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Swaine hadn’t at all intended to take Oliver’s bag and root through it in the middle of the night, however his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he had ended up doing just that.
He wasn’t going to steal anything, for the record. He was only curious about what items the party had procured in battles. He recognised a good chunk of them and noticed how they had been scratched or tarnished by his gun, since his gun was hardly gentle when it came to nicking things from enemies.
It was a nice trip down memory lane. It was nice to have some time on his own and reflect on everything. He was sat cross-legged on a bed in Ding Dong Dell, since they’d finally found the time to revisit the place and help out some of the folks around town. The Cat’s Cradle was a lovely hotel regardless of the kingdom, but the one in Ding Dong Dell had a calming charm to it that the other locations didn’t have. Oliver and Esther and Drippy were fast asleep, and he was glad of it. They deserved some rest. They deserved the world.
The Bottomless Bag was really living up to its name. He had his entire arm in, rooting around for excess trinkets and the like. He felt a sheet of paper. He never nicked paper, it never sold well (which he had learned after he tried to pawn of stolen books back in his inexperienced teenage years). He pulled out the sheet. The edges were a a little torn and the colour was washed out, but there was no mistaking it.
Marcassin’s portrait. Whoever painted it didn’t do the prince justice. His eyes looked too vacant. They stared into Swaine’s soul and he felt a wave of guilt crash over him, filling his heart in the worst way.
He had left too quickly. He had ran away at the worst time as a teenager, and he had abandoned him too quickly once again as an adult. He should have spoken to his brother more after he’d been cured of his skepticism. Hugged him a few more times. Hell, at least shake his hand and congratulate him on everything.
Swaine tucked the picture into his trenchcoat. He hardly considered it stealing considering Oliver knew what Marc looked like at this point.
He could go and see him. He could go and give him a present. Black Truffles, he always loved those, didn’t he? He could get to Hamelin from here. Well, not in the typical way. He couldn’t take the Sea Cow - Swaine, despite his lack of dignity, couldn’t bring himself to call the ship the “Floatsy-Woatsy” - and he couldn’t walk. He couldn’t use magic. He’d have to call Tengri and pray that he could fly a dragon. It couldn’t be that difficult, right?
The horn was rather large in his hand upon fishing it out of the bag. How did Oliver do this? It weighed a good bit and was hard to get a good grip on. For starters, Swaine had to go outside, since blowing a horn in a tiny inn was probably considered disturbance of the peace. He’d have to go outside of the kingdom walls, probably. He quietly unlocked the door and crept through the corridor, then through the entrance of the inn.
It was nearly pitch black outside, aside from the few streetlights casting the walls in yellow. It was quiet enough that he could hear the waterwheel creak down the street as water sloshed into the stream. Another thing to note was that it was rather warm, or maybe Swaine’s trenchcoat did a good job at trapping in his body heat.
The Black Truffles were in a little pouch that made it very convenient for carrying. He hooked it around his wrist and kept moving. He could be back before anyone noticed he was gone.
How far from the kingdom would he have to be to blow the horn and not wake everyone up? He walked out of Ding Dong Dell, nodding in acknowledgement to the one guard who hadn’t nodded off while standing up, and kept going. Further, further, tracking dirt and grass through the fields. It was as dry as anything. It scarcely rained in Ding Dong Dell, and when it did it never felt dreary.
The field was large and vast and he didn’t particularly enjoy that. He was much more adapted to backstreets and hidden bunkers. However, he did have the darkness. It was nearly pitch black in the kingdom, but out in the field was another story. He could barely tell the horizon apart from the sky.
He had to hold the horn with two hands. It was awkward but he blew as hard as he could. It made a pathetic little noise so he tried again. A little better than last time, and enough to get Tengri’s attention (although the dragon looked rather unimpressed at Swaine’s attempt). The beast landed in front of him, craning it’s massive neck to see where the rest of the party was.
“Just me today, boy.” He patted the creature on the nose. The scales were incredibly smooth and shiny. Esther did most of the care for the beast while the team were flying around, so it was no surprise why he looked so well kept (and so disappointed at her absence). He clambered onto Tengri’s back and awkwardly patted the horns. “Alright, how do I do this?”
The dragon exhaled a huge breath in a half-laugh and Swaine wished he could cast Nature’s Tongue. He ended up shaking his head defeatedly. “Shut it, you. We’re Hamelin bound, alright? No detours.”
He kicked his heels into the dragon’s stomach, as though he were riding a horse and not an incredibly large fire-breathing tank of a creature, and held onto the horns for security. He cried out in surprise - he’d never gotten used to the feeling of flying - and leaned forward as the dragon shot off.
The dragon quickly settled into a constant speed and Swaine found himself comfortable enough to sit upright and let go of the horns. Of course, this was when Tengri found it appropriate to do a barrelroll and nearly knock the man off to plummet to his untimely death. “Not funny,” Swaine snapped after a long string of cursing. Again, the dragon half-laughed and half-snorted.
However, Tengri wasn’t the sort to pull the same trick twice so now Swaine could comfortably look at the gift he was giving to Marcassin. Four Black Truffles. He probably had picked them up while fighting in Hamelin at some point, but he didn’t remember. The sack they came in was rather unglamorous. Maybe a ribbon would help? He didn’t have a ribbon. He didn’t have much of anything decorative. Esther usually snatched those away or the party was quick to sell them on.
The ground beneath him quickly became the ocean and he could see the bronze mountains of Autumnia emerge through the distant clouds. As Tengri drew closer, he felt more nervous. He wanted to go up to his brother and start a conversation, and he wanted to give him a nice gift, and he wanted to provide comfort and support and validation that he knew Marc had been lacking for a while, but his stomach was tying in knots and his throat was tightening. It was hard to breath when going so fast.
He patted Tengri on the head. “Hey, buddy, let me down, yeah?”
Tengri, clearly picking up on the fact that now would be an inappropriate time to joke around, veered off to Autumnia’s shoreline and sat down, lowering his body to the ground to allow for Swaine to clamber off. Swaine didn’t leave immediately, just sat there and waited for the world to settle.
Just out of his sight was a huge kingdom with a very noble man leading it, and Swaine couldn’t help but feel his stomach fill up with dread. The bad thing about his regained restraint was that he couldn’t go into situations boldly. He could think about consequences more clearly. His impulsivity had been dangerous, like being intoxicated nearly all the time since his judgement was far from refined while heartbroken, but it had been freeing at least.
However, the good thing about regaining his restraint was being able to face his anxieties and work through them. As such, he slid off of Tengri’s back, patted the dragon twice, and marched off to see his brother.
Of course, the darkness in Autumnia was nearly unbearable. As annoying as Drippy was, at least his lantern was useful. On the other hand, hiding in the darkness was something that Swaine was very acclimated too, so he scarcely tripped or fell. Good, he’d specifically wanted to look decent when visiting, even if his trench coat was a little scratched up.
The entrance to Hamelin was very foreboding, but in a familiar way. Kind of like his dad. He walked through with minimal hesitation, mostly because it was freezing and he needed to regain the feeling in his hands.
He promptly made his way to the main street and walked down the middle of it. Many would be cautious about treading on the tracks, but they had been collecting dust while Marc had ceased to hold any festivals. He walked straight past the guards, not bothering with sweet talk.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m with the Pure Hearted One.”
“You’re blatantly walking alone.”
“Just trust me, mate.”
The excuse worked wonders, with the guard quickly being advised to watch his tongue by a fellow guard that must have seen Swaine with Oliver at some point. He owed that kid a lot. Many places that were once off limits to him and his, for lack of a better term, kleptomaniacal tendencies, were now free to roam around since he was playing a part in saving the world. Of course he did what he did for more morally good reasons, but he could enjoy the bonuses as well.
Soon he found himself in that blasted room where the pig tank had once stood. He had been hit by that machine an embarrassing amount of times, and guns didn’t exactly do the trick against a literal actual tank. Suddenly his mind cast back to when he was building model tanks with Marc and he was quick to shake that memory away. Too much emotion too quickly.
He stood in the middle of the room for a while and pondered what to do. He passed his gift from one hand into the other, too used to juggling his expensive items to avoid them being snatched by an amateur pickpocket. Then, reluctantly, he stared down the door to Marcassin’s quarters.
And he was shaking at this point. He was very tempted to place his sorry excuse for a gift on the ground and run. Run like he always had done.
For a moment, he looked at the exit, then at the lights which burned incredibly brightly above his head, and then back at the exit.
“Ahem. May I help you?”
Swaine, truthfully speaking, screamed and spun around, immediately stepping back a pace to try and prepare for a fight. He would never admit that, however, not that he’d ever bring up this little side quest to anyone ever. Or so he’d thought. Now he had to. He didn’t have to choice of running away.
Marcassin was stood very anxiously in the doorframe. Then, quieter. “Brother? Are you alright?”
Swaine laughed because he didn’t know what else to do. He laughed and covered his mouth and willed the tears to stay in his eyes. He was very good at that last one. “Ah. Hello. Fancy seeing you here.”
“You’re... I didn’t expect you to be back to the palace so quickly. Is all well with Oliver?”
Something stung in his heart. “Yeah. Obviously. The kid’s got a prophecy written about him so he’s fine.” He suddenly remembered why he was there. “I was just— I was dropping a gift off. Got a little sidetracked.”
“I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience. Where are you staying?” Marcassin moved with elegance and with significantly better posture than Swaine. He looked better. A lot better. His face didn’t look sunken and his eyes didn’t look sad. They stood an arm’s reach away from one another in the centre of the room.
Swaine mumbled his response to Marc’s question under his breath.
“Pardon?” Marcassin asked, always polite.
“Ding Dong Dell...”
“What? You came from the Summerlands? What are you doing all the way out here?”
Swaine waved it off. “It felt important. I...” He cut himself off of a long tangent that would have, hypothetically speaking, involved a lot of crying and guilt. “I can go now.”
Marcassin took the brown bag from Swaine and looked at his older brother, looking for some sort of confirmation. Swaine nodded, again stepping back. The younger of the two princes opened the package and looked into it quizzically. It took a few seconds for a smile to creep onto his face, a few seconds of utter agony for Swaine. “Black Truffles.”
“Yep,” Swaine said because he didn’t know what else to say. Then, “I just thought—“
“They’re... It’s... I’ve missed these.” Then, “I’ve missed you.”
The two stood in awkward silence for a moment. Then, Marcassin remembered his manners. “Do you drink?”
“Yes, I need to drink to survive.”
Marcassin laughed. “I was talking about alcohol, brother, not water.”
“I was being sarcastic. Yeah, I drink.”
“I’ll have the guards bring us the finest wine.”
“I don’t mind drinking something less... uh... expensive.”
“Don’t worry about it. Consider it my gift to you.”
That is how the two princes ended up sharing a drink in the banquet hall. Marc did have to pull a few strings to allow Swaine in there (since the guards were utterly convinced that Swaine was somehow forcing Marcassin into giving him alcohol because how on earth are these two people brothers?) but it was worth it. It was a grand place, with long tables which were normally decked out with an absurd amount of food, surrounded by guests. Or at least that’s how Swaine remembered it.
Marcassin knew it as a place of utter emptiness. Guests were a completely absurd concept within the palace. He couldn’t eat and hide his face, and eating in public made him feel guilty. He was still worming out of his poor dietary habits.
The central table was the shortest, because it was designated for the Emperor and only his closest guests. They sat on opposite sides and had wine served. Swaine preferred most other alcoholic beverages to wine but he wasn’t about to complain.
They also shared the Black Truffles, dishing them out onto two separate desert plates.
“Are you holding up okay?” Swaine asked, disguising it as small talk when in actuality he was desperate to know.
Marcassin took a long sip of his wine. “Yes. And you?”
“Ha. Not particularly.”
When Marc’s eyes glazed over with concern, Swaine regretted his choice of words. He also took a long sip of wine.
They spoke a little more. Idle chitchat, although within such idle chitchat were signs of worry. Mostly directed from Swaine. “You’ve hardly touched your truffles.”
“I will. I’m getting better at that, eating better and such. I haven’t had one of these in a while.”
Swaine raised his eyebrows. “Genuinely?”
“Genuinely.” Marc shook his head. He had felt a lot lighter as of late, what without the armour that had burdened him for so long. He took his fork and dug into the desert. Upon tasting it, he was hit with a ludicrous amount of childhood nostalgia. He had improved his manners since then - he no longer treated the desert as a finger food like his child self had done - but it still encapsulated joy. “You worry about me too much. I’m doing better.”
“You seemed so out of it the first time we met. How long were you like that for?”
“How long were you a notorious thief for?”
A long pause. More awkward wine sipping.
Swaine shrugged off the building tension in his shoulders. “A while, actually. Probably started... what? Ten or eleven years ago? I imagine...”
Marcassin took great interest in how the light from the grand chandeliers reflected off of his fork. “Yes. I started acting up at a similar time. It was so... sudden.”
“Nobody blames you for it, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your people. Your family.” For the record, he did choke up at the word family but he managed to pretend like he hadn’t. “They don’t blame you for Hamelin being the way it was.”
“I wouldn’t give them grief if they did hate me for it. I was a foolish leader. I’m going to do better. That’s all there is to it.”
Somehow, despite being the younger of the two princes, the one with less exposure to the wrongdoers of this world, the one who had every right to act out and wallow in his own own pity, Marcassin had managed to claw his way back after falling from grace. Swaine found it admirable. “You’re a good Emperor.”
“Thank you.” Despite this, Marc would still continue to call himself a prince. He wasn’t quite ready to take that final step and that was okay.
After some more chitchat, Marcassin had drank one glass of wine. Swaine had closer to four. He needed it, it loosened his tongue and helped him be honest. As such, the following words are entirely true. “I’m here for you.” He was a little choked up and that was okay. He allowed himself to be, his own pride be damned.
Marcassin laughed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I know I’ve said it before, but I never felt like it was getting through to you.” Swaine put reached across and put his hands on Marc’s shoulders. “I’m here for you.”
Marcassin laughed and the tears started falling. “I know that. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m here for you, and I’m here for Oliver and Esther and Drippy. I’m here for all of you. I need to step up, and god damn it I’m going to step up.” He had a tendency to repeat himself when lightly intoxicated. “If you need me for anything, come and find me and drag me by the ear. I’m here for you because you’re a great leader and an even better brother.”
Marcassin was still laughing and crying. He shrugged Swaine’s hands off and stood, slightly wobbly. “I’ll see you to the door?”
“That’d be nice. I’m going to hate myself tomorrow.”
Marc patted him on the back as he stood up. Neither were blatantly drunk but Swaine had certainly lost some dexterity. “If you do end up hating yourself, remember I’m here for you brother.”
“Swaine or Gascon.”
“Pardon?”
“I know you feel awkward about which name to call me. Just call me either.”
Swaine was a name that sounded too much like “swine” and also a name that sounded too much like “swain”. It sounded like an insult and Marcassin didn’t like that, he didn’t like that one bit. If his brother wanted to wear that as a badge of honour, fine, but Marc wanted to refer to him more pleasantly.
“Alright Gascon. I’ll speak with you soon, you and the rest of your party.”
Swaine laughed. The Black Truffles had tasted better when they were shared between the brothers because all gifts were better when shared. Even through the cold weather and even on the back of Tengri and even back in Ding Dong Dell, Swaine felt like he was home.
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“Is Swaine okay?” Oliver whispered.
“He’s sleeping in.” Esther shook her head although she too was very tired.
“He stumbled in last night, I’m tellin’ you mun!” Drippy exclaimed. Oliver picked the fairy up and covered his mouth.
“We can let him sleep. Come on, let’s do some quests. Maybe we can bring him something when we get back?”
“Right-o.” Drippy nodded, wriggling to escape Oliver’s grasp and making for the door. “Let’s get a move on then, shall we?”
The party were just glad to see Swaine peaceful for once. He deserved some rest. He deserved the world.