Work Text:
Venice - 1323
The old man coughed, hacked, finally dislodging whatever his lungs no longer wanted to keep as their own. He breathed deeply, once, twice, three times, before opening his eyes. “Peter,” he smiled. The man reading beside him sat forward. As his face reached the light his Asian features became clear.
“Yes, Signore Polo?” He spoke softly, concern etching his face. “Should I fetch the surgeon?”
He shook his head. “No, no. I am fine.” He winced at the look Peter gave him. “As fine as can be,” he amended. “No- no, Peter, it is time.” The man stood swiftly, brow furrowed. “Please bring Fantina to me.”
Peter slowly smiled. “A wise choice, Signore.”
The old man scowled. “What opinion of yours did I ask, Peter?” Peter raised an eyebrow and the old man chuckled. “I am glad that you agree, old friend.” The Asian man left quickly.
Signore Polo shifted in the bed waiting on his return, taking a few wheezing breaths afterward. He was no longer young, the man who crossed continents. He sighed, a lifetime of memories crawling across his eyes.
“Papa?” a shadowed figure spoke from the doorway. The old man nodded and waved the figure in. Peter entered behind her, softly shutting the door. She turned at the sound of the bolt being thrown, then looked to her father curiously. “A locked door, papa? A late night summons? What is the meaning of this?”
The old man smiled at his daughter, proud of the woman she had grown into; proud, truly, of the women all his daughters had grown into. Fantina, though, believed . Or he hoped she did. “Sit, please, dear.” He gestured to the seat nearby, the former occupant standing in the corner of the room. He considered how to begin. He'd had many years to consider, and still knew no way would be good enough. “What we are about to discuss you must mention to no one.” His eyes were steely, harder than she'd ever seen. She nodded.
“You know my journeys, yes Fantina?”
She smiled. “Of course, papa. Both from your mouth and from the books written of you.”
He nodded, patting her hands. “Do you believe them?” He paused. “All of them?”
She looked into his eyes. “Yes, papa. Yes, all of them, why?” She looked to Peter, and back to her father. “What is this about?” she reiterated.
He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “They're all true. But I've not told but a part.” He nodded to Peter, and Fantina watched as the man approached her father's writing desk, pulling out the central drawer. He fiddled with it and removed it completely, setting it aside. He reached within the opening of the desk, and she heard a faint click, and part of the inner wall swivelled out. He did the same on the other side of the opening. He pulled a wrapped package from each compartment, then reassembled the desk. He brought both items to the old man.
He stroked the larger of the two, then unwrapped it, revealing a thick book. “Peter is more than a servant,” he said, fingers tracing a design on the book's cover. “He is my… bodyguard, my protector, my friend.” Fantina looked to the other man and then back to her father. Peter had been in her father's household since before she or any of her sisters were born. “He has saved my life on multiple occasions. And yet , he is what they called a Lesser Guardian.”
Peter grimaced. “There is only one Great Guardian, you know this Signore.”
The old man waved his response away. “Peter, I am giving you this… grimoire. I charge you, Guardian, with protecting its secrets from those who would harm this world with them, and choosing a successor to continue after you. I charge you with protecting Fantina and her successors, with advising her, and showing her the way.” He held out the book to his oldest friend, who took it reverently. “I spent ten years copying that book,” he added, voice straining. “There is only one other.”
Peter shook his head. “No one knows this more than I, Signore.”
The old man unwrapped the other package, lifting a dark octagonal box from the paper. Again, he traced the similar pattern on the box's top as he had the book. “There are powers in this world we cannot comprehend, Fantina. Powers that make gods of men. I have seen them. I feared them, feared them falling into the wrong hands. I trust those who protect them,” he looked to Peter, “but some powers…” he caressed the box, “... I feared more than others.”
He held the box out to his daughter. “Within this box is the power to do great good, or to do great evil. I fear it is much, much easier to do the latter, and I worried its proximity to the Khan would be disastrous; his corruption was already filtering among the Guardians.” Peter nodded, eyes closed. “We are lucky he was not already aware of it, and that I was able to get it away.” Fantina opened the box and gasped.
“Fantina,” he began, “I give you the Butterfly Miraculous. I charge you with hiding it, with protecting it from those who would use it for evil, and when necessary with using its powers for good. I charge you with finding a successor, with protecting Peter, his successors, and the grimoire. I admonish you to listen to his advice and that of his successors.”
Fantina sat in silence, mouth agape. She glanced at Peter, who like her father was watching her. “I don't… what do I do papa?” She yelled with a start as a glowing ball of light appeared from the brooch within the box and coalesced into a small purple being.
Marco Polo smiled. “You say, 'transform me.’”