurdle is to pretend. A lie of his own making. That he isn’t still trying to talk to Rapunzel (actively…). That he doesn’t sometimes have these nearly blinding flashes of anger when he thinks of the amber his father is encased in being covered by fabric. Or about the King. About the guards. About- 

(Not that. That’s different, she never meant it like that, right?)

After processing what Varian’s just said, Eugene gives a tentative smile that slowly grows into a more fitting grin.

“Well, kid, honestly. As an ex-thief myself, it’s the best thing you can do sometimes. And”, he looks at Lance, who, from the kitchen, holds out a green-tinted plate (oops?), “You’ll be safe here. I’m sure-”

Well. At least it seems like Eugene won’t call the guards either. It’s what Varian hopes he’s implying. The possibility had come to Varian long after Eugene had left last time, but it’s been sitting at the back of his head ever since. Thinking about the guards, then…

“You still won’t tell me what the guards said I did or am gonna do, will you?”

…Because curiosity sometimes wins out over even the most carefully laid out rules for what Varian should be talking about and for how he should be acting.

“Just the threat thingy. But”, Eugene sighs.

And there’s the doubt. Varian thinks (hopes) everything might just work out if he’s careful this time.

“I think I should check on those dishes”, Varian interrupts with a smile.

The dagger is still up inside the room, as well as the winding key and some pieces of paper. Some are filled with letter drafts. Others have drawings and plans for a lantern on them.

 

---

 

For a few days, that’s how things go. Eugene keeps visiting the Snuggly Duckling, very often to just talk to Lance, though sometimes, he tells Varian about one thing or another that’s happening in the castle, making easy conversation when Varian learns what topics are safe around the man. Once, Eugene even mentions Rapunzel. Varian isn’t sure if he meant to do that, but he’ll take any progress he can get.

One evening, Varian sits at the counter, toying with another formula. Neither Eugene nor Lance know what it’s for, but it’s actually just a mixture of ingredients from the mood potion’s original recipe. It's not really the potion that he’s making as much as a yet-to-be-made-magical draft of it. He’s still studying it, trying to see exactly what gives it the properties Xavier’s book mentioned. It’s slow work, but Varian’s letter is done, finally, and he still needs to plan the route for the lantern, so it’s something to fill his time when he isn’t making alchemical cleaning compounds.

When Eugene comes in, it’s not that much of a surprise anymore, and for once, he just looks jolly as he enters the pub. On one arm, he has a covered basket.

“I have brought cupcakes!”, he announces to Lance and Varian. When Ruddiger, who’d been sleeping inside of Varian’s hood, launches himself at the basket, Eugene catches him, and it’s pretty funny, watching a grown man wrestle a raccoon. Lance swipes the basket and, after a whiff of the contents, he has the strangest, most pleased expression on his face.

“Oh, these smell so good”, he says, “I’d kill to have that man’s recipe.”

“Yeah, no. I’m partially convinced Attilla just has a magic gift or something”, Eugene laughs.

Varian catches the scent. They do smell nice. He plucks Ruddiger off of Eugene, then Varian splits a cupcake with Ruddiger after Eugene offers his basket to him and Lance. Ruddiger seems happy enough, and Varian nibbles on his half before he decides, yes, and all but stuffs the rest in his mouth. Ohhh, they do taste good too. They’re not warm anymore, but they’re really soft. The cream is sweet, with a hint of berries.

“Just have another, kid”, Eugene says after a second. He places two more cupcakes in front of Varian before he and Lance toast theirs.

Varian let’s Ruddiger have another whole cupcake and he does take one more for himself. It’s a nice evening. This is nice.

“Thanks”, Varian says.

Maybe he will make cupcakes when Dad gets out - so they can celebrate. Varian loves sweets, but he’s more particular about them. Quirin just likes sweets.

 

---

 

Varian finishes the lantern on the day he turns fifteen. He’s never celebrated his birthdays alone before, though he supposes waking up with Ruddiger clawing at the door, whining so pitifully for a raccoon who’s had quite the dinner (Varian let him out to hunt the night prior; he came back looking very satisfied and promptly stole even more deserts the moment he made it back to the pub to Varian’s admonishment for bad diets and Lance’s amusement) is anything but solitude.

Well. Varian isn’t celebrating alone. But Dad isn’t here. 

There are these moments where he can almost actually pretend that Dad isn’t gone, and even if they’re not the best moments, like when he is literally on the run and it's only adrenaline on his mind, sometimes they seem better than when Varian can make out the shape of his father in the negative spaces. It’s the small things that hurt. No chores around the farm. No blunt answers to hundreds of questions. No warm presence that Varian thought would always be there. And it’s hard to ignore it today.

He looks at the finished lantern.

It isn’t suspicious. Rapunzel’s birthday is about a month and a bit away. Plenty of people make their own lanterns. Some launch them early. But this one means more to Varian.

He gets up slowly and lets Ruddiger out, but Varian doesn’t go down to have breakfast or to take more supplies from the kitchen to roughly use as extra ingredients in his other side-project of studying the mood potion.

Today seems like a good day to stay inside.

Lance doesn’t lockpick the door (he’d confessed that he’d gotten worried when he heard the commotion the first time), but he does knock twice, and then there is food in the hallway. When Ruddiger comes back, he’s a bit more subdued (and slightly rounder), like he can tell something is up, and he even refuses to eat all of the food Varian offers him. Instead, he nibbles on Varian’s fingers over the gloves to convince Varian to have some of what Lance brought. Reluctantly, Varian agrees.

When the sun sets, Varian walks around the room for a little bit before he draws the dagger out from underneath the pillow on the bed.

“Happy birthday to… Me”, he sings in the darkness of his room, though it’s more a hum than anything else.

 

---

 

There is this one confusing conversation Varian overhears, once, when he’s spent the better part of the night in his room but has given up on sleep when his eyes just wouldn’t stay closed.

He comes down just to give himself something to do and, despite the late hour, Lance is still here. Not at the counter, but at one of the tables with Eugene and another few patrons. One of them has a missing foot and a hook that he is polishing instead.

“-can’t stand to let it happen again”, Eugene is saying, speech slurred.

“And do you really think the little guy is gonna be dangerous? Flynn-”, Lance tries. He doesn’t quite sound like he usually does either. Suddenly, Varian understands that, oh, they’re talking about him.

Eugene raises his head and gives Lance a flat stare.

“Eugene”, he amends; it feels satisfactory (read: less embarrassing) to know that Varian is not the only one who messed up with Eugene’s name at first, but it seems to mean something else when Lance does it, “What if they’re lying? About him. You didn’t see how he was when he first came here, I’m just saying.”

“And you don’t know him, buddy”, Eugene downs one of the bottles from the table.

“Rumor has it he’s a dangerous wizard”, the guy with the hook foot says, and he sounds genuinely somewhat unnerved. 

Varian has ducked under an empty table in the meantime, but he’s starting to feel a little sick listening in and he’s heavily considering going back to the room. But he kind of wants to know. And he’s an alchemist, thank you very much.

“No”, Eugene laughs bitterly and it ends in a hiccup before he continues more quietly, “But it’s worse, honestly. Even if, if he doesn’t wanna be, he’s dangerous. I didn’t even trust you when you brought that, uh, that map, why would I trust him more than I did my best friend?”

“Trust… What about Angry, then? Those girls, they weren’t trustworthy either, by that logic”, Lance says, suddenly losing his good humor.

“They were kids. They didn’t have a choice. You know who was after them.”

“And Varian isn’t a kid? He’s probably no more than, what, twelve or something?”

Fifteen , Varian corrects in his mind, glowering at the floor for a second. Not a child .

“Oh, c’mon, at his age, we were ruling the streets. We could deal with the consequences of bad sh-”, Eugene hiccups again, “Of bad stuff we got ourselves into. And I told you. He’s been dangerous before, and I’m not talking about stealing from rich guys to survive . And-”

“And he's still just a kid that’s running from something. And you still feel guilty, don’t you? Whatever he’s running from, he thinks you can help him”, Lance asks, rubbing at his temples. The corner of his mouth is raised, though.

For a long moment in which the guy with the hook, accompanied by a man with mime paint on his face, leaves to bring more mugs and bottles to their table, Eugenes says nothing. Then, suddenly after some time:

“...I know. I know. But how I feel doesn’t matter. Rapunzel… Rapunzel went through enough. She doesn’t need this.”

“Eugene, buddy, you are hopeless”, Lance sighs, but they do continue drinking together.

Varian leaves as quietly as he arrived; it’s silly, but he’s still a bit bitter that everyone keeps talking about him as if he were just a dumb child.

Anyway, this doesn’t change much. It just means Varian has more work to do before he can ask Eugene. After all, Varian doesn’t need his full trust, just enough of it so that… Well.

 

---

 

Varian falls asleep at the counter once, while Lance tells Varian about the first thing they ever stole together. A comb, obviously (Varian doesn’t ask, but he does choke on a giggle at the thought). The story doesn’t lack in mirth, and, c’mon, hearing the origins of Flynn Rider and Lance Strongbow, master thieves known across all Seven Kingdoms, would have fascinated anyone, Varian’s own obsession with adventure book heroes aside.

But then, while listening, Varian leans his cheek into his hand and slowly, just so, he goes down.

He’s been tired lately, wondering how to ask what he wants to ask. Lance would help, but he can’t. He’s not close enough to Varian’s goals. So he stays awake at night, wallowing in how, how, how, what do I say? Have I waited enough? Is he still going to be suspicious?

When Varian wakes up from his unexpected nap, he’s bleary-eyed and nursing a dull, pulsing headache. Lance is busy in the kitchen, or so Varian assumes because he’s nowhere to be seen.

But it seems Eugene has come to visit, and given the look on his face, Varian decides he can’t ask today.

“Up, I’m up. I’m up”, he slurs, jumping.

But then Eugene asks:

“You good?”

What a weird question. He rubs his eyes, and keeps doing it, but it does little to make him feel more awake.

“I'm good…! I'm aweeesome”, he says with a small smile, brain still completely out.

“Really?”, Eugene sounds a little amused.

“Uh huh. You're awesome too, I guess, ‘cuz you brought those cupcakes, yeah? We're like”, he yawns and almost closes his eyes again to go back to sleep, but Lance appears out of the kitchen, and that keeps Varian more awake for a little longer; he places two mugs in front of them and Varian's is filled with sweetened tea, which is pretty good, even if he prefers cocoa, “ Team Awesome. Lance is awesome-er, though.”

Nice and warm.

Lance kinda tried to defend Varian, he thinks, recalling the discussion he overheard suddenly. But it feels weirder now. He realizes he doesn’t know that much about the man, just that he lets Varian stay and that he is kind and there’s the small details the man shares with added theatrics.

And he makes good food and good teas. If Varian asks, would he make cocoa too?

Eugene snorts and pulls Varian out of sleepily trailing thoughts, but doesn't disagree, picking up his own drink. Water, as far as Varian can tell. It’s been a bit since that night.

“He said you made him steal a comb with you, ha”, Varian adds. God, he really needs more sleep, this is awful. Trying to stay awake is awful.

“Hey! That comb had emotional importance, and furthermore-”

Varian blinks. The words come out of nowhere, and a second later, he's fully aware, but by then it's too late:

“I wanna go home”, is what he says quietly, then his eyes snap open. It’s with horror that Varian looks at Eugene. He stops. Eugene looks kinda… Frown-y, but also not quite? Not disapproving or angry but something else. Varian can't place the expression.

“Why can’t you?”, the question isn’t a more terrifying shock than Varian’s own blunder, but it’s more unexpected and it makes Varian cringe.

It’s the way the lights look hazy and the way he’s in two minds: this place is safe, but Varian still doesn’t feel safe. Isn’t that silly? It’s the confusion from that conflict that leaves him loose-lipped. Talks of stolen combs and stolen homes, maybe, don't seem as strange now as they definitely will later, in hindsight.

“They’re after me”, he says it like it’s a secret.

“The guards? Varian, they-”

“I didn’t even do anything. I didn’t! I wouldn’t…”, Varian whispers, “Why are you keeping things from her? Wh-why can’t I… Why…”

It isn’t entirely like the first time when he begged Eugene to help, to bring Rapunzel here. The reaction is more subdued. Maybe something did change. Varian still can’t ask. It’s like there’s a line he can’t cross yet, even if he drew the line with his own hands to give himself time.

When Eugene speaks, he’s quiet too:

“You have to tell me what’s going on.”

Everyone kept ignoring the rocks , Varian doesn’t say, I just wanted to help with my alchemy. I made a mistake. The rocks encased my Dad. No one is helping. No one who can help is doing anything. They won’t tell me why , but he does think about it , I told the King I’d show Rapunzel. That I’d free my father. But I can’t do anything right. And now I’m here and I should feel better but it’s worse.

“You wouldn’t believe me”, is what finally comes out. It’s the truth.

“I don’t know what to believe”, Eugene confesses and, heh, he does though - he believes Varian is dangerous, they’ve established as much several times, “But this isn’t… It isn’t right either. Varian, they shouldn't-”

“It doesn’t matter that much, I think. I think… I’m just gonna go take another nap now. Night.”

Varian stands up then goes up to his room. He isn’t sure why, but he slams the door on his way up. He’s left his tea on the counter, though, only half-drunk, next to a blinking Eugene.

Next time. He’ll ask next time, for sure.

 

 

---

 

When the next time comes and he sees Eugene again, the man seems almost… Apologetic? 

He has also brought sweets again, and that’s nice. Ruddiger is completely over the moon for some cookies, muffins and pieces of bitter chocolate. Varian likes the cookies the best. Whoever Monty is must have a gift for baking too, just like the Attilla guy Eugene and Lance mentioned a while back.

It’s been two weeks and a half since Varian first came to hide in the Snuggly Duckling. It’s a warm May afternoon. Ruddiger’s tail has healed quite nicely, and even the bandages seem unnecessary now, while the scratch on Varian’s arm has faded to discoloration that will disappear too in time.

Varian told himself he’d ask, and the lantern is ready, actually, Varian just needs to know it will be seen after he launches it, but he hesitates, choosing to keep his mouth from blabbering via chocolate cookie.

It’s lunch and it’s a little busier than usual, which used to be worrisome (Rapunzel seems to hold a certain sway with the thugs and ruffians of the pub, for some reason), but by now, Varian’s found that if he doesn’t wear his goggles and brushes his fingers through his hair just so, he becomes quite ordinary looking, and that’s good, because it’s warm today, and the cloak had been a blessing during the colder months, but maybe not right now.

Eugene is half-way through a story about this ‘Shorty’ guy he mentioned before (it’s a nickname and he sounds a lot like the guy that that, to quote, nearly lanced the judge’s nasal cavities at the expo a million years ago), and even Varian is laughing along until his courage builds up, despite how weird emotions have felt lately, when everything starts going downhill.

Not one, not two, but three guards enter the pub. The one at the front is the Captain, the two flanking him are - no way. No way. Varian remembers them, vaguely , from the storm. The Captain was bad enough, really, this is overdoing it-

This is bad. Oh, this is more than bad.

They’re dressed in gold, and they have their crossbows, and they’re heading right for the counter, like men on a mission, which, if they aren’t already, they will be once they see him and if Varian runs now, the commotion will attract even more attention and there’s people, but the crowd isn’t thick enough to slip into it unseen, and, oh shoot-

Before Varian can panic further, because this time, he doesn’t know where to run, Lance and Eugene share a tense look, and then Varian, his arms wrapped around a quietly growling Ruddiger, is tossed over the counter by Lance and pushed to sit behind and under it, just barely out of view.

From here, he meets Lance’s eyes and mouths:

“ Lance, the room, my- My stuff! ”

Because they’ll know. They’ll see the goggles and the remaining vials, and-

The lantern .

Eugene jumps over the counter too, and he is side-by-side with Lance, one arm thrown over his friend’s shoulders. Varian can see him smiling at the approaching guards, but he hisses something under his breath and Varian’s eyes go wide.

“ Locked ?”

He nods.

Eugene turns his attention fully back to the guards.

“Hello there, Cap!”, Eugene greets the men with a bright smirk.

“Ah, Captain! What a nice day today! Came for a drink too?”, Lance asks, loud and boisterous, and throws his arms out.

“And don’t forget about the food. I mean, what’s better than a good, er, salad, for this weather? Maybe a picnic sandwich or two! Perhaps something sweet? Eugene just brought something nice over from Monty’s!”

One of his hands strikes what Varian had assumed was either decorative or so old and rusted that it was out of commission. 

A lever with a wooden duckling at the top, painted in peeling yellow.

Something happens. The floor shifts .

“I am on the job, Strongbow. And, Fitzherbert, unless I am mistaken, you were supposed to be getting ready to train some of the newer recruits tomorrow?”

“Ah, ready! Pshaw, I’m always ready!”, Eugene says, striking some confident pose. 

Varian crawls further under the counter, attention split between the conversation going on above and the way the wooden planks lift up and reveal a dark tunnel underneath the Snuggly Duckling.

“Even so, Captain, let us serve you and your men. It is a bit past lunchtime, but I take it you haven't eaten yet?”, Lance offers.

“We haven’t! I wouldn’t mind something. Stan, what do you wanna get? Hmmm. Maybe-”, one of the guards says, but is quickly interrupted by the Captain.

“No. We are here because of this. We have tips that he has been seen around these parts. Know anything?”

And something slams into the counter.

Varian is still staring into the darkness of the tunnel.

“Oh”, Lance tilts his head to the side, looking at whatever the Captain is showing him (Varian has a suspicion and that suspicion has wanted written all over it), “I’m afraid not, Captain. But really. I’ll bring you fellows something nice and cool to drink and we can talk more! Eugene, come help, will you?”, the last part comes out a bit strained as the two men walk to the kitchen.

Obviously, Varian should go into the tunnel. Just as obviously, he can’t , he’s frozen in place, no matter how Ruddiger paws at his shirt.

Crouching under the counter as well, Eugene sneaks out of the kitchen and suddenly, he's by Varian’s side, all while the guards are still waiting on the other side.

“You’ve gotta go, kid. Now .”

“They’re here for me”, it’s not exactly a question. Eugene nods and then nods again, towards the tunnel, but Varian shakes his head. He grabs Eugene’s shoulders, grip white-knuckle-tight.

“I’ll send a lantern - tomorrow”, he whispers, damn near in tears again, voice frantic, “I-I calculated everything. Wind, burn time, I-”, he gulps, digging his fingers into Eugene’s shoulders. At least he has his gloves. “Near th-that park? Next to her statue? At noon, she’ll- She can- It’s only a letter.”

For a second, he worries that either Eugene will say no and just decide to wash his hands off of this headache of a situation and tell the guards Varian’s here, or that he didn’t even understand Varian’s mumbling in the first place. Eugene looks up towards a point on the other side of the counter and his mouth twists, but then he meets Varian’s eyes and he says:

“Fine. Okay. Fine . But just this once, and-”

“I would never hurt her. I promise. I only. Please . I’m doing this for my father. I promise”, he lets go of the now-crumpled fabric of Eugene's shirt and jumps into the tunnel. The wooden planks fall soundlessly back in place behind him.

There’s another whispered call of his name, but Varian pushes it aside and flees again.

It’s taken two weeks, he thinks, two weeks before the tentative peace broke again. But once Rapunzel finds out, it will all end for good, won’t it? She made a promise too.

 

 

---

 

Without any glowing vials, Varian crawls, following the chittering noises Ruddiger makes.

Eventually, he comes back out into the moonlit night, right next to a terrifying water dam. They’ve rebuilt it almost a year ago but it still doesn’t look safe. At least it’s a recognizable enough landmark that Varian can find his way back to the pub. 

He’s exhausted when he does.

He climbs up the tree to reach his room. 

There, he finds that, indeed, the door is still locked, the key to it remaining in Varian’s pocket for a while longer; he takes his things, stuffs them in his bag and silently thanks himself for having kept some apples to give Ruddiger later. They'll make good enough provision.

It feels good to wear his goggles again.

He is more careful with the lantern, when he grabs it from the desk and leaves the key in its place.

It's not a fast climb, but Varian manages to get further up onto the roof, and there, he waits. He has to launch the lantern a bit after sunrise if he wants it to reach Corona Park by midday.

 

---

 

Varian waits, launches the lantern, then leaves. He isn't exactly looking for a place to stay because it wouldn’t last, but he needs a moment, so he takes it slow. 

For a while, Varian can see the lantern flying opposite the direction he takes, above the trees, then higher and higher, just as it has been engineered to do. It will descend again as the hours go by, but for now it soars on a warm, late Spring breeze.

Eventually, the sky is obscured by branches. They’re green again, but not as lush as they will be when Summer rolls around, and somehow, it’s easier to traverse the forest when it doesn't look like it did during Winter. They look more like they did when he first met Rapunzel. And…

If anyone has the authority to get past the guards and get the graphtyc, it's Princess Rapunzel. She’ll clear his name. She’ll fix this.

It's just that his pockets feel way too light without his winding key, and maybe the weightlessness feels worse because he'd told Eugene he'd only send Rapunzel a letter if he agreed to help. But would one extra small key be so bad? He hopes not.

He's relying on Rapunzel to keep her promise. Varian won't pretend to know what's been going on with her over the last few months, won't pretend her absence doesn't rattle something inside him, but everything will be okay now.

Just like she promised.

It's slowly that he makes his way through the forest, slowly that he stalks the edge of the known paths and roads, slowly that Varian goes home. He isn’t sure he can move any faster.

Ruddiger enjoys climbing between the branches, only to softly drop back on Varian every so often. But it’s not just fun, he’s keeping watch in his own way and Varian gives him apples for his troubles.

The gentle blue of the sky turns gray and grayer, until, finally, the rocks make their appearance again, one spike at a time, then one cluster at a time, then more and more and more.

By the time Varian gets to Old Corona, he can already see the wall the rocks have built around their house. Ruddiger chitters at the sight of it - and it looms over the horizon, dark and eerie - but Varian starts running then.

It doesn’t occur to him that there are no more guards around until he stumbles through the front door, which has been left open. Recently too, considering the fresh splinters lying on the ground where it hit the wall too hard.

Then, Varian steps back for a moment, slowly, cautiously, and places Ruddiger down on the porch.

“Stay here. Stay and… When I call for you, it’ll be safe, so you can come in. Okay, buddy?”, he whispers and Ruddiger sits back on his haunches, looking up at him through shiny, black eyes. He’s scared, Varian can tell.

But, as it turns out, that fear is unfounded. The house is well and truly empty, with the exception of the laboratory. Varian had expected to see the amber covered still, but no. A shock of yellow greets him as soon as he opens the lab door, and his goal has always been to free Dad, but it’s been a while since he’s seen his father. It just feels weird. Really weird. Feels bad .

“Dad?”, Varian asks.

No answer.

“Ruddiger, you can come down now”, he shouts instead, and there’s the sound of paws on dusty floors that creak up a storm in the silent house.

He even closes the door, somehow. Ruddiger has always been resourceful like that.

It’s a minute before he joins Varian in his lab, but when he does, he’s instantly climbing up Varian to settle back against his neck.

“Do you think…”, Varian thinks out loud before he walks towards his old shelf of Flynnigan Rider books. Indeed, there’s only a chewed through book and no graphtyc inside it. But it’s along the short walk that Varian notices the broken glass and the spilled solutions that he knows weren’t there the last time Varian broke in himself.

Then, he sees the remnants of a glue trap, one lonely staff and a cloth flower he’s seen woven into Rapunzel’s hair.

There was a fight, of that, Varian is sure now. But why would the guards attack the Princess? It’s illogical, it’s almost ironic, given what Varian himself has been accused of, though he doesn’t have it in him to laugh about it right now.

The guards would never be allowed to attack the Princess, but it wouldn’t be the first insane measure the King has taken.

Varian stops in the middle of the room, his back to the amber. It makes Ruddiger chirp curiously, but the sound of pieces sliding together is louder in his mind, because he’s thinking about the guards now.

Why were only the ones in Old Corona wearing masks?

For a moment, in the beginning, Varian had assumed it was because even King Frederic could see how his actions would have his people disagreeing with him. But no. Because, Varian, they saw as a threat, and the King as their benevolent ruler, as he has been for so long. The King wouldn’t care because the rest of Corona didn’t care. They watched, didn’t they? And they weren’t afraid for Varian, they were afraid of him.

And Old Corona has been abandoned for a long while now. There would be no people around to see them hunt down Quirin’s son who might argue against it. 

So why keep their identities hidden here ? Because they were after Varian, of that much he is sure.

Then… Then. Who has the King kept secrets from for months? It seems so simple now.

They were never masked for Varian’s sake, who knew the guards would be after him, and they didn’t do it for the rest of Corona.

They did it for Rapunzel, in case she ever came looking for him. Hadn’t Varian told the King they were friends? Maybe he hadn’t been as dismissive of the idea as he’d first seemed.

But Rapunzel never came. Well, until today. Now, she has the graphtyc. Now, the guards have left. Did Rapunzel flee? Varian hopes she escaped and that she will reach the same conclusion Varian has about the scroll, even if he’s been a bit too late to share his notes on the translations. Pity. He’s gotten a few more words down as well during his stay at the Snuggly Duckling.

With a deep breath, Varian turns to his ruined desk and starts emptying out his bag.

His feelings are all muddled and his chest is all heavy again, but now is not the time to think about anything else. He waited around for hours after the arrest last time, until the guards came and took his home. Varian won’t let them do it again. Even if they’re after Rapunzel now, even if they know Varian doesn’t actually have the graphtyc, he knows they’ll come again.

And in his empty home, Varian prepares for it.

 

---

 

They never come.

Traps wait, unsprung, and Varian doesn’t use the dagger he keeps tucked into the strap of his apron at all times now. Because they never come.

He doesn’t know details, but since the kingdom isn’t in mourning, Varian assumes Rapunzel made it back to the castle alright, eventually. She doesn’t come either.

For a month, he waits. Back home, it’s easier to gather whatever supplies he can from the abandoned houses and buildings of Old Corona, to use them for his alchemy and it’s easier to take the raw resources and transform them into more useful substances.

The studying and remaking of the mood potion goes well. A variable in the original recipe has yielded interesting results. Half of an echo plant results in the reversing effects of it being entirely nullified, but it leaves something else instead: excessive honesty. Two echo plants have the ants Varian tests the new potion on grow ten times as large and sprout wings. They seem venomous, but the effects don’t last that long with the small dosage.

He builds a drill, just like he’d been planning before everything got so much worse, but the tip only blunts itself against the amber. It’s not strong enough (Varian knows what would change that).

It’s so lonely here. Quiet and cold, even as the weather outside grows warmer, sweeter.

And she doesn’t come. She got Varian’s letter, and she found the graphtyc. She escaped. But she doesn’t come. She’d promised, and even when she’d said not right now , Varian thought he understood. Maybe he was wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time,

Still, he waits for her for one entire month.

When the month is up, he makes cookies instead of cupcakes. Maybe it’s a petty need for payback. Maybe it really is the most practical, straightforward way to go about getting the information he needs. Varian isn’t sure he cares anymore. They’re purple, but they don’t taste too bad with the concentration of modified potion to batter he used. The effects last for hours, and if one isn’t trying to lie intentionally, the compulsion goes mostly unnoticed. Otherwise, Varian is sick to his stomach as he tries to call the sky green. Ruddiger fusses over it, but Varian just waves him off. He’s trying to help however he can, but even when he curls up warm and fluffy against Varian when he falls unconscious against the amber instead of just going to bed, the relief of getting some comfort is only ever temporary.

She doesn’t come by the time Varian takes the road to the capital instead of the caves or the hidden forest paths, covered basket in one hand and a staff with glowing vials tied to it in the other. He leaves when the sun is already starting to set, you see.

And Varian won’t let anything stop him from getting to Rapunzel this time, just as he won’t go back home until he has the Sundrop Flower.

It’s the right thing to do. Rapunzel will agree as well, surely.

Notes:

What's this we've got here? More montage material? Ding ding ding, she's a winner.
But for real, nothing happened that required a more long-winded scene, so heh, fragments and such.

It's funny, in a way. This chapter was never meant to exist separately from the one before it. It would have had the guards showing up at the Snuggly Duckling basically on the same day Varian got there and Lance and Eugene would be helping him escape right away, but I didn't think Eugene was in a place where he would have done that. Complicated motivations and all that. So yeah, a "feeling guilt? Just solve it by bringing sweets over as bribery" prelude to 'The quest for Varian' is what this chapter became.
Then I scrapped almost two thousand words 'cuz it was a bit convoluted if Varian caught up to the castle crew at any point when they were still in Old Corona without being able to talk to them at all, but that's show business babey-

And remember, I changer the timeline a little. Since this fic's timeline started in Fall, that would mean Rapunzel has been back for closer to 4-5 months than half a year, but ya know, it be like that and it shouldn't change anything too massively. With 'The quest for Varian', I had it take place a bit before Rapunzel's birthday week since if it's as close as the show implies (a little girl wishes her happy birthday when they find the lantern, I think?), it gives me so little time to play with stuff that it becomes silly.
(Becomes even sillier if there's only a day+night between flower theft and finale, cuz how did the lad build a WHOLE army in that time??? So I stretch things a little. And you know; celebrations and holidays lasting days to weeks in fairytales and even medieval times in some cases can be my little excuse lmao.)

Next chapter is the one I'm most nervous about, and considering the scene with King Frederic and the Snuggly Duckling bits... That's a very big Oh No moment, but at least I have the episode as a guide, eh? Thank y'all for reading so far!! <3

Chapter 16: As for allegiances

Summary:

Varian bakes cookies and Rapunzel comes through with her promise. All before eight in the evening!

Notes:

Contents: nonconsensual drugging (via cookies), manipulation, Rapunzel having issues, Varian also having issues, treason, friendship breakdown.

The capital of Corona looks best under bright, midday sunlight, but in the dimming orange and purples of sunset, it’s not the worst sight either. Still, Varian can’t shake the uneasiness as he walks through its streets. At this hour, there’s few people about, which is optimal; nothing good ever happens here, less so when anyone can see him sneaking around.

Or so his last few visits have proven.

It’s different now. Varian is very much looking for guards, and would you look at that, there’s two of them right there, lounging at a small table outside of a closed bakery. Monty’s, if the sign above it is to be believed.

And now what?

Well. Now, Varian breaks into the shop through the back, steals a uniform and makes up an elaborate story about having been hired recently to deal with extra customers after- Ah, after Attila (the cupcake maker; Varian even had one of his cupcakee back when… Yeah) joined the establishment. The sign above the shop is very, very useful.

“And you’re working extra hours now, or…?”, a freckled guard says when Varian comes out with his best smile on. The other one calls him Pete. One of the guys that chased him during the blizzard, one of the guys who’d stood besides the Captain of the guards when he came into the Snuggly Duckling looking for Varian. They both are. The other is Stan, who Varian remembers seeing once even before all of that, at the expo. 

Varian nods and sets the stolen porcelain plate onto the little table. He'd arranged the cookies on it neatly after asking the two guards whether they'd like to try something. Free of charge, of course.

“Woah, must really need the money”, Stan says, before looking down at the cookies, “Oh, are these bimberry flavored?”

“Yes. It’s a… A new recipe. Mine, actually”, Varian really doesn’t wanna talk to them, but since they haven’t recognized him under the very haphazardly thrown on chef’s hat and apron, he should be thankful. Even the raccoon that the guards seemed to be so very aware of weeks ago didn't need much convincing to remain inside the shop after discovering the joys of glazed apples, so there’s little that can give Varian away now.

“Sweet! You know, I can make a mean strawberry scone myself”, Pete rambles on, actually starting to list the recipe for his strawberry scones.

They’re not very bright, are they? 

Varian watches them with forced politeness. But when they’re both about to take the first bite, something in Stan’s pocket jingles and Stan jumps up. There’s even more jingling.

“Oh, I totally forgot about-”, he makes a horrified face, taking out a ring of keys from his pocket, “Cass is gonna kill me!”

Then he runs off.

Pete laughs while Varian just stares after him with mild confusion. Perhaps disappointment. Two heads are better than one and all that, or two confessions, in this case.

“He was supposed to drop those off before we went on break, but the poor guy…”, Pete says, not unkindly. Varian manages not to scoff.

“I see. Good thing he remembered now”, he says.

“Now, where were we?”, Pete declares to the cookie, seemingly enamored.

How was Varian ever scared of these guys? Well, he supposes they seem different when they’re on shift. The crossbows also help. Pete has no weapon now, and as he takes a bite, Varian finds that it feels good to be the one in charge, for once.

“Does it taste okay?”

“Hmmm”, Pete says, then his words pour out, “Unexpected taste, but good!”

He eats the rest of the cookie.

“You know…”, Varian says, using the most nonchalant tone he can manage, “I’ve always been curious about what guard duty entails…”

“Thinking of becoming a guard yourself? You seem a bit young, but, eh, we can always use more recruits”, Pete says, sitting back, smiling pleasantly.

“Maybe. Perhaps not right now, but it’s an idea. I like the idea of defending the, the, uhm…”, he stumbles, then turns his back to Pete, looking at the shop window instead. There is a vague blur of movement inside - Ruddiger. Varian can hear Pete munching on another cookie already behind him. “The royals and their royal treasures.”

Varian feels stupid.

But…

“That’s a very noble ambition”, Pete says with genuine awe.

“Mh hm”, Varian fights with himself not to laugh.

There’s silence for a bit. When Varian turns around, he isn’t smiling anymore, but Pete is. There's crumbs all over his face.

“Man, these get better the more you eat them”, Pete is saying. Varian pulls the plate of cookies out of his reach and sits down at the small table where Stan had been sitting before. Pete seems in a good enough mood that he doesn't bat an eye at the actions. Varian doesn't want to risk too much of the serum resulting in possible side effects. Not yet.

“Can I… If I'm not bothering you, sir. Can I ask more about guard stuff?”

“Go for it”, Pete says.

For a second, as Varian gathers his thoughts and thinks of the most inconspicuous way to ask his questions, he feels bad. Then he thinks about his Dad and it suddenly doesn’t matter anymore. The yellow of the golden armor the guards wear is different from the yellow of the amber, but there is a certain similarity when the sunlight dyes it darker colors and glints off of the gold just right.

“The Royal Family has many treasures that need protecting, huh? They say you spend most of your time just defending stuff and carting it back and forth if you become a guard, but honestly, I've never been much of a fighter, so…”, Varian asks, trying to pitch his voice to sound curious, but light.

“Oh, well, vault and bank duty is always important too, if that's what you want to go into. And they sure do have loooads or things! Gold and jewels and, oh, these artifacts - honestly, I don’t even know where some of them are from - and paintings and books and-”

“Artifacts?”, he blinks his eyes wide open and leans forward. He pulls the plate even further back when Pete reaches for it again.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.”

“Are any of them… You know”, Varian whispers, “ Magical ?”

Well played, Varian. Well played.

“Uh huh! Well, there’s this funky hourglass, but it’s gotta interact with other magical stuff to work, but it’s really weird, and, oh, this locket with a yellow gemstone - Conli swears he heard screaming coming out of it once”, Pete barely pauses for breath as he speaks, “These strange pieces of candy that change hair color temporarily! Oh! The bean, those darn swords that move on their own sometimes, the flower, this bow that no one, and I mean no one, can draw, the-”

Bingo .

“Flower? What flower?”, Varian asks innocently.

“I- You know. The flower ?”, Pete laughs nervously.

“No, I don’t really. I actually, ahem, I-I moved to this side of the wall not that long ago, so I don’t... Hah. Would you tell me about this flower, sir?”

Pete laughs and smiles a little awkwardly, but he leans back in his chair and looks at the sky.

“I was there when they found it, but I wasn’t even enrolled yet. Back then, it was so beautiful… A magical flower. It could heal anything, is what I heard”, he says.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It used to glow. I don’t know how they used it, exactly, but after…”, here, he frowns a little, as if he were actually sad, “It just looked like any normal flower. Pretty, yes, but nothing, uh… Well, nothing like before. Nobody knows how to actually use it anymore.”

“It sounds incredible. What is this flower called?”, Varian doesn’t even have to try anymore. Pete is going to tell him everything he needs to know now that he’s been nudged in the right direction.

“The Sundrop Flower. You know any of the legends? Everyone here knows them, but…”

“Not really. Or if I ever heard about this flower, I would have thought it was only a fairytale the way you talk about it.”

“It's more of a miracle than a story. They weren't even sure they'd find anything when they started searching for it”, Pete explains.

“And you said it looked normal instead of glowy, after…?”

 “After His Majesty used it to heal the Queen, yeah.”

This is going much better than expected, for once.

“So you saw it, then? After ?”, Varian asks. Please know where it is, please know where it is, please-

“Only once”, Pete shakes his head, “When it was first taken into the vault, months after the Princess disappeared. Nobody goes inside and when we’re on vault duty, we’re posted outside the doors, so…”

Yes!

“I understand. Still, what, ahem, what a historic tale!”, Varian exclaims, then gets up without any preamble.

“Right? Right!”

“But I’m afraid I have to go home now”, not a complete lie, since he will. Only, after he gets the flower.

“Aw. You know… These have really grown on me, do you mind if I-”, he takes the plate and smiles at Varian, completely clueless.

“Knock yourself out”, Varian says before going back into the store. That unlocking the front door from the inside had been so easy should probably be a concern for the owners, but again, Varian will take what advantages he can get.

He spares Pete the guard one more glance as the man makes off with the plate of cookies towards the castle. If the cookies really do knock him out literally, it shouldn't matter. Who wouldn't help a guard up at the castle?

“Ruddiger? You here, buddy?”, Varian asks once the front door of the empty sweets shop is closed and locked once more, and Ruddiger jumps off of a chandelier, his whole face covered in crumbs and bits of caramel glaze from the apples. Varian uses a wet rag to wipe him off before he crouches at his level and, gently, he asks:

“We got what we needed, but now we need to find her. Can you do that for me, buddy? Can you sniff Rapunzel out?”

Ruddiger tilts his head up, then he blinks.

He chitters, pointing somewhere outside. Towards the docks.

“Not the castle?”, Varian asks, noting the discrepancy.

Ruddiger shakes his head and chitters again, moving closer to jump into Varian’s arms. Varian holds him close.

“Okay. Okay… Then, let’s go find her, bud”, he says, and then they leave through the back door. The only sign that Varian was ever here is the missing lock he'd dissolved and a few missing treats, but by the time anyone realizes, Varian will hopefully already be back in Old Corona, freeing his father.

The walk towards the docks is a little less smooth; he expects it, kind of. There are always ships coming and going, and all of them need some level of protection. Varian still has more truth serum on him, he’d brought it in case he would have to use a different approach rather than cookies, but he’d prefer not use it on dock guards (somehow). When Ruddiger leads him towards a more abandoned looking pier, Varian inwardly sighs with relief. It's relatively safer.

This is where Varian spots her.

Inside of a lonely boat, curled into herself, her hair glints golden and her dress sunset-indigo.

Rapunzel.

It’s Ruddiger that gets to her first. She lets out a little yelp, but after seeing just who’s jumped into the anchored boat, she says:

“Oh! Ruddiger? Where did you come from?”

And it’s too loud given how many guards are stationed not too far away!

…Would they know the name of Varian’s raccoon or just that he has one?

When Varian jumps in the boat too, he holds his hands over her mouth and makes a shushing noise before letting go, heart hammering in his chest. Her expression is pure shock when Varian sits back on the other side of the boat, rigid and ready to jump into the sea at any more sudden movements where Rapunzel’s shoulders drop and her expression lightens significantly.

“Oh- Varian!? ”, Rapunzel gasps.

Then, out of the blue, there’s the warmth of a body pressing into him, nearly pushing them both out of the boat. She’s hugging him. Tightly. At first, he remains in a very strained state of surprise, but it’s like he melts into the touch, even if he isn’t sure why. He lets Rapunzel hug him and his forehead falls against her shoulder. He feels very heavy in her arms. It’s so… Nice.

When she pulls back, Varian almost clings to her, but stops and just watches Rapunzel settle into her seat again, wide green eyes boring into his, her brows drawn down, down, down, but she’s smiling.

“I was so-”, she starts, louder at first, but whispering when Varian flinches, “I’ve been so worried about you! Where have you been?”

Ruddiger, after accomplishing his mission, lands in his final spot on Varian’s lap. Varian notices Pascal too, sitting on Rapunzel’s shoulder.

He’d been so… Ever since Varian returned home, all he could think about was desperate plans and something else, something that tasted bitter in his mouth and that made him sick when he caught himself sometimes (those moments became rarer after an entire month, those flickers of lightning-fast regret). Now, though, he feels an ache behind his eyes and, for a second, he has to bite the inside of his cheek before he can reply. He isn't sure why he feels like this, here and now.

“I… Uhm, I’ve had to lie low”, he says eventually, recalling the panic and the chases, but it’s (relatively!) safe now, right? Rapunzel is here, she is right here. “So… For a while, I just… Did that.”

The edges of her smile soften. She places a hand on his shoulder and Varian desperately wants to push into it, because it’s warm and gentle and she’s not grabbing him.

“What happened?”

He looks at her. Trying to figure out what she knows, what slipped through the cracks that the King didn’t already see to, what she pieced together after recovering the scroll. He sure is trying.

(Eugene hadn't trusted him. He'd heard things. Rapunzel knows even less. What if what she does know is bad too?)

And there’s something about Rapunzel… It’s something off. Like her eyes don’t sparkle as much and her skin is a little paler.

“I…”, he tries, frowning.

“Varian?”

“You know, the people of Corona, they, uhm”, and Varian laughs nervously, “They aren’t too keen on guys who attack their Princess. S-so… Yeah..”

“Attack me- You mean during the storm? But you came for help!”

Varian swallows and nods slowly.

“Hah… But- You got to see why I needed your help…”

Because the amber was uncovered when Varian reentered his lab a month ago and Rapunzel had been there.

Her hands grab his and squeeze. Even through the gloves, the contact is so nice and Varian has to look away.

“I-... Oh, Varian, I had no idea”, Rapunzel whispers, all hints of her smile wiped clean. And see? Varian hadn’t explained it well enough during the storm. She would have had an idea if he had and she doesn't.

“It’s”, he bites his tongue to lessen how emotional he sounds, then tries again, “It’s okay. You had to… Corona was in trouble, right? You had to save a kingdom, you did what you had to! But…”

Rapunzel scoots closer.

“But you can help me now, Rapunzel”, he pleads.

He knows what he wants her help for, what will solve everything, but without a truth serum’s compulsion, all the confidence he’s gained from fooling Pete the guard has all but vanished.

“Of course I will, Varian”, and now, she smiles again, hopeful and bright, and Varian feels a bit ill suddenly, “What do I-”

“The graphtyc, the scroll ”, he changes the topic with relieving ease, “Do you have it?”

Her green eyes even bigger than before, Rapunzel falls back and the boat rocks with the movement, but as she reaches into a side pocket of her dress that Varian hadn’t noticed before, she laughs incredulously. She’s relieved by the change too, it seems.

Rapunzel brings out the graphtyc, all bronze and more, the winding key still inside.

“The scroll! Yes, I got it - just like you asked!”

Varian smiles back at her and tries to take the graphtyc after a second. Her grip is surprisingly tight, enough that she has to consciously let go. Varian swears he can see Rapunzel’s fingers twitch around nothing after and her smile twitches too.

“Are you-”, he starts.

“Yep!”, Rapunzel answers a bit too quickly.

Varian raises an eyebrow. Rapunzel looks off into the distance at the faraway waves. They almost blend in with the dark edges of the sky. Then, she sighs and relents, whispering:

“I just… I never thought my dad would keep something like that from me. That he’d go so far to do so, at least…”

Varian believes it well enough. Sometimes, he still thinks about King Frederic’s offer for mercy, and whenever the same thought used to strike him during the month spent waiting, it usually ended with one small glass explosion and one less beaker.

“You talked to him? About the scroll?”, he asks, morbidly curious.

“If you can call that talking”, she looks like she wants to roll her eyes; she meets Varian’s instead and takes a deep breath, “But it’s a good thing that you… That… Thank you, Varian.”

She sounds like she means it too. For some reason, it only makes Varian feel sicker, but he tries to nod as if it doesn’t. Gosh, why does everything feel so… Like the answers are all the right ones, but they don't fit the questions.

“You deserved to know”, Varian says softly, then shakes off the strange mood and opens the scroll.

Rapunzel’s smile, so Varian starts explaining:

“Now… It took me a while to translate this old language, but I think I got the gist of it”, he points at the cut-off drawing of spikes, “The black rocks. Some sort of ancient power is creating them.”

“A sort of… Magic , then?”, Rapunzel asks with a tiny grin and Varian actually rolls his eyes.

“I guess… But!”, and now he points at the moon illustration, then the sun, and finally the flower, talking as he goes, “At least we’re lucky that magic follows some similar rules that nature and science do! For every force or action, there is an opposite that can nullify the effects. That is… The destructive force of the black rocks can be stopped by one thing.”

A beat passes. Rapunzel blinks, then so does Pascal, and Varian smiles indulgently, because to Rapunzel, the story is more personal; did she even know the legends before coming back?

“Rapunzel, the flower!”

At that, she gapes.

“You mean, the flower?”

“Yes!”

Pascal looks between them, before imitating the coloration of a lily flower, all yellow and bright. Varian nods. But then Rapunzel’s face falls and she wrings her hands.

“But… My dad said it was long gone”, she admits.

The King said a lot of things. Varian has half a mind to bring them up right now. So, with months worth of annoyance and another month of waiting and loneliness building up into one ugly amalgam, he says, flatly:

“Your father. Who forbid you from talking about the rocks. Who sent his men to-”, to chase Varian around with threats of arrest because he wanted to tell Rapunzel the truth - Varian changes his mind at the last second about sharing that bit, not wanting to admit just how long it took him to get here, how much he’s waited, how much it hurts , “...To stop you from learning the truth. Would you really say he’s been a reliable source of information?”

Rapunzel shakes her head.

“I guess not…”, she reaches a hand up to rub her finger under Pascal’s chin, who moves closer to her cheek.

“It’s still here”, Varian says, “I know it! He wouldn’t throw away something that powerful. It healed your mother, didn’t it?”

“It gave me my hair”, she adds.

“Exactly! A single petal of the Sundrop Flower could solve all of our problems, Rapunzel. That’s all we need!”

“My father would never give us the flower, though. I… Him and I are not in a good place right now”, she says thoughtfully, dismissively, as if already looking for something else, but Varian already tried out all the other solutions, and this is the only way to free Quirin, the only way to make things right.

“Which is why we won’t ask for it”, Varian says.

“Varian…? What do you-”

“We’re gonna have to steal it”, he looks into her eyes as he says it. For a second, she seems undecided, but then she mirrors the conviction on Varian’s face and she grabs his hands again, pulling him up with surprising strength.

“And you’re sure this is the only way?”, she asks, her hands moving to his shoulders, just like back then, when she’d told Varian to keep the connection between her and the rocks secret.

“Yes”, because the amber was a possible solution once too, but it only ever ruined things and made them go wrong, and Varian just wants everything to go back to normal. The Sundrop Flower is the only thing that can free Dad. Like Rapunzel promised it would be. She remembers, doesn’t she?

“Okay. Then, let’s go!”

 

---

 

Rapunzel hauls him away towards the castle, running fast enough that Varian stumbles at a few points, his wrist held firmly in her grip, but not tight enough to hurt.

But it’s Varian that pushes them to hide when he sees the guards patrolling the streets. Rapunzel looks confused for a second. Varian gestures vaguely and mouths ‘ lie low ’. It’s almost instinct to stay in hiding by now, and there’s relief when Rapunzel nods and takes Varian through less populated areas. The cover of night helps them with staying out of sight just as well.

At some point, they end up in front of a grate at the castle wall and Varian knew it!

Ruddiger squeaks and Varian looks at him, then at Rapunzel.

“Through here”, she says, removing it easily, then jumping in

“So this really is a way inside. I wonder if-”, Varian mumbles, stepping closer, and he barely stifles a yelp when Rapunzel just pulls him down and in by the ankle. He lands on his bum. Ruddiger is a little more gracious and jumps down, but he does make it a point to land on Varian’s head.

Rapunzel giggles and Pascal squeaks alongside her.

“I'm fine, thanks for asking”, he wheezes, hoping he’s not embarrassed enough to blush, then takes the hand Rapunzel offers and she pulls him back up.

It’s all quiet whispers of watch out and through here and rushed footsteps before Rapunzel leads them out of the narrow tunnel (sewer, maybe? Some architectural blindspot?) and then, after a tapestry is pulled aside, Varian looks at the small, greenlit room they end up in and at all the boxes and ropes and supplies cluttering it. Rapunzel pulls the tapestry back to hide the secret tunnel.

“We’re in the castle, now…?”, he whispers.

She nods and smiles as if remembering something.

Then, there's even more sneaking through halls, past guards and past servants; once, Varian has to pull Ruddiger in his arms so they’re not spotted by a pair of guards almost walking into them at a junction of hallways.

It’s a few minutes after that that Varian realizes something.

“Ra-”, he gasps, hiding behind a suit of armor when a maid carries a laundry cart into a room ahead of them, “Rapunzel, why are we - isn’t the vault on the other side of the-”

From behind a large, decorative fern, she shakes her head and interrupts:

“The other side of the castle, yes. But if we wanna get past vault security unnoticed, our best bet is the underground tunnels.”

Varian’s eyes widen. They just got out of one!

“They… They’re really all over Corona, aren’t they?”

Pascal squeaks affirmatively, and just a few large doors later, Rapunzel pulls him inside.

Inside, they don't have to whisper and she says:

“The tunnels were built during an ancient war, and King Herz der Sonne’s journal has a complete map of them”, she points at the room they're in, and Varian sees the book pedestal just at the end of it. More annoyingly, he also sees a painted portrait of King Frederic. Well, there’s many portraits in the room, all of Corona’s crowned Kings and Queens, but Varian just walks past them staring down at a purple dress hem. He follows Rapunzel.

Her determined gait lasts until they reach the journal. It’s more of a giant book than a journal, if Varian is being honest, but it does look old and it does look important and he’s almost sure it must be a copy made a few hundred years ago given its good state despite being kept out in the open. Or it's magic. He doesn’t know anymore at this point.

But in front of the journal, Rapunzel hesitates.

In the handful of seconds that pass, Varian watches her, the way her shoulders drop, the way she bites her lip, and he feels both worried and not. For now, he holds his tongue.

Rapunzel grabs the large journal effortlessly and they start walking back out, only for her to stop again under her father’s painting.

This time, he does speak, trying, but unable, to keep the frustration from his voice:

“Rapunzel, we got what we came here for, why are-”

“Taking the journal”, she mumbles to herself, “Stealing the flower…”, then she turns to him with an edge of sorrow in her green eyes that makes the whole dark room feel colder; it’s been a while since the sun set, “Varian, these are all acts of treason.”

Varian doesn’t want to hear it. He flinches the moment she turns her gaze away - looking up into cold, blue eyes, but their color is closer to that of Rapunzel’s own eyes in this lighting - and a shiver runs down his limbs, and his hands ball up into fists.

“These ‘ acts’ may be my Dad’s only hope! And-”, it bursts out of him, because he didn’t do anything wrong, and he can still hear it when it’s too quiet at night, the sound of growing crystals and the sound of boots and more, more, more.

But Rapunzel looks at him just like she did on the day of the blizzard.

Like she’s sorry. Like she’s about to order him away.

And the thought is poison in his mind, but he’s waited for a month now, and where fear had kept him moving before, it kept him still and he's waited for his friends to come to him instead, because they should know better. They know that Varian isn't... That he…

Eugene helped him get his letter to Rapunzel, and she came and took the graphtyc. Then, she never came back.

The Princess looks at him like his words mean nothing to her, because behind her, her father stands tall and menacing and Varian cannot wait for her anymore.

The box cracks open, and before he can slam it shut again, she sighs and opens her mouth to say something else. 

“Maybe… Maybe we can find a way, some- Some argument that would convince my father, he's not-”

A single, slithering thing whispers in Varian’s ear. It’s like it changes everything.

She doesn’t care .

“Rapunzel”, he says, because he won’t hear whatever it is she wants to say about treason and mercy and kings.

She didn’t care, during the blizzard. She doesn’t care now.

“We could just put it back”, she says anyway, “We-”

She never cared. She saw the amber, after all, and she did nothing.

“This is Corona’s only hope too. Your people need your help”, he finally says, feeling cold all over.

She never came.

Varian doesn’t want to be here anymore. He wants to go home. He wants to go home and see his father and he wants to hug him and never go out into the world again. Never see Princess Rapunzel again.

But for now, her face softens, and her hand is still warm on his shoulder when she switches her hold to keep the journal under one arm, giving her father’s portrait one last longing look. Varian wishes her touch would feel bad, that he could recoil away from it and push her away. But she is holding the journal and she is still warm.

 

---

 

He lets her guide them into the tunnels.

It’s through another hidden entryway in the castle. Varian files its location away for later, just as he tries to memorize what he can see of the tunnel maps over her shoulder while they walk into the darkness.

Ruddiger tries to climb onto Varian’s shoulders, but Varuian shrugs because he can’t do this right now, patting Ruddiger on the head in apology. Ears flat, Ruddiger still keeps close anyway.

There’s traps.

“Woah-”, she calls out, catching him by the hand. Varian dangles over a pit of wicked sharp spikes for a long second before she pulls him up, “Careful”, she sighs and smiles with relief.

Varian remembers hearing that a smile looks more genuine if the wearer squints a little, so he does his best.

A lot of traps, comes the correction. Most of them are rudimentary, tripwires and loose stones triggering arrows or floors caving in, but the walls are littered with inscriptions too. Vaguely familiar ones, at that. Perhaps a version of the script on the scroll?

He doesn’t care that much, but he does spare a mural mentioning an ancient technology used to guard these tunnels a second glance. It cannot be the traps they've already seen, so it must be something else.

Eventually, deeper into the tunnels but apparently not that low in the ground, she points out that she can hear footsteps above them

“We’re getting closer to the surface. We have to be careful if we don’t want to alert the guards”, she says.

Varian shrugs.

“They’re not that competent.”

“Varian!”, she squeaks, sounding offended. 

Varian shrugs again, but at the continued, suspicious stare, he sighs.

“I mean, they wouldn’t be competent at secret explorations, right? They’d assume we’re just rats. It’s not part of their jobs to know about this place.”

This explanation, she does accept. 

Varian just can’t shake the numbness off until something else happens a while later. This trap, at least, is a little more elaborate, but he still doesn’t think it’s the ancient technology mentioned and-

He’s panicking. 

The shock of fear does make ripples into the sheet of ice he can feel solidly over his lungs, making breathing a conscious effort, when the walls start closing in. It’s Pascal that sneaks into the mechanism and somehow pulls its brake that keeps them in non-pancake form for a while longer.

They keep going.

The tunnels, as it turns out, are ancient enough that Varian feels stupid to not have foreseen how parts of them would be less structurally sound than others. When they reach a patch of very uneven stone flooring, she undoes her hair and swings them across to the other side of the vast room just as it collapses.

Varian bites his cheeks until they bleed, and then he has to squeeze his eyes shut at the combined vertigo the taste of blood in his mouth and the way she dangles them across the abyss of a pit left behind by the collapsed ground brings him.

When they land, she’s breathing hard as she braids her hair back into a more manageable length. For time’s sake, he helps. As they work, she whispers

“Are you sure this is Corona’s only hope? The flower is worth all this?”

“We’ve tried everything else, haven’t we?”

He almost laughs at his own joke, because what has she done?

Nothing.

He’s waited for so long and she’s done nothing.

“Yeah”, she says, “I know, just… Yeah.”

They keep going. It’s only when they reach a circular chamber that looks a lot more decorated that they stop. There’s waist-high pillars on the ground, and she says she’s seen the patterns they should make in the room just above - the vault. 

They’re here.

And Varian can see it now, the way the ceiling is supposed to open up. If he could reach, he could probably even force it open without any pillar puzzles, but he helps move the pieces instead.

Soon enough, everything lines up with an audible rumble and the ceiling starts to open. A gentle light, very dim and not quite enough to see properly, spills into the room below the vault through the round hatch doors. Ruddiger chitters at it as Varian squints.

But there’s something, another sound, one completely unexpected, and it shatters the stillness. Very faint, barely there at all. A song .

When the source of the sound reveals itself, Varian can’t even be afraid, the awe he feels is just that much stronger, enough to distract him from everything, and he is staring at this marvel of engineering and alchemy and more, frozen - it’s her that pulls him out of the way as said marvel starts charging, her golden hair already out of its plait again. Pity. The braid had looked nice.

“An automaton”, Varian can’t help but gasp as a fully articulated, metal arm smashes the spot he'd just been in, “It’s the ancient- This is what the mural meant. A defender…!”

“But - how do we beat it!?”

She looks at it and she prepares to use her hair again, but Varian steps forward, reaching into the bag slung over his shoulder. He could have dissolved some vital piece of it, had he not used the solvent already. But Varian does have more solutions on him.

“The power of alchemy, of course”, he says.

Glue and smoke bombs do slow it down, even if Varian doesn’t have something stronger on him for something inorganic.

“Er, I think we should take it down more permanently, Varian. Now ”, she gasps, backing away from the explosion of colors and the pieces of glass littering the ground. Right. Barefoot.

Instead, he looks at the goo keeping the automaton trapped. But…

Would you look at that, the automaton is strong enough to actually simply break through the glue.

“It’s fascinating ”, Varian replies, still dazed.

“We gotta do something else!”, she yells, somehow having ended up swinging from the ceiling just above it.

She uses her hair, whipping the strands of unbreakable gold at it or holding back its hits, but Varian needs a better look at it, so he sneaks up on it while she anchors her hair on the pillars to tie it up in a complex net, Varian periodically launching another glass vial at it to slow it down.

“Varian, watch out-”, she yells when Varian ends up behind it, looking at- What a strange idea for an engine. The song is still ongoing. She throws a hair strand to catch the automaton’s last free limb, a giant, metal fist squeaking as it moves, but she misses by mere inches.

Being slammed into a wall when it uses its arm to swing at Varian is all but worth it to see the complexities of how the musical crankshaft powering it is actually connected to the rest of his body.

“Use your hair to trip it”, he calls out, caught in the moment, keeping an ear out for the melody, humming to himself. Even Ruddiger and the chameleon help by grabbing strands of her hair and using it as unbreakable tripwire.

“Then we collapse the doors on it!”, she says suddenly, looking up.

It’s a smart idea, Varian thinks bitterly. And she saves him from another hit that would definitely leave him with more than aching ribs.

“You okay?”, she even asks it with genuine concern.

“The ceiling doors!”, Varian calls back instead, cursing himself when he finds only the bottle of truth serum left and his regained graphtyc. His fingers scrape against one last smoke bomb, but it’s a smaller one - a prototype. He should have known better, should have packed better.

But she is strong and her hair is even stronger. With a well-timed pull, it all comes crashing down.

When the resounding boom of stone crashing into metal fills the air, Varian finally steps back. She gives him a relieved, but tired smile, and in a moment of weakness, Varian sees the woman that came to him looking for help, the one that painted walls as pranks and that sent him letters with little doddles on them.

The woman that betrayed him. That lied. She was never his friend.

When she turns her back and looks at the mess left behind by their fight, mainly the ceiling doors leading into the vault and the rubble that they can climb to reach the vault, finally, Varian looks back at the broken pieces of the automaton before joining her. More precisely, he looks at the engine. It’s stopped playing that gentle melody now, but Varian still remembers it well enough to keep humming it to himself, quiet enough that she doesn’t hear as he climbs up after her.

“We’re here”, she finally gasps, laying a hand on his shoulder that Varian struggles very hard not to shove off because of how soft it still feels. She’s still not gripping.

“Yeah. Let’s… Let’s get this over with”, Varian says.

But before they can progress into the vault, she does something with the torches, something that Varian swears must have been designed using alchemy, because the flames in the wall scones brighten as she lights a single one inside of a clouded glass ornament, as though the fire were jumping from one point to the next.

The vault room is quite something in the bright, warm torchlight. It’s lined with shelves, and on it, boxes, chests, sacks, jewelry arranged on racks, books, documents, and yes, artifacts.

It’s what’s at the end of the tall room that makes Varian’s breath catch.

She walks forward with a purpose and he walks in her steps.

The flower is held in a glass sphere, laid out on a soft, velvet pillow, and the closer they get, the more underwhelming it feels.

The healing flower. The golden flower. The Sundrop Flower. Some say it’s the point Corona itself grew around. And here it is, just… Browned petals and yellowing leaves. But it seems to make her feel something. She leans down to take a closer look at it and there’s a mellow smile on her face. The connection is obvious, even in the emotional angle of her perspective. This is also the flower that saved the Queen and the Princess, after all. It is a sentimental moment for her. It means something else to Varian.

When he grabs the flower, the action is brief and over with before either of them can blink. The offended squeak coming from her shoulder is almost satisfying, but the feeling of claws digging into his boots isn’t. It makes him feel something when Varian wants to feel nothing.

“Varian”, she exclaims, “Y-you said you were only going to take one petal…!”

“What if it’s not enough to harvest what I need?”, he counters coldly.

“Varian…?”

Oh, how confused she sounds. She still doesn’t realize. He wonders if this is how he sounded when he came to her during the blizzard.

Varian looks at the withered Sundrop Flower in his hands and forces down the urge to squeeze. He plans to say nothing when, finally, she does grab him, fingers tight on his shoulder; she pulls him back and makes him face her. Swallowing shame that ripples through him with the need to explain himself, even though he keeps thinking that he owes her nothing, not after everything , Varian looks into her green eyes.

“What difference does it make!?”

She blinks. Even her chameleon blinks. Ruddiger is chittering now and Varian walks backwards, but he does hold out an arm for the raccoon, who jumps. She doesn’t quite let go, she just switches her target and, now, she holds onto the strap of his apron.

“Varian!”

Varian!

(No, son. Don’t!)

“It’s just sitting there”, he spits out, “ Rotting . Might as well use it for something actually important.”

When he pulls again, the movement jostles the two remaining containers in his apron pocket, and out falls the half-full truth serum bottle.

She stares at it with dawning horror on her face.

“That… That potion. It isn’t-”

“Ah. So you do recognize it”, Varian says it cheerily, but the words drip with disgust.

“Varian”, Varian! , “That looks like Xavier’s mood potion. It-”

“So what?”

“It’s dangerous!”

“Or…”, he whispers, picking it back up and patting his pocket after he drops it back inside. It’s harder with one hand, but he manages. “Or it’s really useful. You can get so much functionality out of it if you learn to modify it.”

“...What?”

“I had to be sure the flower was here. I had to know”, Varian says, more to himself than to her at this point. He’s looking down at the ground, but he refuses to feel sorry for doing the right thing, the only thing he can do to free his father. No one else has done anything for Quirin, and Varian isn't going to keep hoping they'll start now.

“It doesn’t”, she gulps, one hand over her mouth, “It doesn’t switch personalities anymore. You…”

“No, it doesn't. But it does help me find out what I need”, he laughs quietly.

“You made a truth serum out of it”, she closes her eyes and frowns as though she were in actual pain. Varian thinks he might be, but it’s all strange and distant now, so he can’t tell and he doesn’t want to feel it with her anyway.

Varian shrugs.

“Pete… Stan… The castle staff”, she shakes her head, recounting people. 

Oh. Did that fool of a man share the truth serum cookies? A part of Varian is giddy with the thought. The other, he pushes far, far down. It’s unproductive.

“You’d be surprised what people will tell you for a cookie”, Varian says simply.

In an instant, her terror has bled into anger that makes Varian want to run. He stops himself from doing that , but he does turn his back to her and waits, just for a second more, despite how Ruddiger is pressing his nose into his ribs now, urging them to just go, whimpering quietly.

“I defied a direct order from my father, the King , because I trusted you. We both broke the law -”

“Now, let’s not pretend this only started today, Princess”, he snarls, but he can’t help looking back.

Anger to pity.

Rapunzel holds out her hand, and there’s such sadness in her gold-flecked, green eyes.

“I don’t… Varian, please… Please, just give me the flower. We can fix everything. The rocks”, she purses her lips and her eyes glow strangely now, “Your father… I promise, ju-just, this is not the way. Please… ”

Varian looks down at the flower he’s holding, then at Ruddiger, who’s still sniffling into his shirt, and finally, at Rapunzel again. She looks at him with such open kindness and Varian wants it so bad that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. All of his conviction tilts in the wake of how lonely he’s been, how warm and bright she is in contrast. His first friend, one of the only few he’s ever made.

He teeters on the edge when the commotion outside of the vault doors becomes louder, catching his attention.

All of the regret snaps back in an instant, the shockwave leaving Varian to stumble and blink tears out of his eyes. He looks at the door, but he’s already made his decision.

They both watch the doors open as Varian tells her:

“Sorry, Princess.”

When they burst into the room, Varian doesn’t have any more room left in his heart for the betrayal of seeing Cassandra in her blue dress that doesn’t fit the way she moves with the sword in her hand, agile and strong, and Eugene, whose handsome face is all hard, angry ( disappointed ) edges. Eugene orders the guards gathering behind him and Cassandra: 

“There he is. Get him!”

Instead, Varian’s last words to Rapunzel echo as he launches his last remaining smoke bomb.

“But I know how well you keep your promises.”

And Varian takes the Sundrop Flower for himself and runs away into the smoke.

Notes:

I know, I know, there was no man in a bush moment for Varian. In my defense, it's not like Pete and Stan are not silly and way too clumsy with job duties in this chapter too, I just... Dialed it back a little. Also, Ruddiger deserved a sweet treat which worked well if I used Monty's and Attila's shop and while I don't like glazed apples myself, they look sooooo visually tasty. (Also, no proper diets for a pet raccoon to be seen in this fic. Just thought I'd throw that out there.)

On the one hand, I could have written Rapunzel's and Varian's interactions closer to what they were in the show, but given the changes I've made to Varian's villain arc, it wouldn't have been fitting for him to be all
"bad at lying about being evil" and... Idk, I got the impression that he doesn't even realize the severity of his actions and was more hurt that Rapunzel didn't support him immediately. On the other hand, I always found Rapunzel to be strangely... Cold in this episode? At least after the boat scene, and I mean, like, out-of-character-cold. Even with her naivety and the still-there effects of her upbringing and how her view of the world might have changed after what she's experienced during the blizzard (if you think about it, those really were horrifying choices to be forced to make as a single person, still not out of the tower for that long and left alone to watch over her kingdom for the very first time), it just felt so strange to me that there seemed to be this forced conflict of Varian having to choose between his dad and Corona coming from her. Like. What? You can?? Do both??? If Freddy is forgiven for doing what a father would do, why would she be so against Varian doing what a son would do? (Then again, you already know my opinion of how they weren't actually that close in the first season, but aaa my Raps and Varian friends dynamic- 😭)
I don't really know. Maybe I missed something? That's genuinely always an option-
As it stands, I've chose to interpret the original material in a few ways, and the most important one is that Rapunzel hasn't just been a-ok after 'Queen for a day' with only one episode of demonic painting and depresso espresso indecision milkshake and then we don't see that indecision again in this season (directly, at least??) and I've tried to amplify that here. If you're still deeply stressed and emotionally compromised yourself, maybe you wouldn't see that a friend of yours is also struggling quite a lot? Sad, sad, sad people all around, but being alone and desperate can make the difference sometimes.

I've been nervous about this chapter for a long time - firstly because of the writing itself. I know things feel rushed because of how kinda disconnected Varian feels after his realization and it didn't feel right to have his POV be as detailed after, even if I also wrote out some of the scenes of their travels through the tunnel, and I debated with myself for a long time if the use of names was something I'd go with or whether I should just rewrite the whole last part of this chapter before going with the option to just do more thorough edits - because I knew this would be where Varian had this moment, but waughhh. I'm not sure I handled it as well as I should have and I'm always scared I'm either vilifying Rapunzel or infantlizing her or just not doing her justice, 'n it's sad cuz I like her and sometimes I feel even the show doesn't do her justice (let my girl make mistakes and acknowledge them and grow from them!!) ;//

(P.S. Because I am not sure if the finale will be one or two more chapters, I shall write it all out in full before I see if a chapter break does anything, so it'll be a while 😔)

Chapter 17: Smoke and mirrors

Summary:

Varian kidnaps the Queen and waits for his old friend to come rescue someone she actually cares about, an offer ready for her.

Notes:

Contents: anger, mental instability, lack of sleep, kidnapping, animal experimentation (mutant!Ruddiger), referenced/implied violence, drawn-out dialogue scenes.

When Varian first designed the drill, he’d made it strong and sturdy, but he’d been well aware that it wouldn’t do anything against the amber by itself. Now comes the question of how to use the flower. Once, Princess Rapunzel had mentioned a song in one of her letters (before, before ), one that would activate some of the abilities of her hair, but she’d also said the song had stopped working after her hair was cut. Somehow, Varian doesn’t think singing to a withered plant would do much good, regardless of that little scrap of information.

Instead, very carefully, he takes a petal off of the flower he’d placed on a glass dish and grinds it to a sticky sort of dust. He adds more components to it, until he has a varnish to use on the drill head. 

After painting an even coat with the substance (because he has to wait for it to dry properly now), Varian looks for Ruddiger. He’s not stepped foot in the lab since they came home a few hours ago, and Varian expects to find him munching on whatever is still edible in the kitchen.

Instead, Ruddiger is curled up in a ball on one of the kitchen chairs, snoring for all he is worth. Varian winces as one of the floorboards creak under him, because that wakes him up instantly.

“Sorry, buddy.”

Ruddiger chitters. Varian takes a seat on another chair so as to not disturb him any further. It’s useless, Varian realizes seconds later, because Ruddiger just jumps in his lap in one great leap.

“Won’t be long now”, Varian whispers, running his hands through Ruddiger’s fur to give himself something to do.

Though he seems to enjoy the touch, Ruddiger keeps looking at Varian weirdly and Varian just rolls his eyes. It's what he's done ever since Varian took the flower.

Of course, he still likes the Princess, but Ruddiger probably doesn’t realize what she let happen. And for once, Varian doesn’t care to speak up on it, to explain why he’s done what he’s done.

“It will all be alright, once he’s free”, Varian reassures.

They stay like that a little longer, but when Varian moves, Ruddiger doesn’t follow him into the lab.

“Don’t you wanna see Dad too, Ruddiger?”

But he seats himself on the kitchen table; his nose does twitch at the question though.

Fine , Varian thinks, because it is. This doesn't bother him at all, Ruddiger just hasn't realized it yet, that Varian’s gonna solve all their problems, that he’s been well on his way to doing just that since leaving Princess Rapunzel behind.

So Varian goes back down to the laboratory alone. He takes a deep breath before he positions the drill and starts pressing on the pedal to power it up. When it starts to spin, the whirring is loud, but it turns to ear-piercing screeching when metal meets amber.

Varian grits his teeth and pushes the device ever closer. Under his breath, he mutters:

“Work - work, please, work! ”

For a second, he thinks he sees it, the solution made with the Sundrop Flower’s petal beginning to glow just as Rapunzel’s hair had done that day, and the high of seeing it working has his whole face aching with his smile.

But this isn’t what’s happening, and it takes a moment for the fact to sink in. 

This isn’t the flower’s power reawakening. This is like fingers slipping off of a wet surface and giving the impression of movement, like soft soil revealing a layer of rock underneath it.

The metal of the drill doesn’t push into the amber with the assistance of a magical flower. Instead, the heat generated by the friction literally melts the drill head, deforms it, makes it into nothing useful. Another failure. The drop feels brutal as Varian realizes what this means for all the things he’s already done.

“No”, he whispers, stepping back and watching as the drill loses power and slows to a stop, having left not even a scratch into the amber, only a smudge of flower petal paste, “No… No, no, no!”

Varian stumbles into his desk. His muttered rejections suddenly turn into screams, more screeching, more failure. It’s too much.

“No- NO! ”

Glass beakers hit the ground and shatter loudly, adding to the mess Varian never bothered to clean up from a month ago.

The papers filled with incoherent plans - more failures - stain when they hit the ground, the puddles of colorful chemicals filling all inkless spaces, and the wooden desk creaks when Varian slams his fists into it.

But destroying the contents laid out before him does nothing; bruising his knuckles as he pleads, begs, asks for a different outcome does nothing. One thing remains mockingly untouched, one more withered failure.

“It’s like i-it”, he gulps, grabbing the flower, not gentle like before, rough, already feeling it crumble against the leather of the gloves, “Like it no longer- Like it’s all gone! ”

He barely stops himself from squeezing. Instead, Varian freezes, his mind lost, suddenly, in another time, another place. Anger colors the memory differently, grayer and less fluid, like it’s stuck.

It healed your mother, didn’t it?

It gave me my hair .

Her hair. Her indestructible, golden hair. The hair that, according to her, used to glow when sung to.

The hair she was gifted with on her birth by the Sundrop Flower.

“It doesn’t ”, Varian says clearly, feeling more put-together, but it’s mostly a facade, “It doesn’t hold its power anymore.”

This time, Varian does squeeze. As if his desk hadn’t been messy enough without adding more dust to it. Varian swipes it off with one careless hand and then leans over an old document he pulls out from one of the desk drawers. Some parts of it are unreadable, but as he glowers at it, he can’t bring himself to care. He'd made a clean transcription of it once, but this is the original. The results of the tests Varian ran on the Princess’ hair back when they first met.

“The Sundrop isn’t the flower anymore. It’s her .”

And doesn’t that make the whole situation more complicated? Because Varian wasted all of the trust Princess Rapunzel might have once placed in him to get the flower, and now? Now, he needs her help again. She let this happen, then blamed Varian when he tried to fix it, but now he needs her and her stupid empty compassion and her stupid magic hair. She’d offered another solution if only Varian gave her back the flower in the same voice she’d used when she’d said I can’t help you, not right now , and Varian won’t be fooled or ignored again.

He collapses onto the chair and clings to the edge of the desk in front of him, brain running in circles a mile a minute. The circles keep growing smaller and smaller, constricting around all the responses Varian comes up with.

He has no more allies and he has no more places to hide.

“What do I do?”, he asks and no one responds.

What do I do? What can I do?

Varian cranes his neck to look at the amber behind him.

Anything, that's what he does. Whatever it takes, he'll do it. He needs Princess Rapunzel’s help. Willingly offered or otherwise.

And if Quirin is Varian’s motivation, who is Princess Rapunzel’s?

 

---

 

The plan comes together quickly enough after, and as he works through salvaged pieces of his boilers, making the calculations for measurement and proportion changes in his head, Varian knows that he won’t have a lot of time at his disposal.

Making the drums and motors for the copies - and basing them on the single memory he has of seeing an automaton in action - is almost as difficult as creating sensors to keep his automatons active and responsive to the world around them, but when the first prototype is done and Varian winds up its key to test it out, it is a resounding success that leaves Varian indulgently laughing to himself for a few minutes.

Ruddiger doesn’t like the new machines very much, and he gets very jumpy when Varian hums the song powering up the automatons while he works, but he’ll understand once Dad is free, why Varian does what he does. It’s blind luck that Varian has just enough material to get started on twelve automatons, and after, just about enough scrap left to go ahead with one modified version of the original one he saw, something larger, if slightly more unstable.

It’s something to be operated manually. With oil dripping from its mismatched joins and its hunching figure less humanoid than the other copies, it isn’t a shining example of engineering, but…

Varian is tired. He’s tired and he just needs to do this last piece, and that piece, and that other piece, oh, and that piece, and on and on and on.

It’s gonna be worth it in the end. Once he sets it all in motion, every detail will fall into place and he won’t fail this time.

Because Princess Rapunzel loves her family too, doesn’t she?

And when, if not on the Princess’ birthday, would all eyes fall to her instead of the people she loves? It feels right. It feels like it will work. Now, to keep going a little bit longer…

 

---

 

On the eve of Rapunzel’s birthday, Varian realizes he won’t have time. He’s pushed the numbers in his head one too many times and his last automaton won’t be ready at this rate, even if he only uses one as his distraction up at the castle.

There isn’t anymore sleep he can lose, he’s even run low on beakers to break (causes: shaky fingers or angry fists, though, lately, it's mostly been the former) and, by now, everything is moving in slow motion. He can barely stand, let alone hold a hammer and finish shaping his manually-to-be-operated automaton, but sitting down for breaks leaves him tingling and twitching all over, so he stops trying after a while.

Build, adjust, plan some more, that's all he has to do.

With the moon half-full and high in the sky, Varian jumps when something disturbs the rhythm he’s set for himself. It must have been going on for a while, if the frayed hem of his pants is anything to go by, but Varian hadn’t felt Ruddiger clawing at his legs until he’d scratched skin. Now, sluggishly, Varian looks down and shakes his head.

“No”, he says, “No, not now. There isn’t time, Rud.”

But the raccoon keeps clawing and biting and thumping his paws against Varian’s legs because Varian is still moving and Ruddiger has a harder time with jumping on a moving target.

“Ruddiger. Ruddiger, stop, I can’t-”

And suddenly, he feels less like the friend Varian has come to love and cherish during months of peace and after, through everything else, and more like the stubborn raccoon that Varian had no real way to get rid off from before.

He looks scared instead of mischievous and hungry this time around.

Finally, Varian lays down his tools and he has to support himself with one hand trailing against the walls of the lab with how he is stumbling around. He only makes it a few steps away from the desk before falling to his knees.

“I have to finish it”, he says, then says it again, “Have to. He’ll… He’ll do something, if I threaten her, and, so, they won't be looking, but it won’t be enough. I need… I need…”

What did he need again? Dad, that’s who he needs.

And that’s the problem: he’s so lost because he’s still working on getting him back. Isn’t that right?

Ruddiger clambers onto the desk, carelessly stepping over the plans Varian’s already memorized with how many of his automatons are already lying buried in the tunnels under Old Corona. There, he hisses and growls and hisses some more until Varian looks up and meets his eyes.

It’s a tough battle with unconsciousness when Varian tries to stand and lean forward, but he doesn’t reach out to pet Ruddiger, to give them both a little comfort. He just can’t right now.

And, well, Ruddiger isn’t happy with the state of Varian, but he calms down some when Varian just stays still for a long time, fingers shaking with the lack of movement. Varian looks at the desk and at all the plans on it and pinned above it and-

Oh.

When his eyes fall onto one of the many small vials of purple serums he's modified from the base mood potion, Varian lets out a long exhale as an idea dings in his head.

He should feel bad, is the thing. He should, because Ruddiger has stuck with him through thick and thin. But if this is what he has to do to get their old life back, then Varian is sure Ruddiger will understand eventually. He grabs one of the vials.

“Buddy”, he says and stops. He breathes in again. He moves close and closer.

Ruddiger tilts his head to the side, though he does sniff at the vial when Varian presents it to him.

In the corner of the lab are more devices made with scrap. There’s his welding mask. There’s more pieces that Varian has to move now if he wants to reach the capital on the dawn of the big celebration.

“Rud”, Varian smiles; he uncorks the bottle, “Do you want to help me? I can… I will have more time after, if you help me now. Do you wanna? Just drink this.”

For how eager Ruddiger always is with the food given to him, he hesitates at the vial, keeps sniffing at it, and the hesitation keeps Varian rigid and cold, but when the sniffing stops and is replaced by hissing, when the hissing grows louder, grows monstrous and the silhouette in front of him changes, Varian smiles again.

Later, this moment will feel different, but now, nothing about it feels anything other than right, other than efficient, than a logical conclusion. Because it means he still has one last ally, doesn’t it?

 

---

 

A man in a large coat and a welding mask, somehow, doesn’t rouse any suspicions in the guards working on delivering and sorting the gifts meant for the Princess, so it’s easy enough to offload the large boxes he’s stored in a cart. They don’t even seem to question the animal too large to be a horse pulling the cart itself, or why he would be covered with a large blanket in the middle of a Summer day, or why he growls when they approach, only calming when Varian runs his hands over the fur under the fabric. It’s rougher than Ruddiger’s normal coat.

But when he asks them to place the music box drum as it is along with a sign ( Wind me! Cheery, in an ironic way) amongst the Princess’ gifts, they shrug and obey that little request too.

This is so easy. I should have done this earlier , he thinks. This. The cookies. How is it that everything is so much easier now?

From the shadows, doing all he can so Ruddiger stays calm until the night comes, Varian installs little devices all over the capital of Corona. Nobody questions a thing. What, do they think he’s just some decorations guy? But they’ll realize soon enough.

At one point, while perched on top of one of the roofs, Varian looks at the mainland of Corona, towards where he knows Old Corona lays, empty and half-ruined, he sees movement in the distance. It’s not that far, though, and Varian makes out the sudden, blue shapes of spikes shooting up from the ground, only to darken into familiar rock formations.

They're here.

Could he have chosen a more perfect moment? The twisted satisfaction is something Varian has to wait out before he can focus on finishing his current task, because it makes his touch unsteady and his stomach turn at the sensation.

A reckoning, this is what this is. Everyone will get what they deserve. Varian is just… Rushing things along.

When the sun starts to dip in the sky, Varian watches still, perched on the highest roof he could find, with Ruddiger napping below, muzzled just in case, and still covered. Varion’s got wires all through the city, and this sort of thing, the manipulation of electricity and magnetic signals, it’s not something he’s practiced all too extensively, but he can’t even consider the thought of it not working.

The first sign of everything aligning is a gathering storm of guard clouds filling the castle courtyard. Something happens and they part, then people are moving back inside. A window on one of the lower floors of the castle gets broken, and Varian feels annoyed when he’d spotted a glimpse of something metallic falling through it.

Varian has spent a long time working on those arms, after all, but if the first automaton served its purpose and caused the needed commotion, then everything is fine.

It’s laughably predictable when more of the King’s men work quickly to install a grate over the tallest tower of the castle. They know what it means. King Frederic knows what it means. Varian knows too. It’s so easy to predict the actions of such a paranoid man, and it’s even easier to predict how the Princess will react to being locked in a tower again. 

Then the grate is removed.

Then golden hair glimmers in the moonlight as she escapes her latest prison.

Varian blinks. He could have sworn that just a few seconds ago, it had still been day. 

But all Varian can do is keep watching as people gather in the courtyard again. The Princess and her friends, for now. Then, more guards.

Alright.

A lifetime ago, that stupid judge had asked for - what was it? Panache? Flair? - and, well, Varian has grown more resourceful in the meantime, hasn’t he?

It's showtime.

Varian climbs down from the roof and stands in front of a tangle of cords and metal plates. Next to him, Ruddiger stirs and a slow rumbling sound fills the air.

“Soon, buddy”, Varian says, grinning.

The first button he pushes on the central console he’s built for himself is followed by pops of glass all over the city, and then, the whoosh of smoke.

With another button, a small lightbulb crackles as it lights up, and Varian leans in. His voice echoes back to him, louder and slightly distorted and Varian can only keep on smiling, barely not laughing, as he says:

“Hello, Corona.”

The entire capital can finally hear him. Is it not understandable, how giddy he is at the thought?

Gasps and confusion and more fill the air as the cloud of smoke envelops everything on the island, and the orchestrated fear forces them to listen. Varian knows the King and the Princess are listening too. Finally, Varian has become an actual threat, and the satisfaction is immense. Still, he’s got more important matters to attend to. He hits another button, then pulls down a small lever, and his own voice, pre-recorded, serves as background noise while Varian makes quick work of releasing Ruddiger.

He’s quite scary like this, all knife-sized claws and teeth and frantic eyes and low growls. He’s perfect.

“Go to the courtyard. Keep them there, okay, buddy? And… Don't-don't let them hurt you.”

Ruddiger just keeps on growling, but his paws thud against the pavement as he navigates away from him and through the mist. Varian lets himself stay stuck in place for a second, then he grabs a length of rope and the wheelbarrow he’s brought with him. In his pocket, something that feels like sand but isn’t weighs the large coat he’s wearing down.

“Something dark is coming for you. Our King has refused to acknowledge it.”

Everyone is panicking, but the smoke won’t hurt them. That’s not its purpose. Closing in on the castle, Varian can already hear the shouts for more men, more guards, the questions of what exactly waits for them in the fog. They don’t see Ruddiger yet, but their own fear is distraction enough.

“He has lied to you.”

Varian quite literally walks through the front gate, then breaks into the castle. It’s quite empty now.

“In a matter of days, this island and the castle itself will be overcome by this growth.”

He’d shown King Frederic his map, he’d told him about his calculations, but their benevolent King ignored it and offered mercy instead.

The only guards inside of the castle are the ones that don’t wear armor, and they are stationed in front of the Throne Room. That’s not where Varian goes. He’s thought about this logically, and he has a pretty solid idea of where the royal bedroom is. It would seem his own visits to the castle mean something after all, if they make this part of the plan easier.

In here, the recording of voice is more muffled, but Varian knows how the speech will go by heart.

“The key to stopping this destruction is Princess Rapunzel herself.”

Varian wonders what would have happened if he’d realized this earlier, if he’d pushed the point of how Rapunzel was the one they needed to get rid of the rocks. Would she have been more willing to help her kingdom than she’d been to aid that strange village alchemist she didn’t care about?

Varian lays down the rope and wheelbarrow as two huge doors come into view. Through the keyhole, he spots her. He’s only ever seen Queen Arianna from a distance, but she looks quite regal from where she watches the courtyard in front of a window. Will she be irrational like her husband or uncaring like her daughter?

If nothing else, she must be quite enraptured with Varian’s speech, because she doesn’t seem to notice the way her bedroom door opens, nor how Varian pauses.

“I will NOT be ignored any longer!”

While his voice announces Ruddiger’s arrival, present Varian sneaks up behind the Queen, though even he has to take a moment to watch in anticipation as a dark figure circles the gathered guards and royals in the courtyard from within the fog.

Then, he digs his hand in his pocket and takes out a handful of sleeping powder. It looks like glitter in his hand.

“Hello, your Majesty”, he says cheerily. When she turns around with a gasp, Varian smiles under his welding mask and throws the powder in her face. “Sleep!”

Carrying the dead weight of an entire person into the wheelbarrow isn’t easy, nor is it any easier to make his way down endless staircases, but eventually, Varian makes it out just in time to hear the sounds of battle. If he listens closely enough, he can make out the Princess’ and Cassandra’s voices shouting orders. But he doesn’t have time to see how it goes. The serum makes Ruddiger stronger than he’d been before, more resilient too. He’ll be fine.

He’ll be fine. He will .

Through the mist and smoke and through the clink of weapons and screams, Varian carries the Queen away. The cart, the devices laid out through the city, he leaves behind. Varian takes the tunnels.

It’s later, much later, that Ruddiger joins him again, small and looking tired, and Varian can only hold his arms out for him and ignore how his relief is heavier than it should be because he’d known everything would be fine, hadn't he? Ruddiger climbs up over his shoulders as Varian starts pushing the Queen towards Old Corona anew, though one raccoon feels insignificant next to the lingering weight Varian hasn’t been able to shake off.

It must be what revenge feels like, heavy but good. It’s good. It’s what’s right. It’s deserved.

He keeps pushing the wheelbarrow, right into the maze of black rocks outside his house, and Queen Arianna doesn’t seem any closer to waking when, finally, they reach Varian’s lab.

The achievement leaves Varian nauseous, for some reason. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep? But everything is almost done. Soon, it will be over and Dad will be free.

For now, Varian cleans a corner of his lab, then brings over his own chair and tries to not fall as he lays the Queen down on it. After a moment, he ties her wrists with the rope, then dumps the rest of the sleep powder into a pouch. The coat and mask come off just as Queen Arianna finally wakes up. The powder does have its stronger side effects, so Varian won’t use any more of it unless he has to.

For now, he stands a few steps away and watches her.

Her daughter really does take after her, doesn’t she? They’ve got the same eyes, but instead of fake concern, the concern in the Queen’s eyes switches into suspicion so quickly that Varian isn’t even sure if he’s been imagining things. Lately, even the shadows in the corners of his lab have seemed livelier than usual, so who knows?

“Your Majesty”, he tries to sound cordial, but as far as greetings go, it’s not his best.

“Why?”

It’s surprising that she doesn’t ask to be released and instead simply gives Varian a pointed glare instead.

Varian hums in lieu of an answer. She moves her hands, but the rope holds and she remains seated on the chair. But Varian doesn’t trust anything she does, so he simply leans his back against the amber, keeping his eyes on her for now. It’s covered again, mostly because Varian would take too much time staring at the amber and the figure inside it instead of working while he prepared to launch his plan. It makes the lab look quite plain, because the reason for all of this is hidden in plain sight. Momentarily, at least.

When she speaks again, she’s gathered herself and the accusing tone has faded to neutrality. Ah, the skills of a diplomat.

“I know of you”, is what Queen Arianna says, “I knew your father. You are Quirin’s son.”

Oh, but the topic she chooses is… Something. He’d been wondering what Princess Rapunzel had known when they met, because everyone had kept things from her under the guise of protection, but Queen Arianna is a complete mystery in that regard too.

“My name is Varian.”

“I know.”

“Hm, do you? I wouldn’t think the royals would concern themselves with people like me. Well”, he pauses, “No more than with the common criminal.”

“Is this what this is?”, she looks around at the lab, “Common, petty crime?”

“Not really. I don’t think that would be enough to make me into persona non grata, right? Heh.”

And keeping her talking is good. She follows him with her eyes as Varian walks around back to the desk. The manual automaton still needs work. Varian only pauses because Ruddiger is sitting on the table, sleeping and more still than usual, but he’s breathing and Varian can’t bring himself to look at his friend any further.

“I heard your speech, but it isn’t the whole story either. For months, you had been missing, until…”, and she doesn’t need to finish her sentence.

The hammer feels good in Varian’s hand. A lever brings up a platform from underneath the lab and Varian begins working on fixing the metal plates of the automaton’s torso in place. The inner circuitry is mostly completed, at least. The casing isn’t complicated to make, just tedious.

“Until I stole the magic flower that isn’t really magic and that you kept secret from your citizens. Not that it would have done anything, but, you know, it’s the principle of things”, he sings the words almost, hammering to bend the metal sheets.

“The flower that you tricked my daughter into stealing”, she says and, oh, so both of the Princess’ parents are overprotective, huh? Good to know.

“Oh, she only needed a little push from a ‘friend’”, the air quotes mark a pause in the rhythm of the hammer.

“A friend would not push her to treason, nor would they do… This”, she looks down at her bound hands, and when her eyes return to Varian, there’s confusion there.

“Eh. We were never really that close, you know?”

“She cared about you!”, Queen Arianna suddenly exclaims, but with only the two of them in this old, mess of a lab, the authority of the words is diminished, “And you lied to her, attacked the castle and-”

“She lied to me first”, Varian shrugs.

“Varian, I don’t know what happened to you, but Rapunzel doesn’t deserve-”

Yeah, no thanks. He's heard that speech before.

“To me? Nothing happened to me. I chose this, if you’re thinking otherwise.”

“This. Betraying our kingdom and your friend. Taking me prisoner”, the Queen deadpans.

“It’s all part of the plan”, he shrugs again, “Oh, but don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. You’re, forgive my phrasing, your Majesty , merely bait.”

“Why?”

“You do keep askin’ that. Didn’t she tell you anything? Didn’t your husband?”

Her glare rises in intensity and, actually, she’s quite scary like this, but all Varian can respond with is a slow blink before he lays the hammer down, exchanging it for a screwdriver. He climbs the wooden scaffolding still clinging to the metal body and he works on the head. The little chamber inside isn’t very comfortable, but in a pinch, it will do.

“I know about the rocks”, she says after a long time, “...I know about Quirin, that he’s… Gone.” Ugh, this again, why does it hurt to hear the name spoken so - so casually?

“Mh hm. And anything else?”

She’s so vague, it’s rather frustrating. Varian has half a mind to ignore her, but he’s afraid that, with his vision blacking out like it is now, it’s better to keep himself focused with such a strange conversation.

“Rapunzel told me you gave her a scroll. She told me you had… Translated it. Somewhat. Your father’s, I presume?”

“Ha. It’s funny. That piece of parchment caused so much trouble, but now it seems to just be common knowledge, against the good King’s wishes!”

There’s silence. The squeaks of the screws Varian uses to secure his machine punctures it like needles, but it’s nothing compared to the line Queen Arianna hits him with when she, presumably, simply gets bored:

“I was only told after, of the warning Frederic received about taking the Sundrop Flower. Quirin showed him that same scroll, but as I know it, both of them hoped that the worst wouldn’t come to pass.”

Varian only pretends to move after, but he’s not really doing anything. The shock has him ice-cold, throat frozen shut, which leaves the Queen with a lot of empty room to fill.

“What I hadn’t known was that… It did. It did come to pass. You said my husband has lied to our people. That isn’t… Wrong”, she admits.

“So?”, Varian puts as little care into the single word as he can, then promptly chokes on it and hides the cough with a little malicious laughter. It doesn’t really work.

“I’m asking you again, Varian: why?”

It’s been months. It’s harder to recall all the pieces than Varian would have expected.

“I was charged with attacking Princess Rapunzel”, he says, “I haven’t, by the way. I only… Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. But after, after , I went to the King. About my father. About the rocks. They’d already taken Old Corona by then… Did you know?

Her silence is very loud.

“No. Because he thought the rocks threatening his own damn kingdom were a bigger threat to his daughter instead. As information! Not as deadly spikes of instant-growth! Isn’t that silly? It’s so funny.”

Now, Varian picks up the blow torch and pulls down his goggles over his eyes. He should be using the welding mask, actually, but if he climbs down now, he might just not be able to get back up.

“But I knew about the rocks and I wanted her to know, because we… We were going to fix them together. But unless I wanted to get arrested for treason because of it, I had to lay low”, is it that simple? Not quite, but close enough. Intentionally, he keeps his back to the Queen.

“What does Rapunzel have to do with any of this?”, she finally asks. That’s the real answer she’s after.

“Everything.”

“Varian…”

“No, really. To make a long story short, that flower that gave her magical hair? It’s the only thing that could work against the black rocks. Not that she cares, but…”

”Of course she does!”, angrily, the Queen huffs, but her next words are less sure, “And- About your village, about this whole situation, if your goal was to bring the rocks and their destruction to light, then it’s done. Release me, Varian, you don’t want to do this.”

The amber is still covered.

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, he asks softly. He looks at the automaton. It’s as finished as it will get. Varian doesn’t have the patience to put more time into it. Who knew he could get so irritable? He didn’t used to be so easily annoyed, before.

He climbs down and looks the Queen in the eyes, wondering where Dad’s dagger is. On the desk, somewhere, under mountains of parchment. For some reason, even if Queen Arianna is the one bound and in danger, the roles have somewhat flipped during their talk. It isn’t fair.

“Varian…”, she says pleadingly, and starkly, Varian sees Rapunzel in his head, asking him for the flower, making promises again. But their mercy isn’t real, it’s only ever a ploy to get Varian to stand down, and he won’t. He won’t let anyone get in his way ever again.

Varian pulls down the stitched blankets and fabrics, and now, in the yellow light of the amber, the Queen looks sickly. There’s pure shock on her face. Right. Because Quirin was a friend of the royal family once. Their friendship must have been as real as the one between Varian and the Princess, though, because King Frederic sure didn’t care to release his ‘friend’, now did he? And the Queen didn’t even know about what had happened to him in the first place, only that something had.

“It’s because of the rocks. One of my concoctions, it went wrong and I…”, he explains, words tumbling together, the knots in the string of his explanation not really helping with the emptiness of Varian’s response, “But the flower didn’t work. And now I know. Only the magic of her unbreakable hair can shatter the amber and free my Dad.”

He lets go of the sheets.

Varian finally doesn’t feel as small when Queen Arianna looks at him, her frame tense and her green eyes wide. She’s scared of him too, as she should be.

“I tried asking for help in a civil manner ever since it happened. I kept trying, and I was denied by everyone in Corona. Unfortunately, this is my only remaining recourse.”

He hopes she can’t read the desperation on his face. Maybe all she sees is anger. She still looks afraid.

“And… If my daughter comes and helps free your father”, Queen Arianna looks between the amber and Varian, expression unreadable, “What happens after?”

Varian wants to laugh.

“After?”

The Queen stands up now, and at her full height, she may not be as tall as her husband, but she towers over Varian in a different way.

“Whatever happens after, it’s on her”, he says simply. 

And because Queen Arianna is still standing, Varian eyes flicker to a little cluster of black rocks and he wonders if he has any chains to keep her from attempting escape. It would be what Varian would do if he were in her shoes. What he's done for months.

Inevitably, the King and the Princess will come for Queen Arianna, and he can’t have anything going wrong this time. Varian failed when he brought the scroll to the capital and showed it to the King. He failed when the guards came and Varian ran. He failed when he nearly got himself arrested and he went into hiding at a pub for criminals. He failed when he asked Rapunzel to get the scroll. He failed when he tried to convince her to help and he failed after he managed to get the flower anyway.

This time, he won’t fail. Everything is moving along according to Varian’s plan, and if people get hurt along the way? Varian no longer cares.

Notes:

Angy Varian is so funny, but also kinda suuuper silly (mayhaps sad. Poor Varian. POOR RUDDIGER T-T). It's like, rebellious teen talk and his current need for vengeance plus the usual dorkiness all combined. Tragic though. And surprisingly hard to write, because he's not leading the most logically sound thoughts, ya know? Alas, after a few rewrites, I think I'm mostly ok with this version, even if it took a while.
A difficult part as well was wondering how Arianna would plead with Varian, since the large chunk of dialogue I threw at this chapter is a rewrite of her tiny interactions with Varian in the actual finale + the few lines she has in 'Ready as I'll ever be'. I was considering how Arianna might react and, I think, if Varian was after anything besides her daughter's hair, the very thing she was kidnapped for as a baby, she might be more agreeable, more compassionate, but as it stands, she's a mother and a woman who's just been kidnapped. It is also my own interpretation that Arianna and Rapunzel talk about way more stuff than in the show (or what is shown at least) and that, you know, Arianna always liked Stan and Pete and who else is better (worse) for guarding her daughter while she's definitely not trying to escape or something? But I don't think Rapunzel would be entirely honest with her about Varian, since there's guilt 'n stuff involved on her end. Or at least, deep down, given what we hear of the way she talks about him after the flower theft djkldsfjkdsjkf. And Varian has his own biased view, so he ain't making things much better. All in all, poor Arianna too.
SO, UHM- Yeah, two-parter finale. Next time, yet another drawn-out dialogue scene because self-control who (/j, cuz I do edit things down a lot jlksdfjlksdjfks), but this time feat. Raps and Freddy, hehe.
There's not much that's gonna happen in the very last chapter of season one, but I need it to set out some things I'll need for season two, though I'll talk more about how that will go in the rambling notes of the next chap!

P.S. How the heck our lad managed to install some sort of speaker system all over the island during what looks like a european-ish medieval-maybe-18th-century-at-the-latest looking timeframe, now, that is a good question! *runs away to not answer*
(like, maybe he was in or near the castle the whole time and that's how he get there so quick after the speeech and he didn't actually record it somehow, but just amplified his voice but aaaaaa- Idk, I told y'all, any and all science in this fic is me being delusional!!)

Chapter 18: The happy ending

Summary:

Her hair was supposed to work. When it doesn't, Varian just about loses it.

Notes:

Contents: threats, magical shenanigans gone wrong, revenge and the pitfalls attached to it, emotional breakdown, attempted murder (automaton goes squeezeee), the black rocks going kuckoo, arrests.

Varian has to use another small dose of sleeping powder before he can chain the Queen to the small cluster of black rocks by the ankle, but Varian offers some mercy of his own when he takes the ropes off, leaving her hands free. The chair remains in her vicinity, should she choose to sit down instead of remaining standing or laying on the floor when she wakes up.

For now, Varian watches the distant silhouette of the castle island, wondering how long he has to wait until the King and, presumably, another squadron of his guards reach Old Corona. He wonders how well they’ll navigate the black rocks littering the village. It had been easier with the masked guards, since they’d been on foot and hadn’t worn any heavy armor that might not fit in the tighter nooks and crannies.

…Would they think it’s necessary to wear armor to face Varian? 

He keeps looking out the window.

Behind him, Varian can hear it when Queen Arianna wakes up again.

“That is not very pleasant”, she mutters, then sighs, “Varian-”

But he has heard everything he wanted from her. He doesn’t want to hear anymore.

“No.”

And wouldn’t you believe it, it’s Ruddiger that enters the conversation after Varian’s curt reply. He lets out an upset-sounding chirp, but Varian just keeps looking out the window. 

He wonders if, when King Frederic approaches, he’ll be able to see Varian too, watching and waiting from inside his fortress. If he’ll bring any archers with him... Well. That would make for a very short, very anti-climactic conflict. Frowning, Varian turns to face the room. Two pairs of eyes are on him, one green, one black, as he grabs one corner of the large fabric he’d pulled off of the amber, and Ruddiger does jump, startled when Varian rips at it.

Making a rough mannequin is pretty easy, but, where it could be a relaxing activity, the fact that both the woman in his lab and his own raccoon keep making so much noise makes it worse. Varian isn’t even sure why they keep trying to talk to him, or what they think they'll get out of it, especially since he ignores them both for the most part. Everything is almost over now.

“-ease, you can still stop this. Varian!”, Queen Arianna is saying when Varian jumps up, having placed a spare pair of goggles on the mannequin.

“But I won’t”, it’s the first thing he’s said in hours after his last answer. He places his fabric-lookalike in the window. “And… Now, I’m sorry, your Majesty, but I think I’ll have to leave you alone for a little bit. Why don’t you take the time to prepare for the happy family reunion?”

Looking out the window one last time confirms it. There are lights approaching Old Corona, moving swiftly through the trees.

He looks at the Queen’s face, then away as he drags forward a threadbare curtain over to conceal her from the rest of the lab. Varian grabs the dagger before he leaves the lab. He’ll only wait out the King’s appearance in the main house, that’s all, but Varian doesn’t mind the dramatics either.

Ruddiger follows after him. That he’s been so contrary towards Varian lately is one thing. But he still looks almost hurt, even without wounds on him, and Varian can’t turn him away. It hurts to see him like this, but Ruddiger doesn’t let Varian check him over again just in case when they reach the parlor, instead just making circles around Varian’s feet like he so often does. It feels different this time.

This is a lotta waiting , Varian thinks at one point.

Because it’s not just today.

He’s been waiting since that stupid storm, since his stupid mistakes trapped his father. He’s been waiting ever since he told the Princess about these suspiciously durable rocks and she made him promise to not talk about their connection to her to anyone else because of the King’s orders. This night has been months in the making.

As the floor starts rumbling under his feet, Varian realizes that things have come to a head.

From the darkened kitchen windows, Varian watches the approaching group of guards and the… Well, everyone else. It looks like a wild crowd more than an army, and, weirdly enough, Varian recognizes some people, not as soldiers, but as everyday folks. And more, ‘cuz there's always more. A flashing sword. A black vest. A red jacket.

Varian laughs and Ruddiger startled and jumps away, especially when Varian suddenly stops suddenly, all sound cut off, eyes open wide and staring at a point somewhere on the ceiling, trying to stave off some indecipherable wave of emotion.

The assembly stops after traversing the black rock maze. It’s Cassandra leading them, which is the one thing Varian wouldn’t have expected, what with knowing that her father, the Captain himself, had been involved first-hand in this whole mess. Still, it’s on her firm order that everyone waits and listens. Varian can hear it too, what’s grabbed her attention, and slowly, he smiles anew.

He hums along to the song, and as the eyes of his automatons light up the enemies surrounding his home, Varian turns away.

The loudness of battle becomes background noise when Varian notices the faint sound of something else, right underneath his feet. It could be mice, but Varian knows it isn’t. These are a more high-ranking type of pests.

Varian stands at the door of his laboratory until he hears that voice that’s lingered at the edge of his dreams for months:

“What is this!?”

Oooh. He’s angry. Good .

The sound of glue bombs going off and the subsequent struggle is like music to Varian’s ears. He enters the lab.

For what it’s worth, the King has a sword of his own and Princess Rapunzel is holding onto a… Frying pan? They’re armed, that is to say, but none of it can really help them get out of the glue, and throwing their weapons at Varian without being able to get them back wouldn’t be very smart. They must realize it too. Varian sneers in their direction.

“Hello, your Majesty. And… Welcome back, Princess.”

Oh, if only looks could kill. King Frederic doesn’t seem happy at all, angry beyond belief, worse than he’d been when Varian had declared his intentions to save Quirin all those months ago. Princess Rapunzel doesn’t look much brighter either. He’d seen something similar when he’d caught up with her while still affected by the mood potion, but this time, her anger is genuine. She looks at Varian like just being here annoys her. And it does, doesn’t it?

“Varian!”, King Frederic calls out, urging Queen Arianna to begin struggling behind the curtain, but they don’t notice yet, ”I demand you release us and tell me where the Queen is!”

Varian rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest as he walks closer.

“Demanding stuff again, are we? But…”, because there’s the sound of metal links clicking together as the Queen gets up and Varian knows she will call for her little family soon, “In the spirit of compromise, how about I meet ya halfway?”

Thus, Varian pulls the curtain aside. Or tries to. It’s so old that it just collapses in a slightly more dramatic way than Varian had intended. It only makes him angrier, to see the state of his home in little things like these, but neither King nor Princess care, not when they catch sight of Queen Arianna, who gasps upon seeing them, though the warmth in her eyes is something else.

“Arianna…”, the King whispers and she smiles at him.

As the three royal fools look at each other, Varian has a whole different problem. It’s small and green and launches itself at Varian’s face, but luckily, Varian had been watching the Princess and sees the movement just in time. It’s easy to catch the chameleon, but slightly harder to push him into a wooden cage (a downturned shelf of wooden bars where Varian had been keeping spare beakers).

“Pascal, no!”, the Princess cries out, but by then, her little lizard friend is already trapped. Good. Varian is not a cruel man, he wouldn’t want to hurt Pascal if he got in the way. Princess Rapunzel looks between her mother and Pascal, then fixes Varian with a desperate sort of expression that feels satisfying. “Let them go, Varian…!”

“Hmmm. No, I don’t think I’m gonna”, he says. He looks at her, at the black cape that conceals most of her hair.

“Varian, this is an order from your King-”

Varian scoffs.

“Hm? Do I get mercy if I obey?”

King Frederic glares. If Varian hadn’t known the man hated him before, he sure knows it now. Luckily, the feeling is mutual. How anyone follows the guy that let things get this bad in the first place is beyond Varian.

“Mercy? After what you’ve done? I demand you stop. Release me, let them go, and maybe you won’t-”

Varian can’t stop smiling at the way the big, powerful King can’t even finish his reply uninterrupted, and there is no one here who he can order to quiet Varian.

“Your Majesty, I’m sure it’s hard for you to understand, but this time? You are in no position to demand anything.”

Varian glares at both King and Princess, then at the Queen, and even at Pascal, for good measure.

“This has nothing to do with-”, the King tries.

Haha!

“Doesn’t it? This-”, Varian spreads his arms out and he knows how he looks, with the barely standing lab behind, with his Dad’s figure casting a rather contrasting shadow over the whole room from his amber prison, “-Has nothing to do with your other orders? With our last, little talk?”, Varian meets the King’s eyes, “Hah. But I guess you wouldn't care. Tell me, did everything you did even mean anything? Did it protect her?”

“Talk…? What you- Dad?”, Rapunzel asks, eyes narrow, but then she shakes her head, “Varian, whatever you mean, my mother didn’t do anything to-”

Varian points at the amber.

“No? No. No one did anything. That’s the whole point, Princess!”, his shouting doesn’t match the too-wide smile on his face.

The Princess gulps.

“Please… Just- Please, let us all go, Varian. I don’t even know why- You have what you want already, so please, just stop this”, she closes her eyes.

“It isn’t the flower”, Varian exhales, then, louder, he continues, “It’s you. It was always you.”

From the way she frowns a little, only for the expression to smoothen with understanding almost instantly, she must have suspected something. It makes the look they share that much more meaningful, but Varian quickly tears his eyes away, looking at the floor. Glass and dirt and more cover it, but it’s a damn better sight than the Princess’ resigned face. She let things get like this just as much as her father did, after all. Why she feels the need to torture Varian with this remorseful act eludes him.

After a moment of prolonged silence, Varian speaks:

“I will let them go. But first, you’re going to do something for me.”

King Frederic looks appalled by the offer Varian presents. As if it isn’t the more peaceful of the options Varian has prepared for tonight.

“What do you want?”, he demands, and despite everything, he still thinks he’s the one controlling the game.

“Oh, ho, ho! Have I finally done enough harm to get you to care about what I want?”, Varian asks.

The King pulls back. As far as the goo allows him to, that is.

“All it took was threatening the things you love the most”, Varian smiles.

When he looks at Princess Rapunzel, he sees resignation on her face, but she nods minutely and Varian takes that as his cue. Not daring to turn his back on the three royals, Varian walks backwards to roll the drill over to the amber. The head has been replaced and modified. Slightly . The sight of the device seems to stun King Frederic out of his minute silence.

“What is that…?”

“Oh, just another well-intentioned device of mine. All it needs to free my father is something more durable than the rocks. So, unbreakable”, Varian pauses after the drill is positioned right, only to grab a strand of the Princess’ hair after she’s taken it out of its plait, “Meets unbreakable. I think you can see where this is going. Or do I need maps and diagrams that you’ll ignore for this too, your Majesty?”

The King sputters some sort of response, but Varian doesn’t care to hear it.

“But, if I must ”, and for this, he holds up the strand he’s holding onto; it glimmers prettily and Varian wishes it would brown and crumble like its flower counterpart, just for a moment, “The gist of it is that, with assistance from my drill, her hair should be able to shatter the amber.”

“Should!? What do you mean should ?”, the King asks, raising his sword again, but, oops , Varian isn’t in his range.

“I guess we can finally test which one is stronger, huh?”, Varian asks this towards Princess Rapunzel, but it’s still the King that replies. The nerve of this guy, honestly!

“Absolutely not!”

“...It’s not your choice, dad”, the Princess interrupts both of them.

Giddily, Varian leans forward and pokes his elbow into the King’s arm and, if he wasn’t already seen as a traitor to the crown, he doesn’t doubt this gesture would make him one.

“She’s right, ‘ dad ’”, he mocks, then takes out a shaker full of solvent for the glue out of his apron pocket and frees the Princess, knowing that even she wouldn’t be naive enough to try anything brave right now, with so many of the people she holds dear still trapped.

Varian starts piling Rapunzel’s hair into the drill, going one strand at a time, until the very tip of it is basically just golden hair. But, when Varian is about to start the machine up, the King pipes up again.

“No, Rapunzel, this could be”, dangerous, a threat , “A trick.”

That's a new one.

Varian squints at him. He sure likes to throw words around. Maybe he just needs a bit of extra motivation... Varian goes over to the desk and snatches a bottle filled with glowing, yellow liquid. In the right light, it shifts green and orange, but it’s only after being poured and undergoing its initial reaction that it turns amber-colored.

“I suppose I forgot to mention-”, Varian says, and when he walks towards the Queen, he can tell that all three people and the chameleon are confused on what Varian is about to do, because they weren’t there that night, they didn’t see it as it happened, so they don’t spot the similarities, “But we’re kinda on a time crunch here, sooo…”. as if on cue, an explosion and more muffled shouts are set off outside, “I’m gonna need to speed things up.”

A few drops are all it takes for the amber to start growing. The black rocks Queen Arianna is chained to respond to the substance near instantly, that same sound of breaking glass and thunderous birdsong filling the air. As yellow crystals expand and devour the chain, Rapunzel shouts:

“No! No, I’ll do it, stop - Dad, you have to stay out of this!”

She sounds like she’s at her wit’s end too.

Varian turns to face her, an easier, more presentable smile back in place.

“Shall we get started, then?”

He puts his goggles on and she steps closer, holding onto her hair as, from the crown of her head, the strands already begin emitting a faint glow.

Varian checks the drill over one last time, making sure all the repairs he did after it melted itself against the amber will hold up, but it’s a bit harder to concentrate when the King keeps talking with his daughter in the background, asking her to think about what she’s about to do. Princess Rapunzel, to her credit, seems resolute in her decision and she tells her father that everything will be alright. And with both her and Varian being hopeful, something will have to come of this, right?

Finally, with a big breath, Varian straightens himself and prepares to turn on the drill mechanism. The rotations begin slower and Varian lets them amp up before he closes in the inch of distance between hair-enforced metal and amber.

Then, the Princess says:

“If something happens to me…”

Varian meets her eyes once before looking right back at his father. But he does listen.

“Please, just let my mom go”, she asks gently.

Varian closes his eyes and pushes the drill forward. Over the cacophony of ensuing noise, Varian whispers:

“Sorry, Princess. But I won’t make any promises.”

And that is that, because not even a second later, she lets out a sharp gasp and falls to her knees. The light her hair radiates pulses even as she reaches her hands up to grab at the strands, eyes squeezed shut and mouth twisted in a tight line.

“That’s it… Please, work…!”, Varian finds himself mumbling when both the amber and her hair seem to resonate, just like he’d known they would. He pushes the drill even further into the crystal.

The incandescence of the two materials meeting, the sparks spat out at the point of connection, they’re all dimmed by the lenses of his glasses, and still, Varian knows he shouldn’t look directly into the light, but he does anyway, ignoring the pained noises behind him. 

Just the same, the hissing and, after, the crash and the sound of a single squeak too. He ignores everything and just keeps pushing forward. The drill head doesn’t melt this time, but as far as Varian can see, there is no progress beyond the light growing brighter.

Just keep going!

Then, the Princess’ cries start to wane. Varian doesn’t look.

“Stop- Stop it! She can’t take anymore!”, he ignores the King’s protests and doesn’t look.

He ignores the sound of metal meeting metal somewhere else in the lab, then the sound of more of his glue being melted away.

He ignores it and keeps pushing the drill until the hair is yanked right out of it. It can’t even get tangled into the gears properly, instead just breaking the device from the inside as it is pulled out.

It didn't… It didn't work?

Varian lets go just in time, but as silence falls around the lab, he collapses against the amber, fists first, pounding against the surface just as its light fades back to the same dim glow it’s always held instead of the brilliant, rhythmic aura that her hair had ignited in it.

“Rapunzel!”, two voices call out together, but Varian still doesn’t look.

For a moment, he feels like he is falling.

Varian punches at the amber until he stops feeling his hands underneath the leather of the gloves, until there is more movement behind him, and with his vision blurring, when Varian finally turns to look, he sees smears of purple and black, green and blue. Gold.

King Frederic and Queen Arianna, both of them free. Pascal’s cage, broken and laying in pieces on the floor. Ruddiger laying on Varian’s desk, looking small and hurt, but not apologetic. Rapunzel, her arms shaking with the effort to keep herself from fully collapsing onto the floor.

She is being embraced by her parents, who rush to her side, and they help her up. They hold her, like it’s all okay.

“Are you alright, darling?”, Queen Arianna asks, the concern on her features all smudged.

Rapunzel smiles into her mother's shoulder and Varian feels his body begin to tremble.

“Yeah. Yeah, I-I will be”, she says softly.

“No”, Varian whispers at the same time. 

Now, he looks. Turns his head and stares.

“No, I wasn’t wrong, I-”, he mumbles as he does.

They hold her tight and safe and protective and she hugs them back and, suddenly sick, unable to breathe, Varian walks away, runs away. It feels like being chased, but he isn’t. It’s just that everything hurts in a weird way that he’s never felt before. It’s just that Dad is still reaching his hand up, pleading for help, and nobody is even looking at him anymore. It’s all-

It’s too much. Too-

And-

“I wasn’t wrong”, Varian says again, climbing down, digging himself lower and lower, or maybe still falling, “I w-wasn’t. It’s not my fault, none of- None of it is! It’s her fault… ”

With the pull of a lever, Varian goes under the lab himself instead of drawing up the platform like he had before. More buttons, more sounds, and the very automaton he’s been working on as a last resort closes in around him.

The control panel comes to life under Varian’s hands. He can’t get that image out of his head, of the people who let this happen just - there , not a care in the damn world, like none of this matters to them ( it doesn’t, of course it doesn’t ).

To see the image break apart from behind a red-tinted visor leaves the anger feeling electric. Varian bursts through the floor, the automaton absorbing the impact just like he planned it to.

“Varian, what are you-!?”, Princess Rapunzel calls out with alarm.

“Sorry, Princess. Maybe we were in this together once, but if I can’t have a happy ending…”, Varian responds, not recognizing the tone of his own voice.

As he manipulates the pedals and levers to break through whatever equipment remains in the laboratory, the amber at his back and the happy family before him, Varian knows that even just one more step, this time, will be the point of no return.

“...Then neither can you!”

But he’s so sick and tired of waiting .

So he doesn’t take a step, he takes several, and as the Princess and her parents jump out of the way of metallic fists, Varian can feel the vibrations of the walls of his house giving way under the momentum of the automaton’s body; abruptly, the scene changes and he’s outside, having broken through stone and brick and wood.

Underfoot, three figures scatter away from the ruined walls, but he’s too erratic right now to keep his focus on the royal family when he finds himself under the eyes of King Frederic’s haphazard army.

And they look scared too. Colored red and distant, they just look scared. Still, weapons are pointed and Varian is the target, except this time, he is glad to fight instead of run away.

So he charges at the swords and pitchforks and shields and torches and he flattens the broken pieces of his own automatons under the great strides of his current machine, but before Varian can get very far, a voice reaches him. Cassandra.

He skids to a stop, sparks flying when he pushes the levers down and it snaps the claws of the automaton shut a few times.

“Stand down if you know what’s good for you, kid”, Cassandra orders.

Varian laughs. 

When she launches herself at him, using the black rocks and the other automatons impaled on them as jumping points, all it takes is a squeeze of his fingers around the lever to trap Cassandra in one of the automaton’s clawarms. Her sword does nothing, even as her arms are still free to use it to slash and stab. After all, she can’t really do much against solid metal.

“HAH! I always knew I was going to sweep you off your feet!”, he says, gleeful and smiling, watching Cassandra through the red eye of the automaton as he raises its fist to get a closer look at her.

He’s about to continue mocking her - it doesn’t matter how good of a guard or warrior she is right now, or what she thinks or says, or anything Varian might have ever felt for her before, she didn't do anything either - but then something clanks against the head of the automaton, and Varian can actually see the dent it’s left in the casing from the inside.

He growls and turns the automaton to face another threat. Eugene, swordless and glaring.

“Put her down, Varian!”

From further away, someone else shouts too, and Varian is surprised to see that it’s the Queen herself. She’s much further away, still standing by the hole Varian’s automaton just busted through his own house, her husband and daughter beside her. She shouts:

“Let her go!”

They're so repetitive.

Varian looks between Queen Arianna and Eugene and can see the Princess doing the same thing. But, hey, Varian isn’t a tyrant either. Eugene helped him that one time.

Varian sets the automaton in motion. It’s faster than the others, courtesy of being mostly hollow inside since it doesn’t have to move by itself. 

He grabs the Queen in the free claw of the automaton. 

And under the Princess’ horrified gaze, he squeezes .

“Mom!”, she cries out.

Cassandra and the Queen groan, but the grip isn’t even that tight yet. His fingers pause on the levers for only a second of hesitation, and then he fixes the lackluster holds. Groans turn to sharp gasps, then to sudden silence, and the expressions staring back at Varian are wide-eyed and pale, getting paler with each second, tinted purple.

Then, there is a new voice.

“Stop.”

Who…?

Varian makes the automaton take a step back, then makes it raise its arms and the prisoners he’s captured higher.

Sounding even more dangerous than before, soft and cold in a way he’s never heard before ( but it fits her, because she never cared, it fits her, this is who she’s always been, I should have known, I should have seen, I- ), Princess Rapunzel says:

“That is enough, Varian.”

“It’s not enough!”, Varian shouts back, voice higher than intended, glaring down at the Princess and finally closing his hands fully around the levers, hearing the hinges on the claws squeak, “It won't be enough until you endure the same amount of pain as I have!”

But then she does something. Her hair loose around her shoulders and catching on the breeze, she steps down through the broken pieces of wall and machinery and through the rocks, and she makes to grab at strands of it, but then-

Then everything changes, because the rocks start glowing blue. All around her. All around the village.

Even Varian has to take a step back as lines of rapid growth approach her before she can say another thing, before the anger on her face can melt to something more afraid, and then they get her. They trap her inside what looks like a cocoon of black spikes. They lose their glow for a moment.

And just like that, she’s… Encased in the…

Shock makes Varian loosen his grip on Cassandra and the Queen slightly, but he doesn’t let go yet.

Everything holds its breath and all eyes are firmly pointed on the space the Princess had occupied just seconds before.

Then, in a brilliant explosion of blue and golden hair flying upwards, she breaks free of her prison and-

With her hands outstretched, glowing and actually floating-

She unleashes the black rocks against Varian’s last standing automatons in waves.

Through the red glass, Varian sees them approaching him in a purple blast.

The claws give as the force of her attack pushes him back, but Varian doesn’t give up. He knows this automaton is better than the others, even if it was built later. It will get to her, if he commands it well.

And he does.

It rolls to get back to its feet and Varian pushes and pulls the levers, getting it running in a way that he won’t be able to stop. The momentum pushes him further and further, closer to where she moves her own arms too, her hair curling itself around the rocks all by itself, like a living thing.

Spikes shoot up from the ground, though, from underneath the sprinting form of the automaton, where he can’t see them well enough to dodge.

When he’s halfway across the battlefield, the automaton loses an arm and a leg. 

A quarter of the distance away from her, the last leg goes.

But he’s right in front of her when two more black rocks erupt and impale the body of the automaton in quick succession.

Varian knows this because one of the rocks is inches from his face. It’s still blue when he blinks, exhales and tries to move further away from it, feeling his lungs constrict, his heart stop.

It’s all he sees. Of course, other things are happening, but this is all Varian can see right now, the black rock that, had he built the chair and the console just a bit closer to the glass eye of the automaton, would have stabbed through him too.

This close, all the detailing on the rock’s surface is visible as it returns to its original color.

Despite something else happening outside, it’s like everything stops inside the little chamber in his ruined automaton.

For Varian, everything has stopped.

He’d wanted to hurt her. He’d failed. He’s looking at one of the black rocks that the whole mess started with.

And now it’s all over.

 

—

 

When they break through the shell of the automaton to dig him out, the sun is already rising over the horizon, the sky lined with streaks of yellow and red and dark blue.

Varian doesn’t offer much resistance, though he doesn’t particularly hurry, even as the arms grasping his shoulders shove harshly to get him moving along. When the cuffs come into view, he keeps his head low and lets the guards around him maneuver his hands into them. The way the lock clicks in place isn’t even that loud; people are talking all around him, and Old Corona has been quiet for months, so the noise they make sounds even louder than usual, covering up Varian’s frozen little corner of the world.

They push and shove and order him into a covered, wooden cart, and Varian only stops when he hears the sound of little paws thumping against the ground towards him. Ruddiger’s weight around his shoulders makes it easier, somehow, to climb into the cart. But for some reason, having him here also makes Varian feel small, makes him feel soft and rotten. Why the raccoon would choose to follow Varian now , after what he’s done to him, after how he’s been acting towards him lately, after how he’s failed, it’s all beyond him.

But Varian can’t refuse the comfort that having him here brings either. He can’t do much of anything right now.

The door at the back of the cart has a small, grated window, and Varian looks at them, all of them, before he is taken away. At traitors and liars and useless fools, that’s what he tells himself, but the words ring hollow, so he just looks at his home after. Through the broken wall, he can spot a hint of yellow, and that’s the only thing that jostles the position Varian’s heart has been stuck in since they’d taken him out of the automaton.

Dad.

They’re taking him away from Dad.

And though the anger has chilled into something else, something that oozes and makes Varian want to recoil, the desperate wish to save his father is the only thing that’s remained unchanged.

“I’ll get you out”, Varian whispers, “I’ll make you proud of me, Dad.”

It’s good that the cart is already moving away and it’s good that everyone has their backs turned to him, because he doesn’t think he could swallow the tears that overcome him now. Ruddiger tries to help, at first, but then he just curls up a little tighter around Varian’s neck and nuzzles his wet, little nose into a wet cheek.

“If it’s the last thing I do”, and this is what remains of Varian’s promise, now, just a thought whispered out loud, because it’s not like anyone is actually listening. That opportunity is gone.

For a second, as the cart gets further and further away, one of the figures turns around, golden hair swishing with the movement. Green eyes catch his and that’s when Varian steps away from the cart’s door, only for his back to hit the wall opposite it.

It’s really not that big of a cart.

He lets himself slide down the surface of the wood, and for the remainder of the journey to Corona’s prison, Varian sits tucked away in that damned cart, knees up to his chest and head angled down as tears stain the straw scattered under him.

Varian failed.

Notes:

And that's the last we'll see of angy villain Varian for a while. They're sticking my lad in the cooler! Well. He'll still be angy for a while longer, but it's complicated. With this, season one is done with and I have myself a wee little announcement to make:

I'm taking a break!
...Kinda.
I'll still be writing, since I'd like to take advantage of summer and I really enjoy working on this fic, ups and downs and all, but I've been very conflicted about what to do with season two and how to use it to set up stuff for season three (since that's where bigger changes come into play) and what to do with Andrew and it's all hdksjfjksfhk in my head (and in my current outlines) right now, so I need some time to figure stuff out. To that end, and since I don't plan for season two to be as long as season one was, I am going to try and write it out in full before I start publishing.
If anything, I might post some sort of interlude chapter or something similar until then, but for now, plan is to go through the season two headcanoned events first.

That being said, hope ya enjoyed being on this journey with me, and thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos or commented and just everyone who's read along!!! <3

Chapter 19: INTERMISSION

Summary:

Not a chapter.

Notes:

Hiya! I'm posting this mostly because I didn't manage to get as much done as I'd hoped to before school started - that is, we're still stuck at outlining phase... rest assured, my brainworms are well fed and I am really just hanging in there 'till i have time to write, but right now, school is kicking my butt.
I wouldn't post a chapter that isn't actually a chapter just to confuse people, so as a peace offering, a comic i made while outlining a few months ago. Take care of yourselves, be kind to others and see ya when personal matters calm down!

Chapter 20: Visitation hours

Summary:

The first cell isn't so bad, but Varian can't stand it. Also, it's not the nicest place to entertain guests.

Notes:

Contents: imprisonment, mental instability, brief thoughts of murder (but nothing happens), Rapunzel does... Something.

The road from Old Corona to the castle is almost too familiar by now, but it’s been a while since he’s not had to walk it himself. Being brought to the city in a wagon takes less time, but Varian is handcuffed and too weak to find a way out of the wooden cage before the sky and forest scenery outside his small window transitions into stone walls and more golden metal. By then, he’s regained some clarity at least.

The guards swarm the castle courtyard, obviously, but it seems that most of the troops are still making their way back. There’s not as many people outside as Varian thought he’d see, and of those present, most sport bandages and are dragging their feet. Varian looks down at his lap and meets beady eyes. He almost smiles at the thought of their diversion putting a dent in the King’s forces, but what use is that? Varian lost anyway.

His face falls. Ruddiger makes a noise, but then stiffens up when the wagon door opens suddenly. The way here was silent, almost peaceful, but it ends now, as Varian is shoved out of the wagon by the chain linking his cuffs. A guard tries to take Ruddiger too, but at the hiss that attempt gets him, he decides to let the raccoon cling onto the back of Varian’s shirt.

The sun is so bright and they’re moving along so fast, Varian can barely take in what direction he’s being pushed towards, but his head hurts and he squints at the small door that gets bigger and bigger, set into one of the auxiliary buildings t the back of the castle, which look rougher than the decorated front.

The door opens, and inside: darkness once more. Varian shakes his head, glad to be out of the sun, but as they keep moving further into the corridors ahead, a chill sets in. He grits his teeth and tries not to let his shaking hands be too obvious. His fingers are numb with sores anyway, what’s a slight drop in temperature? But Varian hates that he isn’t entirely sure what’s going to happen from here. He tries to keep track of the twists and turns, of the lit lamps swaying from the ceiling, but everything just looks the same. Ruddiger’s claws tighten in his shirt, prick his back and Varian just keeps moving.

Finally, the group stops in front of one of the many barred cells.

“Inside with you”, a harsh voice orders. Even if Varian wanted to obey (he doesn’t), his feet feel stuck to the cold stone under his boots. There’s a frustrated groan, and then the two guards on either side of him change their hold on Varian’s shoulders and just push him inside.

“Finally. But, uh… Should we let him keep the animal?”, one of the two asks.

A third guard shrugs and hands his halberd to the previous guard. From his belt, he also unhooks a ring of keys.

“It’s only temporary. It’ll probably be taken away along with personal affects, but for now, keep an eye on ‘em both”, he says. He closes the barred door, locks it, then takes his halberd back so he can be on his merry way together with his pals. Only the guard that had asked about Ruddiger is left behind, taking on a straight-backed position next to the cell door.

That was quick.

Varian blinks and does his best to stand up from the floor without the use of his hands, but the hay covered stone slabs are wet and he slips. It looks like a mold hazard. He clenches his fists when he hears what sounds like a chuckle from outside his cell. Ugh. Another try and Varian’s back up on his feet, swaying slightly from the sudden motion. Ruddiger hops off of him and sits back on his haunches by Varian’s legs as the two of them take in the small room they’ve just been dumped in.

There’s a small window opposite the door and sunlight streams through it. With furrowed brows, Varian looks back at the door, but with how the guard is positioned, he can only see the pointy end of his halberd. If he’s watching Varian, well, it’s not like anything suspicious is going on. Varian just walks up to the window, slowly, carefully, and then he stands up on his tiptoes to look at what lies beyond.

“Oh”, he breathes. Waves crash against the rocky side of the island. This part of the castle is the only one exposed to open sea, everything else is surrounded by the city. The drop is… Well, even if the window wasn’t barred as well, let’s just say jumping out to his rescue won’t work a second time. Ruddiger climbs up using Varian, settles on his shoulder to take in the view, then squeaks and jumps right back into the hay.

“No, I don’t think I’d like to swim out of here either, Ruddiger”, Varian whispers, glaring at the window one moment longer, but the brightness really is doing a number on his eyes, so he sits down onto the floor with his back to it. There isn’t really anything else to sit on. Makes sense that this would only be a temporary place for prisoners, but… Staring down at his gloves, hands folded in his lap, Varian thinks this sparse cell would be easier to escape from than a new, secondary location. Yet, every time he blinks, it seems to take more and more effort to open his eyes back up again.

Think, Varian. Think! , he leans his head into a closed fist, folding into himself, trying to mold his thoughts into any sort of coherent strategy.

Varian looks down at Ruddiger, then at the door and the weapon of the guard standing just out of view. In his mind, Varian tries to approximate how wide the space between the bars is, as well as how big Ruddiger is under all that fur. Smaller than he was months ago, yes, he thinks and tries to push aside the sudden, sharp pang of guilt for later, but could he fit ? And, even if he does, what then? Varian saw that one of the guards that left had the cell’s key on him, but they never saw him pick it up, so where is it usually? And Varian never learned to pick a lock, if that key is unreachable. He's come to see it as a good skill to have these past few months. Maybe he could have asked Lance while he was still somewhat sympathetic.

Varian tugs at his hair in frustration. Ruddiger chirps out a question, to which Varian looks up and shakes his head.

He wants to come up with an idea and hope it will work out, but after today, this much uncertainty only stirrs up panic, and Varian is tired of it. He needs something more solid, but he sees nothing that could be of help. And what's the biggest problem his escape could face right now? He glares at the guard.

Then, Varian takes a moment to search his apron for more smoke bombs or any sort of alchemical solution he might have forgotten about, but no luck. He used everything back in Old Corona. Ruddiger deflates. He looks at Varian, but hesitates to climb on his lap after their eyes meet. Instead, he curls up beside Varian and is out like a light. The last twenty four hours have been exhausting for the raccoon.

When Varian slumps forward, wondering if he really has no more tricks up his sleeve, he feels it. The dull handle pokes him in the stomach and the pointy tip pricks his thigh. Flicking his eyes to the guard, Varian gouges whether or not he has seen Varian’s momentary surprise, but he’s just standing there, same as before, so he must not be looking. The dagger, Varian’s still got the dagger… That’s the one thing he hasn’t used during the attack. Maybe… Maybe Varian can use it now?

If he just gets rid of one obstacle, maybe things will fall into place…

Blinking the tiredness away and gritting his teeth to keep quiet, Varian stands up again and starts walking towards the cell door, angling his body so that the hand taking out the dagger isn’t visible from the guard’s point of view. Thoughts abuzz with a sudden spike of adrenaline, all Varian can think about is that, without the guard there to raise up an alarm, he and Ruddiger would have that much more freedom to do what needs to be done in order to break out. And this- This could… A quick hit would do it, right? 

Quick, painless, to the neck maybe, so the guard won’t make noise. Then a cut here and-

This was always (is) something Dad took care of, not Varian. The blood would have had him on the floor long before the animal ever fell. But being afraid of blood is a childish thing. Varian is over it. This may be his very last chance.

Varian’s hand shakes around the hilt. He glares in the direction of the guard, walking slowly, but his fingers are cold and numb and his heart is beating too fast.

How is this any different from sending a feral beast to attack the castle? Or using alchemy on his best friend to do it ? How is it any different from what Varian’s already done to achieve his goal?

(What purpose does this serve? Is it a stupid question or does Varian just not have an answer?)

He should do it; he has to do it, there isn’t anything else Varian can think of right now. But-

But it is different. Varian can’t do it. Still, his fingers remain glued to the hilt, even as all wish to raise it up fades out of him, leaving him in the dark once more, the image of the bars and the guard beyond them swaying in front of his eyes.

He can see the guard’s profile, but he is facing away from the cell, not even noticing how close Varian’s gotten. The hallway beyond is even darker, the lamps not doing much for illumination and the light from the windows not reaching that far.

The metal of the armor, of the halberd and of Varian’s dagger glints in sparse light.

Varian shakes in his entirety and stares, wide-eyed but unseeing, at the guard.

Then, all the tension pops with the sound of bare feet against stone in the distance, getting closer. The dagger doesn’t make a sound as it falls into the hay, but Varian does. Before the guard can react, Varian crawls a few paces away from the door, hand landing on his abandoned weapon, quickly hiding it amongst the damp straws. Ruddiger wakes with the commotion, fur bristling and his nose twitching. He un-bristles at whatever he smells.

However, where the raccoon relaxes at the sight of a familiar purple dress and braided golden hair, Varian feels even more panicked. The anger that had kept him calm-ish before just can’t cover it up right now and he kind of hates this. A lot.

She stops in front of his cell. The Princess opens her mouth, though before she can say anything, the guard bows deeply and scrambles:

“I apologize, your Majesty, I didn’t see you coming. I-I wasn’t aware there would be an inspection so soon-”

The Princess laughs warmly. The sound is almost grating, but luckily, it sounds more distant to Varian’s ears than it should. Everything does. Silver linings. Maybe Varian will faint yet, sans the blood.

“Oh no, no, no. I’m just visiting. Nothing official!”

Typical.

“Well, if you say so, your Majesty… Did you… Did you want to talk to the prisoner…?”

Varian crawls a few more paces back, just for good measure, then forces himself to look away from her face and her bright smile. The hem of her dress is dusty.

“As a matter of fact, yes. If that would be alright?”

He focuses on that and manages to gather his wits about him enough to frown angrily at a small spot of dirt against purple fabric, just to not seem as lost as he- Ugh. She still messes with his head.

“Er, according to standard procedure, it’s. Uhm. It’s not against any particular law?”, the guard doesn’t sound sure. The loophole is enough for Princess Rapunzel to giggle happily.

“Ha ha, I did look it up myself, and it should be fine, don’t worry. Now… Could we maybe have a moment? Alone?”

“Oh! But, Princess… it isn’t really safe… And it is my duty to protect the royal family!”

The exchange is ridiculous. It almost annoys him more than her being here. Now he wishes he had already fainted earlier, but the vertigo and darkened vision are starting to lessen. Damn it.

“Came to rub it in my face, I’m sure…”, Varian mumbles. Ruddiger, whose head turns to look at Varian, seems to be the only one to hear it, as the Princess is still working on convincing the guard to let her talk to Varian alone for just a short while.

Finally, the guard sighs and gulps, not sounding sure of himself when he salutes the Princess and bows again; he walks away, dragging his halberd behind him given the scraping sound that follows. Better that he leaves, anyway. God, and Varian almost-

No, no. He has to focus on the now, on the Princess and whatever she’s here to say. Or do. Her hair isn’t glowing anymore and there are no black rocks here, but still. Who knows? He’s got to be careful.

“Varian”, she calls out, so softly that, past the water rushing in his ears - that one's yet to lessen - Varian barely hears it.

Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll just go away…

“Well, okay then”, she huffs, less angry at the disrespect and more amused. Varian brings his knees up to his chest, still staring at that one fleck of dirt on the hem of her dress. There’s a tear eating at the fabric right next to it. “I… You don’t have to say anything, Varian. I understand. And… I think you’ll understand it too, if you give yourself time.”

Varian almost snaps.

Since when is Rapunzel so vague!? Is- Is the Princess trying to be diplomatic or something?

Careful.

Not leaving too much time for her words to settle, she adds:

“But I came here to tell you something. Cass didn’t want me to- Well, I guess she just thought it wouldn’t matter when you're like this, but I think you should know”, she steps closer to the door and every muscle in Varian’s body seizes, “We’re leaving.”

Carefu- Huh?

“Huh?”, Varian finally glances up at her, and when they look at each other, her smile shifts, from gentle to something else. Apprehensive? She should be.

“I know, I know, it’s a little sudden. But I have to do this… For Corona… For me, too. I need to understand. The black rocks, they’re pointing me in a direction, and I want to find the answers they lead to.”

Varian’s frown deepens. Ruddiger looks between the two. Varian chooses not to respond, so the Princess continues with her explanation, her hands coming together to fiddle with each other.

“Just… I’ve avoided the truth for so long. Willingly or not”, she mumbles the last part, brows furrowing, before she shakes the expression off of her face, “It’s just something I need to do.”

Varian wants to be angrier, but his confusion is far more overwhelming. Momentary, yes, pretty strong anyway. But should he even do this - talk to the person who’s taken everything from him? It’s because of her that Varian is here now.

Careful.

For Corona… For me, too, she said.

It is sudden.

Careful…

Where was this determination months ago? Where was it when the blizzard hit? Even before that, when they made that stupid promise - was the followthrough just not something she ever planned to uphold?

Accusations and insults swirl together into an unintelligible mass of thoughts that don’t lead anywhere. He wants to call her out, to tell her that it’s a little too late for answers now, but deeper down, Varian just… He wants to know more about it, this quest she’s about to embark on. Just for a second, he wants to ask:

So you’re going on an adventure, huh?

Where are you gonna go?

Will you travel by horse or - oh, maybe by ship, if you follow the larger rivers and seas. Both?

How long will you be gone?

Who’s coming along?

Are you excited?

Varian’s never stepped foot outside of Corona or its outer lands. Heck, besides the occasional visits to the capital and a handful of camping trips into the forests and nearby mountains, he’s never even left Old Corona; he knows most of the other neighboring villages and towns only as dots on a map. He doesn’t know anything about what’s out there, but he’s always been curious. Still, between his own lack of sense (as most who have known Varian have said about him) and Dad being protective, there was never any opportunity to leave.

He can’t imagine what a journey like that would look like, but he’d like to know.

No.

He’d have liked to know maybe a year ago.

Today, a year later, Varian can only react to the buried enthusiasm in his heart with regret and sizzled out rage. He asks the Princess nothing about her journey. She thinks he should know, but Varian would prefer to never see her again, maybe to never see anyone else ever again unless they're Quirin-shaped and amberless.

“And why, exactly, should I care?”, he ends up whispering, long after his lack of answer has become somewhat uncomfortable.

He’s way past being careful now.

The Princess makes a sound, pauses, then replies on her second attempt, sounding a little surprised:

“Varian. If I follow the rocks, if I figure out the mystery behind them, behind my hair… I’m sure I will be able to find a way to free your-”

He jumps and immediately latches onto the bars of the door. The Princess doesn’t even step back, but her green eyes do widen.

“Go on”, Varian spits out, “Make another promise you won’t keep, Princess ”, his voice cracks and the vitriol makes her grimace.

Varian expected that she’d be at least a little intimidated by his display, especially after the attack, after he stole her mother away too, but no, the Princess is the one to take another step closer to the door. Varian almost lets go.

“I will, Varian. I will keep my promise”, she says, as if she’s trying to soothe him, but her tone is distant, “I had my duties to uphold before, you know that. I couldn’t help… But I think I can now. We were- We can still be friends, Varian, I know we can. Just - please. Just trust me. I will fix this. You don’t have to be angry anymore.”

Varian won’t make the same mistake twice.

His fingers stop gripping the bars and he lets go, his hands falling down in front of him, the handcuffs clinking together quietly.

Varian wants to hate her and this stupid kingdom and to feel nothing but resentment, but he wants many things he can no longer have because he keeps losing to her and he’s the one in a cage. He wishes she never came down here. He wishes she had never come to Old Corona.

Horrifyingly, Varian’s eyes start to burn.

When another hand is raised to the metal bars, it’s hers. The movement is all it takes, and suddenly, Varian slams his whole body against it. Later, Varian will feel mild satisfaction at the way the Princess jumps back the second time around instead of remaining unmoved, but right now, it’s all tinted red.

He shouts and grunts and keeps throwing himself against the door, hitting it with his hands, bound as they are, sparks flying as metal hits metal. The pain doesn’t even register. He wants out, out, out. Let me out of here!

“Varian, stop! S-stop, you’re going to hurt yourself!”, she yells over chaos, but she doesn’t approach the door again.

“Shut- shut up! ”, Varian says, renewing his efforts.

By now, Ruddiger is cowering in a corner, whimpering in distress, but Varian just wants out, he wants out and he wants her to leave, he wants her to just. Go. Away-

The commotion doesn’t go unnoticed, the shouted commands of the guards that run down toward his cell joining in on the cacophony, but Varian doesn’t stop, not even when, amongst the golden armor, he spots brown fabric and short, black hair.

“Raps!”, Cassandra calls out, grabbing the Princess by the arm and dragging her out of the clatter, “I told you not to come here. Stay back!”, she tightens her grip when the Princess tries to wrench herself out of it, eyes still fixated on Varian.

“No, he- He’s not in his right mind, but he wouldn’t-”, the Princess says. He wouldn’t hurt me . But Varian wants to. The cell door is unlocked and thrown open and then there’s multiple bodies rushing towards him, keeping him pinned to the floor while Varian struggles, kicking and squirming and twitching, still screaming.

“He already has, and I won’t let him do it again! He's not in a place to talk to you right now”, Cassandra says, eyes colder than the steel of the sword strapped to her back.

With her hands around the Princess’ trembling shoulders, Cassandra starts to lead her away, but at the last second, she turns her head and, over her shoulder, calls out:

“Restrain him, but no more than that”, a pause follows, “His Highness is still in council for the sentence. Don’t hurt him.”

Then, the two of them are gone.

 

---

 

Long after Cassandra and Princess Rapunzel’s departure, Varian still fights back, but at some point, his body gives in to the feeling of rope around him instead of hands. Everything rings black and all sound falls away. When he opens his eyes next, he’s still in the cell, his hands are still in cuffs, but besides that, he’s sat on a chair - well, no, he’s tied to the chair by his legs and torso and the chair seems bolted into the ground, or it's just too heavy to move. The only thing Varian can move is his head. He can kinda flex his fingers, but only a little.

It’s dark outside now, but the glimmer of Ruddiger’s eyes lets Varian know that he’s still huddled in the corner.

None of the guards are present anymore besides the one standing at his door. Possibly the same one from earlier. Not like Varian can tell. They all look the same behind that ugly armor. Point being, it’s late and Varian doesn’t know if whatever small chance he might have had at escaping before is now gone - what with being tied up and all.

Ugh, and it’s all because of her again!

Maybe Varian should be used to losing against Rapunzel by now. His eyes still burn and his shoulders shake, but as long as he keeps his head down and bites his tongue, no one has to know.

No, wait- Stop.

Breathe.

He has to calm down.

What am I doing here?

It’s a thought he’s been trying to avoid for days, and really, it goes a little deeper than that, doesn’t it? But the answer is the same.

After he saw Quirin in the amber, after he couldn’t get help and after all of his alchemy couldn’t save his father, Varian’s goal has been getting him out. With or without help, no matter what.

Breathe .

What’s another failure gonna do? Varian can’t stop trying and just-

Nobody else will help Dad, despite their empty words, and…

It’s not just that anymore. 

However this will play out, Varian will get out at the first opportunity and try again, again, again. The Princess won’t bring back results and nobody else will do a thing, that much he can guess.

For now, though, Varian doesn’t notice when his vision shifts and his chin hits his chest. He’s asleep before any other thought can detangle itself from the painful knot in his brain.

 

---

 

The chair is facing the door, which means Varian’s back is to the window. But there’s sunlight streaming on his face. His face scrunches up and he tries to groan through a too dry throat. The sunlight is gone again for a few moments. Then it’s back. Gone again. On and on, it flickers. It makes the back of his eyelids pink and the exposed skin too hot when compared to the chill of the cell at night.

The lack of consistency startles Varian awake. He blinks hard before his eyes adapt to the light. Once they do, he finally understands what is happening.

Er, somewhat.

Why there is a pair of guards holding up Varian’s chair and quickly advancing through cell-lined corridors, he doesn’t know, but they sure are walking fast. The oh, so very pleasant scenery of dungeon walls spins and darkens at the edges. The blinding light spilling in from the small, carved out windows in each cell, the reason he’d woken up in the first place, isn’t helping.

It’s weird that Varian hadn’t even noticed they were moving before the light woke him, then again, he tries to shift his left shoulder and pins and needle spread across the whole arm. But that’s not the most important thing right now, he thinks, remembering something the guards had said about his ‘animal’.

Varian turns his head frantically, looking for Ruddiger. For an awful moment, Varian doesn’t see him. He wonders if the guards set him free. He wonders if Ruddiger tried to stay but was shooed off of castle grounds, or if he scampered of his own free will. Both options, Varian thinks, aren't great, and they're not even the worst case scenario.

Then, he sees a small, trembling ball of fur just behind him, moving right along with the pace the guards set, except he’s being carried too. Ruddiger isn’t sprawled across Varian’s shoulders like he would usually be, but he’s clinging to the back of the chair. Only if he focuses really hard can Varian feel the soft tail just barely brushing against the nape of his neck. God, it’s like the nerves under his skin have just given up and died off.

The relief of Ruddiger’s presence leaves Varian slumping even more in his bonds. Finally, Varian can focus somewhat. They’re still walking and the distance that Varian is aware of traveling bothers him already, let alone how much of the dungeons they might have traversed while he was still sleeping.

“H-”, Varian’s voice creaks; he clears it as best as he can. “Where are you…?”

His slow, whispered question is answered before Varian can struggle through finishing it. He’s got an entourage of guards again, both behind and in front of the group carrying him along, as if he weren’t already tied up quite securely, not to mention bone tired despite finally getting some sleep for the first time in days. A guard further back says:

“Taking you to your new home, boyo. Far too lenient a sentence if ya ask me, but-”

“Nobody’s asking you , dude”, one of the guards carrying the chair says, evoking laughter from the others.

The dude barks out two sarcastic cackles.

“Well, if ya were asking me, doing time-”, and now Varian listens, because he has no idea what has been decided about him, but if he wants to escape at the earliest opportunity, then he needs this information desperately, “-and he even gets to keep the animal!? That's waaay too light, ya get me? For treason, too! And war crimes! Does… That qualify as war crimes? Huh. I reckon they should, but, ah-”

Chair guard snorts.

“Take it up with his Majesty if you wanna, but walk faster.”

The conversation ends there. Varian stares ahead. After a few more turns, they descend further than ever before (but Varian’s been deeper, way under the castle. This? Pfff, this is nothing. Amateurs), and here, the sunlight doesn't reach anymore.

There’s some déjà vu around the whole being thrown into a cell again, but since the guards have to step inside this new space to untie him, all while Ruddiger jumps off of the chair before it too is removed from the cell, curled up by Varian’s feet, all puffed up and tense. They also want to - Varian realizes by the sounds of multiple voices talking amongst themselves - keep an eye on the other people residing in this cell while the door is open, so it’s not all so same-y after all.

“Should we keep the cuffs?”, chair guard asks.

Someone else starts to say something, but a new, smoother voice interrupts; one of the other inmates.

“Surely, this young fellow isn’t that big of a threat, hm? Royal guards, such as yourselves, are… Of course, qualified enough to de-escalate any conflict. And I’ll bet those are pretty sore right about now.”

The guard that untied Varian looks at Varian’s hands. Gloveless. Then, with a small key, he unlocks the handcuffs as well and, at last, Varian can feel his wrists again.

He looks down at his flexing fingers and notes the skin that’s been rubbed raw and the torn blisters. They’ve dried out somewhat by now, so no blood is oozing from the wounds. He still has to look away, how silly is that of him?

By the time Varian is back to reality, the door to his new cell is already closed and locked and he has no chance to question anything. His gloves are gone, as observed previously. So is his apron. His goggles. And… The dagger will remain in the other cell until the guards find it.

Varian looks up at the other three men occupying the room, two of them sat on the bunk beds on one side of the cell, another standing before Varian, tall and relaxed, smiling like the world is his oyster and he isn’t trapped down here like everyone else. Like the panic Varian feels building up around these strangers is something this guy cannot even imagine existing inside his world.

Varian looks at the set of bunk beds on the other side, body itching with slowly fading numbness and rising fear. The bottom bed is made, but on the sheets lies a fur vest. The top bunk might be empty; Varian can’t see. Time to try his luck.

Varian climbs up the railing of the other bunk beds and flattens himself against the unoccupied mattress at the top, hearing only the clatter of Ruddiger’s claws when he follows. Then, Varian closes his eyes hard enough to see stars, and wishes this were all a dream. That everything has just been a fabrication of his mind.

Varian knows it isn’t. Logically, but on a deeper level too.

He breathes in the cold air of the dungeons, nose wrinkling. Ruddiger makes a sound, questioning, makes another until Varian responds. He hums a little shakily before he runs a hand down the fur on Ruddiger’s back. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, Ruddiger relaxes, which makes Varian smile half-heartedly. He tries to as well, but tension hangs off of him like lead weights, even when he’s just laying down.

Notes:

Hello!
First and foremost, I must apologize for my long absence. Last you heard from me, I was in the outlining phase and was getting bonked over the head by coursework. Suffice to say, uhm-... That remained the case over the Summer as well, with one of my projects needing tweaking before an exhibition this Fall. Some better time management would have probably helped, but alas, here we are. 😔
Life getting in the way aside, I think I severly underestimated how big of a headache the second season would be. Too much creative freedom and my brain starts exploding, ya know? The amount of rewrites... Nay, I must think of it no longer.
This first chapter was finished as far back as, maybe August? It never really needed many big changes, since it still leaves most doors open for how the story will proceed, not to mention that some of the ideas shown here (Rapunzel visiting, etc.) are some I've also seen in other fics and have loved dearly!
What follows... Now that's where the major growing pains come in. However, I did also belatedly hold my promise (I cannot believe I pulled a Rapunzel on y'all...): the second season is all written out and only needs to be proofread! So with that, we will begin regular uploading, what with my slower editing rhythm, but I am really hoping that I managed to come up with some fun ideas on what might have been going on in Corona throughout Rapunzel's quest! Or what we see of it through our limited POV... Hehe.
(And again, tone will be a little darker than the show, so watch out! But in my heart of hearts, I just know this fic is actually a sitcom. I just know it.)
(AND! 2024 hasn't been entirely update-less, woo! I... I will take my wins where I can get them. Happy New Years, y'all <3)

Chapter 21: The code of conduct

Summary:

New place, new people, new plans to be made. Prison escape is not just a series of actions, it's a state of mind. Too bad that's exactly the wrong move in Varian's current situation.

Notes:

Contents: imprisonment, prison escapes (but the tutorial difficulty, story-relevant failure type of escape).

On the first day of his sentence proper, lenient or not, Varian tries to convince himself that the world can stop existing for just a moment if he puts enough effort into pretending.

The whispers of the other people in the cell fall silent if he shoves his head under the lumpy pillow on his bunk. The flickering light of dungeon torches isn’t noticeable at all if he keeps his back to the barred door. 

There can’t be anything beyond the void of his thoughts. Or so he wants to believe.

Ruddiger is curled up at Varian’s back when he drifts off again. For the first time in a while, Varian has no reason to fight it. Nevermind that he’s already slept so much since the arrest.

Varian doesn’t dream, at least not about anything he remembers, when he suddenly jolts awake at the sound of metal striking metal, a key in a lock. His vision takes a while to unblur, but when it does, Varian raises his head and peers down at the other prisoners. All three are holding bowls in their hands. A fourth bowl has been left by the door alongside a wooden cup. Varian looks at each of the men, at the last bowl and, finally, at the guard currently walking down the corridor, pushing a cart in front of him - it's mealtime, if Varian had to guess.

Everything moves extremely slowly, as though Varian were still asleep.

“You should eat your soup, kid”, says the guy who’d talked to the guards earlier, tilting his head towards the last bowl, “It’ll be a while until we get dinner.”

His tone doesn’t sound anything besides polite, but Varian narrows his eyes at the man. What does he expect to get from being friendly towards Varian? He scoffs and the man shrugs and goes back to eating his own soup.

Varian would have remained in bed just out of stubbornness, but Ruddiger stirs and he sniffs the air, whimpering at the smell of food. Varian’s stomach twists.

He climbs down the bunk beds, sways a little, grabs the bowl and is back in bed not even a moment later, though the walls of the cell spin for a while longer. Ruddiger is now sitting on his haunches and both of them are looking at the bowl between them. It’s a soup of indescribable origin, though it’s warm enough to still be steaming. Dipped into the yellow-ish substance, amidst vegetables and meat on bone, is a spoon and a corner of bread.

“Which do you want first, Rud?”, Varian asks quietly.

Ruddiger looks at Varian, down at the bowl, then back up at Varian. He pushes the food towards Varian with a little huff.

Varian bites the inside of his cheek. He must have gotten hungry at some point, but now the aches of it are mostly gone; when did Varian last eat? When did Ruddiger? He grabs the bread, breaks it in two and keeps the half dripping with broth before pushing the bowl back towards Ruddiger with the rest. When Ruddiger shakes his head and thumps his tail against the bed, Varian shrugs and nibbles on the bread.

“‘m not that hungry. I’ll eat more at dinner, buddy.”

Ruddiger doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer, but after a few sniffs of the soup, he reluctantly starts eating anyway. Good. That’s a relief.

Mealtime is oddly peaceful.

That is, at least until the same prisoner as before tries to strike up a conversation again by saying:

“You know, gotta hand it to Corona. At least they weren’t cruel enough to take your little friend away. I don’t trust they’d treat an innocent animal too well.”

Varian thinks his silence is a very easy to understand, very concise answer ( Can you stop talking to yourself, dude? ‘Cuz I’m not gonna talk, that's for sure ). Apparently not, because the man continues.

“But they could have brought some extra food for it too, don’t you think? Coronan cruelty at its best, I suppose…”

Hand squeezing the bread until crumbs litter his lap, Varian twists his head to look down, now annoyed right out of his silent streak.

“Can I- Can I help you?”

“Hm?”

“Why the heck do you keep talking to me!?”, Varian’s eye twitches.He’s annoyed, sure, though he should be playing things cool. Nothing should get to him, not while he is trapped in this castle. Well, under it.

Twin chuckles echo in the cell from the other two prisoners, but neither of them say anything, content to just watch some free entertainment.

“Aw, don’t be so upset. Since we’re all trapped here, it only makes sense to be friendly. To show some kindness, in protest!”, the man says with a smile. His dark beard makes his teeth shine even brighter by contrast. There’s nothing immediately threatening about the guy, but…

“I don’t need your kindness ”, the word tastes like blood on Varian’s tongue. That’s not even what this is, anyway. Maybe politeness, and the frustrating type too, where it just feels like someone trying to subtly talk down to Varian. Boy, if he hasn’t heard that enough to last him a life-time in the immediate aftermath of all of the experiments Varian’s ever conducted in Old Corona. Well, when there were still people there, that is.

Old Corona doesn’t even feel like a place without the villagers, friendly or otherwise. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for Varian to see it as a playing field.

“Well, I won’t insist if I’m not welcome”, the guy says, raising his hands in a sign of surrender, though he steps closer to the bed. Varian’s shoulders tense and he watches with a frown as the guy leaves his own piece of bread, untouched, at the edge of Varian’s bed.

What’s he trying to do? , Varian thinks, frown deepening until his forehead hurts from it. He doesn’t relax until the man sits down on the bottom bunk, out of sight, but not out of mind quite yet. The relief is minimal.

Ruddiger, who took a break from dipping his furry little face into the soup while the exchange was going on, blinks up at Varian, questioning. Varian shakes his head and brings his knees up to his chest. When Ruddiger pushes what’s left of the soup towards him, Varian only takes it once Ruddiger digs into the cellmate’s bread.

 

---

 

When night time comes, alongside another meal, Varian waits until all hushed conversations fade out, leaving only the crackling of lit torches and the occasional click of boots on stone to fill the silence, then he sneaks out of bed.

There’s no windows down here, so no way to tell the time accurately, but Varian assumes the stillness means it’s late. Further confirmation comes from a series of loud yawns that the guard walking by the cell doesn’t bother to stifle. Varian stops in his tracks until he can’t see the guard anymore. Beyond the door, he spots multiple other cells, all of them identical to Varian’s own.

Varian looks down at his feet when he hears a small noise. Ruddiger tilts his head to the side, then fits it between the metal bars. He can juuust barely fit. Varian nods, but then gestures for Ruddiger to step back. This is something that they should keep for themselves for now. Ruddiger does as told. When Varian kneels beside him and reaches out a hand, there’s a moment of hesitation that stretches on for longer than it used to before, even during the first few weeks of their friendship.

Then Ruddiger pushes his head into Varian’s palm and lets him rub at the space between his ears. The action brings both of them some comfort. Varian wonders if Ruddiger can still feel the heaviness beyond it as well, fear where Varian can’t quite move around the guilt.

“I’m sorry, Ruddiger. I…”, Varian whispers softly.

Did he ever take the time to say it after the ambush? He’s thought about it, but did he say it?

Ruddiger purrs like a very happy cat, like he doesn’t really mind. Like it’s all going to be alright.

With a sigh, Varian keeps petting Ruddiger for a while longer, before he shakes his head with a small smile and sends him away from the barred door.

Then, Varian looks back towards the other cells and nearly jumps out of his skin at a pale face staring at him from the darkness.

His heart is hammering in his chest and his hair stands on end while the face remains completely still. The person has a crooked nose and long, black hair that hangs around his face, and with that blank expression, Varian almost feels like he’s caught in a nightmare, unable to even look away.

After the moment passes, the pale man grins and laughs quietly to himself, withdrawing out of the torchlight and back into the darkness.

Not alone , that grin had said.

But Varian does wonder who else is in here and what these people will mean when Varian breaks out. Will he have further obstacles to force his way through? Or will no one care as Varian slips through whatever cracks he can find?

He’d rather not think of the myriad of other alternatives, no. Varian ought to come up with an escape plan as soon as possible. That should be where his focus lies.

 

---

 

Varian doesn’t acknowledge his cellmates more than he does the sparse furniture in the cell. After an entire week, the guy that tried to talk to him on the first day still attempts to start conversations sometimes. Other times, he’ll wish Varian a good morning whenever he wakes up. Whether it’s actually morning or not, they’re none the wiser. Varian ignores him anyway.

The things Varian does look for and notice? The guards’ routines. Their rotation patterns, just like back then; Varian even recognizes some faces. How carefully do they look at the dishes they’re meant to retrieve after their meals? How long is the door open when they clean up the cells?

The handcuffs haven’t returned…

“Hey, you there. Stop staring at the door so much, kiddo. Awfully suspicious of you”, a guard warns, one day. Varian’s eyes snap up to the man’s frown. “Are we gonna have to take additional security measures? That wouldn’t be very good! We barely have enough men these days, you know!”

…Yet.

Ruddiger is doing better. More active than when they first came in, and the roundness he lost during the last few months has started returning. He didn’t avoid Varian once they were locked up down here, but he would flinch away sometimes - now, he’s confidently standing on Varian’s shoulders again, using his bushy tail to tickle his boy’s nose.

Varian sneezes, rubs at his face with half a smile, then goes back to sneaking glances at the cell door. His cellmates are out doing goodness knows what, prison chores, probably, and the current guard on watch (only one, and he has the bad habit of leaving the keys in the door) must be a fair distance away from the opposite end of the hall by now, but still far enough from Varian’s cell. A moment alone is all he needs, really.

“I think this is it, Ruddiger”, he mutters under his breath and gets another tail flick in response, “Aw, c’mon, stop that, bud.”

His shoulders sag when Ruddiger jumps off. Both of them look a bit nervous, sure, but they can’t waste this opportunity.

“Ready? Know what key you're looking for?”

Ruddiger nods. Varian approaches the door, glances out through the bars and keeps his eyes on the flickering torch light in the distance. It’s still a ways away, but the hallway isn’t endless.

Now or never.

Varian nods. With a mighty huff, the raccoon slips through the bars. On the other side, he does a few silent circles on padded feet.

That’s great, buddy , Varian mouths with a smile. Ruddiger’s nose twitches, then he does this little thumbs-up gesture (or his version of it) before he hurries off down the hall. He disappears out of range of the closest torch, and with that, he’s out of Varian’s visual range, even if he cranes his neck and tries to squeeze his head through the bars to look.

With a shaky breath, Varian steps back and prepares himself mentally. As soon as Ruddigger returns with the key, Varian has to be ready for the whole running-from-the-law and staying-hidden thing all over again, while also trying to find new ways to break the amber. He’ll do it, of course he will, but it’s just intimidating, and while he waits, the fear has free reign to mess with things. That's the downside of such a masterplan: the waiting before things get rolling.

If Varian had his gloves, he’d fiddle with them, but he settles for rolling up his sleeves, then rolling them down again. It doesn’t do much for his nerves, but at least his hands have something to do.

A few more seconds pass in complete silence before something happens.

Quicker than Varian’s ever seen him run before, Ruddiger flies back down the hall, then right past the bars of the cell door, smashing into Varian’s legs, bringing them both down.

“Ow- Ruddiger, what’s”, Varian starts, confused when Ruddiger keeps squirming as soon as Varian’s grabbed hold of him. There’s no key, as far as he can see, but- “What’s wrong? Why are you-?”

Ruddiger accidentally scratches him in his struggle, but once Varian puts him down with a hiss, immediately clutching his arm against his chest, covering the tiny, bleeding mark into his shirt, he whimpers and quiets down. His hackles are raised, but his panic fades the longer he looks at Varian, who tries to comfortingly whisper to him that it’s all alright.

“Did something happen?”, he asks softly, but Ruddiger just shakes in place.

Varian’s answer comes in the form of another voice approaching from the direction Ruddiger had run in to get the keys in the first place.

“My men think you’re gonna cause trouble for us”, the Captain’s voice is firm. Varian can’t read much of anything into it.

His heart just about stops when the man himself steps in front of the cell, but stutters on a beat when Varian notices the bandages wrapped around one of the man's legs. The Captain turns and looks at Varian where he’s still down on the floor. By now, Ruddiger’s calmer, pushing his nose against Varian’s shoulder apologetically.

“That better not be the case.”

One of the Captain's hands rests on a crutch, in the other, there is a crossbow, not loaded, pointed at the ground, but it looks like a threat if Varian’s ever seen one anyway.

“Wh-what case? Who even says all that stuff?”, Varian finally manages to grumble. These would be dangerous rumors, since they're also completely accurate. All Varian can do is pretend the rumors are not true. Unfounded smudge campaigns, maybe! Except for how Ruddiger’s hasty return is a dead giveaway if the Captain caught sight of him.

The Captain raises an eyebrow, then moves closer to the door, his apparent injury doing nothing to stop his usual mannerisms.

“We know how you work by now, alchemist”, he says, warningly, ah, intimidation tactics , how Varian hasn’t missed them, “We are aware that you don’t regret your actions and that you will do whatever you can to get back out there again. However, I suggest you take note of some things…”

Varian’s frown deepens with each second of silence. If the Captain wants him to come to some conclusion or to say something to that, he’s not doing a good enough job at guiding this conversation. Eventually, Varian stutters, eyebrows pulled together:

“I-I don’t-”

“Look around you. That animal is still with you and your head is still on your shoulders. That should not be, given the crimes you committed.”

If the Captain is expecting gratitude from Varian, he’s getting anger instead. He knows what he’s done, thank you very much, and, frankly, maybe he should have done even more! Then he wouldn’t have ended up here and Dad wouldn’t-

Before the feeling can take root, it just evaporates, leaving behind - absolutely nothing. He stares at the Captain, then.

“This is the kindness his Royal Highness agreed to give to a prisoner that the Princess herself vouched for. But what happens from here on out… Only your actions can dictate that.”

So he must have seen Ruddiger. Distantly, underneath Varian’s skin, there’s some fear still buzzing around the idea of discovery, around what the Captain is implying will happen if he tries again. Maybe they were even waiting for Varian to do something like this, only to come threaten him later. But for now, Varian feels nothing. Maybe it’s the shock.

Kindness. Vouched for him . Are these supposed to mean anything? Really? Varian wants to scoff, but he can’t get himself to do or say anything. He just continues staring at the Captain.

With a sigh, the Captain breaks eye contact for a moment. He says:

“Someone like you, young and angry… I know what you are capable of, and I suggest you stop while you’re ahead, if you don’t want to lose whatever favor you have left with the people of Corona. You have all the privileges someone in your position can have. I am not happy to have a child in the dungeons, but use your head. Think .”

Not happy, uh huh. And he wasn’t happy underneath that weird, bucket-shaped mask all those months ago either, surely.

Varian doesn't reply. Finally understanding that there’s nothing he can say to get any other reaction out of him, the Captain sighs and looks sideways.

“Stan, Pete, come here”, he calls out.

Instantly, there’s two more figures standing before Varian’s cell. Varian remembers giving them cookies. He wishes he felt satisfaction at the parts of his plot which succeeded, but nope. Still nothing.

“Should you need to leave this cell, her Highness and myself have agreed these two will be responsible for you, although you already know them, don’t you?”, the Captain asks coldly, then, ”Mind yourself”, he warns, like he’s talking to a misbehaving child, maybe to a feral dog, and leaves without another word, gait uneven, clumsy, only nodding at the salutes Stan and Pete offer.

They don’t say anything to Varian for a long time, but after watching him, maybe making sure that he’s not immediately going to escape (for the second time) as soon as the Captain looks away, they stay just long enough to greet the actual guard (seems he’s missed the whole exchange, with how confused he is) on patrol before taking their leave as well.

By the time the ice melts and Varian is jostled out of this odd state by a sniffling Ruddiger, his cellmates are back. How long … He moves his hands, tries to pick Ruddiger up, but then thinks better of it and keeps his arms out instead until Ruddiger climbs into them. Then, it’s to bed. Seems all Varian does these days is fail and sleep.

If Ruddiger wants dinner, once it is served, Varian just nods at him to have it. Varian isn’t very hungry, just tired in a way that stopped being physical ages ago. Even the one annoying cellmate that’s been bothering him doesn’t try approaching him today, just gives Ruddiger more bread when the raccoon refuses to eat what he’s designated to be Varian’s portion of the food. Reluctantly, Ruddiger takes the bread directly from him while Varian watches, blinking slowly.

Varian thinks about everything he’s heard. From the Captain today, from the guards, even from further back. The King’s orders of arrest, the Princess’ promise. His father’s worries.

He knows what he wants to do, what he should be doing.

Working on an escape plan again, seeing as his first attempt was interrupted in a way that would be almost funny if it weren’t so disheartening.

But he keeps thinking.

His head’s still on his shoulders.

Criminals are treated better than they used to be before the Princess returned, but Varian’s pretty sure traitors and almost-murderers aren’t supposed to get said better treatment.

Ruddiger’s still here and he’s eating the last of his extra bread, not touching the last of the food no matter how much Varian tells him he doesn’t need it.

The Captain warned him that he should mind himself , should be careful - Varian mockingly mutters the words under his breath like the child he isn’t. What is going to happen if Varian steps out of line, now that he’s caught in this trap?

Ruddiger licks at his paws, patting his own belly happily.

They let the raccoon get hurt before, albeit under different circumstances. What’s one animal in the grand scheme of things, like his cellmate said? The guards probably have a different answer to that than Varian.

And then they could always execute Varian himself, too.

Varian can’t let either of those things happen. A dead man can’t rescue anyone, and no one else will help Dad. He doesn’t want to lose Ruddiger and he doesn’t want to abandon Dad. These are the facts he knows and that’s all Varian can think about. They caught him and they beat him at his own game, but maybe if Varian is smart, if he stops making stupid mistakes, he can wait it out and come out on top in the end. For that to work, he has to stop relying on anyone else. He can do this himself, he can . Varian’s got this, no biggie. He’ll fix everything.

Closing his eyes, feeling something tickle his nose and a weight settle on top of him, Varian sighs.

When Ruddiger only snuggles closer, Varian moves to hold him to his chest, burying his face in warm fur. This is his buddy, Varian can’t keep hurting his buddy. From now on, Varian decides - readjusts one of his facts in his head - that nobody else can take the fall for him. And if he makes a mistake, well… Ruddiger was doing well for himself before Varian took him in. He can go back out there, and he’ll be safe. But he can’t stay here if Varian fails again.

 

---

 

The next day, Varian wakes up like the dead from the grave, but he’s less - what even is the word? Emotional? - anyway, he wakes up because his cellmates are up and talking. In the week he’s been here, Varian’s not taken the time or focus to observe them much. Their schedules, maybe, but now Varian really looks, sipping on the broth from yesterday’s dinner. It’s not that bad.

The ones using the other set of bunk beds look literally the same. Varian rubs his eyes, and after a second, following his gaze, Ruddiger rubs his eyes too. They exchange looks. Twins, then. They have the same red hair and the same pale skin and the same scowl etched into their faces. There’s differences between them, of course, but the sheer bulk and the amount of scars on these guys is intimidating and distracting enough. Varian can only imagine what they’ve done to end up in the deepest part of the dungeons. I mean, Varian’s here, isn’t he? Maybe they’re traitors too.

The other guy, though, he looks… Normal. Like he doesn’t belong, Varian thinks. He’s the one that’s been failing to start conversations with Varian and, for a prisoner, he looks surprisingly well-groomed. His hair is pulled up in a bun, but nicely combed back, and his clothes are crisp and clean. Varian isn’t sure what kind of crime he could have committed, but appearances can be deceiving.

“-nothing for today, huh? That must be nice. I believe I’m moving crates”, the guy says, rubbing at his bearded chin.

“‘Course you’d say that”, the twin with more prominent sideburns grunts, “If you want to be the one shipped off, be my guest.”

The man smiles.

“No. I’m happy staying right here.”

“ Shipped off? ”

Varian doesn’t realize he’s spoken out loud until three pairs of eyes fall on him. He’s sitting up now, but he wishes he weren’t, so he could hide from the stares. Instead, pushing against his discomfort, Varian straightens his back and glares back.

His answer comes from the man with the bun.

“Well, then. Good morning, kid. With how quiet you’ve been, one could assume we’ve been rooming with a corpse”, he says, but the words send shivers down Varian’s spine, which is weird, because his tone is smooth and casual - not the hidden threats (or fake niceties, in the case of one Princess) he’s been hearing from everyone since last Winter, “Glad to have you back in the land of the living.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz this is living”, the same twin as before scoffs, his brother chuckling darkly.

“Ah, incarceration. What a strange concept, isn’t it?”, the man asks wistfully.

Varian is so confused.

“Wh-who cares? Earlier, you said… What do you mean, ‘shipped off’?”

Manbun shakes his head, then points at the twins.

“These two gentlemen are going to a different place, where they’ll be… Hm, more secure? No, easier to keep tabs on. Maximum security! Appealing, huh?”

Varian grips the railing of the bed.

“Maximum security”, he repeats quietly, more to himself.

“Yep. Five star prison barge, from what I hear”, the man grins.

The twin with the sideburns cracks his knuckles.

“Just another trash heap”, he says simply.

Manbun shrugs.

“That’s Corona’s hospitality for ya. I must say, I am not surprised. But what says you, kid? Wanna leave this hellhole for another hellhole? Travelling is always nice.”

Varian shakes his head, but doesn’t grace the sarcastic remark with a reply. There’s just something about the way this guy speaks that doesn’t sit well with him, and anyway, why would Varian want to be even further away from his father? No way. He’ll stay right here until he can leave, and then, it’s back to Old Corona for him.

Varian is just bidding his time.

Eventually, all conversation dies out until manbun is taken out of the cell in hand and ankle chains to do whatever prison chores he’s got to do, but the twins remain. They don’t pay Varian any attention, so Varian finds something to do for himself to pass the time. Untangling Ruddiger’s fur with his fingers seems to help with keeping Varian busy. He’s not thinking about anything for now, but his eyes are open and he’s listening to all the sounds that make it to his cell, from the stomping of the guards, to the clanking against cell bars. The Captain is as useless as the rest of Corona’s guards - honestly, the rest of Corona - but he did give Varian one important guideline: if he wants to break out, he’s got one chance.

Notes:

Many a draft were made with the goal of trying to figure out how prison was gonna work. We have very few details on what long-term sentences would look like, and using historical examples would make this story a bit too dark for my liking. So I created my own little rule systems. Like extending Corona a bit beyond the walls, I also extended the dungeon and gave it levels, but kept it pretty simple in regards to the lives of the prisoners. While there is talk of execution as a punishment, nothing that dramatic or even close to it will happen (at least officially). Losing your freedom is pretty dark regardless, but that should be the extent of it. This is still an adventure-fantasy-ish story.
I do worry about the amount of monologuing Varian does in his head in these first few chapters. The thing about the way I picture his mental state in my head is that it's intense, yes, but it can easily get boring and it can be inconsistent at times. Creating a slow build towards something is, of course, my goal, but will it put people to sleep? What about the contradictions? Hmmm.
But! In the next chapters, we start the mini-arc of 'what the heck does I'll be sure to do everything I can to get him help even meaaaan!?' - so that'll be something! I hope!

PS. Using the Stabbingtons as extra cellmates was certainly a Choice™ (though I have seen it done in very interesting ways in other fics also!), but I need them for a small detail later on and I do want to cling to cannon characters while I still can......

PPS. I don't have nearly as many drawings and such to share this season... But I do have a little doodle I found very amusing to make :>

 

Chapter 22: The fine print

Summary:

Varian finds some humor where he can get it, but when everybody's scheming against him and he can't counter any of it from his current position, he gets a little... Disorganized.

Notes:

Contents: mood swings, paranoia, Ruddiger thieving shenanigans, something happening in the castle.

It’s a while before anything changes. Nevertheless, Varian learns that manbun’s name is Andrew, but the twins never share theirs, and soon, they’re taken out of the cell in chains by a dozen guards, growling and grumbling along the way. Varian just watches them use the cell’s key, watches how they treat these high-risk prisoners and is reminded of his own transportation from the first cell. Being tied to a chair and unconscious is not the norm then, Varian thinks.

While his last remaining cellmate is regularly carded off for chores or to get some air and sunshine in the smaller, secluded prison yard, Varian himself is left alone. They bring him food, and, eventually, the portions grow a little larger after a joking remark Andrew makes towards the guards delivering food about mistreatment of animals also being a crime. Varian doesn’t thank him, but the man doesn’t seem too bothered. Ruddiger is happy enough, though he dislikes Andrew as well, perhaps more than Varian does.

Every so often, some guards will also enter the cell when it’s only Varian inside. He’ll be cuffed, holding onto Ruddiger. A guard tried to hold the raccoon once and found himself on the wrong end of his claws, so they leave it to Varian. They’re all so lucky that Varian doesn’t have any more seru- No.

All this, they do for cleanup. Changing sheets, chamber pots, checking for… Well, Varian assumes anything that isn’t supposed to be there, but he’s been ‘good’ so far, as per given instructions. Hasn’t hoarded the spoons and made some insane machinery of death and destruction just yet.

He tries to keep count of the days belatedly, realizing that they’re fed twice everyday, presumably in the morning and in the evening, but since he’s not sure exactly how long it’s been since he’s been brought here, Varian just keeps in mind the fact that he attacked Corona on the Princess’ birthday. He’ll manage to get the exact date out of someone one of these days. Time may feel like it’s stopped, but Varian knows he can’t forget about its passage. It’s important to hurry, though it gets harder to remember why, at this point.

More significant change comes in the form of Stan and Pete, who are not on rotation (and he knows this because Varian still keeps an eye on things after his first escape attempt failed), when they come to stand in front of his cell one day. It makes sense that they would be here from him, given what the Captain said. Anyway, Varian narrows his eyes at them from his perch on the bunk bed.

The two look at each other, exchange a hushed conversation, then Stan clears his throat.

“They asked for you”, is all he says.

Varian blinks.

“Who did?”

One more exchange of looks between the guards.

“The, uh. Well, technically… Indirectly. Their royal Majesties, King Frederic and Queen Arianna”, Varian wants to frown at that, starts to, even, but Stan quickly continues, ” Orders are orders”, then, he finally unlocks the cell and brings Varian out.

Varian did wonder if these two had gotten any more competent since the last time he saw them, but no - unlike all the other guards that have moved Varian around like cargo, they don’t cuff him in the cell before taking him out, but do so once he’s already in the dungeon hallway, like an afterthought.

It would have been a piece of cake to literally just run off, but damn it, what the Captain said still weighs heavily on Varian. He can’t afford mistakes; he’s got too little intel to assure success.

Ruddiger follows after him. They don’t handcuff (pawcuff) the raccoon, which, good. Being holed up in the cell can’t be doing him much good. When they were hiding from masked guards, at least they were in the forest and Ruddiger could run off as needed, but not here. Technically, Ruddiger can fit through the bars, but it would be too risky - the wrong person sees an unaccounted for raccoon wandering about and flaps their mouth and it’s all over.

So it’s a good thing, getting out there, but damn , is the sun way too loud. No, sharp. Bright. Ugh. Just too much. It’s not even been that long down there! Varian’s pretty sure he must have had some project or another before, for which he’d stayed locked in his lab for longer than this, but it’s still too much this time, going without and now this abundance.

Goosebumps race across his arms and pull at the scab of the scratch mark healing there, just above the right wrist. With the cuffs, Varian can’t pat it down to ease the feeling, but he gets used to it after a few more steps out in the prison courtyard.

It’s a typical Summer’s day in Corona, so the temperatures feel scorching, which explains the absence of most other prisoners. They wouldn’t have any shadow to hide under in the prisoners’ courtyard even if they did venture out at this hour. It’s noon, if Varian had to guess, and he squints. There’s more guards running about though, and he sees almost nothing of the main courtyard because of it. Some still sport bandages or crutches, like the Captain.

Varian hadn’t thought about it during the Winter, but now he has to wonder how practical the armor is in this weather. He almost smiles, satisfied to imagine that it’s probably not very comfortable at all, but then he is nudged to keep moving and he’s just irritated again. Remembering whose orders he’s being dragged out on doesn’t help that.

Ruddiger runs circles around Pete and Stan, kicking up miniature sandstorms in his wake.

Before entering the actual castle, there’s a moment of hesitation. Varian’s done as asked so far, but facing a familiar set of doors, Varian stops. For whatever reason, he can’t move from this spot. He just stares and stares.

“We should get moving”, Stan says, then gestures with some uncertainty, “Unless something is wrong, but again, our orders-”

“I don’t want to”, Varian says, voice small, then glares at the doors. If he thinks about it, if he forces his way through the haze, he knows reason will dictate ‘Yes, this is good, get a better idea of what is going on inside the castle as well - have they changed anything? Maybe… Something that could aid in the perfect escape plan?’

In reality, all Varian feels is this awful dread that he tries to push against, but it only grows more suffocating the longer he stands here.

But, what the heck, what's there to be scared of? Just some fancy, old building-

So, before Stan and Pete can respond to that, Varian kicks the door, bites his tongue so he doesn’t whimper as the pain zips up his leg and he shoulders his way through. There’s sighs of relief behind him; they wouldn’t want to get a demotion because they couldn’t handle a misbehaving inmate, would they? Ruddiger squeaks, but follows. He doesn’t look too happy to be back here either. Then, he must hear something, because his ears twitch and his tail straightens. They walk through an infinitely long hallway that’s seen better days, the carpet burnt in places and some of the paintings crooked or already down against the floor, but eventually, Varian sees what Ruddiger must have heard before.

Just outside the Throne Room, one of the walls looks ready to collapse, and, Varian realizes, this is where the damage had been leading. Next to the doors of the Throne Room, a sizable crowd has gathered, seemingly deep in discussion, but one person in particular draws Varian’s attention - and subsequently, his earlier annoyance increases ten- No, a hundredfold.

The King.

Varian won’t stop again, like he did at the doors, though he’d like nothing more than to turn around and walk the opposite way. Varian can’t do anything to gain control of this situation, though. He’s got nothing on him. No alchemy spheres, no automatons, not even a simple wrench, nothing .

The tension continues to grow as Pete and Stan keep leading Varian forward. 

(To Hell with the Captain’s warnings, Varian should just take his chances and jump out another window. He either makes the landing and escapes or doesn’t and escapes. The Throne room should be high up enough.)

Finally, the congregation notices the approaching visitor and all conversation ceases.

There’s a moment when Varian looks directly into the eyes of the King, nothing but hatred bubbling inside his chest.

To King Frederic’s credit, for once , he doesn’t seem to react at all

 His face is set in stone when he raises a hand, and just like that, the talking begins again. The King himself, however, turns towards the Throne Room and disappears within its confines, doors being closed behind him by the guards standing watch.

Varian lets out a long sigh. He clenches and unclenches his fists.

There is one other person left outside of the Throne Room who Varian also finds familiar. He has met the royal advisor personally exactly twice: during the blizzard and during the arrest (attempt). To say neither occasion is fondly remembered would be an understatement of epic proportions. Though, with the King out of the picture, it’s easier to face the man when Stan and Pete deliver Varian right in front of him. Nigel looks down at him with narrowed eyes and thinned lips.

“Was there any trouble?”, he asks, eventually.

“You’ll be glad to hear that no, not really”, Pete says, then laughs awkwardly.

“Hmph”, Nigel checks some documents he’s carrying. Maybe another stack of private letters, who knows? “Well, fine. Let’s not waste any more time. You.”

Nigel turns to Varian, points at him, even. Varian scowls as ugly as he can, though Nigel doesn’t react. The effect must be dampened by the handcuffs and the raccoon clinging to his pant leg.

“You used one of your creations in here”, Nigel continues, now pointing at the ruined section of hallway, “And now we have a problem.”

Varian pouts and takes one more doubtful look around - but he can see it now. The pout fades. The cracks in the wall, the floor indented with circles. Then, in a puddle still sluggishly bubbling, black liquid seeping into whatever remains of the carpet. If Varian’s being honest, the structural damage (the cracks reach all the way up to vaulted ceilings) is what makes him nervous, but no one else seems to be looking up. Must have been some fight. He wonders who it was that took the machine down. He thinks one of the cracks looks vaguely human-shaped and, ouch, that must have been painful. He’s created the automatons strong enough to break through normal rocks and trees if necessary, after all.

“Automaton”, Varian simply corrects, not quite understanding what he’s here for. Definitely not architectural collapse risk mediation. He doesn’t know enough about that, besides the basic physics it and engineering share.

“What?”

“Automaton, not ‘creation’. It can't be that hard to remember.”

“Right now, terminology should be the least of your concerns, boy. You’re here because what your automaton left behind seems to be toxic and our scholars have not come to a conclusion on how to deal with it, if you must know ”, Nigel eventually gives in and explains. He also sounds like he’s talking to a child, but Varian doesn’t even care as, slowly, he starts to smile, realizing what Nigel is actually saying.

“And what, you don’t know how to get rid of it?”, he asks, eyes wide and teeth showing with his grin.

“It’s not a matter of how -”, Nigel starts.

An old lady steps up and interrupts. She’s very short, but her voice carries.

“I say we throw the whole carpet away, replace the floor if we have to. Or do you need the castle maintenance budget for something else? Let us do our job!”, she demands.

Honestly, that sounds reasonable to Varian; still he can’t help but continue smiling, still staring, when Nigel pinches the bridge of his nose and begins talking again, but Varian isn't really listening.

They’re afraid, they- They’re actually afraid of him, that’s why the staff seems so uncomfortable with an inmate around, and that’s why he’s here - so they can make sure one of Varian’s ‘creations’ won’t actually hurt them during the cleanup. Part of it is probably Varian’s prior reputation with alchemical substances, but the attack on the castle and the subsequent battle must be pretty fresh in everyone’s minds - he is the villain they feared, and Varian couldn’t be happier about it.

(And yet, instead of satisfaction, there is nothing. All empty on the inside.)

“The repairs are not what I am concerned about! It’s how dangerous that solution is! I, too, am simply doing my job”, is the end of a much longer, much more boring statement from Nigel.

As fun as the advisor’s frustration is for Varian, he doesn’t care to just stand here and listen to people arguing about nothing. The catharsis fades fast, leaving only monotony.

“It’s just oil - hey”, they aren’t listening - Varian’s mouth screws into a glower; it must be so easy to forget about him when he’s not inside one of the automatons, huh? - so he tries again, louder, “It’s- It’s just oil. One of the fuel tanks must have been damaged by whoever took it down. It shouldn’t be too toxic. Keep the windows open, use gloves when removing and that’s that”, and after another second, “Duh.”

The old lady looks at the still bubbling liquid, face wrinkling further with her scowl. To her credit, she looks entirely unimpressed with everyone in the room, Varian most of all.

“It don’t look not-toxic”, she says.

Varian looks between the oil and the old woman. With furrowed brows, he replies:

“So I added some of my own compounds to it. Maybe. Big deal. But still. It’s no more dangerous than pittsfordish refined petroleum fuels.”

Varian looks at the advisor, moving his arms as if to cross them over his chest, but when the chain between the cuffs stops the motion, he just fidgets in place with a hard expression on his face instead. Ruddiger’s at least calmed down some and now he’s eyeing something up in the distance. He slips away, unnoticed by the others, while Varian speaks again to provide a momentary distraction:

“If this is all, then…”

Nigel sighs, flips a page in his stack, then a few more. That takes a few moments.

“If it’s not one of your more dangerous compounds, then for now, I suppose that is all, but… No, nevermind. Take him back to the dungeons”, Nigel orders with a handwave.

His more dangerous compounds? Ha. As if he’d leave those just lying around. And anyway, he’s used everything up already. This is just aftermath stuff. Nothing of value he could use without equipment to process it, Varian concludes.

As Stan and Pete turn Varian around, there’s the sound of a set of doors opening and closing, then the old lady’s voice starts ordering the staff to bring rags, buckets and some gloves.

With a pitter-patter of paws, Ruddiger also runs after Varian, but by the way he’s holding his body and trying to walk on his hind legs before Varian just picks him up with a small smile, he’s found something. Nothing that will get them in trouble by the way he licks some pink frosting off of his nose, chittering happily. Well, at least as long as Stan and Pete don't notice and assume something and tell the Captain. They seem oblivious for now.

Looking back over his shoulder, Varian shakes his head at the food cart left unattended further down the hall. Ruddiger’s definitely still got his tricks.

 

 

---

 

The bounty of fresh cupcakes is only revealed once the two of them have been dumped back into the cell, but Varian would be lying if he said his mouth isn't watering at the sight. With how his appetite’s been, Varian hasn’t minded the plain prison food, but he likes some sweets. And Dad-

Halting in his happily chewing the dessert, Ruddiger looks up at Varian, who’s lost his smile.

They're not warm this time either, but still soft. Sweet cream and berries. This isn’t a bribe meant to placate him and distract him from his goal; in fact, Varian hasn’t spotted any signs that the Princess’ friends are still in the castle; probably left with her on whatever freaking journey she’s gone on. Not to mention the fact that Ruddiger stole these, fair and square. But Varian thinks about it.

It’s not been that long ago.

Just have another .

Varian bites into the cupcake. Sweet, yeah. He manages to finish his first cupcake, but lets Ruddiger have the last few.

 

---

 

After the little trip outside of the cell, Varian tries to regain focus.

He’s been considering escape, but not what’s gonna happen once he’s out. This is the sort of mistake that led to him failing in freeing his father before - he has to see the bigger picture, right?

(In hindsight, he can see so many errors. Moments of hesitation, trusting people he should have known better about, and, in the end, losing his cool. Maybe if he’d left, after the Princess’ hair didn’t work. Or…)

It’s not so easy to plan and scheme around how to free Dad when he has no idea where to even start anymore. On one hand, all of his alchemy couldn’t do anything against the amber it created, nor is there any mechanical force strong enough that Varian can use against it. Reverse engineering the amber solution would mean creating more of it in the first place, but whenever Varian tried to find an answer through messing with the formula, it didn’t yield any results. The last of the compound had been almost used on the Queen.

Varian isn’t sure he can stand to make more, now.

And it’s not like he has a lab to try again. Fail again.

(His thoughts keep drifting; that’s not helping Varian’s scheming.)

On the other hand, there’s no magical answer anymore either.

Varian tries not to think about the last time he saw the Princess, but he kinda has to. She must have already embarked on her journey, following the black rocks. He doesn’t expect she’ll actually look for something to help Dad, can’t, when the last time Varian tried to get her help for it, the only things that would sway her were Corona and her own family. Obviously, Dad can only rely on Varian to rescue him.

The Princess isn’t a variable Varian wants to consider. But there’s something that got lost in all of the action, and it's directly tied to her.

The scroll… Does she still have it?

The thought is so sudden that it has Varian shooting out of bed in the middle of the night, almost falling off of it.

It’s the moment Varian really starts regretting that he’s been left with nothing.

One tiny pebble, off-white and with irregular edges, is the only thing he can find somewhere in the corner of the cell while Andrew watches in amusement, obviously having been awoken by the ruckus.

The torchlight outside of the cell is barely enough for Varian to see what he’s doing, but the pebble, some sort of limestone that got chipped off of the walls of the cell, leaves just the faintest of markings when dragged against stone.

That’s enough, Varian only needs a place to dump everything he remembers, it doesn’t need to be pretty.

After a long while of frantically scribbling until the ache spreads all the way from his fingers up to his shoulder, both Ruddiger and Andrew have gone back to sleep, seeing as Varian wasn’t about to start responding to their inquiries any time soon.

Still, Varian’s done it.

The wall where the twins’ bunk bed remains empty but pushed aside as much as its fixed wall hinges allow is marked as high as Varian could reach with all of the markings Varian can remember from the scroll, the drawings sketched with the dusty remains of the pebble.

It’s not perfect, Varian’s sure that he’s forgotten some of the runes already, and it doesn’t look proportionally correct, not with his own notes scribbled alongside the ancient script, but it’s enough. Man, he should have done this sooner. He’s only lucky he can remember this much already, from the countless hours he poured into looking at the scroll.

This is good enough.

(He should have never given her the scroll. He should have kept it. It was- It is his Dad’s.)

If he can crack more of the stone bricks, he can probably continue using the walls of the cell for more notes. He won’t have any revelations without the ability to test any hypothesis with actual alchemy, but for the scroll’s contents and for some basic formulas, this should be enough. He just needs to be able to think.

His eyes hurt as he reads over the runes again and again and Varian’s dead tired, but the frantic energy just won’t go. He’s not going to write anything else right now, but he won’t be able to sleep with how fast his breathing is.

He throws his fists against the stone walls a couple of times. That doesn’t calm him down either. It just makes his knuckles hurt and splits the scab over the scratch on his arm. The blood drips, but it’s dark and Varian only has eyes for the wall anyway.

So Varian sits down in front of the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest, arms over his head, trying to catch his breath.

 

---

 

Varian doesn’t remember falling asleep, but a hand shakes his shoulder, rousing him from an uneasy sleep. It’s not too rough, it’s not hurting Varian, but he still pulls back and glares at the owner of the hand.

“I don’t think you should be sleeping on the floor, friend”, Andrew says, “It doesn’t seem very comfortable.”

Then, Andrew looks up at the wall Varian was working on instead of sleeping and stares for a long moment while Varian tries to remember how his limbs work.

“Looks complicated”, Andrew traces a hand over one of the runes, sounding almost impressed, “Are you some sort of philologist? I could swear these look like saporian writing.”

Philologist!? That has Varian standing up. He’s an alchemist! Though he supposes being called a philologist is better than being called a wizard.

“N-no! These are just… Transcribed from… Somewhere - doesn’t matter. Wait, why do you even care?”

Suspicion makes Varian speak louder than intended, which wakes Ruddiger up, who lets out a long whine. Varian climbs up to his own bed and sits down, petting Ruddiger once he groggily climbs into Varian’s lap. He starts brushing through his fur.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’m just curious”, Andrew says, turning back around to smile at Varian pleasantly, “I am somewhat of an anthropologist myself, and saporian culture is quite near and dear to my heart.”

Oddly enough, the only word Varian thinks of is liar , before wiping it away. It’s one of those gut reactions to the white-toothed smile and easy-going demeanor, but upon closer look, there’s nothing too suspect about the answer. What should he care if the guy is interested in old languages and ancient kingdoms? At least it confirms that Varian was right, when he was trying to translate the scroll months ago - the runes have some connection to ancient saporian. Then again, most dialects in Corona draw some vocabulary from it anyway, some more than others.

They don’t talk about it anymore (or, Varian refuses to converse any longer, instead watching Ruddiger napping while he’s being pet and his fur is untangled and fluffed up by anxious fingers), but Andrew keeps looking at the wall. When the guards bring them food, they look at it, then shrug, muttering something about weird hobbies.

For some reason, that makes Varian think about Old Corona. Alchemy was pretty weird by the standards there too.

 

---

 

It turns out, automaton oil is the lesser of problems left in the aftermath of Varian’s diversion attack. 

He tries not to think a lot about it, because at the time, it had been brilliant, and Varian still thinks that that first part of his plan had been good, had worked - it’s the later phases that he failed spectacularly in executing and that he scribbles about on the wall whenever he manages to chip off pieces of stone. No, creating the automatons is not the part that he has to review, nor is it the part he sees whenever he closes his eyes at night.

If it’s once again on the order of the King and Queen, Varian isn’t told as Stan and Pete come to take him out of the cell maybe a week or so after the first excursion and subsequent graffitting of the cell. It’s earlier in the day this time around, because Andrew is still inside during the retrieval. He leans against the bars as Varian is walked down the not-endless-but-could-be halls of the dungeons, smiling lazily.

“Field trip again, huh? Have fun, kid.”

It sounds like the sort of thing you’d say sarcastically, but with Andrew, it sounds like a normal farewell.

Varian doesn’t reply, but he does wave back, for once not ignoring his cellmate, and does wonder what else they could want him out of the dungeons for. Maybe another inane, mind-numbingly boring problem.

When Varian reaches the main courtyard, it turns out it’s anything but.

The destruction isn’t as immediately obvious as it had been outside of the Throne Room, what with this being a courtyard. It’s not supposed to have much in it anyway. But still, the fact that almost all of the stables are heaps of wood against flattened earth and that there’s rubble everywhere tells Varian something.

Ruddiger is with him again, but Varian wishes, for once, that he’d stayed back in the cell. The scratches on some of the larger pieces of debris tell Varian all he needs to know about who caused the damage - willingly or not.

Ruddiger must remember too. He hides inside of Varian’s shirt and just shakes. When Varian tries to somehow maneuver his handcuffed hands to pat him through the thin fabric, Ruddiger just shakes harder, so Varian swallows and lets him cling.

However, when they reach their destination, the problem this time turns out to be the source of the oil spill in the castle.

It’s a broken shell of a thing, bent metal sheets, split screws and sheared springs. No amount of work could make these pieces reusable, unless Varian took the time to melt it for the metal itself. The closer they get, the better Varian can see inside of the split open chest cavity of his automaton. This must have been one of the first ones he’d built after stealing the flower, because the work is sloppy. Or the last of them, which Varian could barely keep his eyes open to work on.

Whichever its timeline, the imprecise assembly is probably why it still moves; some circuit is still firing, turning the music box drum, slowly, allowing the melody to still ring out.

There’s no one else around the automaton, because barriers have been set to secure a perimeter. Its arm jolts every few seconds, but that’s about the extent of its range of motion. The other arm, as well as both of its legs, are completely destroyed, only bits of shrapnel remaining.

“This…”, Varian starts. He doesn’t know what to say. What to feel. He made this, and like everything he makes, now it lies ruined at his feet. He wonders how many people this invention managed to hurt. It isn’t even one of Varian’s original ideas, just some cheap copy.

Pete elbows Stan until he says:

“It’s risky, here. The black rocks were good for impaling them back in, you know. But even some of those are still sorta, uh… Not fully out of commission. Like this one. We’re scared of even getting close to it in case it. Well. You know. You know . That makes repairs here and in the village a bit harder, ha…”

So it is an inane problem , Varian thinks, dazed.

Varian reaches out his hands, almost touches one of the metal sheets, when suddenly, he’s yanked back, hard.

“Don’t touch that!”, Pete cries out, “What if you start it up again!?”

It’s not fear for Varian’s safety, it’s fear of what Varian will do if he gets even one weapon in his corner. It’d be one too many. The idea hadn’t even occurred to him. Varian wanted to check if the metal was heating up, ‘cause that would mean there is a risk of explosion. If not, then a mechanical malfunction is at fault rather than an electric one.

But that’s what he should have been thinking: how to get himself armed and ready once again.

Instead, for all the smoke that he poured into the castle’s yard the night of the attack, it’s all moved into Varian’s head now. That’s why he can’t think clearly.

Varian says nothing.

“There was some discussion that you’d know how to turn it off, so we shouldn’t risk being reckless, but not. Uh. Well. You can’t just. ‘Cause that’s risky too. So… No touchy”, Pete eventually stumbles through an explanation. At the end, he does a little nod and lets go of Varian. His hand hovers near the hilt of his sword.

Varian must have done a good number on these two, if they’re still so scared.

If only he’d known this was out here…

Then what?

Then he’d have broken out sooner, whether success is guaranteed or not - he would attack, then run back to Old Corona.

(But it's too broken down to-)

And then?

Free his father.

(Get to Old Corona and…)

How?

How?

“I believe I know enough about such machinery to be of some assistance”, says another person, distantly familiar.

Walking past the barricades is the blacksmith, Xavier. He doesn’t look thrilled as he approaches Varian, neither does he seem hostile.

“But you know the ins and outs of it, so I believe you could offer some instructions. Safe disassembly is what we’re going to do, but I won’t get it working again, if I assume that’s what you’re doing”, Xavier warns, getting out some tools from a bag strapped to his hip, others from the pocket in his apron.

Varian doesn’t say anything.

The automaton can’t even start again, with almost all of its limbs unusable. Only the one Varian piloted manually could somewhat move after sustaining such damage, but not the automatic ones.

He doesn’t say that. He doesn’t tell Xavier to just take out the musical motor after peeling back a couple of specific wires and circuits.

He won’t say anything. Why are they asking Varian about how to dispose of his own machines? What, do they expect he’ll want to help, for some reason? The toxic oil was funny enough that Varian decided to speak up, but not this. He’s not that far gone, that desperate.

So. Varian just stares and they all stare back, tired, wary.

They look at me like I’m a monster .

He remembers Rapunzel saving him from the ancient prototype under the castle. He remembers how she’d been looking at him that day.

Varian wishes the automaton could work again, so Varian could bring the whole castle down, leave it rubble and ashes.

If he couldn’t see both Stan and Pete ready to draw their weapons, Varian would do something unwise. Throw dust at them or something and take off. If he knew what came after, maybe. But Ruddiger’s still inside his shirt, still shivering.

Varian doesn’t want to help them, any of them. Why do they expect him to say anything at all? Because he found it funny the first time?

An image starts to emerge.

When it’s clear that Varian’s silence is a statement, Pete and Stan shake their heads in disappointment and drag him back to his cell. He can feel the blacksmith’s eyes burning a hole in his back, but Varian doesn’t care. They… They followed the King too. Why shouldn’t they suffer too? They deserve it. They all deserve it.

Right?

Right.

Varian isn't wrong. Has been too naive in the past, maybe, but he's not stupid. It seems the game didn’t stop when he was defeated in Old Corona, it’s all the same rules as before with some additions.

Fine. Another round it is.

 

---

 

Andrew is finally away for chores by the time Varian’s back in the cell, which gives Varian plenty of time to stare at his wall of scribbles until all meaning bleeds out of the runes and Varian’s vision starts to swim. Even when Ruddiger claws at his boots, Varian just can’t bring himself to break eye contact.

It’s a long time before he shifts, slowly. Then, he lets Ruddiger climb into his arms and brings them both to bed. There’s nothing else to do for now. Varian keeps his back to the marked wall, but his thoughts are still muddy, unable to be sorted through, unlike when he's forced to focus when picking and choosing which ones to write down.

Notes:

This chapter is basically an offering to an old idea where, willingly or not, Varian would have to pay for his crimes by "fixing what he broke" and it would be a slow climb towards redemption, because Varian would be forced to reckon with his own buried guilt (only for a plot twist to go splash in the middle of the story and ruin everything! Haha!), but... Well, that idea turned out to be a bit too convoluted in order to work, so it remains as a failed attempt to rehabilitate the child criminal instead. At least it's an attempt to do something. Better than nothing!
(The sketch was lowkey made during an exam period a while ago where I hadn't drawn in a looong time so it's a little crinkled in vibes, but the image of it in my head was kinda funny, and so I had to U.U)

Chapter 23: A helping hand

Summary:

The King's promise to get Varian help isn't something that can work out on the first try, that's to be expected. It's just that Varian isn't sure what to make of the woman that's supposed to do the actual 'helping', whatever that means. Dealing with an annoying cellmate on top of all of that might be the last straw.

Notes:

Contents: skewed perceptions of the world, Varian being sneaky in the background, one original character, Andrew being Andrew.

Once Varian’s head clears, he goes over the basics again, just to get himself back on track, because he’s lost too much time already.

One: he’s in a cell under the castle. He’s regarded as a criminal for doing what needed to be done, but he doesn't care much for the title. Apparently, in everyone’s opinion, his sentence is lenient - the guards think so, and probably everyone else does too. They’d all rather see Varian gone. Varian kind of agrees, that’s why he’s trying to escape, of course. He should be by his father’s side.

Two: the Captain must have had some sort of hidden agenda with telling Varian that he should be grateful (yeah, he’s so grateful he’s gonna choke on it) for the leniency. Which means that same leniency could be taken away from him at any moment. He must have known. He’d caught Varian right as he was trying to escape, after all, and what better way to keep Varian in line than to make sure Varian traps himself between imaginary walls? Meaning - one chance. He’s got one chance. If he fails, there will be consequences.

Ruddiger sleeps in his arms. Varian looks down at him. It had taken the raccoon a while to fall asleep after he finally got a reaction out of Varian and helped him snap back to reality.

He shouldn’t suffer Varian’s consequences. So, yeah. One chance.

Three: everyone is part of the game and every action has betrayal etched in between the lines. The first visit under the pretense of verifying that some toxic oil was safe to remove was only allowed so Varian would let his guard down. Why shouldn’t he forget himself and offer advice for such a non-problem? The second visit was more honest in its meaning. The broken automaton they asked him about, that had nothing to do with it being risky to everyone else, he can tell. But they wanted Varian to see and they wanted him to give in anyway.

Look at how everything you built has been broken down. You can’t fix it anymore. But why don’t you betray your father too and really make sure it’s destroyed?

Four: Varian has to go back to Old Corona, so he can keep trying to free his father.

That’s Varian’s one promise. He raised an army to bring Dad back. It didn’t work, but Varian would do it all again if he had to. No one else is going to help.

These are some of the few simple truths Varian holds close to his chest as more days pass, though they keep him up at night (or the concept of it; a day is a day, twenty four hours, but night time hasn’t meant much of anything in his darkened lab and it won’t in this sunless cell either). His truths keep him a little more focused, but more importantly they keep him vigilant.

While Varian stews in plans and alternatives and variables and backup plans and backup backup plans, something else must be happening in the castle above, because when Pete and Stan show up for a third time to escort him out, it's with orders from the King and Queen, they say - yes, again .

What now? , Varian thinks to himself, but shakes his head after thoroughly glaring at the Princess’ guard henchmen. Then, he moves, stands up and goes to the cell door, Ruddiger holding onto him. Pete winces and looks away.

“Right. So, uhm. No raccoon allowed for this”, he says, “And there’s a detour first. Just. Let’s just go.”

Varian glares harder. He could refuse, but getting out of the cell only gives him more time to look into how to escape. He puts Ruddiger down. Ruddiger tilts his head to the side in question, but Varian just pets him.

“No, it’s okay. Wait here. I got this, buddy”, Varian tells him.

 

---

 

The detour turns out to be a trip to a washroom. The other prisoners are busy with their own chores or otherwise already back in their cells for the afternoon, so the small building located inside of the prisoners’ yard is bereft of anyone else. Tiled walls, tiled floor, multiple wooden basins and bottles of soap and that’s it. One of the basins has water in it.

Apparently, Varian is supposed to make himself more presentable, or so Stan had said after handing him a set of plain clothes, gray and gray, and another very exciting shade of gray, and gesturing him inside. Varian had tried to hold onto his scowl, but that was harder to do when his whole face was hot with embarrassment. A bath is not something he’s had the time for since escaping the trap that was the Snuggly Duckling (it hurts to think about, so away the thought goes and the locked box in his head rattles), and in Old Corona, he’d only get water from the well for Ruddiger, for his alchemy or sometimes for drinking.

Funny, though, these guys. The handcuffs are still on when the door of the washroom closes.

Why the Princess would want them spying on Varian when Pete and Stan are just… Well, Pete and Stan, he doesn’t know. He knocks on the door. The handcuffs come off, but Varian can tell that the two guards are reluctant to unlock them.

Varian supposes even criminals get to have some level of personal hygiene, though. This is also the first time Varian’s been truly alone since the arrest. No cellmate or other inmates in neighboring cells, no guards (visibly, at least). Not even Ruddiger is here, which is a shame, because Varian thinks the raccoon should have a bath as well. He’s not as dirty as he would be if they were living outside, but they also don't have easy access to any rivers down in the dungeons.

The water is lukewarm - but above ground level, the air itself is much warmer than in the dungeons. It seems to bounce off of white ceramic. Varian washes the grime off of his skin quickly, but winces at the feel of raised skin on his right arm. The scratch still aches dully; on the same arm, he’s got a small scar further up where, a while ago, a crossbow bolt had barely missed him, grazing skin instead.

The soap isn’t very strong and it lacks any sort of fragrance Varian would have given it if it were up to him, but it’s better than just plain water. Varian looks at it with a critical eye and wonders about ingredients. Maybe… He nods to himself and starts feeling along the walls and floor with pruny fingers. He needs some sort of crevice, just a little one.

When he’s done and changed, he knocks on the door of the prison’s washroom and the Princess’ guards make him hand over his old clothes, which dashes any hope Varian had of - reusing the threads, yes. Nothing more emotional than that. Then, he is let out, the handcuffs locked back in place. The sun is starting to set.

Without any other detours on the plan for the day, Varian is surprised to be led to the castle through a side entrance that he wasn’t even aware of.These are hallways he never got to see, not even before the expo, and the final destination is the last Varian would expect himself delivered to on royal orders.

This is the first time Varian’s met one of the castle's physicians, and the second person of the profession that Varian’s met at all. Though, the woman introduces herself as a scholar, first and foremost, and then a doctor of medicine. She’s quite different from the physician in Old Corona.

This one explains:

“I may know how to treat a patient, but my primary work lies in formalities.”

They’re in a small office-like room, just off to the side of the medical wing, which Varian only recognizes as such because of the beds and mats stuffed inside of the main chamber; it lacks the decorations of the rest of the castle, walls plain white, and it’s at capacity. It is harder to recognize the guards and soldiers of Corona out of their armor, but Varian figures that’s who most of the patients are because they keep either their helmets or their weapons on the few bedside tables littered about.

There’s a handful of little offices connected to the medical wing, actually, besides the one he’s been dumped in. In the one he and this doctor are in, Varian’s handcuffs have been chained to the physician’s desk by a little bolt protruding from the wooden surface. Next to the metal loop is a small glass vase, colored in a way Varian’s never seen before, like the pigment was burnt into the glass. Inside the vase, tiny wildflowers. They look freshly picked.

Pete and Stan aren’t in the office itself, but just like before, they’re on the other side of the door, standing guard just in case. But Varian’s too confused about what this is all supposed to mean, so he’s not gonna be making any other moves today.

Instead, he stares at the physician. She’s maybe around Dad’s age, but her hair grayed early. Still, a colorful ribbon follows the braid circling her head, visible under her physician’s hat. She’s dressed in all black, besides the ribbons.

Eventually, he breaks eye contact, frowning at his lap.

“Why am…”, Varian starts.

“You’re here to be evaluated.”

Not very patient, is she? Well…! Two can play at that game!

“Evaluated? For wh- What for? I haven’t done any-”, Varian rushes to say but doesn’t get to finish. The physician shuffles through some papers on her desk.

“It’s not really a test of your character, if that’s what you’re worried about”, she pushes a paper towards Varian.

His own name jumps out at him, somewhere at the top of the page on one side. On the other, there’s definitely a lot more names. Below is a giant block of text. The paper crumbles a little in Varian’s fist as he recognizes it as a report on the attack in Old Corona. The physician snatches the paper back, muttering something about not damaging legal documents.

Then, she leans forward from the other side of the desk, her sharp eyes piercing Varian.

“Mister Varian, I am not a judge, nor a lawyer, but my patients are usually Corona’s prisoners. That is my current niche. Throughout most of my career, I would get to, at most, decide if a sentence could be shortened due to an underlying medical condition that threatened an inmate’s life while in custody. Harrowing work, as you can imagine. Nowadays, I also have to take on certain cases where more assistance is necessary. It would seem higher leadership is going through with supervising their captives’ wellbeing, which is a rather major change. You understand how this may apply to you, don’t you, mister Varian?”

Varian doesn’t, actually.

The doctor notes the silence and points with her chin downwards - where the dungeons would be, if the plan Varian maps in his head holds true.

“Juvenile criminals were not unheard of in the years before Princess Rapunzel’s return. They are not unheard of now. Although, a few changes have come about, supported by both the Princess’ unofficial consort and by the Captain of the Guards”, Varian is trying to follow along, but she’s speaking so formally and he can’t quite keep up, ”His Royal Majesty”, ugh , ”Also approved a new set of laws to allow child perpetrators to be sentenced via special trials with reduced sentences, as well as a system to support reformation after a few successful case studies have shown potential. His Royal Majesty’s council voted in support unanimously”, she finally concludes her tale, then her tone changes to something a little more careful, though no less direct. ”You don’t question what you’re doing in the dungeons proper?”

Varian tries to understand the question.

“Why I’m… In the dungeons?”

“Yes”, she affirms immediately, “Why the dungeons, and not a detention center for child criminals instead.”

“I’m not a child”, he says, clears his throat when it comes out more indignant than planned, “And trust me, I would get out of that cell right now if only I-”

The physician raises a hand to stop him.

“I suggest you don’t incriminate yourself in front of a member of the King’s court, Mister Varian.”

Varian’s hands twist but the cuffs keep them mostly in place.

“Wh-”

“Just a piece of advice.”

“So what do you want from me!?”, he slumps in his chair after the outburst.

“I don’t want anything from you. I am here because your case presents some complications, which is a first since these changes. Possibly even before that; we don’t see children committing treason and attempting triple regicide every day in Corona, after all.”

He opens his mouth, but she interrupts before he can protest.

“Yes, you are fifteen, not a child as you’ve put it, etcetera; I am well aware”, she pats the Old Corona report, one eyebrow raised, ”If this had happened a year later, we might not have had this talk at all”, she continues, “But you are a child delinquent in the eyes of the law right now. Your age and the severity of your crimes are at odds.”

“I thought I was already convicted”, Varian finally sighs. His headache is coming back. He wishes Ruddiger were here.

“You are.”

“Then why are you tellin’ me all this…?”

“Because this is a strange occurrence, you must agree. Not to mention the multiple witness accounts imply that there are other factors to your crimes besides malicious intent. However, your actions are too severe to just let slide and convict you like we would a child. Should either of these factors outweigh the others, I will have to make a note of it.”

“Too young for prison, too evil for not-prison”, he summarizes, trying not to say it like a question.

“Therein, my conundrum. Someone with your crimes on their record wouldn't even stand before me in the past. People used to lose their lives for less.”

Finally, she sits up, and Varian follows her with her eyes as she goes to look outside a tiny window, no larger than a palm across.

“Putting it plainly, there must be a reason why you acted the way you did. Perhaps a… Young man’s idea of destiny and of gaining control over it.”

“That’s nonsense! They know my reasons! She- They all know what they did, I-… Haaa”, Varian protests, then laughs, incredulous.

“And so you believe you are justified”, the physician concludes.

I am , Varian wants to say, but by the look she throws him over her shoulder, that won’t do much. She seems very… Practical, if nothing else.

“Why am I here? Since nothing's actually gonna change”, he asks instead, sounding defeated.

“That’s not a given, but if you’re looking for some sort of grand reason, a boon from an unexpected source… That’s not it. Still, there are some people who believe you’d benefit from help for, as well as supervision towards, your circumstances.”

Varian stares at her, feeling some sort of way. He isn’t sure how to describe it, but man , she’s weird!

“Anyway, today was only meant for introduction, and I am satisfied with our progress on that account”, she crosses the room, knocking on the door. Stan opens it and peers inside.

“Everything alright?”, he asks, scanning the place, then sighing with relief when he sees that Varian hasn’t spontaneously covered the small office in goo while the two guards weren’t looking.

The physician nods, and from somewhere - Varian isn’t sure - she pulls out a smaller slip of paper, which she hands over to the two guards.

“Yes. I’ll schedule another visit to find out more about the subject and see what improvement can be made. Be a sweetheart and give this to the head doctor, will you?”

“Sure, Doc.”

Stan and Pete come inside to unbolt Varian’s handcuffs and retrieve their prisoner. He goes, but struggles when he’s made to stand. He doesn’t know why he does it, but Varian is just so sick of playing nice. It may be the easiest, most rational thing to do until he has a plan he can enact, he knows that, he’s been telling himself that, but just-

Villain, through and through. That’s what he is. They shouldn’t forget that.

He glares at the physician on the way out with all of the hatred he holds in his heart.

Back inside the cell, Andrew is sitting in his bed with a book, which Varian doesn't think they are allowed to have, but he doesn't know anymore. Andrew looks up and smiles by way of greeting and Ruddiger jumps with joy upon seeing Varian. The feeling of his soft fur between his fingers is enough to calm Varian down, and the bruises from struggling so hard he almost caved his head in on the stairs on the way down don’t even hurt yet, so Varian scoops Ruddiger up in his arms and buries his face in his fur too. Dusty. Definitely needs a bath.

Ruddiger must sense some distress, because he chitters, then purrs soothingly when Varian starts to shake. He hopes it’s not too obvious. The door behind him slams shut and locks. Varian thinks he can hear Stan and Pete talking about him as they head back out there, into the real world.

Varian doesn’t realize Andrew is talking until he feels a tap on the shoulder. Varian jumps, nearly dropping Ruddiger, but at the last second, he regains his bearings. Ruddiger still clings, then hisses at Andrew.

“Easy, didn’t mean to scare you. Either of you”, Andrew says quietly, eyes wide. He takes a step back. “You just… You don’t look so good, you know that, kid?”

Varian closes his eyes. He’s tired. He’s exhausted . He hadn’t felt like this while working day in and day out to create an army out of scrap, or before, when evading the masked guards. When he’d been fighting a losing battle against the amber. Not quite like this.

“Whatever”, he promptly buries his face in Ruddiger’s fur again. Maybe he can sneak Ruddiger out for a bath at some point… Just has to be careful. Not waste time and his chance and ruin everything. He can somewhat understand the risk of Ruddiger being used as a pawn in a one-on-one situation, like in the doctor's office, but still. Ruddiger deserves better.

(Varian won't use him again either, not if it risks the raccoon getting hurt, but they don't need to know that.)

“Are you alright?”

Varian almost jumps.

Raising his head, he turns to look at his last cellmate. In the dark, he can’t read the expression Andrew is wearing.

“What do you want ?”, he snaps, tightening his grip on Ruddiger until he hears a squeak. Varian lets go then and Ruddiger climbs up his shirt and curls himself around Varian’s neck.

Andrew leans back against the bunk frame.

“ Are you alright?”, he repeats quietly, and finally, the words register.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

If Andrew visibly reacts to Varian’s harsh tone, Varian doesn’t see it. All he knows is that his own chin is trembling; hopefully, Andrew can’t see him too well either.

“Well. You seem worse and worse by the day. What kind of cellmate would I be if I didn’t inquire? Those guards… They didn’t do anything to ya?” 

Pete and Stan? No. They’re too… Eh, non-violent, Varian supposes. Incompetent, more like.

And of course he’s not doing too well. He’s still stuck in this place, he’s losing his drive, he feels like the walls are going to smack against him any second now with how they close in on him, bit by bit, every single day and-

Varian thinks he’s going to be sick, actually.

He tries to say something, but bile burns at the back of his throat, so he swallows around it instead and just tries to scowl, to frown. Uselessly, in this light. Andrew sighs when the silence stretches on. With a large gesture, he pushes himself away from the bunk bed and from the ladder between the two beds, and Varian takes the opportunity to climb into his own little space. He lays on the mattress, feeling his muscles spasm for a moment, as though he were cold, but he isn’t.

At some point, Andrew must have settled onto his own bed. When he speaks again, the voice comes from below:

“You know, I don’t know how I feel about them bringing a kid into the dungeons.”

Not a kid, is mumbled into Varian’s pillow. He can’t have this talk again today, he really can’t. Ruddiger chitters, though he keeps going tense whenever Andrew speaks.

“Hm. Sure. But still. It’s a dangerous enough place for everyone. What did you do to even get down here?”

Andrew does sound genuinely curious, but shouldn’t Varian be the one asking that? Andrew doesn’t look like the average thug. Nothing like the scary stories the children pass around about intimidating, twelve-feet tall figures with all sorts of weapons hidden in all sorts of places, nor like the guests of the Snuggly Duckling (some of which did resemble a child’s imagination, come to think of it). He doesn’t look the way Varian feels: poisonous with hatred. The twins had seemed violent and Varian is angry, but what about Andrew?

He just looks like some guy.

“Is this some stupid attempt at fraternizing?”, Varian asks in a mocking voice; the trembling makes it sound different.

“Sure. If you don’t make friends in prison, then where else?”

Too bad, Varian isn’t looking for any more friends. He’s surprised when Andrew continues, though:

“You’re pretty suspicious of everything, aren’t you?”

When he chuckles, Varian thinks he understands. This guy’s just looking for someone to laugh at, something to mock.

“Then what the heck are you in here for?”, Varian finally asks. It’s an immature retort, but he wishes Andrew would just let him be. If he’s secretive behind the aloofness, then maybe he’ll drop this whole conversation and Varian can just-

“Treason”, or not , “A sprinkle of espionage. That’s all. Corona just isn’t known for its mercy”, Andrew sighs.

Treason . Ditto, but how does that sound against Varian’s other charges? Kidnapping, assault, attempted regicide… Varian laughs until he can’t anymore, but it’s a quiet thing.

Andrew doesn’t try to talk again and Varian is glad, is enjoying the silence, except now he's thinking again, and not in a productive manner.

( Mercy . This is the conclusion of the mercy he's apparently been granted.)

Everything is playing before Varian’s eyes on loop. He’s backtracking. Every single choice he’s made, Varian looks back on, wondering about what else he could have done to win. The quiet ambiance of the dungeon is almost oppressive now that Andrew has fallen silent, were it not for the occasional snort or clink of chains. What Varian hears above it all, louder, echoing, is voices, but, pretty quickly, he figures these aren’t real people talking together, but rather figments, and there’s-

Pleads, at first. Maybe his own.

Promises.

Orders.

Questions, all the time.

Nothing, in the end. Everything had been so silent after the arrest.

Varian feels like his body melts into the mattress as a simple fact becomes obvious. He tries to cling to the sheets or to Ruddiger’s fur, who’s purring in an attempt at comfort, but Varian’s head is filling back up with fog.

He holds on until he can’t.

Quirin should have never been the one inside of the amber, Varian’s always known that, deep down.

Getting him out, that’s all that was supposed to matter. That’s why Varian waited for so long, even as he felt like time was running out on him. That’s why, when presented with a choice, Varian fought back with everything he had so he could free his father.

Except that’s a lie .

Sinking.

At the end, when it felt like nothing would work, like all other options were crossed out, Varian was just angry. Or did that start earlier? No, maybe he wasn’t really like that and-

No, he is .

I wanted to hurt them .

He does.

But not for Dad. I just wanted to hurt them .

He-

I do .

If his fingers had the strength to, Varian would rip his sheets, would break these walls down, piece by piece. He doesn’t. He wants to let go.

But in Old Corona, home , Dad is still frozen inside of the amber. If Varian sinks, who will pull Dad out? No one else is there to care. Every single person around him has made it pretty clear that a single man is not of importance, but to Varian, he is everything. Everyone else just lies and lies and lies, and maybe Dad did too - will after he’s out, but Quirin doesn’t deserve this. Dad still needs his help.

(Maybe the problem lies with Varian.)

Varian only manages to somewhat calm down, to take a deeper breath, as he repeats this to himself. From this prison cell, it’s harder to reassure himself, to keep his head in working order. As much as looking at his father’s figure inside the amber features in Varian’s nightmares, not being able to see him, to be beside Dad physically… Varian isn’t taking it so well. Not this time. If Varian can’t think clearly, if he keeps reacting like this, feeling like this, if he keeps letting everyone play him, he won’t ever free Quirin. He already failed before, and now he’s here.

So, slowly, Varian gets up.

He checks to see if Ruddiger is asleep, if Andrew is asleep. He doesn’t want to bother Ruddiger, and otherwise, he doesn’t need more distractions in the form of what he’s sure are just underhanded comments.

Instead, it’s back to the wall.

Even without wanting to at first, Varian starts writing formulas, not new ones, not untried solutions, but of two very familiar ingredients.

When it’s done, Varian doesn’t draw the resulting crystal. The image is pretty clear behind closed eyelids, so he doesn’t need it.

Someone approaches from behind.

“Runes and math, huh? You’re pretty smart, kid”, Andrew says, eventually. Varian isn’t sure when the man woke up or why he’s trying to engage Varian in another meaningless conversation. The difference is that, this time, Varian doesn’t have the energy to deflect every line and question and strange turn of phrase.

“No. I keep… Keep messing up”, Varian whispers instead, addressing himself more than he does Andrew, “Can’t get it right. And it’s not…”

Andrew looks at the wall.

“Hm?”

“It’s not math. It’s alchemy…”

“An alchemist? You know, there were rumors going around down here about some guy who was one. The alchemist who almost took over Corona. He supposedly built himself an army”, Andrew says. There’s a question in there, somewhere.

“Hardly an army”, Varian mumbles. The piece of wall he’d been using to write with crumbles in his fist, leaves his palm stinging and red, “And it didn’t even do anything…”

“But that’s still quite impressive, isn’t it? At your age, I wasn’t thinking on that grand a scale”, Andrew says thoughtfully, like he’s reminiscing, then he pats Varian’s shoulder. Varian flinches.

“You- you have no idea what I did!”, Varian says, wanting it to sound menacing, because he won’t let people underestimate him ever again.

It comes out like a whine.

“Maybe not, but… Know what I think, friend? Whoever has the will to stand up to Corona’s tyranny should be celebrated”, Andrew tilts his head back, looks at the ceiling thoughtfully, then extends a hand towards Varian; he helps him stand up when Varian takes it. “I don’t know what pushed you to do what you did - if the rumors are true. But I am sure Corona wasn’t innocent.”

Varian frowns. In the middle of the cell, staring at the man he shares this tiny piece of Hell with, he wonders: who is this guy?

He can’t begin to guess at what the answer looks like. Andrew’s grin is almost palpable in the darkness.

“Am I right?”

A month ago, when he was preparing to attack Corona, Varian would have gladly agreed. A week ago, he would have nodded along and simmered quietly. Now, he just watches, an unnamed weight pressing down on him, slowly crushing him into fine dust particles.

That is enough, Varian , two voices say. You believe you are justified , a new one adds.

Varian glares at nothing in particular, tries to keep up the act.

“I think you’re s-so, so annoying . Leave me alone…”, he stumbles over the words, and that’s embarrassing enough, but it’s more embarrassing when his arms almost give out as he climbs up to his bed. He catches himself, and cuddles back up next to Ruddiger, who barely stirs, moving closer. He’s warm against Varian’s chest. “Leave-.... Leave me alone…”

He doesn’t need Andrew to distract him from his goals. Varian just has to…

I am in a cell under the castle. I’ve gotten myself in this mess. Nobody’s going to help. I have to leave. Why can’t I get out?

And-

I want everyone to pay for what they’ve done.

Except vengeance feels further away than it ever has before. It’s been this way for a while, like all the anger collapsed in on itself after his defeat in Old Corona.

 

---

 

Varian is all over the place the following morning, but slightly better once the emotions have calmed down somewhat. Andrew wakes up to him translating the runes he’s written down on the wall instead of just staring at them aimlessly.

Muttering under his breath, Varian moves his fingers over the rough texture of the stone. He hasn’t managed to break off another piece of stone bricks to aid in his notetaking, but he’s just going over things before he gets another word or letter; seeing what he’s already translated and such things, that’s what Varian’s really doing. Ruddiger yawns, settled in Varian’s lap. He’d woken up and stayed up with Varian sometime after Andrew went back to bed, but now he’s getting sleepy again.

With a sigh, Varian tries to push the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, but this one isn’t as loose around the cuffs as his old shirt and the fabric stops mid forearm. He sighs again.

Though he did hear the sounds of the other prisoner in the cell stirring behind him, Varian doesn’t pay Andrew any mind until he sees something reach past his ear. He dodges instinctively, almost tumbling over, and Ruddiger whines sleepily at being disturbed again. Varian catches his breath and looks back, glaring, until he notices Andrew is holding something out for him. In one hand, he’s got the book he was reading the night before. In the other, a piece of paper, one of its edges ripped a little unevenly.

The exchange is wordless, once Varian realizes that’s what it is. He takes the paper, looks at it. One side only has the title printed on it in bold letters, ‘Tales and Mythos of Ancient Saporia’. The other side is blank.

Varian stares at the paper, not quite understanding the reasoning behind the gesture until he sees Andrew reach into his vest. He holds out a stick of coal wrapped with a ragged piece of cloth and nods at Varian to take that as well.

“I don’t think they’ll miss the one page”, Andrew smiles as Varian stares at the two items, somewhat in shock, “But I don’t reckon they will let you have a notebook down here, huh, kid?”

“Why…”, Varian starts, stops, starts again.

“Take it as an act of goodwill. I think every single one of us should be looking out for our fellows. It’s the only way to make the world a better place”, Andrew says, hand over his heart. He sounds very… Hm, heartfelt isn’t it, but Varian can’t find it in himself to insult the guy right now. Instead, Varian picks Ruddiger up and stands with a grunt.

On his way to a more private corner of the cell, where he can be as far away from Andrew as possible, he murmurs, voice rough:

“Thanks…”

Notes:

After some trial and error, I've come to find that I don't much enjoy creating OCs for fics, mostly because I can never blend them in properly. Alas, I found no suitable alternative for what will end up being a very strange pseudo-therapist for the lad. Looking back, I still had some fun with the doctor character (though I took the more Renaissance view of whatever it is that she sees herself as, aka. working with multitudes. A scholar? A medic? A philosopher? That's between her and God) and that's what matters. I do hope she will provide some necessary annoyance and humor for the oncoming plot! She's... Helpful would be an overstatement, but she does get some things rolling.
As for canonical characters and the shenanigans they engage in... Andrew, huh? He's a fun antagonist in the series, but in the context of being cellmates with Varian, knowing what we know about what will come later... He's a little icky. Alas, I went with a pretty simplistic take on how he and Varian start their season three collab. I think he'd still go for manipulation, but since Varian must be able to deduce that he's not the good guy he portrays himself as (what with the manbun dude being in prison himself), Andrew wouldn't need to go so far with hiding his identity as he did with Cassandra and the crew.
I know that this season rewrite is slower than the previous one, but the pace had to slow down somewhat to allow Varian room for some introspection. The next two chapters will still be pretty character interaction heavy, rather than plot heavy, but after that, things pick up quite a bit! I might be a little afraid of seeing if that part works, but only time will tell!

Chapter 24: Blind spots

Summary:

The next doctor meetings that Varian is forced to attend are about as useful as a slap in the face.

Notes:

Contents: bickering, discussions on crime and morality, implications of death via amber, rising mental anguish.

“You said this wasn’t a test. Then… Is this some… I don’t know. Like. Some sort of intervention?”, Varian asks the second time he’s taken into the medical wing to see the doctor. Or for her to see him.

He’s a bit fuzzy and her office is colder than he remembers. One of his hands rests on the desk, while the other is balled up on his thigh. Varian didn’t mind leaving the coal pencil behind, tucked into one of the crannies between the stones in the floor, barely visible after Varian stepped back to check. The paper he’d filled with two specific sections of notes, one on the scroll’s writing, the other on amber - that , he didn’t think it prudent to leave behind once Pete and Stan showed up, with orders to bring Varian back to ‘Doc’.

So Varian just took it with him, genius that he is.

She looks at him, looks down at his hands, notices the strange positioning of it given the way her eyebrows rise on her forehead minutely… And then promptly ignores it.

“Not as such. I am not really tasked with doing much. Less intervention for now, more a case for supervision, as I explained last time”, Doc replies.

“I can be supervised from inside my cell just fine”, Varian deadpans, sniffling.

“Ah, but you don’t really do much inside the cell anyway. Or say much. The guards inform me that you’re not particularly friendly with your cellmate. A walk up here should do you well, if nothing else”, she says.

Varian does do things inside the cell. Like vandalizing walls, overthinking and trying to take care of Ruddiger. Recently, writing things down again, and not just on the walls. Her eyes flick to his closed fist - and he does talk to Andrew. Sometimes. Mostly with one-word answers.

“And I do something here?”, Varian challenges, instead of reciting his list of activities and incriminating himself further.

“We are talking now. That qualifies as something”, she points out.

He sighs.

“You’re the one doing most of the talking…”

“You have all the opportunity in the world to change that”, she invites him.

“Well, I don’t wanna talk to you ”, Varian is trying to be cold and threatening, but with his fuzziness and with the physician’s own refusal to be swayed by a few threats (so long as they don’t imply treason or pending escape plans, which she seems to find amusing, but won't let escalate) or by sarcastic remarks is getting to him.

“How unfortunate that I am the only person present in this room”, she rests her chin in her hand, and from this angle, the ridiculous doctor’s hat obscures, like, a good third of her face, “But feel free to address Old Lady Crowley’s plumbagos if you’d prefer.”

Even the flower vase seems to taunt him. Varian glares at it for good measure. The ridiculousness of the action registers a second later and he pulls back, cheeks pink. The flowers aren’t what matters in this situation!

Varian’s still not sure what the hidden purpose of these visits is. They didn’t bring Varian out again to help with cleaning up the damage caused by his attack after the automaton debacle, but the same strategy of rebelling by non-compliance won’t stop him from being dragged out of the dungeons to see Doc.

“Can’t you just tell me why I’m here? Clearly? Without-”, Varian coughs, then inconspicuously swallows around the lump in his throat, “Without speaking in riddles?”

Doc shrugs, but she indulges him.

“As stated previously, Princess Rapunzel was in support of getting you help, then the King ordered it as well, vague as that is. I’ve worked with prisoners before in that regard. It’s not unheard of for documentation in the aftermath of very troublesome conflicts. If you’d like to know my personal motivations, I just want to know why you did what you did. How does a scientific mind like yours resort to something as baseless as betrayal and revenge? I could understand some rebellion, but the extent of your methods is more interesting to me than the end result by itself.”

“I-I didn’t actually think you’d answer that”, Varian blinks a few times, struggling to focus, like he’s looking at her through frosted glass.

“I don’t hold onto secrets very well, not most of the time”, she says, then brings out the paper she’d shown him last time as well. The same account of the same attack, only this time, Varian’s had enough time to grow curious about what it actually says. With his free hand, he brings the document closer to himself and starts reading after the physician nods at him.

The report is a lot more sparse on details than expected. It lists the number of guards, civilians and other castle inhabitants, as well as the members of the Royal Family involved in going after Varian. It has a rough timeline in the middle. There’s locations named, as well as a conclusion to the attack.

Somehow, Varian expected more. It’s somewhat honest, but that's because it recounts only the battle itself, not the wider conflict. He can’t stop reading the last paragraph, though, over and over again. He’s seeing the words, but for some reason, he seems to understand them less and less with each reread.

Twenty three casualties are reported in Old Corona (see document 7866.7 for the attack on the castle), most with minor injuries.

This is document 7866.9. The paragraph doesn’t stop there.

Two of the victims sustained moderate injuries and had to be treated for bruising and possible rib injuries. However, her Majesty’s, Queen Arianna of Corona, and the Lady Cassandra’s recoveries are going well. Lady Cassandra was involved in active combat while Her Majesty had been brought to the area of conflict by force. The attack ended with the defeat and arrest of the perpetrator. A punishment is yet to be decided.

It must have been written right after the attack, but before Varian was thrown into the second cell. His punishment has been decided, in the meantime. Too lenient , or so he keeps hearing.

“Well?”, Doc asks eventually.

Varian raises his head slowly, says:

“Huh?”

“Why did you rebel against your entire kingdom and its King? You did mention it last time too - your reasons, or at least that you had them.”

No one really asks for Varian’s motives. It’s rather obvious with the people concerned, the Princess knows what she did, the King too. Everyone else just follows their lead mindlessly.

Now, Andrew had seemed rather unhappy with Corona as a whole, and Doc just sounds curious, like she’d mentioned. These have been the exceptions so far.

Varian doesn’t cross his arms, movement limited by the handcuffs, but he does scoff, looking away.

“I’ve already told everyone my reasons on the night of the attack”, Varian laughs, “And they were scared by it! By the truth! How messed up is that?”

The physician hums and motions with her hand.

“Well, if you mean the little speech you gave before the fog set in…”, Varian nods, almost, almost excited, and she continues, “...That was too vague. And that's something, coming from me.”

What!?

Doc shrugs.

“If it helps, it’s a bit more understandable these days, with the infamous ‘growth coming for you’ present on the island. I suppose that part of the speech was accurate”, the doctor explains.

Varian reels. If he weren’t handcuffed to her desk, he might have fallen over.

“They’re here?”, he asks, because last Varian checked, they’d been about to reach the bridge between island and mainland. “ Here here? A-at the castle?”

“They?”

“The- The rocks! The black rocks!”, he stares wide-eyed at the physician, then shakes his head, except the motion only makes him nauseous so he stops, “The growth…”

“ Oh . Well, yes. Black rocks isn’t a very good name, I think. Also too vague.”

Varian looks away. In his defense, Varian is not a geologist. Has some knowledge about it from trying to analyze the rocks first and trying to break the amber after? Sure, but only from whatever books they had in the house. What does he know about naming science-defying rock formations? The books Varian looked through don't mention anything about that!

Though, Dad did always say that they could make a fortune with all the books collecting dust in the house after Varian’s mother left. Later, when he was old enough to read,Varian had protested vehemently, we can't sell, in-for-ma-tion is important, Daddy! What if I need it later? Now, he just falls quiet.

The physician looks at him.

“The news about the villages that were overtaken before have spread as well”, she says evenly. Varian looks up. “Old Corona was amongst the first to be evacuated, as well as the most affected. Why didn’t you leave with your village?”

He avoids her gaze.

“Who cares?”, Varian says, trying not to think of the why to her question; unsurprisingly, he fails. He wouldn't be one of the people who left Dad behind. “The important thing is, your King hid it from you. He let people get hurt just because he wants to keep things from his little girl!”, now the anger kicks back in, and it’s familiar; it’s comforting, ”She had a right to know and Old Corona shouldn’t have suffered ‘cuz he was being a stubborn-!”

“Language”, she warns.

“AGH! I don’t-”, Varian heaves a breath, but not enough air follows it, so he tries again, “I don’t care about it! I can insult the guy as much as I want-”

“Well, yes, but it would be seen as yet another act of treason.”

“-since he let everything get this bad, he kept secrets, he hunted me down because I-I wasn’t gonna just go along with it! He-”

“Mister Varian, please calm down-”

“People were hurt because of him !”

The chair does fall over. Varian stands, breathing hard, hunched over because the chain doesn’t allow him to get any further.

The physician’s calm is wiped clean off her face. She seems a little older as she stares at him, mouth open for a moment before she finds her voice. When she does, there’s pity in her eyes and Varian hates it.

“Did someone close to you get hurt because of these rocks? Because King Frederic didn't get involved sooner?”

Her question is simple, but she's not looking for the simple answer.

Yes .

She must have information on Quirin. She's bargaining for an explanation.

Yes. My father is trapped because of the King.

But it’s not true, Varian thinks to himself, lungs burning, eyes burning, fire surrounding him, the flames cutting out every other sound. Still, he feels cold.

It’s not my fault , a part of Varian whimpers. But…

No.

He thinks about her again. Varian remembers how weak she'd looked after he used her hair in the drill - like she was hurt - but he should be thinking about the Princess betraying him, about her reluctance when she turned him away, about her apprehension when Varian came for her after she ignored him.

But Varian can't imagine her in those moments anymore, he's so sick of thinking about them.

You don't have to be angry anymore .

What else is he supposed to be? Even when it stops being comfortable, when it stops feeling right, what else makes sense?

Dad didn’t get hurt.

Varian hurt him. Varian , not the King. The King let it happen, the King didn’t help - no one did - but Varian created the amber, Varian failed to convince Rapunzel during the blizzard, Varian let the King know about the graphtyc, Varian got himself and Ruddiger pursued by guards. He made the plans, stole the flower, attacked the castle.

Varian grinds his teeth until he's sure that they're just a tablespoon of dust in his mouth, then something that's been building up inside his ribcage, between sinews and flesh, spills forward.

 

---

 

He isn’t sure about how the rest of the meeting went, but Varian opens his eyes to near complete darkness. He’s on his feet, barely a step away from the cell door. Today, the handcuffs have remained in place even on this side of the bars. Ruddiger is pawing at his legs, but Varian shakes his head before he does anything.

“It’s”, he whispers, hoarsely, then manages to kneel down; Ruddiger paws at his face too, minding his claws, “It’s okay, Rud. How long did…”

Ruddiger doesn’t get to chirp an answer, because Andrew speaks up instead:

“They brought you back here like that, but it’s not dinnertime just yet, so maybe an hour? Two? You were already standing there when I came back, so that’s the best guess I can make.”

Andrew is sat on his own bed, reading again, one arm cushioning his head. What Varian can see of his face under the flickering torch light from outside of the cell is furrowed brows and a downturned mouth, but his eyes…

Varian shivers, fully sits down on the floor and lets Ruddiger check him over, even though he’s fine. He’s perfectly fine. He must have just… His feelings just got the better of him. His arms ache because the guards had to drag Varian back down here by force.

He sniffles again. The inside of his skull feels like it's being slow-cooked to mush, but Varian’s had similar moments before. He's lost a lot of time, but what gets to him is how much he let slip past his defenses around the physician.

Doc explained that she’s tasked with helping him in some way, or at least documenting Varian’s case, but Varian finds that he doesn’t want to talk about anything anymore, doesn't want to answer her prying questions. It’s easier to get angry and wake up in his cell.

But then Varian remembers his notes and his eyes widen.

In his fists, there’s nothing. He looks around himself with jerky motions of his head, but that makes him almost fall over.

“Where is-”, he whispers to himself. Ruddiger joins in on the search, though he looks a little confused. What are they looking for? Varian’s plans. The page! Oh no…

No, no, it must still be around here, Varian’s just got to keep looking-

In his frenzy, Varian doesn’t notice Andrew getting up until he’s standing right before him, towering over Varian.

“Lost something?”, he asks quietly, “I can help you look”, then, a small smile, like he really wouldn’t mind. His eyes are still sharp but Varian doesn’t care.

“M-my notes, I…”, Varian doesn’t really curse, but he does now, under his breath, “Just- I lost the paper you gave me, I thought… I didn’t wanna leave it here, just in case, you know? But I lost it now…”

He sounds apologetic even to his own ears, but to see some version of the physician’s pity reflected back at him on Andrew’s face again makes Varian bristle; it’s better when that’s replaced by something more nonchalant. Andrew laughs.

“Aw, don’t worry, kid. Oh”, he frowns briefly, “Unless you had any sort of plans for doing something against the rules drawn up on there. That might put you in a little spot of trouble.”

He doesn’t ask, but Varian shakes his head at the implications.

“No, just on the scroll and the amber… But it was…”, Varian hesitates, “It was nice of you, and now I just lost it. Damn it…”, he says, eyes closed. He tries to hug himself, but the handcuffs don’t allow it, so he lets Ruddiger cuddle up to him. Andrew takes one step closer to them and the raccoon tenses. Varian tries to soothe him, gently rubbing his fluffed up back.

“I told you, I don’t think they’ll miss one page. I won’t either”, Andrew reassures him, crouching down to look into Varian’s eyes. He seems understanding.

“But, shouldn’t you-”

“Now, I assume the scroll has something to do with-”, Andrew gestures at the wall, “But what of this amber?”

Varian looks away. He does not want to even think about Dad again right now, can’t bear doing even that much, let alone talking about the amber situation.

Andrew takes his silence as an answer.

“Touchy subject, huh?”

As much as Andrew annoys him on a regular basis, that he’s kinda trying to deescalate the situation right now is nice, so Varian doesn’t give him any snark or any angry remarks. He just looks at the man.

“It was good to be able to write things down again”, Varian whispers, “I can’t… I can’t think clearly anymore… But that helped”, he confesses, head hung. Ruddiger nuzzles at his neck and Andrew keeps looking, listening.

“Still, it’s not something to fret over so much, you know?”, he says.

“But I need to be able to think.”

“Then”, Andrew looks at the book he abandoned on his bed, “Since I am allowed to borrow more reading material, maybe I can be of some assistance.”

A smile grows on Andrew’s face. Ruddiger and Varian both narrow their eyes at him.

“And wh-what’s in it for you?”

“Nothing”, Andrew stands up to his full height again, his shadow stretching over this particular corner of the cell, “I’m just trying to help someone in need. It’s the right thing to do, and I do so value my morals.”

Varian doesn’t find the answer rational. No one helps him, or so has been the case for so long before today. Why is everyone scrambling now ?

But he is desperate. He needs to have some progress behind him once he escapes. He’ll run out of walls soon enough, but a few pages missing their frontispiece or title page might go unnoticed for a while longer and would lend Varian some secrecy.

He nods. He nods again, stands up, dragging Ruddiger along, and in a moment of trying to make sure things are balanced, being fully aware that promises and acts of good will mean nothing in the long run, Varian extends a hand as best as he can, given the chain’s limited length.

“Then I owe you a favor”, Varian hesitates only for a moment, until his resolve hardens, “Andrew.”

“How noble. Know what, friend? I’ll take you up on that offer”, Andrew smiles.

He shakes Varian’s hand.

 

---

 

They hide the ripped pages underneath the bunk beds, inside the bedding, as they get ahold of them slowly, one by one, but sometimes multiple at a time, when Andrew manages to get his hands on more books at once. The mattresses are filled with old scraps of cloth and dried hay (or, drier than what the first cell had, at least), and it’s pretty easy to rip an even slit amongst the seams with Ruddiger’s help. The hiding spot is invisible to Varian, and he knows it’s there, so it should be alright. The pencil fares well enough in between floor slabs, so Varian chooses to keep it there when not in use.

“It’s not… It doesn’t look suspicious. Right?”, Varian asks, wringing his hands. His skin itches; he’s never worn the handcuffs for this long. They leave behind these tender, raw patches

Andrew looks at the cell critically.

“Mh, no, not unless you act suspicious”, he concludes with a smile.

Varian purses his lips.

Later, after Andrew’s been let out for the day, Varian turns to Ruddiger and mumbles:

“I don’t act suspicious. Do I…?”

Ruddiger chitters.

“I don’t”, Varian concludes.

The conclusion is wrong, because when it’s Varian’s turn to leave the cell days later (the cuffs come off for a little while finally, because there is another bath - every few outings there is one, or so Varian’s gathered; he’s still thinking of convincing Pete and Stan that he can bring Ruddiger along and nothing bad will happen by Varian’s standards - the raccoon also deserves bath rights), the doctor doesn’t show him official documents, and there’s just the tiniest of smiles on her face as she pushes a rumpled ball of paper Varian’s way.

His own writing jumps out at him and he glares at Doc.

“Luckily for you, I can make some sense of all… This”, she says, abandoning the stoicism for some held back laughter, “Anyone else would have found it rather suspicious.”

“Wh-”, Varian’s shoulders tense, “Hey! Give it back! That’s not yours!”

He knows he sounds childish, but he can’t help it. Andrew may have fixed the momentary panic that Varian had wallowed in when he first realized he’d lost his notes from prison, but Varian is very attached to his research.

“I don’t intend to keep it, don’t worry”, Doc finally sighs and sits down on her own chair on the other side of the desk. Varian tries to lean back further into his, but a combination of nerves and the chains don’t allow it fully. There’s a quiet moment between them, during which Varian looks around in an attempt to get himself together. He notices that the vase on Doc’s desk is entirely new.

“What happened to the old one?”, Varian asks quietly.

Doc shrugs, but the brim of her hat covers her eyes.

“Decided to redecorate. Anyway. Here, catch.”

She tosses him the paper. It’s badly crumpled, but still legible when Varian opens it up with the limited movement of his hands and peers down at it. It’s… 

Blurry. He squints at the paper, but it only gets blurrier.

Varian doesn’t realize Doc is speaking to him until she snaps her fingers in front of his face. He slowly blinks up at her.

“...Wha…?”, Varian, using all of his brain power, asks. Her face is blurry too, but as he keeps trying to focus, he does finally manage to distinguish between some of her features. The physician is frowning, aha!

“Are you alright, mister Varian?”

“Of course”, he lies.

She doesn’t look like she believes him, but chooses not to comment on it.

“It’s a shame that you didn’t use all those brains for something else”, she says after a long break, “Your methodology is a bit rough, but I assume that’s because you’re working too fast. You jump steps.”

“Rough? I'll have you know I-”

“But… This amber of yours…”

That makes Varian stop. The second time someone uninvolved asks him about the amber doesn't feel any less visceral than when Andrew did. Varian didn’t fully realize what it meant, that she’d read through his notes, but it sinks in now. He gulps. It didn’t go well the last time she brought up Dad, though she probably doesn’t know that it’s connected to the amber. Intrinsically too, at this point. He can’t think of Dad anymore without thinking of the rocks, of the accident, just like he can’t think of this castle without seeing the deceivingly smiling faces inhabiting it.

Luckily, Varian doesn’t lose his mind completely this time. He does jump, but when he doesn’t start acting out beyond that, Doc takes it as a good sign and carefully continues:

“The details in your folder are barebones at best. What is that about, mister Varian? You seemed… Obsessive about it in your writings”, she asks, but she sounds like she can already guess at some of the answers.

Andrew took his silence as an answer, but Doc doesn't seem like the type to not dig in a little further.

Varian opens his mouth, fully intent on telling her it’s personal, and anyway, none of your business, so, ha!

But… If he talks now, if he gives her something, maybe she'll drop it.

What comes out is a sharp gasp at the way pain lances up his chest, through his neck: it makes him stumble over the answer. No other sound comes out for a while. His throat tickles when he clears it.

“I… I…”, alright, last attempt, c’mon… It’s just a question . Or so Varian tells himself. After all, he’d been eager to defend his reasons for turning his back on everyone to Corona’s royals back in his lab, why would doing so be any more difficult in front of a castle physician that’s documenting his case? Probably because he keeps losing it whenever it's brought up. Using a giant automaton to charge against the Princess is probably categorised as losing it. Oh. “The amber is…”

Start. Stop. Start. Stop.

Varian feels the pressure of her gaze weigh down on him. He hooks his fingers into each other until the joints pop, leaving them loose and wiggly, then Varian wrings his hands.

“The amber was a mistake”, he says evenly, but it comes out quieter than Varian intended, “I was trying to… It. Well. It doesn’t matter anymore. It reacted with the rocks unexpectedly. D- My father pushed me out of the way and got caught up in it. He was trapped and no one is trying to help him.”

The physician nods. At least she doesn’t have that awful, pitiful look on her face again. She just looks curious. Varian wonders how intentional that is, and has to sigh at the way his thoughts jump to wandering if she’s just using a different tactic for some sort of larger game. Maybe it’s not that complicated. Even if it is, Varian is tired. He brings his lax hands up together and clumsily rubs at his eyes, but the itching behind his eyelids remains.

Varian exhales slowly.

“Yes, I had heard something about your father’s status from less official sources, but this… Hm. I had assumed you’d be placed in an orphanage or taken in by one of the others in your community, but that was not the case, obvi-”

Varian’s eye twitches and he whips his head up fast enough that his neck aches.

“Orphanage?”, he narrows his eyes. 

(Aaand, there goes Varian, losing it.)

Doc blinks.

“Yes. State housing for orphaned children.”

“I know what an orphanage is!”

Doc tilts her head back in thought, then looks at Varian again. Ohhh, he does not like that doubt on her face, not one bit!

“I am not an orphan!”, Varian clarifies, angrily, shoulders hunched and nose scrunched up with his glare.

“But, the amber…”, the doctor tries.

“Yes, I-I did do that, but Dad will be back once I manage to-”

“Apologies, but just from your notes… This”, she pauses before she finds the word, “ Creation of yours. It does seem like a bit of an impasse. I think it’s noble to look for a way to release your father anyway, but…”

Varian’s glare hardens.

“What are you tryin’ to say here, actually? Huh?”

Still no pity, but the physician’s expression looks carefully guarded.

“Did you know that the King sent some of the castle’s own scientists over to inspect the situation in Old Corona?”

And that… That, Varian did not expect. The poor paper gets crumpled even worse in the aftermath of Varian’s shock.

The King? The King? The one who didn’t even care, just a few short months ago (or half a year? Less? More?), or the same King Frederic that tried to hide the advancing rocks from his own people, not to mention his daughter? That King!?

Varian thinks either Doc’s lost it too or his hearing’s gotten messed up, because that can’t be right.

He looks at the physician like she’s grown a second head. Then, suddenly, Varian bursts out laughing.

He laughs so hard his belly hurts, and by the end, tears are dripping down his chin and his throat aches something terrible; way worse than the tickling pins and needles from before. Eventually, it quiets down into disbelieving chuckles as Varian wipes at his face with jerky motions.

“How ridiculous… Good joke though, Doc!”

“I do know”, Doc says, sighs, “I know that your trust in his Majesty isn’t particularly high, but it is true. I’ve no reason to lie about this.”

Maybe, but people have lied to him just ‘cause before. Still, he indulges her. He’s grinning, but he holds back the last of the giggles and cackling.

“Finally decided to look into the black rocks, huh… Gee, Freddy’s royal invitation must have gotten lost in the mail or something!”, Varian leans back in his chair as much as the chains allow and stares at the ceiling. It's as white and pristine as the rest of Doc’s office, with the exception of the new flowers in the new vase on the desk. “S’pose the cat was already out of the bag. Why not look into it now… It’s too late anyway.”

It was already too late by the time Varian was testing the chemicals that birthed the amber, maybe way before that as well. King Frederic had told the Princess to stay away from the rocks before they even breached Corona’s inner wall.

Varian doesn’t feel like laughing anymore.

“And…?”, he whispers.

“Pardon?”

“Did they… What’d they find? About the rocks…”

Doc looks out her tiny window. It’s all getting blurry again as Varian looks back at her.

“I told you last time that you had been correct, about the rocks reaching us. They did. Then they stopped. And… In Old Corona… They seem to be retreating. It's a bit of a gradual thing.”

That snaps Varian’s attention fully back into the conversation. He doesn’t care if she’s looking to be sneaky in extracting information out of him; if this is the only way Varian can find out what’s happening out there, he’ll take it.

“R-retreating? By themselves?”

The doctor nods.

“As soon as her Highness, the Princess, left the inner lands of Corona”, and that confirms that she is, indeed, gone; Varian was right, “It seems the rocks started retreating, following after her. I don’t like to believe in fairytales either, mister Varian, as a scientist, but if whatever is influencing those spikes has some sort of mind of its own… I reckon it is following the Princess now, leading her somewhere. Creating a path for her. It has no reason to stick around here any further. Maybe it's a curse, but… Whatever damage was done in the search for her must have come to an end”, the physician says, obviously with some glaring question marks in her own answers, because she doesn’t know all the facts. Not even Varian does, but he knows a little more than that.

He says, subdued despite his earlier grim humor:

“Not a curse, she… She’s connected to them.”

“You said she could fix them before.”

“...I did?”

“In your speech. Vaguely, again, but yes, you did.”

Varian forgot about it. A lot of the details evade him now. He didn’t realize just how many of them, though. Varian has to think of a way to pull the conversation away from the Princess before Doc asks more about her, about how they’re connected, how Varian knows (about the time Varian saw her control the rocks, even though she never even tried to use that sort of power for his father’s benefit, not even once ).

“These men that the King sent”, he starts, hesitating a little, “What’d they say about the amber? That’s why you brought it up. Not just because of my notes… They ‘inspected’ it too”, Varian guesses.

“The spikes are retreating”, she repeats and Varian nods, “But the ones encased in the amber your father was found in, as well as the amber itself, remain unchanged. Mister Varian, the reason I asked why you held this particular perspective on your father’s current state…”

Maybe bringing the subject back here wasn’t such a smart idea after all.

Maybe I need to hear it anyway, whatever it is.

“We have no signs of life, no reason to believe that Quirin of Old Corona is still recoverable from within the crystal. It’s like… Stasis, everything about it. Completely and utterly unchanged.”

“There’s no signs he’s dead either”, Varian says (she's not that subtle, really), tasting metal when the words leave his mouth, “I looked”, he confesses, so softly. He doesn’t even want to admit it to himself, let alone someone else, that he had entertained that sort of doubt even for a second before locking it away.

But even if Varian forgets details about his schemes and plans and everything he’s said and done, he doesn’t forget the hours he spent watching the amber, looking for any sort of change. Completely and utterly unchanged . Not rotting, not drying out, not even changing color due to a lack of oxygen, that’s been the only thing Varian’s can cling to.

The alternative keeps rattling in his head, but that box that has to stay locked.

She blinks slowly.

“Mister Varian, I think grief is one of the few universal experiences we all share as people in this world. Trust me, I know it as well, and I know the pitfalls of letting it control you instead of the other way around. There's a life beyond this loss, and for you , the chance to turn to that instead is still there. To seek something a little grander than momentary violence. Maybe to hang onto something a little more ignorant than… This. Once you start down this path…”

“Don’t you think you’re kind of late with this little nugget of wisdom?”, Varian’s eyes travel down to his handcuffs,”A-and why are you telling me all this nonsense?”, because Quirin isn’t missing or lost or dead , he’s right there . In Old Corona. In the amber. In the walls. In the made bed and the room Varian messed up. In the rubble of the house. In the shadowy corners of Varian’s cell.

“Intention means a lot more than you know. Your intention to do good initially. His Majesty’s wish to fix things despite his prior inaction. Don't just do things mindlessly. Look at the larger picture. If. If your father can be freed, be aware of the costs it took to get him back.”

“I don’t care about that. How many more times do I need to say it?”, Varian looks up at Doc, mouth twisting around the words, “I will do whatever it takes to set him free.”

“Fine. I suppose I can’t judge you for your conviction.”

There’s nothing more they can discuss today, so Doc stands up and starts heading for the door, but she stops when she’s just across from Varian. She reaches out, freezes at his flinch; she only pats his shoulder when he eases somewhat.

It's unexpected after so long, the gentle touch.

“Just be mindful”, are her last words to him.

She moves back and knocks on her door, letting Stan and Pete inside of her office.

Varian is quiet and not acting out this time, so they finally remove the cuffs for good, or until his next outing. Pete and Stan wince at how the skin has reddened and flaked off - it hadn’t been so obvious before, when they took them off for his bath, but the newly formed scabs aren’t very pretty. Pete says something about bringing some salve down here. Stan agrees. They don’t shove him into the cell, but that’s mostly because Varian drags his lagging body inside all by himself.

He doesn’t feel like himself. He doesn’t feel like anything. He climbs into bed and brings his legs up to his chest.

Varian waits there, unmoved until Ruddiger curls up on his knees, until he manages to climb a little higher, pawing at Varian’s face, nuzzling their noses together and making some sort of soft cooing noise. Varian leans into the touch, but he just doesn’t have the energy for more than that.

He waits while they bring dinner, which he doesn’t eat for a long while.

He even waits when Andrew returns, much later than usual, arms piled high with more books.

Varian sniffles and sits Ruddiger on the bed because the raccoon and Andrew don’t get along very well and he looks at his cellmate. They wait until the guard that escorted Andrew is out of earshot.

“A heftier batch this time. Shall we get started?”, Andrew asks.

Varian hides a wince and takes some of the books from the pile. He almost goes down with them. He did not expect them to be this heavy.

“Oof”, he settles for just one, opening it up and hesitating before he rips the title page out. Then, more quietly, Varian tries to be a bit nicer. “Thanks… Again.”

Andrew shakes his head with a laugh, putting the books they’ve already gone through aside.

“Don’t even mention it, kid”, he says. Varian thinks there’s some different undertone to the response, but since Varian can’t really figure it out, he decides to just continue ripping all the blank pages he can find. The little stack they’re hiding away grows a little larger.

They make small talk while going through the books, but at some point - Varian isn’t even really thinking about it - he says:

“It’s not like my usual notes, but way better than nothing. Or a wall, I guess… Yeah, way better than a wall”, he snorts, then sniffles again. It’s pretty humid down here.

Varian scribbles something down, having moved on to filling some of these newly acquired pages. He’s looking at the formula for the amber again. It basically sprouted up out of his fingertips all by itself. Somewhere on his bed, near a Ruddiger who’s finally decided to stop glaring daggers at Andrew and is instead lounging about, is the paper the physician returned to him.

“Even these small things”, Andrew points at something, probably Varian’s calculations. They are rather mundane. Rough , the doctor said. “Matter down here. You know? You said they help you think.”

They do.

“How do you even get to have all these books? I’m pretty sure we’re both supposed to be, I dunno… Watched more closely in these parts of the dungeons? Where the dangerous people go? Doesn't seem like the sort of place to encourage reading time”, Varian asks instead of commenting on Andrew’s statement.

“Aw, I don’t look that dangerous, do I?”, Andrew laughs, “And anyway, I’m on my best behaviour”, he holds his hand over his heart like he so often does, “You can make friends in even the most unlikely places if you truly open yourself up to it. Life can be kind if we know to appreciate it.”

“Friends, huh…? So you’re manipulating the guards.”

“That is such a negative way to put it... But I am hoping to roam free again one day, free to live my life and to keep the memory of Saporia alive”, Andrew says.

“I don’t get your obsession with Saporia”, Varian comments.

“It’s because I, myself, am saporian. Just like my father before me, and his father before that and-”

Enough with the father talk (and damn, Doc really messed with Varian's head if he’s squirming at the mere mention, at the word even). Varian interrupts:

“You really think they would… Uh. Um”, Varian clears his throat, “Are they ever going to free us? From down here ?”

Well, it’s not like Varian plans to be contained forever, whichever way the cookie crumbles, but still. He’s heard enough impossible things today. Who knows, at this point?

Andrew thinks, then his expression shifts into something more troubled.

“Well, I only tried to steal a book, which”, he looks down at their work before stuffing more pages under his mattress, “I can work on that, given what we’ve got going on now. But you, kid… I’m assuming stealing the flower is a little different, hm?”

“You know about that?”

Andrew shrugs.

“Prison rumors. Again”

He doesn’t give a definitive no on Varian’s prospects for release, but Varian isn’t dumb. Or he shouldn’t be dumb enough to hold hope for anything besides his Dad’s eventual freedom, no matter what the physician says. But he can’t ignore the implications of Andrew’s answers.

When he coughs again, Varian thinks that maybe he’s coming down with something, because why wouldn't everything go badly for him?

Andrew stands up with a sigh and stretches after some more ripping and sorting of pages while Varian scribbles stuff down. He seems ready to turn in for the night, his vest neatly folded at the foot of his bed, but Varian isn’t done with today, so he keeps going, expanding on the formulas he’s already got.

On and on he goes.

Varian’s written about the amber compound for hours now, regurgitating everything he knows, that he has known since before the blizzard, just in case he missed something, but he still can’t think clearly, even as he writes his way around the knots and jumbled lines of thought. He keeps thinking about his larger goal.

He wants to prove them all wrong, though Varian supposes that’s not new at all. Doc, the King, heck, even the guards, all the people of his village and the citizens of Corona. He wants to show them that he can fix his mistake and that, see? Dad is just fine. I ju- He just needed some help, that’s all .

He’s spent countless hours writing on the cell wall before, but this time, he tinkers in the quiet of night and starts taking out pieces of the bed that the twins had been using. Since the metal of the bed frames are built into the walls, they can’t be taken out of the cell when not in use that easily. It’s not the smartest design. Still, it gives Varian something to work with, insignificant parts, things that won’t make the beds sag or move strangely, things that no one would notice: nails, small bits of wood, more cloth and other types of stuffing, a few metal coils. Just some basics.

Varian doesn’t build anything with them, but he keeps this new inventory hidden in his own mattress for now, already thinking about his next visit to the washroom, so he can keep his supplies in one place. They don't make for a comfy bed now though, despite the opportunities these new materials might provide in the not-now future. It’s strange that he hasn’t thought of it before. He’s been alone in the cell plenty of times, heck, he’s looked around for things to use during most of those occasions. He must really not be in his right mind, if Varian still misses the obvious this badly. Hasn’t he learned his lesson about paying attention ?

He holds himself, squeezing - maybe he’ll squeeze the nervous energy right out!

(It doesn’t work.)

When he closes his eyes, Varian isn’t greeted by the horrifyingly familiar view of his father being eaten alive by the amber, or of trees whipping past him as he runs through the forest. This isn’t even a nightmare. He just dreams about glowing ink and apples and chameleons and cleaning supplies and his childhood adventure books. It’s a weird amalgam of a life neatly tucked behind the line written down as before in his mind.

It hurts in a different way than dreaming about Dad does.

 

---

 

Notes:

Hello repetitive scenes to show the passage of time. Because of the restrictions of a prison settings, we have. A lot of dialogue. These guys are rambling almost as much as I usually am.
Also, if Shorty can be named Shorty, I shall hang onto the 'Doc' nickname for as long as I can because naming characters is. A. Pain! She is not a very optimistic character, but she has retired clown energy to me.
Now onto above mentioned ramblings-
I don't think I have much to say about the canon sources for this episode, because plot is minimal, but there is this idea of Freddy doing... Something. Or maybe that's wishful thinking? It's not an aspect I go into much detail about (given the limitations of Varian's perspective), but I'd have honestly loved to see a glimpse of some redemption for King Frederic in the second season of the show. Maybe not even strictly in relation to the alchemist menace, but at least for the black rocks - he has this little speech before the Old Corona battle that seems to be a prologue to that sort of arc of fixing what he ignored and helping the people who were hurt in the process (as your King, your friend, your brother, or something like that). That would do wonders in reinforcing the show's image of him as a flawed good guy instead of showing us the (really) bad parts of him, then leaving us hanging for a whole season, and when Rapunzel & Co. finally return to Corona, the King and Queen already lost their memories and we don't know if ol' Freddy did try to fix things, even if it might have happened. And after he's got his memories back, none of this is brought up again, raghhhhh 🙃

Also, is what happens with the black rocks after Rapunzel leaves ever mentioned or shown? I just can't remember. They're not there anymore at the start of season three (at least in Old Corona, when they're doing reparations and keeping an eye out for prowling wolves), but I think I missed it if there was some explanation in the episodes themselves. But maybe they start retreating after finding the flower... Or perhaps they could start retreating after the opal is taken?? I am unsure, but I once again went with the simplest answer.

Chapter 25: Gesundheit

Summary:

Varian falls ill, but he's trying not to let it get to him.

Notes:

Contents: a cold and its symptoms, indirect grief, Andrew being icky in the background.

Varian wakes up with the lumpy, old pillow sticking to his face. It’s damp with sweat and snot and whatever else, but he can't care about appearances much when his bones feel as though they’re poking out through his skin like needles, or maybe wooden stakes, and his brain feels like it’s on fire after a night of inventing. He’s sure he’s not done that in a while, Dad doesn’t like it when he loses sleep over that, after all.

He groans. There’s a questioning chirp from behind Varian, then something nudges him in the ribs. Varian almost complains that he wants to sleep in today, to tell his father that he’ll be up soon, just not right now, when he recognizes Ruddiger by the way he sniffs at Varian’s ear until it tickles.

It takes monumental effort to raise his arm and hold up the blanket so Ruddiger can crawl underneath it. While Varian’s brain is melting out of his ears, everything else is quite cold, and the shivering makes him feel uncomfortable, dizzy. But at least Ruddiger is warm in his arms. Varian snuggles closer, chasing the warmth and groaning softly.

Trying his hardest to not feel anything, Varian doesn’t hear the calls of his name until a hand tries to nudge his shoulder, but he just groans more. When that doesn’t work, Dad pulls a corner of the blanket away, leaving his back to raise up in goosebumps at the cold air brushing against it. Only it’s not Dad and Varian isn’t in Old Corona.

Pooling all his strength into the movement, Varian manages to flip onto his back, meeting Andrew’s eyes with a glazed over frown. Ruddiger pouts at the disturbance, burrowing himself deeper into Varian’s shaking frame.

“D-do you mind…?”

“Er… Hm. You don’t look so good, friend. What’s up?”, Andrew asks instead, although he does let Varian have his blanket back.

“Fine. Am fine”, he says forcefully, past the shivers. Trying to curl up more only makes the shivering worse. It’s awful, how uncontrollable it feels. Varian’s always hated being sick.

“No. You’ve come down with something, haven’t you?”, Andrew calls him out, but Varian doesn’t care to counter that. He just minds his business and goes on with his shivering. “We should ask the guards to bring one of the medics down here.”

But at Andrew’s conclusion, Varian almost jumps out of bed, startling both his cellmate and his raccoon.

“No! No, I-”, the cold is immediately obvious, and Varian picks at the edges of his blanket, wrapping himself in it even in this standing position, but it’s not enough. “Just leave me alone. I don’t… Please.”

He’s trying to speak clearly, but only incoherent mumbling comes out. Still, Andrew must get the message, because he backs off, climbs down the bunk ladder to his own bed. Except he comes back, clutching another blanket; his own. He offers it to Varian, who vehemently wants to refuse, it’s not even that bad, what’s with the pity party? But Ruddiger refrains on a growl and just snatches it up himself, draping it around Varian as best as he can.

“Listen, I’ll have to leave for my chores soon, but rest up, yeah?”

It’s a kind gesture, he supposes, but Varian’s way too tired for more than an appreciative nod in response. Still, out of sheer stubbornness, he remains upright until Andrew is taken out of the cell like every other day. Then, he basically collapses back into bed. With a hiss, Varian readjusts himself, because having some of the metal coils digging into his back from underneath the bedding isn’t very comfy.

However, the pain also kickstarts more of this awful nausea that Varian has a much harder time ignoring than the cold and the aching.

Luckily, now that Andrew is also gone, there’s no one around for Varian to have to explain himself to, so he can just rot in peace. Except, Varian thinks to himself, there’s still more stuff that needs doing .

Varian could be doing something, anything, right about now!

But he tries to sit up again and just deflates like a balloon that's met one too many needles (that is, one; one is too many). Alright then, he'll stay seated for another moment, and then it's back to work.

Ruddiger chitters a question in his direction and Varian looks down at where he’s curled up on Varian’s chest, over the two blankets, tail swishing slowly, nose twitching.

“I’m… I’m alright, Rud”, he sniffles, and it makes his whole face ache, “Just a cold. I don’t know if you can catch it from me though. M-mmmaybe you should stay a lil’ further away?”, he adds and tries scooting back a bit, but Ruddiger protests this with a series of tail swipes against Varian’s ribs, “Sorry”, Varian laughs at the featherlight attacks.

They both settle back down.

Eventually, Varian starts rambling again:

“This is terrible. We have got to make progress on getting out of here, buddy.”

Well, he croaks, mostly, because his voice cracks on every other word. Ruddiger rubs his cheek against Varian’s chest.

“Don’t you wanna get out?”

Ruddiger squeaks at that, but it almost sounds like a yes , so Varian takes it. He pulls both blankets a bit closer, tucking them under his chin. It’s still cold.

“Ugh. But I don’t think we’re getting out of here without… I don’t know, doing it by force?”, Varian says eventually, trying to fill the silence, hoping it distracts him from how much everything aches. He’s always hated being sick, sure, but usually Dad would be there and it'd be less awful than this. Obviously, that’s not possible right now, unless…

Varian. If I follow the rocks, if I figure out the mystery behind them, behind my hair… I’m sure I will be able to find a way to free your-

Well, no. She won’t.

But why did the physician also mention King Frederic sending people to check on the amber? Why now, but not before?

Varian closes his eyes. Even his eyelids hurt. They feel all hot and swollen, like when he’d spend too much time working on some plans by candlelight. Maybe he should/could do that, actually…

“Buddy, can you help me a little…?”

Ruddiger’s head shoots up, looking at Varian intensely. Varian frowns at the hesitation, then he remembers the serum and he tries to not feel anything about it, but where his hands are buried in Ruddiger’s fur, he gentles his hold and just tries to comb through the strands. Some of them are more knotted together than Varian likes, so he hopes it doesn’t hurt. When Ruddiger relaxes, Varian elaborates, asking if he can bring some of the papers hidden inside of the bottom bunk bed.

Then, he’s off and back again before Varian can even blink. His perception of the world right now is rather sluggish. Varian can’t remember the last time he was this sick, but with the papers in hand, some of them fully blank, some of them peppered with a few words for the title right in the middle, he sifts through them until he finds his own handwriting on a rumpled note. He’ll go chronologically. After one more shaky request, Ruddiger finds the coal pencil as well.

Varian doesn’t look at the compounds for the amber or at the runes, beyond correcting a crooked line after a cursory glance at the larger copy on the wall. On the other side of the page, Varian starts anew. Just ideas, a few compounds as warm up, a smoke bomb at the very least, because soap ingredients are rather limiting, then he moves on and it's just sketches for contraptions, small ones first - maybe a little device that can pick locks for him - then more worthwhile concepts: hammers, more drills, diggers, then those devolve back into alchemical starter solutions, not the same ones he’s used to create the amber, not even ones created using whatever he's managed to stash away already, but rather, more acids, more solvents, anything, really. Then even those start fading into little notes, until the coal tip is more blunt and Varian’s hands are covered in dust. It’s hard to write anything while laying down, but Ruddiger makes for a pretty alright table, although he does yawn and stretch periodically, leading to a few more crooked letters here and there.

In the end, there's no meaningful progress. But what progress did Varian make, even before his cold? Or, really, before prison? Back then, he was trying to get to the Princess, to get her help, and briefly, even the King’s help. All of his efforts didn’t do anything against the amber. They won’t do anything against it now either.

Varian can’t help but think about what Doc said. He doesn’t even think she was trying to get to him like this, maybe she even had - not good, but maybe neutral - intentions, but- No. 

No. 

Varian can’t think like that. 

Dad is alive and he will get him out.

…

But Varian can’t . He doesn’t have anything else he can try. The Princess is just lying to him again, but who the heck even knows why? Whatever she finds on her journey, she won’t start caring now. Quirin won't suddenly become her priority. The King sent his men to investigate, but what will they see that Varian didn’t? And why does he care now?

The blunt end of the pencil digs into the paper hard enough that Ruddiger yelps.

“I-I”, Varian shudders, “S-sorry, Ruddiger. I didn’t realize…”

Embarrassingly, his throat is closing up and he doesn’t think it’s because of the cold.

“I’m just- Just lost, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Ruddiger pushes past the paper, tries to come closer, to comfort him, but Varian just keeps thinking and thinking and thinking.

Thing is, Varian’s been stuck like this before. It’s basically been a constant! This desperation that won’t lead anywhere isn’t new! But it feels different this time.

“It’s all useless”, Varian whispers. He doesn’t want to ask himself if it was always useless. Thinking like this already feels like betrayal.

Varian throws all the papers in his lap and the pencil across the room and buries his face in his hands.

Since being in prison, Varian’s had his moments. Some almost tears and some actual tears have slipped past whatever defenses he’s built, but he hasn’t outright sobbed like this, not even when they made him get into the cart and took him away from Dad. He hasn’t cried like this since he asked Rapunzel for help and she turned him away. Since he saw the amber after it had finished its terrible evolution. Since he found Ruddiger after the guards discovered their camp in the woods. After that?

(It's the cold, right? That's why he's being irrational.)

After Varian sent his lamp and gave up the scroll to the one person that deserved to see it (or so he thought, at the time)? There just wasn’t time for something like this.

Now, it’s like Varian’s just come home again - tripped and fell through time - shut the door on the terrible blizzard howling outside, only to find his father already gone; dead or not, Doc was right. Maybe there's nothing else Varian can do. A soft nose presses against the fingers covering Varian’s face. He just shakes his head, tries to take a deeper breath, but his lungs force it all out again immediately. He just can’t handle this anymore. Varian should be better than this, but he isn't. Every single day he spends down here, he takes another leap back, he keeps losing, despite how hard he’s trying to continue fighting against the forces pushing him away from his goal. It’s all slipping away from Varian and there’s nothing to break his fall.

 

---

 

The hysteria fades, but only after a long time.

Andrew is late again, and dinner is served before he is brought back to the cell. Varian is weaker than he was when he woke up this morning, but eventually, he manages to stand up. He and Ruddiger go to pick up the food - soup and bread again - under the watchful eye of the guard that brought it.

Strange. They don’t usually linger. This one does; he even looks at Varian as he picks up the bowl with two small loaves of bread dipped into the soup as opposed to the usual servings, leaving the other bowl and the water cups next to the door. The guard holds out a bright red apple between the bars, which Ruddiger snatches up with a triumphant squeak.

Before Varian can go back to bed, the guard says something. But Varian’s head is stuffed with cotton so he turns his head and meets the guard’s eyes until he repeats himself.

“Do you”, the guard clears his throat, and his voice sounds way more familiar now that Varian is really listening, “Do you need to see a doctor? You look a little green, to be honest.”

It’s Pete. Varian vehemently shakes his head. This little number almost knocks him out, but he steadies himself against a wall before that can happen.

“O-kaaay, I suppose. Uhm, enjoy your meal?”, and then Pete leaves.

It’s possibly the strangest interaction they’ve had, cookie incident notwithstanding. But Varian’s cried himself out of damns to give earlier, so he shrugs.

Now, Dad wouldn’t be happy about Varian eating in bed, like he’s been doing since the arrest, but he always made an exception when Varian was sick. On those occasions, he’d bring Varian soup as well. He doesn’t feel like eating right now, so he makes Ruddiger eat. Varian goes back to the cups just to give himself something to do and downs his water in one go instead. Anything else, he’ll probably puke right back out. Ruddiger tries to rip into one of their loaves and hand him little pieces, but Varian just lays down on his side with his back to him and shakes his head. Ruddiger gives up after a few more attempts and sits at behind him. Back come the blankets.

Eventually, Varian falls asleep.

 

---

 

“You really need a doctor. If this gets worse… Well”, Andrew states. Blah, blah, blah , he keeps saying.

Varian blinks up at him. The voice woke him up, but it’s weird, because Varian’s also sprawled out on the floor, tangled up in the two blankets, and Ruddiger is running around in a panic. These are things that should have woken him up too. He doesn’t remember falling. He just shakes his head again. Staying riiight here sounds way more agreeable to him and his spinning head. No doctor needed.

Whatever face Andrew is making, Varian’s having an even harder time seeing things past the mist that’s firmly settled itself over his eyes. And he feels worse than he did when he first woke up too. What a day!

“You’re shaking, and I’m pretty sure you have a fever. Don’t be stubborn about this, kid. You won’t be able to do anything if you’re sick…”, Andrew mutters, voice going in and out.

Varian shakes his head and the rest of him follows along. They'll have to drag him out kicking and screaming. Varian and his cold are doing just fine, thank you .

“Fine. Fine . Have it your way, but… At least let’s get you off of the floor”, Andrew clicks his tongue before settling for a compromise. He helps Varian up, but Varian barely feels anything beyond the cold, so when he’s sat down on something soft, he just accepts it.

“Wh-where’s-”, Varian tries, “Wher-where’s Ruddi-”

Then, a small, wriggling form is also placed in his arms. Varian sighs, holds it close.

“Did you even eat anything?”

Varian closes his eyes. Maybe he can sleep more, and when he wakes up, he won’t feel even worse. He’ll only feel bad emotionally!

“Varian.”

Darn.

“N-no…”, Varian admits, voice rough.

“Well, you won’t get any better like this”, Ruddiger is still on his lap, but something else is placed in his hands. It’s gone lukewarm, although Varian can swear it was warm when Pete brought it in twenty seconds ago. “At least drink the broth, yeah?”

“You’re d-doing it a-ag-again”, Varian says.

“What would it be, kid?”

“You’re annoying m-me. You can’t do that, it's mean. I’m”, Varian has to think hard to find the words and to speak them past chattering teeth, “I’m sick, s-so you can’t.”

“Interesting philosophy. Unfortunately, eat your soup.”

Just to shut Andrew up, Varian brings the spoon to his lips, manages a few mouthfuls of nothing but broth before he gives up. Keeping it down is the harder part. He’s not had a cold this bad in years. Decades, even. Centuries . Maybe it's overdue, with how Varian’s been pushing himself since last Winter. Being in jail for it makes it suck even more

Andrew puts the bowl on the floor before Varian drops it. He doesn’t sit down on his own bed because Varian is sitting on it instead.

“Only Corona would let its prisoners end up in such a state”, Andrew sounds disappointed.

Varian pulls Ruddiger closer. He’s not sure what this has to do with Corona.

“It’s inhumane”, Andrew continues.

“Maybe it’s what I deserve”, Varian mumbles. Could be true, too. After how often Varian’s failed? Maybe… Maybe he also went to some extremes, only to not get anything for it in the end. Maybe escape is just another extreme. He should just stay right here - and without soup - just here, in this cell.

Varian looks down at Ruddiger, then at Andrew’s blurry form.

He tries not to think like that. He shouldn’t . What does that say about his loyalties, after all, about what he stands for? But everything is just so hard. This line of thought feels familiar.

Andrew doesn’t disagree. Instead, he says:

“Maybe. Maybe not. But the point stands; Corona is a barbaric country.”

Varian frowns.

“That’s not… That’s not true…?”

“Why else would you rebel against it?”

Because, back then, he saw it as the only way forward. Or, no. He did want revenge. He hadn’t thought that far along when the Queen asked him what he was going to do after freeing Quirin, but the need for revenge had definitely already been there.

Retribution for himself isn’t quite the same as righting a wrong.

“I d-did it for me”, Varian wants to think it’s more complicated than that, wants to argue with himself, that he was justified, but it’s all muddied up in his head. Maybe he’s just looking for excuses. Clinging, but for what?

“Hm. But still. You regret it, don’t you? Corona - its King and its people - they sure don't regret what they’ve done against you since you were thrown down here.”

Does he? The last part of Andrew’s statement flies over his head, although Doc said the King sent his men to Old Corona. How is that to be reconciled with what Andrew is saying? And…

Does Varian regret it?

If he did it for his father, no.

Did he?

Right at the end, wasn’t he just angry? If the Queen had asked what Varian wanted to do after the drill failed again… Varian had just wanted to hurt Rapunzel for letting this happen, and the King too.

But it’s Varian’s fault that it all started. Not the rocks, but the amber. The thing that took Dad away, the thing he’s been fighting against, right? It's unforgivable, so Varian must be remorseless too.

Quirun didn't get hurt. Varian hurt his Dad.

If he did it all for his father, Varian wouldn’t regret it. At this point, though, Varian isn’t sure why he did it, why he attacked everyone around him, why he went so far. All the remaining anger buried in his heart can't make the reasoning Varian followed before as appealing as it used to be. It just doesn't make sense like it did then.

“-kid? Can you hear me? If it’s this bad, I still think maybe we should-”

“I just wanna go home. I wanna forg-forget about this”, he’s crying again, and even if it’s not as bad as his earlier fit, ugh . Hasn’t Varian cried enough already? “I don’t wanna see a doctor . They’re awf-ful. Ha.”

It’s not like he knows that many of them, he just wants to be mean, maybe get the attention off of him so Varian can claw the tears off of his face, press the heels of his palms into his eyes and take a bunch of deep breaths until he calms down. Although the stuffy nose sure wouldn't help with trying to breathe through this amalgam of emotions.

“I see you cannot be reasoned with”, Andrew says with a sigh. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the bed frame; he just sounds annoyed and Varian doesn’t really know why.

The tremors are starting to subside, though. Varian still clings to how warm Ruddiger is, but his muscles relax a little and breathing comes more easily. He closes his eyes. He’ll just stay here a little while longer, then he’ll climb back up to his own bed, and maybe… Maybe it’s a superficial cold, after all, and it’ll go away quickly. What Varian needs right now is to think about something else so he doesn’t start bawling again like a little kid. He’s embarrassed himself enough today as it is.

“H-how long have you been down here?”, Varian whispers his change of subject.

Andrew takes a second to consider the question and hums.

“Not so long, friend. Not so long at all. It’ll be maybe a year next month.”

A year sounds infinite to Varian. He bites the bullet and asks, words still a little clunky:

“And what time is it now…?”

“Summer’s coming to an end, but I don’t know the precise date.”

Awful . Awful, awful, awful, how much time Varian has already lost.

Varian chuckles humorlessly, hugging what is eighty percent raccoon and twenty percent blankets closer to himself. It’ll be a year since he’s met the Princess soon. A year since the rocks appeared and since he found Ruddiger. It’ll be endless. It feels like it’s been endless.

He doesn’t say anything else. Varian stands up slowly. When he almost trips over the blankets, Andrew tries to catch him, but Varian regains his balance and keeps his distance. It's all too… Maybe he shouldn’t have asked anything.

He goes to bed in his own space, reaches fingers into the mattress and toys with a few rusty coils, checking what limited elasticity they retain.

“That’s good night then. Your food is by the foot of the bed if you want it later. Though”, Andrew pauses, deep in thought for a moment, “When the weather gets colder, if you still have these sick episodes, you really should consider getting medical attention. If Corona weren’t so monstrous, this could have all been avoided in the first place, but…”

The rest of what he mumbles, Varian doesn’t catch, lost as he is in his own little world. Luckily, his brain’s too hazy for any more clear thinking to be done. He just thinks about how, underground, if they're far down enough, the outside weather won't affect the temperature of the cell much.

 

---

 

At least Varian’s hopes aren’t for naught. After another two days and nights of waking up and struggling to fall asleep and eating like he’s rationing his food the way he did when he was in hiding, but more because he can’t stomach much, Varian’s cold starts to fade.

He’s sure he would have been glad, but all of the physical exhaustion and the mental strain have taken their toll on how happy Varian can be about things getting better. Ruddiger is cheery enough. Varian still thinks he needs a bath; they both do.

When Pete and Stan show up after some more time has passed, enough that Varian is more or less back to himself, he insists that he take Ruddiger with him so he can be washed as well. It’s not like there isn’t enough space in the washroom, since they always take him when it’s empty. So goes the first and last argument Varian makes. The rest of his response is staring blankly at the pair of royal guards, but it’s clear he won’t take no for an answer, and after a whispered argument between the two, they finally, reluctantly agree.

Today, Andrew has no chores, so he saw Varian gather his little inventory and stuff it in his shirt, but he doesn’t tell the guards. Instead, he smiles like Varian convincing Pete and Stan to let Varian take Ruddiger out is some sort of victory. Varian thinks it’s whatever.

Same dark dungeon halls, same flickering torchlight against damp rock, same countless stairs leading up to the real world. But it’s been a while since the weirdness in the beginning of Varian’s sentence, since Ruddiger got to leave the cell, so he looks excited at least.

By this point, Varian’s starting to memorize his way around, and it’s not even with malicious intent. Maybe it should be part of a larger plan, but in truth, it’s just the repetition. He holds onto Ruddiger and goes along willingly, thinking that he may get to bring Ruddiger with him more often if he does as he’s told. Not the most pleasant strategy, but that’s not what matters.

They’re a bit early today, and a group made up entirely of women is leaving the washroom, flanked by more guards, hands in cuffs, just like Varian. He thinks he even recognizes some faces. Must have seen them on the posters inside the Snuggly Duckling.

When Stan takes off Varian’s own handcuffs, eyes moving between the raccoon clinging to his neck and Varian’s blank expression, he says:

“You better not be up to something with that raccoon fiend, you hear me!”

He sounds more apprehensive than he does threatening, to be honest.

“Sure, sure.”

“I- Uh. Okay. That’s good. Glad that’s settled.”

And, after Pete hands Varian a small bottle of a salve they mentioned before, for your wrists , with clear instructions to bring the bottle back and not do any of his ‘magic’ with it, back into the small building Varian goes.

He’s not going to escape right away, if that’s what the Princess’ assigned guards are worried about, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do anything. They just… They don't need to know about that.

Ruddiger sits there, on the sun-warmed tiles, watching him until he understands what Varian is up to. Then he pouts, in his own raccoonish way. Varian noticed when he was first brought here, how loose one of the floor tiles was,and he’s been hoarding whatever he can get his hands on ever since. It seems no one took note of a few bottles of soap going missing, so they’re not going to notice that the little crevice also holds the pieces Varian swiped off of the twins’ old bunks. Or that he pours a little salve inside another empty recipient. It smells like dry smoke and burnt tar. Must be a lot more potent than the soaps, that’s for sure.

“Don’t look at me like that”, Varian says, frowning Ruddiger’s way when he's done, “I’m not… I won’t. It’s just precaution, I guess. Like back home, under the floorboards?”

At that, Ruddiger approaches him and rubs his face into Varian’s thigh. After, Varian places the tile back in its original position.

“Right”, he stands slowly, “Let’s get you clean first, okay buddy? At least you’ll have time to dry that way.”

Despite Ruddiger’s grumblings, he isn’t as difficult as he used to get back in Old Corona, so Varian takes this as the true win of the day. Varian also uses the opportunity to check him over, looking for any marks or blemishes that the dirt and grime could have been hiding - nothing besides the scar on his tail. Varian looks at his own arms, at the scratch that has started drying out and growing significantly smaller, and at the older scar from before. His wrists still sting a little from the prolonged handcuffs. All in all, things could be worse for both of them, considering the circumstances.

Varian dries Ruddiger up with a towel and, while he washes himself, he lets him nap in a sunspot. It’s probably not as appealing with the opaque glass letting in less light than the normal type, but Ruddiger looks cozy enough, all fluffed up and sleepy.

The salve does calm the stinging of his wrists, Varian finds out after he's done.

He knocks on the door, and, surprisingly, both him and Ruddiger are taken towards the infirmary. They did let Ruddiger join him when he went to look at damages around the castle, but Varian thought this would seem more risky, since there’s no one in the room with him and Doc whenever they talk. A raccoon would tilt the scales too much, perhaps?

Ruddiger hisses at Doc when she first greets them, which, given how he’s been with Andrew, doesn’t surprise Varian. It does surprise Varian when he quiets down almost instantly as soon as she gives him a cracker from a drawer in her desk.

It doesn’t even look that tasty. Varian raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the both of them, but it is silly. He almost smiles. A bit of humor should do him well, if this talk will go as well as the last one did. She must be getting all sorts of fun details to write in the documentation for his case.

“You know, most of our inmates would take illness as an opportunity to spend a night outside of the dungeons”, she says. Why does it sound like an accusation? Varian sighs.

“Whatever.”

The physician - also a doctor, a fact she reminds Varian of pointedly - apparently doesn’t appreciate the risk of untreated disease down in the dungeons. She doesn’t seem to care about Varian’s upkept appearances and shattered walls; he’s been blasé about many things since getting better - this is no exception. Varian just lets her talk. She’s not the type to blabber uselessly, he remembers from their first meeting, but Doc seems vehement now, and c’mon, he did get better, didn't he?

“-not like he didn’t tell me anyway, we all know Pete’s a yapper, but truly, if this secret-keeping of yours is some sort of rebellion, it’s not very practic-”

Varian looks directly into her eyes. She must see just how little he cares about matters of protocol right now. There’s only one thing he wants to ask her, really.

“Did… Do you know anything else about Old Corona? About my father. Th-the amber…? Did anything else happen in the meantime?”, hating how he can’t speak as coldly and eloquently as he daydreams, Varian pushes his question through anyway. Delivery can wait.

“Ah. Yes and no.”

Doc sighs. She gives Ruddiger another treat and takes one herself when Varian refuses the offer. Then, she elaborates.

“I do have some information about the King’s affairs, but not any of the specific details, since I am not involved directly”, she says smoothly, “I believe that the testing done on the substance hasn’t revealed… Well, anything. That’s all. No precise answers yet, I’m afraid.”

“I guessed as much”, Varian confesses. Then, he closes his eyes.

“ But… ”

Varian had expected the lack of news to be the end of their conversation - besides his cold, what else is there to document? It’s like she said - Varian doesn’t do much. Or doesn’t do anything that anyone else should know about.

“You will be called up to the castle soon. That might enlighten you more.”

“What, to look at oil spills again? How does that help?”, Varian scoffs. Ruddiger’s ears perk up, his whiskers twitching at what he hears; he must be thinking about stealing more muffins if they go through the castle proper again, but he seems satisfied when Doc hands him an entire, paper wrapped packet of crackers instead. For now.

“No.”

And with that wonderfully extensive explanation, because she's a vague hypocrite, the meeting ends. She doesn’t give Pete and Stan a note, but she nods meaningfully. Varian glares at them, but there’s no heat behind his expression. Varian is kind of taking things as they come at him, but he’s still holding onto whatever remains of his reputation. Being the dreaded Alchemist sounds way better than just a failure of a son and a defeated villain.

Nothing happens this time around. They just take Varian and Ruddiger back to the cell, just in time for dinner.

To appease his annoying cellmate and his raccoon, Varian eats with them, but after, despite doing even less than on the first few days down here, Varian’s wiped, so he climbs into bed.

Still, his eyes are wide open. The stone ceiling has a very subtle arch to it, not quite the artful vaulted ceilings in the castle, but still curving up. Since he isn’t asleep and since he refuses any conversation, barely acknowledging Ruddiger who curls up against his side, he can’t be too mad when Andrew fills the silence by reading aloud from his latest book.

Maybe it’s one of the books they’ve already gone through. Whatever.

But Andrew reads about the older legends of Corona, of Saporia too, back before the unification, and he sounds passionate enough. Then he moves onto accounts from those times. A history book, then , Varian concludes.

He listens along while keeping his eyes on the ceiling, trying not to think about anything. His imagination is a pretty scary place right now, but maybe Doc was right. If he’s going to be called up to the castle soon, that might give him some answers.

Notes:

*Types title* Behold, my great skills with the German language!
This chapter has a pretty simple plotline. It's not based on anything specific presented in the show - maybe only on the possible consequences of working at the breakneck speed Varian seems follow - but it is a little bit of a turning point.
Next chapter should be pretty interesting in terms of what I can reference from the adventures being shown in the show throughout season two!!

Chapter 26: Postal services of Corona

Summary:

Visiting the castle infirmary to give Doc gossip material is something Varian has gotten used to as of late, but he shouldn't forget that bringing an inmate up to the castle isn't exactly standard procedure. Things are never 'standard' when Varian is involved, however, and isn't this entire thing a little suspicious?

Notes:

Contents: another royal audience, letters, lawn redecoration.

The day Doc warned him about, when they decide to take Varian up to the castle proper, begins a little… Strangely.

Alongside Pete and Stan are the other guards with their non-armor uniforms in white, red and gold, and they’re as stoic as last time, only Varian knows they’re not down here to help him this time. In fact, even Ruddiger recognizes them and bravely stands in front of Varian and hisses at them after they approach his boy. That doesn’t stop the commencement of operation ‘get inmate out of cell, and pronto. King’s orders!’, but it’s a nice gesture.

Additionally to the handcuffs, there’s ankle chains and the new-old guards hold onto Varian by his shoulders and arms while the old-new-old pair of Pete and Stan turn to walk ahead of the group. It’s a good thing Pete and Stan vouch for Ruddiger, because he seems anxious now, and it’d probably be worse if he was left alone in the cell. In Varian’s mind, there is the question of what could possibly be so important, of what’s so different this time, but he tries to bury his curiosity underneath another layer of apathy.

Dungeon halls, stairs, courtyard(s) - they pass through the main yard again, where the damaged carcass of Varian’s automaton is still plain to see; it’s somewhat masked by plant overgrowth, but otherwise forming a perimeter that none of the guards dare enter. It doesn’t move anymore, but just as Varian walks by it, he hears the quiet tune very slowly, very quietly, still humming on inside of it - then it’s castle halls, and finally, with its purple draperies and banners and shiny floors and expensive carpets: the Throne Room. More expensive are the King and Queen sat upon their thrones. More obvious, however, is the absence on the third chair, because in the Princess’ place is just her crown set up on a soft pillow. All around them, guards, but no castle staff and no other citizens of Corona.

Must be a private-ish affair, then.

Were it a run-of-the-mill audience, Varian thinks it would be easy to disappear in the crowd. It might not be impossible to do it now either, with how distracted the armored guards seem, whispering about other tasks they need to get done before some delivery or another. But no. Varian isn’t planning to escape today. He’s got more pieces he needs to set out on the board before he can make a proper move in that direction.

Looking at all the shiny swords and halberds and the readied crossbows, Varian does make the executive decision to put Ruddiger down. He doesn’t want Ruddiger any closer to the thrones if something happens. He stays where Varian places him, by Pete and Stan, near the main doors, and after a very meaningful look, Varian hopes Ruddiger knows what he should do if things go south - meaning, run. Absolutely, run.

“Move it, inmate”, a guard behind Varian says, and he feels the poke of a weapon at his back. Ruddiger growls quietly, but stays put. All eyes are on Varian now.

He does move, but slowly, or at least as slow as the guards will allow. It’s not like Varian doesn’t have his own doubts about what’s supposed to happen. The physician had been calm when she told him he might end up here, and then she’d told him no more about it. But she often seems calm, so that doesn't tell Varian much.

When he’s close enough to be able to tell what expressions the two royals are wearing, he thinks about just glaring at them. Maybe acting out. But it wouldn’t do anything. He just wants this to be done and over with so he can go back to… Sulking? Planning in vain? At least Varian’s not as scared as he thought he would be.

So Varian doesn’t do anything but walk forward until he’s forced to kneel with a push from behind. With his hands and feet restrained, it’s not kneeling as much as it’s stumbling and falling down, a few degrees away from faceplanting into the carpet. He swears he hears a faint guffaw, and doesn’t that almost break Varian out of his distant state of mind? But silence falls right after and the tension keeps him playing along.

“Varian of Old Corona”, oh, c’mon, not the advisor again , “You are hereby invited and admitted into an audience with his Majesty, King Frederic of Corona, and her Majesty, Queen Arianna of Corona.”

It’s so formal, but at least it probably means this is official and he won’t be arrested again for not playing along with some more of ol’ Freddy's nonsense. Probably. Maybe. He had enjoyed the bravery. Right up until his name was called, at least.

“You are here as both one of the involved parties we are to discuss today, as well as a witness.”

Witness?

If he’s supposed to say something to that, Varian doesn’t know. He just lays there on his knees, the hands of the guards clasped tight around his arms, making sure he stays down.

But there’s movement in front of him and nothing is stopping Varian from simply looking up in his confusion, so he does.

King Frederic cuts an imposing figure where he now stands. There’s nothing but ice in his eyes, but Varian blinks and it’s gone. The Queen just watches for now.

“I assume you know some of the operations currently ongoing in Old Corona”, King Frederic says carefully. It’s more hesitant than Varian remembers the King sounding at any other point during their handful of interactions.

Varian isn’t sure how much the physician was supposed to tell him, but he nods. The King makes a sign with his hand. Someone else steps up from some shadowy corner of the throne room, dressed a lot like Nigel is.

The farce of an audience commences when this new man, the head of the castle’s scientists - and one of the members of the royal council, apparently - recounts what he and his colleagues have found while exploring the black rock infestation in Old Corona, how they might be less of a threat now that they have started descending back into the earth. All the things Doc already said.

“Whatever their mechanism”, the man adds, “Our digging operations have not found any other trace of them beyond disturbed soil.”

Then, finally, he explains what they didn’t manage to deduce about the amber, and that’s where the similarities about their findings versus Varian’s stop.

“The ingredients have mutated to the point where we weren’t able to identify them with the usual tests, and just like the rocks, the physical qualities of this substance defy the known alchemical and constructive aspects they should demonstrate.”

When everyone looks at Varian, like he’s supposed to reply, despite the way his breath is caught in his throat, the Queen speaks up.

“While it is our duty to protect our subjects, it is one we have neglected before”, she looks at her husband, then back out into their audience of guards, one prisoner and one raccoon, “And it has led to disastrous consequences, such as both the rocks and the amber. But now, with the current state of the black rocks, we will be able to begin repairs and bring the people back to their homes.”

“As for Quirin of Old Corona, simply put…”, the King continues after a sideways glance from Queen Arianna.

“We are stumped”, the head of the scientists says helpfully.

The King sighs.

“We are trying our best to free him, but perhaps one of the simplest solutions would be to ask someone who was there when…”

He had said something before he ordered Varian’s arrest. About reports from Old Corona, about what Varian did. That little comment lives at the periphery of Varian’s thoughts constantly, these days especially, but he doesn’t- He can’t hear it again right now. His heart is already spasming against his ribs as is. It would slip through and splatter onto the floor if he has to hear it repeated.

Still, Varian braces himself for the accusation, its implications. He even cringes, eyes squeezed shut, before King Frederic can continue. Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s not standing up. At least this way, Varian can hide his expression by just looking down.

“...When the accident occurred. Not to mention, someone who has detailed information about the development of this substance.”

The shock breaks Varian’s mounting panic.

When it’s clear Varian isn’t going to give them an answer any time soon, Nigel prompts:

“That would be you, boy. Or is there anything in this statement you refute?”

“N-no…”, he says, which sounds more like a question itself.

It doesn’t feel as funny as the toxic oil situation, nor as demeaning as the broken automaton. It’s just baffling, but… Isn’t this good?

Varian tries to assess the situation, tries to be objective: getting help to free Dad, or having literally anyone else try to find a solution to the amber alongside him, isn’t this what Varian always wanted? Being listened to…

So where’s the relief? His plans became something extreme and dangerous in the end, yes, and this is more of an indirect success, but it’s still the result Varian always wanted. Where’s his renewed hopes and dreams, his passion and excitement?

One small voice whispers that there’s a hidden scheme beneath this, since it’s way too good to be true. An even smaller voice that he’s worked so hard to ignore before his defeat in Old Corona says something else. Varian hasn’t been able to stop listening to it since it was dug out of him by force recently.

The King is doing something now, apparently, and it’s too late, but it’s something. And Varian doesn’t think it will work out. He doesn’t think anything can. When the physician asked about his obsessive goal, Varian hadn't told her about his own doubts. Acknowledging them makes everything too complicated to handle, so Varian's always shoved this sort of thinking aside. Now, it plagues him.

There’s a mumble in the silence, Nigel talking about how the reports had made Varian out to be more agreeable, but perhaps not . That’s not it. Varian just…

The guards start talking amongst themselves now, likely wondering if this charade will go anywhere at all. They’re needed at the docks.

Varian just wishes he could stop thinking. His doubts don't matter, he has to keep his promise to Dad.

“I…”, Varian says and the room doesn’t quite return to the quiet from before and Varian doesn’t think he can speak any louder, “I have notes on… It. The amber”, the crowd doesn’t fall silent at the weight of the word, but the scientist-councilor’s face goes gray, “I guess. But only if”, Varian looks up briefly, “If you’re doing this to help my father…?”

This isn’t the forced politeness of the first audience Varian attended alone, and it isn’t the mockery of the arranged meeting in Old Corona. It’s simply awkward. But Varian doesn’t have the spark to make it into anything more, so he just sticks to the point. He needs to be sure, but he doesn't have truth serum backing his conclusions this time. Asking is all he can do.

“Yes. It is long overdue, after all”, Queen Arianna answers. Ever the diplomat, she is. King Frederic nods along decisively.

“As Corona’s King, ignoring the rocks brought nothing but harm and suffering in the end, and not helping Quirin sooner was my mistake, both as ruler and as a friend. While I deeply regret my actions, regret won't change anything by itself”, Varian flinches, “In this regard, I ask you to help us help him with your knowledge on the amber”, King Frederic says. He doesn’t look like he enjoys admitting this, but he looks determined, like he believes his own words.

Varian says nothing.

What can he say?

This is what he wanted.

This is exactly what I wanted. No matter what I had to do to get here.

“Why? Why now ?”

…Of course Varian has to ruin getting what he wanted by asking more questions. He expects the King to scoff and immediately retract his offer for help, but he looks away instead, brow furrowed. It’s not anger on his face, it’s something Varian doesn’t know how to interpret.

“I know what it is to fight for the people you hold dearest in the world.”

King Frederic looks at his wife. She is still watching over the audience, but her perfect mask slips just so. Her daughter’s green eyes seem to catch the light, and they sparkle with it.

“But a kingdom of people just as loyal and brave cannot be sacrificed for the wishes of one man. Houses can be rebuilt in the aftermath of my cowardly decisions, and as for Quirin, we must at least try to find a way to free him. However”, the Queen’s eyes fall on him and soften before they both look at Varian in a way that makes him sick, “If I am to correct my mistakes, I must act, and perhaps… I must listen, as well.”

Varian has no more questions.

There isn’t much fanfare when the royal couple stands, but the guards all bow their heads before the two retreat deeper into the castle, leaving only a mildly irritated Nigel to approach Varian. Some of the guards start leaving too, so Varian isn’t surprised when a fluffy object hits his shins once he is allowed to stand. He spares Ruddiger a glance, glad to see that he isn’t as scared as he was before, just running circles around Varian.

Nigel ahems to draw Varian’s attention back to him.

“I should be grateful you’re more stable, boy , but don’t think there isn’t doubt about what this opportunity might mean for you”, he explains, “However…”

It isn’t like the advisor to walk back on the things he says, but what does Varian know? Nothing anymore. He doesn’t think he can take more surprises today, if he’s being honest.

“Reformation is supposed to be the new status quo, and you haven’t been entirely uncooperative when offered the chance so far. And given the people who vouched for you…”, the Captain said the same thing, but he specified who - the Princess, “Regardless. The physician you have been talking to in these last few weeks, Miss Ro-”

“Doc, right…?”, Varian mutters. He follows Ruddiger with his eyes.

“...Yes, sure. Doc will help you offer the information you have to the scholars on the case in Old Corona village and she will provide any new updates, if your continued involvement is needed or if any progress is made. She did always look for work outside of the usual infirmary tasks, I suppose.”

Nigel shakes his head, then gestures to one of the non-armored guards, who brings him a stack of papers. The advisor picks one and, weirdly enough, holds it out for Varian, as if he wants him to take it.

“This”, Nigel says, “Is a letter addressed to you. You are only allowed to reply to it under direct supervision, if you so wish. So-”

“When I visit Doc?”

“ Yes , yes. Goodness. It's rude to interrupt, you know? She will check the response letter properly and deliver it as needed. But mark my words, you’d better not try anything with it”, Nigel warns.

Varian steals a glance at the envelope and puts in the monumental effort to hold back a flinch at what he sees.

“Whatever”, he says and snatches the letter from Nigel’s hands.

Today is too much, but this is the last straw. Varian must have lost it and now he’s hallucinating. That would make more sense.

Varian’s strange disposition hangs around him as he is led back to his cell. Even once the cuffs are removed and he’s only left with Ruddiger making grabby hands at the letter in his hands, Varian is still tense enough that his muscles ache. Or perhaps that’s the last of the cold’s symptoms.

Andrew eyes them both with a raised brow.

“Did things… Not go well?”

Varian exhales loudly before he responds.

“No, they… They sure went. Somewhere. Somehow.”

Should he explain? No, that’s for a Varian whose brain isn’t on fire trying to process the events of a day that doesn’t even feel real. So he doesn’t explain despite Andrew’s baffled face.

Instead, Varian just follows up on his not-that-great habit of sitting on the floor, leaning against the bunks, staring at the very first notes he made on the wall opposite him, head in hands while he waits for his thoughts to regain some order before he feels like he can actually do anything. After a few moments, he manages to pat the raccoon that dug his way into Varian’s lap. His fur isn’t as tangled since their last visit to the washroom. The raccoon purrs at the touch.

Andrew finally shrugs and goes back to what he was doing - namely… Sorting flowers? He’s got a little bouquet going, and they look fresh, too. Where did he get those? Maybe he visited the prisoners’ courtyard while Varian was out. These don't look like the weeds Varian would expect to see there, though.

It doesn’t really matter, and as far as distractions go, it’s not enough. Varian looks at his hands, one buried in fur, one clutching the letter.

Varian avoids looking at the letter’s contents because he already recognized the handwriting on the address when Nigel first handed it over. Or, more like he recognized the sketches accompanying it. They’re entirely inappropriate, Varian wants to think, wants to be mad about them, because of how different things were back when she used to draw on the margins of the letters and notes they would exchange.

But Varian isn’t mad. He just feels a twinge in his heart.

The letter can wait until dinner , that’s the time limit Varian gives himself. If he doesn't wait a little, Varian might just explode, so.

So.

Tonight, after dinner.

 

—

 

Dinner comes and goes and Varian waits juuust a little longer, until Andrew is asleep, before he goes over to the cell door. No creepy faces are watching him from the shadows; that’s a plus. The torchlight is barely bright enough for Varian to make out the ink against the paper. That is, until he realizes some of it glimmers (but only subtly, the ink having lost some of its glow within the first few months after being made), and the twinge from before turns into actual pain that claws up his throat.

Where was this thoughtfulness before Varian went off the rails? Why the delay? It hits him that it’s all coming together, but it’s way too late; for him, for Dad.

After a deep breath, Varian opens the letter, ignoring how his fingers hold onto it tight enough to crinkle the paper.

 

Varian,

I don’t know if you remember, but I’m off to chase the black rocks and

I know our last meeting didn’t go well, but

I didn’t mean to upset you when we last talked, before I left. Cass told me I shouldn’t go, because you wouldn’t want to see me… It’s funny, Eugene agreed with her. He said you would be too angry! They never agree like that! I guess I just thought, maybe talking would help…

I did want to make sure that my father would try to help you, even if I’m not there. I know you didn’t want to hurt me weren’t trying to do all that thinking clearly. And… Maybe you’re just lost right now. My parents write to me about what is happening back home, but he doesn't like the subject of you much, haha! So… So I hope things are okay. For everyone… For you.

That’s all I wanted to

But about our journey! Wow, the world is bigger than I ever thought. We’ve already met so many wonderful (and unique… Oh boy, are they unique) people and been to so many interesting places, but I feel like we haven’t even seen anything yet! I’m sure that, by the time we find what the black rocks are leading us to, I will see even more. And I am hopeful I will find an answer to our problem. I promise I will do all I can.

( Promise is underlined multiple times.)

We just reached land again and we will be headed to Pincosta next, isn’t that fun? I think a new friend we’ve made along the way might meet us there, but she’s quite unpredictable! She does really only appear when we’re in a spot of trouble so maybe it will be longer until we see her again, haha… I don’t think Cass likes her very much. Lance likes her very much. Oops! I’m rambling again, aren’t I?

I just wanted to let you know that we’re going to keep going forward, and I wanted to know if you were still

Please don’t do any

I hope you aren’t so angry anymore, Va

I hope you are well. Varian.

Rapunzel.

 

The drawings on the address, just a few flowers and birds, extend into the letter: a woman with half her face painted in glowing red ink wielding a black sword, a drawing of an unfamiliar cityscape, a road lined in black spikes and a giant caravan trodding along it, and more, striped bees, an angry sea, little leaf figurines, feathers and teacups, and so much more. The very last paragraph is left bare.

It’s a long time before Varian can tear his eyes away from the paper, and even longer before he can get himself to move. Then, he shreds the letter apart, getting more and more frantic as the pieces become smaller. When it’s done, Varian clings to the barred door and just tries to remember how to breathe properly.

He gets up, gets in bed, gets as cozy as he can, cozier than he would be if the scrapped pieces of the twins’ bed weren’t stored in the washroom, and in his hands, Varian holds onto the pieces of the letter.

 

---

 

He can’t make himself throw the bits of paper away the next morning either, even though it would be easy to just leave them in the empty bowl after breakfast.

Andrew is a lot more curious about it than Varian thought, because in the time before he leaves for chores again, he asks:

“What was in that note, friend? It left you quite upset.”

Varian doesn’t look at him, opting to watch Ruddiger happily munching away on a sweet roll. Maybe today is a special occasion, since that’s what they got instead of the usual bread alongside their meal.

“Baloney”, he says after a while, “Nothing too important.”

“It looked important”, Andrew tries.

She thinks I’m a monster, I can tell, but she’s trying to be nice, for some reason. Why all the fakery? I want to be angry, but I don’t feel anything , Varian doesn’t say, opting to change the topic instead.

“They’re finally trying to help my father. That’s good. It’s what they wanted to discuss with me.”

“Your father? Did they do something to him?”, Andrew frowns.

Varian shakes his head. Of course, Andrew doesn’t know all that .

“It’s the… The amber. I-”

He shakes his head again, more vigorously, but it doesn’t stop the shiver going down his spine.

Andrew must remember some of the things Varian drew on his notes while they were together, must have seen some sketch of the crystal-like structure and the vaguely human-shaped form entrapped inside it, because his eyes widen in understanding.

“ You did something to him”, Andrew eventually concludes, and there’s the statement he thought he’d hear from the King yesterday, but it only leaves Varian colder, “And now Corona’s powers that be want to help… I’m guessing they didn’t before?”

“No…”

“What a complicated situation, then”, Andrew says, his mouth doing a funny thing, like it’s caught between a smile and a frown. Then his expression shutters and it’s all suspicion. “I wouldn’t trust them, Varian.”

“I-I don’t know what you-”, Varian bristles, already defensive, but Andrew interrupts.

“If you really did something so awful to your own father and attacked the kingdom that wouldn’t help… I don’t think they’d be so eager to come to your aid after all is said and done”, he doesn’t look like he likes having to say this, “Don’t be naive, alright? They won’t forgive you so easily. Corona will do anything to manipulate you if you let your guard down, after all.”

“...I-I don’t think that’s what’s happening”, Varian is surprised at himself for pushing back, but he is trying to remain objective. Not about himself - if you did something so awful… - Varian knows that this is meant to help Quirin. He didn't do anything wrong, so he shouldn't suffer because of his son’s actions. Varian is under no illusions that his plans came across as anything beyond violence for the sake of violence in the end.

“Hm. Then, for your sake, I hope it’s just some peaceful development in this story you weave”, Andrew smiles indulgently.

It would be polite to smile back now, but Varian can’t even look Andrew in the eyes.

While the two of them talked, Ruddiger finished the roll. With how big and pleading his eyes are, Varian wishes he could give him more, but maybe they’ll get some another day. Are there any celebrations coming up soon? Varian doesn't even know what day it is, just that Summer's about to end or has already ended.

 

---

 

“That didn’t go too badly”, it’s not a question, and even if it were, Doc’s smile would give away her already knowing what went down in the Throne Room.

“I didn’t commit treason again, if that counts”, Varian says, because what else is he supposed to say? Might as well try to get a laugh in about all the absurdity, except he’s not laughing. Still, a joke’s a joke

“Sure, I’d say so.”

She seems busier today, shuffling through documents, sorting glass bottles, then pulling out even more documents from a before-unnoticed drawer in her desk and going about signing them. Varian is a lot tired and a little bored, so the repetition of it all makes him stifle a yawn.

“Can I ask you something?”, he leans back in his chair, not so far that he can’t wind the chains around his fingers if he stretches his hands enough.

“Hm? Go on.”

“If you dislike working here in the infirmary so much, why not go somewhere else?”, Varian says, recalling something Nigel had remarked on offhandedly.

Doc stops in the middle of a sentence, continues after a brief pause, then puts her quill away neatly.

“I like burying my nose in books, so to speak; or doing in-person research. That's how you get the best information to expand upon”, she says evenly, shrugging, “But one of the masters I apprenticed under suggested my talents would be better used here, nevermind that I am not really a… ‘People person’. And it is a good position. I may not usually be directly involved, but I hear a lot of things. The pay is not too bad, either.”

“Apprenticed?”

“Mh hm. You must be familiar with the practice”, she goes back to writing, but Varian notes the glances she sneaks at him and the slight tilt to her lips.

Varian flushes. Heard about it, sure, but beyond that…

Noticing this, the physician continues writing while her explanation fills the small office:

“You should be familiar with it, if alchemy was ever something you wished to pursue beyond a hobby. Working with an experienced alchemist or, like me, with people in multiple branches, that’s how most of us start out. You wouldn't think so, but Xavier wasn't always a blacksmith. Actually, he knows a thing or two about mixing alchemical solutions and drafts, though his focus was always less on the purely factual and more on the arcane.”

“Xavier…?”, Varian blinks. It tracks, though, if Varian thinks about where he got the mood potion and its recipe from.

“You might know of him. His tools would have been of use in your experiments. Alchemy and engineering. Those would be your areas of expertise, so to speak.”

Well, sure, but-

With the topic of Xavier brought up, Varian can’t avoid another elephant in the imaginary room in his head where the man tried to become involved before. Right. Engineering. The elephant is automaton-shaped and still lying in the courtyard and people still keep their distance.

When Varian doesn’t say anything, Doc goes on:

“Some of us become scholars. And some”, she looks around, “Find themselves stuck inside an office, surrounded by the ill and injured. What did you envision for yourself?”

“Hey… I’m not ill and injured.”

“...An argument could be made.”

“I… Never thought that far ahead, to be honest. I always learned stuff by myself”, Varian concedes. Before the appearance of the black rocks, he was too busy just doing the alchemy and inventing, rather than thinking about how to advance his ‘career’. After, things just snowballed and thinking about the more distant future at all seemed kind of useless. And now? Pfft. As if he’ll ever have any opportunities for something official after he escapes. Who would take on a fugitive as their apprentice? Still…

In retrospect, Varian is sure Dad mentioned apprenticeship at one point or another, but those talks never led to anything. Varian always dismissed the subject as a thing for later.

Now, later, he wishes he hadn’t.

“And I don’t think there’s any point doing any planning for the future now”, he finishes. One of the links in the handcuff chains seems ever so slightly damaged. The welding must have been surface-level and now it’s starting to flake off. Maybe… No. Not yet.

“You can always do with better planning. That's the only way to get consistent results”, Doc argues instead, shaking Varian out of his spiral.

“I can plan an escape”, even if it won’t happen right now. Varian grins.

“Oh, shush. You just said you hadn't committed treason at the audience. We wouldn't want to ruin that now”, she sighs, but doesn’t sound genuinely upset, “Possible further crimes aside, what did you think of what else was discussed?”

Aaand Varian’s grin is wiped clean off of his face.

He thinks about his words carefully. Not because he’s scared of saying things he shouldn’t in front of her - she always warns him about stupid things like plausible deniability - but because he isn’t sure what he really thinks about everything he heard during the audience.

“You were right about the King’s men doing research in Old Corona”, Varian admits, skirting on the edges of the safer talking points, but he can't help himself and grumpily adds, “Even if it's taken this long…”

“Lateness of which you've also complained last time.”

“He… I can’t believe the guy asked me to… To help them. With the amber.”

Doc isn't writing anything anymore. She leans back in her chair, hands carefully laid one on top of the other in her lap.

“It's what you so desperately wished for. Is it all you imagined it would be?”

Varian’s brows furrow.

“I don't want the King’s help specifically. I want to free my father”, and Varian will repeat his promise until he’s blue in the face, despite his inner turmoil, “But I guess it's a good thing he's finally looking out for his, you know, his own subjects. Was that ever too much to ask for? Seriously…”

“And what did the scholars find out about the amber, mister Varian?”

“It's…! It’s not been that long yet, I’m sure they’ll find something more substantial in the future”, he glares at her, but she shakes her head.

“I am not trying to attack you. I wanted to hear what you thought about what was discussed. What you might hope for in the future.”

“But you think it's hopeless. You said so last time!”, he accuses.

With another headshake, Doc says:

“I advocate for moderation, mister Varian. Where your hopes lie is your decision and yours alone.”

“Maybe the scholars'll see something I didn’t. That's the only thing I can afford to hope for at this point!”, he says, desperation gripping at the doubt, “I can't abandon him as well… I won’t .”

Haven’t I already? What am I doing here?

“I don't doubt that”, Doc’s smile doesn't really reach her eyes. She wants to say more, Varian knows it, and before she can, Varian slumps in his chair.

“Can’t we just skip to another topic? Surely, this isn’t interesting enough for your ‘documentation’ anyway…!”, he throws his hands out.

With a sigh, Doc nods, twirls her feather between her fingers and runs the soft, black-tipped end of it against the paper she’s started working on again while she waits for the freshest scribbles to dry.

“How about the letter you received, then? I hear the sender is rather important.”

“...Skip again?”

From her sparkling eyes, she knows who wrote the letter.

“You don’t want to write the Princess of Corona back, mister Varian?”, she's mocking him now, she must be.

“I have nothing to say to her”, is Varian’s final answer. It sounds more childish than intended.

“Hmmm. Well, that part’s all up to you. As for other correspondences, these notes you mentioned you could share…They would be in Old Corona, correct?”

When Varian mentioned them during the audience, he’d been thinking about the things he’s written down in secret on the stolen book pages Andrew helped him get, but, uh… Yeah, Varian probably isn’t supposed to be doing that. Oops.

And if he thinks about it really hard… Varian doesn’t actually know what happened with most of the stuff he left back home. He has some vague ideas at most.

How much of it survived the destruction of his last automaton or the Princess’ black rock retaliation? He isn’t sure. So instead, he asks:

“Could I just write down what I know again? I just… I don’t actually know what happened to my old notes. I don’t know where they are right now either, or if they’re… You know… Still in existence.”

Something in the physician’s face shifts.

“It would be hard to keep track of something like that from the dungeons. Alright. I can schedule extra time or extra meetings so you may rewrite your notes.”

And the book pages will remain Varian’s little secret resource.

“And…”

She must not have expected him to have something more to add from the way she blinks at him.

“I do want to write”, Varian gulps, starts again, “There’s something else I want to write. A letter.”

“...But not a response to the Princess?”

“No.”

“I can ask, but… I don’t know if communications can be arranged outside of special cases.”

Right, because she always gets to do whatever she wants and- No. Stop. Varian can see the crossed out words in his head and he can almost hear the fear in her voice back in his lab, when the Queen’s life was at stake. Can he blame her? Truthfully, can he? And she’s the Princess and she vouched for him, apparently … It’s her prerogative to write to an inmate if she so chooses. She won, in the end, and Varian lost. Why shouldn’t she get to do whatever she wants? But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to try to do something.

“Xavier. I want to write to Xavier. It's about… They should know what it's about. It was their orders, after all, so they should approve a letter to him.”

 

---

 

Weeks later, the specifications on the amber have been written up and Varian has received news that the scholars working in Old Corona village still can’t brew it properly - it doesn’t work like it should, the trial compounds they created following Varian’s instruction to study further just don’t cause the expected yellow-orange growth that haunts him.

Varian wonders whether there’s something wrong with him , that he managed to create an unreplicable abomination, or if these people are just that incompetent. Maybe the instructions suck? He doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know.

Since no more progress has been made on the amber, Varian is informed that another project must also be worked on right now, but that they will return to the amber as soon as possible.

Varian tries to take the lack of answers in stride. It’s what he predicted, isn’t it? He should have expected this.

(If only he could have been there, he'd known what they did wrong… Or maybe he’d be just as clueless. He tries not to think about it anymore. Later, later , the word keeps replaying in his mind.)

But, during one of their meetings after, Doc hands Varian a blank sheet of paper and says:

“You’re allowed one letter. I will deliver it myself at the end of the day. His Majesty approved it.”

“Thought you said it wouldn’t be likely to happen. What changed?”, Varian asks, face screwed between irritation and disbelief.

“I’m afraid only his Majesty knows the answer to that”, Doc says. The vase on her desk is empty today, but from beneath the brim of her doctor’s hat, some flowers peek out, braided into her gray hair. Is there some sort of celebration going on? “But I suppose it is good news, no? Relatively.”

He nods.

Varian only writes one paragraph, doesn’t even address the letter or sign it or anything. No point in doing all that.

Open the third frontal panel on the chest cavity to the right, loosen the screws. It will detach the steam drum. If the music stops, you did it right. Take out the drum and dismantle it. Don’t let it start playing again. Inside of it, there are magnetized sheets of metal. Melt them, destroy them, whatever you want, just don’t leave those inside especially. You can do whatever with the rest of the engine, it won't be able to restart the automaton.

There. Corona will have at least one less lawn decoration. Now the guards can walk around uninhabited. Everyone say: thank you, mister the Alchemist!

(It’s not like Varian can get to it anymore. Every piece, every ingredient he could get otherwise, from other sources, he’s already gotten, and perhaps even those won’t ever amount to anything if he can’t make it back to Old Corona. Maybe… Maybe he doesn’t want to anymore. Maybe he’ll just continue rotting down here while his father doesn’t inside of the amber- No. Later.)

Notes:

Sorry this took a while! The exam season got to me, and I had made some changes last minute that needed a bit more editing. Phew.This chapter got hands! I'm still not entirely happy with the characterisation or the impact, but it's hard to balance 'how do the leaders of this kingdom fix stuff?' and 'Varian is still not someone who can be trusted'. An attempt was made, at the very least! :'D
"Mister the Alchemist" is probably my proudest moment in writing.

Chapter 27: Thrill of the hunt

Summary:

Varian can't stop thinking, to everyone's dismay. Ruddiger goes hunting.

Notes:

Contents: Ruddiger doing a heist (yes, for cupcakes again), guilt and mental health struggles, more escape attempts.

For three more days, the men in gold serve them foodstuffs and sweet bread. The normal bread is nice too, but one resident raccoon of the dungeons would rather chase the clearly superior treats after getting a taste. It’s not hard to steal from the other humans behind bars if they leave theirs for later. They sleep deeply and aren’t bothered by soft paws padding through halls and into countless other cells.

But, you see, Ruddiger’s boy hasn't been doing so well and he rarely accepts extra offerings of food, only yielding if Ruddiger insists, but Ruddiger is knowledgeable and maybe something else will make him feel better. Treats. Sometimes they help and sometimes they don’t. Bread and cream, those are tasty, those are worth hunting for. Cupcakes , he remembers from the wooden house, because cookies are weird; the purple ones were sickly, just like the purple water. Those should only be hunted when nothing else is available, Ruddiger decides.

And, after watching Varian start to wilt away, caught in a different type of sick than the one before, curled up on the bed for most of the day, using coal on paper otherwise and sometimes leaving to see the lady who gives them salty treats, Ruddiger decides now is the time to put his plan into action.

His boy doesn’t know about the raccoon’s escapades, because he’s scared, but worry not. Ruddiger is brave and a very good hunter. He’ll sneak by and be riiight back with his prize, like he was when they came out of the dark together the first time. None can catch him, and if they do, Ruddiger will simply hide and wait it out. That never fails!

Leaving the dark is tiring, so many rocks to climb and so many humans stomping about, but they’re loud and Ruddiger knows that the men behind bars sleep when he likes to be awake, so he hops from room to room to room until he makes it out through the door. Outside, the air is crisp. Smells like apples, but not the ones Ruddiger loves, from home. Too bad. If he pays attention, he can sense his actual prey. From an open window, the smell wafts and Ruddiger starts his chase. The balconies are good for lying in wait, and through the windows, it’s very easy to chase after the girl with the yellow dress, or more specifically, after the cart she pushes. The wheels squeak loudly. The cupcakes are warm still. Varian will love this. He’ll jump up and cheer and scratch Ruddiger’s belly and smile and then things will be alright again. Maybe they’ll leave the dark and won’t go back down again. Food is very important. It helped a little the first time. Now Ruddiger will gather enough to fix his boy.

Yellow dress pauses at a door inside the big house, so Ruddiger goes in after her, through the window, and he hides under the cart. His prey doesn’t notice, staying put and steaming lazily instead. While yellow dress is out of sight, Ruddiger grabs cloth and uses it like Varian does his thingies to carry other, smaller thingies. The cupcakes never stood a chance before this apex predator.

He squeaks in delight and rubs his paws together; then, it's back out the window the raccoon goes. But he’s not used to the big, stone house, everything looks too samey and the smells intermingle, and he notices only after a while that he got turned around. This isn’t the small clearing, where the men in gold patrol when it’s sunny outside. This is the foggy place, even if it's cleared up now. Ruddiger does not like it here. He pauses near the wall after jumping down from the big house. They hunted Ruddiger down here, even if he’s such a good hunter himself. They almost got him too. His ears flatten. He just has to leave, find the smaller clearing and return to his boy.

Except he notices a light in another corner of the foggy-no-longer-foggy clearing. Then he smells the man in the sheepskin. Growling and holding onto his prey, Ruddiger makes his move.

Sheepskin is bad. He makes Varian feel bad, but Varian doesn’t notice the prowling. He’s not as good of a hunter as Ruddiger is, being so young and all. Sheepskin is out tonight and Ruddiger doesn’t think he should be, especially because many, many men who smell like blood and salt are coming through the clearing and heading inside - towards the smaller clearing, towards the dark. The raccoon remembers some of them. They left, but they’re back now. And sheepskin watches.

Crouch. Wait. Listen. Ruddiger narrows his eyes until he can see better.

Someone else is beside sheepskin.

For his boy’s sake, Ruddiger approaches, so he can explore the lesser known territory. Too bad the prey will go cold again. But sheepskin is dangerous.

Sheepskin is talking to a man in gold who doesn’t smell like the other men in gold. Sheepskin takes a hat from him and throws it into a bush. They look for anyone sneaking up on them but don’t notice Ruddiger.

“-get in with the others. Do they suspect anything?”, sheepskin asks. Ruddiger holds back another growl, hiding in the bush. The hat sits next to him. Smells like flowers and salt, but not blood.

“No. The moment I put on this armor, it’s like all doubts vanished. It was…”

“Pathetically easy?”

“More than!”, no-hat says, “Though Juniper had to falsify some of the inmate lists to get her and Kai onboard. Haven’t been able to register them for the lower levels, but-”

“No, being here should be more than enough. We just need to be able to gather, and all of us will have access to the courtyard at some point before the main event. It’s as good a place as any.”

“Not as practical as being in the same cell, though. Before, you said you might be able to move up for good behavior instead. Let’s do that, Andrew.”

“Hm”, sheepskin looks up at the starry sky, “No. I have another project I am working on from down there. The kid could prove to be the last card we need in our deck.”

“But he’s coronan ”, no-hat flails like a witless kit.

“Yes, but he rebelled against Corona once. You don’t think I can get him to do it again? Either he does it out of anger or because he's got nothing left to lose. Really, we’d just be helping each other”, sheepskin says with that fanged smile Ruddiger is so wary of. He always shows it when Varian’s not looking and that’s no good.

“I didn’t say that. I also didn’t not say that you’re talking like Kai after too much wintergreen. The plan is already complicated enough… Don't make me agree with her stance.”

“He could ensure our success. We can always do with more weapons. Now, what of Clementine? Did she find it?”

“We’ve lost contact before the mutiny, but she found two locations. The one she’s headed towards doesn’t have much power in it anymore, but the only other known location is too far away”, no-hat shakes his head, “I expect she’ll write to us through the usual channels once she’s gotten it. Then… It’s a matter of how fast a balloon can carry her here. You know Clementine doesn’t like waiting around. But we have the cover story for that in place?”

“We should… We’ll have to be out around the time she gets here, though. It won’t be long after that”, sheepskin concludes. No-hat just nods to that.

Ruddiger doesn’t understand much, besides some of sheepskin’s words. He’d heard them before, hissed or crooned at his boy in the dark. He sure doesn’t like how he and no-hat are talking now, though they’ve rejoined the group going towards the dark.

He has to make sure sheepskin doesn’t try to hurt Varian. His boy hurts when he hurts.

Grabbing the cupcake thingy again, Ruddiger also jumps back into the dark. Hopefully, Varian will be awake so sheepskin can’t ambush and so they can eat. Then everything will be fine again.

 

 

---

 

“Buddy… You know it’s risky to go out there. I mean it’s nice of you, but”, Varian looks at the cupcakes - Ruddiger had brought them back wrapped in a folded piece of tablecloth, “What if you’d been caught?”

Ruddiger, to his credit, just chirps, like nothing could be further from his mind. Varian raises an eyebrow.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve snuck out, is it?”, he says flatly.

With an offended squeak, Ruddiger looks away, as if Varian’s just insulted his abilities. Which, that’s not what worries Varian about this scenario! Ruddiger is good at what he does and the guards aren't, but it's still risky!

“...Rud, you know what the Captain said. There are consequences if either of us is caught doing something we shouldn’t. That’s why we have to be ab-so-lutely sure before we try to get out again”, Varian explains, but he can’t help a small smile at Ruddiger’s chittering protests. He raises his hands in defeat instead. Placcated, Ruddiger points at the bundle of cupcakes with his nose before jumping onto the pile himself.

They’re a little different than the ones Varian had before. They smell of something foreign… Vanilla. Varian recognizes the scent, since he’s pretty sure he had gotten his hands on some extract before, much to Dad's dismay after hearing the merchant’s prices. There’s ground spices sprinkled on top of the cupcakes too. These must be really high-end. Logically, they should taste good, but somehow, it’s just off enough that Varian has to twist his mouth to hide a grimace. He isn’t sure that helps matters. Still, he runs his hands through Ruddiger’s fur in thanks, hitting all of the best spots, and you know what? Maybe all that matters is that Ruddiger is happy. He certainly seems to be enjoying the sweets.

Ruddiger curls up in Varian’s lap when he’s done and, without any hesitation, he goes to sleep, dead to the world for a few hours unless Varian rouses him.

Varian would join him, considering how late it is, but he can’t sleep.

The non-nightmares keep following him whenever he closes his eyes, and the choking feeling he wakes up to after makes the dreams almost more preferable. Talk about a rock and a hard place… The problem is that this heaviness that presses down on his chest, that makes itself impossible to ignore, isn’t entirely new. Things would be simpler if it were just anger still, but the fire’s gone out on that feeling a while ago. No, this is regret, and how bitter the word tastes on his tongue. It’s been so long since he’s felt it so deeply.

Instead of sleeping, Varian looks around the cell. At this point, the torches are dim enough that he won’t be able to write down anything - he’s been prototyping lately - until the guards replace them before breakfast, so Varian focuses on other things, namely, the absence of his cellmate.

Andrew never has chores to do at night, but a few guards came in and took him away while Varian was lost in his own thoughts during that nebulous time after dinner, only to come back to himself to the tune of quiet whispers, something about how some supervisor needs you to confirm this record or that and it’s important . Andrew had gone without another word.

Varian isn’t worried , worried, just confused. He perks up when he hears footsteps, though.

Either the guards have started replacing the torches, in which case Varian can go back to his designs and notes, or Andrew’s back.

The answer is a little more drawn-out, because Andrew is back, grass blades and dirt particles tangled into the wool of his vest, and behind him, more inmates file into the dungeons. A lot more inmates. The guards escorting this large group have torches with them, which they place in the scones on the walls.

Varian doesn’t understand what is going on until the sight of scars and red hair catches his eye in the form of two more men being led towards his and Andrew’s cell. The twins! But weren’t they-?

“Well, An- Ahem. Inmate. I’ll leave you and your new old roommates here. I don’t want any trouble from any of you”, a guard says, nudging Andrew into the cell, then the twins. At the sound of the guard’s voice, Ruddiger wakes up and, weirdly enough, starts hissing and spitting. Not the displeased noises he makes when he and Varian disagree, but something else. More like the monster Varian unleashed with his serum. A shiver down Varian’s spine is nothing compared to whatever fear Ruddiger must be feeling right now, if his reaction is anything to go by, but the question remains: why? What is it about this guard that's got him so upset? Varian tries to get a closer look at the guard. There’s only one moment during which they stare each other down. Then, he’s gone before Varian can come to any conclusion. He blinks. It wasn’t anyone familiar.

“Ruddiger”, Varian whispers. The hissing continues until Varian hugs the raccoon closer to his chest, “What’s wrong?”

He only settles long after the guard has already left and silence settles over the cell, but by then, Andrew has noticed the raccoon’s behaviour. Maybe it was the commotion, but it’s a little strange. He doesn’t usually care about large crowds of people, even though both of them prefer a more quiet environment. Maybe being shut down in this cell has made Ruddiger more sensitive. And Varian just told him off for sneaking out…

“Something wrong with the little one?”, Andrew suddenly asks.

Varian looks up at him, his guilt making him want to both let go of Ruddiger and to keep holding on for a while longer. He swallows, but he doesn’t get to respond. Their other cellmates remember Varian too.

“So, they did let it stay. Let them both stay”, one of the twins says. The brothers glance at the marked up wall. “Despite this?” Both of them take up their old bunks, only for the bed frames to creak and groan under the stress after they sit down.

Uh oh. Varian winces.

“Nothing really changed since you went on that little trip. Well, besides the wall, although-”, Andrew is interrupted by the beds falling apart entirely, all the noise ringing even louder in the tense silence of the dungeons.

Varian winces harder. He did not account for structural integrity of the beds once they're back in use.

“Ah. And that, apparently. Some new furniture might be in order.”

When the twins rub at aches and pains from the fall, dusting away the rubble, Varian looks away innocently. Might as well start whistling a totally not guilty tune too, but he doesn’t go that far in his act. Ruddiger makes for a good shield to hide behind, so Varian holds him up, despite the fact that the raccoon also shakes like he's stifling laughter.

Varian can feel two and a half sets of eyes staring at him from other parts of the cell, but they can’t prove anything. Hopefully.

 

---

 

The twins get a new set of bunk beds, which means that there are repairs going on inside of the cell. While those are ongoing, all of the inmates with permission are taken out for prison duties or for a break in the small yard. Those without remain in the cell (Varian, Ruddiger too by extension, as well as the Stabbington twins - that’s the surname one of the guards mumbles jokingly. The guards’ lighthearted reaction to those two, as well as the edgy name itself, should make this situation much funnier than it is; they don’t. The Stabbingtons look suspicious of everyone and everything beyond the surface-level coldness of their demeanor, and Varian has to be careful). They all have to stand against a wall, cuffed and what-not, but at least the repairs are finished pretty quickly.

The guards blame rust and, for what it’s worth, the metal of the beds is rusty. They’re not using any coating for it and the iron isn’t mixed with something to ward against corrosion properly, not to mention the fact that the wooden bits are starting to weaken from mold. Obviously, the furniture in the dungeons is not the highest item on Corona’s list of priorities, but Varian is grateful for that; it lets him off the hook. You can see why Varian might want to not be on their bad side any more than he already is.

There’s rumors circulating in the dungeons, even in the usually quiet lower levels, and they make the prison barge sound hellish enough. Many of the prisoners down here were taken out at sea to finish their sentences - or forever, in some cases - and they talk about inadequate rations and horrible storms and monsters that breathe fire in the night sky and guards more competent and more cruel than the ones protecting the castle and the inner lands of Corona. It means something, that the mutiny sounds worse than all of that. The mutiny explains a multitude of fresh injuries and some missing people. The Stabbingtons are made out to be both some of the main perpetrators, but at the same time, they’ve become the laughing stock of the other prisoners too because of one simple story: their defeat at the hands and hooves of one former-thief and a guard horse. Apparently, this just keeps happening and the reputation of the Stabbingtons is irreparably stained.

Varian isn’t laughing, because the guys scare him, sure, but he also isn’t laughing because he thinks he knows who the other inmates are talking about, no need to spell it out. Everything adds up. Much as Varian loathes thinking about the Princess’ letter, a sentence stands out in his memory. She mentioned them getting back on land. Were they at sea? If they did stumble across an actual prison barge mutiny, then…

“What are the odds?”, Varian asks his bowl of soup, somewhat crazed. It’s half empty, but he puts it down and decides, you know what? Staring at the ceiling is a great pastime actually. Ruddiger is chasing after a mouse that’s managed to make its way into the cell, and by the ruckus they’re both making, the raccoon might be losing this one. It lets Varian know he hasn’t snuck out again at least; he's still down here with Varian, relatively safe and sound. With that worry out of the way, Varian has more space to think. That seems to be the only thing he does these days.

A whole barge of prisoners rebelled and they still ended up back here. By the Princess’ hand, no less (or by her merry, little crew’s). What does that say about Varian’s chances out there? On the ceiling, Varian lets his options play out.

Say, he gets what he needs - his supplies keep building up in the washroom, he will be ready any day now - and decides to just go for it and he and Ruddiger break out. That’s the first big choice, even if staying can’t be an option in any fantasy Varian dreams up. Doesn’t matter how, but say they make it out and Varian doesn’t look back.

The capital instantly becomes a no-go zone, by virtue of it teeming with guards and meddling royals. Instead, Old Corona becomes the best place in the kingdom to find runaway alchemists because of Varian’s track record.

However, if what Doc said is true, if the rocks will all go away eventually and the people move back in… Maybe the manor next to the broken wall can gain another phantom alongside the amber prisoner… If Varian can be sneaky. The villagers will probably make whatever sightings they catch of him into some sort of ghost story. It would be risky.

(Or he goes back there and faces the music. Varian’s hands spasm against his stomach, but him hesitating isn't fair. Dad didn't get a say in it, did he?)

But they nearly caught Varian in Old Corona once already, he just got lucky and he’s pretty sure the Snuggly Duckling won’t endorse a (now confirmed) enemy of not only the Princess herself, but the whole kingdom. Not after who he's seen in the ragtag army marching against him. Varian heard the whispers. He knows how popular she is with all of her thugs and ruffians these days. Lance was an exception last time, but he knows something like that will never happen again. Maybe no part of Corona is safe at all.

That leaves… Out there. Varian can almost see it, has imagined it before: travelling down a lonely road, bag piled high with provisions, a map in hand. But in his head, Dad was always waving him goodbye and Varian was waving back, grinning at the thought of embarking on an adventure of his very own. His face scrunches up now, momentarily back in the prison cell. He changes the fantasy a little and sees, instead, a shadowy figure running past all of the road signs pointing out of Corona. It’s scary- No, it’s not. Varian isn’t a child who’s scared of the world out there. It’s just that it won’t ever be what he imagined it to be and that’s fine . This is the safest option he has.

Varian tries to remember the few maps he’s seen, picturing the areas outside Corona’s walls, then beyond Corona’s borders. There's Equis, if Varian leaves by sea, but in all other directions, the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and the independent cities sprinkled throughout miles upon miles of wilderness await him. And even beyond that…

When that mental map doesn’t lead any further, Varian opens his eyes again and shivers in this cold, dark cell. Not that cold. Not that dark. Not alone. Not like the amber might be. This room is starting to make him sick, but at least Varian can move around in it, not to mention the occasional excursion. He is imprisoned, yes, but he is alive in the truest sense of the word, not just by virtue of not being dead. That’s not right. It’s not fair .

The sigh he lets out feels insignificant in the face of such a realization. Varian stares up, but he doesn’t imagine anything overimposed onto the slightly curved, stone ceiling. He keeps staring at it even when a concerned Ruddiger tries to rouse him from this moment Varian finds himself lost in, but it’s just not going to happen.

(If Varian is finally being honest with himself, none of this information he’s avoided putting together is new. It was just too much to look at before, but the larger picture has become clear and now Varian can’t look away. The box is cracked wide open.)

The bricks in the ceiling are regular in shape, but there’s small imperfections here and there. A patch on that brick, a crack on this other one, an edge of green growing in between those two in the corner.

(Of course none of the options Varian tried to come up with seem realistic anymore. Either he frees his father or doesn’t. This has been the point, ever since the blizzard, but now that he isn’t sure which path he is following anymore, even if he’s already walked for so long in a singular, obsessive direction, Varian wonders if he should have just stayed at the crossroads. Varian left. Varian abandoned his father. Quirin should have never ended up in the amber. That was just a cruel error in timing. It shouldn't have been Dad . )

Ruddiger is getting a bit nervous now, but Varian just doesn’t know what he should respond with to the increasingly loud chitters, even if he could. The walls are very similar to the ceiling, only lacking the curvature and with more details hammered into them. Beds. Doors. Notes, but those are only temporary.

(That’s it then, isn’t it? Varian’s last option. His only way forward. It should bring him closure, but right now, Varian has no reaction.)

Ruddiger stops eventually.

He curls up by Varian’s side, keeping a careful, minimal distance.

By the time Varian snaps out of it, he feels like he’s been forced back into his body after wandering aimlessly in the void of his thoughts. What breaks the trance, in truth, is the cell door opening and closing. Andrew must be back.

Someone out there must be looking out for Varian, because everyone just leaves him to his devices for the rest of the evening. Andrew makes some teasing remark towards the twins about their popularity with the other inmates who are allowed in the yard, and they grumble half a threat back.

Varian ignores everything and everyone outside of the bubble of his bed, but he does finally hold out a hand towards Ruddiger, who nuzzles into it, and for now, it seems like all is forgiven. Varian should really stop acting out like this; Ruddiger deserves better than his outbursts.

“I’m sorry, buddy”, Varian whispers and Ruddiger bumps himself against Varian’s stomach. He’s warm.

Andrew breaks through the bubble, pushing a bowl towards Varian. He doesn’t say anything, but Varian takes the neutral expression and the silence for kindness on Andrew’s part. Varian gives a grateful nod.

 He then tries to push the food towards Ruddiger as an extension to his apology. Ruddiger levels a flat stare Varian’s way until he agrees that they can share.

“Well, if anyone can get a reaction out of you, it's the raccoon, isn't it?”, Andrew laughs quietly from below.

 

---

 

Varian tries not to lay in his cell like a forgotten, slowly shriveling sack of potatoes in the days that follow, but his mind is made up and his heart just isn’t into… Well. Anything, really.

He brushes his fingers through Ruddiger’s fur. Varian encourages him to roll around on the floor so that, the next time Varian has to go see Doc, Ruddiger can accompany him.

He picks up the pencil and some empty pages and he schemes, but it’s all done in a utilitarian way, but at least he’s just about finished. The assembly will be a breeze.

Varian also sometimes lays around like a sack of potatoes, yes, but at least it’s not all the time, and today, he has this buzzing energy that keeps him on his toes. It’s been long enough since his last visit. If Pete and Stan show up to take him to Doc today, then everything can fall into place.

Andrew notices when Varian starts revising his notes again, more specifically, on a gas developed from a few types of soap.

“Are you working on your alchemy again, friend?”

Varian pauses, frowns, and readjusts Ruddiger, who he’s using as a somewhat unstable desk for now.

“N-no”, Varian lies.

“Hm. Why not?”

Varian shrugs, hoping that, maybe, just maybe, Andrew won’t draw any more attention to what Varian is doing. Luckily, no guard is nearby at the moment.

Andrew is - was pretending to read this morning, standing by the barred door in anticipation for his very own trip outside. Chores again, just not quite yet , he’d explained earlier. But, for now, he’s just talking to Varian, as if this is any less boring when Varian doesn’t really feel up to any sort of conversation, as nervous as he is right now.

“You know, I never got to ask how you got into this whole alchemy thing”, Andrew walks closer, leaves his book on the bed and leans into the frame of Varian’s bunk bed, “Seems like a dangerous hobby at your age.”

It sounds like the sort of question Andrew used to ask back when Varian first got here, and Varian freezes.

“I was-”, his voice is rough. The words scratch against his throat on the way out. Andrew looks at. “I guess I’ve always liked science. And later on… I was just trying to help my village.” Ruddiger chirrs, but Varian ruffles the fur on his head after shifting the blank sheets of paper a bit to the side. “But everything I do just… Goes wrong. All the stuff I made o-only ever exploded in the end…”

“That’s not always a bad thing.”

“...I hurt people”, Varian looks down at Andrew, defeated.

“But weapons can be useful, in the right hands. You know that, don’t you, Varian?”, Andrew adds, picking up a random piece of paper. This one is just filled lists and tables on different types of acid, their components and their characteristics. It’s not even relevant to what Varian is doing right now, but he looks around, just in case. Andrew really should work on being more subtle.

“I-I don’t want to make weapons. I don’t care about… I don’t want to hurt people”, anymore. I already tried that .

And the results were never what Varian wanted, even after he crossed that line. He just kept losing. Andrew doesn’t seem to like that answer.

“That’s it?”, Andrew’s brows are furrowed and his mouth downturned.

Varian blinks. Ruddiger is starting to tense up, raising his head and staring at Andrew. He’s about to attack, but Varian tries to keep petting him between the ears, hoping he’ll calm down. The pencil gets lost somewhere on the bed. Andrew steps back, arms crossed. His mood is calm again, but something feels off when Varian is already so tense on such a big day.

“Just thought that, after all they did , you wouldn’t be so… Passive. What lies have they been telling you since they locked you up? I thought you wanted to make them pay”, Andrew continues, somewhat disappointed.

“I-”

“Well, well, brother”, another voice interrupts both of them; the twin with the eyepatch. Varian doesn’t think he’s ever heard him speak before. “Looks like we’re not the only ones down here ‘cause we wanted revenge then.”

The other twin makes an approving noise, somewhere between a grunt and laughter. Andrew doesn’t look impressed, but Varian was intimidated by these guys from the very beginning, even before he heard the stories about the barge, about the mutiny.

“That’s just how it goes. It’s not something you can let go that easily, kid, no matter what you tell yourself. You gotta pay it back in kind”, the twin with the sideburns says.

Varian gulps. Well, he’s been telling himself that he won’t let go of his anger, and yet…

Andrew rolls his eyes. When he turns back towards Varian with a cool look on his face, it’s so different from the guy that helped him, that stayed by his side when he got sick. Varian shrinks back and looks at the ground.

He already tried getting revenge, he’s just pursuing another way to even the scales to ease his own guilt right now.

“They’re not wrong. What are we without the things that drive us, without our convictions? This place… It tries to take that from you”, Andrew explains, voice softening.

It’s not like prison hasn’t taken a lot from Varian. But they don’t get it - Varian did it. He lied and betrayed and hurt, all those things he hated everyone around him for doing. Andrew said he tried to steal a book, and he’s heard more about the Stabbingtons’ crime records the past few days than he’d like. Varian isn’t… He… He almost destroyed a kingdom .

“I know…”, Varian curls his body just enough so that he doesn’t squish Ruddiger and the papers he’s holding onto too much, “I do still want Corona to pay.”

Half-truth, half-lie, because what Varian really wants is impossible. He wants to go home to his Dad and forget all of this.

The twins, no longer interested in whatever Andrew and Varian are still arguing about, go back to what they were doing before. The sound of drawn metal, the rhythmic sounds of stone against a blunt blade - a knife sounds bad enough inside the dungeons, let alone two. Varian doesn’t dare look, focusing on his other cellmate instead.

Andrew ruffles his hair. Varian’s shoulders drop but he still holds on to some of the tension.

“Don’t lose what you stand for, friend”, Andrew sounds like he means it.

Varian holds his breath as he nods and continues holding his breath until Andrew is escorted out. Even then, Varian can only let out these stuttered, little exhales. He just has to wait it out.

He picks up the pencil again. Varian and Ruddiger exchange a look and, quietly enough that the twins don’t hear, Varian says:

“If they come today, then it’s time, Rud. I can’t…”

Ruddiger nuzzles at the hand frozen in his fur.

Varian gathers all of his notes, the ones he needs today, but also some from before, hoping that maybe, if he takes one last look at what he’s written down, another way forward might reveal itself. There's scattered pieces of a letter amongst the mess.

Maybe he overlooked something. Maybe there’s another characteristic of the amber he didn’t take into account? Maybe there’s a singular patch of land somewhere in Corona where nobody will look for him and where he’ll be able to keep chasing answers. It’s endless, but maybe Varian can keep looking for just a while longer - another week, another day, another hour - he’s just got to find something .

That’s what he tells himself, that there’s still something to hang onto, something he stands to lose if he sticks to his current goal, but Varian can’t come up with anything. Deep down, he doesn’t really believe in another way. Deeper down, he knows what he has to do to make things right again and is starting to realize that he has always known that it would come down to this. His guilt makes for a pretty good indicator of that.

Dad will understand.

Varian buries his notes under the mattress when Pete and Stan show up. Thank God, too, because Varian isn’t sure he could have waited another day.

“Let’s go buddy. You need a bath”, Varian says, taking one last look at the cell.

Ruddiger curls himself up around Varian’s neck, looking back at the twins as well. The glint of sharpened iron is easy enough to spot under their pillows, because the boy and the raccoon know what to look for. Still, Varian’s surprised Stan and Pete don’t seem to notice anything.

A fleeting thought crosses Varian’s mind - it would be good to have a weapon again. Varian doesn’t know what happened to his dagger or to any of his stuff, really.

“All done?”, Pete asks.

Varian nods tersely.

It’s all routine, afterwards. Cuffs, hallways, stairs, yard.

Pete and Stand don’t question why Varian takes longer in the washroom than usual, or why both he and Ruddiger are completely dry upon leaving the small chamber. They dismiss Varian staring at the chain between his handcuffs like he’s looking for something, instead wondering if it’s going to rain today.

Varian looks up. It is cloudy and the wind is picking up. Not a good sign, in his experience, but it won’t matter if it’s just rain. It’s too early in the cold season for anything else. Still, he takes a deep breath.

“I really don’t wanna ruin this pair if it gets all muddy. They’re my good boots!”, Pete complains, also looking up. All three of them are currently standing in the middle of the main courtyard, which is, of course, notably free of the spilled entrails of an automaton.

Stan scratches at his chin.

“We do have those extra pairs though. The ones his Majesty commissioned last year?”, he says.

Pete grumbles about them just not being the same.

Varian exchanges a look with Ruddiger.

It’s now or never.

When Ruddiger jumps off of Varian’s shoulders, immediately scampering off towards the guards’ barracks, time starts flowing again.

Varian takes out a bottle he kept hidden behind his back and smashes it against the ground, throwing the whole courtyard back into the same foggy darkness of Varian’s last attack, except it distinctly smells like soap and medicinal herbs.

In the chaos, no one notices the sound of Varian using a set of makeshift pliers to snap a weakened link off of his handcuff chain. Then, it’s out into the fog he himself created, and Varian dodges all of the shadows that appear and disappear in front of him, almost incorporeal given the speed of everything happening all at once.

He makes his way toward the main gate, but doesn’t walk past the castle walls until he hears squeaking behind him.

Once they’re off of castle grounds, Varian goes right back to hiding in plain sight, running until he can’t, using every darkened corner to his advantage, and by the time the nest of angry guards spews its defenders out into the capital, Varian’s already crossed the bridge and tumbled into the forest. His last friend runs away alongside him.

Notes:

Woaaa. POV change? Absolutely! For a bit of self-indulgence (I love fics where the pets of the show get a little attention, hehe) and some exposition that the lad isn't in a place to find for himself right now - physically or mentally. :'D
Also, in my head that, at some point after the saporians have been fought off, Cap is saying 'Men, did you let a rando dressed as a guard infiltrate our ranks? Again?'
Lady Caine and crew are forever iconic to me for that ✌️

Chapter 28: At a crossroads

Summary:

Varian wants to leave Corona (he wants to see his father). He wants to leave this whole mess behind him (he wants to fix this). But the kingdom has no time for the wishes of one escaped prisoner. Bigger things are afoot.

Notes:

Contents: Varian and Ruddiger on the run (poor Ruddiger), amber, (implied) suicidal ideation, minor injuries, the Separatists of Saporia.

The gathering clouds break and a curtain of icy rain turns dry forest paths into a muddy maze that only makes the terrain more difficult to traverse - as if Varian’s time in the dungeon didn't do enough damage to his stamina. What’s a few more obstacles to jump over?

Escaping via the docks would have been even worse, if he had gone for that, seeing as how Varian doesn’t really know how to steer a ship and he imagines doing so in a storm becomes all the more nightmarish. He only reconsiders his choices when one of his legs sinks halfway into a puddle of dirt and even with Ruddiger’s help, Varian barely manages to pull himself free, falling over backwards. His clothes stick to his skin in the most uncomfortable way and his hair is plastered to his face.

Must be a pretty pathetic sight .

He and Ruddiger tense up at the sound of horses, but the rain is too loud to hear them clearly.

“How close do you think they are?”, Varian asks.

The raccoon’s ears twitch and he pushes his face into Varian’s arm, urging him forward.

“Close, then. Okay, let’s keep going.”

The weather only gets worse and the mud and rainwater are going to do Varian in before the guards get them at this point, so after a few more minutes of trying to navigate the darkened forest, Varian thinks of another way forward.

“Ruddiger, we’re gonna have to use the tunnels again. Are you with me, buddy?”

Varian hears Ruddiger’s responding chirr before he sees the blur that launches itself at him. Varian catches him and holds him close. His clothes are already ruined; an armful of wet raccoon doesn’t bother him much.

There’s a handful of openings to the cave systems below, and by chance, Varian stumbles over one he’s used before. If one doesn’t look closely, dry branches and the turned earth around it mask the hole in the ground well enough. Varian slips inside, still holding onto Ruddiger.

Inside, the rainfall is muffled. The sharp whistle of a draft echoes all around them.

Varian doesn’t dare stay in place for too long. He forces down a few more mouthfuls of air and he’s off again. In question, Ruddiger pokes his nose against Varian’s neck, gently at first, then more insistently until Varian says:

“We’re just gonna… We were gonna pass by the village anyway if we were going towards the nearest crossing over the wall, a-and this tunnel leads directly into Old Corona. So we’re leaving. Alright, buddy?”

Ruddiger’s tail swishes and whacks against Varian’s arm as they walk. From his pointed ears, Varian can tell what Ruddiger is worrying about; good. It means he’s not suspecting what Varian actually plans to do.

He tries to reassure both Ruddiger and himself:

“Hm. No, the King and her used the tunnels, right? Right… So the guards probably won’t come down here, and even if they did, we know our way around much better, don’t we?”

Ruddiger hops out of Varian’s arms with a squeak, opting to walk alongside him the rest of the way. Ruddiger’s confidence is restored. Varian kind of misses the warmth, but his arms are shaking.

It’s probably better this way.

The uneven walls of the cave become gradually smoother, and soon, wooden supports start appearing at regular intervals, defining a more intentional layout. They’re close now. If Varian hadn’t used all of the materials for his automatons, they’d be passing by one of his boilers right about now.

They don’t talk again until Varian stops at a junction in the tunnels. One of them, Varian recalls, leads into the center of the village, while the other goes straight to Varian’s lab, to his home, to Dad. Of course, if he wants to see Dad before he goes, which means the second tunnel is the obvious choice for him.

Ruddiger looks up at him, confused as to why they’re not going home already. He sits down on his haunches and crosses his paws over his chest, nose a-twitching, which would be a silly sight, but Varian won’t do this to Ruddiger again. He won’t subject Ruddiger to a life of living in the shadow of Varian’s actions even if the raccoon himself is innocent.

“Ruddiger, you can’t come with me where I’m going”, Varian says, eyes fixated on a point in between the two tunnels ahead of them.

Ruddiger jumps out of his previous pose, looking caught between indignation and a fear Varian hasn’t seen since he made Ruddiger drink the serum that turned him into a monster. Except, between the two of them, Ruddiger could never be the real monster.That’s why Varian has to let him go.

He wants to kneel down and run his hands through Ruddiger’s fur. He wants to tell his loyal companion that he is sorry for all of the ways he’s hurt him, that he wouldn’t have lasted this long without him, that he will always love him. But if he does that, he’s not sure he will be able to push him away. So Varian holds firm, looks away from shiny, black eyes. He fists one hand into the wet fabric of his prison shirt and uses the other to point towards the tunnel leading away from the lab.

“Go into the village, or go back into the forest, or… Or find yourself another friend. A better friend. J-just… Just go.”, Varian says, as firmly as he can, trying to channel the fuzzy, aimless rage that had come to him so easily all those months ago. It doesn’t now.

Ruddiger’s whiskers quiver and he whimpers so sadly that Varian almost breaks. But this is about keeping Ruddiger safe, even if it hurts in the moment.

“Go”, Varian says, then again, louder, clenching his jaw to keep his own chin from wobbling, “Go! Go already! ”

Ruddiger only takes off running once Varian turns his back on him. He doesn’t look back at the raccoon until the sound of his paws has fallen silent.

Then one more second spent waiting…

Varian should be on his way as well.

If he wants to visit home before he leaves Corona for good, he has to do it before the guards get here. With some luck, they will keep searching for Varian in the forest for a while longer in hopes of intercepting him before he actually gets close to his old strategic stronghold. With even more luck, they will get stuck in the mud just like Varian did.

Taking the other tunnel, Varian doesn’t feel his own body, it just shuffles along in his chosen direction.

Just a bit further .

One step. Another. He’s been through this portion of the tunnels a hundred times before, he can use it one last time.

Keep going.

And finally, maneuvering through rubble and giant chunks of stone and wood, Varian is home. He looks at his lab and thinks that, maybe, coming here was a mistake.

He hasn’t accounted for how seeing the amber again will affect him, because being plagued by visions of yellow crystal and his father calling for him is one thing, but to see Dad still in there, perfectly preserved, to see the ruin that his final attack brought to a space that used to be so important to him - it’s just different. It snaps Varian back in place, sharply. Painfully. It sits firmly around his chest like an invisible weight he's tied himself to of his own volition and when Varian presses a palm to his sternum, it doesn’t ease the ache or the frantic beat of his heart.

But Varian needs to focus. He can't be here for too long. He looks at everything except the amber. There is a bag in a corner and some papers that a damaged, leaking roof did not leave untouched. There’s shards and rubble on the floor and an overturned table here and more holes in the floor there.

But it doesn’t matter how much he tries not to look, eventually, his focus will always return to his father. To what Varian did to him.

He moves in as close as he can, as close as the unbreakable crystal will let him, and like he’s done so many times before he was thrown in jail, he lifts his hands and presses them against the amber.

“Dad…”

Suddenly, nothing makes sense anymore.

(How could he ever have considered leaving Corona?)

It’s how things were supposed to go, it's what he's been planning. By now, Varian should have already gone through the wall and made his way through acres upon acres of farmland and towards Corona’s border with Neserdnia.

But being here changes everything.

If he goes, Varian will break his promise and leave behind everything he’s ever known. Whatever’s left. A rundown house, the memory of his father.

“I have to go”, Varian still says, “They’re after me. They'll always be after me. But I”, he looks up until he can see his father’s face, stuck in an eternal struggle, “If I go… I won’t be able to get you out, Dad. I can’t do it. I trie-tried… B-but I couldn't. I-I just keep on failing you. I keep making ev-everything worse”, his voice is hoarse and unsteady.

He’d held on when he made Ruddiger go, but he can’t bear it now. Varian’s expression crumbles as hot tears gather in his eyes. He wipes them away with a dirty sleeve, but more of them drip down his chin.

“I can’t do it”, he whispers, suddenly horrified, “You’re st-stuck in there because of me and I don’t think I can get you out.”

Varian clings to the amber. There’s no more rationality left to him. There’s nothing left to him.

“I-I don't even want to go, Dad, I don't wanna leave you-!”

Did Rapunzel feel like this when she broke her promise?

“You… You don't deserve this… It shouldn't have been you. This is m-my mistake. My fault-”

Bam!

The silence breaks with the sound of a door slamming open. There’s people in Varian’s home, but they’re not in the lab yet. The scene isn’t even new, except Varian knows what he should do now.

“ No ”, he whispers, then more firmly as they start searching the house, loud as they were last time, “No.”

He was so stupid , thinking he could run away, thinking he could somehow circumvent his own mistakes.

Leaving?

No, Varian wants to stay. He never wants to leave his father’s side again. He’s been such an awful son, but maybe that can change now. He’s not going anywhere, and they won’t take him back to the castle, to the dungeons. Varian is staying right here.

He dislodges his body from the amber and, as the shouting of men approaches the lab, he starts looking around. The only black rocks that remain in the lab are the clusters around his father’s body and a smaller, singular spike where a batch of amber had started growing, capturing only a broken pair of handcuffs. Varian’s own wrists ache. He thought he might remove his once on the road, but now it doesn’t matter anymore. He checks the area around this singular black rock first, but when he finds nothing, Varian turns towards the desk.

Where did I…

He looks all over the floor. There’s shards that cut across his palms, broken tools that he looks past; powders and remains of ingredients form a toxic sludge. It’s not what he’s searching for.

Where is it!?

He used it on the Queen, and then? The memory is foggy around the edges, dream-like. Varian crouches and looks under the desk and, there, tipped over but not entirely empty yet, is the last intact vial in this entire laboratory.

Varian’s blood smears over the glass as he clasps his hand around it, but it’s alright. This won't take long.

He stands up again and approaches the exposed block rocks near his father. Only the base of the spikes is captured in crystal, but there’s enough surface area for the last drop of amber solution to work its ‘magic’.

The door to the lab splinters and breaks in two. Guards pour into the room. Varian doesn’t turn to look.

He tips the vial over instead, his heart finally slowing down. A sense of calmness accompanies the songbird sound of growing amber, and it’s all-encompassing. It covers up everything else, like the pain of crystal pinching at his fingers first, spreading across his hand, his arm, the shouts of the guards, the glimmer of armor, of weapons.

Everything beyond this one moment of peace falls away.

It’s just Varian and Dad. Just Quirin and his son. Varian isn’t running away. He closes his eyes.

Then, suddenly, all that registers is pain.

It’s insistent. It tugs and tugs, and still, Varian wants to embrace the amber. The new formation merges with the old one, after all.

But it gets worse when the intruders realize what’s really happening. They pull and grasp and wrench, like they think they can do anything against the infallible amber Varian created.

Only, skin is fallible. Skin rips and tears. His arm isn't fully enclosed and Varian lets out a cry when he and the three guards trying to get him out of the amber tumble back. All color drains from Varian’s face as blood splashes the amber. It has nothing else to cling to and its growth starts slowing.

“What are you-”, he tries, then he screams, “ No! ”

But they don’t let Varian go back to the newly formed layer of amber.

They keep tugging, until they’re a safe distance away from the mutating amber.

“Please, no…! Please, I just wanna stay here, I wanna stay with my Dad, please let me go, please -”

They hold him down.

“Help, please, just let me go !”

They don’t let go.

“Please…”

The amber settles and falls silent as the reaction comes to an end.

Varian’s stops struggling, limp in the hold of two guards while the others watch, but his eyes are still wide and glued to the amber, like if he keeps staring at it, if he just wishes for it hard enough, it will continue growing.

It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.

Varian finds there’s no more blood in his veins. It’s all ice. He’s so cold, shivering hard enough that it hurts, and the regret he thought he was resolving has only grown worse.

There's none of the relief the amber had teased him with. Before the pain, just for a second, Varian had felt…

One of the men holding Varian says:

“We have to get him back to the castle. The Captain will be furious if we take too long, but in this weather…”

The second one shakes his head.

“I’ll go. The rest of you should secure the perimeter. Make sure the brat didn’t get to do even more damage before we stopped him.”

“I… I guess that makes sense. But are you sure, man? It’s already dark outside, too…”

“I’ll take a lantern, obviously. Now, stop with the chit-chat and go check out the rest of the house.”

The first guard takes one good look at the lab and sighs.

“Alright, alright. Take care out there.”

With another nod, the second guard changes his grip on Varian as the other lets go. Only he and Varian leave the lab. Rather, Varian is dragged out by the guard.

He tries to put one foot in front of the other. Part of him wants to stop right here, to not take another step. They took him away from Dad once already. What pushes him to follow the guard’s orders to just move, damn it , is a strange, new sense of fear - stomach churning, like missing a step and, instead of falling down the stairs, Varian is suspended in the moment.

(Just before the guards tried to ‘free’ him, when he’d felt the amber close around him, Varian had felt peace. Why is it gone already?)

It takes all of his effort to continue doing as the guard says.

One step.

A second step.

A third, a fourth, until the motion becomes repetitive and Varian can do it mechanically.

Beyond what's left of the house, just outside, it’s still pouring. There’s more guards out here. Not quite enough to be called an army, but too many to retrieve one escapee. The scale of Varian’s actions looms before him and reflects off of golden plates of armor in the scarce light of lanterns. Crossbows are directed at the prisoner in warning, but the guard leading Varian away keeps an iron grip on his uninjured forearm until they come to stand in front of an already exhausted looking horse.

New cuffs click in place, wider, coming to rest just above the old ones still on Varian’s wrists. The horse stays steady while Varian is made to climb on its back. The guard leads the horse out of Old Corona and through the forest.

It’s not quiet out here. It can’t be, with the rain and the wind, with the footsteps and the occasional, booming thunder. Varian is deaf to it, though, like the veil over his eyes has now wrapped itself around his entire head and is blocking everything out. That’s why the guard has to resort to actually stopping before Varian notices that he is trying to speak to him.

“-repeat myself? Geez, this is why I don’t work with kids. And I told him! I told him, but does he listen? Nooo.”

Varian looks at the guard. The man holds the horse’s lead in one hand, a lantern in the other; the light makes Varian’s head hurt, so he looks away. But the guard notices that he's listening now.

“There you are. This was a pretty stupid choice you made”, he says, “Look, we don’t have much time. Had you waited a little longer, everything would have gone according to plan, but because of you, not only did we have to rush things, but now I have to be out here, soaked to the bone. This better be worth it!”

“Worth what? Who is we…?”, Varian’s almost too tired to be confused.

The guard squints.

“You’re gonna have to speak up, boy.”

“Who is… We?”, Varian tries to say a little louder, curling his fingers into fists until the strain hurts.

“Ah. You haven't caught on yet?”

The guard holds the lamp a little higher, ignoring Varian’s flinch, and with his features cut into stark shadows and bright, orange patches illuminated by the light, Varian remembers the man. He’s the one who accompanied Andrew and the twins when the prisoners returned from the barge.

“Name’s Maisie, but I’m guessing Andrew didn’t tell you that”, he sounds disappointed.

You can make friends in even the most unlikely places , Andrew had said once.

It seems Varian was right in his assumption that he was in cahoots with the guards.

Or, at the very least, with this guard in particular.

“Did… Did Andrew send you?”

“Evidently.”

“But you’re a guard.”

It's hard to make sense of things when he feels so mindless.

“Me? No”, the man, Maisie, scoffs, “I wouldn’t willingly join these spineless puppets if it were up to me, but you gotta do what you gotta do. It wasn’t even particularly difficult!”

Something is obviously afoot, but Varian can barely keep focus.

Still, he realizes that this is important, or some distant part of his brain does, and if he doesn’t want to be caught off-guard, he needs to pay attention.

“What did Andrew do?”, Varian asks eventually, pushing down his own emotions with whatever willpower he has left.

He's not even been gone for a day.

It's still raining.

it's so cold.

Maisie starts walking again.

“What did Andrew do… Say, kid - do you know who the Separatists of Saporia are? Do you know what we're here to do?”

Saporia, he knows a few things about. Two kingdoms, wars. A marriage, eventually.

Varian thinks that’s the simplest version of the story, but he’s never been particularly interested in history, even if Dad seemed to be. Science and maybe, maybe languages, as far as codes and theories of alchemical processes were involved. But, come to think of it… Andrew said he’s passionate about saporian history; he said he’s saporian.

But does Varian know anything about the Separatists of Saporia?

“...No?”

“I see education in Corona is about as good as its enforcement of law and order.”

Varian would try to make himself smaller, but sitting on a horse and trembling as hard as he is doesn't make that an easy feat to achieve.

“I’ll enlighten you. Firstly, of course we want to separate Corona and Saporia. This unity between kingdoms? Just another farce”, again with the ‘we’ stuff... It’s this guy and Andrew, but who else? Focus, Varian. Focus. “Secondly, we want to destroy Corona.”

“D-destroy…?”

Varian shouldn’t sound so shocked when there was a moment after Rapunzel’s hair didn’t work during which he entertained that notion himself. Still, his trembling gets worse.

“...Maybe I’ll let Andrew explain. Anyway, it’s nothing you’d be against. Our enemy’s enemy is our friend, even if I don’t like having to work with a coronan.”

Varian looks at Maisie and the sentence doesn't make any more sense after a few seconds of silence.

“Andrew will explain”, Maisie finally reiterates with a nod.

They reach the bridge between the capital and the mainland. He feels sick at the thought of being back on the island, but Varian keeps his silence.

He doesn’t know what to think. His head still hurts.

The streets of the capital are empty at this hour, but Varian still keeps his head down whenever they pass by a lit window. The castle, when they approach it, cuts a dark silhouette against a mutely glowing gray sky that only a stormy dawn can weave. 

Only, Maisie doesn’t take them through the main gate. He doesn't lead the prisoner towards the dungeons. Varian tries to ask:

“Where are we-”

“Shhh!”

Not the main gate, not the main yard, not the usual route.

Maisie almost pushes Varian off of the horse once they come to a halt, but Varian somehow catches himself against the horse’s side. They're already entering the castle by the time the world’s stopped spinning underneath Varian’s feet.

Inside, it’s hard to find familiarity in the hallways during the early hours of the morning, because when he stole the Queen away, it had been an evening during Summer. He’d already been well on his way through the forests around Old Corona when the sun had set, when it got this dark. The castle is different at night.

Still, something about the length of the corridors and the turns they take tickles at his memories. A growing suspicion is confirmed under torchlight, after they pass through a set of large, wooden doors.

Varian does know the infirmary.

It’s the only lit room they’ve gone through since Maisie snuck them into the castle. Most of the beds are empty, but Maisie still throws Varian a sharp look over his shoulder when he stops to take in what he sees.

Follow , Maisie’s eyes seem to say, and more importantly, don’t make any noise .

Varian should do as he’s told, just until he understands, just until something, anything around him makes sense again.

He follows and, when they approach it, Varian recognizes the office they’re headed towards. Besides the cell, he’s been in Doc’s office the most since his incarceration. Maise opens the door, shoves Varian inside and then closes it behind them.

It’s not Doc at her desk, but Andrew.

He doesn’t have shackles like Varian does, and by his side are two more people. There’s a large man with dark red hair and a curled mustache. He’s big enough that the small office looks even smaller around him. The other is a woman with dark skin, her hair braided and gathered under a wide, orange ribbon. Both of them glare at Varian.

And Andrew… Andrew is the only person who smiles when he sees him.

“And here he is. Our newest ally!”

“Andrew… What’s going on?”, Varian asks.

The walls between Varian and the world that the cell had eroded are firmly back in place, and behind them, Varian feels like he's the one falling apart.

“You aren’t the only one who wanted to leave that jailcell behind”, Andrew says.

“That's not- Why am I here?”

Because Maisie brought him and Maisie is working with Andrew.

And…

Maisie mentioned the separatists.

Andrew raises a hand. The people in the room look at him like he’s the one in charge. A second passes during which no one says anything.

Varian gives Andrew the best frown he can muster. He isn’t sure what that looks like now, after what’s happened today, but he hopes the expression holds.

“We”, Andrew looks at the people in the room meaningfully, “Are the Separatists of Saporia. As for our goal… We have more in common than you’d think, Varian. Our motivations are the same as yours.”

“And what's that…?”

“We want to right a wrong, to fix an injustice - it’s truly that simple. Corona must pay for what it’s done to us. All of us.”

He’s looking at Varian, and it should sound like a simple statement. It was factual, once. Now, Varian hears only accusations, and it’s not Andrew’s voice that shouts them, but a mockery of his father’s:

If you truly want to go against the kingdom that abandoned me, why do you hesitate, son?

“I don't need anyone's help to go against Corona”, Varian tries to sound confident. Except going against Corona is what he failed to do. He wanted to run. He failed at that too. What did Varian succeed at besides condemning his father to a miserable existence? If it can even be called existing …

You’d abandon me like they all did? Varian, I am so disappointed in you .

“Varian…”, Andrew says, “You don't have to do this on your own.”

“I don't need anyone .”

Even if he can’t free his father by himself.

I want to go home. I should be home right now.

There is no more home, he thinks, but his father's voice sounds disappointed by that thought.

You couldn’t even rectify what you did. How can you even think of leaving me behind? How can you leave your own father behind? It’s a coward’s way out.

Suddenly, it’s not just Quirin’s voice anymore. Years of distrust and fear and mockery cling to the edge of Varian’s mind. It shouldn't be something that still bothers him, not after everything else.

“I understand your hesitation, buddy, I truly do”, Andrew says, gently, leaning his face into his palm, “But it's alright if you do need our help. You could work with people who suffered like you have. I know you must feel lonely after you lost your father”, Varian flinches, “And haven't I already helped you before? Haven't I been here when you needed company? There's no need to be so hostile towards us now.”

The large man, Kai, adds:

“It's not like anyone in Corona will stand by you!”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Kai. Look”, Andrew stands up from Doc’s chair and crosses the room to stand in front of Varian. He holds a hand out and Maisie drops a small, rusted key in it, “The things I do? The reason I asked Maisie to go get you? It’s because I feel for people like us. I’m not the bad guy in this whole ordeal”, Both sets of cuffs fall to the floor. Where his skin had been in contact with the amber, blood drips, drips, drips. “ Corona is. And that’s what we’re up against. And we need someone like you in this sort of battle. And you need someone in your corner. History will remember us as heroes, at the end of the day.”

Maisie had seemed more direct.

Focus, focus, focus. This is important.

“You want to destroy Corona”, Varian repeats the words, dazed.

Andrew throws a sideways glance Maisie’s way. The man dressed as a guard shrugs. Andrew places both hands on Varian’s shoulders with a sigh and squeezes lightly.

“That’s too strong a word, perhaps. Reshape. Rebirth . What we really want is to see Saporia rise again, and now, we can go about making that dream a reality. But you can't gain anything if you're not willing to put up a fight, right?”

Varian nods hesitantly, unable to look Andrew in the eyes.

“ Yes . I knew you'd understand. And, once the castle is ours, once the capital follows our orders… Think of how many things will start changing around here. Saporia will regain its glory and nobody will have to suffer at the hands of these careless royals, as you have. We can make everything better if we just work together! We can fix this mess you’ve gotten yourself into. You couldn't do it by yourself, but together…”

If you can’t free me, you are no son of mine , not-Dad whispers in his ear.

“You want me to help you… Take over?”

“Yes. What do you say, friend?”

The only thing that tethers Varian to his indecision is guilt. It’s the injured soldiers he saw when he first passed through the infirmary. It’s Cassandra’s father, limping around days after Varian’s arrest. A document detailing the injuries Varian’s attack caused. Round, black eyes and a scarred tail. The man in the amber.

“How do you plan to take over the castle? Seems to me like you’re just hiding right now”, Varian finally asks in lieu of an answer of his own, “W-well?”

Andrew’s hands withdraw.

“I’ve just explained-”

Varian can't read between the lines, not right now, so he keeps asking:

“No. What’s the actual plan? How are you going to do this?”

Andrew is stunned enough that he doesn't answer right away.

“I won’t”, Varian swallows, “I don’t want to… Not everyone in this kingdom is- They shouldn’t”, he closes his eyes and pushes the words out, “I won’t hurt them. I don’t want to hurt anyone. So. How are you going to do this? What do you want from me?”

“Well, some violence might be necessary, but I can promise you we won't-”

The office door opens.

“It’s unwise of you to assume Hubert has thought about things in such detail. Or thought about anything at all, truthfully”, the new voice says.

Varian opens his eyes just as Doc walks past him to come in between him and Andrew.

Her back is to him and her hat is gone.

“Rosalie”, Andrew scowls, displeased.

“Hubert.”

“You’re interrupting a rather important conversation here.”

“Don’t blame your poor conversation skills on me. Anyway, she’s here.”

The woman with braided hair perks up at that and says:

“She’s early.”

“Isn’t it better this way? Some of the guards are still out there looking for the boy”, Doc replies, all the while ignoring Varian, who’s staring at the back of her head, feeling like the world has cracked around him, “You should see to it that your plan progresses before they return, don’t you think?”

“Don’t start another argument now ”, Varian’s never heard Andrew sound this annoyed before, “I get it. Saporians, let’s go. And you, Varian…”

Doc - Rosalie - whoever she is - finally looks, because she has to turn around to watch as the rest of Andrew’s allies filter out of her office. Her face is stone, unfeeling and cutting with her gaze when she says:

“If he wants to join you later, he will. For now, I should make sure he doesn't exsanguinate himself. Or do you doubt my medical advice as well?”

“Alright. Have it your way, then”, Andrew slams the door behind him.

It’s only Varian and Doc now. Him and Rosalie.

Notes:

Firstly:
I AM SO SORRY FOR HOW LATE THIS IS!!! D:
I was doing the editing for what was supposed to be the last handful of chapters for this season and, at some point, it occurred to me that what I had just kinda... Sucked? Nothing really made sense, or even if there were parts I liked, I got way too in my head about everything, so I thought to myself, maybe I can rewrite this small section. Oh, or maybe this entire chapter could do with a makeover and I'll edit in the ones that follow for continuity. Maybe this chapter can go as well. And on and on and on it went...
...On second thought, I just ended up scrapping most of what I had, and after that, I was too scared to post anything. It felt like nothing was good enough. This doesn't feel good enough, but I'm somewhat fine with it? :'D
(Exams might have also been kicking me in the ribs.)

Secondly, about the plot in this chapter, as well as from this point onward:
Oh boy, that was a little heavy, no? I hope the buildup until now makes everything feel less out-of-left-field. It's a sensitive subject and quite a bit darker than I thought I'd go, but it seemed fitting to me at this transition stage for Varian, enough that the scene at the lab has been one of the few constants in most of my past outlines (with necessary changes, of course). It's... Well, Varian sure is going through it.

I also did mention that things would start slowly picking up as we near the end of the season, but oof. This is fast fast (it's because of everything that I wanna go explorin' before the third season, ahaha :'D). And the doctor character... There's something I had planned for her from the beginning, but it's not quite what it looks like??? I should be able to get the next chapter out soon enough, so the little cliffhanger doesn't hang for too long.

I really do hope the way the story goes from here isn't too weird and that ya enjoyed reading! Until next time~

Chapter 29: The doctor and the advisor

Summary:

Rosalie, Varian finds, likes to think two, three, maybe four hundred times before she makes a move. But he's nothing like her. He moves because now he knows that things get bad if he stops, and also, what does she know about Andrew? She wasn't his cellmate. The decision on what to do next is Varian's to make and his alone.

Notes:

Contents: Mild blood and treatment of injuries, a lukewarm interpretations of the Saporia-Corona conflict, some not negligible amount of pettiness, the Wand of Oblivium.

As soon as Andrew and his allies have left the office, Varian’s shocked docility melts into a painful glare that pulls at the dry patches of mud on his face. Too much, it’s too much . He’s shivering, can barely keep himself in place, but Doc doesn’t seem afflicted by the same emotions.

She’s steady when she walks around her desk, precise in which drawers she opens. There’s no spectacle in the way she plops a bag onto her desk. Varian glares at the medical supplies he can see vague contours of, in hopes that the facade does something.

“Your face will get stuck that way”, she says lightly, and when that doesn’t earn her any reaction from Varian, she gestures towards the same chair Varian has sat in during all of the meetings they had so she could keep documenting Varian’s state. Was she always spying on him? Yes, but on whose side was she? Varian thought he knew. No one’s, but if I do or say anything, she'll tell the King , he thought then. And now…

He glares harder.

Doc sighs, but starts pulling out various bottles and vials, a roll of clean bandages, a small pair of scissors that hiss a low, sharp note when she tests them, snipping once.

“While I can understand your frustration, you shouldn’t risk an infection for the sake of emotions. I am also aware that blood makes you queasy, so I say this out of practicality. Please, mister Varian…”, she tries again, “Sit down.”

“Read that in another one of your files on me?”, Varian bites back. He doesn’t want to sit. He doesn’t want this to feel familiar. The sour taste in his mouth and the rug her presence has swept out from under him are good distractions. If he calms down, he loses even these minute details, and he's already unsteady.

“As a matter of fact, yes”, she huffs, then approaches Varian and reaches for his arm. “Whatever it is you think you understand about this-”

“Oh, I understand everything! You were with them this whole time!”, instead of just letting her do her job, Varian knocks his fist into his forehead, “I was just too stupid to see it.”

“You sound hurt.”

“Wh-”, the accusation gives him pause, “N-no, that’s not it. I don’t really care about this - any of this. I should just… Should just leave again. For real, this time!”, he says it like a threat, but she’s unimpressed.

 

 

“It sounded to me like you were about to take Hubert up on his offer just now. You’re rather contrary today, mister Varian.”

Varian’s shoulders drop, but everything else remains taut as he obliges her and plops himself down on the chair. Or collapses into it.

Whether I leave or stay to see what Andrew has in mind, I can’t do either if I’m trailing blood wherever I go, I guess , he thinks, looking away from dark red circles dotting the floor already.

He raises the arm that had been caught up in the amber, fist clenched tight enough to shake. Doc - Rosalie? - her eyes follow the marks torn into his skin. He supposes they look rather unusual.

“How did-”

“That…”, Varian grimaces; he can hear it for himself now, the hurt, “It doesn't really matter.”

Doc looks at the scissors in her hand.

(Varian remembers some of the bedtime stories Dad used to frighten him with. A good few involved childrens’ fingers being snipped right off. He used to say that, no, Varian needn’t be afraid - he was a good boy, so no scissors-wielding menace would get him. It’s an absurd fragment of a memory. It’s funny. It makes Varian’s face fall further.)

“Alright”, Doc says eventually.

With a hum, she snips off a square of gauze. Crrr , go the scissors. A bottle is tipped over the piece of cloth before she folds it once. Then, it’s pressed against the edges of Varian’s injuries. The sensation is cool, but painless.

“...What is that?”, he asks quietly. His fingers twitch and the fist loosens as Doc cleans the wound.

“Water.”

“No, it’s not”, Varian scoffs, then sniffs the air, “It smells… Salty and… Herbal?”

“It’s mostly water”, she says, voice as quiet as Varian’s, her eyes dark with focus, “But it is supposed to help with any pain while I clean your wound. I hope it is effective?”

Varian doesn’t answer right away. When the remaining tension drains out of him all at once, he lets out a long breath.

“I.. Sure? A-anyway. Medicine is really not what matters right now. Today was already-... Can’t you just tell me what’s going on? I think Andrew was about to earlier”, before you interrupted .

She finishes cleaning the wound first. Rosalie snips off another square of bandages, patting it dry.

“The Separatists of Saporia hold a grudge towards Corona”, she starts.

“Well, I got that much.”

“They plan to take over the kingdom today. Hubert thinks they have everything they need, now that their group is complete. Additionally, you’re also here now.”

“Thinks?”

“I’d disagree, but I don’t…”, Varian looks at her, but not at where her hands are moving, quick and gentle, “I have no influence on how they will decide to proceed.”

Varian stands up a little straighter.

“I thought you were on his side. One of the separatists…?”

She raises an eyebrow at this, and the next swipe touches at the edge of a wound. This one still has blood beading up over it. Varian hisses.

“I am saporian . While I have some sympathy for the separatists’ cause, it’s rude to assume I endorse all of their plans. It’s hard to support anything they do when their leader couldn’t even steal a book, anyway”, she pauses to look for a salve, the same one Pete brought Varian in the dungeons. Same color, same consistency. This stings a little more than the ‘water’ did, but Varian grits his teeth and keeps listening. “In truth, I agreed to help Hubert out because of that sympathy. I thought I was helping him escape from too-long-a-sentence for a singular, failed act of theft.”

“Technically, stealing that journal would have been treasonous as well. That’s what I was told”, Varian wrinkles his nose. “Why are you calling him Hubert?”

“It’s his name.”

“But… Andrew?”

“A middle name. It is in his file and, as you know, one of my duties is managing the health of the castle’s prisoners, so it’s really a rather basic piece of information. But… He also introduced himself to me months before you arrived. He’d twisted his ankle, if I recall correctly, and so he was brought here for assessment. It was nice to talk to another saporian”, she sighs.

“That’s how you met, then. But you’re not a separatist.”

She shakes her head.

“No. He’s tried to persuade me, and I was considering joining their cause, maybe , at first… But then, he told me he might have found a new ally. His own cellmate, actually. You never talked about him, but the cell charts are quite accessible to someone with my job.”

“What? But that’s a good thing”, Varian laughs, even if it's an empty sound - is that the only reason Andrew had been nice to him? To get on his good side, to get Varian to join his cause? It’s what Varian had expected of him in the beginning, after all, a hidden reason. Something to gain. “That he recognizes my abilities, I mean. That he wants my help.”

The same roll of bandages is circled around his arm, the first layer staining with the salve. Subsequent layers follow.

“I cannot and will not, in good conscience, agree with using a child as a tool for one’s own victory.”

“I’m not-”

“Mister Varian.”

He stops.

“While I agree that you have seen and experienced things that make your circumstances special”, she says this in a softer tone than he would expect from her, “This is not the sort of involvement you can detach yourself from once you agree to it and I don’t know that you fully understand the consequences as you are right now. I have no influence over you either, but you should take more time to mull this over”, she sighs when he doesn’t continue arguing with her over this beyond rolling his eyes, “And you should change these bandages every day”, she ties a knot and lets Varian drop his arm back into his lap, “But it should heal well. Whatever caused this sort of damage, it seems you got lucky in the end.”

Lucky, huh?

Varian isn’t sure what to say now - he had all these questions he wanted to throw at her, maybe indirectly at Andrew, but it’s like they’re stuck and he can’t push any of them out. He watches, somewhat helplessly, as Doc starts to pack her bag once more.

After, she closes the bag and goes to look outside her window. With her back to him, Varian feels more at ease to blurt out:

“I honestly don’t understand why you’re harpin’ on me for considering joining Andrew. Didn’t you basically trick everyone too to help them up to this poi-”

Doc raises a hand.

“I assure you, mister Varian, my employment here isn’t some sort of plot against anyone. I’ve been here since before this newest wave of separatists. Still, perhaps I cannot deny that I too hoped for change when Hubert presented his case to me”, she sighs, “What happened hundreds of years ago, after the Saporian Wars… I suppose the story is well-known. It is a lot more complex than that. Corona is a lot more complex than that. And not everyone is happy with its state today.”

“You aren’t either”, Varian guesses. He looks away when she smiles back at him over her shoulder. It’s not really a happy smile.

“A mixing of our cultures was to be expected, of course. Change is inevitable. But the kingdom that two people came together to create takes on only one name. Still, some people see themselves closer to their ancestors than today’s populace. Some people are held in higher regard than others. You can see where conflict might arise.”

“Corona… That's the saporian name for the ancient kingdom”, Varian remembers it as one of the few words that remained as a direct translation in the current dialect. If only he could ask Dad for more details… Varian’s injured arm pulses. “It’s not that simple, is it?”

“No”, Rosalie admits, turning back to face the window, “Hubert offered a solution, but I’ve come to realize that there’s a simplicity to what they’re after, so there’s my conflict with them. Besides, I did not know how far they might go. I didn’t realize .”

“Andrew sounded hopeful though. Why?”, Varian says.

We can make everything better if we just work together!

Varian had tried to leave because he couldn’t conceive of another way to fix what he's done. He even failed to do that much. Andrew is offering him another way - forward, not out.

“The woman who arrived today. Clementine”, Rosalie says the name thoughtfully, “I helped her stay in contact with her acquaintances here. She had a more hands-on job to do, as far as the separatists’ goals were concerned.”

“Infiltrating a castle and breaking out of prison isn’t hands-on?”

“Hm. She was looking for something. They would not tell me what”, she looks off to the side, slightly annoyed, “I think they did not like that I kept arguing about what they were doing. I thought I was helping by making sure their plans made logical sense, but, oh well.”

Varian almost laughs.

“Well, you do like to argue with people.”

“I like to have discussions with them. There’s a difference”, she counters, “Regardless, whatever she was looking for, she has found, and I don’t know that either of us should be involved.”

“Are you… Scared?”, Varian tilts his head.

“Maybe”, but she shakes her head, “No. ‘Scared’ is not the word. Wary, perhaps. I, for one, would rather step aside. He won’t tell you everything either, you know?”

“Ohhh, so you just want to abandon the people you befriended because they’re not what you expected. Is that it? Huh?”, he can’t help the pettiness.

“One can only react to information that they have; I am not a seer, mister Varian. But my allegiances are not the ones you should be concerned with. Do you trust… Andrew?”

Varian doesn’t expect it to be so difficult to come up with an answer. It’s a yes or no question, but he has to think for a while before he says anything.

“He helped me before, while we were in prison? I can’t think of anything else I can do. I can’t… I tried to leave, but even that didn't”, Varian pauses, “It didn't work out. Maybe this is better. I don’t have to trust him. We can just be allies… I think he really wants to help me too. To make things better in general, anyway.”

“Good intentions at all costs do not a balanced solution create”, Doc warns.

Varian narrows his eyes. When he stands, the chair screeches as it’s pushed against the wooden floor and the sound makes the silence feel more intense.

“What’s so wrong with doing the right thing?”

“It’s what you’re willing to do for the right thing that concerns me. One might think you already realized that.”

Are they still talking about Andrew, about whether or not Varian will join the separatists in their cause in hopes of solving his own problems? He recalls a conversation they had a while ago. They were talking about the amber and she questioned Varian’s conviction to find a way to free his father when nothing had worked before.

Why does she use the same voice now, when it is possible for Varian to get more help instead of just pushing forward blindly? She seemed happy enough when the King and Queen changed their minds on a whim! Now who’s contradictory?

“I… I’m just doing what I have to.”

He takes a few steps back, ready to turn towards the door.

“You’re getting involved in a fight that doesn’t belong to you, mister Varian, and the Separatists of Saporia are very protective of their ideals”, she sighs, noting the way Varian’s eyes dart from looking at her to fixating on each corner of the room while he thinks.

When he settles, Varian fixes Rosalie with a desperation he hasn’t felt in a while. Mindlessness has been his mood these days - existing for the sake of existing, doing things for the sake of doing them. Seeing the amber helped clear his head better than taking notes, than fiddling with minimal ingredients to fashion himself an escape plan.

“It’s mutual help”, he says in a small voice, “Nothing came of the King finally, finally waking up and choosing to do something. They can’t… They won’t free my Dad if I don't keep pushing. I can’t just sit by and do nothing”, he says through gritted teeth, “And I-I won’t run away. Not again.”

Shock makes her look older than she really is. Rosalie - doctor, saporian, accessory to jailbreak - she just stares at him.

“Varian…”

I’m sorry , Varian doesn’t say.

He opens the door and slams it behind him. The infirmary is almost empty, just as it was before, but he can hear a commotion underway outside its doors. Without another alchemical solution at hand that he can use to fashion his usual diversions, Varian resorts to stealing exactly one golden helmet off of a dozing guard, then plucking a blanket off of one of the beds.

The guards are focused on yelling orders and drawing weapons and hurrying to get somewhere . Something’s going on, but no one’s really sure what. They don’t care about a sickly colleague of theirs having escaped the infirmary.

It’s easy for Varian to find the convergence point of the chaos, and he isn’t surprised. The main entrance to the Throne Room is locked from the inside, which isn’t normal, not even for private audiences. Those, in Varian’s experience, are held somewhere else if Freddy wants to threaten people in peace.

Varian’s glare is obscured by the too-large helmet on his head, but he seems pretty invisible to the panicking soldiers anyway. He looks for his own way in, and when he finds it, it’s almost too perfect.

One lone guard is ramming his shoulder into the the furthest side entrance to the Throne Room, and Varian clears his throat, tries to make his voice lower and raspier and says:

“They need more men at the- The main doors! Yes! And I am too sick to help them, so you must go! Gooo!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

The guard is off like a bolt, and all Varian has to do is reach out and grab hold of the hilt of his sword and hold himself steady. The guy doesn’t even notice when his own weapon is drawn. It's funny. Hah.

Varian is also lucky indeed. He’s got an unmanned door and the means to open it right in his hands, even if it’s too heavy and Varian has to drag the sword in a trail of sparks across the floors until he’s face to face with the door, and more importantly, its handle and lock and the gilded, metal pad connecting them.

Raising the sword over his head for his one, strategic strike leaves Varian’s vision spotted and sweat gathering at his brow, but one hit, he just needs one hit-

Varian lets the sword drop.

In the commotion, no one hears the sound of metal hinges springing apart, nor the loud clank of the sword falling to the floor after. Varian opens the door.

He made it.

“And there he is. Didn’t I tell you, guys? That our newest friend shouldn’t be underestimated?”, Andrew says smoothly.

He and his friends are gathered in front of the thrones, with Kai holding King Frederic’s arms behind his back. Queen Arianna is still on her throne, but not willingly. A short woman with braided white hair and both a hood and a cap on her head is pointing a stick at the Queen’s face. Varian concludes that this must be Clementine, and whatever she’s holding… Is this the thing Rosalie mentioned, the one they wouldn’t tell her about? Behind the group, there’s a pile of groaning, knocked-out guards.

Varian throws the blanket and the helmet aside as he approaches the thrones. The King’s head turns toward him with a vicious glower marring his face.

At first, he seems too angry for words, but as Varian stops, just a step or two away from the separatists, he spits out:

“You would betray your own kingdom again ?”, but then, he takes a deep breath. Varian notices that, although Queen Arianna is completely still otherwise, her arm is up and her hand is holding onto the King’s as best as she can; she squeezes. “Do not do this. I know you have no reason to trust me, but do not do this . Whatever they told you, whatever lies he fed you-”

“-is nothing compared to a King lying to his own people. Isn't that right, Varian?”, Andrew grins at him, climbing the stairs onto the throne platform so he can meet the King’s gaze, but both King Frederic and Queen Arianna have their eyes trained on Varian as well.

Varian, who forces himself to look at them even as he tries to ignore how it’s not just anger reflected back at him.

They just look scared . Varian’s had this thought before.

“What are you going to do now, Andrew?”, he manages to ask.

“Me? Personally, I am not going to do much besides looking. But Clementine… Now, she has what we need to finish this. Don’t you, Clementine?”

The short woman laughs quietly, her stick still pointed at the Queen. There’s a red gem inlaid at the base of it, and when Clementine tightens her grip, it begins glowing. First, a soft pink - Varian thinks it could be a trick of the light - but then the light grows stronger, particles swirling around Clementine’s arm.

There’s a blinding flash of deep red, and before the stars have faded from Varian’s eyes, he hears the King calling out:

“ Arianna-! ”

All sound cuts out as a second flash illuminates the Throne Room.

When the smoke clears, Kai has let go of the King, who stumbles back onto his throne, his crown slightly askew on his head.The Queen is looking ahead, her face blank. Andrew and his group look at each other with slowly-widening smiles, until Clementine swings her stick around, though it doesn’t light up this time. Its gem only glistens with the celebratory movements.

“ Aha! It worked! And you thought the wand wouldn’t have enough juice for both of them”, Clementine taunts Maisie, who’s abandoned his armor at some point. He’s wearing a hat and mismatched suit now.

Wand?

“Yes, barely”, he says, but he sounds relieved more than anything, “We sure got lucky this time.”

“Lucky?”, Andrew shakes his head, “No, no. This is not a matter of luck. Things are simply going according to plan. It’s our destiny, too. And now, finally…”

“ Andrew ”, Varian can’t immediately tell what's changed about the King and Queen. They're not saying anything. Why aren't they saying anything? They're just… Standing there! “What did you do?”

“No need to sound so upset, Varian. What’s a little memory-erasing spell in the grand scheme of things?”, with this, Andrew breaks away from his group to approach a Varian, who’d rather he doesn't.

“Memory-erasing…!?”, Varian’s question comes out as a hiss, “What do you mean-”

“I mean just that”, Andrew says, now in front of Varian. He’s not smiling. He doesn’t look angry. He guides Varian closer to the thrones with a hand on his bandaged arm, his grip loose, but Varian feels too shaky to struggle against it anyway. “What they don’t know can’t hurt them, just like you wanted. A little magic and they’re as good as charmed! Right now…”

He pushes Varian forward until he stands in front of King Frederic himself.

“They’ll believe anything we tell them. They’ll do anything we tell them. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“...Anything?”, Varian asks.

He feels trapped between the King's emotionless stare and the looming presence of Andrew behind him. The King tilts his head up and his crown threatens to fall until Andrew moves in and straightens it back up with a flourish.

“Your Majesty”, Andrew says, bowing, first to the King, then to the Queen.

The King’s confusion is palpable. He purses his lips before he asks:

“Majesty? Who do you mean, good sir?”

“I think he means us”, Queen Arianna responds before Andrew can, looking down at her dress, then at the throne she is still sitting on, “But… Oh, what happened? I can’t remember…”

“Me either. It's all gone…”, King Frederic nods.

“I think I can enlighten you, your Majesties”, Andrew grins.

“If you’d be so kind”, the Queen says. More than that, she smiles . It looks genuine.

Varian gawks, but Andrew won’t let him step back, won’t let him get away. It’s all way too unnerving.

“Well”, Andrew starts, rushing when the pounding on the main doors of the Throne Room starts anew, heavier than before; Varian’s head had faded it out at some point, but he can hear it too now, “You two are King and Queen of a wonderful, little kingdom. Saporia . And we are…”, he points at the other separatists, “We are your most treasured guests, today. Dignitaries from all corners of the country. We basically run the place for you! And… You invited us here today for a… A celebration, perhaps. Yes. But you never specified much in your - ahem. Your invitation. And what's more…”

He pauses for effect and Varian doesn't feel good about this.

“This is Varian. He is your royal advisor here at the castle!”

Huh. Isn't that interesting?

Wait-

“What!?”, Varian says, taken aback, but King Frederic lets out a small laugh.

“Ah, but he’s merely a boy!”

“Hey, now…”, Varian tries.

“Yeah, man. Why would you-”, the woman who used the wand, who’s still holding said wand up, actually, complains.

“ Play along. I’m trying to help you out here ”, Andrew whispers to Varian before he continues, “Don’t let his appearance deceive you, your Majesties. He’s rather cunning.”

“I see”, Queen Arianna says, “Well, I guess that must be true. But, young man”, she looks at Varian, who gulps nervously.

“Y-yes, Queen Arianna?”

Bam, bam, bam , the guards ram against the door.

Bam-bam-bam , goes Varian’s heart.

“Is that my name? Arianna”, she looks down with a small smile after Varian nods, then, “What’s with all the ruckus? I’d almost say we’re being attacked, and if we are King and Queen, then that doesn’t bode well.”

Before Varian can answer and before Andrew or any of the other saporians can intervene, the doors finally give.

Guards flood the Throne Room and Varian finally slips away from Andrew’s grasp, turning just in time to see the Captain of the guards break into the room, sword raised, his expression vicious.

“Men! Get the traitors!”, he yells, and the guards move to follow the command, but all it takes for them to stop is to see King Frederic stand up, arms raised placatingly.

“Now, I may not fully understand what is going on at the moment… But there are no traitors here”, the King says, nodding after he looks over the separatists. When he spots Varian, frozen mid-cowering behind the Princess’ empty throne, King Frederic starts smiling. “That one over there is my advisor, in fact. And such accusations sound rather serious…”

The last sentence is said in a grave voice. There’s enough tension in the air that even a butterknife will do the job of cutting it.

The Captain holds himself carefully still while the King speaks, wary in the way his brows shift and his mouth falls shut. He takes in the situation and looks at Varian in a way no one has looked at him since he lost his father to the amber. It makes Varian’s shoulders hunch further, but he does step up from behind the throne, as if to say, sure, I’m one of the big guys now. This might as well happen.

“Advisor? Your Majesty, these are all-”, the Captain scoffs.

“They are our dear guests”, the Queen explains, slowly, like she would to a child.

“D-do we still…”, a guard speaks up, “Do we still arrest them, Cap?”

“Heavens! Of course not!”, the King walks up to said guard and slaps him on the back in a friendly manner. The guard yelps. “We are gathered here for a most joyous occasion which I can’t quite recall right now! But… Hm… Maybe for a feast! I am rather famished…”

And Varian isn’t prepared for the way the King looks at him for confirmation. He tries to speak up when Andrew raises an eyebrow his way, but his voice is stuck, so Varian just nods instead. King Frederic seems satisfied with the answer, clapping his hands twice.

“A feast it is!”, he says.

All of the guards are silent, awkwardly shifting in place.

“Your Majesty, are you alright…?”, it’s the Captain again. He’s the only one who dares to approach the King. He's starting to catch onto what Andrew’s allies have done, and this is it , Varian despairs, the charade is up. We're done for.

“Of course I am alright, uh… Apologies, but who is this man?”, King Frederic looks to Varian once more, but Andrew takes it upon himself to reply this time.

“That’s your Captain of the royal guard. He’s not the most competent, but… In a time of crisis… I suppose he'll do”, Andrew trails off in an almost pitiful tone. The other separatists hide laughs behind their hands.

One of the Captain’s eyes twitches, but he takes a moment to consider his next words carefully. He looks at his King and Queen and Varian can see the slow realization of what he's too late to stop. In the end, the Captain says nothing and lets Andrew’s statement linger.

“Aha! Good, good, it's important for me to know these things. Thank you…”

“Andrew”, Andrew says, bowing again.

“Yes. Thank you, Andrew”, King Frederic smiles as he looks over the stunned crowd of guards. “Now then, as I said, it is a time of celebration! Won’t you keep an eye on the arrangements for that feast I mentioned, Captain?”

“Of course”, the Captain forces the words out, “Your Majesty. Right away. Guards! Alert the staff”, is his last order before he storms out of the Throne Room, his men following after him, one by one. A murmur of confusion follows after them.

A small group of guards remains, looking at the unconscious ones from before; one of the new guards raises a hand and tries to say something, but a loopy wave from Queen Arianna makes him shudder and give up on that idea. Varian can see them nod to each other before they station themselves near the destroyed doors. There, they resume watch duty, as if this was just a normal day at Corona castle. Except it isn’t and… This isn’t Corona anymore, is it?

Andrew hasn’t stopped grinning. 

“And now that the preparations for the… Feast are underway, your Majesty”, Andrew says after King Frederic has sat back on his throne, humming a cheery tune to himself, “Before all of these rude interruptions, might I remind you that you were in the middle of arranging accommodations for us?”

“Was I?”, the King asks.

“Indeed!”

“Then that must be dealt with as well. Oh, but I don’t quite remember how…”, he doesn’t finish his sentence, but the nervous way he scratches at his cheek is a sure enough sign of the King’s flustered state.

“I can just tell the castle staff to prepare some rooms on your orders. We can all help you with a lot more, since you both seem to be a little unwell… No?”, Andrew’s grin grows even sharper.

“Wonderful idea, Andrew!”

King Frederic and Queen Arianna cheerily bid them farewell when the separatists depart. They’re out of it enough that they don’t even question why they take the ‘royal advisor’ with them, but Varian thinks this is for the best. He can’t think. He moves just because Andrew is pushing him along. Andrew says:

“See? Now, they will listen to you. I told you I would help you.”

Varian doesn’t look back as they exit the Throne Room. He doesn't say anything either.

Notes:

I'm pretty sure that the cartoon aims to play the Corona-Saporia stuff as pretty straight forward. Corona and Saporia did unite out of love and Andrew and his fellows are just the irrational, odd ones out. Or I'd say that, but there's this feeling of division between what's 'coronan' and what's 'saporian', and there's only a few details to dispell that feeling in the mini-analysis I tried to do for myself - most of the extra info I am basing my headcanoning on would be the 'Lost Treasure of Herz der Sonne'! I think Feldspar talking about the language and Herz der Sonne's will being in Saporian is fascinating.
At the end of the day, though, this isn't a very exciting take, but it also can't be. Given all the excitement season three is sure to bring, making the conflict any more caustic would require a lot more time and exploration so it doesn't come across as superficial, and I don't know that I have the skills for that sensitive a topic.
Then again, it's not like, even in countries that united somewhat peacefully or where you have the changing borders over time, you don't get some pretty big ideas on what defies the identity of a citizen. It's pretty relevant where I live too, so maybe that's some of the 'inspiration'. But the thought is basically: 'modern-day' saporians seeing themselves as separate, but not being nearly as extreme as the separatists, would be interesting to explore. And Doc is right there. Heh.

Varian's heavily conflicted in this one too, because we do know that, by the time Rapunzel returns, he's remorseful, but not really far along in his own journey to not still reach for his own extreme solutions. Justifications, motivations, excuses; whatever would we do without them?
But that's enough rambling out of me.

Until next time, then!

Chapter 30: Catalyst

Summary:

Controlling Corona through its rulers is easy enough, but what about administrative duties? What about defense of their current positions? Turns out, it takes more than a handful of people to run a Kingdom, but with Varian's alchemy, the separatists have an indirect advantage.
As for the alchemist himself, he's trying to adjust.

Notes:

Contents: emotional instability (it's pretty much a constant at this point), alchemy, more letters.

“And here we are!”, Andrew swings the door open and looks rather pleased with himself when the room beyond it is revealed, “This is all yours now. It's a bit better than a jail cell, isn’t it?”

He throws a little key Varian’s way, who scrambles to catch it.

Varian peeks into the room and he can’t find it in himself to disagree. It’s a guest room, indistinguishable from the ones Andrew procured for the other separatists. They’re all on the same floor, in the same wing of the castle, so it makes sense. This is the third down the hall and it has a flower pot next to it.

“It’s best if we stay close, just in case”, Andrew had reasoned after ordering a few maids to bring new sheets and whatever else the King’s ‘guests’ might need. The maids’ expressions had ranged from shaky and unnerved to a confused sort of suspicion.

Varian looks at the bed, the empty desk and the wardrobe in the corner. On the whole, the room is simple, but nice,and he likes simple. The cell had been simple too, but here, and with the way things are right now, surely Varian will be able to do more than a whole bunch of nothing interspersed with bursts of planning his escape. Now, Varian can do everything he’s wanted to do, because who’ll stop him? 

There’s a window, too. Andrew looks out at the sky through it - it’s still cloudy, but a little brighter than earlier in the morning.

“Right. And since that’s settled…”, Andrew says. Before he turns to leave, Varian says:

“What now?”

He’s been asking this question ever since Andrew first made his offer, first to gauge what direction the separatists’ plan was going, and now, to figure out which role he’s actually playing in this whole thing. The advisor bit took him by surprise. Andrew either doesn’t mind the repetition or pretends he doesn’t.

“Now? Well, I, for one, would like to talk to our gracious hosts ”, the hostility in the word makes Varian flinch, or maybe it’s the memory of the blank faces of the King and Queen still lingering at the edges of Varian’s vision, “To cement our friendship, as it were. And then there’s the dinner affair… It will be nice to enjoy something other than prison slop”, Andrew says evenly.

Varian looks down at the floor. There’s even carpeting in the room. It’s soft, if a little dusty.

“I-I guess…”, it’s not what Varian cares about, “But what should I do?”

Andrew doesn’t answer for a few tense moments, which gives Varian time to think, and that's his problem, that he thinks too much, but it's circular. 

He’s let his emotions get the better of him with Doc, so Varian decides he needs to be logical and cool from this point forward. He can’t afford a repeat of what happened when he tried to visit Dad. 

When Andrew finally speaks, his voice is airy, like he’s not finished his ruminations:

“What should you do? Well…”

Sensing the doubt, Varian all but jumps to respond.

“You think I can help, right? Well, I do. I can, I mean! I can help and I will, and you’ll help me get Dad back…?”, Varian preemptively reassures him.

Andrew crouches to be at eye-level with Varian.

“We can use the castle’s resources in whatever way benefits us”, he says, “Don’t worry, kid. Everything will be taken care of, eventually. Just take some time to relax and be at ease for now. I will call for you and the other saporians once this ‘feast’ is arranged. I believe the Throne Room will be a fitting location for us. It’s going to be a wonderful celebration of what this new start means for us. Then? Then, it gets fun”, Andrew says, laughing to himself before he turns to leave the room; Varian’s room, he supposes. Varian changed sleeping quarters often enough in the last year that the unfamiliarity has become familiar.

And now, he's alone here.

To pass the time, he looks into the wardrobe (empty, except for a few folded up sheets) and there’s a candle and a matchbox on the desk (Varian pockets the matches, but the winter daylight will hold for a few more hours before he has to use the candle). Finally, Varian approaches the window. It’s tall and narrow, but he has a clear view of the castle’s main yard.

He remembers Doc looking out the window before, and now, Varian understands why. He glues himself to the glass. Even if it's deflated now, Varian can spot it from here, laid out in one of the smaller courtyards. He’s never seen a hot air balloon before. The red and white striped fabric of its envelope is loosely arranged next to a basket (is this what Clementine used in her travels to look for that ‘wand’?), and the guards aren’t out at this hour - not after the commotion from before. They must still be organizing. Varian can imagine the Captain pacing, thinking of ways to stop them. It’s not as intimidating a thought as it would have been once, not after the King stood up for the saporians. Andrew’s bluff worked wonders. And…

Varian supposes he’s a royal advisor now. He isn’t sure how to feel about that, because, how many opportunities does he have now? But the circumstances are weird.

Varian shivers and steps back from the cold window.

…Maybe he can head to dinner early, instead of uselessly sitting around.

It’s almost a relief to leave the room and close and lock the door behind him, except now, Varian has to reckon with his patchy knowledge of the castle layout. Some parts, he knows very well, but not all of them. Memories of what he explored by himself when he kidnapped the Queen, what Cassandra showed him, which parts the Princess snuck through when they were trying to steal Herz der Sonne’s journal… It covers a lot of ground, but the castle is massive and its hallways are labyrinthine,

Varian tries to recall the way Andrew led him before, even if Varian was too in his own head to commit the twists and turns to memory. The journey is made additionally difficult by the people he encounters along the way. Castle staff and guards and other residents. They look anxious, and when they spot Varian walking down the hallways, they stop and stare in a way that makes Varian wish he had another smoke bomb diversion.

He tries to ignore the looks at first, but after a while, he adopts a different tactic. 

If he squares his shoulders and glares back, if he can be as scary as the guy that attacked the castle in the Summer, they're more likely to look away. That’s a good thing. It's easy .

After a while, he finds his way back to the Throne Room. It is once again the focus of activity in the castle. All of the doors are open, and the one Varian broke through is mysteriously missing, taken clean off its hinges (could the locksmith not make it to repair its lock? Or maybe Varian damaged something more important and hadn't realized it), but he still has to squeeze by groups of people rushing to and fro. Most of the castle staff are carrying trays and tablecloths and what have you, but Varian focuses on what’s already been set up once he finally makes it inside.

There’s three tables, all decked out for what is shaping up to be a lavish meal, but only two of them are occupied: a smaller, heavily decorated table set before the Thrones, where the King and Queen sit, staring out in the room with polite smiles. There’s space for a third chair on the King’s right side, but no more. The table is only meant for the royal family.

The other tables are parallel to each other and Andrew and his separatists occupy one. Its decorations are not as lavishly golden, but it looks elegant nonetheless. There’s a few flowers dotted between bowls and plates, and only upon a closer look does Varian realize they’re made of paper and fabric. The vibrant color choice gives away the original maker of the decoration, Varian thinks somewhat bitterly. Of course her influence would extend even into stupid dinner décor.

The last table is bare, like it’s there out of habit.

While Varian watches, somewhat impressed, but mostly just unsure of what to do next, five people nearly trip over him.

“Oh God, why were you just standing thereee- Aaah! ”

…Four. One guy does trip, spilling the water pitcher he was carrying. Luckily, it is metal and it doesn’t break.

“Sorry…”, Varian whispers, stepping back, then forward again, and just - there’s not anywhere to stand where he doesn’t risk being run over. One of the separatists drags Varian towards their table. Not Clementine, but the other woman. She looks annoyed and crosses her arms after Varian has been neatly deposited onto an empty chair quite a few ways away from where everyone else is sitting.

Man, but it’s a long table .

“You’re here early”, she starts.

“Let him be, Juniper”, Andrew is sitting at the end of the table, as far away as he can be from Varian, but when Varian whips his head up to look, his narrowed gaze makes Varian feel exposed. The brave font he puts on has him answering:

“Everyone else is already here, why shouldn’t I join you? What, were you gonna start without me?”

Andrew relaxes. He even laughs.

“We saporians were gathered here to talk about some serious matters. I would have sent for you once all of the preparations for dinner were done. No need to take this personally, Varian. Although… Perhaps it’s good you’re here a little early. Someone was asking for you”, Andrew explains, studying his nails while Varian blinks.

“Who the heck would be asking for me?”, Varian frowns, but then again, maybe it's just Doc…? Not that their last encounter makes him eager to see her again but-

Andrew smiles and someone emerges from a different corner of the Throne Room.

“I was”, a nasal voice says. Obviously, it's not Rosalie.

Varian looks and sees red. A coat. Nigel, the King’s actual advisor.

“Looks like the boy won’t be joining us for dinner early after all”, Clementine snickers.

Before he can retort or ask what this is all about, Varian is being dragged out of his chair by Nigel. King Frederic seems completely unbothered by everything going on around him from where he sits. The saporians that took over his kingdom in one fell swoop simply sat at a table like their presence here is perfectly normal? Of course. His own people and servants cowering under Andrew’s watch? Nothing out of the ordinary. His old advisor dragging the other advisor basically by the scruff of his neck? King Frederic waves the two off before the doors to the Throne Room slam shut behind them. For a moment, Varian is disoriented. They’re not back out in the hallway, but in a small, adjacent room, and judging by the bookshelves and desks and the dozen or so of other men and women dressed similarly to Nigel, this must be where the King’s advisors - his royal council - gathers.

That Varian is here now makes him want to shake someone by the shoulders and demand answers, as he's been doing all day long, but for now, he feels too out of place, too awkward. Exposed in a way he hasn’t been since this whole thing started.

(Not just prison, but since he stopped being around so many people at once, since Varian made his mistake and since the blizzard hit and since the villagers abandoned Old Corona. Even at the Snuggly Duckling, Varian got used to finding ways to stay hidden in plain sight, and when he didn’t succeed, Lance provided enough distraction to make any eyes that lingered fade into a background Varian could ignore. Sometimes, even Eugene would help, but Varian assumes that was because he just liked being the center of attention and things just kind of worked out from there. Or Ruddiger, if nothing else, was often in the business of distracting Varian when things got too much. Now, Varian’s all by himself and surrounded by people simultaneously.)

“I’m expecting some sort of explanation”, Nigel informs Varian, breaking the silence. The rest of the council holds its breath while Varian tries to think of what exactly Nigel wants him to say. Pettiness makes Varian’s lips twitch.

(And what about being rational and cool-headed? Maybe later.)

“Hmph. Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m the King’s advisor now”, is the explanation Varian settles for, grinning.

Nigel facepalms.

“Of course we know that, boy! His Majesty won’t listen to a thing we have to say, keeps asking for you instead! And I’m asking you, why !?”

“Why?”, Varian can’t make any claims beyond the hazy notion of how this can benefit him in his quest, but it was Andrew who spun this plot; Nigel doesn’t need to know that, “Why not? It’s about time things changed around here. Andrew’s making sure of that and I’m helping.”

“You don’t even know anything about how to run a kingdom, and I’m pretty sure your usurper friends don’t either!”, Nigel counters.

“Yeah!”, another advisor chimes in.

“I-I”, Varian’s fingers twitch at his sides, “Sure I do. And I won’t let people live in ignorance, like you lot have.”

Nigel, for what is worth, doesn’t argue Varian’s second point. He watches Varian with something akin to disappointment before he heaves a heavy sigh. He turns to the others and says:

“Well then. If you are so certain, there’s nothing else we can do. I suppose we are, to put it in simpler terms, finished.”

“Finished?”, Varian asks.

“Finished”, Nigel nods, and there’s a murmur of ascent from the other advisors.

“Good luck with managing their Majesties when they’re… Like that. The council has been let go, so we shall see what kind of logistics you’ll employ”, Nigel scoffs and, without any further comments, he opens the door to the Throne Room to send Varian back to his ‘usurper friends’.

He goes to sit down like nothing happened, but Varian’s head must be screwed on wrong. Nothing makes sense, or if it does, Varian can’t see it. Let go? He looks at the saporians, but they’re busy eating and talking amongst themselves. He notices Doc’s absence, but can't find it in himself to ask about that either.

Dinner must have started in the scant few moments he was away. The King and Queen are hopeless, their usual grace and table manners entirely gone, but at least they seem to be enjoying the food.

This whole situation is good , Varian reminds himself eventually. It’s a good thing. It's useful.

Who cares if Nigel and whoever else was on that useless council were let go? Varian and the separatists can manage things just fine, since the King is listening to them.

The guards stationed in the Throne Room stand straight, like they’re supposed to, but there’s something shifty in their posture, like they’re waiting for something to happen. The staff who are meant to replenish the food, and it's more of it than Varian’s ever seen in one place, even during large celebrations in Old Corona or festivals in the capital, aren’t doing much better. It’s fear, again.

Andrew and his friends are unbothered, which means Varian should be unbothered too.

It’s unlucky that, the moment Varian sneaks one last look at the memory-addled elephants in the room, Queen Arianna is staring at him. She looks away, but there’s still nothing there - no suspicion, no hatred for what he’s chosen to participate in. Nothing.

Varian glues his eyes to his own plate. He piles whatever looks appetizing in front of him, and when he digs in, the food tastes like the main ingredient is sawdust.

 

—

 

Days after the unofficial, official takeover, Andrew is happily showing Varian around the maids’ work rooms (more specifically, the cleaning supply storages), which Varian is already quite familiar with from the time Cassandra showed him what to get from where, when he turns to Varian, eyes sparkling:

“What do you think?”

“It’s a good start, but it won’t be enough”, Varian says, reading the labels on the many bottles bending the shelves under their weight. Maybe Rosalie will have some of the rarer ingredients that he can’t find here. She’s still a doctor, after all…

Andrew had swung around the room he gave Varian early in the morning. Luckily, Varian was already up (not overthinking and losing sleep over it, not at all. There’s nothing for him to overthink, things are going swimmingly! He wasn’t still thinking about how everything would have been better if the guards had been late, or about Ruddiger, about Dad - nothing of the sort). Then, Andrew had handed Varian a list of all of the alchemical solutions he wanted Varian to make for the separatists. The slip of paper sits in Varian’s pocket now, a little crumpled and as heavy as a piece of lead.

Still, Varian can recall the items he skimmed through: goo and glue spheres, acids, solvents, sleeping powder, smoke bombs, and more - none of these things are difficult to make, especially with how often he’d used such simple compounds in his attempt to go against the King before his capture. Even before that, a good glue solution was not something Varian would have been willingly parted with. He prided himself on his practicality, and what’s more practical than creating a sticky situation to get out of another sticky situation? Regardless, the question isn’t if he can make them, but rather: why does Andrew need these solutions? Why in such large quantities? Why so soon?

 “Why do you need me to make all this stuff right now, though?”, Varian asks to clarify these particular questions.

“You’re not starting to doubt me already, are you?”, Andrew says jokingly, but there’s not a hint of humor on his bearded face.

“Of course not”, Varian rolls his eyes, but his own expectation for a real answer remains. Andrew sighs.

“There’s some bigger changes that might not be so welcome in the castle. I’m just taking precautions”, he finally explains, “And with your alchemy, the problem of our diminutive numbers becomes null.”

“Diminished?”

“Sure!”

Right. Because even if the King is under Andrew’s thumb, the guards could still be a problem. And there’s only five separatists and a Varian against a whole army. Alchemy has evened worse odds before.

“Changes, huh?”, Varian says as he starts picking specific bottles and pouches of dry ingredients off of the shelves, trying to feign nonchalance, “Like you firing the King’s council? That kind of change?”

“We don’t need them anymore. In fact, it would be best if we get rid of any other liability around our headquarters. You’re a smart kid, I’m sure you can understand my reasoning”, Andrew, hands on his hips, looks disappointed to have to explain such a seemingly simple concept.

Varian pretends he isn’t annoyed. Surely, he doesn’t expect Varian to not demand any explanation, does he? He knows Varian. Has been trying to recruit him for a while, judging by what Rosalie said. He has heard Varian asking and asking and asking these last few days, about every single thing that ran through his head. Andrew should know better. Briefly, Varian looks away to search for saltpeter near the other gardening supplies.

Liability? Isn’t Andrew being so funny. Oh. There’s the nitrogen-based stuff.

Grabbing a small jar of saltpeter, Varian curses at how little space prison pants pockets actually offer. Maybe he should get a new set of clothes. Maybe… Maybe his old stuff, if he can find it.

Eventually, he stops surveying the shelves and faces Andrew.

“Everyone’s a liability, though. Nobody in the castle trusts you or the other separatists. If you had been more subtle-”, Varian’s eyes widen, “You’re not saying… Everyone?”

“Why, yes, I am. We don’t need this many people around us. We can do what needs to be done, but interference would make the process so much slower.”

“B-but what about castle maintenance?”

“We won’t be using most of the rooms, and the few we will, I’m sure we can maintain by ourselves.”

“What about security?”

“That’s where your alchemy comes in, my friend.”

“...The animals? The horses and all that, somebody’s gotta feed them and groom them and… Th-the prisoners, also! We can’t patrol the dungeons if it’s just us, that’d take up too much time! Heck, we’d need to make food for everyone too, and… And…”, Varian trails off. He isn't sure why he's so opposed to the idea.

Andrew doesn't skip a beat in responding:

“We can grant the freedom that Corona took from all of its inhabitants, even the non-human ones. We might, might keep a few of the royal pair’s personal servants, since their heads are in the clouds these days and they need a little assistance, maybe let even that doctor woman stay if she’s finally picked a side, but no more than that”, Andrew nods decisively.

Varian holds himself back from saying anything. He doesn’t want Andrew to think he’s chickening out, but at the same time, how can Andrew’s plan hold any water with this many holes in it? Varian’s just being rational, but then why is his breathing speeding up?

When he realizes he’s panicking, Varian bites the insides of his cheeks, but tries to keep his face unbothered. No, he’s not really panicking. It’s just that a lot of things happened really fast. He’s reeling. He can’t breathe. Yes, he can. He’s fine . One deep breath and I am good again. See? That will do it.

“What about the castle scholars?”, Varian asks after a long exhale.

“What about them?”

“They’re the ones that tried to study the amber on the King’s orders before. We can keep them around, surely…”, Varian thinks Andrew’s looking a little caught off-guard.

“I see… And did they make any progress on the amber?”, Andrew continues, looking a little more vindicated after Varian shakes his head, even smiling a little, “There you have it, then. They’re just more liabilities. You need to learn to approach things from a different angle, Varian.”

“Hey, it’s not like I haven’t tried before. What are you implying-”

“With the castle’s resources, I’m sure you’ll find another way forward. And we’ll have nothing but time on our hands once New Saporia is fully established”, Andrew smiles, patting Varian on the back.

It’s… Not definitive, but he can see where Andrew is going with this.

“Okay. Fine ”, Varian whispers finally.

They walk out of the cleaning supplies room, the bottles clinking against themselves in Varian’s pockets with each of his hurried steps. He has to walk fast to keep up with Andrew.

“So, when can you get all of these done?”, Andrew asks once they’re in front of Varian’s assigned room again, “A week? Two? I’d argue that speed and quantity are more important than quality right now. Or safety. We’ll be careful”, he reassures.

Varian, ignoring that last comment, runs some rough calculations in his head. He already feels tired just thinking about it, but he knows he can be quicker than weeks . And he can make some quality stuff too. Doc may have said he rushes, but Varian is just optimizing processes. Formal procedure is for the research stage, Varian reasons to himself with a hum, and he’s beyond that with the solutions Andrew is asking for.

“Give me a day or two. And you should… Maybe just let Rosalie stick around. She probably has some useful ingredients as well. I can ask her to lend me some”, Varian rubs his arm. He feels strange, asking for her to stay.

“Well, if you can go that fast, I’m all for it! I suppose I will consider letting the doctor stay. As for any other ingredients that neither of you have, Kai and Maisie should be able to do a little shopping for you in the capital. You’ll have to let them know in advance, however.”

Varian nods.

Andrew doesn’t say goodbye, he just leaves and Varian watches after him for a few seconds before closing the door. He is faced, once more, with an empty room. The bed isn’t made, because who’s gonna tell him off for his room being messy? The lab was messy. The cell was messy. There’s no one to rag on him now.

“Ah”, Varian feels his arm itch now. Right. He’s been avoiding Doc, but Varian has followed her advice of changing the bandages. He should do that again at some point today.

But what Varian wants is to lay down for a while. A long while, maybe.

Except that’s not feasible. He’s got work to do, so he doesn’t lay down. Varian needs a lot more than raw ingredients, a singular candle and a matchbox, and he should try to get the basics arranged while there's still light outside. He’ll get more candles eventually, maybe he’ll make some glowing ink, but until then, Varian will be careful and won't waste time.

“I can probably… Well, if I’m the royal advisor now, the kitchen staff must have some of the equipment I need. With some bowls, I can improvise a burner… Maybe an alembic, if they brew stuff at the castle…”, Varian sighs, “If Andrew hasn’t already started firing the cooks as well, they might… They'll have to help me.”

 

—

 

Luckily for Varian, the separatists need a bit of time to empty the castle, so he gets what he needs from the kitchens, but it’s awkward, being out and about and having to talk to people so he can ask for things. With Nigel and the King’s council, it had been bad enough, and now Varian is willingly subjecting himself to the whole ordeal all over again.

At least the cooks seem busy enough with everything going on that they just give Varian whatever he asks for.

(He hears talk of an order to prepare as much food for storage as possible. That would explain all the jars and salted, dried meats and other preparations they've got going on.)

Arms full of copper pots and cutlery and glass bottles, as well as some wires and other instruments he’ll need, Varian runs back to the room and dumps everything on the desk.

He finishes the setup quickly, but hesitates when it comes to starting on the compounds Andrew requested. Varian is still thinking about everything that went down after his escape attempt, and if it’s not the amber and the frenzied way he’d tried to use it on himself that he hangs onto, it’s Andrew’s ally, Clementine, and that damn wand; it’s the King and Queen, looking like stringless puppets. These events-facts-thoughts triangulate and the point they reveal is like a punch to the gut. 

Alchemy has been a way for Varian to regain focus, and on some occasions, to distract himself from unproductive thoughts that would interfere with his goals. It had been easier to move around what the amber meant when he was brewing solutions to undo it, and it had been easier to form a new plan if he could keep the anger somewhat subdued after he decided the Princess did not care. He used the papers Andrew got him while in prison to keep himself afloat.

He just has to start and everything else will fall away.

C’mon .

He reaches for one of the pots. It's filled with kindling.

C’mon, let’s get this done.

One match is struck and yellow light overtakes the gray glow of a Winter’s morning.

 

—

 

The first week after the saporian takeover is chaotic. However, once Varian’s alchemy becomes involved, evacuating the castle becomes a much quicker affair, because there's plenty of guards who saw what Varian did last time, not to mention what he pulled when he ran away just days prior. The only thing left to do is to bar the main gate. Metaphorically, of course. Guards and servants alike are kept out by order of their King, delivered to them by the saporians. The silence that settles through the castle’s empty halls and its barren yards and deserted gardens is something unheard of outside of wartime, or so Varian was told once by someone in his village. An empty castle is supposed to be a bad omen, but obviously the castle isn't entirely empty, so it doesn't matter.

The second week is weird. Liminal, in a way, because the separatists’ headquarters are silent, yes, but the people of the island start talking. Even Varian, who doesn't leave the castle, somehow hears about the spreading whispers. Those who were thrown out of the castle tell their families and friends when they return home that something’s wrong with the royal family. They shape a narrative that’s close enough to the truth: that insane alchemist boy helped the infamous Separatists of Saporia, and they are holding something over the King , who doesn’t even participate in the usual near daily audiences with his subjects anymore, that's how dire things are! There's no word from either him or Queen Arianna on what’s going on, but nothing really changes in the day-to-day lives of the people, so they don’t do anything besides allowing the rumors to grow and multiply and bubble over. For now…

The third week is fine-ish until Varian opens the door to the new, temporary laboratory (the room Andrew gave him) for the first time in a while to go get either food or more mercury, which he is running low on - maybe both, if it’s not the middle of the night again. With all the equipment and the solutions he stores temporarily, the sole window of the room has gotten lost amongst the mess, so he can't always tell. Mercury, he could get from Rosalie, but he's been avoiding her ever since their talk in her office. He knows the scientists also left some supplies behind when they were kicked out, but he’s used most of the stuff from their stash of ingredients already. Varian will just have to take his chances with the doctor, then.

So, as soon as he opens the door, Varian almost walks into Juniper. Her hand is raised, caught mid-knock, but at the sight of him, she sighs. Judging by the wrinkle between her brows, she’d rather not be here either.

“You”, Juniper says.

“Hello, Juniper”, Varian says back a little hoarsely. When he gets this into his work, he can go days without speaking to anyone, and without Ruddiger, it’s an even simpler routine to fall into nowadays.

He feels a little embarrassed about the state of himself. but Juniper’s here on a mission, or he assumes that, at least. She usually prefers ignoring Varian whenever possible, unlike Clementine, who seems to enjoy criticizing every single aspect of the alchemical solutions Varian makes for the separatists. No, Juniper doesn't want to be here, but she has a heavy stack of papers under one arm, which she shoves towards Varian before he can utter another word.

“Here. You’re going to go through these and let me know if there’s anything important.”

Varian frowns, but takes the offered papers and realizes they're official documents - no, actually, letters , he realizes. They’re heavier than expected and he almost lets go.

“Hey, don’t drop them!”, Juniper says, ready to jump into action.

“I won’t, I won’t”, Varian finds his balance, and when he’s still wobbling, he looks back at the room for any free space. He returns to the door once the stack is safely deposited on the bed. Varian sleeps at his desk anyway; he doesn’t need it. “But aren’t you in charge of all the official stuff? The… The legal stuff. You know. That stuff?”, he asks, eloquent as ever.

All of the saporians took on some duties around the castle, what with the King and Queen being out of commission, and Juniper is supposed to handle logistics and administration and a lot of monotonous paperwork. She's the best at it out of all of them, but how she can handle how boring her tasks are, Varian will never know.

“I handle the stuff well enough, but those have international addresses and they've been piling up since yesterday’s postal delivery. I have enough on my plate as it is. The saporians do too. You have some free time to spare, don’t you?”

Varian has at least three pots bubbling in the background at all times.

(He’s also taken to making the occasional trip to the royal library. If there’s anything there at all, any sort of alchemical process Varian doesn’t know about or other unbreakable materials recorded throughout history that the King's men missed previously, that’s where he’ll find the information. Andrew lets him get away with his little trips so long as there’s enough glue bombs set up around the castle to put Varian’s old pest traps to shame - even if Varian still vehemently refuses to build any more automatons. That's never a fun argument between the two of them.)

Yeah, he supposes he's got some time.

“Fine”, Varian sighs, “What do you want me to do?”

“Well, it’s the King’s mail, as I said. If you find something from the heads of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, inform me immediately. If you find anything suspicious, inform me immediately. If there’s word from the Princess…”, she doesn’t need to continue.

Princess Rapunzel is one of the cogs in the separatists’ plan that just won’t turn. Juniper must have been going through the King and Queen’s mail up until this point, but it must have gotten too much, if she’s talking to Varian about it. Willingly!

“I inform you immediately, yes.”

Sorting duty. What has the world come to? At least Varian can be useful, he can help. He's at his worst when he can't do anything about a problem.

“Good. Get to it”, is Juniper’s greeting before she disappears back down the hall.

Varian glances at the pile of letters on his bed. He still needs mercury. Breakfast too. Maybe he can swing by the library as well. He found something a few days ago. He doesn’t know what, specifically, because it was written in ancient saporian, but it looked like something.

If he goes through the letters now, he can get everything else done after, or so he tells himself. Even if he rushes a little, Varian is not jumping steps, like some might think, he’s being practical . Mind made up, he turns on his heel and sits on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb the precariously balanced stack of envelopes and loose papers and whatever else is in there.

Most of the letters are formalities. Varian can barely make out the elegant addresses on some, given how extravagant the handwriting is (why would a B need that many extra loops?), or maybe he’s just tired, but after the twenty second invitation to another neighbouring royal's pet’s fourth or fifth baby’s first name day party, Varian starts putting those letters aside in a pile of their own, which, in his mind is labelled unimportant, but maybe the paper can be reused. The ones that do matter are marked differently, not just with signatures, but decorated with the emblems of the royal houses of the Seven Kingdoms.

A trade deal renewal with Koto here, a legal dispute that spans over multiple borders (because Galcrest and Neserdnia don’t share a border) there. There’s also a postcard addressed to Queen Arianna from someone named Willow. On one side of it is all the relevant mailing information and a short paragraph of text, on the other is a photograph (albumen print, something to do with light-sensitive paper. He saw a demonstration once, when he was younger. Dad had called it witchcraft just to see his son's face scrunch up in distaste). In it, there's a snow-covered landscape and a woman bundled up in heavy coats. Her face looks like the Queen's. He puts the postcard in the important pile as well, just in case.

Varian is starting to understand why Juniper would want someone else to go through all of these and separate the nonsensical from the oh God, this could spark conflict between countries if someone doesn’t interfere . And Corona has a reputation of resolving said conflicts before that spark is fanned into actual war.

Besides the two types of mail, from somewhere towards the end of the stack, a third category emerges. It doesn't need to be its own thing, these letters could just be lumped together with political issues and postcards, but Varian holds onto them. They’re smaller, and the drawings around the address are familiar. The remains of Varian’s letter from her are still in his old cell, if nobody removed them yet. He holds onto them with bated breath.

So. The Princess did write to her family, and from the various dates marked on each item, they must have gotten stuck somewhere and arrived all at once.

Varian’s hand trembles and the papers wobble with the movement.

Why is he hesitating? He should finish sorting things. Then he can bring them over to Juniper, let her know what he’s found. Juniper can do what she does and the saporians will probably get an idea of what the Princess is up to so they can prepare for her inevitable arrival.

What Varian shouldn’t do is open them. They’re not even his. These are meant for the Princess’ parents, for the King and Queen of Corona. For two people who don’t even remember they have a daughter.

Maisie, Clementine and Juniper had been laughing about it once, when Varian came around to deliver more sleeping powder for some ex-guards Kai had spotted stalking around castle grounds. They were saying that it was hilarious , that after everything they did to find their lost Princess, now she's been forgotten entirely. Varian thought about Dad and didn’t think it was funny. 

Does Varian really need to read about the Princess’ super fun, super exciting, super magical adventure?

His hand holds her letters over the pile of other important mail until, at the very last second, Varian changes his mind.

Clutching them to his chest, Varian can feel the frenzied rhythm of his own heart.

Standing up, he goes to retrieve the knife he uses to cut raw plant matter from his desk; it’s sharp enough for some measly paper. If he’s careful and cuts through the wax seal with enough precision, Juniper won’t even know he read the Princess’ letters. Nobody needs to know, but Varian decides he needs to know. He isn’t sure why, but he does.

Ol’ Freddy read our letters, so what’s there to feel bad about? , a vindictive part of him leers, although that shouldn’t matter right now. King Frederic doesn’t remember Varian refusing to hand over the graphtyc, just as he doesn’t remember what he put Varian through after the fact. He remembers nothing that really matters. Varian technically already got his revenge, given that, whatever the ‘royal advisor’ says to the King when Andrew forces Varian to be around the royal couple, they both take as gospel.

He opens the first letter, the tips of his fingers cold, unsteady, and until his eyes focus on her writing, he looks at the drawings. There’s the lady with the sword and the half-red face again, as well as another woman holding a sparkling jewel. Varian is surprised to see a crude rendition of prison bars alongside the Princess’ signature frying pan. The flowers and stars painted in the margins are to be expected at this point.

The words swim in front of him a moment longer before they find their place on the page. Varian begins to read.

 

Dear Mom and Dad!

We now have some more information from Adira. She showed us the route she thinks we should follow to the Dark Kingdom.

(Note from Cass: she’s really, really mad Adira never elaborated on that before!)

(Note from Eugene: he thinks we might not get another chance to send anything back to Corona for a while, so that’s why I’m writing this before we leave Pincosta!)

I also met Stalyan again. Mom, I think you were right about me being a liiittle jealous before, but I honestly think we resolved our issues this time around! We got to spend some time with each other (for… No reason in particular. Surely nothing possibly criminal!!) and we talked a little. She’s really not so bad. (Sorta.)

We’ve not had much trouble otherwise in Pincosta, of course. And our funds are plentiful! Enough to last us to the Great Tree at the very least! That’s where we need to go next, according to Adira. She says she’ll join up with us again at some point on the way there.

I’ve never heard of the Great Tree, but I don't think it’s something you see every day, so I am excited. I am very excited! I will write to you again as soon as I can and let you know where I can wait for a response, but please tell me how things are back home. I miss everyone so much!!!

All my love,
Rapunzel.

 

Varian won’t lie, about two thirds of the letter have flown over his head. He doesn’t know who this Stalyan is, but he can assume that’s the jewel lady. And the sword lady, she must be Adira. He mouths the name under his breath. It’s not a typical name one would hear in Corona, but he thinks he’s heard it before. Maybe he read it somewhere?

The only relevant information in this letter is that the Princess had left Pincosta - he checks the date - around two months ago. Varian isn’t sure about the date. It’s definitely Winter now, given how cold it’s been outside of the laboratory where something is always burning to keep the room warm. He should really ask someone for the current date. He doesn’t want to think about the events he might have missed, but he should know something this basic. He’s not in prison anymore, after all.

A third pile is made, separate from all the other letters, important or not. He moves on to the next decorated envelope. It’s dated four weeks after the first one.

 

Dear Mom and Dad,

I don’t know when I will send this, we’re… Let’s just say we’re all fine, but the caravan isn’t doing so well, so speed isn’t really on our side right now. We’re taking a little detour, that is! Remember Hookhand, Hookfoot’s brother? Well, after the brothers reunited, Hookfoot decided to go on tour with his big bro! I’m sure he will be able to pass a few letters along, so I’ll ask him when we leave. Please don’t worry too much.

As for the Great Tree… We did find something inside. The writing was the same as on the scroll. Do you think Quirin knew? Do you think that’s why he held onto it? After all, Adira knew and they were both… You know. But! The important part is that someone else had managed to translate some of the writing on the new pieces we found, and it matches what we already had, so his translation was accurate too, from what little he told me before… Well, before everything. We’re still unsure about the rest. I don’t know much about runes and codes (even though I find them just fascinating!), but Adira said many perished trying to find out. Isn’t that ominous!?

But that’s not all that happened. We got attacked and I… I did the right thing. We made it out unscathed , luckily.

I never thought things would turn out this way… The Great Tree wasn’t what I expected and maybe… I’m not what I expected.

Mom, Dad… How am I ever going to rule Corona? 

How do you do it? How do you know when you’ve made the right choice? And is it the right choice if someone gets hurt because of it anyway? How do you fix things when you've made a mistake? Eugene says we’ve all changed over the last six months but I feel like I’ve walked (or rode - in the caravan, which just needs a little love… I think…) in a huge circle.

I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. I thought, once some time passed, I’d handle the pressure better. I hope Cass forgives me. I wish she'd be more open about her feelings…

I don't think we have any more settlements with working postal offices in our future, but if we stumble upon any, I will let you know in another letter.

All my love,
Rapunzel.

 

The only drawings for this exchange are of branches. Some of them have leaves, most are barren. The Princess’ words are confusing, so Varian thought that maybe the drawings that follow her wherever she goes might provide him with extra clues, but no. Varian isn’t sure if there’s a missing letter between the one from before and this one, or if there’s just context from previous exchanges that he doesn’t know.

He’s pretty sure the prior translations that the Princess is referring to are Varian’s . But what he keeps going back to is his father’s name; the entire passage about the scroll is infuriating, actually. 

What right does she have to mention either Varian or his father in a letter addressed to her parents? What gives? He wants to tear this letter apart too, but at this point, Varian realizes it would just be a childish reaction to his own anger. It’s baseless, and still…

What does she know about Quirin that Varian doesn’t? No matter which way he looks at it, he doesn’t know what this so-called Great Tree or this Adira lady have to do with Dad, besides the apparent meaning of the scroll’s writings. 

Varian feels like he’s following a path that leads to nowhere, that circles in on itself. Maybe… Maybe he’ll find something in the library. He can do extra research, surely?

(He has time - all the time in the world - now.)

Varian… Is going to be sick. He leans over the bed, clutching at the mattress with both hands until his fingers go red, then white with tension. He lets go of the letter and it flutters to the ground, landing face down. There’s nothing on the back of the paper. 

“I just need breakfast”, he whispers, “That’s all. This is- It’s fine, I mean. It’s fine ”, he explains himself to no one in particular.

Carefully, Varian picks up the fallen letter and folds it back up. It is added to the third pile and Varian looks at the last two envelopes. He picks one up. It’s heavy and thick and in it are multiple pages, though none of them are actually letters.

The first paper is an older poster for a dance-piano concert event held by the… Hook brothers? The Princess did say something about them going on tour. Varian recognizes the guy with the hook foot, but he’s still reeling, so the revelation doesn’t mean much.

Alongside the poster is a rather strange drawing that Varian only recognizes as Cassandra because of the caption written on the back of it:

 

I should maybe stop drawing my friends when I’m angry. It never goes well. Cass seemed a little amused at least, but I don’t think she’s telling me everything. We’re back on the path to the Dark Kingdom. Will write again.

Rapunzel.

 

This doesn’t give Varian much to go off of. He doesn’t know where exactly the Dark Kingdom is, but he assumes it’s a gap in his own knowledge of the world out there. Maybe the saporians will now, but for now, Varian moves on to the last envelope.

 

Dear Mom and Dad,

We’re on the last leg of the journey, I think. We haven’t seen Adira again after the Great Tree fell, but I miss her advice. No matter if Cass doesn’t trust her. She knows things none of us do, and I think that her intentions are good.

I thought things were better with Cass, after the House of Yesterday’s Tomorrow, but- How about I tell you about that strange house when I’m back, huh? (It’s a long story.)

But! But! Tomorrow, me and Eugene are gonna go out together for a date! (He doesn’t know I’m planning something nice for his birthday! Please keep it a secret.)

Madame Canardist says she can deliver this for us (for a fee… But don’t worry! We can totally afford it with the funds we brought along! Uh huh!), but I don’t know when or if I’ll get the chance to write to you again until we're on the way back, so I just wanted you guys to know we’re all alright. I’d love to know you are too… 

We should reach the Dark Kingdom in a few weeks. After that, I’m coming home and I’m sure we'll have an easier time with correspondence. I miss you so much…

All my love,
Rapunzel.

 

There’s only flowers drawn onto the sides of the letter, and they get shakier as it goes on. Did something happen? Varian can’t even begin to guess. The Princess mentioned a house. And that she is worried about Cassie…

Varian worries too, for all of a second, and then he remembers the vault. He remembers Cassandra and Eugene, and suddenly, it doesn’t matter anymore.

If his assumption about the last date is correct, this one was sent not that long ago. Juniper will have a hard time figuring out the Princess’ current location, unless she happens to know where this Dark Kingdom is. 

So what if Varian looks for information on it in the library before he hands the letters over? He can give Juniper the ‘important’ pile and say that he just glanced over Princess’ letters the first time and looked closer later, thus the delay.

(Until he figures out why the Princess mentioned Quirin, Varian can’t abandon this clue, not if it might lead him somewhere. Andrew said he should figure out another way to free his father, since the King’s scholars were useless; he’s doing just that. In a way…)

Varian leaves the room. On his way to the kitchens, he leaves a for-now-incomplete stack of letters at Juniper’s doorstep.

Not surprisingly, there’s no one in the hallways or the kitchens. Nevertheless , Varian prefers the solitude right now and would rather not stumble across anyone else accidentally, so he races across wooden floors, the sound of his footsteps bouncing against the walls. A few flights of stairs, and he's reached the royal kitchens and pantries.

It’s not hard to find the food storage where the saporians also keep new provisions delivered from the capital alongside everything the kitchen staff prepared before they left. It's the most contact they have with the world beyond the castle's walls currently; at least, that's Varian’s reality. He knows Maisie and Kai venture outside when Varian asks for supplies that not even Doc has in her inventory, or the ones she, too, is starting to run low on, like Andrew suggested. Juniper is too busy for those ‘leisure activities, and it would be boring anyway. Corona is boring’ (she’d rolled her eyes when she explained this after Maisie asked if she didn’t perhaps want to go out in his stead once) and Clementine, well - Andrew prefers to have her here in case anything happens. Varian assumes this has to do with her being the only one who knows how to use the Wand of Oblivium , as he’s heard them call it at some point.

With an apple shoved in the pocket of a chef’s apron that someone must have left behind when the castle was vacated, which Varian appropriated in lieu of his old one, he heads towards the library.

In the end, he doesn’t come across anyone else until he’s inside the library itself.

Queen Arianna is here. Out of the two of them, the King had been a lot more outgoing since losing his memory, but even he won’t venture outside of their bedroom, or, occasionally, the Throne Room whenever Andrew has to discuss state matters with him (or rather, when he has to tell the King what orders and commands he must sign off on).

Varian freezes in the doorway, staring at the woman with wide eyes until she also notices him.

“Oh. Hello there”, Queen Arianna says with a small smile. She’s curled up in a plush armchair, a large almanac open in her lap and a tall pile of books beside her.

“...Hello.”

When Varian doesn’t say anything else, she returns to her book.

Varian holds his breath as he walks past her, at least until he is deep enough in the library to disappear amongst the bookshelves.

The Royal Library is enormous, surely he can keep his distance from her and avoid any further awkwardness, r-right ?

Varian’s breath stutters out of him and he holds onto a shelf to keep upright.

Right .

He should get whatever books he needs and just go. He can read in between brewing more solutions in the laboratory. And he needs…

The Great Tree. The Dark Kingdom. And that book that he can only read the title of with the knowledge he has… A biography of Lord Demanitus . He should be able to find some sort of dictionary on ancient saporian too. An old history book helped him both translate and decode bits and pieces of the scroll before (accurately too, if the Princess was telling the truth - and why should she lie to her own family? She only ever lies to people like Varian, people who aren’t important in the grand scheme of her life), so Varian figures a direct aid for translating the language will do wonders.

He balances the apple on top of the tomes he snatches up and runs out of the library before the Queen has a chance to try to speak to him again.

Even Doc’s office sounds better than this .

He still needs mercury, after all.

Notes:

Can you believe how much this filler chapter got away from me? We were just supposed to get an initial impression of how things are going, but alas...
I've also had to scratch my head a little in what pertains to timelines and such. For the longest time, I assumed that season two lasted around a year, which would put the Great Tree adventure somewhere in the middle. To me, that makes sense, since they lose the caravan at some point and that slows them down. So Rapunzel would return sometime around her birthday, and thus the lanterns in the celebration at the end of the season three premiere, and that's how I've set things up (somewhat). Then, around another year or less for season three, and that's where my "calculations" stop.
Regardless of that, I also looked at the episodes in between Pincosta and the season two finale and tried to bring us up to speed with where in the plot our main heroes are while everything else is going down at home and, you know what? I completely understand the show's creators choosing not to focus on what's going on in Corona. This is dual plot a little overwhelming! My poor, singular braincell.
(Can you tell I like letters as a plot device though? Heh.)
More actual plot in the next couple of coming chapters, which shouuuld (crossing my things very, very hard right now) be the last chapters of the season, but I am not quite sure how editing will go. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and see you in a bit!

Chapter 31: A return to form

Summary:

Varian decides to read a book and relax a little. Not really, but that's the jist of it, isn't it?

Notes:

Contents: talk of background lore, one instance of very bad poetry, the return of the masked guards.

Nope, nope, nope , Varian thinks as he bursts into Doc’s office. It’s pure luck that her floor doesn’t end up covered in an array of books and smashed apple bits, but Varian is breathing hard. Had seeing the Queen affected him so much? Varian would like to think no, but after he started running, the need to get away had only gotten stronger.

And now he’s in Rosalie’s office. It’s neat, but that’s not out of the ordinary. She’s sitting at her desk, barely raising her eyes at Varian’s brusque entrance before she flips a page of whatever it is she’s going over with a feather. She seems busy.

“Good afternoon. I hope manners aren’t lost on you already?”, she says.

Varian pants, but in an annoyed way. He purses his lips and looks away.

“Hello. I guess ”, says Varian, but the intimidation factor isn’t as apparent as he hoped it’d be. Not like she's ever seemed too affected by his worse moods.

She makes a sound between an exhale and a short, dry laugh. Her feather screeches against the paper with a sudden movement, and then there’s a click as she dips it into the inkwell. When Varian doesn’t say anything else, not quite sure how to wade through the awkwardness effectively (he has been avoiding her for a reason - or multiple), she says:

“Do you need something? Or is this just a friendly visit? I suppose I haven’t had company in a while… It’s hard to be a doctor without any patients around.”

W-well… Varian does need something, but now he feels bad telling her that. Or maybe Varian is still a bit raw after reading Princess Rapunzel’s letters.

“I-”, but there's no need to skirt around the topic, c’mon , “I couldn't find any more mercury in the usual places. So… If you happen to have some, I need it for… Something. Alchemy. Please”, he adds as an afterthought. If she gets the chance to scold him for his manners a second time, the mockery will know no end.

But, it seems that something in his voice makes her raise her head. She looks into his eyes, then looks further, through him.

“‘Usual places’. I see. Then I’m assuming all that reading material is a different matter. You can put it down while you’re here. Your arms are shaking”, she notes.

They are. Varian places the book pile on the chair and wipes the apple on the stolen apron for lack of something to do with his tingling hands. This apron not being leather proves to be a good thing for once.

The fruit is a brown-ish red and a little wrinkled, but, until the spring fruits come in, Varian shouldn’t complain. Or, at least, that's what Dad would say. 

“So”, Rosalie breaks him out of his thoughts, “Has everything been alright with you, mister Varian? You look quite lost in thought. Are there any troubles?”, she stands up, her low-heeled boots clicking against the wooden floor. Varian assumes she’s walked over to her own, singular supply shelf, but he doesn’t look after her to check. He just stares at his own hands, continuing to fidget with the apple. He’s reminded of Ruddiger, but it’s better that he isn’t here. Varian just has to keep reminding himself of that fact.

“I know exactly what I’m doing, so what trouble could there be?”, he reminds her, like it's a basic fact she's forgotten, “Of course everything is going swimmingly! And if you must know, I was even sorting through some very important, royal letters until just now! Official correspondence for Coro- Er. Saporia? A-and all that…!”

“Aha. That sounds…”

“Serious and professional and impressive? An important task, so they asked me for help”, Varian puffs his chest out a little.

“...Dull. Even by my standards. I can only dread the amount of formalities between royal members of court. I can't imagine there'd be a lot of excitement involved in post duty.”

Varian deflates.

Doc click-walks back, until she’s in front of him.

“But was there?”, Rosalie asks.

Varian raises an eyebrow in question.

“Any excitement”, she clarifies, “Some relevant news. Maybe from some of the people not present at the castle right now.”

Andrew has taken to saying ‘our castle’. Rosalie, despite being saporian too and having worked and lived here for much longer, doesn't call it that. But Varian still catches the allusion to the Princess. At least it's not Juniper asking this…

“N-no…”, he says, flustered.

Doc hums and, finally, holds out the jar she must have picked up. In it, the liquid metal gleams white in the light, then gray when it sloshes inside of the recipient. Varian still doesn’t meet her eyes while he reaches for the mercury. Only, Rosalie swipes it away from within his grasp before his finger can even graze the glass. An indignant sound leaves Varian, but at this, she just hums another laugh.

“I believe you might need some better protective gear if you want to work with this. Quicksilver is known for its toxicity, after all”, she says.

“Do you enjoy tormenting me, lady?”, Varian throws his hands in the air and nearly throws the apple alongside them too, “Obviously, I’ve worked with it before!”

“Be that as it may”, she reaches into her skirt pocket and, whatever she finds, Rosalie tosses right at Varian’s face. On instinct, he catches it - them. 

Gloves… 

Varian’s gloves!

“But how’d you…”, he starts and doesn’t even get to finish.

Wordlessly, she holds out something else. It's even shinier than the mercury, even if it’s blunter with use than it was when Varian first took it from his father’s chest.

“These are some objects confiscated upon arrest by the guards, but they’re yours, am I correct? They weren't labeled, but your file described some of them. And, anyway, the dungeons are empty now. I thought I might stroll around, see if there’s anything interesting to find. To do.”

Varian’s hand closes around the hilt of the dagger. Rosalie holds it by the blade, between two careful fingers. There’s still straw clinging to it, after all these months.

“Why?”, is all he can think to ask, cradling the gloves and his father’s dagger to his chest.

“Ah, there's no mystery here. Now that I have no more patients for me to look after, would you believe me if I told you I was simply bored?”, with this, Rosalie sits back at her desk, “And they were yours at some point, weren’t they?”, she begins writing once more. 

I thought you didn’t have much to do , Varian thinks, but he can hardly call her out when Varian himself has a knack for finding ways to fill his time.

“This isn’t even protective gear”, Varian stares at the dagger. Though Varian feels a lot more protective of it after having lost it once.

“You never know when a blade might come in handy”, she doesn't elaborate, but Varian can recall a handful of occasions for which this statement rang true.

“...Thank you.”

She doesn’t laugh again or even smile, but her face lightens a little.

“Hubert made it rather clear that you vouched for me to stay here”, Doc explains; Varian blinks, because why would that change anything? He didn’t take her advice and she lied to him, but somehow… “So take it as a way of me showing you my gratitude." 

“That's just ‘cause it's good to have a medic around”, Varian says, “He doesn't trust you much.”

“Then the feeling is mutual. A lot of what he is doing is questionable”, her writing slows, but only for a moment.

“It's better this way. He… We’re gonna fix everything, you'll see”, he whispers.

“…If that is what you believe. Now. Was there anything else you needed?”

“No, not really. But I should get going now.”

Varian gathers the library books back up in his arms. Before he leaves, he feels her eyes boring holes into the back of his skull, so Varian looks at Doc over his shoulder. 

Her eyes narrow a little, but then she sighs. She looks a little disappointed. Maybe she really is bored.

“Goodbye, mister Varian.”

Varian would wave back, but, well. His arms are literally full. He simply nods.

It's time to get reading.

 

---

 

As a treat for his own curiosity, Varian decides to keep Demanitus’ biography for last. It’s the one topic most unrelated to his current woes. It’s something he thinks he would have enjoyed reading before. From what Varian has been able to translate, this guy was an engineer too.

Munching the apple to unappetizing mush, he goes through a world atlas, then another, older than the first, and a third even older than that, with pages so worn that they've lost all roughness and feel like dust under Varian’s fingers. At first, he doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, though he doesn't find any mention of the Dark Kingdom; a ‘dark place’ and some ‘shadowy foes’ make multiple appearances, but context reveals them to be rather mundane - kingdoms Corona had been at war with during the times the books were written. 

After a while, Varian notices what the common denominator is. Besides the obvious…

They were all written by coronan scientists. That they all start with a chapter about the sunny, little Kingdom of Corona isn’t some big surprise. That they go, more or less, in order, of which kingdoms and empires neighbour Corona, and which ones surround said neighbours (and so on and so forth), is also to be expected. Varian finds a chapter on Pincosta in two of the books, which is already a good stepping stone, though in the oldest of the atlases, it is simply an unlabelled, lightly forested field sat near a higher crest of the mountains surrounding it. A few of the landmasses to the Southeast are also described briefly and then… Nothing. There’s a jump, straight to a border of Equis. Its shape has always been strange, long but narrow, tapered with islands at one end, though its surface has shrunk down significantly in the present day.

Looking at an overview of the known world, then checking and rechecking, over and over, just in case , he can see just how much the oldest atlas skips, simply rounding back to Equis instead of forward, only… Varian runs his fingers down the tucked-in edges of the page and he feels the unevenness. The other books make the missing segment feel more natural, what with how much Pincosta had grown in the last few centuries - they focus on the city. It makes sense that it would garner its own spotlight and overshadow what is portrayed as nothing but wildness for miles around it

But this one… It has had a page ripped out! Two, actually, if Varian looks close enough. He squints until his head hurts. What he wouldn’t give to have one of the magnifying glasses from his old laboratory… He flops down onto his back on the bed. Now clear of letters (or most of them, anyway), he has space to sprawl and think about the pages he and Andrew had ripped out of countless other books. Those were always empty, or mostly empty, and certainly from nothing nearly as old as this tome. It makes Varian ponder the why of it all, but there’s frustration underneath his musings.

“Isn't this typical”, he says to himself, “Of course I couldn't just find a straight answer.”

He turns to his side, giving the spine of the other two atlases the stinkiest eye he can muster.

But, everything has already been easy so far. His newly granted freedom, his collaboration with the saporians, the treatment of King Frederic and Queen Arianna… The fact that he has access to these books right now isn’t something Varian had back when he had to figure out the scroll by himself, and he’d only ever gotten so far with that. In prison, he might have progressed a little, but a few words or letters of the scroll’s cose didn’t mean much. He even has the Princess’ letters telling him that someone already figured most of the scroll’s contents out! And she talks about so much more than that, but not in detail.

This is why he’s searching for this Dark Kingdom in the first place. It wouldn't be fair if Varian had all the answers gifted to him. But he could take a break until he’s settled enough to continue his research.

There’s a few books of legends and myths that he should go through as well - Andrew had read to him from one of them when Varian was sick, he remembers, but he’d been too out of it to focus on the contents. They could hand Varian the grain of truth he needs to keep looking, after all, whether they’re fictitious or embellished or whatever. Though, he is tired.

With a sigh, Varian reaches across the mattress, hands hovering over the gloves before he snatches the dagger instead. He brings it close to his chest and curls up around it on the bed.

Maybe Rosalie was right. It is comforting to have it back. It had its uses before, and maybe it’ll prove useful again, but that’s not really what he thinks about.

Varian does think about all the things his father kept away from him. This dagger is his Dad’s, but it’s not a gift - the scroll might have been, since the key to the graphtyc was hidden in plain sight amongst Varian’s old toys. But not this.

Daggers. A sword. A suit of armor.

Why does he always keep things from me? , Varian finds himself thinking. He can almost taste his own bitterness at the tip of his tongue, but there’s something else to it. He’s not just miffed about his Dad keeping secrets, lying , not trusting him. It’s the why, why, why . Taking things to their logical conclusion is what Varian does best. That’s how science is supposed to work. Why? Quirin must have had a reason to not share anything about himself with his son.

Varian couldn’t be trusted with secrets, not with how easily he himself trusted the Princess and her friends. He thought they were all friends. He’d been willing to spill everything he knew about the black rocks to them. Who’s to say Dad’s secrets wouldn’t have shared in that fate? Varian can’t be told things or even left to his devices, given the messes he’s gotten himself into, the things he’s done.

Catching his own reflection in the blade of the dagger, a little more scratched up months after being retrieved from Quirin’s room, Varian turns it until he can’t see anything anymore. He decides to study the hilt of the dagger more closely. On it, he finds the same symbol that was scratched into the chest and onto Dad’s hand. Quirin had never shown his tattoo before, but in the amber, it’s not like he could up and procure himself his dropped glove. Varian had taken that glove with him when the guards first showed up, or he thinks he did. He's lost track of it now.

Varian traces the symbol with his thumb. Circle. Lines.

He frowns.

A circle and three lines.

A circle and…

He jumps out of bed and launches towards Princess Rapunzel’s letters. He remembers the sword lady’s, Adira’s face from the sketch Rapunzel made in the note she wrote Varian, but in her parents’ letter…

How did I miss it the first time? , Varian fumbles to open the letter without tearing it. Or maybe I’m imagining things. Yes, that’s all it is. I’ve just convinced myself that something is there when it’s obviously nothing.

Wait… There is something.

This drawing of Adira in the Pincosta letter has her standing with her arms crossed over her chest, but on one of her hands, there’s a few extra lines. In the Princess’ style, they stand out. Varian squints some more. On Adira’s hand, there is an oval stroke of an inking feather and three wormy squiggles. A circle, three lines, if a little rougher.

The Princess mentioned both Adira and Quirin in the same letter, after all. The same paragraph, sentence. What had she said…?

As for the Great Tree… We did find something inside. The writing was the same as on the scroll. Do you think Quirin knew? Do you think that’s why he held onto it? After all, Adira knew and they were both… You know.

They were both what !? It must have something to do with that damn symbol. With the scroll.

Varian finds himself on the edge of some sort of discovery, but those pages are missing and my father can’t explain this, he’s gone and nobody tells me anything!

For how hard it was beating before, Varian’s heart drops to his stomach and stops there, sinking into the darkest parts of himself like an endlessly heavy stone.

Varian has to stop himself from bunching up the letter. He just lets it slip back on top of the others on the bed, but his other hand is still weighed down. He throws the dagger to the floor and flinches at how it impales itself into the wood with a thunk . It's a little satisfying though, the movement, the release, but not enough.

He blinks. After a moment, Varian grabs the gloves and the mercury and stomps towards the desk.

Unable to focus long enough to keep reading or to look more closely at whatever’s left of the torn pages, Varian knows he needs to do something else. If he's doing something, if he's being useful, then it doesn't matter that he's feeling such childish emotions.

He shoves his old gloves on and they feel weird and comforting at the same time.

His hands shake as he goes about mixing powders and metals and dripping liquid into vials and stoking the small flame he’s got going and stirring and cutting and losing his mind. No matter what task he loses himself into, Varian can’t stop the thought from forming, from taking root, digging up everything else around it. 

It goes: everyone’s in on it. This Adira person, Rapunzel, even the Princess’ parents, Dad.

But not Varian, oh no, why would he need to be in the know about any of this?

He slams one of the stirring spoons down. The bubbling droplets of liquid that were clinging to it leave pale marks on the desk, which Varian ignores.

Who wouldn’t be frustrated? He has a right to feel this way, doesn’t he?

I deserve to know , Varian thinks, but a twinge in his ice-ladened heart reminds him that he can’t be trusted.

Varian’s a monster, after all. Everyone must have simply realized it sooner than he did.

The solutions Andrew requested need more time to simmer before they’ll be ready for use, and that means even his distraction has run its course.

Varian lights a candle for extra light and stares at it for a good few minutes, thinking, thinking, thinking, and he comes to no reasonable answer. He sits back down on the bed. He closes the old atlas and picks up one of the story books at last. Maybe a different angle will yield better results. The stories people share can hold information too, if Varian knows where to look for it. He won't know until he tries.

As long as I can do something, anything at all, I can't be completely bad , he thinks.

 

---

 

By the end of the night, Varian’s eyes are red and he’s even shakier than before. He should sleep. He keeps reading, because there has been no reference to a Dark Kingdom, or lost kingdom Southeast of Corona.

By the start of the next day, when thin strips of pale lights needle their way through the piles of alchemical machines and supplies in the room, Varian may have found something on this Great. Maybe.

A tree grand, hewn from the forests of old,

Its branches grow bent and foul by the spirit’s word,

Still underroot paths lay and lie,

And a heart o’ jade, a weapon of strife.

 

It could be about the ‘Great Tree’. It could be any other forest-related lore, though. It's not exactly an uncommon element in fairytales of all sorts. This verse is one part of a longer ballad about some army gathering in a forest, but it’s so full of metaphors and wordy descriptions and weird translations and Varian’s read enough.

It doesn’t even rhyme properly, who wrote this!?

The book falls on his face and doesn’t bother to push it aside. Instead, he just lays there and listens to the quiet bubbling in the background. Sometimes, there is a pop and Varian jolts with it, but it’s the usual sounds of alchemical processes. He keeps count of the passing of time in his head by these sounds.

And then, an unexpected noise breaks the expected rhythm.

BOOM!

Varian feels the sound through the walls and floors more than he hears it, and for a second, he wonders where he messed up this time.

He jumps up and smothers the flame flickering underneath a large bowl of bubbling glue gelatin, but it wasn’t Varian who caused this. 

(For once, he wasn’t the one going around, causing explosions…)

It came from the floors below.

“What are they doin’ down there…”, Varian wonders. 

For all the separatists’ unpredictability, Juniper had been right; they’ve all been busy lately. Would they even have the time to go around, exploding things? 

Maybe they misused some of Varian’s alchemy, and that would indirectly make this his fault.

But wouldn’t Andrew have sent someone after him if that had been the case? It’s already been a few minutes since the sound now. 

The tools on his desk begin shaking gently. This time, it’s not the booming sound of a single event going awry, but rather a series of noises. Closer to footsteps than the whole castle falling apart, and Varian’s entire face wrinkles and twists with suspicion.

He wonders if he should check it out. Part of him jumps at the opportunity to forget this failure of a research night. The other is tired.

Varian grabs a few solutions he’s set aside for his own use. He’s forgotten how much relief carrying alchemical solutions on him can bring. In prison, he had to be sneaky with the things he managed to get his hands on.

The door to the room is left swinging behind him in his haste to leave. As quickly as possible, Varian runs through the halls and skips down the stairs. The noises become clearer the closer he gets.

Voices, he can hear voices , and they’re too loud to come from the dozen remaining occupants of the castle.

As he nears the commotion, Varian recognizes the familiar thud of wooden staffs and the swish of the cloaks; he knows they’re going to be wearing red and black before he sees them, these infiltrators, criminals, guards .

At first, he wonders if he’s dreaming. That boring poem or ballad about maybe-the-Great-Tree knocked him out and his brain is reeling, that’s why he can see the masked guards again, fighting his allies in the halls of the castle.

Then one of the guards - who knows who he is? They’re all masked, and this one doesn’t say anything to reveal if he's someone Varian encountered before . God, what is happening!? - rams into Varian, knocking him to the ground and the sensation is too real to be a dream.

“Hey- Ugh!”, Varian grunts, but he loses his air before he can finish.

The man jumps over the fallen alchemist and dodges the swipe of a sword following after him. Andrew closes in on him with a slash, then another. In his other hand, Andrew clutches a few glass spheres, all of them a shimmery purple.

Varian had made those days ago, so he expects the smoke that fills the narrow hallway when Andrew smashes them against the wall, but the guards don’t.

Despite what Andrew is trying to do, Varian doesn’t/can’t take the opportunity to move. He bids himself to stand, but his legs won’t listen. Even through the smoke, he can see them, as though he’s still running and hiding in the forest, but that’s not true. It's not real. 

He doesn’t get up by himself, but he hears Kai squeal:

“Don’t just stand there like that, you’re a tripping hazard!”, and then he hoists Varian up over his shoulder and manages to get a few strides away from the confused guards. From there, as though a flip had been switched, Varian’s eyes narrow and in his hands, he can feel the smooth glass of a vial. He doesn't even remember taking it out, but he knows what to do.

“Incoming!”, Varian yells as soon as Kai puts him down. He's still in the range of Andrew’s smoke diversion and it'd be a shame to waste it.

Some of the guards falter, not knowing what to expect, but the separatists step back before Varian throws a splash of pink goo solution all around him. Only after the sound of the fight has given way to offended, slightly embarrassed struggling does Varian step back and out of the smoke as well, which clears after a few seconds, revealing the masked guards - maybe twenty or so - they’re all trapped in Varian’s expanded glue.

The saporians standing around the guards are slowly drawing closer. Kai and Andrew both have swords. Clementine has a knife. Maisie and Juniper still have a few alchemical spheres attached to their belts, but a few have been used already. The colorful stains on the hallway rugs prove it.

In approaching the guards, they’re also closing in on Varian, but they don't seem annoyed with him for once. His breathing picks up either way.

“Good job, Varian!”, Andrew says, stepping up to Varian and raising a hand to ruffle his hair.

Varian flinches.

“Did they just… Break in?”, he asks.

“Yes, but it seems they aren't going to be so troublesome after all. I am starting to really enjoy this alchemy of yours, friend”, Andrew drops his hand. He’s still smiling, like he’s proud.

Varian, on the other hand, can’t be proud or glad or infuriated or anything. He looks at the guards and removes the bucket-helmet from the one nearest to him.

Alas, he doesn’t recognize this man in particular. Still, Varian glares and he feels like no time has passed at all since last Winter. As confidently as he can, pushing past the shiver in his voice, Varian demands:

“Where is the Captain?”

He knows first-hand just how incompetent most of the guards are. If anyone could have brought together some of Corona’s fighting men after the separatists had sent everyone away, it would have to be the Captain himself. None of these guards move in that rigid, kinda pompous way that the Captain does, so it’s easy to conclude he's somewhere else. And anyway, the reaction to Varian’s question sells it. 

The other guards don't start innocently whistling and kicking their feet, but it's a close thing.

This whole attack isn't about fighting the separatists, or that’s Varian’s guess. There's something else going on. They need to find the Captain immediately.

Notes:

Originally, this chapter and the next were written together, since I like keeping series of tied events together, but since I am somehow still being drop-kicked by school stuff (help), it's easier to split it, add a little more to the next one and, in the end, it takes less time to edit. Problem solved?
(Not really, sorry for the delays!)
I think the Dark Kingdom doing whatever it can to erase itself out of the history books, as it were, is a really interesting concept. I like to think that their isolation started before the evacuation, either at the beginning of King Edmund's reign or before him, so older sources will have mentioned them, and in such cases... Well, the Brotherhood must have had some strange missions ahead, huh?
But the Great Tree is interesting. Such a landmark, but no one in Rapunzel's crew really knew about it. Is it considered part of the Dark Kingdom's lands, me wonders... Anyway, some God-awful poetry never hurt anyone. Yes, I cringed all the way through writing it.
As for the miniature rebellion, whether or not that's the actual goal, I like the idea that the people of Corona would have done something to go against the separatists, even if it didn't work out. Thus the returning masked guards! :'D Poor Varian...

Either way, see y'all in a bit! If I am late again, know that I did not, in the end, survive writing my last exam before I go home for Easter. But I'll post as soon as I can!!!

Chapter 32: Conflict of interest

Summary:

Conspiracies, betrayals, scheming - everything is unraveling now. The Separatists of Saporia do what they must to maintain control and the people of Corona respond to the changes. Those caught in the middle of the conflict adapt.

Notes:

Contents: a conspiracy (or a couple) happening somewhere in the background, Andrew being Andrew, worsening states of mind.

“Where is the Captain?”

The unmasked guard shakes in his goo-covered boots, but says nothing, so Varian heaves a sigh and takes out a random vial. He flicks a finger against the glass and a few bubbles float to the surface of the clear liquid.

“You see this lil’ solution here? With all the excitement, I haven’t even finished assessing its characteristics! Isn’t that a shame?”, then, Varian smiles, “Wanna help me test it out?”, he makes a show of unstoppering the bottle and tilting it just enough that a drop clings to the lip of the vial. Tension keeps it from falling onto the guard’s face, but they both know that won’t last forever. “‘Cause it’s either that, or you start talking right abouuut…”

The guard squeaks like a dog whose tail someone stepped on:

“Ahhh, he’s looking for the King and Queen and he said he’d try the Throne Room! Please don't test your magic potion on me!”

Magic potion , psssht… Even now, they don’t see his scientific genius, do they?

“Good choice”, drawing his hand back, Varian quickly seals the vial and shoves it back into the apron.

Several of the other masked men facepalm.

Varian doesn’t tell the guy that it’s a vial of perfectly harmless water that he was being threatened with. He’s got a feeling that the Captain won’t be as easy to persuade, but the separatists seem satisfied with Varian’s results.

“Didn’t you handle that so very well…? We should see what the man of the hour is up to. Lead the way, yes?”, Andrew says, movements a little stiff as he sheathes his sword. He won’t stop looking at Varian.

The separatists follow after Varian as he makes his way to the Throne Room. The Captain of the guards, his mask/bucket/helmet tucked under his arm, is bowing before the bewildered King and Queen.

Looks like you didn't mind yourself. You weren't careful enough, Captain , Varian thinks as he and the saporians file into the room.

“-say, no. We’re doing quite well, in fact! I don’t know where you’ve gotten this fantastical story of us being brainwashed from or why you keep insisting on it even now, but that’s rather a rude accusation towards our - ah!”, the King is saying before he notices everyone else, “And there they are! Our guests and valued friends. Varian, my most trusted advisor, can you tell the strangely-costumed Captain that we don’t require any rescuing? Certainly not with the help of an entire army!”

“Hardly an army”, Varian mutters under his breath.

“What was that?”, Queen Arianna asks, blinking.

“I-I said, he’s… I think your Captain’s gone barmy”, Varian says, but his face feels hot.

Thankfully, Andrew steps in at this point, and around Varian, the separatists smile as they move in closer, already tasting victory.

“I don’t know how much longer this man can even be Captain of the guards. I mean… Staging a coup against his own King? Really, your Majesty, you shouldn’t let this stand”, Andrew says.

“A coup… ?”, the King’s tone shifts from horrified realization to accusatory within the span of a single word, “Captain, how could you? Why, I can’t even look at you right now. Andrew, please, won’t you escort this man out of my sight?”, now he sounds disappointed.

“That wouldn’t be enough. How about taking him to the dungeons instead, your Majesties?”, Andrew suggests.

Queen Arianna seems to hesitate, but in the end, both she and the King nod.

“If you believe that would be safer for everyone…”, she says.

Andrew bows, and the Queen can’t see his smile from the downward angle of his head, but Varian can.

“Of course, your Majesty. This is for everyone’s safety. You shouldn’t allow traitors to go unpunished.”

The separatists move in towards the Captain, blocking off all means of escape and Varian sits back, hands tucked into the nooks of his elbows.

“We are no traitors”, the Captain says and he sounds like he would be frowning, “My King, you cannot trust these-”

But King Frederic shakes his head, and while he speaks, Andrew gets close enough to draw his sword again and point it at the Captain - now, Varian looks - at his neck. The Captain’s helmet drops to the floor, and instead, he reaches for his staff.

“No, Captain. I think they are right. I do not know what led you to attack my castle, but I’m afraid it’s you who cannot be trusted”, King Frederic sighs, looking away from what is happening right in front of him.

Drop the staff , Varian reads the words on Andrew’s lips.

The Captain doesn’t, not right away. Instead, he looks at everyone in the Throne Room, and as his gaze falls on Varian, something in his expression twitches, falls away, but what remains is not quite anger.

When he does drop the staff, the Captain says:

“Is this truly who you’ve chosen to side with?”

Varian knows the question is directed at him, but King Frederic replies:

“Well, these fine people didn’t attack my home! Goodness, a coup, of all things…”

This could be funny, and maybe with time, it will be. It isn’t right now, because no amount of logical reasoning lessens the uncomfortable feeling squeezing around his heart. Varian knows this is the right thing, but it doesn’t feel like it. That righteous certainty, the need to pay everything back in kind from before, it’s little less than remnants of what it was a year ago. Still, Varian knows, he’s sure that this is better than the unknowns of any other alternative because Andrew’s looking at him expectantly, so Varian nods and mutters:

“Yes. They're helping. They're doing something… ”

And that's how the small exchange ends, even if it's not a final conclusion to the whole attack.

Andrew has Kai escort the Captain of the guards to the dungeons, but he drags Varian along with the rest of the group to check on the other men.

Somewhat dazed, Varian says:

“Are we gonna keep everyone in the dungeons…? We can't… We don't…”

In truth, the guards that attacked the castle, or their numbers at least, are nothing compared to the people that were kept down there when Varian was imprisoned. And even during his time, some cells were empty. Varian used to hear stories about overcrowding and the dangers tied to it before the Princess was found, when it didn’t take much to be labelled a criminal. He supposes it still doesn’t take much, if the right circumstances force the King’s hand - but that’s all in the past now, because King Frederic is agreeable and he is so easy to manipulate. He trusts Andrew and his saporians and he even trusts someone like his new advisor.

Regardless, this isn't a space problem. Varian knows that logistics are against the separatists, which is why he'd been against Andrew sending everyone away in the first place when they already had the most important people inside the castle in the palm of their hand. 

Even Juniper must think something along those lines. She sighs and says:

“I hate to say this, but the little twerp’s right. We could keep the Captain in custody and have one of us on watch duty. Maybe. But as for the others, we should think of somethin’ else… A different punishment, perhaps.”

The way her eyes drift to Andrew’s sword isn't subtle.

“We’re not executing them! I thought we weren’t gonna hurt anyone”, Varian protests and turns to look at Andrew.

“And just why are you so set on such beliefs anyway? This is obviously the easiest way to solve our conundrum”, Juniper scoffs , and Clementine shakes her head disapprovingly before she butts in as well. 

“Yeah, you’re no fun!”, Clementine looks down at the blade of her knife. Varian forces back thoughts of the dagger in the room a few floors above them. “It’d also be the easiest way to teach the rest of the coronans a lesson! No one goes against us and gets away with it.”

They turn a corner and the captured guards come into view.

“Y-you don’t know that other people would even agree with the Captain and his men. Maybe we should try the dungeons after all…”, Varian doesn’t sound particularly convincing even to his own ears.

“Stop that, friends. We don't need the negativity. Tie them up for now while I think on what to do”, Andrew waves them all off.

That's not really an answer , Varian thinks, but doesn't say it aloud.

Maisie procures a length of rope and he and Varian secure it around the men’s wrists, tying them to each other. Their staffs are kicked aside and the separatists search them for any other weapons. Andrew would usually help, but not this time. He looks at them, thinking, and Varian feels a tingle in his arms as he works. Surely, Andrew will account for what he told Varian when they joined forces. And Andrew isn’t- Sure, his buddies are a little extreme, but Andrew’s always been a pacifist in comparison!

He has my back , he thinks, but doubt has him taking stock of the other alchemical supplies he grabbed in his rush to see what the fuss was about.

Varian shakes solvent powder on the glue on Maisie’s signal.

When they’re done, Andrew must have reached some sort of conclusion ( finally ), because he clears his throat and everyone present turns to listen.

“Juniper’s idea isn’t too bad”, he starts and Varian’s heart drops; his hand twitches towards one of the pockets of the kitchen apron (begrudgingly, Varian will admit that his old apron did not have nearly as many pockets. One is not nearly enough to store even the bare necessities), “We are going to imprison the Captain and see what else he’s got to say. It was a good call on Varian’s side to think he would be behind this attack. I’m sure this can’t have been everything he was hoping to achieve by making such a grand entrance”, come to think of it, Varian still isn’t sure how they got in, but before he can ask, Andrew continues, “But! We can be reasonable. For the rest of you…”, when Andrew points his swords at the assembly of tied-up guards, most step back (or stumble, being tied together as they are), but some of them square their shoulders, “I think exile will be a punishment fitting of your actions today.”

In the silence Andrew’s verdict brings, Varian sighs with relief. The other separatists seem somewhat unsatisfied, but they don’t go against their leader.

Only when Maisie, Clementine and Juniper leave with the ex-guards to lead them out of the capital, saying something about their King being very disappointed in them, does Varian actually relax.

He and Andrew watch them go from beneath the main gate portal. Clouds are gathering. Varian tries to keep his gaze on his companions as they shrink in the distance instead of fretting about bad weather, ‘cause that's never a good omen for him.

Andrew looks down at Varian and pats his back. His hand is heavy.

“See? I can keep my promises, friend.”

“I didn’t doubt it for a second”, Varian lies, “And anyway, this is the smarter way of dealing with this… Situation.”

“Perhaps. Now then, I’d like to go check in on our guest again before the day is over. How are those little potions of yours coming along?”

“They're not potions ”, with red cheeks, Varian looks away, but the question does make him think.

With the whole letters debacle and - well, this entire thing with the guards - he completely forgot about what he was brewing. If anything, today has shown just how important Varian’s alchemy is in the grand scheme of things.

“But I’ll be finished by tonight”, Varian rushes to reassure Andrew, “Tomorrow morning at the latest”, he’s not that tired yet, and Andrew usually waits a few days before asking for more supplies after Varian delivers a batch, so he’ll have plenty of time to take care of everything else, just… After. “I think I have all the ingredients I need, they just have to, heh… Cook for a little longer.”

“I’ll hold you to it, then”, Andrew says and turns back towards the castle, waving.

Varian waves back. He doesn’t see the way Andrew’s smile drops.

 

---

 

There’s a lingering panic in the aftermath of the attack. Its origins are a little uncertain, because Varian won , he finally beat the guards, so he should feel nothing besides sweet, sweet victory. They can wear their stupid masks and swing their stupid staffs all they want, but Varian won’t be pushed around anymore. 

Still, he paces around like a headless chicken for a while and has to find ways to distract himself from the jitteriness.

On the bright side, it bolsters his productivity, as though he were working on a deadline. He supposes he is, on some level, since he told Andrew he'd be done soon, but that can’t be everything that's got him in such a tizzy.

Doing alchemy helps as both a release of energy and a distraction. It always does. He’s calm(ish) when he turns the burner off a second time and checks that all of the bubbling mixtures have reached their optimal state before being bottled. It’s not even that late in the afternoon/evening when Varian sneaks out of the room with a crate full of his alchemical inventions. He’s still not working at the same speed as he did before jail, but he’s getting there.

He’ll leave this crate by Andrew’s doorstep and then be done for the day. Night. Whatever - he’ll have time to clean any suspicious letters from his room and hide the evidence. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to return those useless books before he looks for more sources on the Dark Kingdom. Even the Queen has to sleep sometimes… Surely, she can't be up haunting the library all the time, and she must have been uncomfortable during their last interaction too; really, Varian would be doing them both a favor by ensuring a repeat of that doesn’t happen. Maybe Varian will sleep after this, or maybe he’ll read about that ancient engineer and see what the fuss is about. Maybe he’ll scour the castle scientists’ abandoned quarters and see where they went wrong in trying to recreate Varian’s amber…

Varian cuts his thinking short as he reaches Andrew’s chosen guestroom. There’s two doors between his and Varian’s - not a great enough walking distance to think his whole nightly routine through - but his arms tremble. Varian glares at them before he drops the crate as slowly as he can with a long-suffering huff. Rubbing his back with one hand, he raises the other and knocks softly against the door.

“Andrew?”, he asks.

When there’s no response, Varian tries knocking again. Nothing happens.

“Still with the Captain?”, he asks himself quietly, frowning, “But it's been hours…”

Sighing, he presses his ear to the door, waits for a second, then knocks one last time. No one answers, not verbally, but this time, there is a scraping sound, soft enough that Varian could have imagined it.

In a moment of pure impulsiveness, Varian draws back to open the door, as slowly as he can. To his surprise, it's unlocked. A room not unlike his own is revealed, only the original furniture isn’t lost amongst miscellaneous scientific equipment or supplies, even if the desk is covered in papers. In the corner rests the sword Andrew used during the attack, but really, the room is quite orderly otherwise.

For the life of him, Varian can’t figure out what could have moved, since everything is very still. Too still. Maybe there’s an opening in some wall, forgotten after years of not being patched, and now there’s a draft. But the air is heavy all around him, stale and dusty.

It wouldn't be the first time he's imagined things, though. Varian takes a step back, but he doesn’t expect to stumble into something.

“Is there a reason you’re sneaking around, friend?”, asks said something.

Varian jumps, trips over his own legs and down he goes. Andrew looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Andrew! Uhm, about that-”, Varian flounders, “I just… I was just bringing you the stuff you asked for! The extra smoke bombs and elixirs and what-not…”, he trails off. Andrew doesn’t look very convinced. Varian squirms in place before he decides, no, I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. Why shouldn’t I speak up? “And you weren’t here, but I thought I heard something. That’s why I was… Well, looking around, I guess. But I didn’t really see anything. Actually”, Varian blinks, “Where were you? Still the dungeons?”

Andrew still doesn’t look convinced.

“We all have our duties to fulfill. Not everyone has the time to sit around and… Investigate like you apparently do. Our rebellious Captain sure doesn’t like giving answers for free”, and all of a sudden, Andrew sounds a lot more frustrated.

“He doesn’t wanna tell you what he’s been planning, huh?”, Varian tries to say in a lighter tone.

Andrew grabs Varian and pulls him up by the front of the new apron and he doesn’t think anything of it at first. He only frowns when Andrew doesn’t let go, squeezing a little harder.

“Nevermind that. I didn’t say anything about it when you managed to capture those pesky intruders, but you’ve been acting strange all day”, Andrew says.

Varian blinks a few more times, as if it’ll help him hear any better. It doesn’t, and he shakes his head.

“I haven’t been acting strange, what are you-”, but then Varian thinks about the letters on his bed and he freezes up in Andrew’s hold, “I-I mean, any stranger than usual? No. Nooo. What’s strange? Who’s- Who’s bein’ strange? I’m just the… Uh. The usual levels of strange?”

Damnit , now all that panic that he alchemied away is back and worse than before.

“Is that so?”

“Y-yeah? Why- Erm, what makes you think I’m acting strange?”

Andrew lets go and takes a step back. He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs as he looks over his room.

“You’ll have to forgive me for doubting you, but it’s simply that I haven’t seen the enthusiasm I would have expected from you. The whole ‘not hurting people’ shtick, the hesitance… I just don’t know what to think, Varian”, Andrew confesses.

“I guess… I guess I can understand that”, Varian says, “I would be hurt too. But-! I really am on your side. I told you I would be. I think today was just a lot…”

“You didn’t seem surprised to see those guys”, Andrew presses, and now Varian can see where his reactions might have betrayed him, so he waves a hand and says:

“Well, I’ve seen them before. I didn’t think I’d ever see them again, but trust me, I had no idea they would try to do all that!”

“Where could you have possibly seen them? I didn’t even realize they were part of the old royal guard at first”, Andrew’s frown deepens.

“They chased after me before I… I wasn’t even doing anything bad back then”, Varian pauses. How does he explain this? “But I had something the King wanted and, at that point, I couldn’t trust him. They were supposed to arrest me, but King Freddy didn’t want the Princess to know about what he was doing, so… Masks.”

“Masks?”

“Masks. And a lot of secrecy… But they weren’t as subtle as they thought they were, if I’m being honest.”

“And all this was before your official attack? Before anyone successfully got you in jail? Truly?”

Varian kinda wants to hug himself just to smooth out the goosebumps pimpling up his arms, but that would be embarrassing to do in front of Andrew. It would make Varian look so uncool. He keeps his hands firmly by his sides.

“Yes, that’s right”, Varian says, “So, I’m not very eager to see them again.”

They bring bad memories , he doesn’t say.

Andrew rubs his chin and looks at something behind Varian before returning his gaze to him.

“That explains that, but…”

“We’re all working together”, Varian swallows, “I am so, sooo on you guys’ side. But I just… We don’t have to do bad stuff to get what we want. Or, nothing too bad”, he says, “I’m just so sick of everyone calling me a… An enemy, I guess. I know I was! Am, too! But I’m doing the right thing now, ‘cause we’re gonna change stuff around here. I’m on the right side.”

“That you are, friend. Still-”, Andrew says quietly.

“That’s why I don’t wanna hurt anyone. Maybe just a threat here and there, a little fighting if push comes to shove, b-but nothing permanent!”

Although Andrew lets him finish, it’s obvious he has something to say. Varian would keep blabbering, but the look in Andrew’s eyes makes him feel small and useless and he knows he isn’t, but he hates the idea that he is disappointing Andrew as well. It’s all he ever does, sure, but he’s supposed to be better now. Even if he’s still awful. Even if he’s still Varian.

The temperature drops in the silence. Andrew says:

“As I was saying - do you truly believe that some moral holdbacks are going to change anyone’s perception of you? The people of this cruel kingdom, they don’t forgive nor forget that easily.”

“Sure, I know that-”

“ I can see past what you’ve done”, Andrew lays a hand over his heart and the gesture is so familiar to Varian, because he used to find it annoying, and now he doesn’t know what it means anymore, “But nobody else will, you know?”

Varian bristles.

“I still don’t want to hurt anyone”, he says, almost pleads.

“Have it your way, I suppose”, Andrew walks past Varian and he picks up his sword, looking at the blade, turning it this way and that. Varian meets his eyes in the reflection, “But it makes me wonder about your loyalty, anyway. Actions speak louder than words. Do you know what this fight means to us? How your faltering could ruin everything.”

Andrew’s sword remains not-pointed at Varian, but he feels the cut of the words.

“I’m not faltering”, but Andrew isn't listening and Varian hates it, he always has.

“After all, your hesitation is what got your poor, old father in trouble, right? The things you did, the things you didn’t do… I just need to be sure I know who I’m working with.”

Andrew closes his eyes, lowers the sword, then he shakes his head and turns to look at Varian, ready to soothe the wound he dug his fingers into, knowing that this should be enough to bring Varian back on track, but the boy isn’t there anymore.

Andrew is alone and the door to his room is moving slowly in the runaway alchemist’s wake.

Oh, well.

He picks up the crate of alchemical supplies from the hall and listens to the sound of footsteps descending down the hall before a different door slams shut.

 

---

 

Must Varian always make a fool of himself?

He is uncool as he runs away (but hey, he delivered the supplies. He did what he was supposed to. Andrew didn’t need to go that far…) and he remains uncool when he’s back in the lab room and once he starts kicking at things.

Varian’s upset, alright?

And- And all of this shoddy equipment, he can repair later! He just can’t keep feeling like this right now.

(In retrospect, destroying the rooms he resides in is, unfortunately, starting to become a bit of a habit.)

A tower of crates buckles and falls, luckily empty after Varian took out the last vials. From behind it, the window is revealed after entire weeks of candlelight and eerie bioluminescence. Now, the whole room is filled with the blue glow of early evening.

Panting, Varian slaps his hands onto the window sill, hard enough that his palms sting even through the gloves. He fumbles a little, but eventually, is able to open the window, breathing in the humid air. The separatists’ rooms aren’t that high up (the highest rooms would be the towers, though only one of them, which houses the King and Queen, is in use right now; the tallest tower is empty), but they are just high enough for the wind’s chill to be accentuated. Varian looks out at the city and notes the dots of yellow lamplight. They flicker and move like fireflies before his eyes, but maybe that’s because Varian is trembling. Now he’s actually cold, at least, and the physical sensation doesn’t bother him so much compared to just another abstract trick his mind is playing on him.

Like this, Varian calms down. It’s surprising. Before, this sort of anger would have him seeing red for days, but now it’s already gone. He supposes it’s because Andrew didn’t even do anything. He just reminded Varian about a fact he already knew, and he’s right. Sure, Varian has his pride and he can’t take someone else talking about his father so carelessly. Not even Doc got away with that, and even the Princess , she…

But Andrew’s still right . The fault for Dad’s fate rests solely on Varian’s shoulder.

His exhale squeezes his lungs empty of air. Only once he deflates does Varian drop his head onto the sill.

Wasn’t Andrew justified in doubting Varian? What has he even done to help his allies so far besides playing with his stupid alchemy? Because no, no , Varian couldn’t do much - he was too busy sulking and playing detective with the Princess’ letters! What an idiot Varian is!

“I should have just given those notes to Juniper and been done with it…”, Varian sighs.

He turns his head where it’s still resting against the cold surface beneath the window, but the position is uncomfortable. Varian stands and looks back at the letters on his bed.

Methodically, he goes about folding them and sealing the envelopes. One remains empty.

Varian frowns and looks for the last letter. He checks under the blankets and on the floor besides the bed. He looks at the desk, now covered in a few broken glass tubes and fallen metal and ceramic bowls (thankfully not cracked… Varian isn't much of a potter) and spilled solutions.

He turns the room upside down for the second time in the span of one day/night, and still, he doesn’t find the letter.

“Oh God, please don’t tell me I lost it-”, he hisses to himself and renews his search efforts, but it’s all useless. Varian can’t find it!

Needless to say, the process of Varian disassembling the room he was gifted is only soundless because of the thick, stone walls of the castle muffling the noise, but even they wouldn’t mute some mindless yelling, so Varian screams internally only. He’s already losing steam. Not only can’t he sustain anger, he can’t even be afraid of what this means. Whatever will happen, Varian will just have to figure it out when the time comes.

(Someone out there knows where the Princess is. If they can figure out where this mysterious Dark Kingdom resides, that is, and Varian won’t understand how that changes things until much, much later, but he’s got a gut feeling that he won’t be too happy about it.)

At some point, he just collapses into a heap of buzzing disappointment, half-hanging off of the unmade bed and, eventually, he falls asleep there.

 

---

 

The sun is bright and warm, high up in the sky. The heat would be uncomfortable out in the open, but luckily, Varian’s picking apples with Ruddiger right now, and the cover of the trees in the orchard is more than welcome. The air smells sweet, fragrant.

Varian holds the basket above his head while Ruddiger jumps from branch to branch, shaking the ripe apples loose. He tosses them directly into the basket, but judging by the long pauses between some of the throws, Varian knows that Ruddiger is taking his own cut as well, feasting at his leisure.

“ Stop stealing apples, you little thief. Don’t we give you enough food? ”, Varian laughs. His own voice sounds as if it were coming not from himself, but from his surroundings. Varian doesn’t know if it’s normal, but he doesn’t mind it much.

What he does definitely mind is when an apple lands on his head. Ouch! Where’d his basket go? Dad will be very disappointed if Varian’s lost all of the fruits they gathered so far. Varian looks around, but another apple hits his shoulder. He turns his eyes up towards the trees, but he can’t see Ruddiger anymore. 

“ Rud? Ruddiger? ”

In fact, even the sun’s disappeared. The branches are swaying in front of a purely black background, but there’s no wind to move them. Wasn’t it day outside just a moment ago?

“ Where are you, buddy…? ”

Another apple hits his shoulder.

Is Varian losing time again?

These apples aren’t as heavy as they should be, but they push Varian around every time they make contact. He feels a bit like a leaf in the wind and a lot like a scared child, which is frustrating.

Where’s Ruddiger?

Varian falls down on his bum.

Where’s Dad?

A yellow glow illuminates the sky and, on instinct, Varian shuts his eyes. There must be a storm. He's waiting for the thunder.

“ Dad? ”

It never comes.

 

---

 

When he blinks and looks, Varian sees the castle - not the cell, but the laboratory room - and someone is shaking him awake. Or rather, poking him awake.

Varian jumps back up to his feet and turns to find Rosalie standing in the middle of the room. His room, technically… Her hat’s on and she’s got a basket of her own resting in the crook of her elbow. Did she steal Varian’s? No… No, that was just a dream.

I wish I could have stayed there for a little longer… , Varian thinks for a moment. Then, he remembers the reality of things and shakes his head.

“What the heck are you doing here?”, he asks, and to Varian’s further embarrassment, his voice is nasal and small and his eyes must be crusted with tiny, sharp-edged pieces of sand or something, because, oh boy , do they sting.

Doc turns her head towards the window and the piles of rubble that lay under it from Varian’s earlier fit. It’s brighter outside than Varian remembers.

“Good morning”, she says, “I was wondering if you might want to join me on a little trip.”

Varian stares.

“For ingredients and such”, Rosalie clarifies eventually.

“But… The guys usually buy stuff for me…”, he says.

“Alas, the quality of what your co-conspirators bring isn’t always up to par with my standard. If that’s not the case for you as well, then…”, and now she takes a step back towards the door.

“Wait!”

Varian’s eyes narrow when he notices Rosalie’s smile, but he still asks:

“Okay, I would love some better minerals, and there’s always impurities mixed in the stuff Maisie insists they got for the full price. But what’s your angle?”

Varian sort of wonders why he never volunteered to go out and get supplies by himself before.

“Angle?”, she looks down at her basket, “Why would I have an angle? It’s a nice day outside. Unless you have better things to do, you might as well enjoy it.”

“I should ask Andrew”, Varian finally sighs. It’s not a no , however. Maybe going out will clear his head. Maybe what he's been experiencing is some form of cabin fever. Is castle fever a thing? Once he’s gotten himself together, he’ll solve the issue of the lost letter and of the Dark Kingdom and he’ll keep researching the amber and he’ll do something right. Maybe.

“He’s busy. Somebody doesn’t want to talk. I didn’t take Hubert to be this quick to anger, but I suppose patience just isn’t his forte”, she waves the idea off.

“I guess he never said I couldn’t go out”, Varian rubs the back of his head, and when he stretches his arms, he feels both rejuvenated and wrung out.

“Why would he? You are merely an ally to him. He’s not the boss of you, is he?”

She can’t expect Varian not to pout at that.

“Of course he isn’t!”

So Varian joins Doc on the hunt for ingredients. He isn’t sure what Andrew will ask him to brew next, but he can always do with more of the basic ingredients. Salts, ground metals, some bases, extra acid-

In his head, he goes over all of the things he could get and tries to make a list.

Varian doesn't even notice how far they've gotten until he stops exactly where he stood with Andrew when they watched the guards being escorted out.

Varian thinks to himself, this is why I didn’t wanna leave. I don’t think I can…

He left before. Multiple times. Sometimes through the main gate, other times through a side door. There was a window and a bit of wall-hopping the one time… But now, taking a step outside of the castle yard is monumental to him. There must be some sort of doom that sprung up out there after Maisie brought Varian back, some unknown horror that he’s instinctually shying away from, because not wanting to leave Corona is one thing. Not wanting to leave the castle is, however, irrational.

Didn’t Varian use to hate this place?

Doc watches him from a few steps in front of him, her face shaded under the brim of her hat. Oh, he’d rather not see her pity him again, if that's what's about to happen!

Instead of just taking one step after another like any other normal person, Varian leaps out, stumbles, gets himself back up and brushes the dust off of his clothes.

Then, lighter by a ton, he strolls down the paved road towards the houses and buildings and plazas of the capital. His knees are only slightly wobbling as he walks.

When Rosalie catches up to him (it doesn't really take her that long to do so), she says:

“The castle may be rather large and there’s not a lot of people roaming within, but privacy can be so bothersome to ensure there.”

Oh uh. Something’s fishy here.

“Aren’t we just going out on a supply run?”, Varian asks dumbly.

Rosalie thinks for a moment, shrugs and nods her head.

“I know what Hubert says about me behind closed doors. He’d think even this little walk is suspicious. He'd rather I wasn't around at all, but the second best option would be for me to remain in my office. Perhaps study the newest advances in medicine. But even that gets boring. I believe I’ve regaled you with such tales before.

“And what have you been doing to… Uh, to stave off said boredom? Just spiting Andrew in your head or what?”, Varian gets brave and asks, because that's what she seems to want.

“Not quite. I was thinking about the Captain of the guards. Did you know he’s being held in the dungeons? Don't you find the situation interesting?”

Heck.

“Oh, don’t tell me this is about that guy”, Varian’s shoulders drop as he whines, “He did something stupid. What more is there to it?”

“A lot more. I have heard about the infiltration of the castle, and then, I have heard other things as well.”

She doesn’t elaborate for a long while.

Long enough, in fact, that by the time she speaks again, they’ve crossed paths with their first group of citizens. The plaza they’re currently crossing is lined with fruit stands (mostly tiny, pale berries and some dried fruits that have remained in inventory after Winter) and stalls of other miscellaneous objects to be sold. Most of them are moth-eaten winter coats. They are too heavy for Corona’s cold season, but he can see how they might have been useful in the case of a freak-blizzard. And now, they're not of much use to anyone, but perhaps they’ll fetch a pretty penny. There’s people looking at the produce and talking amongst themselves. It’s almost normal.

“I’ve gone down there, to the dungeons”, Rosalie starts, her voice a distraction to the tension pulling on Varian’s muscles.

“Just ‘cause you were bored?”, he asks, not processing where this discussion is going anymore. The people wandering through the small market don’t notice them at first, but when they do, they stare long and hard. Varian forgot how this felt after the castle was emptied.

“I was curious about the things I’d heard and wanted to know more before I went out to see for myself”, Rosalie says.

“He… He talked? To you? ”

“Only very briefly.”

If he wasn’t following Doc’s lead, Varian would have probably ducked into one of the many alleyways around them and kept slinking through the shadows just to avoid the way people start to whisper. He can make out at least a dozen mentions of him - though not by name. Just that kid , the Alchemist , even a squinty-eyed, the wizard, that’s him!

“The guards didn’t act alone”, Rosalie continues when Varian says nothing, too busy counting his breaths. They’re in the middle of the plaza now; just a bit longer and they’ll be walking down a far less busy street and he’ll be at ease again. Still, he does a double take at the statement. “Quite a few people, most of them friends of either the King and Queen or of the Princess, are peeved by current events. I cannot fully blame them either. How much do you know of what your allies have been doing while you were hiding in that little room?” Her words could be an accusation.

Varian doesn’t have enough air to answer her until their backs are to the people watching them and he can no longer see them.

“I know enough”, he says at first, but then admits with a sigh, “Well, not really… Andrew is always so vague. Just like you. Is it a saporian thing?”

Rosalie doesn’t laugh, but the corner of her mouth lifts.

“Don’t stereotype, mister Varian”, she adjusts the basket on her arm, “He’s been strict on the people here, in the capital. After the attack yesterday, some more changes have been announced. There’s to be a curfew, and Hubert plans to have some of his subordinates patrolling to see if anyone is badmouthing them”, she sighs, “...Resource management doesn’t seem to be a priority.”

Varian agrees vehemently with the last statement, sure, but she’s just raised the bar on how much he feels like he really, really shouldn’t have left the castle. People probably know Varian’s allied with the saporians, and if no one’s happy with their rule, that paints an extra large target on his back…

“What are we doing shopping out here then?!”

“Because I’m meeting an acquaintance and you need some fresh air. Doctor’s orders”, she smiles at her own joke.

“That's not what you said before… Oh”, he holds his head in his hands, “You're trying to get me killed…!”

“No. No one’s going to make an attempt on your life. Though, do keep an eye out for the stray, rotten fruit.”

Just as she says this, something hits Varian’s back. He turns his head as much as he can to look and, indeed, the splatter on the back of his shirt is red tomato guts. If he didn't think divination was just a roadside attraction (a scam), he might think himself psychic after his dream of being hit with apples.

“Oh, c’mon”, Varian grumbles. Yuck .

Doc’s silence seems to say, see? Told you.

Varian walks a little faster after that.

And still…

They don’t encounter as many people as Varian would have expected. All the time he spent scouting in the capital before he attacked (or before attacking was even an option) has shown him just how busy the streets can get, but now, though there’s the odd gaggle of citizens, and they all act like Varian will break out an alchemy sphere at any moment (nevermind that he’s not even sure what he’s got in his apron after countering the masked guards), a lot of the capital is just - well, it’s strangely empty. He is bonked on the head with a particularly mushy, old prune at some point, but that's about it.

Rosalie doesn’t seem surprised. It’s still morning outside, and he wonders if this is the curfew already taking effect.

They stop at a shoe shop, which isn’t the sort of place Varian can get a lot of supplies at (though, by now, Rpsalie’s excuse of shopping for ingredients has kind of fallen to the wayside…), besides some leather scraps and bent nails that he can melt back into usable metal for parts. Somehow, he just knows no one would hand anything over to the ‘Alchemist.’

The shoemaker doesn’t even come out of his shop after Rosalie knocks three times, but Varian can see a wide eye underneath a very bushy brow through the peephole, moving quickly between him and Doc.

There’s an exasperated sound before the eye disappears and the door opens.

“This isn’t the surprise I expected when you said you’d visit!”, the cobbler says.

Varian thinks he might have seen the guy around before - way before - but his orange hair is even wilder now and he keeps looking down at Varian like a particularly nasty bug he’s considering kicking away.

“Feldspar”, Rosalie greets him calmly.

He doesn’t greet back, but he does look at the two of them for a moment longer. He turns a critical eye to the streets behind them. When nobody else jumps out to surprise the shoemaker, Feldspar drags them both inside his shop and slams the door. Then, he proceeds to turn, slide and rattle about a dozen different locks.

“That doesn’t seem good for business”, Varian observes. Rosalie elbows him in the ribs.

“He’s just company and I, for one, am not here for business”, she says.

“Of course you’re not”, Feldspar grumbles, “God forbid a man make even a single coin in this economy!”

Maybe Varian is still dreaming.

Rosalie and Feldspar hug, one-armed, though the gesture doesn't seem particularly friendly. Courteous, perhaps. He watches, somewhat at a loss for words, as the two of them leave him behind and retreat to a smaller room deeper inside the shop.

He can hear their voices, but he doesn’t understand the words. 

For a while, he waits, but then he starts to think, and that's never good news for anyone. Until they return, Varian wonders about what Andrew said, and then, about whatever it is Rosalie was on about on their way here. He's making things worse for himself by being here: there's a trick somewhere, and it'll probably make Andrew even more suspicious. At the same time, Doc is trying to show him something, maybe? But the only thing Varian can take from this whole day is that people are… Unhappy with him, to say the least, and he knew that before. At least, on a theoretical level. And what was that about the Captain and his possible allies? Maybe he should tell Andrew about it when he gets the chance… Varian’s stomach drops at the thought.

Finally, whatever conversation Rosalie and Feldspar were having comes to an end and they join Varian once more.

Doc seems thoughtful, but resigned. Feldspar looks tired and even less willing to deal with Varian. Luckily, there’s no fruit within his reach.

Varian keeps thinking and thinking even thinking after he and Rosalie leave the shoe shop. On the way back to the castle, Varian doesn’t ask about what Rosalie discussed with Feldspar and she doesn’t offer any information willingly.

Time must have slipped away from them, because outside, the sky is starting to redden and the city is practically deserted. Not one dancing crowd gathered around a street performer, not one child running through the streets, nothing.

“Curfew, then”, Varian says at some point, even if he feels awkward doing so.

“Indeed.”

He doesn’t point out that they didn’t get any supplies, but that, after visiting the shoemaker, Rosalie’s basket hangs heavier on her arm, not swinging as much, but she surprises him instead.

“Did you change your mind on escaping, by any chance? Leaving this place behind. You used to at least consider it”, Rosalie asks out of the blue.

They’re still a good few ways away from the castle walls, but they’re looming over the darkened houses of the capital. She doesn’t even stop walking.

Varian’s breath catches, but a day outside can’t change his mind that easily. Even if his regrets span wider than even his suspicions. The tomb in his old laboratory isn't just an anchor - Varian clings to it like a lifeline that'll only pull him deeper and deeper.

“No. This is better”, for everyone , “For me.”

They go back to walking in silence after that, but Varian feels like something’s changed between them. That resigned look from Feldspar’s shop returns and it makes her look older, more solemn.

 

---

 

For a few days, Varian has to listen to the separatists argue about who has been rifling through their things - Clementine complains about a lost book and Kai about some of his essential oils. Even Juniper says she came back to her room one day to find the door wide open, but no one inside. Maisie checks over his collection of gardening shears (Varian doesn’t ask) and his count is either wrong or he, too, has been robbed. Andrew doesn’t make any claims, but the way he looks at Varian when he’s around speaks volumes. Slowly, the others start looking his way as well.

At some point, annoyed beyond belief, he slams his fists into the table.

“Well, someone’s stolen some of my notes! Now what?!”, he lies about whose notes (or letters) it was that were taken from him; Varian’s got his theories, but he'd rather not think about them too much.

At his outburst, the separatists step back, but Andrew is still looking at him. He’s always looking at Varian like the people in the capital were, like he's waiting for something to happen, and Varian’s starting to lose it, even if he understands.

They don't accuse him of the theft after that, not openly, and Varian doesn't tell them who's had the time to enact some sort of masterplan; if this is what she's doing anyway. He's almost surprised they don't think to go banging on Doc’s door.

For a few nights, Varian lays awake and wonders about the dungeons and about secrets and millions of eyes staring at him from the dark. He wonders why Rosalie visited the Captain and what she found out and why Andrew seems so angry these days and, well-

He can’t take it anymore and he decides to go down himself.

The cold hits him harder than he expected it would. Had jail been this cold when he was down here? It didn't seem that extreme before.

Varian shivers as he checks out every level until he reaches the deepest parts of the castle’s underbelly. Or almost. Deeper still are Herz der Sonne’s tunnels.

Luckily, the cell they stuck the Captain in isn’t that far away from the stairs. Varian doesn’t feel like visiting his old cell.

But the man is sleeping when Varian gets there. Staffless, helmetless, he’s still wearing the uniform of the masked guards, wrapped up in his black and red cloak on one of the same metal-framed, shoddy beds that all the cells have down here, and Varian thinks he should feel elated at the switch in perspectives, at being on opposite sides of the bars.

Varian stands there for a long time.

He could kick the bars, wake the Captain forcefully. Maybe he’ll be more giving with the answers if it’s Varian questioning him. Maybe not. The Captain, for better or for worse, isn’t a coward and not easily threatened.

But he wants to ask so many things.

Are you really working with other people out there?

More than that…

Why? Why all this effort for so little reward?

That’s a big one.

The attack was senseless and it was suppressed way too easily. 

In the end, Varian doesn’t wake the Captain, doesn’t ask him anything. He goes back to the room. On the desk is a note from Andrew - which means that Andrew was here and he knows Varian was wandering around the castle, possibly causing mischief - and he wants an actual bomb this time. Nothing too large, just something to use as a warning , or so his note claims. And more smoke and glue bombs. The usual, but Varian feels something isn’t right.

He gulps. His chest feels tight and in it, his heart is restless. When he lays down in bed, he can imagine what might be happening, but not knowing for sure is doing a number on him. He can swallow his pride and go looking for Doc tomorrow. Maybe if he asks angrily enough, she’ll reveal what she’s up to. What everyone is up to.

 

---

 

Varian goes to the library first thing in the morning, just so he won’t have company, should he go in any later. He doesn’t research the Dark Kingdom, because the missing letter makes him nervous about the entire topic right now, and he decides waiting a little longer to go back to that can’t be too bad - he’s got time. The separatists made sure of that. No one’s after him. He’s got time . So he looks into books on geology and preservation of fossils and just about anything that will ease his guilt. When he’s stuck, it seems Varian resorts to old routines and habits. Back in the room, he holds a vial in one hand and a book in the other. Multitasking at least takes his mind off of things.

At lunch, Varian joins the separatists because he’s made good progress with the alchemy and if he reads anymore, his eyes might just turn into steam inside his head. Or the fumes are getting to him and he doesn’t have his goggles anymore, only the gloves. Who’s to say? 

Anyway, it’s probably better to not go into hiding now, if Andrew thinks he might have been up to something. Speaking of…

Andrew’s face is gaunt with the stress of the last few weeks and his eyes sharp. His sword is hanging at his hip, which, he doesn’t usually wear it around without a reason, from what Varian’s observed. The table is set in the Throne Room again, though the King and Queen are eating in their own chambers for once. Something about a headache that comes and goes.

No one dares touch the food set out from deliveries of supplies ordered in King Frederic’s name until Andrew clears his voice and says:

“Somehow, the Captain of the guards escaped last night.”

And that’s enough to make the whole table go wild.

“Maisie!”, Kai says, appalled, “You were supposed to watch him last night!”

“I-I did! I just took a bathroom break at some point! And he was definitely still there when I came back!”

Varian didn’t even take that into account. He supposes he didn’t see anyone on watch, so - someone’s lying. Varian’s fingers twitch where they’re folded on his lap.

“Oh, calm down, you two”, Andrew says, still annoyed, but less fired up, except his eyes are still sharp, especially when he looks at Varian, “With the men who joined him exiled, he won’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. I was just wondering who’s betrayed our cause”, he says it casually, but Varian knows it isn’t. Andrew’s hand rests on the hilt of his sword.

The separatists fight after that, apparently not placated by Andrew’s words, pinning the blame on one another.

When Clementine points at Varian, seemingly not feeling the need to even name her accusation, Varian considers using his alchemy purely out of irritation. He doesn’t because Andrew draws his sword and stabs the tip through the table. The wood of it splinters, cr-cr-craaack , underneath the white cloth.

“Perhaps none of you are the guilty party here, all of this noise tells me that much. No… I just needed to make sure she didn’t have any help . You see, Rosalie is also gone, but everyone seems to be as confused as I am”, the separatists’ silence is a lot more volatile than their bickering had been; it makes the air in the Throne Room feel electric. It makes Varian want to run, but he needs to know more (this can’t be real). What exactly does Andrew mean by it? (Varian saw her a few days ago. He was going to visit and talk to her today. She can’t be gone. Did she abandon him too? But Doc isn’t a friend. She’s just a castle employee. She’s a saporian, but not a separatist. She’s nobody to him.)

“It seems the guards’ conspiracy ran deeper than we thought. Who could have guessed?”, Andrew continues.

She'd told Varian as much, but not that she was going to leave. She must have been in on it for far longer than Varian assumed. She was bored, wasn’t she?

“So she’s a traitor”, Varian summarizes. The cold from the dungeons returns.

Andrew nods.

“And do you know what happens with traitors to Saporia, friend?”, Andrew asks, like they’re the only ones in the room. Their eyes meet, but Varian doesn’t know, so he doesn’t answer.

“They pay with their lives ”, Clementine finishes Andrew’s thought for him, her words venomous as she draws her own knife and punches up with it clutched in her fist. The separatists all draw whatever weapons they have on them and repeat the gesture. Varian does nothing.

 

---

 

Andrew must like something about Varian’s reaction to Rosalie’s betrayal and subsequent disappearance, because his previous aggression evaporates into the easy friendship he was torturing Varian with at the start of his incarceration. For days, Varian doesn’t come out of the room, so he doesn’t notice it at first, though his isolation does create a few more batches of alchemical weapons for the separatists to use.

As a token for his renewed goodwill, Andrew even lets Varian go out into the capital to patrol - or rather, to make sure the citizens are all following whatever orders Andrew and his Separatists of Saporia have King Frederic mouth along to.

It’s not a good idea, but Varian doesn’t fight it. Every day feels colder and colder, despite the way Spring is finally warming the weather into something bright and supposedly rejuvenated. Time has lost all meaning. Still, Varian agrees and leaves the castle every so often.

Nobody throws fruit anymore, because Varian has made himself a belt to attach some of the alchemy spheres to and they’re a rather obvious threat, not to mention staff with glowing vials tied to it strapped to his back. He won’t go out if he can’t defend himself. Varian glares until they stop staring and he stomps hard enough to drown out the whispers.

But the guilt keeps eating away at him every single time he’s outside, as if there’s anything left inside.

He finds nothing on the amber.

He has nothing to show for the Princess’ letters.

He’ll never know what Rosalie might have done with it - who she’d given it to, if she did steal it. Or did she just want some tokens? She’s more practical than that.

A few more days. A few more weeks.

(What's the date? Who's even keeping count? Varian doesn’t really care about it anymore.)

Nothing changes, until it does.

Andrew’s holding another banquet (or some verisimilitude that lacks the grandeur and the many guests Varian imagines actual banquets would have) in the King and Queen’s names and they’re having dessert when it happens.

King Frederic sips some orange juice from his goblet. He looks rather pensive where he sits at the head of the table alongside the Queen, his crown still crooked, and he says:

“Varian, wouldn’t some wine be splendid? The juice is nice too, but…”

Varian’s tried stealing a sip of his father’s drink exactly once. His expression scrunches up at the memory of the taste, then falls at the memory of Dad’s laughter.

In the here and now, Varian is the King’s advisor, seated close enough to hear the wistful sigh of King Frederic, so he swallows his apple bite (he won’t touch the cookies, even if these have no purple hue).

“Well, I don’t know if we have any wine in, uhm”, he chokes out, “In our inventory?”

“There should be some in the cellar”, Queen Arianna corrects him, the green of her eyes a little glazed over, “I remember…”, silence, worse than when the Captain escaped, “This one bottle we received after… I don’t know what it was - I think we were travelling? But it was a gift, yes. A gift from the Emperor of Bayangor…”

King Frederic lets out a soft gasp.

“That’s right. It was sweet… I think I’d like a glass. Could you ask one of the servants to bring the bottle from the cellar?”, he turns to ask Varian.

Clementine has gone pale. Varian’s half-eaten apple has rolled right off of the table and onto the floor.

“Y-you remember all that, your Majesties?”, Varian asks. His hands tingle where he grips the edge of the table.

“Hm, maybe…”, King Frederic rubs at his chin, smile falling for a second, and then it’s back in place and whatever thoughtful expression the man had been wearing is wiped clean off his face, “What were we talking about?”

“I don’t know”, Queen Arianna whispers into the last of her lemon cake. She shrugs and cuts herself another slice.

A collective sigh of relief sweeps across the table. Varian’s fingers shake, still clutching at it. There’s an indent right under one of his palms, the one made by Andrew’s sword, but the new tablecloth hides it well.

If King Frederic and Queen Arianna think the silence is weird, they don’t show it.

No one comments until the two leave the Throne Room for their own quarters later, happily and unsuspectingly walking out, arms linked together. 

“You should use the wand on them again”, Varian tells Clementine.

Her chair screeches as she pushes it away from the table with her feet and jumps up to stand onto the seat. Now, she’s almost an average height.

“Just who do you think you are to order me around, boy?”, she says, but there’s something in her voice; she’s hesitant.

There’s a scoff from a different corner of the table.

“I told you that the wand didn’t have enough juice in it! I told you!”, Maisie is so smug that even Varian cringes.

“What’d you expect me to do!? The only other known wand was weeks away, even by balloon! Argh, I can’t stand anyone in this room right now!”

“Maybe I could…”, Varian tries to say, but his voice is too quiet. He supposes he’s always had trouble making himself heard.

“Well, maybe you should have taken the extra time. We all worked so hard, and now it’s all going to fall apart”, Maisie argues. Actual fear creeps onto his face, in the lines on his forehead and the wide eyes.

“If the rate they’ll remember things at remains this slow, it won’t be a problem for a long time - long enough to legitimize our rule. Maybe”, Juniper rubs her temples after readjusting the wide ribbon in her hair.

“Jun, we don't know that this won’t start speeding up”, Kai says.

Juniper points a butterknife at him.

“You should hush.”

“But we can’t be sure, it’s true!”, Kai shakes his head.

“It was all a fluke and y’all are making a big deal out of nothing”, Clementine’s act isn’t nearly as convincing as she’d like it to be, Varian can tell. She sounds about as believable as Maisie did when he told them he’d kept an eye on the Captain and had seen nothing out of the ordinary.

“But if we still have the wand, maybe I can-”, Varian fails in his second attempt as well.

“This is a real risk you knew we’d be facing, so where’s your book of remedies now?”, asks Maisie, his gestures growing larger and wilder the longer he goes on for, “Maybe there was something in there that could fix this!”

“Oh, that’s low, even for you. I don’t have it anymore, I told you so! I bet that scam physician stole my spellbook before she deserted…!”

Varian stands up suddenly; even that doesn’t attract enough attention to make everyone stop bickering. But Andrew is their de facto leader. When he speaks, they listen:

“I think our friend has an idea on how to deal with these unfortunate circumstances…”

Unfeelingly, Varian asks Clementine:

“Does the wand have any magic left in it at all? Or, however you wanna put it.”

He has no patience for another one of her lectures on wand terminology.

She looks at him doubtfully before sitting back down with her fists under her chin.

“Perhaps. What for? Why are you asking? It’s not enough to erase their memories again.”

“Useless thing-”, Maisie says under his breath.

“Shut up!”, Juniper and Clementine yell at him at the same time. Clementine is still looking at Varian. He won’t meet her eyes, but he’s not scared or anything. Just tired.

“Maybe… Maybe we can use alchemy to extend whatever it has left. We could refresh whatever you did to those two.”

Andrew brings his hands together in a slow clap.

(And since Andrew’s apathy towards him is already gone, does this mean that everything is forgiven? Just like that? Varian should be glad.)

“What a brilliant idea, my friend! With how few alternatives we have, it’ll have to do. But are you sure you’re up to the task? I’m assuming it won’t be easy, even for someone like you. Science and magic don’t really mix.”

“I made a truth potion all by myself out of something ‘magical’, didn’t I? Why wouldn’t I be up for this?”, he points out.

“Alright then. Are we all in accord with letting the kid use his alchemy on the wand?”, Andrew throws the idea out, and he’s the first to raise his hand in accord. Everyone raises their hands, though Maisie waits for a few seconds before he does it. The saporians are all interested in what this turn of events might bring, but Andrew and Clementine in particular seem giddy.

Varian’s own plans for what comes next begin to take shape. It won’t be long now , he thinks, but it won’t be long until what ? He’ll figure it out, eventually.

Notes:

I lived! \o/ But it was a close one... I didn't mean to take this long, but being home is always like this - the temptation of good food and spendin' time with the family got to me...

I didn't mean for this chapter to be this long either (I think I broke my record on the longest montage chapter... Oops-), but I am glad we've reached this point.
Though, I will say, with all of the 'factions' doing their own things and having their own schemes, it's a bit complicated to keep track of what's happening from Varian's still kind of isolated point of view. I hope things aren't too confusing and that the slow realignment with canon events is somewhat sensible 🙏
There is one more chapter of the second season (fingers crossed), and I hope it won't take too long. Hope you enjoyed and see y'all in a bit!

Chapter 33: The memorial

Summary:

There is only one way to make everything normal again.

Notes:

Contents: lore via Xavier, magic and science (the sequel), manipulation of a sort, minor violence.

Finding a way to extract the magic from the Wand of Oblivium is about as big a conundrum as one can find. Still, Varian is a scientist, no matter his motives, and he’s not known for leaving stones unturned, equations unsolved and mysteries unexplored. After the disastrous dinner banquet and Varian’s proposal, he feels like the Separatists of Saporia expect an immediate answer out of him, or at the very least, some rash experiments. 

In the past, Varian would have jumped straight into the matter and provided exactly that, nevermind the risks. Now, he takes a few days to write down everything Clementine knows about the wand (a surprising amount, actually, though she still bemoans the loss of a certain ‘spellbook’ - she’s well-informed about the occult and the magical practices developed by ancient saporians before the unification - if only she didn’t branch off into so many tangents…) and then he gets into researching things himself. The actual experiments, Varian will perform when he’s got everything else ready.

This is what he knows: some sort of potion is used to both strengthen the wand’s powers, while another to ease its symptoms, though Clementine asserts that she’s not some sort of walking encyclopedia when Varian presses for what ingredients either potion is made up of. She curses Varian out when he keeps asking, but what won’t he do for the sake of science? Anyway, the fact that there’s a physical element to the wand’s magic, not too dissimilar to the potions Varian’s worked with before, chips away at the overwhelming task he’s set out for himself.

From the ingredients Clementine can recall and a few extras they both come up with, Varian makes entire lists of ingredients to try on the wand until he gets the desired reaction, but he doesn’t send out Maisie and Kai or any of the others to get ingredients. He’s got a better idea.

Varian keeps going on patrol to make sure none of the citizens of Corona’s capital are out and about and partaking in mischief - that’s the cover story, at least.

Varian starts looking for things he’ll need on his own terms. It helps that some of the ingredients are as mundane as weeds that grow on the sidewalks of the city, though a few other things, Varian doesn’t have as easy a time finding. Still, it only takes a few such patrols and a fake smile here and a mention of  King Frederic’s name there to get Varian what he needs otherwise. His reputation also helps (belatedly, he gets the shopping trip he was tricked out of last time).

Granted, Varian doesn't request much from the merchants that deal in bottles of oil and pouches of ground crystals and boxes of metal filings, and Juniper usually deals with handing out payments from the treasury after the fact, but Varian can see the disgruntled expressions on people’s faces. Sometimes, there’s a tinge of bitterness, other times of fear.

Once he’s checked off all lists of possibly reactive ingredients and a few other variables like reaction time and mode of contact, Varian stumbles into the issue of his tools. Now, his setup works for the basic solutions the separatists have asked of him up until now, and Varian could probably tweak a few things here and there for better efficiency, but he doesn’t want to risk anything once he finally starts experimenting on the wand. Some better equipment would be ideal!

(Or Andrew’s string of correct accusations against Varian continues. He hesitates too much, and why should that be? He didn’t hesitate before when dealing with other magical objects.

…Maybe that’s where the issue lies. That approach did not work out flawlessly for him, not by a long shot.)

This is how Varian finds himself in Xavier’s smithy. Royal support should make dealing with the blacksmith easy enough, or, at least, easier than when he was in hiding and the man was knocked unconscious.

Only, the small room feels as unwelcoming as it can get and Varian looks at the stoked fire and the tools and weapons hanging from the walls and at the blacksmith himself and, well, his current position at the castle no longer comforts him that much anymore. He doesn’t know what impression he left on Xavier when the man came to clean up Varian’s mess and Varian refused to offer his own expertise, nor how it changed after he asked Doc to deliver his instructions later. It’s obvious that, after joining up with the saporians, if there had been any goodwill in Xavier’s opinion of the criminal that terrorized Corona before being locked up, it’s long gone now.

“I’m here on royal business”, Varian keeps his voice steady and his back straight. The belt of alchemy spheres is on full display, but Xavier seems unimpressed.

“That is one way to say it”, Xavier says. He’s standing near the entrance, denying Varian access to the rest of the forge. “It’s an interesting story.”

“It’s- It’s true!”

He should have asked Juniper for some sort of permit. She’d have King Frederic and Queen Arianna sign it and everything would be simple, but he’s never needed one before. People tend to take him at his word given everything he's done so far. Not Xavier, though.

“Though I am disappointed by the situation you find yourself in, I do not deal with people who harm Corona”, Xavier says.

“I do not find myself in a situation, I choose this because it’s the best course of action. For Corona, too”, Varian argues, “You’ll see.” Eventually, that is.

“As you say, then. But my stance is the same”, Xavier turns and picks up an axe he must have just finished shaping; the metal still glows faintly.

Obviously, he doesn’t want to do business with Varian.

“You do know that you’re basically”, Varian thinks about his next words carefully, “Committing treason. By not letting me fulfill his Majesty’s orders. And that’s, like, pretty bad, huh?”

Xavier pauses, then dunks the axe in a barrel of water. It sizzles and white smoke fills the forge. Varian squints.

“What is it exactly that our King wants? Or that you want for him…”, Xavier says. Now he’s being careful too.

Varian lays out his requests. It’s mostly very specific tools or pieces of equipment. For some reason, Xavier blinks, then frowns, but not like he’s irritated, which Varian has no doubt that he is, but more like he’s confused on top of everything.

“...That is it?”, he asks.

“What else would I want? You can’t do alchemy without proper tools”, Varian replies, mirroring the blacksmith’s expression.

As if that changes something, Xavier’s voice is somewhat lighter when he speaks next:

“Hm. I’d expect you were here to ask questions, considering what’s been underway recently.”

Varian opens his mouth and shuts it.

Something sparks in his brain and he thinks. He’s been working absently these past few days and nights, mindlessly. But now he thinks, thinks and then thinks some more, just to be sure.

What questions could Varian ask Xavier, the man known for his expansive knowledge of tales and myths? He could ask about wands and further the separatists’ quest of finding new and exciting uses of its dwindling magic. He could ask about the Princess’ letters, or some parts of them, about this Dark Kingdom she mentioned or about the Great Tree. Varian’s not gotten far in his own research, and he just isn't an expert in matters of history or deeper research, if he's being honest with himself, and if anyone in this entire kingdom would know something about either subject, it would be-

But the Dark Kingdom isn’t something that’s going to help the separatists, not directly. It would sate Varian’s curiosity and maybe ease his bitterness about Rapunzel being more in the know about something that concerns his father, and still…

Still.

Considering what’s been underway recently. Well, a coup has been underway, as well as something else that Varian doesn’t fully understand.

Rosalie took a few things from the castle before she left. Clementine’s spellbook, possibly to slow them down once the wand started failing. A few more practical things here and there. But she took a letter that belonged to the Princess, the one she'd written while still in Pincosta. Had she mentioned heading towards the Dark Kingdom? Varian tries to remember. He’s 99.97% sure she did…

If Doc had been collaborating with people working against the separatists, and if she stole things she found useful - Varian thinks Andrew would not have eased up on his suspicions against him if any of the separatists had been the ones to see the letters and pluck one out of the bunch just to mess with his head, so it must have been her - Varian can imagine she'd take more than one letter, unless she was looking to answer one question only: where is Princess Rapunzel? 

Xavier and other coronan citizens disobeying the Separatists of Saporia would be considered treason, as Varian so cleverly pointed out in his quest to get the man to comply. If another member of the royal family were to return, or to be returned, say, maybe by a rogue member of Corona’s royal guard, that would change things. She's always been an unexpected risk in the plans for a New Saporia. It can't be a coincidence that Doc got what she needed and both she and the Captain disappeared at the same time.

But this is speculative. It’s something Varian can entertain and maybe even make some assumptions about, but he won't have a definitive conclusion. The way Xavier looks at him after minutes of thinking makes Varian uncomfortable. It’s not a confirmation, but if anything, Varian has an inkling that the blacksmith must have been one of the friends of the crown that Rosalie mentioned.

So what does he expect Varian to ask?

Varian didn’t confront the Captain when he was still in their custody and, now, he doesn’t ask Xavier anything else. Feeling fuzzy and off-kilter, Varian just repeats his request. Xavier says nothing else and lets Varian go with a crate full of metal pieces that Varian can assemble into a better setup.

(Everything could have been so  simple. Xavier just had to throw a wrench in Varian’s plans of continuing to ignore what is happening around him.)

 

---

 

Back in the temporary lab, Varian makes use of what he managed to get from Xavier’s forge. He’ll bother Juniper about payments later. He doesn’t feel steady enough to do anymore speaking right now. Day turns to night.

Now that he’s got everything he needs, he can proceed with using the wand in his experiments. Heck, he can probably start tomorrow morning, even, and the separatists might be satisfied that he’s finally making actual progress. But-

Varian has to keep thinking before he does anything in regards to these plots that he doesn't want to care about as much as he does. For now, he decides on a course of action. The wand can wait one more day.

 

---

 

Varian goes back out into the city the next morning, even if it isn’t his turn to go on patrol, but Maisie’s, which makes his sneaking about a much simpler affair. The man isn’t known for his diligence, and he always starts at the outskirts of the island before heading inland, towards the castle. It’s easy to strategize around him - not to mention the secret ways and tunnels all around Corona that Varian can use at his discretion. Technically, Andrew now has claim to the journal he failed to get the first time, but Varian can’t imagine him using the large and unwieldy book of Herz der Sonne just to look for him now that Varian’s won some of his trust back.

So, it’s out of the pan (the stifling rooms of the castle and its cold, stone walls) and into the fire (the city full of people that hate him, but that Varian can fend off, if need arises. He just needs answers) or, rather-

It’s back to Xavier’s forge, and Varian’s got the only book he’s found with some potential answers under his arm. Xavier seems unsurprised to see him again so soon, which irks Varian, but he tries to let it go. He’s got more important business to attend to.

“What do you know about the ‘Dark Kingdom’? O-or about a ‘Great Tree’?”, he doesn’t hesitate to ask. The air quotes, Varian hopes, make him look less desperate.

“I do wonder what would bring you to such an obscure subject”, is Xavier’s non-answer.

Varian glares, but he won’t get anywhere like this. The glare melts and Varian bites his lip before he settles on how much to give away.

“The doctor that helped your guys, she got you that letter to give you some sort of… Hint. The black rocks have been disappearing, so if you wanted to follow after a certain someone… That’d be the only way to go about it. Right?”

“My apologies”, Xavier shakes his head, “I do not know what you are talking about.”

But he doesn’t really sound confused, not like when he realized Varian hadn’t been there to question him yesterday. And now that Varian is doing just that, the guy is playing dumb. Fantastic.

“I’m not-”, Varian groans and reveals the old atlas, shuffling through it until he finds the spot where pages have been taken out, “I just want to know what the heck that place is! Or why I can’t find anything on it… I’m just”, he lowers the book and looks away, “Just curious. Andrew won’t benefit much from knowing where it is anyway…”

So Varian tells himself. Because if he would, then Varian, too, would be a traitor by omission or something, and that wouldn’t be good news for anyone.

“And that is the only reason you want to know? Curiosity?”, Xavier asks.

I want answers out of curiosity and Rosalie helps a minor uprising in Corona and then flees out of boredom. Life doesn’t need to make sense!

Varian doesn’t say any of that out loud, but he flinches when Xavier takes the atlas from him. Then, he schools his expression and the glare is back in place, if a little wonky.

Xavier looks at a shelf full of mismatched books of his own - a surprisingly small collection, but Varian assumes the rest is kept somewhere less flammable. The man retrieves a folded paper, which he tucks into the atlas. Varian blinks when the book is placed back in his arms.

“I won’t be the one to share the entire story of that forgotten kingdom”, the blacksmith says, “Although… I do advise you not to tell your new ‘friends’, if this is merely a personal matter”, Xavier wrinkles his nose and his white beard twitches with the movement, “It won’t help them with what has already been set in motion. Perhaps it’d be best if you take this and go.”

“I’m not going, not yet”, Varian grumbles instead of thanking Xavier and shakes his head.

To avoid being tricked with a forgery, Varian opens the book right away, under Xavier’s surprisingly passive gaze, and he unfolds the paper, scanning over the scant few lines of text. His heart beats fast at the glimpse he catches of the ink illustration underneath, but he forces himself to read before going over that particular can of worms.

 

The Dark Kingdom - it is a country of secrets and darkness, as the reader may have surmised. Its real name is unknown, but the misnomer has been allowed to spread. Over the centuries, the people of the Dark Kingdom have kept to themselves, keeping trade and expansion at a minimum, though they have also not been overtly aggressive towards distant neighbours, merely protective of their own. Those who go, seldom return, rather choosing to continue life within, and none share much of the inner workings of the kingdom. The surrounding fields are rather fertile, however.

 

There’s a date underneath the text - it puts this small account around a few decades after the Saporian wars. The illustration is of a crater rather than a valley, but the spikes are familiar enough to steal Varian’s breath away. Whether the effect is intentional, the ink has spilled in places and it makes the geography of this Dark Kingdom all the more terrifying by association. Much smaller than its surrounding, though probably only because of the scale, is a castle in the middle of the crater. Its towers aren’t rounded like Corona’s and they seem much taller. If he looks closely, Varian can recognize the shape of some of the mountains in the background. One of the distant neighbors of this kingdom will one day be Pincosta, of that much, Varian is certain. 

He gulps and looks up at Xavier. His persona, for a moment, is stripped away. There’s no malice or anger in Varian’s confusion.

“That doesn’t really tell me anything”, Varian says quietly. It says nothing about the Great Tree that Rapunzel saw on her way to the Dark Kingdom and Quirin knew something about that tree. Did he know something about this place too? He had a scroll with information on the black rocks, and if Varian isn't wrong, it looks like they plagued this forgotten country as well at some point. The fact that he can't be sure is killing him.

“Not all answers will be satisfactory, just as not all tales end happily”, Xavier says in the ensuing silence, not much louder than Varian had been.

“The spikes around that valley, they look like…”, Varian starts; the thought doesn’t come to an end and he closes the atlas shakily, “But nobody’s supposed to know anything about the rocks.”

Maybe that’s why there’s no information on the black rocks within Corona. Varian wonders when this started.

Xavier neither confirms, nor denies any of what Varian mutters to himself.

---

 

As expected, when Varian sneaks back onto castle grounds, his absence hasn’t been noticed. He tries to look as casual as possible when he searches for Clementine. He finds her in the kitchen with Kai, messing around with some of the non-perishable food supplies they have left. Varian thinks they’re trying to bake something. Luckily for him, Clementine carries the Wand of Oblivium wherever she goes.

“You better be careful with it, or else we’ll have words!”, Clementine’s warning echoes in his head. He holds onto the wand tightly on his way back to the temporary lab.

When he starts his tests on the Wand of Oblivium, Varian feels like he’s giving something else up.

 

---

 

The wand's reaction to whatever sample Varian throws at it ranges from a few dim sparks to a miniature explosion of red glitter and smoke, but it’s not, you know, memory-erasing. Just visual flair . Ugh. Magic really is too unpredictable sometimes.

He keeps tabs on his experiments through a notebook of meticulous entries just in case, but none of the logs he reads over at the end of each day seem new or unexpected. It’s always things he remembers.

The repetition of the tests makes running down the list of ingredients both simplistic and mind numbing, but at some point, Varian just knows he’s bound to find something interesting, so he keeps going. When that something makes an appearance, it’s not what Varian would have expected.

Some of the caves underneath the forests of Corona have deposits of poisonous gas - Varian remembers stumbling across one such chamber when he was installing his boilers, but an accidental explosion and a small caving-in of the roof at the entrance of the cavern had solved that problem. It’s not like he needed that specific room for his boilers. The minerals that grow near those deposits, however, are quite pretty. Not quite shiny and clear like gemstones, but the rock has a nice, green hue. They’re usually carved and sold as decorative pieces.

Varian had only gotten a shard from one such deposit because Clementine had mentioned jade was known for its properties amongst practitioners of magic beyond Corona’s borders. She wasn’t sure if it’d have an effect on the Wand of Oblivium itself, but it was worth a try. Only, there are very few people who sell jade around these parts, and some guy did try to swindle Varian. He’s glad he rolled his eyes and went along with it. The rock he’d accepted, thinking, oh, what the heck, might as well see if this does anything - well, it turns out to be exactly what he was looking for.

He looks at it closely for a moment. When the wand touches it, a cluster of glasslike points erupts from it. In the light, if Varian looks at them from just the right angle, they gleam red.

“Oh? Would you look at that…”

Impressive, but Varian doesn’t realize the importance of the discovery until later, because as he stares at the new minerals, all thoughts drain out of his mind and, for a second, Varian is completely at peace.

He thinks about nothing.

He puts the crystals down.

He smiles as he twirls the stick in his hand and laughs when more sparks float down from the twisted tip of it.

After a wistful sigh, he walks backward and falls onto a soft surface. A bed. His bed?

His…

Varian’s! Varian, that’s his name. And in his hand…

Varian startles, jumps up and throws the wand across the room. He looks at the minerals still on his desk, placed squarely between the piles of samples he’s already gone through and those he hasn’t. It seems he’s found something that reacts with the wand and the effects are just what Varian- No, what the Separatists of Saporia want.

He bursts out of the room, and when he can’t find any of the saporians within the castle’s confines, Varian looks out the window. Then, it’s off to the main courtyard.

Maisie’s still not back, but Andrew and Clementine are the first to notice Varian’s sudden appearance. They exchange looks while Varian skids to a halt, a cloud of dust following in his footsteps.

“I found something”, he gasps, “I think it’s going to work.”

Clementine must be really serious about this. There’s no mockery in her voice when she says:

“Show me.”

Juniper and Kai get a nod from Andrew and return to whatever hushed discussion they were having before his interruption, but their eyes keep drifting towards Varian as he leads the other two away.

“It’s effects are mild, but I think I can strengthen them”, Varian explains while Andrew and Clementine pass the rock sample back and forth, “I’ll probably need to get more samples, though they’re pretty rare, and then I can find-”

“I’m sure we can find whatever you need, friend”, Andrew grins.

 

---

 

They don’t use horses when they head out towards the mainland, because there’s no more horses in the castle’s custody. Varian’s pretty sure some of the barns around the capital still keep the royal steeds in separate lodgings just in case King Frederic changes his mind and demands them back, but crossing the island on foot reminds Varian of his walk with Rosalie.

Only, Andrew doesn’t express his conspiratorial tendencies and doesn't ask weird questions, nevermind that Varian feels on edge anyway, like something’s about to go wrong whenever Andrew opens his mouth to wax poetic about how they’re so close to their goal that he can taste victory. Varian’s pretty sure they already won; this whole endeavour is just a way to lock in whatever it is the separatists are trying to establish.

(It’s victory until the Crown Princess returns from her adventure, but alas. If Andrew doesn’t already have a super-duper secret plan on how to deal with her, Varian wil figure something out…)

In the end, nothing goes wrong, per se, but by Andrew’s side, the usual stares and whispers turn more agitated, angrier, and for some reason, Varian can’t ignore them this time.

Those two walk around like they own the place… Well, I guess they kind of do, but, ohhh, I don’t like the look of the little guy, not at all!

At most, people will mention Andrew; otherwise, they are silenced by a sharp stare and Varian remains the only other easy target. He knew it was a bad idea to not take his more offense-oriented supplies with him, but he needed to make sure he had the tools to extract the wand’s crystals and he can only carry so much. He didn’t have the guts to ask Andrew to help with carrying some of the load either.

Bet he’ll snap again. Just like the first time. Ya can’t trust people like him.

With only his staff, Varian feels rather exposed. Defenseless.

Son, look away. Don’t let him catch you staring.

A man leads his child away when Varian and Andrew pass by. They keep going. Everyone around them just won’t stop talking.

I guess the handsome fellow with the bun can’t be too bad, but the kid…

Did you hear about what he did? Everyone’s seen the damage.

No way he led the attack last summer.

Yes way! Built an army of metal! He must be mad or something, and being a traitor wasn’t enough.

A rotten apple lands at Varian’s feet. Whoever threw it is nowhere to be seen. Warfare via fruit in Corona truly is an art. Varian spots a worm wiggling out of the apple and sidesteps the mess.

Traitor. Dangerous. Fiend. Monster. Villain. Murderer - almost!

Varian crosses the bridge by Andrew’s side.

Once they reach the edge of the forest, Varian stops in his tracks. He hears nothing and sees nothing, not even Andrew’s questioning glances - he just needs a moment.

Andrew turns and stops in front of Varian. He reaches out, and when Varian deflates, Andrew ruffles his hair. For a moment, Varian’s fine. Not as content as when he’d felt the effect of the crystals before, but it’s close. Varian leans into the contact and exhales shakily.

“Told you”, Andrew says, “Coronans are cruel. It’ll take a while before they change and get with the times”, Andrew says.

“...Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Yes. But we don’t have time to waste either, and sulking doesn’t fit you. Let’s keep going, yes?”

Varian nods.

With Andrew’s knowledge of Herz der Sonne’s maps of Corona’s underground and Varian’s practical experience, it’s not long before they end up in a clearing in the woods. Across a rushing spring, an old house stands on the verge of collapse. They pass by it, but their target is the narrow opening in the mountainside behind it. The entrance grows narrower before opening up into a larger chamber, and here, in the combined light of Varian’s staff and the gas lamp Andrew brought with him, Varian can see where the stone walls around them change colours. Tendrils of green lead them further into the cave. They must be right next to a pocket of the poisonous gas, but if they’re careful, Varian’s pretty sure they won’t accidentally open up a fissure and get into too much trouble.

“This looks like the right place”, Andrew says.

“I’ll run a test to check in a bit”, Varian offers.

They walk a bit further into the semi-darkness before Varian nods to himself. This should be far enough. He holds out a hand. Both he and Andrew ignore the twitch of Varian’s fingers when the Wand of Oblivium is handed to him. Clementine said she’d only trust Andrew with her precious wand outside the walls of the castle.

A few sparks flicker and float to the ground when Varian tries to ‘cast’ the wand’s magic towards the stone surrounding them on all sides; they extinguish before making contact. After gulping, Varian tries again, and this time, a single spark lands on a patch of green stone flooring.

He jumps back at the familiar sound of glass, of thunder. Varian’s lucky he stumbles into Andrew, because, if he fell down, he’d have impaled himself on one of the rapidly growing clusters of crystal. They should look nothing like the amber or the black rocks, but Varian’s eyes are closed and it takes a tremendous effort before he can open them and see .

Unsurprisingly, these are indeed just normal crystals (with some magical properties).

His heart doesn’t stop racing until he takes out a hammer - brand new and well-crafted, one of Xavier’s - and hits one of the crystal flutes, which breaks easily. Varian tries not to stare at the green-red gleam of the minerals for too long, even if he kind of wants to.

“Good”, he whispers to himself, straightening back up, “Good.”

One more flick of the Wand of Oblivium and the whole cave shakes as all visible surfaces erupt into sharp spikes. Varian doesn’t get to move his arm a third time. He doesn’t need to. The wand feels weightless in his hand now.

“...I think this is it. All of the remaining ‘magic’”, Varian says.

Andrew leans over and plucks the wand out of his grasp. Then, his eyes rove over what they can see of the new material Varian’s just created. There’s more, of course, but the light doesn’t reach that far.

“You need all of this?”, Andrew asks. It’s not an unreasonable question.

“W-well, it’ll take a bit of tinkering before we can use these minerals in a way that’s predictable… Plus, we don't know if Freddy is gonna need more than one redo… But no. This is way more than what we’ll need in the end, is my guess”, Varian forces a laugh. It dies in his throat. “I can keep collecting pieces when I go out on patrol.”

“That’s not good enough. This place isn’t exactly closeby and I have many more things to get done as well…”, Andrew sighs. Varian tenses.

“I’m not asking you to come with. I can do it myself.”

By the look Andrew gives him, he’s not so open to that idea. Varian frowns. He thought Andrew’s trust in him was restored. Was he wrong?

“Take some for now, I have a better idea of how to collect all the raw material and bring it back.”

Varian bites the inside of his cheek and steps away from Andrew. While he works, breaking more of the crystals with the small hammer, he can feel eyes burning the back of his neck. He ignores it, but just like the whispers, it lingers.

 

---

 

Varian’s daily routine barely changes, with one exception.

The guest room just doesn't have enough room (ha) to house both Varian’s equipment, the mineral samples and everything else he comes up with in the meantime, especially after Varian realizes that the crystals can be melted, but that their volume expands more than even he would have expected and just- Storage space. It’s a problem.

A few dozen barrels from the cellar are emptied so Varian can deposit the liquid crystals in them and , after a bit of careful rearranging, the newly freed space is used as Varian’s workspace.

The analysis of the crystals doesn’t take too long. Exposure affects memories, that much is obvious when Varian looks back on his logs. At some point, he takes to tying a piece of cloth around his nose and mouth, and that minimizes the effects, but every so often, Varian will startle like he’s just woken from a dream. There’s a certain peace in the way he loses himself whenever he spends too long breathing in the fumes the liquid creates, but Varian can’t afford to take his time. The separatists may not know it, but Varian suspects the rest of Corona has its own machinations that are going to come into play sooner rather than later.

At some point, he decides to name this new chemical, just to make explaining his progress to the separatists easier.

(Varian tries not to look back these days. He tries not to think too hard about what he’s doing. Going with the flow should be easy now that he's given everything else up.)

The name he comes up with is Quirineon.

(He remembers anyway, because he’s not being exposed to enough of the substance created by the wand to truly forget. Sometimes, Varian wishes he were - that he would - but he knows he deserves the reminder.)

As caught up as he is with working on the Quirineon, Varian doesn’t think much about the steady flow of minerals that he gets almost daily. It's not even necessary, as Varian predicted. He prefers working with smaller samples if he can help it, but he supposes it’s better to have extra material just in case.

True to tradition, Varian goes back to locking himself in a room, desperately trying to reach some sort of breakthrough. The Quirineon is nowhere near as stubborn as the black rocks had been, and still, one day, Varian gets stuck.

Hours pass by and no amount of banging head or fists against the desk he’s brought down in the cellars helps. He raids the castle scientists' study rooms - there’s nothing of importance. They tend to focus more on organic matter in their projects. The amber and the rocks had been some of the few exceptions. Varian even sneaks into Doc’s office, but its barren appearance only worsens his foul mood. In the end, Varian decides to go on another walk. Maybe he’ll find some inspiration.

Inspiration, Varian does not find. A desolate city in the middle of a beautiful Summer day is what greets him instead.

Varian isn’t sure why the absence of people bothers him so much. He walks for a long time before he encounters another living being. A stray cat with a striped tail hisses at him before climbing the side of a house and disappearing amongst the roofs of the capital. Varian winces, then keeps going.

It takes even longer before he encounters another person.

It’s just a couple of kids gathered at the intersection of a few large streets. They look bored, even a little sad.

Varian tries to look friendly while approaching, but one of the kids, a young boy, gasps at the sight of him, and Varian remembers who he is. Who cares if his features twist themselves into a scowl? Let them be scared.

(But… He misses when people would be apprehensive around him because his inventions always exploded, they always went wrong, sans real fear. Varian feels wrong now, which is weird. He hasn't been that stupid, reckless kid in a long time.)

“Hey, you”, Varian says, voice neutral, “Where is everyone?”

The kid shrieks and hides behind a taller girl with very similar features; his sister, perhaps.

“What’s it to you?”, the girl narrows her eyes at Varian.

This time, Varian does have his belt of alchemical spheres with him and, when he raises an eyebrow, the girl seems to notice this and her shoulders tense.

“They’re at the haunted house”, she admits quietly. When Varian takes a step closer, she flinches and raises an arm to shield the boy hiding behind her. One of his tiny hands clings to her skirts.

Varian doesn’t make any other move, but his brows cinch and his mouth twists.

“The… Haunted house?”

His confusion must be apparent. The girl shrugs, a little less on edge, and says:

“Yeah. They work for old Gothel now, Mommy wouldn’t tell me, but we saw it. We figured it out aaall by ourselves.”

Varian’s frown deepens.

“Gothel…?”

This better not be another person he needs to keep track of…

“They go to the house and they bring back rocks”, the boy says, still behind his sister, “Shiny rocks. She must be a scary ghost lady… But we never see ‘er… Maybe she doesn’t like sunlight…”

Varian gets his answer on who’s mining the crystals, at last, as well as the reason why there’s no one out and about - except for the children. More of them hide behind the surrounding buildings, watching Varian confront their friends and, suddenly, Varian feels like such a bully for just cornering these two in his quest for information.

He leaves without another word.

This is what Andrew meant, huh?

Varian tries to keep his emotions in check and, in fact, he’s not sure why he’d feel anything about this situation at all, but as he makes his way back to the castle, he feels… Something.

Things come to a halt when Varian crosses paths with a group of people, actual adults. They carry buckets filled with gleaming crystals in their arms. Some of them, Varian even recognizes. Feldspar, for one - Rosalie’s acquaintance and the only other saporian Varian knows about besides his allies and the runaway physician herself. Beside him is a tall man wearing leather and fur, with a horned helmet covering his face.

Everyone looks tired, hunched over and as gray as the city around them, despite the warm sunlight and the trees in full bloom.

The world tilts on its axis.

Now, Varian starts running. The people are headed for the main yard, but Varian takes a shortcut. Under his feet, grass and dirt and cobble turns to wooden floors and expensive carpeting. He doesn’t stop running until he catches sight of a familiar, woolen vest and a bearded profile. Andrew is smiling, hands behind his back as he surveys the citizens bringing in crystals for Varian’s experiments from one of the Throne Room’s windows. King Frederic and Queen Arianna are nowhere to be seen.

Varian acts before his mind can catch up to him. There’s glass in his hand, and then it’s gone and Andrew doesn’t get to make a noise before the lower half of his body is engulfed in pink goo. Varian stomps until they’re face to face. Nevermind that Varian still has to look up to meet Andrew’s wide eyes.

“This wasn’t part of the plan”, Varian says in a rough voice. He sounds breathless, but he’ll blame it on having run all the way back here. “I never agreed to this…!”

Before, the sword hadn’t been visible. Andrew draws it now and cuts himself free rather than answering. Varian won’t take the silence. He reaches for his belt, but has to dodge when Andrew’s sword stabs forward.

“What are you doing, friend?”, Andrew asks, smooth and friendly, like this is just another casual discussion between them.

“Why are you making people work in the caves? I told you, I could get the crystals myself-”, Varian gasps, made to step sideways and stumble when Andrew slashes in his direction again.

Another goo bomb knocks the sword from Andrew’s hand and glues it to a nearby wall, but the blast catches one of the hanging banners and the fabric comes down accompanied by a cloud of dust and loose cobwebs.

Andrew glares, and when he approaches, he makes a grab at Varian.

Too slow .

The third bomb catches Andrew’s arm against a standing candle holder and he falls backwards. Varian steps on the metal rod to keep it and Andrew down. He’s not leaving without answers. His hands are shaking.

( Breathe , Varian reminds himself, but he can’t. He can only gasp and wheeze and try to mask the awful feeling of nausea that makes him almost double over.)

Andrew keeps glaring until, with a sigh, he relaxes and lets his head fall back onto the carpeted floor.

“They may as well participate in this revolution we’ve got going”, he finally says, “What’s so wrong with a little labor?”

“They-”, Varian tries, “They don’t-”

“Don’t what?”, Andrew almost smiles, or maybe he’s grimacing.

“You’re forcing them to work! I saw them!”, Varian clenches his fists, “They looked exhausted… It’s not right.”

“It’s not hurting them.”

Varian glares.

“...Much”, Andrew amends.

When Varian steps off of the candle holder, Andrew moves to sit, but he doesn’t stand up fully. He can’t.

“I don’t want this. I never agreed to this”, Varian repeats.

“It seems to me that you’re just unable to handle not having complete control over the situation… But release me from this trap first. We can discuss your… Reaction after”, comes Andrew’s offer.

Some of Varian’s feelings melt away with the statement. He stands there, unable to move for a second as he considers it. Control. Is that really what this is about?

At last, Varian wrenches himself into action. He hesitates once he’s got the shaker of glue solvent in hand, but after one more unblinking look from Andrew, Varian does as he was told.

Andrew shoves him away once he’s free, almost hard enough to make him stumble.

“You better not do that again”, it sounds like a threat, but Varian feels numb to it, “I can understand getting emotional, but really, Varian? You must learn to control yourself.”

“You said we could talk now”, Varian says.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”, Andrew starts walking towards his sword.

He’s listening as he works the blade free, so Varian says:

“We don’t even need that much material. I’m… I’m getting close to finding a way to make the liquid usable on the King and Queen.”

“Hm. And?”

“What do you mean and ?”, Varian crosses his arms.

“Aaand? I still don’t see what’s got you so worked up about the coronans doing their fair share of the work. We’ve done so much to get to this point. It wouldn’t be right if we, as saporians, were the only ones taking the necessary steps towards creating our New Saporia.”

“You’re- You’re just saying stuff now! They don’t need to be working in the mines, Andrew, I told you I could get what I need! They’re already listening to you, so why the heck are you doing this?”

“Why not?”, Andrew asks coldly.

“They already hate us… Is this how you plan to rule?”

“They would have hated us anyway, just like how they despise you ”, he points out.

Varian flinches.

“Oh, come now, Varian. You know it’s true. They won’t forget what you’ve done. Maybe one day they’ll understand that this is the best way things could have gone, that we only have their best interest at heart, but until then, we must rule with an iron fist. And you…”, Andrew jabs a finger into Varian’s chest, “Are part of our team. You don’t get to decide things all by yourself just because you don’t know what you want.”

“I don’t want to decide things o-or have control or whatever!”, Varian defends himself, “I just want to… I want to help you. I want things to get better…”, I want my father back and I can’t get him back , “I want everyone to forget, to be honest… Maybe things would be fine then.”

The shame is unbearable. The moment between the confession and him raising his eyes to look at Andrew feels endless. Immediately, Varian wants to take back his words, but there’s a glimmer of interest in Andrew’s face.

“What did you say?”, the man asks. In one smooth movement, he sheathes his sword instead of pointing it at Varian.

“I… I want them to forget…?”, Varian doesn’t like the way Andrew is looking at him, but he doesn’t dare reach for any of the remaining glue bombs on his belt, or any of the more volatile solutions, “About what I’ve done, who I am… I want- I wish I could turn back time.”

“And that, Varian, is the smartest thing you’ve said in a long time”, Andrew’s smile is more terrifying than reassuring. Varian thinks he’ll be shoved or poked again when Andrew reaches out, but he just pats him on the shoulder, like he’s done so many times before.

“I-It is…?”

“Make them forget… Make them all forget… Yes. Why would they oppose us or the creation of New Saporia if they didn’t remember that a Corona ever even existed? Why would they hate you if they didn’t know what you’d done?”

Thing is, Andrew’s right. Saying it out loud, the logic does track. But the conclusion sends a shiver down his spine and Varian feels trapped, as if he’d never left his cell.

Still, in the end, he nods dumbly and tries to put on a brave smile. Andrew’s right. Varian’s just being… He’s just reacting weirdly, but Andrew’s always right.

 

---

 

It's for the best that there’s already such an excess of the green minerals in the cellars. Now that the scale of the plan has changed, Varian has to start working in bulk, which means, whatever tempo he’d been trying to keep up with before, it has to be accelerated. Varian’s efficiency starts to ramp back up again to what it used to be, even if he’s never felt this tired or this numb before, but he supposes it’s a good thing. He can just tell his hands to work and they will. In the meantime, Varian’s mind drifts. He loses time, and sometimes it’s because the fumes penetrate through the bandana covering his face, other times it’s because, in his head, Varian’s back home, happily talking to his Dad and petting Ruddiger and pretending like it’s just the three of them. No rocks, no flower, no Princess, no separatists, no nothing.

Nobody expects Varian to go on patrol or to do anything else anymore, but they are waiting for his work to show some results. The first time he tries to turn the Quirineon into gas, the cellar is left with scorched walls and Varian with a few less eyebrow hairs. The fact that he doesn’t remember this particular experiment without reading his own logs can only mean good things, right?

But Varian finds himself going outside anyway. Sometimes, he doesn’t realize he’s left the castle until he’s staring up at the night sky, fixated on a certain constellation until his eyes water or staring into the sun until he has to blink and realize that, maybe, just maybe, he should avoid going blind until the Quirineon is finished. He doesn’t necessarily need these little outings, but it’s nice to have a moment where it doesn’t feel like anyone is breathing down his neck. He doesn’t go beyond the castle’s walls anymore, though. He keeps an ear out to keep track of what the separatists are doing behind his back, but that’s about as far as it goes.

This new habit seems harmless, uncomplicated, until it isn't.

Varian doesn’t know who’s supposed to be on patrol today (or tonight?), but a glaring issue shows up in the form of a small group of people sneaking into one of the courtyards where a certain saporian balloon is parked, deflated and unused for months now. Varian was just walking across the battlements (to relive his old adventures or because the air is refreshingly chilly and less suffocating up here?) and he spots them and thinks to himself, huh, the Captain’s men must have had a pretty easy time when they infiltrated as well. The castle is not very well defended at all! There’s too few of us. But who are these guys…?

It’s late at night. Varian can see that these people are carrying torches because of the light. He can also see when they approach the downed balloon and when they grab hold of the brightly colored envelope. Varian squints, and though he can tell they’re toying with the burner, he’s too far away to see anything else. He should go back and alert Andrew.

(He wants to know more.)

As it turns out, his trick of jumping tree-to-wall or wall-to-tree in order to get down is a lot more difficult to accomplish in the dark. Varian ends up with a sore shoulder. There’s a compromisingly loud oof .

Eyes turn to him - he’s only a few paces away from the balloon and from the infiltrators now. The burner lights up suddenly and their faces are revealed. If this was supposed to be a stealth mission, it just failed.

He counts three people: Xavier, the man with the horned helmet Varian saw before and a castle maid, still donning her light blue dress.

It’s an unexpected bunch.

“What have we here?”, Varian asks.

The guy with the horned helmet squares his shoulders and clenches his fists, but Xavier raises a hand and stops him from approaching Varian. Behind the group, the envelope starts rising, taking on its usual, rounded shape, and now Varian is starting to get a little nervous.

“Well?”, he prompts them again.

“We do not need to fight. Let us do what we came here to do and everything will be fine. You could just stay out of it”, Xavier offers.

Varian looks at the balloon. It’s still tied to some pegs which had been hammered into the ground at some point, but it wouldn’t take much to cut it loose and take off. However, why are these guys not inside the basket?

“And what exactly are you here to… Do…?”

A face covered in white paint with black accents around the eyes and lips peeks out from the edge of the basket. There is someone aboard. Varian’s never thought mimes were scary, but in the flickering light, this one looks eerie. Maybe a little familiar… The mime stays silent, obviously, and simply stares.

Varian prepares to turn on his heel and sound the alarm, but Xavier’s next words stop him:

“We know that you are planning something.”

“And we won’t just stand by and do nothing!”, the man in the helmet adds.

But do they really know what Varian is working on? How the plan has changed? Varian himself barely knows what he's doing.

“And what do you need to steal a balloon for?”, Varian asks. Does he have any supplies with him to ward off intruders? Nope. He blinks.

I have to tell Andrew. Why am I still yammering?

“There is someone who’ll be able to stop this”, Xavier says. Varian didn’t actually expect him to answer his question.

“But isn’t someone else already looking for her ?”, Varian scoffs.

It’d be silly if Doc helped the Captain escape, only for it to be useless in the end. It’s what the separatists assumed, but Varian had kind of hoped that… He isn’t so sure what he’d hoped for.

The envelope has finished filling out with hot air and the basket leaves the ground, but the ropes keep it tethered. The man in the helmet brandishes a curved blade. Varian lunges forward before he can cut the balloon loose, but the man seems to expect it. He blocks the measly attack and manages to set the balloon free anyway.

Immediately, it launches itself into the cool, night air. The mime, wordless as ever, waves and looks off towards the horizon. Only the maid in the blue dress waves back.

“Speed is of the essence”, Xavier sighs, his relief obvious, even if he doesn’t realize what is going to happen as soon as Varian figures the Quirineon out.

None of them will care about conspiracies and treason and rebellion. They’ll forget everything they stood for and the separatists will be the only ones left with any say in the matter.

This is what Varian tells himself, watching the balloon become a small dot in the distance, that it doesn’t matter if the saporians have been played. Even Rapunzel won’t be able to stop this. In fact, if she also forgets…

Varian flees. 

He expects that the rebels will also have left before anyone else can try to deal with them, but it won’t matter to Andrew. Andrew will just be mad that Varian didn’t stop them before they launched the balloon. And judging by a few of the castle’s dark windows suddenly lighting up, someone else has managed to sound the alarm before him.

They run into each other in the halls. Clementine is the only separatist not present, so she must be the one keeping an eye on the city right now. Maybe it’s better this way. She already doesn’t like Varian. If anyone were to criticize Varian for letting the coronans get away with stealing her balloon… He shudders.

“ What did you do? ”, Juniper is the first to speak, and she sounds absolutely furious.

“Nothing”, Varian says blandly, “I didn’t think they’d actually take the balloon. Why does it matter?”

“Why does it-”

“This does not reflect well on you”, Andrew interrupts Juniper, who just huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

Varian stares at the floor, but this little thought’s been bugging him. The separatists failed to consider Rapunzel for a long time; he’s not even sure they’re thinking about what her return might mean for them right now.

“Explain yourself”, the cordious smile Andrew had been forcing himself to show falls, “You let them take that balloon and now they have aerial advantage over us. Varian, I thought we already went over this, you can’t keep-”

“It doesn’t matter”, Varian reiterates, “They’re not gonna use the balloon to fight us and, even if they did, we could make another one.”

There’s a murmur of agreement, though it’s laced by annoyance,

“What did those traitors tell you?”, Andrew asks.

Varian’s own smile is hollow.

“See, that’s just the thing. They won’t be traitors once the Princess comes back”, if the Captain followed after Rapunzel on foot, he’ll be too slow and, Xavier said it himself, time is of the essence - Varian can see the realization dawn on Andrew’s, followed by immediate animosity, “And what’s the fastest way to go look for her when they know we’re planning something?”

“They’re trying to bring her back, of course…”, Andrew’s teeth grind together.

“And why do you sound so at ease? That’s horrible news!”, Kai cries out.

It’s simple. How haven’t they figured it out already? Do I have to be the one to spell it out?

“The Quirineon is almost finished”, a little embellishment of the truth, perhaps, but Varian knows it won’t be long now - he’s almost figured it out. Even his feud with the Princess can end in peace, if only they both forget everything that happened. It can be that simple. “It doesn’t matter if she comes back, they will all forget, and then you guys will win regardless.”

Andrew considers this with a critical look on his face, but Varian keeps smiling.

“ If you can finish it by the time she returns.”

“I will.”

What other choice does Varian have? If he can’t fix what he’s done, if he’s already lost everything he could lose, then this is the only way to proceed. Once everyone forgets, Varian can let go of who he is, what he's done. Then, finally, everything will be alright.

Quirin is dead.

Notes:

I tried to get this done by the two-anniversary of this fic, but... Editing always takes a while 😔
The sideplot of Corona's little rebellion still feels rushed and kind of bland in my execution, but I hope it didn't make this chapter more confusing than it already is.
I rambled too much again... In my defense, there's just a lot of aspects established by the time 'Rapunzel's Return' takes place. Getting as close to the episode timeline as possible is supposed to make things easier for me once season three kicks off... We'll see if it paid off.
Varian is... He's really not doing too well, is he? But he's thiiis close to catching a break. Maybe that excuses the cheesy (and dark - way too dark) last line- But again, given the circumstances, he's definitely affected by the people around him and by what is happening. I will be honest, though: him turning villainous was much easier to write than his growing regrets and what is basically the precipice of his change of heart. I can only hope this interpretation of the second season wasn't too big of a leap in logic and not too boring, even if it dragged in places.
But there you have it!
Season two! Pain, in a nutshell!

As I did after finishing the first season, I think I will take a break to regroup and really think on the details of my plans for the last season before I start posting again, though I can only hope it won't be as long a break as last time, ahaha-
For now, please let me know if some things were way too convenient (all these rumours spreading plotlines around......) or too contrived, or just in general, what you thought about the second season if you're so inclined! Thank you guys for sticking with me, for reading and along and for taking the time to leave kudos or comments - your support means the world to me <3

And until the next season... Byebyebye o/

Notes:

Season 1: Ch.1 - Ch.18

INTERMISSION: Ch.19

Season 2: Ch.20 - Ch.33

Season 3: ???