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Varian slowly opens his eyes, blinking repeatedly as the stiffness in his petrified limbs begins to crumple with the structure holding him upwards.

“Varian!” He hears a familiar voice call out, and he squints through the blurry haze as the solid crystal structure around him melts, allowing him to sink limply to his knees and brace his hands against the cold floor. The darkness around him fades, flickers, and his lungs heave on their own, greedily gulping for breath in what feels like a long time.

No sooner has he become free from one prison when he is engulfed once more in another, for Dad races up to him, slides to his knees and lifts him off the ground, encompassing him in his arms firmly and crushing him in a suffocating embrace.

Varian’s arms flail and limp on their own accord, finally finding their way onto his father’s shoulders as he tries to clutch him back just as tightly, body still stunted with a frigid numbness that seeps into and weighs heavily on his bones as his mind whirs its newly awakened state, throbbing with every thunderous pulse his heart clamors into his already ringing ears.

What happened?

Why was Dad so upset?

His cheek sinks against his father’s shoulder as the exhaustion prods incessantly, sinks deeply into his empty stomach and racing mind. For a moment of pure bliss, Varian’s ears hear nothing but the frantic whispers and relieved hushes of his father’s uncharacteristically quiet voice. 

Until he looks up and finds his friend, the princess of Corona, with her usually bright green eyes and flowing blonde hair a deep yet empty, pitch black.

The memories come racing back-the rocks, Rapunzel, the amber compound, Dad-Dad running away. Rapunzel had melted the amber. Rapunzel was-what was wrong with Rapunzel?

Varian mouth drops in shock as a sudden heaviness settles into his gut, churning violently as her monotonous, almost mournful song drifts into his ears and pounds in tandem to his troubled heart. The song-it wasn’t a song-it was an incantation. Every note so meticulously strung out, every pause heavy and empty with a hidden yet irrefutably strong intensity he can’t quite pinpoint even as he feels the little strength left in his limps droop. 

His bones are suddenly iron-so difficult to move and yet so suddenly present and there. Varian lifts his chin off of his father’s shoulder, trying to lean forward and figure out what exactly Rapunzel was going, when he is pulled away.

Dad hands around his face, his father’s palms on his cheeks shouldn’t feel like such an uncomfortable entrapment-but it does. His father’s arms pull him away from where he had been trying to watch his friend, his father’s face hovers over his own and blocks his view of Rapunzel-whose every note begins more wistful and distant by the minute, as though unknowingly tarrying into a trance.

And then his father’s touch becomes jarring, commanding in its silence as it is eerie in its manner when he forces him to look at his face. Varian fights the urge to instantly pull away from the stranger that holds him.

Dad’s eyes-once warm, round, brown orbs that glistened in the sun as he had chided him from running off too far- blink back owlishly at him, surrounded by a ring of red, accentuated by puffy, swollen pink skin and dark bags hanging just underneath. The eyes are sharper somehow, a darker brown and a deeper orb somehow, and yet still distant as they crawl over him, drill into him-Dad’s eyes adamantly demand entry into his own, as though they mean to crawl into his soul and rummage through his thoughts to properly ascertain that he is there-that Varian is alive and well. Even with his mind is muddled and his conscience still groggy from his sleep, Varian remembers that though his father could be commanding when he needed to be, he seldom resorted to it, and even then, Dad would turn away as the mask slipped off and the shattered remains of his encounters weaved themselves together. Now- now the mask had become the face, and though this familiar yet unfamiliar face stares back so kindly at him, Varian almost trembles in trepidation at the uncomfortable feeling of Dad’s hands being too heavy from where they pull him forward again into a constricting grip, Dad’s eyes being too intense as they sink into his tired face and gauge his every concerned twitch, Dad’s lips being too cold when he presses them forcefully against his forehead.

Does Dad notice the Princess of Corona standing behind him, neck slanted as her head hangs towards the ground, shoulders slouched and arms limp by her sides as the floating strands of her long, dark hair pulsate with electrified jolts of green and permeate the room with suffocating, musty magic?

Does Dad notice the person who had rescued him, the person who was still tithering under the effects of the incantation right now?

Does Dad notice Rapunzel at all?

“Are you alright?” He hears his father breathe, his eyes and voice bridled with endless concern as his fingers check frantically over his face, his shoulders, his hands. “Do you feel alright?”

Varian nods to assuage the demand in his father’s eyes, the unsettling and eerie way some peace finally flees through his eyes. “Dad, what is the princess doing here?”

The little relief and gentleness in his father’s eyes flickers and vanishes, and his jaw clenches as his grip tightens to the extent that Varian winces, squirming as he feels the beginnings of the bruises blossom on his twig-like arms. “Do you need anything?” Dad asks instead, insistently, as though drilling the question into his ears as he digs his fingers so forcefully into his flesh will stem the louder and more urgent cries of the princess who is still repeating the mantra, still suffering in her silence, still trapped in her trance-his friend. Rapunzel needed him-

“No.” Varian stutters, panic beginning to yank at the reigns of his conscience as he begins to register his father’s strange behavior. “No, Dad, I think the princess needs our help-” He is cut off when he feels the sting of pain rush up his arm, and he feebly grasps at his father’s hands, mortified when his father’s eyes stare back unblinkingly at him without even acknowledging his discomfort, the way he begins to claw at Dad’s iron grip on his arms, the way he pleads back for some answers, some notion, something.

For a frightening moment, Varian fears his father is going to content himself with staring at him until his small arms wilt limply in his grasp, but luckily, the patience begins to fade.

Quirin loosens his grip and allows him reprieve, slowly standing up without his eyes leaving Varian's own.

It is then Varian realizes how tall he is. Of course, Dad has always seemed tall to him-but now…now he seems to tower over him- an unmoving statue of steel and silent strength, a caricature of power that commands respect and demands recognition, majestic and yet so debilitating that Varian find this mouth dry. The thin strands of grey in his greasy brown hair glisten in the faint trickles of moonlight from the open window, his eyes much darker as his face is cast in the cold shadow of the room, looming over Varian and locking him with an uncomprehending, distant stare that coruscates chills through his still weakened being.

Varian cowers under the unfamiliarity of it all, for the gaze is stoic and yet-and yet it is not accusing, or disappointed. It is not merciless, or withering, or even stern. It-it’s unfeeling. It is just that, and nothing more. Unfeeling. As though someone had sculpted out every ounce of the rare yet irrefutable gentleness that Dad would reserve only for him when he rambled about his critter traps, and the young village girl who would climb trees for her flowers, and the old man who he would occasionally help across the street.

Then Dad turns around, strides readily towards Rapunzel in her trance.

Varian watches as the law-abiding, pumpkin-farming, obedient and silent Dad rams his fist against the face of Princess Rapunzel of Corona.

Breath catching violently in his throat and heart stuttering agonizingly in his chest as his world jolts to a halt, Varian watches, wide eyed and mouth open, as Rapunzel gasps and falls backwards to the ground, the blackness and magic coursing through her dissipating instantly as the color and familiarity floods back into her eyes and hair.  Varian watches as his father hovers over her crouched form, fists clenched at his sides and merely staring down as the princess reels from the blow, her trembling hands slowly finding her mouth.

The first few drops of crimson red blood spill from her lips, and Varian’s stomach churns unhappily, his vision blurring as he feel his back hit the floor and his head roll limply before the world goes black, Rapunzel's muffled cries fading into unrelenting silence.

…

Varian opens his eyes as he comes to, the world a foggy blur of color and light as he feels a heavy, warm weight on his forehead. He jolts awake instantly, the memory and concussion and befuddlement and terror hitting him in a wave tenfold, and his groggy eyes try to focus in on what he believes to be his room-he’s in his room.

He almost screams when he is met with the same cold, unthinking eyes of what he had hoped was a nightmare, a fleeting notion at the back of his mind that he had thought so little of his dear father.

Dad’s face hovers above his own-for how long?- and his hand remains on his forehead. His eyes haven’t changed-and yet are so different, with the pronounced way they run over every inch of his face a though looking for some recognition, some discernment. Expecting-what did Dad expect him to say, after witnessing such a horrific ordeal?

“What-“ Varian begins to say, but his blood runs cold when he feels Quirin’s thumb graze his lips, as though a silent order to not speak, a warning before the war. Heart stammering in consternation when his father’s eyes do not move, do not change, do not flicker or morph or glisten the way they are supposed to, Varian summons all of the courage and strength he has to curl his fingers around his father’s wrist and push it away, feeling somewhat less cornered now that his touch is gone.

“Dad, what’s going on? Why did you-“ Swallowing away the dry lump in his throat and trying to avoid how his father’s distant gaze heavies with an indefinable sentiment, Varian inhales shakily and tries to raise his voice to sound as demanding as Dad seems. “Why did you hit Rapunzel?”

Dad does not answer, staring back at him with those same eyes, unchanging eyes, almost…soulless eyes. Does Dad even hear him? Or as always, do Varian’s words knock and stumble their path into a deaf heart, echoing off of its empty chambers as his eyes search for some remnant, some familiarity, some part of the father he knows? How well does he know his father, anyways?

It’s too quiet-granted, their house has always been quiet, interrupted on by one of his explosions, and Dad has always been quiet, except for when he had to reprimand him.

Dad stares for a moment more before a slow yet sure smile creeps onto his face. And by God, Varian has never felt more terrified in his entire life. 

The smile is as empty as his eyes, unable to reach them or any other part of his face. It doesn’t strain as his small moments of kindness do, and it certainly isn’t forced nor forceful-but it is too painful to watch without remembering, too painful to acknowledge without realizing the full extent of what is unraveling right before him. Perhaps that is what makes it so terrifying-the smile is natural. Someway, somehow,  Dad can find it in himself to smile naturally, instinctively, truly, even as he refuses to answer his questions, even as he is clearly unwell…even as he knows his son has just witnessed him pummel royalty- his friend, Princess Rapunzel.

“Oh son.” Dad whispers instead, enclosing his hands around Varian’s own and holding them tightly together. Varian suppresses a shudder at how cold and raw his hands feel when they had so tenderly held him mere moments ago-and it doesn’t help that Dad had been sitting here, for God Knows how long, silently staring at him as he waited for him to wake up. “You don’t know how happy I am that you’re alive.” Dad speaks honestly, and Varian feels that he will continue to-unless he tries to veer around his questions. Dad isn’t lying-but Dad isn’t being Dad, either.

“But what happened while I was gone? Where is Rapunzel?” Varian presses in distress, remembering with a crippling wave of horror and remorse the blood spilling from his dear friend’s lips, the way Dad-occasionally stern yet gentle and loving Dad, his own father- had hit her.

Dad bows and shakes his head, closing his eyes as the smile only grows. An emotionless, empty, cold, unfeeling and unkind and un-Dad smile. Much to Varian’s chagrin, he only offers an equally hollow chuckle in response, devoid of any interpretation as the boy struggles to read his expression, his shadow eyes, his grim smile.  “My curious boy. My beloved boy.”

His steel grip pulls him into an embrace again, less suffocating and daunting than the first, and Varian cautiously rests his head against the chest, listening carefully to ascertain if his father is alive-if this isn’t merely a body without a soul, pretending to be his father. He listens to the silent woes of a stuttering heart still sealed away, of a father that is still keeping secrets and raising suspicions and silencing his son along with him-the unrelenting and unrepentant evidence that despite how much he feels has changed, his father perhaps hadn’t changed as much as he thought.

“Nothing is ever going to harm you again.” His father then speaks, lowly and firmly. His grip tightens its hold inexplicably from where his fingers had been combing through his hair, and Varian grimaces, bracing his hands against his chest in a feeble effort to pull away. “I’m never going to let anything hurt you again.” The promises hangs still in the tense silence, and it imbues Varian with an awful, eerie apprehension as he pushes against Dad, who finally pulls away and watches, perplexed, as Varian runs his hand over the stinging portion of his scalp, trying to avoid his unfamiliar gaze.

“I’m hungry.” Varian finally finds the excuse when his voice saunters cautiously back to him, skin crawling with contempt and discomfort and a fleeting yet overwhelming sensation of drowning as Dad pulls him in for a hug one more time. 

Dad’s hugs had once been a treasure he cherished, a rare thing to receive yet a pleasant occasion to celebrate, a treat he would savor whenever he could. Now they are possessive, commanding as he is, and dare he say even oppressive, with the way he thinks of Dad’s eyes staring blankly into space as Varian wears his heart openly, pouring it into every ounce of affection he could manage.

Ruffling his hair a little too roughly, Dad gets up and walks out of the room promising lunch, which leaves Varian wondering what time it is. Had the amber changed him? Had he lost his sense of time?

Varian opens the curtains to his window and gawks at the scene outside.

Old Corona is a mess-even moreso than he remembers it. It looks as though the black rocks had ravaged it, poking out from underneath the crumbled foundations of the homes, ransacked the wells and coups and farmhouses, tearing apart and populated nearly every inch of land that had once been speckled generously with cabbages and pumpkins and carrots and apple trees.

But that is not the only thing that catches Varian’s eye.

Right in front of the doorstep to his house, resting peacefully on a pitchfork erected straight from where its one end is buried into the ground, stands the bloodied head of Queen Arianna of Corona.

And Varian does not have time to register the horror before a cold wave of nausea cripples him, sending him stumbling as his arms flail and the world falls into a black, still, unrelenting  silence again.

…

Varian opens his eyes after closing them again, breathing deeply through his nose and fidgeting his hands as he stands in front of the cellar. Dad had told him he would be out for a while for “business,” and much to his surprise, his dad didn’t warn him from experimenting or inventing. He had only warned him to stay away from the cellar and to not step foot outside-the latter to which Varian is more than willing to comply.

It was only after the first hour of searching for his things did Varian realize that he couldn’t find any of his equipment or utensils. Had he truly been in amber that long? Had Dad decided to wipe all traces of him, or simply misplaced his things?

Varian carefully opens the door to the large, dark room, only to find that the lights weren’t working. Cursing under his breath, Varian fumbles and stumbles in the dark, feeling around the shelves and walls for anything familiar.

Suddenly, a hand lashes out and clutches his arm in a death grip. “Varian.” Rapunzel’s soft, mellowed voice pleads through the dark, ruptured with tears. Varian gasps in surprise and reels back, but a hand lashes out, following the clink of chains. “Varian, is that you?”

“Princess!” Varian breathes, caught between bewildered and horrified when he grasps back to find cold metal attached to what he believes is the Princess’ wrist. “What-what are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“Varian, he-he’s not-“ Rapunzel gasps between breaths, hyperventilating as she tries to form coherent speech. “He’s going to-Varian, I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me.” She breaks off into soft sobs, her hand shaking yet her grip on Varian’s hand never relenting, her blunt fingernails drilling into him with a different kind of sting than the one he had felt under Dad’s iron grip.

“What? What are you talking about?” Varian presses, anxiety only worsening when he hears his composed and compassionate friend in such distress, Rapunzel’s slender fingers clinging tightly to his own. The dread balloons in his gut, replacing the million other distresses that coursed through his mind as an unsettling thought begins to form.

“After you were encased, Varian-he changed.” Rapunzel tries to explain. “He-he was so broken, and so angry, and I’m sorry-I did try to help as soon as I could, I promise I did, but it was too late-Dad had meddled in things, and it was too late. My mom is gone, and so is your dad.” 

Varian’s ears ring and his knees buckle, the sullen memory of Arianna’s silent, bloodied head resurfacing stubbornly, violently in his stunned mind. His mouth is dry as his tongue rams against his teeth, trying to find words and say something, anything of use or comfort. “But I-“ Varian begins, only to think back on everything that has happened since he had “awoken.” Dad had hit Rapunzel. Dad had, from the looks of things, murdered Queen Arianna. A sudden rush of tears jolt into Varian’s throat, and he intakes a trembling breath, attempting to push the memory of the decapitated head out of his mind, as though pretending it is not ceremoniously displayed for all to see right in front of his house, the evidence of his father’s gruesome and unbecoming change-what had his father become? “What about your dad?”

“Quirin is issuing an ultimatum for him as we speak. If Dad doesn’t comply, one of the two is losing his head by the end of tomorrow.” Varian’s heart wilts disconsolately in tandem to the intensifying tremors in Rapunzel’s watery voice. “Varian, you have to talk to him. I’m sorry that it’s come to this, and I know you just got him back, but you have to talk to him and tell him to stop, because I’ve already talked to my dad and he won’t listen either. Did you hear me, Varian?” Rapunzel presses when Varian doesn’t answer. “By sundown tomorrow, one of us is going to lose our fathers. Dad may have the royal guard but Quirin has all of Old Corona and a few other villages by his side.”

“He-he does?” Varian asks incredulously. The people who had constantly sneered down at him in scorn and suspicion and contempt…they had been swayed to fight for him? They had felt…sympathy for his cause. A strange emotion settles into Varian’s heart. “But-But he won’t listen to me!” Varian insists, his panic rising as the reality of the situation heightens its painful grip on his conscience. “And…I think he’s hid my supplies, too!” Suddenly, all of Dad’s strange behaviors and subtle looks begin to piece themselves together, a broken puzzle weaving into a gruesome picture, crashing into him with the full gravity of the situation. Dad’s unsettling stares, Dad’s possessive behavior, Dad’s consistent avoidance of his questions. Dad hadn’t lied to him per se-he had manipulated him, kept him in the dark on purpose for his own agenda. You get stuck in amber for one year…and your dad becomes the commander of his rogue army and an anti-monarchist. “I-I didn’t even know he could hold a pitchfork!” Varian hisses in frustration, pressing his fingers against his temple as he searches desperately for a clear line of thought amongst the cacophony of panic.  “He farms…pumpkins and shit!” But then Varian is met with an even more unsettling question. “What does Dad want? Why is he doing all of this? I’m free now, and I’m sure you were more than willing to help free me. Why did he have to do all of this?”

There is a long, hefty pause before he hears Rapunzel sigh, the faintest glimmer of guilt surfacing in the strained words she says next. “Varian…it turns out my dad knew about the black rocks.”

“What?” Varian gasps.

“He never told anyone…not even me. And it turns out that…when your dad came to him for help…well, he didn’t want anyone to know so he…” Varian holds in a breath, dreading what Rapunzel is about to say next. “-He tried to keep Quirin quiet for a while.”

A cold chill runs down Varian’s spine, and the dread is replaced with something malleable and dark and unfathomable. “He-he was willing to let me die?” Varian asks in a small voice, thinking of the despair with which his father had embraced him, had held onto him so tightly as though he had feared he would never hold him again. He pushes away the memory of the discomfort and focuses again on being lifted into his father’s arms. Another realization hits him harder than the one before. “The king threatened my dad?” His father, who had always bowed in reverence to the king, who had always spoke highly of him, who had always instructed Varian of how to bow to and speak with and address royalty. 

His father, who had taught him to kneel in respect to the princess…had beheaded Queen Arianna.

He had first been threatened by a king.

The king-the King of Corona had been fine with letting the son of his loyal vassal perish.

Tears of contempt burn in Varian’s eyes as he tries to pry his hand away from Rapunzel’s despairing grip. Even the king had wanted him gone. “No, no, Varian, please don’t go! You must understand! Dad was-Dad was confused, and hurt, and he was recovering from losing me, and he knew I was connected-oh, this is all really messed up-“ Rapunzel stumbles over her speech in the empty attempts to soothe him.

Feeling utterly betrayed and worse than he came, Varian thinks of it. What had they to lose? From what Rapunzel had mentioned, it seemed Dad could hold well in a fight. If anything, Frederic’s fall would be a good thing, but…

Varian bites his lip, thinking of his father’s estranged, detached stare as he dreamt of things Varian now realizes had never been meant for his ears. Would Dad winning be a good thing, too?

“The den.” Rapunzel suddenly says.

“What?” Varian asks distractedly.

“I saw him take your things to the den before he put me in here.” She urges. “And-I think your dad got ahold of this potion…it was Xavier’s mood potion, but I don’t think your dad could have used-“

“Mood potion?” Varian splutters, trying to process what she is saying in the short amount of time he knows he has left. Dad could be returning soon-Dad could find him here, with the princess he was holding captive… “No offense, Princess, but what the actual fuck?”

“We were fighting at a banquet-it's a long story. We hadn’t known he was looking for a chance.” Rapunzel urgently says, cutting to the point. Varian feels another wave of contempt swell in his heart at the implication-Corona had been enjoying themselves at banquets and parties, while his father had been mourning him…while he himself had possibly been dead.  “Anyway, I think he got a hold of it, but I’m not sure what he did with it, because there was only-“

Mood potion, Varian muses. If such a thing were to exist, it could have devastating consequences. “What if that’s the answer?” Varian presses, ruminating on it for another moment. This couldn’t be the real Dad-he must have been taking the potion, all along. “Dad’s just suffering from the mood potion!" A hint of relief soothes his troubled heart-this wasn't the real Dad, after all. he had probably, mistakenly ingested the mood potion, and become someone else only temporarily. Varian could find the thing, replicate and reverse it so that-

“Varian, didn’t you hear me?" Rapunzel interrupts, annoyed. "We threw away that flask when there was only one drop left. Your dad may be unexpectedly tactical, but he’s no alchemist. There’s no way he would have been able to make more especially after-“She pauses, clearly catching herself before she says something she regrets.

“After?” Varian presses in bemusement. What more could there be?

He hears the chains of Rapunzel’s cuffs clink as she tries to maneuver herself to a more comfortable position. “There were rumors of your dad being a mourning widower who just lost a child and going insane to the extent that he attacked someone at the palace… and Dad made it next to impossible for Quirin to leave Old Corona village. And…I know for a fact that you guys don’t have an apothecary anymore.”

A sudden bout of rage erupts in Varian’s heart. The king had cut Quirin down. He had vilified Quirin with the worst rumors, in a targeted attempt to keep him silent…he had been fine with Varian dying because of his ego. 

“Rapunzel…maybe it is best if your dad steps down.” Varian finally concludes, feeling remorse at the way Rapunzel’s breath hitches.

“How can you say that?” Rapunzel gasps. “Did you see what your dad did to my mother?” She raises her voice in accusation, the chains clinking loudly a though she is animatedly moving her hands in frustration.

“After what your dad did to my father?” Varian challenges, and immediately regrets it, riddled with crippling shock at what he has just retorted. “I’m so sorry, Princess, I-“ No, what Dad had done was still wrong…Queen Arianna hadn’t deserved to die, not like that…Rapunzel didn’t deserve this…Rapunzel, who had come to him trusting him to help find information on the black rocks, Rapunzel, who had been so kind and welcoming to his inventions when others had turned away in skepticism and fear-Rapunzel, who had no doubt rushed to his aid the moment she had found out-

“Where were you?” Varian asks suddenly.

“What-what do you mean?” Rapunzel asks, sounding utterly perplexed.

“Did you try to help Dad, when you found out about what had happened to me?” Varian presses, heart pounding in dread as he awaits her answer. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t been experimenting…if I hadn’t been meddling…if only I had listened to you, Dad…

“Of course I did, Varian.” He hears Rapunzel soothe with all the sincerity she usually carries in her voice, in the way she smiles at her subjects, in the way she had so trustingly strapped herself to his machine in the search for answers. “When I found out, I did everything I could.”

“Why did Dad have to resort to all of this if you had been so willing to help him from the beginning?” Varian questions, wanting more than anything to relive her while also dreading the submission of the fact that his dear father had-that Dad had possibly gone insane…all by himself, alone, watching his son’s failures become his own…

He hears Rapunzel inhale shakily. “I told you, Varian, it was something personal between him and my dad. I don’t know all of it, Dad barely talked to me about it until your dad kidnapped my mom, and Eugene and Cass were taken by a mob from Old Corona. I-I don’t know where they’re being held.”

Heart palpitating at irregular intervals, Varian clutches tighter to Rapunzel’s hand, grounding himself in the fear that he will fall. He can’t go around, having sympathies for his father when he had committed such atrocious acts…but then, his father had still done it for him. All of this time, thinking Dad hadn’t noticed his existence…Dad had been fighting for him, in a way only he understood…

No! Varian shakes his head frantically, trying to clear his mind and think properly. He wasn’t as crazy as Dad! What he did, for whatever reason, was inexcusable…wasn’t it?

Deeply unsettled by the course his thoughts have begun to take, Varian pats at Rapunzel’s hand in a mild attempt at comfort, though he is sure it has become as empty as Dad’s smiles, Dad’s embraces, Dad’s eyes. Dad’s eyes, that had finally looked at him and saw more than a screw-up…Dad’s eyes, that had gauged themselves out with hatred and contempt after what seems to have been months of staring at where ehe had been entrapped in amber. Dad’s once-loving, once-kind eyes, devoid of life, partially because of the king that Rapunzel wanted him to save and yet also the monster he had never known his father was capable of becoming.

“I’ll…do what I can.” Varian concedes reluctantly, the fresh memory of Arianna’s bloodied head swimming unwelcomingly into his mind and stirring another wave of nausea that could have him falling to his knees at any moment now.

“Varian.” Rapunzel squeezes his hand, refusing to part ways just yet. “If something goes wrong or happens to me, promise me you’ll forgive yourself.”

Varian stares at where he thinks Rapunzel is, wishing he can see her eyes for one last time, if only to seek the reassurance she had so readily offered him before magic and black rocks and amber and fathers had twisted their lives inside out. “I won’t make any promises, Princess.” He replies neutrally, prying her hands off before feeling his way back to the cellar door, listening to the unrelenting silence that follows.

…

From his safe perch on the couch, Varian watches Dad sip carefully from his cup, pretending to relish in the relative calm and quiet of the day alongside the man…as though he hadn’t just found the princess of Corona chained in his cellar. If he notices Varian fidgeting from the corner of his eye, he does not particularly seem to care. Then again, is Dad even capable of caring now? Taking a last sip from his own cup, Varian sets it down and curls his fingers into his knees.

“Dad?” Varian ventures tentatively, steeling himself when Quirin’s eyes turn towards him. They seem much browner than before-much softer than before, despite the blood that Varian knows stains his hands and the shadows dancing in his dark eyes-a careful caricature that he had crafted. Varian inwardly shakes his head, wincing at the disgust welling in his heart and violently crushing the small slivers of sympathy slithering their way into his heart. This is not his father-this was a shell, a shadow of a thing his father is not-

No, no, no. Varian had no business being sympathetic to Dad…even if he had moved heaven and earth to free him. And Varian still cannot fully piece together what had happened. Rather than clearing things up, the Princess’ story only muddled things further-there were too many loops for it to be completely true, and yet there was so much evidence of the contrary.

Varian forces a hesitant smile and pats the empty space next to him, heart thundering when his father blinks and moves towards him. The man sits next to him without question, wrapping an arm around his thin shoulders and resting his head back against the couch, eyes still facing him. And yet, rather than being able to enjoy the now frequent displays of affection, Varian feels the true trepidation of the moment finally sink in, a realisation so jarring and profoundly painful he briefly considers leaping to his feet and stumbling away as far as possible. He-he was sitting with a traitor. He was in the presence, the embrace of a murderer, a manipulator, an anti-monarchist hell-bent on seeing the fall of Corona…or at least, of King Frederic. The hands caressing his hair had been the same hands that had severed Queen Arianna’s head from her body, that had chained Princess Rapunzel’s hands to the cellar shelves in complete darkness, hands that had doubtlessly waved a pitchfork in the face of King Frederic of Corona and shamelessly demanded his surrender.

Such a feat Varian couldn’t even have imagined out of the legendary Flynn Rider, swash-buckling and extravagant as he battled haughty earls and corrupt counts with treasures and stories to share with the world. Much less out of Dad, who loved whittling away at fresh chunks of wood in the rainy evenings, who contented himself with uprooting pumpkins and planting cabbages, who-for all of his stoic demeanour in the presence of other villagers-used to sometimes sneak into Varian’s room to kiss him goodnight when he (naively) thought his son was asleep.

Naive. Varian wants to laugh at himself. He had always thought his father, for all of his silent morsels of wisdom and rare moments of affection, somewhat strangely naive-for he couldn’t possibly understand him, his beloved alchemy, his need to prove himself. And now, Varian berates himself for being so stupid-for foolishly forgetting to even consider that Dad-for all of his inhumane actions now exposed-is still…somewhat…human. That Dad not only knew more about the world-he had had more to offer him, his son. The affection and love Dad had held for him was meant for Varian’s slumbering ears, his months trapped in amber…

And the thought beguiles him with endless self-loathing, for here he is, loving a monster-leaning into his touch, savoring his affections, leeching off of the goodness of the moment while he has it before he inevitably screws up again.

“I love you.” Varian admits shyly though not dishonestly, observing his father turn his head towards him. Sure enough, the empty, bone-chilling smile returns, and the hand at his shoulder squeezes it painfully, wringing it for all of the love it has to give.

“I love you too, son.” Quirin whispers, pulling him in an awkward sideways hug-and Varian wants to sob aloud. It wasn’t fair. It’s-it’s not fair. He had just returned from a year long sleep, only to find that his father had quite literally changed the course of history for him and doomed himself in the process. Not only that-apparently, the only way Varian could properly have these lovely moments with his father was if his father was a madman.

The remorse jolts Varian’s gut. Couldn’t he deserve this affection from his father, just this once? Couldn’t he deserve the affection being so readily offered in his direction without pity, without suspicion, without some dark and dangerous secret lurking behind them ready to pounce and greedily tear away the rare moments they could be happy together?

Happy-they could never be happy. Even if Dad got what he wanted, Varian would still be stuck with a possible abuser…And if he didn’t, Varian could be stuck fatherless-

Varian nearly jumps, yelping when he feels the unfamiliar hand on his cheek. 

“You've been crying.” Quirin quietly observes, and Varian blinks in shock, only now feeling the prickle of warm tears seeping out of his eyes. Mortified, he brings his hand to his face to furiously wipe at it, only for it to be stopped mid-air by one of his father's hands. 

His father gently brings his other hand to his spare cheek, caressing away the tears slowly, and Varian is torn between allowing his skin to crawl at the touch or relaxing into Dad’s hold and just enjoy the love, the tenderness, the affection, even if his mind was doubtlessly elsewhere and his eyes doubtlessly soulless. In a fleeting flight of courage, Varian settles on the latter, grasping his father’s hand desperately and clutching it to his face. 

“Dad. Dad, do you really love me?” He asks.

“Of course I do, Varian.” Dad confirms, his gaze questioning and slightly apprehensive as though he knows he is about to tread into fragile territory. Varian’s heart hammers in panic, constricting at every breath. He was about to have an actual conversation with his dad-not the disapproving dad who had turned away from him, who had looked to him with sheer panic and horror as the amber slowly torpefied his limbs. A calculating, shrewd, murderous Dad-who at the same time seemed to love him more, care about him more than the other Dad. The less legal Dad.

“Then-then will you listen to me without getting angry?” Varian presses hopefully.

Much to his horror, a sliver of suspicion glistens in Dad’s eyes, and Varian holds his breath for the fear that he will stand up and skewer him without a moment to wait. There is no telling what this Dad can do. There is no telling where this conversation will go. But then Dad slowly nods, and Varian leaps at the opportunity before he can stop himself. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry I was experimenting against your orders, I’m sorry I was just there-“ the awful sensations charging through him as the amber encapsulated him slowly return, a single string of events that riddled him with fresh terror. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean for things to go so far. I’m sure you’d have had to go to the king and finally tell him the truth.” Varian speaks in what he hopes looks like a naive remark, feigning the innocence with which he had once looked to his father, thinking that he had lied to the king rather than the other way around. “I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

Quirin watches him stumble awkwardly through his words with a serene patience and nods when he pauses as though signaling him to continue, his eyes never leaving Varian’s own, and Varian’s heart somersaults in simultaneous discomfort and relief, hammering as it is renewed with a euphoric sense of confidence and yet strangely intimidated by the undivided attention. But at the mention of the king, his face darkens, Dad’s lips pressing into a thin, flat line. “No. On the contrary, son, you opened my eyes to how broken it all really was.” Dad replies in a flat, almost monotonous tone, though the way his voice tarries off into thought along with his wistful eyes suggests something different behind the locked heart. 

Varian swallows dryly. “What-what do you mean?”

“I mean-“ Dad begins, only to cut himself off, frowning in thought. Varian leans against his shoulder, hoping the action will soothe him somewhat, distract him from the grim weight of what he is about to say. “I never did tell you. My whole life, I have wasted away bowing and waiting on the whims of two kings, neglecting and often abandoning my home, my family, my own beliefs in the process. One kingdom of the sun, and another of the moon. Two troubled fathers, two tormented souls who destroyed lives in one lift of their finger, one word spoken out of despair. The only difference is that one did it knowingly, and the other nobly.” Dad slowly puts down his cup, leaning back along with Varian and staring into space, his eyes slightly closed as though he is entrenching himself in the memory that still haunts him, torments him, carves him out into this garish thing he is not. Varian still leans against his shoulder, feeling oddly comfortable and at ease, the horror and stress of the day faltering with every bit of his father’s soft, sullen words.

“I thought-I though I could understand their pain, first as a warrior and then as a father myself. How could someone be burdened with such decisions and be expected to always make the right one?” A hollow chuckle escapes his lips. “It is then I realized such sentiments could not be reciprocated for fathers like me.”

Varian lifts his head, the eerie silence lapsing and weaving heavily into his stunned mind. “What do you mean?”

“Frederic has no qualms about massacring and orphaning children, if it so means that his shameful secrets are well-hidden from his starry-eyed daughter.” Dad spits out venomously, and Varian observes with sheer horror as the flickers of un untamed beast, a beaten and wounded beast, begin to bluster and grow in his father’s shining brown orbs-darker, sharper, clearer orbs. “He had no qualms about leaving you frozen forever in that cursed prison, so long as his ego and his own child din’t suffer. For so long, I have seen everyone around me wrought the consequences of sentimental kings and ancient magic. Worse yet, I have lied for these kings, hidden for them, kept everyone safely seduced in a sense of false security when I knew the world was in peril. But when it came to my time of need, I have been expected to give up even that. Well, I won’t. I can’t. Not anymore. I have other loyalties now." Varian finds himself staring up at the tearful eyes-true and raw emotion, glistening in their depths as they look down at him with a reverence, a sacred and sanctified sentiment meant only for his open eyes, open mind, open heart. “There is no greater loyalty to me than you, my Varian.” Dad whispers. “Nothing is more important to me than seeing you safe, my child.”

“If-if you want me safe, then why do you leave so often? What are you doing?" Varian inquires, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels despite how his father's honeyed words soothe him somewhat, giving him a feeble hope that perhaps the real Dad is still there.

“I am working towards a better future-for both of us. I’ve been rallying support, gathering as many allies from neighboring villages as possible. I have also issued an ultimatum to the king demanding that he step down from his throne and surrender himself to me and the people of Old Corona-the people who have suffered the worst from his incompetence. It’s the least I owe them too, for they joined my cause despite knowing I had lied to them for so long.” A grim smile reaches Quirin’s lips. “And when that is done, you and I will live safely and happily right here, and we’ll rebuild a better Corona together, alongside the village who will receive its rightful due.”

“But Dad-overthrowing the monarchy isn’t keeping me safe. It can hurt you.” Varian suppresses a bitter scowl when Dad scoffs lightly at that, deciding to continue anyways. “It’s not going to change things-especially not right now, with the black rocks everywhere. Don’t we…er, need the royalty to handle everyone until the issue is solved?”

Dad smiles again, twirling his spoon gleefully in his cup while maintaining his calm, patient stare at the ceiling. “Indeed we do, Varian." He replies, sounding oddly pleased. "I have the princess of Corona here ready to comply with all of our demands. We had originally intended to only use her as leverage for Frederic. But when Frederic steps down and Adira finally arrives, we’ll be escorting the princess to the Dark Kingdom, where we will have her reunite with the moonstone and put an end to this bloodbath, this hell hole we have dug for ourselves millennia ago.”

Varian’s mind races, trying to process everything he says in one fluid motion. The words are foreign to him. Moonstone? Dark Kingdom? Adira? “What about Queen Arianna?” He can’t help but ask.

“A necessary sacrifice for the greater good of her subjects. One that no one in this wretched kingdom could make while alive.” Dad simply supplies, shrugging uncaringly, as though he hadn’t unjustly butchered a loving mother, a kind queen, an innocent woman. “She will be remembered with the respect that she and her husband deserve. Don’t you think?”

Varian’s mind whirs with panic and an unsettled nausea. “No.” He says before he can stop himself.

“What?” Dad questions, eyes snapping towards him in another deadly stare.

A voice inside of him screams at him to shut up, and yet another compels him to speak, wrenching his voice out against his will and splattering it on the dangerous silence that awaits his sentence. “No, Dad. Queen Arianna and Princess Rapunzel didn’t deserve that.”

Varian realizes his mistake too late. Dad’s face immediately contorts into an inconceivable mask of rage, the suspicion turning and etched into the deep lines of his face as eyes become unfamiliar, his frown uneven and more terrifying than before.

“Didn’t deserve…what?” Dad asks measuredly, a silent confidence, a strange calmness in the way he leans forward, the uncharacteristic way he tries to listen to him.

“They don’t deserve what you’ve done to them.” Varian compulsively says, trying to bite his tongue as it rams against his teeth with a mind of its own. “Rapunzel said they were more than willing to help. Why then are you tormenting her, shackling her? Why did you kill the queen?”

And yet, instead of the rage that Varian expects to paint Quirin’s face, a small, smug, satisfied smile graces his lips, and the empty eyes return as quickly as they left. Suddenly, a firm hand latches onto his arm, and Varian watches as Dad calmly leans forward, whispering: “You thought I didn’t notice you slipping your serum into my drink?”

Varian’s face blanches as the realization dawns on him, his heart nearly stuttering to a halt at his father’s eerie silence, his expecting stare.

“I switched our cups, you stupid boy.” Dad then sneers, and Varian’s heart sinks to his knees, which threaten to buckle as an unwarranted wave of panicked, helpless tears tunnel his vision.

Through it all, Varian watches his father’s eyes flare with a different flame, an inferno of hidden and unswept emotion. It is unlike any other time Varian has ever seen his father truly afflicted with the vagarious whims of pure, unadulterated rage. It is not a mere animal agitated by consistent prodding, a blunt edge he has been met with when he tries to stoke him for answers- it is a veiled force set ablaze, ready to maul and massacre whomever dares to approach. “This was always your problem. Thinking you’re so much smarter than me-thinking that your morals are justified and that it’s your place to try and advise me.” Dad’s voice is detached, breathless with disbelief as though the gravity of the realisation is only now fully sinking its fangs into his heart as his hand withdraws from Varian’s own and clenches hermetically, quaking from the restraint he struggles to grapple with every shudder of breath that stiffens his nostrils and draws back twitching lips to reveal tightly gritted teeth. “You tried to drug me, you little prat!” Dad suddenly yells, an animalistic holler as  he swings his large arm against the wooden table in front of them. The table flips instantly, the glasses crashing and shattering loudly onto the floor as Varian yelps and flinches away, tears of terror flooding his eyes as his heart threatens to burst from his chest and his hands outstretch to defend himself.

“Dad, I’m sorry! I just wanted you to talk to me!” Varian pleads tearfully.

Dad grabs him by the shoulder in the same bruising grip, so abrupt and unexpected. Varian yells as he feels his toes lift off of the floor, kicking feebly as his arms ache and his heart palpitates. He begins openly crying in trepidation, even as Dad shakes him like a rag doll, bringing him so close, too close to those heartless eyes, those fatherless eyes.

“Everything I did this year, I did for you!” Dad yells in his face, and Varian is sure that had his father’s grip not been lifting him above the ground and the tension of the moment stiffening his being like amber, he would have fainted on the spot. And though he wishes for nothing more than to close his eyes, Varian finds himself locked, petrified by the unthinking and untamed ferity in Dad’s eyes. “Every aristocrat I pillaged, every noble I swung at, every chain I hung on Princess Rapunzel, I did for you! And this is what I get in return!” He shakes Varian so roughly that the boy thinks his head might just pop off, roll over limply like Arianna’s had. “An arrogant, selfish little screw-up of a son! You’re still going behind my back, you’re still ignoring what I know is best for you, you’re still not giving a damn about what I sacrificed to keep you alive and well!”

“I’m sorry!” Varian whimpers without thinking, every word shattering his resolve and embedding its jagged, burning shards into his heart, carving it of every affection he had savored and burning it to ashes as he writhes in pain and panic. Dad is going to kill him-Dad is going to string him up like Queen Arianna, and pulverize him-“Dad, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry! I’m-”

Dad’s grip on his arms falters as he is flung before he can finish, and Varian cries out in agony when his back hits the wall opposing them, sliding down it as his head spins and his limbs pulse in alarm at the movement. He can hear Dad’s heavy breathing, feel Dad’s disgusted gaze. Choking on his horrified sobs, Varian gasps for breath, trying to shrink into the wall as much as possible when he watches his dad’s legs stride forward with purpose.

They stop before him, and his father kneels down. Varian closes his eyes, not wanting to see Dad’s empty orbs when they suffocated him for all he was worth.

“You stupid child.” Dad repeats softly, before wrapping his arms around his trembling figure and pulling him up, out of his own mess as he had done when the amber had melted, when he had been stuck in the remnants of his own mechanisms. “Look what you’ve made me do.”

Varian says nothing, still shuddering uncontrollably as he listens to his father’s erratic heartbeat-how could this inhumane creature that had replaced his father still have a beating heart?

Varian feels himself being pulled away only slightly, and Dad’s fingers find their hold under his chin, forcefully guiding him to look back at the man who had sucked out his father’s kind soul and regurgitated this unfamiliar monstrosity in its wake.

“You haven’t grown a day since you were trapped.” Dad whispers, the barest traces of fondness in his voice as his other hand carefully tucks away a strand of Varian’s wayward hair, his eyes burning unpleasantly into the squirming boy as he flinches under his touch. “But I have. Don’t you see, Varian? I’ve changed for the better, and I’m going to be a better father, and I’m going to make our lives better. I’m making Corona better, for you.”

Despite how he wishes to nod along, despite how the fear bereaves him of all speech, Varian musters the last of his strength to stutter out what could be his final words. “I don’t want that.” He whispers, and the little emotion left in his father’s hopeful eyes begins to vanish, as though despite cowering here under his father’s oppressive weight, Varian is the one wielding the weapon and skewering the beast behind those unfamiliar eyes. “I-I don’t want you.” Not this you. Not this part of you. Not like this.

His father’s face falls, the might and power of the shadow cast over his face weaning like dying moonlight as the blood drains from his face, his lips parting slightly as he struggles for words. Then his jaw clenches, lips tightening and eyes blinking again as though they had remembered how to resume his stoic countenance.

“That’s alright. In time, you will learn to.” Dad promises-or rather, threatens. “Living in this life requires that you learn how to accept its undying truths. And that truth is, my dear boy, that no one else cares about you. No one except me. I ran to the palace that evening through the worst storm in centuries, begging the king and princess for help. I worked tooth and nail to retrieve and decipher the incantations. I hid away from the king’s men and kidnapped the queen, to finally make the princess give a damn about freeing you. Otherwise, everyone in the world was content with moving on with their fancy parties and snide little antics.” Varian’s mouth runs dry as he remembers Rapunzel’s words. Banquets, mood potions, fighting… As if to answer the growing despair in his heart, Dad leans forward, whispering in his hollow, harrowing, un-Dad voice. “Your dear little friends didn’t bother to check up on either of us after the greatest storm in ages, your precious Frederic and Arianna ignored the problem robbing hundreds of lives and livelihoods, even your pathetic little critter scurried off.” The tears silently trek down Varian’s face, and he stares uncomprehendingly at the ground. He had been wondering where Ruddiger was.

Suddenly, Dad’s hand on his shoulder no longer feels heavy or tight or painful. Suddenly, Varian finds himself hopeless once more. “I am the only one in the entire world who cares about you, Varian.” Dad coaxes him sweetly, gently despite the throbbing bruises blossoming on Varian’s arms, the pain still shooting up his back as a stark reminder of the bitter irony. “I am the only one who gives a damn about whether you live or not, despite your constant mistakes and shortcomings. Want it or not, you need me.” 

Sniffling silently, bereft of coherent speech, Varian winces and braces his hands against Dad’s shoulders as the man carefully wraps one arm underneath his knees and the other around his upper back, carrying him off of the ground and into the room. Despite the contempt and despair welling in his heart as it reels from the blow of his father’s truths, despite the wound of confusion and betrayal still fresh on his mind, Varian clutches back at his father’s neck, suddenly overcome with the fear that Dad is the only one who is keeping him afloat-that without Dad, he could fall, or still be suspended in amber, or-or worse. Despite the hatred he feels when the image of his father pummeling Rapunzel sneaks into his mind’s eyes, there is a hidden truth to his father’s words: Without Dad, he is nothing. He always has been.

Dad, the pumpkin farmer, the loving father, the village leader.

Dad, the terrorist, the manipulator, the murderer.

Should he be thanking him, then?

Varian doesn’t have the time to answer the question, for he feels himself being lowered onto bed. Still confused and unsettled from the ordeal, Varian clutches his father’s sleeve tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He pleads, allowing the last of his tears to slip out in the futile attempt that his father will appreciate his apology and spare him some mercy.

Quirin pauses before clutching him fiercely to his chest. Varian doesn’t care if he doesn’t look up, or the slight shift of his breath as Varian squeezes back. “So am I, son.” He whispers, but it is neither ripe with regret nor honeyed with honesty.

“I won’t do it again.” Varian promises, not quite knowing himself what that it was. Was he promising not to try and stop him? To listen to him? To drug him?

Quirin only stares back at him with the cold eyes that are not truly there. “I know you won’t.” He then whispers, cupping his face close to his own and titling it reverently as he kisses the crown of his head, Varian thinks it will be alright. He could live with Dad being the leader of a rebel village, he could live with Dad having the Princess of Corona locked against her will. He could live with whatever boundaries, whatever trust issues, whatever long evenings of staring out the window Dad had planned, if only he can savor these moments, these rare moments of peace and security from someone-the only person who seemed to care about him.

Until Quirin pushes him backwards with a mere fraction of his incredulous might and knocks him off of his feet. 

Varian yelps as he feels the back of his knees slam into the bedside table, eliciting a clamor as the glass clinked with the wood. He barely has time to compose himself or recover before he sees Dad’s back vanish and the door slam shut, before he hears a small yet definite click.

Panicking, Varian stumbles towards the door, wincing as he trips over his own feet. Finally throwing himself at it,  he curls his shaking hands around the handle and tightens his grip as he yanks at it, pounding incessantly. “DAD!” He shrieks at the top of his lungs. A few minutes pass before he then scrambles to the window without a second thought.

He is just about to open the latch and call outside for help-he doesn’t know for the life of him what that would do, seeing as the village is effectively deserted, but he has to try something- when Dad’s face appears through the glass. Varian screams, falling backwards and scrambling to get away as the unfamiliar sneer, the haunting glare, the stern and unapproachable brow remain heavy and burning into him.

Then his father is furiously hammering sheets of wood over his window, systematically and unhesitantly destroying any ray of light he can reach. Mind still reeling and not having processed what was happening, Varian leaps at the chance again, unlatching the sill and pushing with all of his might. “NO!” Varian tries to scream, but the closed window and thick pane of glass disallows his voice from reaching his father’s deaf ears. “NO, DAD, PLEASE! NO, NO, PLEASE, NO!”

Above the thrumming in his own heart, he can hear, feel, taste the hammering of each nail into its destination, swiftly and securely locking him in for good. It doesn’t stop-the throbbing, pulsating pain of each nail digging into the window frame in tandem to his ringing ears and pounding heart doesn’t stop until he has effectively no light save for sliver of light sneaking away from a crack between the wooden blocks. The wood effectively locks him away from the world-from the distant view of Arianna’s bloodied head, from the towering figure of Corona castle, from the image of his father’s emotionless face as he climbs down the ladder and back into the house, from the sun itself.

Varian sobs, eyes wide open in the caccoon of darkness he has been condemned to and succumbing to his other prison once again, screaming his throat raw as he hears his father's footsteps fade into the unrelenting silence.