Chapter Text
“It’s too dangerous to leave him here, Dima.” Queen Marina was busy packing some of their son’s clothes into a bag while her husband stood dumbstruck in the middle of the room. She’d already been in the middle of this task when he came in to say their presence would be needed on the battlefield sooner rather than later. It didn’t matter he’d returned from six months on the front lines that night, not to him and even less to the council.
“I’m sure Yakov-” The newly returned king tried to reassure his wife but he could feel the fear and anger in them. Her hissed response told him that his response was not only unwelcome at this time but that she heard his silent plea to keep their conversation far below the yelling threshold for Vitya’s sake.
“No,” the shirt in her hand was balled up as she thrust her finger towards Dmitry violently. “He was here even if you weren’t and we were still vulnerable inside the walls. Without magic, I doubt we’d have a son still! He can’t stay.” Thrusting it inside the bag punctuated her frustration. There were things she hadn’t had a chance to tell her husband from his time away and using them as ammunition in this argument was unfair. But she didn’t have time to care because she would protect her son this time.
Abandoning the bag on the floor, Marina sat on the bed where her child now slept, shoulders slumped forward as though weighed down by the troubles of the world. One heavy hand lay on the blanket above the now-healed arrow wound on his side, the other curling around the delicate necklace she wore.
She didn’t want to remember the events of four months ago. She didn’t want to remember how she had failed to protect her 7-year-old son, how he had come running to her, hand pressed over his left eye as tears flowed freely from both. How her instincts made her pull him to her chest so she could face his pursuer which left his small body open to catch the arrow flying for her side. The fact she hadn’t noticed their attackers before it was too late. She didn’t want to remember the distinct thunk as it sunk into his soft stomach as the already bloody knife embedded itself in her arm, the second attacker braving close combat. How she’d been so focused on her son bleeding out in her arms she’d lost track of the world and released a heavy wall of magic to protect them.
They only had their lives because Yakov had been looking for his wayward student.
At the stricken look on his face, she guessed her choke order on the almost successful assassination attempt had done its job. With words light enough to be carried off on the smallest breeze Marina continues, “I didn’t want you to know how bad I failed you, how I’d failed Vitya. Do you understand why he can’t stay here?” Her skill on the battlefield had outshone every soldier when they first married and only continued to grow. A loss on the homefront had allowed space in her heart for the ill-meaning to sow their seeds of unworthiness. Dmitry hadn’t known how deep the roots were until now.
His sad eyes watched as she rolled the warded talisman between her fingers, remembering the silence in the halls at his return and the tension his wife carried daily, the daggers she and Vitya carried at all times. All of these in answer to the attack he’d been away for. The letters he received on the frontline had hinted at an attack but Yakov had failed to mention the severity of the curses which laced the weapons and left scars on his family.
Dmitry knew his Mara was smarter and stronger than he was so if this was how she saw the situation, he’d yield to her caution. Cupping a cheek with one hand he dragged her eyes to his own and gave his agreement. “You want to send him there?” His hand drifted down to brush the fingers gripping the small charm around her neck.
“I have no doubt they’d take care of him like one of their own. Besides, they took care of me, didn’t they?” Dmitry watched some of the tension evaporate, her hands grasping his to pull it to her lips for a soft kiss of thanks. Hot tears burned in the corner of her eyes but she refused to let them fall, not when there were so many more important things she needed to do in such a short time. Their departure, only days away, left just enough time for everyone to converge on the Capitol and gather supplies for the march.
He pulled her into his embrace and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head breathing out, “They did a wonderful job, Marisa; we’ll finalize things in the morning. There’s no reason we can’t try to rest while we have the chance.” His free hand slid soft through long silver locks as he spoke, more tension flowing away with each stroke.
“Ok, Miten’ka. First thing when we wake up. Everything is better during daylight,” the Queen proclaimed, even if she didn’t believe a word she was saying. She pulled away from his arms to place a soft kiss on the still sleeping Viktor, face soft in unworried slumber despite his quarreling parents. Dmitry pulled her into his side and they stood vigil, his eyes finding the smallest scar on his left eyebrow in the gentle light from the moonlight. He knew there was another on his stomach, hidden by his shirt and the covers. A shiver wracked him at the implication that he could have never seen his son and wife again.
This small bubble of calm is how their lives should have been, soft, and full of love instead of pain. So now, with limited time, Dmitry decides that he would give his wife no reason to chastise or argue her case again. Viktor’s protection would be guaranteed one way or another.
***
Neither King nor his Queen slept well. They managed fitful rest until the early hours of the morning before the sun could be bothered to show itself. In the darkness, they prepared for the royal family’s inevitable departure.
Marina crafted a quick but well-coded letter requesting a place for her son until they could return for him, or until his Bestowment. She was pleased to receive an immediate response. Her friends had heard about the war’s escalation and would be happy to take on Vitya. They would need a week to prepare for their arrival, something the Queen couldn’t help but be thankful for. Three days of preparation and four days of travel would give the monarchs a good start towards their final destination on the Southern front as well as time to spend with their son.
Marina said as much in her final letter, sending it out as the sun poked itself the tiniest bit over the horizon. The next letter she wrote was crafted with extreme care though she hoped it never had to be opened.
King Dmitry had been working on preparing their troops for deployment, uncaring of the hour as his orders were fulfilled. The council had known sending both rulers into battle was inevitable so the rallying orders for the military had been sent out the same day the king had returned. The reports he received stated they were about a day and a half from being at full force. Other regiments were either preparing to depart or had already begun their trek to the West. In addition to his own country’s troops, their allies had portions of their armies marching through distant Artyan borders to meet up for this push.
The King wanted the Great War to end. It had plagued the whole of the Magical Realm for hundreds of years, stealing precious time from his, his father’s, his grandfather’s, millions of childhoods’ lives. And now his son. It had to end; which is the reason he was calling Marina onto the field as well. Their magic was strong apart but together they could do impossible things, and right now the kingdom needed the impossible.
Between the reports and orders, the King wrote his own letters before his attention would be required elsewhere. First, to Yakov trying to explain the situation. Viktor would be staying with undisclosed allies until he and Mara could retrieve him, or until his 12th birthday- the Bestowment. Should the monarchs perish in their endeavor Yakov would be Regent until the time Viktor determined he was ready to take the throne. The King also gave his mentor permission to clean up the court as best as he could in their absence. His letter closed with, should the war, at last, come to an end and ourselves with it, care for him as you cared for me. Thank you, Dima.
In a letter from his station as King, he declared Yakov the Regent until the time Crown Prince Viktor could take his place on the throne. Stipulations such as minimum age, magical and military education, and others would allow Viktor to push off ascending until he decided he was fit for it. This way he couldn’t be forced to rule unprepared and voiceless by those who would wish him ill. It was lucky, despite his being angry all the time, Yakov was well-liked by most of the court so, however long his tenure lasted, the man would be accepted.
The last letter he wrote was for Viktor, filled with tricks of the kingly trade as well as all of the love he could manage to fit on three pages of paper- his self imposed limit. Dmitry had tried to be a good father but he knew from his own childhood that a father at war was worth little. His shortcomings stared back at him from the page but he had little chance to change any of them. This letter ends, Although I am gone, know that I never wanted to leave you behind. I was doing my best to make sure this war didn’t take over your life like it did mine but I realize I could have been there for you more. There’s so much I wish we could do but even the greatest mages cannot force time to bend to their will.
I don’t want this to be the last thing you hear from me but if it is, know I love you.
Dmitry ended there for what else could be said? His letter joined Masha’s which would follow them into war, neither tempted to read their love’s final words to their son. Neither acknowledged the absence of letters for the other; for they had long ago come to the agreement if they walked onto the battlefield together they left in the same fashion or not at all.
Viktor’s jubilant entrance into their joint office signaled the beginning of their day, their child bright and energetic despite the early hour. And for a short while, they could believe their son’s world wasn’t about to change.
The trio sat to eat before the Prince mentioned the packed clothes in his room. “Am I going somewhere? There was a bag of my clothes on the floor when I woke up.” He didn’t seem bothered by it, taking a nonchalant sip of tea before wiping his mouth and returning to his food to give his parents time to answer.
“We’re going to ride together for a few days, Vitya. Then you’re going to spend time with some friends of mine. Doesn’t taking an adventure sound fun?” Despite every attempt to not show tension or distress, their son was smart and well attuned to his mother especially following their brush with death. She expected the clang of silverware on porcelain, not the frown of thought accompanying the crinkling between his eyebrows as cutlery was clenched in small hands.
“Where are you two going?” He may as well have been asking a wall for all the information he didn’t get while his parents communicated through raised eyebrows and head motions. It was too bad there were tapestries and portraits on the walls, he knew the look on his papa’s face. “You’re going back to war,” everything about him dropped as he spoke, his voice, his face, and finally the fork and knife.
Viktor believed he was reasonably well-behaved and asked for so little from his parents for his 7 years but this wouldn’t do. He’d been trying his best to be brave and strong after recovering, to protect his mother from the nastiness of the courtiers, to learn everything he needed to become a great king. But they couldn’t carry on like this, he couldn’t leave them again. The Prince wasn’t sure how he was expected to survive all on his own within these unfeeling walls.
He took a steadying sip of tea before speaking with a stronger voice. “You can’t go,” his words punctuated by the clink of a teacup on the saucer, “you just got back! You’re supposed to take me riding and show me how to use fire, you’re supposed to be here.” With each impassioned word, Viktor sat straighter in his seat, head hanging just enough for his hair to disguise the distress in his eyes, and slammed the tea set onto the table when he finished speaking. He didn’t think the tears burning his eyes would fall but they threatened with every word and sharp wave of his newly empty hands. “You can’t leave us again, we need you! And I can’t leave mom here alone!” It was a testament to his distress he hadn’t noticed the ice encasing his hands or the shards scattered across the table.
Where he previously felt frozen to the chair Dmitry practically flew out of his as his son’s distress crossed from internal to dangerously external. He wrapped warmer than normal arms around his son and rocked, stroking his long hair at a soothing tempo. “Breathe, Vitya.” A stuttering breath but stable nonetheless. “Good, just like that. In and out. Take a breath and feel your magic, let it out and remember; you control it. It does not control you. In and out.”
As mages, they all knew how emotions could cause bursts of magic but Viktor had been displaying his magical abilities for years. Most children didn’t show displays of their primary magical affiliation until closer to their Bestowment but Viktor’s had appeared about a month before his fourth birthday. It began as little puffs of chilled wind but it became clear His Royal Highness was extremely powerful. And because of this Viktor was never far from a Cardinal or Void class practitioner in the event his own powers went out of control.
It didn’t take long for it to become clear the Prince’s main element of the Cardinal class was ice. They’d been having to talk Viktor down from periods of high emotion for three years and despite his disappearing father act every few months, Dmitry was more than able to provide this comfort. No, more than that, the King was happy to be of service to his son in this way at least.
When the ice disappeared, a joint effort by father and son, Viktor pushed his papa away indicating their conversation was in no way over on account of his outburst. As he sat, the King continued the conversation as though nothing happened. “Vitya, I don’t intend to leave your mother here alone, she's joining me on the battlefield.”
Betrayed blue eyes locked with his mother’s to confirm or deny but instead finds the tear tracks on her face caused by his outburst. He didn’t know they’d begun long before the sting of frigid air assaulted her eyes. She offered him a watery smile as she spoke, “I can’t leave you here either. That’s why you’re going to stay with my friend until this is over. Please, Viten’ka,” neither knew what she was truly asking for, except they did. She was asking for obedience and an end to the disagreements, he heard the plea for forgiveness at leaving him behind. He’d give her both.
“When do we leave?”
“Two days. You’ll ride with us until preparations for your stay have been completed.” The conversation had ended and Viktor knew this wasn’t his papa, this was King Dmitri Nikiforov of Artya.