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Chapter Text

As the guests dance on, a young woman with grey eyes and dark hair treads into the room.

She is not clad in gold and greatness, not bound by the glamour nor glimpses of the royal life. But in her eyes shines something bound for glory.

She walks carefully, treading lightly, a practiced grace, to mask something else indeed.

Well toned muscles, pressing insistently against bursting silk, a sturdy and routine march interwoven in her cautious yet confident steps.

Were anyone to look closer, they would see the gleam of her grey eyes as they wistfully stared past the room, into the distance, out of the glass panes confining the world of riches she could never touch from the world she sought for herself.

…

Arianna’s POV

…

Cassandra was a silent one. From the moment Captain Adelhelm coaxed her shivering form out of his arms as Arianna stared wistfully out of the window to the way she shrinks back against him as the woman standing at the crevice alone hobbles as quickly as she can down the stairs to Adelhelm, expecting someone else.

Before it, Arianna numbly registers Frederic, standing in front of her, his arms outstretched and his wide, shocked eyes cast forward at the empty space that had once been filled with guards and subjects for their heir, fingers tightly clenched as a faint tremor overtakes him and heavy breaths stumble forth from his lips. Soldiers had just left, galloping after the person who had kidnapped the royal child.

He looks up then, whipping around suddenly as though he had just noticed her there, those same eyes-eyes she was used to fondly glimpsing at as they ate their sandwiches under the tree, eyes that had flickered into her field of vision, concerned and careful and cautious about whatever flickered in between.

Eyes that now drill into her unthinkingly, unhesitant as his robe swivels heavily behind him and he leans forward quickly, gauging her eyes for answers as his hands come forth to grip her shoulders. Arianna jolts at the sudden, unfamiliar, uncomfortable grip, head snapping up to look at him with the same numb, widened, desperate eyes as she searches for words.

“Did you see where they went? Did you see their face?” He prods, he presses, he demands desperately, voice escalating steadily.

She does not answer. She cannot.

A spike of something foreign and infuriated blusters through the king’s eyes, and the hands holding her suddenly give her a rough shake. “Answer me, Goddammit!” The king nearly roars, the only thing cutting him off from a full yell being the broken bout of tears slithering into his voice.

Still frozen in mind-numbed shock, Arianna’s head lolls dizzily, a strand of her wrangled hair falling in front of her eyes as a faint flicker of fear and self-consciousness blooms in her chest, where the thick and hardened coil of dread had begun residing. Her…her daughter…their daughter…was gone. Rapunzel….would never see…her again.

Frederic’s eyes widen just as suddenly, and he is letting her go gently, as though weighed by the gravity of the sorrow and realization steaming off of his mistake. His lips stretch into a thin grimace as he withholds tears that have already begun grazing the edge of his eyes, tears glistening in saddened, desperate eyes that suddenly felt so unfamiliar, so broken, so immeasurably detached.

They lapse into silence as they become aware of the darkness enshrouding the courtyard, Frederic braced at the from to the balcony, Arianna standing at the crevice near his side, stunned and frozen in shock. Neither seem aware of the other’s presence. Both remain stock still, eyes searching the dark of the night for a sign, a sound, any sight of the soldiers that had rushed out on their stallions.  

When a silhouette approaches with a lamp some 30 minutes or so later, Arianna finds herself running down the steps to the best of her ability to see Captain Adelhelm with…a girl. Not her Rapunzel…but an unfamiliar, young girl, with grey eyes, black hair with streaks, pale skin and hollow, tear-stained cheeks.

The girl could have been her Rapunzel.

“You will be safe here, little one.” Adelhelm whispers into the scalp of the whimpering child curled up in his arms, his palm flat against her back, fingers drumming smoothly along her spine. Her limp feet dangle with the torn shoes, feet that couldn’t be too much bigger than her Rapunzel, and her Rapunzel’s small, dimpled toes, ill-fitting for the slippers they had tailored for specifically her - 

The girl in his arms continuously gnaws at her lip, a though trying to stifle her sobs shamefully, woefully…instinctively. She tries to be silent…tries to be still as she grips at the man’s armor.

“Where is Rapunzel?” Arianna interrupts, voice soft, hoarse and hesitant. Adelhelm holds the girl tighter.

“Your Majesty-” He begins with remorse, with…the warning of something she wouldn’t want to hear.

“Where is my Rapunzel?” Arianna very nearly raises her voice, faltering from the sharp edge it could have achieved if it hadn’t been rippled with despair.

Adelhelm bows his head, the girl in his arms still quivering uncontrollably from where her head is bowed against his neck.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. We tried everything we could-but she escaped just in time.”

“What do you mean, she escaped?” Frederic demands in a more sharpened and practiced demand, spit flying and lips tightened as his eyes narrow and glare at the man. Arianna did not miss the faint quiver at the end of his sentences, the threat of impulse consuming him and instinct raging within to succumb to the growing sorrow and despair doomed to plague them both. “How could she have escaped?”

Adelhelm maintains his facade calmly, smoothly. “We tried to follow her, Your Majesty. She gave us a false lead to a cottage in the woods and cut off the bridge connecting it to the mainland. By the time we made it across she had long since disappeared. My men are avidly searching the perimeter and area as we speak. I just returned because…I found someone else.” His voice slows, deepens as the routine tightness from his face falters slightly.

Frederic’s and Arianna’s gazes wordlessly flit down to follow Adelhelm’s gaze…to the girl.

“And?” Frederic nearly croaks, his voice distant as though numb after such a long, wordless pause-deflated, exhausted, devoid of the anger bustling and forcing it out of its loop.

The child in Adelhelm’s arms shivers and sniffles, hiccuping through her tears. She turns her face against the Captain’s shirt, the tears silently leaking through his vest.

“Her name is Cassandra, Your Majesty.” Adelhelm dutifully answers with a different air of tone-without any of the usually stiff command that usually carried in his voice and swung at combatants. He cradles her close, arms clenched tightly around her, and for a swift and gut-wrenching moment, Arianna wants to seize the girl herself, hold her tightly in her arms as though she is Rapunzel-She could have been Rapunzel. She should have been her Rapunzel. “She hasn’t spoken to me since.”

Arianna’s breath hitches.

As though noticing her silent permission to continue, Adelhelm nods, a distant and quiet sorrow coating his eyes as he gazes down at the child, who wistfully stares into space, clutching at whatever part of his armor she could. “I suspect it’s another child she has kidnapped, Your Majesty. She was calling the witch her…mother.”

Arianna jolts at the realization. The witch had had a daughter. 

That…woman…had a daughter, and had abandoned her to wrench her own daughter from another mother’s arms. Arianna looks down at…Cassandra…examining the pale skin flushed with depletion, the dark red rings encircling her large grey-green eyes, her trembling pink lips. Is this what her Rapunzel will endure? Is this what Rapunzel, her daughter in flesh and blood, grow up to be-a depressed, shivering, disheveled, destroyed shell of a child, too scarred by trauma and grief and heartbreak? Will her daughter grow up under that old witch, be soothed by the same fingers and tongue that had scathed and torn down this poor spirit from its hinges, consumed it inch by inch with misery and neglect and sorrow that she could spell with a simple slip of her tongue?

Was that woman more deserving to raise her daughter? Would she raise Rapunzel at all?

Her Rapunzel-her princess-would live a life much similar to the girl in front of her. Her Rapunzel could become a twisted, broken soul such as the girl whimpering in arms of Captain Adelhelm, her dark hair askew as it obscures her face. One small, pained, cry escapes her lips, blustered in shuddering breath, blanketed in sorrow like the child that will grow without her mourning, yearning parents.

Frederic inhales shakily, his breath fractured with shuddering intervals as his brows knit together and his lips twist in impatient despair, trembling with something unwilling and unready to break. “And…and your troops? Where are your troops, Captain? Why aren’t you still on search with them?”

“They are covering the perimeter as we speak, sir.” Adelhelm supplies, nodding quietly and pressing his palm against his chest in the courteous gesture before nodding. “I…actually wanted to discuss something that cannot wait.” Frederic narrows his eyes, and the Adelhelm’s face flits with doubt, struggling to maintain calm and poised. “You see, Your Majesty, I was going to humbly request if I could adopt this child. I do not think it wise to return her to her mother…if we ever do find her.” Adelhelm presses his lips together in a thin line. 

Frederic looks over him, quietly gauging his every momentary tense and shift before shaking his head slowly, brows scrunched in thought. “I-no, no. What…are you saying?” He tries to have him repeat, the sorrow and tension from his face sinking in heavily. “My-my daughter-”

“Will be found, Your Majesty. I assure you, my men and I will not rest until we have scoured every inch of land, turned every rock, sighted every mountain. But…I’m saying that…I want to request a counsel. To…ask for your blessing for me to…adopt this child.”

Arianna and Frederic stare in bewilderment, Frederic’s eye beginning to twitch. His voice is feebly controlled, strained as he turns to face them despite how the lines of his face begin sinking into his bones, pale and rigid and…unthinking. His voice is neutral, his eyes glazed as he looks in Adelhelm’s direction yet does not speak. “Captain…go to Elm’s Street. There is a respectable orphanage there. Complete with its -”

“With all due respect, Your Highness.” Adelhelm interrupts Frederic for the first-and what Arianna had thought to be the last- time in his life. The king turns to him, startled at the challenge and yet still seeming…frozen, numb, weakened with grief. “I do not…wish to turn her in there. I…I want to keep her. Here. With me…in the palace.”

Frederic blinks wearily at the man, the stunned silence befalling once again. Arianna steadies herself at the railing, the nausea built in her throat thick and unyielding in place as she shivers with the onslaught of the nightly breeze. Frederic doesn’t move towards her, his frame unyielding to the breeze despite the pain tight and unresponsive in his face. “That….may prove to be overwhelming given your current commitments, Captain. I don’t want you distracted in your search for any reason.” His voice is slow, as though he is slowly unraveling an otherwise routine thought in his head - as though he is still collecting himself, still struggling and sweeping every ounce of grief slowly building in his veins even as he stands tall…seemingly unabashed, seemingly unaffected before the equally cold and brutal onslaught of grief comes to consume him whole.

“It won’t interfere with my work, sir. I swear it.”

Frederic’s hands shake, and he clasps them together behind his back as he turns away. “Captain, please try to understand.” He says then, in a low and slightly more forceful tone. It is still devoid of command and anger - distracted, detached, disappointed. He is somewhere else…he’d rather be somewhere else, Arianna can fathom, and as their sunken, red-rung eyes lock, she can tell that for the first time in what has felt like an eternity of awkward, well-meaning yet empty exchanges…she and Frederic are thinking the same thing. “You cannot adopt the child of the criminal you chased. Your job provides for you in the palace. I can’t simply keep in here everyone who wanders by. We can’t simply raise a child here that isn’t our own, especially for free.”

Arianna clenches her teeth, too numb and struggling to shield herself from the cold for the realization of the situation to fully sink into her.

Adelhelm rubs his fingers against his chin for a moment. “Then-then she will work to earn her keep, as soon as she is old enough. And...I will raise her. By myself.”

Frederic’s steel gaze flattens momentarily. “Would you rather have her raised a servant than a child?”

Captain doesn’t turn away. “I’d see her raised a daughter than an orphan.”

Frederic intakes a soft, nearly shuddering breath, each wisp curling into the silent yet changing night. He is losing…losing the command, the hold of the situation. He is losing his grip, his facade of control, his determination to keep himself composed until he can retreat to the safe confines of the dark rooms and dark hallways in which to wallow and wail his misery, his grief, his frustrations. His voice is softened, lowered. “Captain, with all due respect, I would think it best for both your best interests and her own if you give her to a respectable orphanage.”

“Please, Your Majesty.I really think she would be better off if I raised her myself. She won’t leave me right now. She hasn’t spoken to anyone else except me. Your Majesty, I was the cause of all of this. Her mother left her behind because of me. I would never be able to forgive myself if I simply left her in an orphanage and walked away as though this never happened. I need to-I want to make up for it. I want to make it up to her. I want to give her a life, a parent that she was just robbed of. Don’t you think we all owe her that?”

“It is not our fault that her mother was a criminal.” Frederic quietly answers, looking sunkenly at him, voice drooping with renewed pain. “You were supposed to chase her to her home, she kidnapped my daughter. What else could you have done?”

“But it is partially our fault that she is gone.” Adelhelm still argues, the quivering girl clutched securely within one arm as the other straightens  “How can we do this, sir? How can we watch parents leave their children and turn their backs on them in their time of need?”

“We…we aren’t. But we can’t very well house or adopt every child that comes in. That’s what orphanages are for. She will find…many children like her, in need of a family, and she might make a life for herself.”

Adelhelm retorts. “A life of being refused, put down, shunned. A life not knowing her full potential. A life potentially growing up thinking…she isn’t safe or loved.”

Frederic’s lips twitch, tightening even more against his lined face as he looks away briefly. “That’s not fair. You-You don’t know that. Many children grow up in orphanages…happy…and well.”

“This…isn’t a matter of who can take care of her better than I can. If…If I cling onto this faith…that I need not do anything because something better is inetivably to come - than how can I do the best I can, in the here and now?” As Adelhelm speaks, Arianna slowly turns to look at him, at the quiet flame in his eyes as his words spill from his heart and begin crawling their way towards the grieving couple. “What if…me making this decision is better for her? What if…I can provide a safer home, one where she can…do more than what she can…if she were to be adopted by, say, a criminal who happens upon the orphanage? What if…the reason I found her tonight was because…I needed to take care of her?”

Frederic bristles, but doesn’t say anything, his eyes still cast forward, head slightly tilted in lost thought, owlish eyes and disheveled hair from one night of disturbed rest and a thousand more of restlessness awaiting.

When neither of the royals find it in them to speak, Adelhelm steps forth. “You may have lost a daughter today. But this girl lost her mother. Do…do you really want to cost another life?”

A stunned silence befalls the three adults, splintered only by the soft sniffles of the child cradled against Adelhelm’s arms. Arianna finds herself staring down at the girl- at her disheveled hair, her grey watery eyes, her trembling lips, her terrified and stifled sobs.

Her arms reach out -for the first and last time in what will be years, the woman’s arms reach out first - and the girl seems to have sensed it, her smaller arms reaching out at the same time and interlocking with the woman’s as Adelhelm shifts the girl and suddenly…Arianna is holding a child.

Suddenly, she is holding…another soul again.

And suddenly, Arianna feels her. The woman feels the girl’s warmth, unexpected yet overwhelming… she feels her presence sinking into her fingertips, seeping against her body, her despair in the way the small, vulnerable child clutches at her gown - hope and despair, that she could provide what was missing, that she could somehow possess what it took to fill the void for which the child grappled and clung to her, nourish the wilting stem of a child who awaited a fate in their hands - their hands, that should have held their daughter instead; their hands, that should have held their daughter as she weaned and cried and giggled and grew. 

The queen is awashed, aflame in the waves of despair that have engulfed them both, surrounded them all in a shroud of solemnity that will cloud the kingdom for longer than she can ever ascertain.

And yet…she is terrified. She is…overwhelmed, by the power and…readiness with which this had torn down the numb foundations of a still-born grief and exposed her to the cold reality once more, ebbing away at the sorrow and multiplying it so that it now raged with all of the shrill, cold seriousness of their situation - that she will never get to hold her Rapunzel like this…never again.

Without thinking,  makes a decision…for the first time, without Frederic, or her parents and siblings or parents in law.

Arianna quietly tightens her hold on the girl before the flicker of fear gulps away at the spontaneous, rare rush of courage…a courage that will soon shrivel away within her and remain dormant, small, unseeing for years to come. “You are welcome to keep her here, Captain. The girl…Cassandra…may stay.”

She sees…so much, in those grey eyes, before she detaches herself hurriedly, shaken and afraid of dropping the child, allowing the girl to sift back into Adelhelm’s arms. She sees…an unknowing gratitude, and an even greater confusion and disbelief, still coated in the sorrow of her most recent pain. 

But Arianna does not think more of it, for fear of it consuming her. She…she does not let her gaze remain on the girl, for fear of being vulnerable, for fear of admission.

That she was going to be alone for longer than she could bear. That they were all now entrapped, in this ongoing cycle of time and disappointment torn over her missing child, and there was nothing that would free them.

She doesn’t look at Frederic, doesn’t dare to watch his eyes to see if he had agreed. She holds her breath - she couldn’t make such a decision by herself. She knew…it would hold no weight unless Frederic agreed.

For a moment, she thinks he will rebuke. That he will reprimand her and disagree and finally order Adelhelm to send the girl off once and for all. But then, all is quiet, before Frederic’s solemn voice speaks, the man still facing away from them. Her husband’s face, turned away. Rapunzel’s father’s face, shrouded in distance. “As Arianna has said. The girl may remain in the palace, under your guardianship. But-you must understand that no one here stays for free. She will need to learn to earn her keep as she gets older, and she will be held under the same law as every other servant at the castle. That…That is all I will say of the matter for now. That is all…that will be discussed of the matter.” He then turns to the Captain, eyes alight with something brief yet tangible, flashing with a trace of accusation. And then…the gaze momentarily flickers towards Arianna, as though…the accusation, the source of all the pain they had just felt…had been her fault. But his gaze doesn’t linger, Arianna tries to convince herself, despite her heart pounding in her ears - his gaze doesn’t stay on her, it’s directed at the Captain. He…wasn’t unhappy…he was grieving, exhausted, from a pain they would both share. They would. “I hope you’re happy.” The voice is still, low and hoarse - and yet, not with any malice. It carries in the wistful way Frederic watches Captain’s back retreat with the girl in tow, before sinking back at the darkened horizon.

Arianna stares ahead as well, quietly wondering if they were thinking the same thing. If…he too, was imagining the bare wisp of their newborn daughter, wailing and screaming and crying for their warmth, almost as they were mourning the loss of hers.

But the man’s eyes remain wide, fixed on something as though only he could see, and he is racing past her. “I’m going to find her. I’m going to find her, and bring her back.”

She - she could have done it, she should have. She was the one out of the two of them with actual horseback riding experience. But the only thing that echoes in her mind is the sound of her daughter’s screams, and the throb of her belly as she lay in bed layered in sweat, and the chastising of unnamed voice swarming around her as they all fussed over the coming of the royal child.

They had all fussed…but now, she was left alone to truly grieve. Quietly, to herself...truly alone.

…

Two hours later, the exhausted girl still sobs quietly to herself, large tears quietly cascading down her pale cheeks as her wrangled tendrils of hair sweep along her stained face. “My…my mama left me. My m-mama…she-“

Arianna begins to reach out an instinctive hand - usher the girl similar to how she had ushered Rapunzel, to how she had almost…entirely held a child again - and yet she finds herself catching, hesitating, reeling back and placing the hand down before the girl had noticed her attempt at comfort. She…she was too afraid of feeling that impact - of loving another - so soon. She was too afraid of fearing her loss….so early. And yet, it had felt wrong to retreat to herself and her room just yet. She had felt…like she needed to be there. For this much, at least, even if she could barely stand.

“There-there is no need to worry, love. You’re here now, in a palace. You…you said you’ve always wanted to visit the palace here with your mama, didn’t you?” Arianna’s heart wilts as she hoarsely coaxes in a strained attempt to not bite her own tongue hard enough to draw blood - ‘you’ve mentioned you wanted to visit with your mother as she spied on us and awaited the perfect time to steal our daughter from my very arms -’

“Y-yes, but I wanted t-to come with her!” Cassandra sobs, biting her lip as she instinctively moves to withhold her sobs - as though trained to be silent.

Before Arianna can properly fathom the thought or attempt to console her again, Adelhelm speaks up. “I-I know, little one. But…if your mama wasn’t going to leave you…you were going to leave her one day, weren’t you?” Adelhelm feebly attempts, trying to mask the despair and disgust with himself. Arianna gives him a questioning glance before focusing on the young girl seated between them, trying her best to guard her heart further as the conversation treaded deeper.

Cassandra blinks up at him bewildered, disbelieving, with wide eyes. “But-but she’s my momma. My parent. We belong together.”

Arianna’s lip trembles, eyes watering as she bites back another hoarse sob and stares down at her lap. We…did belong together. Rapunzel…belonged here. With me.

Adelhelm speaks on her behalf. “Nothing truly belongs to us, no one belongs to us - if someone manages to keep and hold something for that long, well, then they’re lucky. To struggle is to not only earn what you need, but to keep what you want. All you are in this world is the work you do and the person you build of yourself. Other things…other people…they come and go.”

Cassandra’s tear-filled eyes continue to persist, looking back and forth between them as though searching…expecting a sign, an answer, a different kind of response. “But…I don’t think…there’ll ever be a time when I don’t want my momma. I still…want my momma.” She relents quietly, voice still rippling and trembling with occasional, strained sobs. “I…I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Of course, little one. But…you know what?” He sucks in a hesitant breath. He should talk to her about it. He should tell her…to tell him what she was thinking, how she was feeling, what she wanted. “You don’t need to think about her.”

The pain strikes a chord, flashes through the mother as it only multiplies, coupled with frustration, confusion, bitterness. You don’t need to think about her.

“Forget about her.” Adelhelm’s voice, a rare yet practiced shade of coaxing and gentle, singes the woman and she sits, hands tightly clasped in her lap, lips tightened as she withhold the tremble of the aftershock, withholds her gaze from wandering and finding the pain in Cassandra’s eyes. “After all…she…she is not worth remembering. Remembering will give you nothing but regret. It’s here and now you need to focus on.” He encourages, before opening his arms. “And here and now…you are safe. You are loved. And darling, as long as you have these things… you will never need to…to remember that…woman ever again.”

The fear strikes Arianna so suddenly…so foolishly. What if…what if, in some way, by some extension, the witch was able to provide a better home for her daughter? For…Rapunzel?

A few moments of tense, lapses silence pass, before Cassandra looks up, wide eyes still leaking with tears. “But…I’m still going to have to work?” 

“Yes.” Arianna whispers. “Yes - I’m so sorry, I wish that you didn’t have to. But…once you come of age…in a few years, most likely…you will need to learn to work. To…earn your keep.” She repeats Frederic’s words with what she wished was venom and yet what sounded like woeful admission…acceptance. You shouldn’t…have to…earn your keep. You’re a child. A child who didn’t ask for your witch of a mother to take someone else’s daughter and leave you a servant.

“S-So…if I…if I work…here…then…I’ll be able to stay?” Cassandra inquires, hope alight behind the layers of sorrow and despair coating her eyes.

Adelhelm is surprised she has caught on so quickly, and yet his heart wilts. He wished he could have…phrased this differently.  “Of course, little one. But…with us…you can always merely ask. If I cannot give you what you want, I will give you the answer you need.”

“And…I’ll get…anything?” Cassandra presses uncertainly, unused to this attention and care she was receiving from the two adults. This promise.

“I can promise…that you will never have…nothing.” Arianna sincerely whispers, looking into her promising, gleaming eyes. For a moment, she thinks all will be well. For a moment, she thinks it will be fine. 

That…that I will try to give you everything I can. She wants to quietly promise as she promised her daughter. Instead, another hoarse, solemn admission string itself out of her numb stupor, assembling before her very eyes even as her wounded heart remains frozen in place, pulsing and throbbing faintly in the distance with the growing passage of time that she didn’t have her daughter - that she couldn’t hold her daughter like this and promise this to her instead - “That…you will have…everything you need.”

Cassandra turns to her, blinking wide, as though she hadn’t expected her to say something so assuring. So promising. So…unbridled. Her lips part for her first request.

“Can…Can you be my new momma?”

Despite their soft hesitance, the words seem to sharpen, morphing into tendrils of ice that sear through the woman unexpectedly, whistling through the air and sizzling into her flesh. At that, Arianna’s eyes water, and she is getting up so suddenly the back of the chair hits the table. 

The queen doesn’t spare a second glance - at the oh-so-different grey eyes sparkling with tears of a pain and misery that nearly resemble her own, at the eyes she will forever regret turning away from, at the eyes that wistfully and desperately gaze up at her - nor at the man who will bear the trials of a different loneliness they will both share in, years later.

Arianna quietly turns her back and leaves, running out of the room.

As her silence engulfs them all, cast over Frederic’s absence and yet the shadow of his looming laws and morphing face, Arianna notes the silence that befalls the formerly weeping girl too.

Stunned, disappointed, realized silence.

Cassandra had been a silent one.

…

As Arianna quietly awaits her daughter’s return, Cassandra awaits a future. No, she doesn’t just wait for it. The queen can hear the way she yearns for it, craves it, talks of it nearly every day now that she was sifting out of her catatonic, grieving state and into a seemingly new person.

The queen folds her hands and watches morosely from the sidelines as the small sniveling girl becomes catatonic and still for a few days, the woman’s own arms seemingly frozen as she herself descends into a mind-numbing stupor where her observations swim in uncomfortable, forlorn, regretful silence - piling one wistful regret, one nostalgic memory after another. She…she never wanted to feel this vulnerable again. She never wanted to…open herself up to that feeling agian.

So instead of standing alongside the Captain and nodding encouragingly as Cassandra held her first sword, instead of smiling and waving as Cassandra tried to stand tall amongst the towering heads of soldiers several feet taller than her, instead of treading into Cassandra’s room as the girl quietly wept unbeknownst to the world, of pains she would never tell her newfound father and of memories that would morph her vulnerable soul as they ebbed away from her consciousness one by one, instead of paying mind to the small glimpses of fleeting yet hopeful yearning that the girl would send the queen when no one seemed to notice…instead of doing all of that, of saying anything, Arianna looks away, stands alone and thinks to herself.

Sometimes…of the daughter that continues to be away from her arms.

Sometimes… of the girl who continues quietly yearning for a mother.

And sometimes…of the man she had once known to be a husband, who had barely gotten to be a father.

…

Cassandra’s POV

 …

“But Dad, Old Lady Crowley was wrong, wasn’t she? I don’t technically have to be a servant - she just said ‘unless a better job falls in my lap’.” A teenage Cassandra points out, voice thin with impatience as she follows her father to his room, lips turned into a pout and eyes narrowed. “And I’ve been training all this time! You saw how I beat Pete in our sparring yesterday! You have to let me try at least one assignment.”

Adelhelm sighs, trying to seem unfazed by his daughter's recurrent argument while also showing a flicker of sympathy and shared frustration as he sets his equipment to the side and turns to face her. “I’m sorry, Cassandra, but you know your duties as a servant will come first-it’s one of the few ways you can earn your keep well- and it will be difficult for you to balance that and complete your collective responsibilities effectively-“

“Then I can just drop out of servant’s work! I can just be a guard now! Dad, you know better than anyone that I can manage it!”

Adelhelm raises a hand, trying to assuage her. “Cassandra, you know that I can’t simply hand the position over. There are rules, age limits and prerequisites and formal procedures you need to undertake.”

Her voice escalates. “I bet you didn’t ask this of Pete when he first applied for training.” He blood boils with indignity and building fury, tears threatening to prick and burn at her eyes. She had had this argument before…she wouldn’t act like this still stung. She can’t. To do so would mean…her father being concerned…and then him doubting her potential competence for the role…and she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t…show this side of her to anyone, she couldn’t very well let herself be…around anyone, not even Adelhelm.

Adelhelm rubs his forehead before setting down his helmet. “Pete had a different record and background before enrolling, and he trained his way just as anyone else did.”

“Then what’s wrong with my record and background? I’m your daughter! I’ve been training since I was six, alongside my …other duties!” Cassandra exclaims. What -what good was it, being the daughter of the Captain, the shadow of a glorious and wonderful man when all she was expected to do was scrub the floors and clean up after the royals? 

“Cassandra, you need to trust me when I tell you that you’ll get there eventually! There’s just…many, many other duties we both have that we can’t simply overlook or leave for this one job. Every situation and candidate is different.” Adelhelm tries to explain, shuffling through papers as he tries to mask his anxiety and seem composed.

“I often wonder…is it because of the king and queen?” Cassandra approaches, lowering her voice in suspicion knowing the nature of what she was about to suggest.

Adelhelm looks up, in slight alarm and shock. “What?”

Cassandra lowers her voice further, swallowing and inching forward. “I know…you’re not ashamed of me. Are you, Dad?”

Adelhelm instantly pushes his helmet aside, standing. “Of-of course not, my love. You are my greatest pride and joy.”

The remark is soft, soothing balm to her hammering heart but does not still nor satisfy it like it could have…like it should have. “Then…are you not letting me in because…the king and queen would not want a servant to join their guard? A…woman? An orphan?” She barely notices her voice begin to taper off into uncomfortable, dreaded silence as the words strike her father.

Adelhelm blinks at her in sympathy before his brows furrow. “I-I assure you, there is no such case. You are my daughter, and…nothing will change that.”

“But I can’t simply…be happy with that.” Cassandra exclaims in response, blinking back tears. “I keep…needing to feel like…I should just…be grateful to be your daughter and not think about how my life would be different any other way…but I’m not…treated like your daughter under the law and I’m not going to get much  recognition as anything but no matter how hard I try. You-you or the king can send me out of my own home anytime you please if I so much as step out of line. To a convent.” She suppresses a shudder, swallowing her hurt and faint sliver of panic at the very word. If she was sent there - it was over. She would no longer have her only home in the palace, and how - how would she be able to train as a guard, make her father proud, defend Corona with the position she had dreamed of? Earn her place and that glory, show others what she was capable of? 

Adelhelm senses her distress, attempting to navigate it with comes discomfort and mostly attempts to assuage her personally. “Dear, that is a law given for nearly any member of staff, including myself. Didn’t you hear about the tailor who was thrown in the stockade? The king and queen need to maintain order, and to do so, there needs to be rules and consequences to keep a standard.”

“But we’re not held to the same standards!” Cassandra retorts, barely restraining her voice from escalating. “That’s the entire fucking point!”

“Cassandra!”  Adelhelm’s voice escalates into a rare yet familiar, gruff, commanding yell that renders the young woman silent. Anger and sorrow begin knitting their way into her face, but she doesn’t falter from glaring, fists clenched, trembling with indignant anger. Adelhelm treads lightly, still maintaining his tone as he folds his arms behind his back. “I understand you are upset, but you will watch your tone and maintain respect. You must understand that you still have privilege and opportunities, both as my daughter and generally as someone who is skilled, talented, strong. All qualities that still make you a good enough candidate to become a guard. One day.” 

Cassandra pushes aside the need to smile, to show her father how much the small attempts at validation meant to her. No…not today. She would not be satisfied with that…not right now. If only you’d just tell me what’s holding me back…what’s holding you back…

“You’re just going to have to wait for your turn and work hard to make sure you’re ready for the moment you are chosen.”

“But I’ll just have to work harder than everyone else, is that it? Because…for some reason, what I’m doing now isn’t good enough to keep anything. Not compared to someone…with a different…background.” Cassandra repeats, clarifies, eyes downcast but still narrowed with bitterness. Her lips tighten, ostensibly holding back what more she had wanted to say. What…what more did they want?

Adelhelm seems to not know what more to say, looking at her quietly, with a trace of sadness, before blinking and looking down. “Please understand…dear…the terms upon which the king and queen had agreed to let me keep you…were slim and…difficult. Not to mention the…moods that the king falls under.” Cassandra’s face darkens with memory, and it takes all of her willpower not to say…something. “Even the people who you think are most privileged as of the moment -“

“Are people just like me, right?” She finishes off for him, echoing his words to her from childhood with a tinge of disbelief. “‘We’re all just small people in one small world trying to do our jobs in the places we can.’ But Dad, they’re not. The king can kick you off your post at any moment once someone better comes in, and you can’t do that to him. And did you see that he sacked his latest advisor?” Cassandra recalls, frowning. “They’re not people like us. They...they don't really care about us. They’re…above us. And besides them,  no one is really going to get anywhere if all we do is…stay in our places.”

“But no one is ‘staying’ in their places, they’re working in their places, doing their jobs to the best of their ability.” Adelhelm coaxes the girl carefully, cautiously, as though he is aware of the delicate weight of silence that is her fleeting yet precious attention. “We only get there if we know our place - we can only know how much we deserve when we know how far we’re willing to go for it. And we can only know how far we need to go when we know where to start.”

Cassandra blinks back before her face falls in disappointment, seeing as she was going nowhere with this. She picks up her broom, giving her father a pointed look before begrudgingly making to go back to work.

“This is just to earn your keep - it will not be permanent.” Adelhelm reminds her gently, causing her to pause in her tracks, expression shifting. “Should you make good use of that time and talent, while making this earning, you can very well join the guard when you’re ready and chosen. But Cassandra-” She looks back at him skeptically. “Servant or guard, our loyalties belong to the king and queen, and the safety they promise to their citizens. The safety and duties we uphold, every day. Never turn away from your duty to them, my daughter.”

Cassandra’s anger begins to dissipate, replaced by a hint of mild derision and thought as she looks down at her broom before staring longingly at her father’s sword. She remembers when he had first showed her how she was to ‘earn her keep,’ seeming cautious as though he was afraid he would awaken something within her, even going so far as to show her himself. Her movements had been almost rhythymic, wistful with a knowing and practiced stupor that drew away her attention yet not her interest. It lingered, in the way she eyed his similar movements as he practiced his sword.

She then marches out of the room without looking at her father again to another hallway Crowley had assigned. As usual, she walks past the royals’ room - restraining herself from lingering there and eavesdropping at the quiet weeping and hushed exchange of saddened…angry words. Whatever the king and queen needed to work through…they worked through there, away from the eyes and ears of a judgmental, unsympathetic world, forlorn servants and possible gossip. 

Whatever conversation…or argument…they were having had ended, and Queen Arianna quietly opened the door, face pale as she rubbed slightly at her eyes, looking around before composing herself and sniffling. Behind her, Cassandra could see King Frederic waiting for her to leave before exiting the room and walking in the opposite direction.

Cassandra keeps her eyes averted away from the royals, from the disappointment she knew she would feel should she look their way, the derision she felt once she met their eyes.

Fair, good, kind, grieving King Frederic and Queen Arianna.

She moves the broom back and forth, bitterly pulsing each swipe with anger and frustration, huffing. 

Old, useless, blind King Frederic and Queen Arianna. They can…wallow in their misery all they like, can they, for a daughter they’ll never know, away from a kingdom they were still responsible for?

Cassandra huffs frustratedly to herself. She couldn’t quite place it, but some of the disappointment and bitterness did not just stem from the way the king had acted morose and crippled with grief when he had ordered her father and their men to arrest and throw in every criminal in the kingdom without trial. It had not just stemmed from the queen acting as though she heard nothing, saw nothing when she stood alone at the windows and watched the thief of time and grief rob the common folk of nearly every waking minute of peace.

She…craved something. Expected something from them. She had…had wanted something from the queen, once. Perhaps…it was because of something Queen Arianna had given her, something she couldn’t quite remember yet always somehow feel when she lay awake at night, wondering quietly to herself of how the royal parents grieved the missing princess and…if…she had ever had biological parents…who had unconditionally grieved and fretted and worried for her too. For whom…she was the entire world, and not just stacks upon stacks of charity. Maybe even parents who…could have provided her anything, and never feared or hesitated at the idea of standing up to the king.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. Sometimes…she felt…that was it. Her parents might have…might have stood up to the king, at some point, and been locked away as a result. Parents whose faces she couldn’t remember, and whose love she might never know, and hope to quell with…with what Adelhelm gave her, however unconditionally he seemed to love her. Parents…who could properly defend her…snatched away, by the secretly vengeful king and weakened, quiet queen. It seemed…the most fitting backstory, didn’t it?

Cassandra throws one bitter glance towards the queen as she walks her way, turning her face and pretending as though she doesn’t notice the queen pause, as though she doesn’t hope the queen would take the moment to talk to her, for whatever reason. And the most frustrating thing was…Cassandra still couldn’t understand why. She didn’t just want validation from…from these people who placed themselves above common folk and servants like her. She didn’t…have a place with them, no matter how much she would have wanted that.

Cassandra quietly watches the queen decide against talking to her, the grieving woman bowing her head and hugging herself as she walked quietly through the corridor of portraits by herself. She seemed to do that often. Then, Cassandra curls her lips.

She’d be damned if she had to work for them well into adulthood. Why - she was glad the lost princess wasn’t here - she couldn’t imagine another royal highness, and she didn’t want to think of the kind of man the king would be if he wasn’t weakened by grief or restrained by the memory of his lost daughter.  Cassandra pauses her sweeping, biting her lips as one tear trickles down her face.

Back and forth.

She quietly works, her silence deafening the hollow hall.

…

Mixed- Cassandra’s and Varian’s POV

…

Back and forth. The woman tries to steady herself in her swipes as the boy next to her happily scrubs away at the portraits she had been looking at. Varian had offered to help her complete her chores in time for the guard duty she had so desperately wanted - another opportunity, just about to slip away if she wasn’t careful-

“Honestly, I still don’t get why you have to do all this to get that guard duty.” Varian admits, shrugging as his bright eyes roam the portraits skeptically, scrubbing extra hard on small blemishes. “You’re amazing at it! You should be out there, doing the job you love. Not…you know.” He quickly lowers his voice consciously, casting her a quick side glance to ensure he hadn’t offended her.

Cassandra’s lips turn upwards slightly at the praise and she pauses, and Varian can see her hesitance before she chooses to iterate her father’s words again, mildly embittered as she tells him what she’s been trying to convince herself for years. “We’re not given things because we deserve them- we’re given them because we’ve earned them.”

“The difference being?” He tries to entertain, casting her another almost skeptical yet largely curious glance as he carefully rubs at another spot.

She turns to him, mildly amused. “You can work your ass off for anything, Varian. You can yearn for it, cry about it, toss and turn at night with that growing chasm in the pit of your stomach thinking, doubting, knowing it will never be enough. But you know what both of us know for sure - something that no one else in this damn place will understand, because they’ve never needed to work for anything in their life?” 

“I mean…I don’t think that’s fair.” Varian stammers, a bit startled and thrown off-guard by the blunt and slightly…treasonous claim. Was it treasonous? He certainly hoped not…he didn’t want to break the rules and look down upon his newly acquired friends, not so soon and in this matter! “Flynn Rider…and Princess Rapunzel…weren’t just handed their happily ever afters.”

“Really?” Cassandra hums, locking eyes with him as though…in challenge.

Varian’s heart stammers, unused to being the sole receiver of undivided attention unless he was in trouble. “Um…y-yeah?” He tries to sound confident, cloaking it with a nervous laugh. “I mean, Princess Rapunzel didn’t get out by…sitting there, wishing she would. And…Flynn didn’t get there by… choosing to stay with his friends. He had to climb the tower, and the princess had to-”

“Ah, but it was an accident that Eugene happened upon her tower. He didn’t do that with the intention of meeting his 'true love.'” Cassandra points out.

Varian’s face heats up. “Well…he had to have, at one point, right? The stories say that when he found out she was in danger, he climbed the tower, and she-“

“And then he was stabbed.” Cassandra finishes, almost monotonously despite Varian’s paled face. “And then he happened to get the chance to choose Rapunzel’s freedom over his own life. And then he oh-so-nobly sliced her hair, and then somehow, that just magically made the witch disappear.” For some reason, this part of the tale always struck a chord within her, and yet she couldn’t discern why. Something tugged at the back of her mind, something asleep, buried, long-forgotten, synchronous with the frustration pulsing deep in her veins.

Varian falls silent, gauging her dry look. “You…You don’t think Flynn Rider and Princess Rapunzel deserved to have the ending the did?”

At that, Cass’ eyes widen, and her neck nearly snaps at how quickly she turns to lock eyes with him. Varian fights the urge to flinch, quietly side-eyeing her as he puts the bucket of soap water away.

She tightens her lips, looking him up and down. “I think… that everyone deserves some kind of happy ending, but not everyone gets it. I think, for the ears of a courtesan or the eyes of a servant, that is a very deserving ending. But, I also think…” She is huffing then, restraining her anger -it never did come easy for her, after all. Pain and sorrow was easier to bury, to disguise, to burn as much as it burnt. “That the stories tell you the fables and fallacies, the kinds of wishful thinking you love to indulge in…is just that. Wishful thinking. Nothing about that - no amount of dreaming that you aren’t in the here and now will take away from the fact that here and now is all you have. And you should make the most of it - look for the most in it.” She places one hand on her hip, studying him from a distance. “Stories are good and all, Varian, but surely you’ll find just as many interesting things in real life, about the people around you - the people who are no longer idols plastered over missing or wanted posters and books. Real people who, if you plan to stick around, are going to show sides that you wish only existed in stories.” 

The woman scowls deeply, and Varian’s heart thunders in dread, thinking she was going to tell him off. She side eyes him, and it is then he realizes she is waiting for him to give her the indication that he wanted her to continue. Swallowing nervously, Varian looks around before looking down at the bucket of water, and Cassandra takes that as a hint to quietly speak, voice hoarse and honest. “You think Rapunzel is some…divinity sent from above? With her…lovely, flowing golden locks and ever-shining face, brighter than the sun, right?” Cassandra notes Varian visibly tense, uncomfortable but not moving to stop her. “Well, you’re almost right. She is sweet, giving, honest, wanting to know more about everything and everyone- and yet, struggles looking past her own nose unless it assuages her ego - which she does have-“ She presses just as Varian is opening his mouth to interject, and the boy shuts it instantly, more afraid of earning her wrath. “And that leads to some pretty short-sighted blights that get her quite caught up, if I do say so myself. Although, poor girl is trying. I’ll give her that.” She frowns to herself. “It’s rare to find someone who tries…it’s just that she can’t take a hint when it’s time to stop trying.” Her eyes narrow at Varian. “You and her really are too alike…”

Varian’s face heats up at the attention, before he knits his brow together, lips twisting into an indignant, uncomfortable grimace as he looks away. He hadn’t expected…that. “Oh-um, that’s nice to know, but I-I really don’t think we should be talking about this here-”

Cassandra’s eyes lock on him then, more intently than before, and for a moment Varian dares to hope she will agree with him. Instead, however, she slowly, almost casually rests her elbow against the ladder, shifts her weight onto one leg and continues, gauging his expression experimentally with her grey eyes. She sets the rag down with a definitive warning. “Oh, and your precious Flynn Rider? He is kind, charming, resourceful…and yet, also a two-faced, annoying jerk who can’t keep a secret and won’t hesitate to pretend like he doesn’t remember where he came from-”

Varian frowns deeply, hiding the deeper sting of indignity and annoyance he had felt at that. He didn’t exactly appreciate his venerated heroes being talked about so…badly. He couldn’t even imagine someone could think that way about them! “Cass, can you please not-?”

Cassandra’s smirk only seems to widen at the challenge, yet there is something else there, glistening in her eyes as she turns her face unabashedly, almost…mockingly, like she was imagining those she had noted these weaknesses of right in front of her, taking each hit with clarity and silent awareness. There was a deep, knitted sadness slowly unraveling, quelled in bitter words and guised in jeer-like gossip. “And the king and queen? Who you always see, moping around acting humble yet holier than thou? They-”

Varian gasps, freezing up, lips tightening as he clamps his hands over his ears. “Cassandra! We could be killed for this!” He hisses without thinking, instinctive fear arising.

She freezes, less at what he said and more at the way he had said it, narrowing her eyes and slowly folding her arm as she shifts weight on one leg and leans against the ladder. “You know, with all your talk about pushing scientific boundaries and changing the worldview with your remarkable advents, I would think you wouldn’t be afraid of breaking some rules.” She remarks, though her voice doesn’t hold the disappointment or remorse he would expect. Shaken, he tries to pretend like her words merely drip off of him like flowing water, endless and ever-moving but leaving no marks. 

At his silence, Cassandra continues. “And for someone who doesn’t seem to like feeling unheard…you sure love acting like you can’t hear when you simply don’t want to.”

He breathes in deeply, trapped in the moment and wanting to retort but not sure how. “Aren’t…aren’t you afraid?” He hisses.

“Of what? The king?” She turns to him, and then her eyes glower above him, cornering him. “Are-are you afraid of the king, Varian?”

Varian looks up at her quietly, conflicted before looking away. “I-I don’t- no. No, why would I-why would I be afraid? He…provides for us. I respect him. I do."

“…But why wouldn’t you be afraid of him? You are a peasant, after all. No one close to the king really cares about what happens to you, especially the king himself.” She remarks off-handedly, not noticing the unoffended surprise coloring his face at the blunt comment.

Varian clears his throat respectfully. “Technically, I’m the son of the vassal. But uh…we do. Own and distribute land to peasants. And I guess…” He chuckles emptily, looking down at his tattered shirt and small pants before looking at her spotless gown. “Well, if you live in the palace, everything would look peasant-like to you, wouldn’t it?”

“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t just live here, I work here. I feel like a peasant, every day.” Cassandra remarks, barely able to hide the bitterness and twinge of indignity blustering in her voice.

“But- but you’re the princess’ lady-in-waiting!” Varian exclaims, with a bit of excitement, stretching out his hands to emphasize - mores to cheer up Cassandra and less for actual interest. “That’s like- a huge honor, isn’t it? I’ve heard only noblewomen get to be that close to royalty and be in court.”

“And what do you think a lady-in-waiting does, kid?”

Varian fumbles, scrunching his brow. “Uh-well…I’m guessing you…be present in court and help the princess with advice. You probably…also helped the princess around the palace should she need it?” 

 “That’s not all I do.” Cassandra points out, narrowing her eyes. “If your father is the leader of Old Corona, how do you not know-well-everything about this place and how the royal network -well - works? Last I checked, most of the acting vassals are one and the same. Burying their unneeded noses into every gossip they can and trying to claw their way to the top.”

Varian’s face falls then, a slight pink coloring his cheeks as he sheepishly turns to focus on the portrait he had been polishing. “Um…Old Corona…is a bit detached from Corona. In terms politics and the like. And Dad doesn’t…really hang out with me all that much. I know what I do from the books I can get my hands on or just…listening to Dad talk to other people, I guess.” He shrugs, eyes narrowing at no particular point on the portrait as the familiar doubts and unpleasant memories of his loneliness begin clouding his mind. He shakes it off abruptly. “But-who really cares, right? I’m not…going to be my dad. I’m going to be the first real, proper alchemist Corona has ever known!”

“…And…leader of Old Corona.” Cassandra points out skeptically, looking at him inquisitively and the struggle in his face. “Right?”

“I mean -sure.” Varian stammers at first. His relationship with the idea was complicated, at first rooted in anticipation and a need to please his father before being quickly eroded with discouraging experiences in childhood and his own ruminations regarding his identity as time dragged on. “That-that will come in time. But that’s not…all I’m going to be. Or-I’m pretty sure…Dad will just find someone else if I don’t…fit the mold.” He says a bit disheartenedly, before shaking off the sadness again. He had wanted to impress Cassandra, not drag her into his pity party! If he…if he showed her the good things about him - what he could offer as a friend, the things he was capable of - she would like him and…want to be his friend for more reason than just…that she needed something from him.

“Hm.” Cassandra hums in thought, before leaning an elbow against the wall. “And…supposed your village leader duties start to interfere with - your alchemy? Or…to be the best leader you can be, you later find you need to give up your alchemy…for your father and people?” Varian’s eyes flash in shock, and his head whips towards her. “Would you do it?”

Varian bites his lip. The dreaded question had flit across his mind once or twice, to be honest…but he had avoided thinking about it at all costs, especially when it came to the dreaded prospect of one of his and Quirin’s fights. He didn’t…want to even consider…having to battle his two greatest loves in life.

“It won’t come to that.” He tries to say with surety, brows furrowing. “That’s why I-I’m going to prove to Dad and the village beforehand- that my alchemy is the best part about me, and it will make me the best person I can be.”

“I didn’t say best person, I said best leader.” Cassandra corrects pointedly.

Varian frowns, rolling his eyes. “Okay, so I’m not…the kind to dabble in politics. People and…dealing with them is messy. But…that doesn’t mean I can’t still go into a position where I can…help people! Help them live their best lives!”

“You keep saying ‘best’ and I can’t help but feel you’re being a tad bit too idealistic.” Cassandra remarks, a small knowing smirk playing on her lips. “It’s…good that you want to help, but as you grow older you’ll…realize that you can’t always actually…do your best. You do as good as you can given what you have. And that doesn’t just go for leadership but…everything.” Her eyes gloss over then, distracted as she stares down at the rag between her fingers.

“Well, that…technically counts as your best, doesn’t it?” Varian hesitantly offers in consolation. Cassandra’s eyes narrow.

“No. If I’m doing guard duty after cleaning up every room in this palace and polishing every portrait, I’m not going to do the same as someone who walked in after - saving a princess by accident and happened to roll into practice late because he wanted to prove to his girlfriend that he could hold down a job. After failing countless others. And…somehow managing to double-cross my father and still hold some respectable position, his only qualification being a criminal.” She explains, her frown deepening into a bitter scowl. Her movements become more stiff, more jerky and sharp as she swipes at a portrait so hard it rattles. “If I’ve spent weeks training for a competition to prove how skilled I am, I shouldn’t have to underperform or be denied because.…some carefree girl walked in to have fun on a Sunday and accidentally won the trophy I’ve dreamed about.” She doesn’t realize her voice has escalated until she sees Varian’s expression, and then she sighs. “I don’t just want to do my best. I want to do the best…so I feel my efforts actually mattered and that I can look back at this thinking that I did the best despite my situation, not my best because of my situation.”

Varian frowns, not quite knowing who she was talking about but supposing he agreed with her sentiment. He hadn’t thought about it that way before…what else did he have yet to know about the messy world outside of his lab and raccoon? The world where his father managed to float and freely walk through without needing to constantly watch his back, without needing to bow his head or awkwardly fumble through any situation hoping it would turn in his favor? “I mean…I guess.” He offers, before smiling weakly. “But…I’m sure…that if it’s your dream, and you’re working for it, it’s bound to come around.” 

Cassandra scoffs. “Dreaming about it isn’t going to give us shit. Running after it, breaking our bones on it, holding up the law, swearing our lives to it - ‘that is what makes the one with a sword a warrior and not a chef.’” She imitates her father’s voice from a memory of his more joking moments with her when she was younger, plucks the kitchen knife Varian had just polished out of his pocket, and pretends to poke it in his direction playfully. As expected, he flinches at the sudden movement, before straining to laugh it off nervously when he sees her mildly apologetic expression. She chuckles mildly. “Are you a chef, Varian?”

“To be fair, I still don’t get why you hate cooking. And…separately, I like to think…we can make our own opportunities, can we not?” Varian simply says, beaming when she hands him back his knife - she had yet to ask him what it was for, but knowing Varian, he’d probably ramble so long she’d forget. She admittedly liked…pretending that she and Varian got along. Because it felt less pretend. She and Varian’s interactions felt…more natural, less strained and less pretend than her interactions with Eugene and…even Rapunzel. Although the more time she spent with Varian, the more Cassandra became convinced he still managed to keep… a few qualities from both of her other friends. Unfortunately. Varian continues, interrupting Cassandra’s train of thought. “If you hate it so much here…and feel like you’re getting nowhere near your goal despite your best efforts, why don’t you just leave? Make yourself a life elsewhere?”

“That would imply you have something to make it from. Where are people like us gonna find a gold mine like that? How exactly do I make an entire life for myself when I’ve spent my entire life here?” Cassandra presses, genuinely curious. The thought had come to her once or twice, but she didn’t entertain it much - she didn’t want to be discouraged from the idea that she could ever leave...her father and home. "I mean, would you ever leave here, for any reason?"

Varian stammers at the sudden shift in direction, flustered. “I -I don’t know, I just think…there’s no point in kicking a dead candle waiting for the flame to return, isn’t there?” Varian says, smiling. “It happens with my experiments all the time. Something I thought would work doesn’t work, but I won’t keep…using the same method. I’ll try something else, maybe even build something different that can accomplish the same thing. And sometimes…it can accomplish even more, can’t it? You just need to be willing to believe that…your way isn’t the only way, but that shouldn’t mean there’s no way. Why, if Master St. Croix-” 

Cassandra quirks her eyebrow, visibly growing impatient of Varian’s imminent tangent, and the boy reddens self-consciously, tossing his rag aside and looking away as his sincerity blooms through. “What-what I mean to say is…I…I just really want to make my father proud and…do right by my village, you know? They don’t even…know the lives they’re capable of living if only I could help them, the person I’m capable of being if only they see I mean well, but that shouldn’t mean…I let them not know? If that makes sense?” He moves his hands as he talks, voice uncharacteristically low and somber as he stares at the open palms for a moment.

Cassandra shrugs, moving her arms as she hauls another bucket up to the step of the ladder. “Sure, but if you blew up buildings and caused earthquakes…I’d be more concerned about getting tomorrow’s meals and sleeping under a roof, wouldn’t I?”

Varian’s cheeks flush pink again, and he moves his arms frantically. “Not that-not that I blame them for not really knowing! Or…or trusting! I mean, that’s…that’s obvious, right? I’m…kind of…a walking disaster. I’ve got to be honest, the only reason I even used the candle example was because I’m used to being on fire. And…um…maybe kicked too…” A hollow, harsh laugh bubbles up his throat through his lips, not escaping the awkward coloring of his momentarily flustered self, as the woman watches curiously. 

Then, the boy’s somber expression returns, a bit more composed. “I know I can make every chance, grab every opportunity. But if something doesn’t work out, I’ll just…try something different. It’s not because I want it to- to be famous. I just want it to make people… There’s nothing that can’t be made - only things that haven’t been found. And one day…one day, I’ll find a way. To…to make my father proud…and to show him that he can be proud of me just…the way I am. That…how I am…and what I do…can be…deserving the way it is, too? Provided it doesn’t…blow up.” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I guess the only thing I’m scared of is…how many chances I have left.” He chuckles nervously despite how it strikes a chord within him, the very thought hollowing out the flicker of hope he had allowed to grow, shriveling it within moments, dousing it with his wallowing and setting in aflame with the beginnings of familiar self-doubt.

Cassandra looks at him for a quiet moment, eyes still wandering his face. And then she is shrugging, turning to focus back on work. “My chances will never die. Not as long as my ambition lives.” She casts him one look. “If you’re smart - which I know you are - you’ll wait for that moment to come, grab it and never let it go. Trying to ‘forge’ your path by setting yourself on fire is only going to hurt your chances.”

“But…if you just have to wait for it to come, is this worth it? How will I know if I’m meant for it unless I…just…try to grab it by the horns myself? Without setting myself on fire, I mean.” He quickly adds in last minute.

Cassandra’s eyes slant then, and suddenly, he can see it all so clearly - pain, riddled within the depths of the orbs; envy, flashing momentarily; a cheshire-like curiosity, bustling deep within her naturally quiet and calculating being. And then…her lips turn upwards, and a soft, gentle scoff escapes her lips. She bows her head as it shakes, from side to side, with an agonizing slowness that somehow sears into his chest…a faint yet familiar sting, that he wasn’t being taken seriously. “Nice.”

“Wh-what?”

“I like it. Pretending that you’re not any better. Like you’re…going to change the world. Like you can jump out of a bowl of water you’ve been living in and reach for the waterfall. You know it looks too simple to be taken seriously but too adorable to retort. It’s how you’re avoiding confronting your ‘people-pleaser’ instincts.” Cutting Varian off before he indignantly responds, she looks at him sharply. “You and Rapunzel are…so alike.” Her smile fades then, and she is looking down at him properly this time. The boy squirms under her drilling gaze. “Too…alike.”

Varian feels a spike of lightness swell within his heart. “Oh? I meant, I don’t think I can be compared to the likes of Her Highness-”

“Shut up.” Cassandra says, swiftly yet quickly, and so he is shutting up, dutifully turning to the side.

Flustered, cheeks red, he looks back at his work, trying to narrow his eyes and focus…fighting to not show how that comment had hurt. She had…she had been the first one to willingly talk to him…besides his father, of course, who seemed to almost never talk to him…not willingly nor readily. To be treated like nothing more than a child, a nuisance, by yet someone else he had respected and dared to admire, seek and hope for the attention from…

Tears prick his eyes, and Varian bites his lip. 

Cassandra cautiously looks at him, squinting before an apologetic look awashes her. “Hey…I didn’t mean…it’s just a phrase. I don’t…hate what you’re saying. I know that might have sounded harsh coming from me. It’s just…hard to-”

“To care?” Varian tries to answer for her, not wanting her to feel like she had to bear the “burden” of the guilt. He could understand that. Why would he expect to be entitled to people caring about him or his problems- he had to earn that, twist their worldview by showing them what he saw of his beloved passion and talent, and then…by some extension…make them care? That kind of thing had to be earned-

Cassandra shakes her head, cutting off his thoughts. “No…to believe. To listen to what you’re saying, after knowing by now how things really work…and believe that maybe, for some instance…some flicker of hope, some shred of doubt…that such is possible.”

“…That I can be like Rapunzel?” Varian presses, confused.

“No.” Cassandra snaps irritably, before her eyes soften in quiet apology. Varian hesitates, nodding at her to continue. “That…things can be different. But…aren’t you afraid? That things won’t be different?” Her eyes clash with his - ready, assuming. He only maintains eye contact out of the alarm urging him to do so, steady and thudding at the back of his head, though his mind blanks at the question, fumbling for a response.

Luckily, she doesn’t wait too long. “That…if you can’t change how things are, you can just change how you are, through what you do, and hope it fits best so you can get the most while suffering the least. That…how far you go to change how others treat you…is only how far you’re willing to go to change how you are? And how far…you’re willing to go to seize the moment when they can look up to you better?” 

Varian shrugs, thinking. “Sure but…if the thing or…person you’re doing this for is really worth it, you wouldn’t need to change your entire self just so they’d treat you better, would you? You’d just…need to make them see that you’re special and they’ll come around! I mean, if I changed how I was…I wouldn’t be the cool, snazzy alchemist I am, would I? Dad doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He snorts to himself in a false show of confidence, trying to seem nonchalant as he attempts to seem “cool” before doubling over in laughter at his own attempt. Cassandra laughs along with him, genuinely amused yet choosing not to reply to his earlier comment, before sending him a grateful look when he helps her finish up the wall. 

…

Cassandra’s POV

…

Cassandra stands in the now barren fields of Old Corona, determined and battle-ready eyes masking her internal disgust and mild frustration as they clashed with those of King Frederic first, then Queen Arianna and Princess Rapunzel. She stands amongst those who she had despised and scorned, in the place of one who had told her that a time would come when her efforts would earn her permanence. A permanence that she was willing to exchange for pride at what she was about to do. Now that Varian had injured her father...she had been blessed to lead the assault with Rapunzel as their guide. 

She looks the boy in the eye - the boy who had begun his tirade, the boy who had begun spouting and spewing and screaming into the void all of the unspoken truths and hidden realities of the king and his shroud of anguish, cast over the eyes of all who stood now before the destroyed, vacant ruins of Old Corona. The crumbled houses and butchered trees silently weep under the dark blanket of blue and purple the rocks seem to show in the moonlight.

Her face softens, and the grip on her sword slackens. Just for a minute.

As the buildings around him crumble and the earth under his automatons trembles, she is silent.

She waits for their eyes to meet. 

He - the boy, the old friend, the scientist with whom she had shared treasonous thoughts and harsh confessions.

He…the traitor, the menace, the vanquish of whom was her mission and her soon-to-be glory…

Cassandra doesn’t think of her earliest admissions. She doesn’t think of the people she is now helping - the people that Varian had warned them against, the people who had been ready to let her slip away until she had “proven” useful to serve in her father’s place. Because…however much Frederic despised how she had aided Rapunzel in disobeying him, Cassandra knew he was far more embittered with Varian.

Cassandra tries to cascade, flood her mind with every thought and teaching she can summon, to assuage the dull ache in the back of her mind telling her this was wrong, that this…was not going to be worth what she had been fooled into believing, again. Her…her actions, her efforts…only belonged to things that paid off. To friendships…and connections…that would help her earn her keep and keep her place. Varian couldn’t offer her either. Siding with Varian…agreeing with him…acting like there had ever been more between them than this…would not help her. It wouldn’t help her image, her newfound place as captain of the guard, her dreams, Rapunzel’s favor - which was the only other thing keeping her afloat in Frederic’s court after this- 

She was just about to help herself. Soon…this boy…no, this criminal, don’t feel pity for him, Cassandra…would be thrown into the dungeons and learn his place, just like every other criminal her father and his men had captured for the king, just like…all those…who had tried to speak against the king and his methods.

All Cassandra had to do was get over this wave of sentimentality, stop letting this rare, intrusive moment of vulnerability hinder her potential chances of getting anywhere near where she wanted to go - that, that was all that mattered. And…that didn’t make her selfish, did it? No, she was doing what Varian himself would have done…what anyone suffering under this system would have done and still do. I’m only…looking out for herself, she tries to convince herself. I can’t very well…say…

The orphaned boy meets her eyes quicker than she had expected. Alight in the distant red glow of the small space he had made to control the automaton, looming larger than life, taller than she could have ever fathomed, louder than he had ever dared to be.

Varian’s angry eyes, aflame with grief and betrayal, sharpened and glimmering with tears, clash with her own calm, grey eyes. He looks, for a minute, towards Cassandra, and away from Rapunzel and Frederic. Away from the golden-haired princess whose favor had been his doom and her blessing. Away from the king whose whims had been his sentence and her promotion.

He was going to lose.

He may have made a tale worthy of the history books, made robots and armies and plans never before seen by any citizen in Corona. But she - she was going to make this moment matter, and last.

Varian is turning away - he is turning away to observe the battlefield.

With a battle cry, Cassandra surges forward, sword poised as she leaps towards the small window in which she can see his face - he turns just in time again, eyes narrowed viciously, flashing with contempt and the barest glimmer of shock before it sinks into steady, building anger, taut and dark on his exhausted face as he forces a strained, triumphant grin, eyes wide with an almost insane satisfaction he knew he could never keep.

She looks to see who is with her, dangling and struggling from the other hand of the automaton - and her blood runs cold when she realizes it is the queen.

The two women look at each other in bewilderment, guilt, remorse, panic, fear - they are not prepared for when the automaton’s cold metal grip tightens around their waists, prepared to snuff out the voices that had never made themselves truly heard, that had been practiced in silence and trained in skill. Both women gasp and struggle, and Cassandra pointedly looks away as Queen Arianna’s eyes flicker towards her, as though searching, expecting, speaking to her.

She had nothing to say to the queen. She wasn’t about to accept her fate like the royals were, not that easily.

Varian is not prepared when the beam of light from Rapunzel’s hair flashes blindingly through the horizon and up near his face, sending him flying backwards and dropping the women in his grasp.

Cassandra blearily opens her eyes, face twisted with agony, heart pounding in her ears. She looks up only to see Frederic - the man who had tried to send her out of her own home to a convent, the man who had caused this whole ordeal, the man who had carved his place in her mind as well as the minds of every servant and member of staff in the palace as a looming, silent snake ready to strike - rush over to the queen and cradle her limp body.

A rush of indignant, realized emptiness consumes the daughter, the servant, the warrior, the new captain - as she lies limp, defeated on the battlefield she had proudly marched, neglected by the rulers she had betrayed friends and risked lives to serve, and by the company who now faced the latest consequence of their neglect.

She stares into space at first - in shock, then pain, then sorrow, and then acceptance.

As she remains silent, Varian’s screams of agony and anger ripple through her ears.