Chapter Text
"You..."
. . . . .
Instead of a face of fury, Rook was met with a look he wasn't expecting. Vil's eyebrows shot up, seeing Rosehearts at the back, he shielded Rook behind him. Why? We dont know. Somehow, in some way, the prince had saved a mere villager from the peerage for tresspassing.
Wasn't it a crime to go in someone else's property without permission? How come Vil was doing so now? Perhaps he has a plan. A plan to do worse than Rosehearts ever could. But Rook thought so otherwise. Nonetheless, he still stood behind him.
When Riddle witnesses the scene before him, he was caught off guard. Furious eyes shifted into shock, his mouth was slightly agape, and his body only stiffened more. The same questions ran through his mind— why and how?
"Your highness, if i may inquire..the man that stands behind you has stepped foot on your property without your knowledge..Could i perhaps be in your honor to make dispose of him-" but before Rosehearts could finish...Vil raised his palm, signaling a halt.
Heels take three steps forward, the same authorative move accompanied with the echo of each step like an emphasis every time. "I know of his presence. This was the said meeting place and this is merely confidential. You may take your departure, Rosehearts." Vil stated with no hesitation.
The atmosphere was unsettling, like theres a feeling that tells Riddle that this was unplanned. But he couldnt refuse the prince, so he reluctantly nodded and left without another word.
On the other end, Rook looked at Vil. He was wary of the possible outcome or outrage he may be greeted with. But the prince was silent, just standing still infront of Rook. Was this a good sign? There was a faint smell of something Rook cant quite describe, unsure of what it is, he decides not to dwell on it. Focusing more on the current situation, Rook released a small sigh before attempting to peek at Vil's face from the side.
Though he flinches when the man inhales deeply. Rook takes a step back immediately. The silence between them stretched, the sound of whistling wind is all that can be heard. It took a while before Vil spoke, he had a slight glare as he looked at Rook. "I expect an explanation." States the prince with a barely contained irritation.
Rook could only look at Vil with an apologetic smile. He hesitated to speak but he did so anyway. His foot takes a step forward towards Vil, simply muttering the words, "Im here for you."
For..him?
Silence is evident between them once more, Vil's words got stuck in his throat. Really? Someone would climb walls they're forbidden to step foot on to see him? Somehow the man was either stupid to not schedule a meeting, or the man was daring. Whatever his reason is to step this far to see him proves that he would do anything to get his way, and that would give way to Ashengrotto's argument.
"Is that so? What is it you wish to speak to me about?" Vil asks, his voice took a softer tone now as he takes one step back and crosses his arms. His sharp gaze pierces through Rook's soul..more like cupid's arrow than a bullet though. Even if it was unlikely, Rook couldn't shake off the admiration and...well, love for the man's beauty. It felt wrong but its all that his heart screams. With one shaky breath, he whispers, "If i may, I'd love to hear your thoughts more."
?
Vil could only raise an eyebrow, a genuine look of confusion written all over his face. "My thoughts?"
"Well..yes, your..highness" Rook finally corrects himself as he sits on one of the crenels. His legs swung and his arms were rested on top of the merlons. "You see, you haven't spoken in the meeting at all after you asked me your holy question." He looks around before his back slouches and his arms now rest on his thighs. "I believe you've got more on your mind more than you let out. Especially when Rosehearts and Ashengrotto started arguing again, you had a conflicted look on your face."
He continued, "it truly surprises me that only after three years have you made the move to finally invite me, but only for you to keep silent. And its been itching my head since earlier. Its almost as if you dont know me very well. Im always on the news! And you, not once, had you ever accused me of anything that came out of your own mouth. Your words were the peerage's. But whats your take?"
Again, it was silence. The man was more observant than Vil had thought. The prince shifts the weight on his feet, unsure of how to respond. Cause it was true— 3 years worth of news he read in one night, but to come in face with the man itself, his throat went dry. Somehow, he felt out of place even when he knew everything. Its almost as if he had no right to talk. But why? Its an indescribable feeling. What really was his thoughts? Did he agree with Rosehearts or Ashengrotto..?
....
"I have no take." He settles with those. A flicker of disbelief crashes on Rook's face. "Impossible, i know you do" he replied, getting off the crenel. Neither of them break eye contact at that very moment. One firmly believes that theres more to say than what meets the eye, and the other is unsure of his own thoughts.
"You can tell me..-"
"I SAID I HAVE NONE!" The words almost echo through the palace. It was then when he looked away, too ashamed to meet the man's gaze any further.
The atmosphere around them feels a little suffocating now. Rook also cant risk losing his only chance of connection with the palace— let alone the prince. He takes a deep breath then moves to place his grappling hook. "Then i'll await until you do.." he whispers before making his way down the palace walls slowly.
Vil is now left there all alone with his thoughts. He hadnt thought of such a question. He always listened to what Riddle had to say, what Azul had to say. But what was his thoughts? When he had the final say, what did he say? And why?...
"I dont appreciate his questions..."
Rook returns to the southern village. The sun had only started to set, it was time to check on his friends. Each step feels heavier than the last. Somehow, he still refuses to believe Vil has no take on the conflicting situation he holds with his name. It felt like he refused to say anything for the sake of..whatever it may be. It was just something that felt wrong for Rook, but he'll keep his word and wait until the prince does have his take.
"Guys, I need your opinion. You know‐" the words were stuck in his throat. His feet had stopped on their tracks as his eyes were wide, settling down on the scene before him.
Red stains grass as bodies dragged themselves across the ground, reaching out for their hero. "Rook...."
Leaves fall from the tree.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
And counting.
"No...."
The once so hardworking village was now stained with blood. Flames climed roof by roof, swallowing homes with hunger that ruined generations. Families hugged eachother, crying in despair. The heat was fierce, like you were stuck in the middle of a volcano. The feeling that could practically disintegrate you into ashes. Limp bodies were everywhere on the ground— newly weds, grandparents, even innocent children who only wanted to go home and fiest.
The sky was dark with smoke. And as fury was evident on Rook's face, it couldnt help but soften up as he glances down on his boots. He should've been used to seeing these scenes unravel before him, but something about this one was different. It was a kid who was on her way back home from school. The only school of the country was several villages away, it would take about an hour or two of walking continously to get there. There was no mode of transportation in their place other than horses, and kids were prohibited from owning one because of its potential danger factors.
The kid had made her way back to the village by foot with a weight on her back too heavy for her size. Her excitement to return home for supper was instantly crushed as sharp blades pierces her stomach. Her uniform stained red, yet all she fears is her mother getting mad at her for it. Tears welled up in her eyes as her gaze meets Rook's. Her voice cracks as the soft, shaky, childish voice becomes audible to ears.
"Mister..." a choked sob escapes her lips, tiny fingers held on Rook's boot.
"mama won't get mad at me..right..?"
...
There was no movement present left. The only sound that rings in Rook's ear was the piercing grip of his fingers pulling the bowstring back. It was loud, too loud. Driven by fury, by rage, by vengance.
–_- — _ >>----->
The bowstring sang without pause.
Another arrow had left his grasp before the one before could find its target. His hands were restless, he no longer counted his shots, he no longer cared. Homes before him turn into dust, bodies of families stood limp before him. Each stain of red only enraged him further.
He drew again.
The motion became instinct—draw, loose, reach, repeat. His fingers burned raw, his shoulders screamed with exhaustion, yet he welcomed the pain. It was nothing compared to the sight before him
It was simply cruel that they'd strike knowing he wasnt around. How long had this been going on for? Was it here the moment he left the village? He grits his teeth. Draw once more.
There was no room left for mercy, no space for hesitation. Every heartbeat echoed with the same plead: "just stop, please..."
No one deserved a death these victims of the village have faced. It was hard to meet the eyes of those who've fallen knowing he was somewhat responsible for their lives, and he'd thrown it all by leaving the said village.
He must never step foot out the village again.
Is something he wish he could do. The truth is, he will not wait for newspapers to write of this matter again for the palace to see late. Reinforcements will come late, by then, theres no saying if hes even alive by then.
At last, the sky wept. Rain crashed down hard as it vaporizes flames into steam. It became evident by then the damage of the village. Each framed pictures shattered, charred to ash houses, even stuffed bears that have disintegrated alongside the body of innocent children. With the final arrow meeting the last armed man, it was then that Rook let himself fall to his knees from exhaustion.
Each raindrop that met Rook's hair was a personal reminder of his mistakes, all rooted back many years ago. It was times like these he hated most, the feeling of failing others was too much to bear.
"Fuck..." he muttered to himself, his throat tightening as he struggles to keep his eyes from welling up tears. This was no time to show vulnerability. He needs to find his friends, he needs to give these bodies a proper funeral.
Even as his clothes had practically clung to his body, he didnt back down on his word. His legs lifted him up and boots met with bloody mud. He wasnt even sure if there were any survivours. Hell, he didn't even know if his friends were alive. He arrived in the middle of chaos. Nobody was fighting until he came.
Perhaps it was his fault for trusting his friends to handle themselves. Maybe going to see the prince was the wrong choice. Had he really believed no ambush would happen within the timeframe of his short departure? Or maybe he just overestimated his friends too much. No, he couldn't. He promised he'd come back. He kept his word, but was met with unexpected timing.
A tear threatened to spill when he was suddenlt sent back to reality as his boot rests above a hand. Whos hand was this? It was followed by a sharp pained groan. He knew exactly who this was.
Rook's face shifts into pure relief as he traced the arm and found Ruggie next to jack. Though his relief was immediately overpowered by concern as he scans the horrible state the two boys were in. Both had taken several stabs, the blade carved deeper than skin that exposed raw tissue beneath.The huge gash refused to stop bleeding. Every movement would send a sharp pain through their bodies, each groan and cry for help pained Rook's heart just as much as their wounds did.
Without another word, Rook stumbled on his feet and ran to grab the necessary materials to stop and lessen the bleeding, enough for two surviving bodies. As he wrapped cloth around both his friends firmly, there were only two words that came out his mouth, and they both came in a guilty tone.
"I'm sorry..."
And it went on to repeat. It was self blame. The words didnt stop spilling from his mouth, it was because of him that everything was happening, wasn't it? It wasnt just the palace that these enemies wanted anymore. Because of continuous defense of the Village and their inabilities to pass through, it had been their priority to get rid of the common folks first. Thats it. The tears that tried their best to stay back couldn't stop any further. The more he thought about it, the more he blamed himself. His heart felt like it sank as he finally let himself weep in silence.
His shoulders shook with each sob, but even in his time of vulnerability, his body never stopped moving. Even as his eyes were getting blurry and all his body wanted was to fall, he pushed through. Gathering spared wood, looking for carts, anything to get his friends on. While looking around though, he'd stumbled across a small group of people hiding in a singular corner of a house. They had seemingly covered themselves up with wood and other scraps to look like a leftover pile of trash not worth going through.
With a soft whisper enough for all of them to hear, Rook says, "Hey, they're gone...you all could come out now..."
But even then, they refused to come out. And Rook didnt blame them for that. He turned to leave them for a moment when he felt a small hand grab on his pinkie finger. Looking down was a young girl, around an early age of 9, innocent looking but traumatized. She knows who he is. Thats why she came out.
Rook on the other hand, had also seen her familiar face. She was someone who came out to play with Rook and his friends on days she was free from her household chores. Meeting eye to eye, a wave of some unfamilliar force hit his heart. Why? Not even he knows. But there was his body on autopilot, picking up the kid and checking on the rest of the group.
Each face met with his. Yes, he was the village hero, its safe to come out with his guidance. It was always like that— he was their signal to come out. The amount of villagers have dropped drastically after this attack. From what started as a community of around a thousand— ended in hundreds of undeserved deaths. Where were the others? They were no where to be found. Only those in this tiny corner were able to survive and stay in the village.
Hopefullly they had fled, its hard to imagine what happened to the other hundreds. Slowly, as the small group of people rose to follow Rook with shaking hands, he made his way to carry all of the necessary items to pull the body of his friends.
It was a quiet midnight by the time they had set foot on the ground to the eastern village.
"They should recover in a few months. They've taken several deep stabs. Luckily, it wasn't anywhere life threathening. As for the others, minimal injuries were treated but we advise they stay rested for a few weeks and take professional help to recover from the aftershock of the incident. Especially the kid, we can't have the next generation like this"
The doctor's words felt like a dagger to Rook's heart he's forced to take in silence. But a nod still escapes him.
As silence envelopes the room, Rook's eyes land on his unconscious friends. Supplies of fluids injected in their bodies and the sound of a constant monitoring heartbeat is all that can be heard.
Its all his fault. Was it though? He kept his promise.
...
Rook's boots meet trimmed grass again. Enters in the familiar sound of metal making contact with stone. There was no turning back now, answers must come from the mouth of those who promised it.
His entire body was stained dark red everywhere. His eyes weighed heavy, just like his heart.
Climbing up the same stone walls, Rook doesn't hesitate to go from tower to tower, in hopes to find the fastest way to the prince's private quarters. Was 3 years worth of promises left to rot not enough? After finally being able to speak for the village and recieving the word of the palace for once, this is what they get? A drastic drop of people of the southern village, with no clue if the others fled to other places or held hostage elsewhere.
Answers, NOW.
Each step grew heavier—faster even. His mind was pulsing, his heart was beating rapidly, each breath became almost suffocating the longer he finds no opening. To keep out the sight of the knights were still an requirement for him if he wished to have a better chance for confrontation, but he finds it hard to be stealthy at the moment.
His hands were clenched into fists, his nails left marks on palms but he could care less about them.
They promised KNIGHTS. They said they'll provide protection. But because of their ego, they couldn't bring themselves to send a SINGLE trained man so children could sleep soundly, so people could see the sun shine again.
But no. He should've known. This palace is CORRUPTED. Not a single soul truly cared about others. Blinded by power, but truly they are just to cower. If they were to be strucked with the same wounds each dead soul had to take— they'd be gone in just a second. They're lucky that they're still alive, they should just tell the enemies that they'll fight, then leave it up to the villagers while they sip their tea as their room fills with the scent of bergamot. After all, thats what they're best at anyway.
Everyone in that village could've DIED if he hadn't arrived just in time to save them all. In the end, he wasn't entirely at fault after all.
ANSWERS. NOW.
Emerald eyes were practically fuming red now. Though he was a beast outside, his heart ached. His only vision in his head was the look of each body he'd seen crumble before him. Hands that went limp reaching out for him, each plead for mercy, everything from years ago surfaced all at once.
Only finding a slightly ajar balcony door open, he takes the risk. His legs are already working their way on the balcony before he knew it. His boots left marks on the railings but he could care less about them.
He strides through the silent halls. Portraits of former rulers and metaphoric paintings covered every inch of the hall. This was the famous hall of paintings of the palace. People foreign to the palace often praised this location. Each painting had their own stories hidden in their faces in each portrait. Some weren't smiling, others smiled like they were forced to. People had said this place was truly a sight to behold— like a reminder that theres a story behind each look everyone beholds.
Yet all Rook wanted to do was tear off the faces knowing each and every one have done nothing well for their country, like this one now. At the end of the hall, the sign reading 'Prince Vil's Chambers' was engraved on the wall beside a wooden timber doorframe. The door itself screamed wealth, stained glass looked so delicate and thin as if it could shatter in a million pieces in one touch yet it wasn't see through at all. The handles were cold, it contradicted the heat enveloping Rook from head to toe.
It isn't right to lash out. Its not something his parents would be proud of him to do. He has to control himself...But hes already this far in, he couldn't possibly just make it seem like its any less than what it already is. But here he was, trying to keep himself together as doors were pushed open with more force than he intended.
SLAM!!
A loud gasp escapes Vil's mouth. He staggers backward from his vanity. Before another word could escape through his mouth, Rook interrupts by clicking the lock on the doors and taking a step towards him. Even with his best attempts to keep himself cool, not a single muscle of his body truly relaxed.
"Tell me...did your promise die before my people did...?
Those words echoed through the room. It strikes closer to home than expected.