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You’ve always tended to ruin things. Here you are, on your birthday, having a lovely dinner with your Father, like you always do. You refused to tell the Princess your birthday, despite her incessant asking. You know she would rally the troops and throw you a massive, blowout twenty third birthday party, and you do not want that whatsoever. This nice, quiet birthday dinner with your Dad is much more your speed.
You two caught up on what’s been going on in each other's lives, you with the Princess, he with the Guard. He gave you your present (new gambeson, you mentioned needing one a while back, he must have been listening), you thanked him, you guys started wrapping things up.
But it is as things are wrapping up that the question comes to your mind. The question. The one you’ve asked your Father so many times that you can predict the answer to it exactly.
It used to come more. When you were younger. When you still held out hope for an answer. At some point, it stopped bothering you (actively, in a way you’d acknowledge, but that lingering doubt will never go away no matter how hard you try and you despise it so, so much ), but the urge to ask about strikes you from time to time. You rarely indulge it. You know how it will go. You don’t know why you choose to do so now.
“Hey, Dad?” The words slip out before you know you’re saying them. You regret it instantly, but you don’t show that openly. You’ve made your choice. Now you've committed to it. He’s turned to the door now. To leave. Your talk was nice, really. And now, here you are, taking that nice, pleasant evening you had and charring the edges of it with your own impulsiveness.
“I… know it’s stupid of me to ask this, but…” You can tell he already knows what you are going to say, but you’ve committed to saying it anyways, “It’s been, what, twenty years now, since you adopted me, and I think I deserve to know why.”
“Cassandra, we’ve talked about this.”
“I looked in the archives," you tell him forcefully. His expression flashes in recognition. You can swear you see a hint of guilt there, or pain, or maybe just a sense of betrayal. You don’t know and you don’t care. You looked, because you knew if you didn’t, he’d dodge the question forever.
He always told you never to look at it yourself. Mind you, you've always known you were adopted, he never made an effort to hide it. But whenever you asked, he told you the same story each time. Of how he thought it was time for him to move on in his life from his single-minded focus. To have something other than his job that he could devote himself to. And then, he found you. Alone, scared, but with a powerful fire in your eyes. And that’s how he knew.
It was a dismissal masked in a lie. You knew that it couldn’t be the whole truth. And for eighteen years, that knowledge weighed on your shoulders. The fact you only now succumbed to the temptation serves as a testament to your self control. Then again, the fact you succumbed to that temptation at all isn't exactly a great sign.
So you snuck out of your room in the middle of the night, traced your way down the hallway, and slipped past the guards and into the Royal Archives.
You’ve always been more slippery than he gives you credit for. He’s always known, of course, but he's never admitted to it. He’s the Captain after all. He has to move against those who break into the palace. Who take things that belong to the Kingdom. Who see things they aren’t meant to. And even if you live here, even if you’re his daughter, you still fall under his enforcement purview. He wouldn’t make things harder for you, and in exchange, you wouldn’t get caught breaking the rules. That is the unspoken bargain you two share with one another.
You trawled through the files with nothing but moonlight to guide you. Candles didn’t exactly work, given that stealth was your priority. But eventually, you found them there, among various other documents. What you expected was official adoption records. After all, if you were formally given up for adoption, or orphaned in some freak accident and placed at an orphanage, that would be on there. You’d be able to trace the trail back. Know who your parents are. Know exactly why they abandoned you.
What you expected, however, was not what you got. There were no listed relatives. No reasoning given for why they left you. There were only three pieces of information on that sheet of any relevance.
- A location, vague, simply “Corona Outskirts”.
- Your Father’s signature.
- A date. A date anyone in Corona would know. The date that the Princess went missing.
You looked it over again and again, just to be sure that you were reading it correctly. It could be a filing mistake, or something like that, but somehow, you knew that wasn’t that case. It had been that day . You just knew it had been that day. And with that look of pain on your Father’s face, he confirmed you were correct in that presumption.
You expect him to yell at you. To brush you off. And as he turns to the door, you think your Father will simply walk away, but instead he pauses, and tells you curtly, “Follow me," and you know better than to ignore him.
The hallway walk passes in silence, except for the sound of your footsteps. Yours light, cautious, his heavy, powerful. You’ve learned how to recognize people by their footsteps. As a (hopefully future) Knight and the protector of the Princess, you must always be on your guard, and being able to sense who is around you is where contributes to that immensely. You hear two more pairs of them from an adjacent hallway, hurrying together in lock step, but yet loud and clunky, and you know them instantly.
“Um, sir? We have-” Stan and Pete come rushing in, and your Father gives them a withering gaze that makes them stop in their tracks and stand at attention, awaiting his words.
“Not now,” he says firmly, and you know instantly then that this has to be important to him. The Captain of the Guard rarely puts his work aside, after all. And your heart flutters for a moment at the thought that this, that you , matter that much to him, although that feeling falls when you realize that probably means Fitzherbert is going to be the one getting the problem shoved on him. A problem he will undeniably mess up horribly, especially with that bumbling friend of his still hanging around, and that you will have to go in and clean up for him.
Oh well. You file that thought away. You can deal with his idiocy when the time comes. You, too, have more important matters to be attending to.
“Alright, sir. We'll try and handle it.” Yep, definitely shoving it off on Fitzherbert. Fun. You can’t wait to see what chaos Corona ends up in by the end of the day.
With that distraction addressed, you two move on. Your Father leads you into his room. It’s clean, ordered. Practical. Nothing extraneous visible, all tucked away in cabinets and drawers that he opens from time to time. When you were younger, you once took a peak in those drawers. He got mad about it, of course, but if you hadn’t, you never even would have gotten the cursory explanation of the past that you did. An explanation you now debate the entire reality of.
But this time, he’s the one opening a drawer. One you never dared open. You never dared open any again after that first time, the threat of punishment for such invasion looming over your small head. He reaches in, and he pulls out… a key. One on a black string. When you see it, you feel something tug at you. An image, blurred at the edges. A thin-fingered hand holding out a golden key, a soft voice whispering something to you that you don’t recall but you know comforted you, a feeling of elation. The moment that feeling wells up in your chest, you want nothing more than to crush it.
“This key,” your Father says, snapping you from your reverie, “we found you holding it. We couldn’t convince you to let go of it. Said your Mother gave it to you. So, I made it so you could always keep it with you. It was the least I could do."
“But I did, one day.” It ended up in the Sad Childhood Memories You Don’t Want To Look At Drawer, after all. Unless he took it from you, and you don’t think your Father would do such a thing. He may be a tough man, but he isn't the sort to take away things from you for no reason. He nods, abating your worst fears.
“You just, took it off, put it down here, and told me you never wanted to see it again.” Yeah, that sounded about right. Even now, you hate looking at the thing, even as you snatch it out of your Father’s hand and fasten it around your neck. You do so naturally, without thinking. The feeling of it on your chest is familiar and you hate every second of it. You tuck it beneath your tunic so you don’t have to see it.
Of course, this isn’t the end of things. Maybe he wants it to be, but he knows it won’t be. You stare down at him, knelt by the nightstand, and you coldly say, “So you know where I come from, don’t you?”
He nods. The soldier in you wants to grab him by his collar and force him to tell you the truth. The daughter in you hesitates, but it cannot fully stop you, even though you know he hates every second of this conversation. “Where is it, then?”
He hesitates, sighs, and then says, “Cassandra, just, promise me something first.”
“...Okay. What is it?"
“That whatever you find there, you won’t be mad at me for it.” Huh. Well that’s not ominous or anything. Mind you, you expected ominous, so it doesn’t catch you by surprise, but the confirmation of your suspicions doesn’t really help calm your mounting nerves. You always could tell that there was a reason he never explained it to you. A reason that, perhaps, you're better off not knowing.
But you nod to him. “Alright. Just, tell me.”
You aren’t quite sure if you can keep the promise, in truth. You want to, but you don’t have the context to know that for certain. And if you can’t… well, it wouldn’t be the first promise to him that you've ended up breaking.
He pulls out a map of Corona and unfurls it on the bed, grabbing a pen off the nightstand. He traces a path for you across the paper. A path that leads to a spot in the woods, with no notable surrounding landmarks. A spot he marks with a black X. You stare at it closely, burning the path into your memory. And when you have it scarred there, you immediately start planning. It isn’t a long trip. You can probably do it in one night. You just need to be prepared. But, not forgetting your manners, you nod to the Captain. “Thank you, for this,” you say, and then you turn to leave.
But you linger at the doorway, for just a moment, enough to hear him say, “Cassandra.” You glance back at him, eyes cast down to the floor, map gripped tightly in both hands. “I’m sorry. About all of this.”
Letting out a slight huff, you turn on your heel and leave him there to wallow in the guilt he’s clearly feeling. Whether it’s about telling you, or about what happened there, you don’t know, but what you do know is that it’s a guilt you don’t want to feel sympathy for, even if a part of you does. A part of you that you push aside. This new mission has your complete focus. You will find out what really happened that day. You must.
The moment that night falls, you are ready. You let Owl out of his cage. You ready yourself - key, gambeson, tunic, cloak. You sling your sword over your shoulder, pack your bag, and watch the clock. It takes twelve minutes and thirty nine seconds exactly for you to begin moving. You toss up your hood as you walk out the door, while Owl swoops out the window to meet you outside.
Using your knowledge of the guard rotations & movements, you know if you leave now and keep a consistent pace, you can slip through every bit of security, make it to the stables, and be off. After all, you’ve been navigating this castle your whole life. You know every corner in which to hide, where every shadow is cast at every time. Your Father knows this too. He knows he cannot stop you even if he wishes to, not without breaking your pact. There is only one person who can, and as you stroll down the empty hallway, you hear her footsteps.
Rapunzel’s footsteps are almost inaudible. Some of that can be attributed to her general lack of shoes, but you know it’s not just that. It’s the rhythm of it. She walks like someone who spent much of her life trying to sneak around and not be heard. You know that rhythm well. It’s the rhythm you follow too.
You hasten, but you know you won’t outrun her. The sound of her voice from behind you only hammers that in.
“Cassandra?” she asks in that fraught tone of hers. You hate that tone. It’s the tone she uses when she sees someone in distress and feels compelled to help them. And when Rapunzel wants to help someone, she'll stop at nothing to do so. You know that fact very well.
You look back at her, hood coming down as you do. “Raps, this is really not the time.”
“Cassandra, listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’ve been acting weird lately, and-” Yeah you don’t have time for her nonsense. You bolt. Staying to talk will throw off your time table, after all, and should that happen, that might violate your unspoken bargain with your Dad.
She calls after you, but you ignore her. You just keep moving, out the back door, into the stables. You know she's still pursuing you. As you gear up to take off, you know she’s getting closer. She probably got delayed a bit by the guards, which is good. Gives you enough time to be almost out the door before she gets there.
“Cass, wait!” You don’t. You should. She's the Princess, you’re her Lady-in-waiting, she’s giving you orders, you should obey. But yet, you do not. You see her, from atop your steed as you mount. You can see the worry in her eyes, and its painful to look at.
So you put your eyes on the road in front of you. Focus your mind on your mission. Breathe in, breathe out. “Raps, I’m sorry. But this is something I have to face myself.”
“Cass!” You don’t let her continue. You leave after that, but you know she’s going to grab Max and follow you. Of course she’s going to grab Max and follow you. The Princess of Corona is perceptive, but not perceptive enough to know when she’s not needed. She knows that whatever this is, it is weighing on you. She wants to be there for you. She doesn’t know that being there for you is, in all likelihood, just going to make things worse. Privacy, after all, seems to be a foreign concept to her.
It isn’t. You know that. You’re being uncharitable right now, but you’re allowed to be, what with how many times she has forced her way into your personal business. You know you shouldn’t be, and you hate that you are, but no matter how much you despise it, that resentment won’t just go away.
And sure enough, she catches up to you. By your estimate, you’re a third of the way there when she does. She’s clinging to Max for dear life as he runs after you, and Pascal is doing the same with her. You don’t wait for her to start speaking. You growl, and bark back, “Stop following me! I told you that I didn't want you here!”
“Cassandra, whatever this is, you don’t need to hide it from me! I just want to help you.” What she says is, technically, correct. You do not need to hide it from her. But you want to. You don’t want her to see anything of your past. Because if she does, then she’ll look down on you. She’ll pity the poor, messed up, self loathing daughter of the Captain, just like everyone does. You know that. But she doesn’t. Not yet.
You don’t think you can stop her. Not really. But you can damn well slow her down so that by the time she catches you, she won’t have seen just how weak you really are.
“Just, shut up!” you tell her, as you pull your sword from your belt, swinging it above your head as you move, sending a branch crashing down across the path. A branch which Max jumps with ease.
“Stop following me!” You veer right around a turn at breakneck speed, a speed she & Max easily match. There’s a bridge up ahead, and you lower your sword, readying yourself to execute the plan you start to formulate once you see it. You push forwards, enough to put a bit of distance between the two of you.
“Just leave. Me. ALONE!” You cut the bridge before she can get to it, vanishing into the woods as Max skids to a halt to avoid tumbling into the ravine below. It won’t stop her forever. It’d stop any sane person, sure, but not Rapunzel. But hey. It’ll slow her down a bit, and any win is a win you will take.
And for what it is worth, it takes you far. Far enough that you can see it there. The house. And then you slow Fidella to a walk. You dismount, tying her to a post at the bridge. You approach the place where the bridge was cut all those nights ago (how you know it was cut, you’re not sure), where the Guard repaired it to cross back. Their work was shoddy, though. The bridge doesn’t exactly look stable.
But then again, nothing here does. You can see it there, the vine-coated, overgrown house, and it stings to look at. You want to turn away right now and go back to Corona, but, this is something you must face. And you can’t just stand around and sulk about it. Rapunzel is going to be here any minute now, after all, and you need to keep moving.
You walk carefully across the bridge, making sure to keep your balance and hopefully not break one of the flaky wooden boards in the process. You manage to make it to the other side, but your caution costs you, something you figure out as soon as you hear her shout “Cassandra!”
As you thought, you didn’t have much of a lead after all. You give Rapunzel a quick look back, and make a mad dash for the door. She chases you, running as hard as she can, but you do beat her there. Barely. Just in time to slam the door behind you, giving yourself a moment to catch your breath as she reaches it. You notice Owl settle on the mantle, thankful he managed to be able to join you inside. You’d feel bad, trapping him out in the cold.
You stroll over to the curtains of the right window, which you pull shut the moment you catch a glimpse of her face. “Cassandra, where is this?” she asks, her voice muffled by the glass, but still clearly audible, much to your chagrin. You do the same in the other room, pulling your Mother’s tattered bed curtains to obscure the window’s view, “Cass you have to tell me what’s going on!” before you go back and collapse in front of the door.
“Cassandra, I know that what you’re going through here is hard, but please, just let me in.” Your eyes drift around the hauntingly familiar house as you filter out the Princess’ voice. It’s been left a wreck by time. Everything strewn about and coated in a thick sheet of dust, the moth-bitten edges of fabrics, the worn corners of wood... It looks rancid. Over a decade of decay has taken its toll, and some part of you feels hurt by that, even though you aren’t sure why.
You shake yourself out of that state, however, and snap back to reality. You should probably get a fire going, given you will most likely spend the whole night here, poking around. You glance at a small wooden chair, still laying on its side. Could make decent fuel.
“Cassandra, come on! I know you can hear me!” You can, as much as you’d rather not. You don’t acknowledge the Princess at all as you head over to the fire pit, which now stands infested with vines. The tinderbox is still there too, thankfully, although unless you can clear out the entire chimney it might not be a good idea. You should try and clear it out, so you can get a better assessment of how clogged the chimney is.
Even as you kneel next to it, you still can’t get a good look inside. You reach for your sword, unsheathing it, looking around and trying to see if you can find a good starting point, and it is during that process that something catches your eye.
You glance back at the Princess through the small window in the door that you alas, could not cover. There’s hope in her eyes as she stands there, waiting for you, but you’re not trying to gauge her feelings here. You’re trying to gauge her field of vision, and luckily, the thing you’re eyeing is just outside of that.
You lower your sword to outside of where she can see, letting the tip touch the piece of paper that has managed to catch your eye, and slowly pull it closer. Close enough for you to reach over and snap it up, shoving it in your pocket. You sheathe your sword, instead going for one of your knives. It is too large to be useful for vine clearing, after all. You act like you just realized this, and you make a cursory effort to clear out a couple of them, so it looks like you’d just been sizing up something rather than what you were actually doing, before you head back to the door, leaning up against it and looking at the paper directly.
There’s a drawing on it. A child’s drawing, specifically, of a small, dark haired girl and a tall, spindly, dark haired woman, together. Both looking, happy. Content. Somehow, just staring at this child’s drawing makes your chest grow tight. A feeling soon stifled by a far stronger sense of rage, hatred, that bubbles up in your stomach. You crumple the drawing up, tossing it aside into the bedroom, feeling satisfied as you do so, even though the act of doing so makes your chest sting.
“Cass, listen. I know that you don’t like to share your feelings with other people. I know that you like to try and handle every problem yourself. But, I’m your friend. I’m here for you. And, whatever it is you’re going through, we can deal with it. Together.” You don’t really believe her when she says that. You know she means it, of course, but you also know the way she handles problems, and her definition of that is very different than yours.
But also, she is the Princess, and you are probably going to be here a while. Letting her freeze outside is both a risk to her safety, and also a rather strong offense that might cost you your job should it get out, and though you may have your misgivings with your position, you’re not dumb enough to let that happen. And thus, you force yourself to turn around and open up the door.
She looks relieved when you answer her. Pascal, meanwhile, stares at you skeptically, but you can ignore the little lizard’s scorn for now.
You don’t say anything to her. You just let her come in, shut the door behind you, and take a seat on the carpet, near the empty fireplace, going back to hacking at the vines with your utility knife, letting that task serve to ground you in reality, rather than in the maelstrom churning inside you.
“Thank you, Cass,” she says, but you don’t answer. The Princess of Corona is perceptive. She can see that there’s something on your mind. Unfortunately, she’s not perceptive enough to get the idea that maybe, just maybe, you really don’t want to talk about it. “Soooooo, what, exactly is this place, anyways?”
You glance up towards her, eyes narrowing. “Raps, look. You wanted to come in. I let you. That doesn’t mean I owe you a conversation about it, okay? I’m fine. Just, cold.”
You’re clearly not fine. She can see you’re not fine. But she doesn’t press, thankfully. She stands up, and you let your eyes follow her. A bad idea. You know she’s going to do something dumb and anger you even more. Really, you should get back to clearing out the fireplace. But yet, you don’t. You just, stare.
In classic Rapunzel fashion, rather than see your clear distress as a reason to just let things be, she decides to investigate things herself. You turn back to the fireplace, to the vines, but you can still see her moving in your peripheral vision. She peeks behind the screen, and you hear her pull open one of the drawers.
“Is this… someone’s house?” You roll your eyes. Wow, how’d you guess, genius? you want to retort, but you aren’t in the mood to pick a fight right now. You eventually give up, looking over to her. She notices this, and you follow her eyes as she looks behind you at something, and then heads over to the door to investigate it directly. You turn around to see her as she kneels by something, Pascal swerving around to the other side to look with equal fascination. “Huh. What’s this? Pieces of some sort of device?”
Your heart clenches when she says that. It feels like someone just ripped an entire layer of skin off your arm. You don’t know why it hurts like that. It just does. And on sheer instinct, you shout, “Don’t touch that!”
She and Pascal both turn their heads towards you. You sigh, looking away. You feel like an idiot. This place, it has to have something about it. Something that just, gets into your head and makes you make dumb mistakes that just make everything harder and more complicated. “Sorry. I… don’t know what came over me.”
You get up, heading over to join them. They back up to make room for you, as you look at the shattered pieces of the device you recognize as the pieces of a… music box. Seeing it laying there, you understand instantly that this was once yours. Not only was it yours, but… it was important to you. You know that, somehow, and that… well. It’s terrifying, really. All of this that’s been going on.
This is a mystery that you keep getting clues to, but those clues lead to no answers. It’s something that you do not know, and because you do not know it, you cannot influence it, but yet it can influence you. These feelings, these memories, they poke and prod and pull at you. They’re trying to tell you something, you know that, but you don’t know what and it’s driving you insane and Rapunzel being here is not helping and-
Your Dad was right. You shouldn’t have come here. But, well, you made your choice. You can’t take it back now.
Rapunzel walks away, Pascal following her in turn, as they go to the bedroom. The world seems to be unraveling around you, and yet all you can do is stand there helplessly. You want to yell at her to leave. You want to tackle her to the ground and make her stop. You want her to stop peeling back layers of your guard, to stop exposing you to this pain. But she is the Princess, and you are her lady-in-waiting. Like it or not, you cannot harm her. Like it or not, she can do whatever she wishes to you.
Rapunzel sits down on the bed, picking up an object off of it and turning it over in her fingers. You look away, so as not to get another reminder, your eyes now fixated on the cold, stone floor. You see Pascal move out of the corner of your eye, and you know what he is moving to. You glance over to Owl. He meets your eyes, and you can see the concern he has. He can tell what this is doing to you, and he isn’t enjoying one bit of it.
“Huh? Pascal, what’s this?” You flinch. Recoiling away on instinct as the oblivious Princess picks up the piece of paper and unfolds it, fixing your eyes on the fireplace. Well, looks like you can’t avoid the awkward, embarrassing conversation now. But you don’t hear her move. You glance back at Rapunzel. She’s just… staring at it, her face scrunching up the way it does when she’s engrossed in thought. And then, carefully, she rolls it up, and starts walking towards you.
You’ve seen this before. You’ve managed to pierce her perpetual cheer in the past, and each and every time it happens, it terrifies you, but this time that terror is mixed with befuddlement. You don’t know why she’d get upset over a dumb drawing. Sure, you know why you would, but she’s more the sort to go “aww how cute”, and then for you to cringe in embarrassment and for it to be absolutely intolerable. Not, well, this .
Pascal seems to be backing her on it as well, looking just as upset as the Princess does. You know that Lizard doesn’t tend to go along with her when she’s being totally irrational. Not like this, anyways. He has some sense to him. So for him to be upset as well…
Whatever it is you’ve done, you have messed up something very, very badly.
“Cass. Answer me. What is this place?” The question is forceful, serious, and this time, you don’t think you have a way to avoid it.
“Raps, it’s…” You stare down at the floor, gloves gripping at shards of wood and metal of the broken music box. “This place, is where I was born.”
She takes in a breath and just, freezes there. She doesn’t look surprised, per se. She probably suspected it from the drawing. But she looks hurt. And then, desperately, as if searching for some sort of escape route, she says, “But, Cassandra. You… you told me you were adopted.”
“I am!”
“You said you didn’t know your parents!”
“I don’t!” You throw your head back in frustration, slamming it into your hands, and she freezes in place, the anger on her face replaced with vulnerability, and for the first time since you’ve gotten here you can actually meet her eyes. “Raps, why do you think I didn’t want you to come here!? This is the first time I’ve been here in eighteen years. I know nothing! Nothing about where I came from, nothing about what my parents were like, nothing about what my heritage is, nothing! And I wanted to be able to discover that in peace! Alone. But you just had to come here and shove yourself into my business, like you always do!”
This time, it’s Rapunzel’s turn to look guilty. She grips the paper tightly in her hands, and Pascal too seems to back off with a soft whine. She kneels down next to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. You stiffen for a moment at the gesture, but then relax. You feel guilty too, after all. You shouldn’t have snapped at her like that. It’s just, this damn place. Again. “Cass, I’m sorry, but… I think that this is my business.”
“What do you mean?” You find your own voice involuntarily softening in turn. Something is definitely up here. Because Rapunzel doesn’t say that in the hokey, “you’re my friend so your problems are always my business” way. It’s grim, it’s somber. It has weight to it. And that? That... well, you were already terrified before. What’s a little more going to do for it?
“Because the woman in this picture?” She pulls it out, and unfurls it, showing it to you. “She’s my Mother too.”
You look away from the picture immediately, and she, picking up on this, thankfully puts it away. Your mind is racing, and immediately you latch onto and say the first thought that comes to your mind.
“What? No. I’m sorry, Raps, but your Mother is the Queen, and while it is nice of you to be trying to make some sort of connection with me here and all, this woman here is… not… her…” A few things click together then, in your head. The date on those adoption papers. The broken music box. The promise your Father asked of you.
It all makes sense now. And you that it does.
All eyes in the room fall on you as you pace back and forth frantically, trying to process this, and eventually you just turn to a wall and slam your fist into it, the sound echoing throughout the room. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes, and you do your best to push them aside. In the end, all you can sputter out is, “Did she ever mention me? Did she ever tell you she had another child?”
You know the answer before Rapunzel says it. “No… she didn’t. Not that I can remember anyways.”
And, despite yourself, you laugh. You laugh louder and harder than you have in a long while, because of course she wouldn’t. Why would she? Not when she left you. Not when you meant nothing to her. Because if you had, why didn’t she look for you? You wouldn’t have been too hard to find. There were obvious leads to follow, after all. But she didn’t. She didn’t bother to find you, because you were never important to her, and so of course she didn’t bother to mention you to the child who actually mattered.
You collapse, despite yourself. You collapse and you just know the Princess is going to be on you and sure enough she is. “Cassandra, I’m-”
“So what? Just because you’re connected to this now makes it suddenly okay for you to be shoving yourself in on this!?” You hate yourself for snapping at her. You always hate when you do, because you know she means well, but you also know that she shouldn’t be here. And she looks hurt at your words, at the anger on your face, and that only serves to make you feel even worse .
Contrary to what some people (cough Eugene cough cough) believe, you are not a cold, cruel person. You’re not someone who snaps at everyone at the slightest provocation. It’s just that you are surrounded by people to whom the concept of privacy is entirely foreign. People who routinely invade your privacy. Who routinely push you past your limits. People like the Princess, who stands before you right now, looking so hurt as if this is all about her, because it is always about her. It’s always about Rapunzel and her feelings and her pain. Not yours. Never yours. It’s just her.
“You’re right,” she tells you, and your mind immediately does a double take, “I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t know how important to you this was, and-”
“Just drop it, Raps. You’re here now. You might as well make yourself comfortable.” You shouldn’t cut off your boss, but, you know what she’s going to say. She means the apology sincerely, but the moment she launches into excuses, you realize that her sincerity is meaningless. That the false hope you felt was just that. False.
After all, it isn’t like things are going to change between you two. You and her are going to be doing the same song and dance for as long as you live. And, worst of all, it's the best you’ve ever had. For all of your whining and whinging about her actions, Rapunzel, well, actually cares about you. And she doesn't just care, but she goes actively out of her way to show that to you. It’s a low bar, you know that, but she is one of the very few people who passes it. And sure, she does not know when maybe she shouldn’t show it, but the fact that she bothers at all is extraordinary. She would give you the moon on a stick if she could, when no one else in the world would even give you so much as a single cent without you begging them for it.
And so, maybe she does deserve an explanation. You glance up at Owl once more. He can guess what you’re about to do, and doesn’t exactly look happy about it, but… this is necessary. You’ve spent months holding back your feelings. You've been doing it ever since you two met, really. And right now you’re cold and tired and surrounded by things that intrude into your mind, and frankly, you don’t really have the energy to hold things back anymore.
“You know, I didn’t exactly have many friends, before I met you. You're, really the first person who has gone through the trouble of befriending me. You're, important to me, and so when I tell you this I mean in in the best way possible, but...” you tell her, and she looks towards you. You regret it instantly, but well, you’ve made your choice. You can’t back out now. “We can't be friends, in the way you want us to be. You're very important to me, and I love and care about you a lot, but, what you want from me is something I cannot give you."
"...What? Cass, what are you talking about?" Well. You hate this. You don't wish to continue, but well, you've already chosen to go down this road. There's no turning back for you now. You have to tell her to the truth. Now. Or else you never will.
"Because, you and I... we're not the same. Rapunzel to be honest, you’re… well. You've always meant something to someone. To a lot of people, actually, just for being what you are. You’re the Princess, and you have your hair, and, well, you’re just, you . You’re special , in a way that I… that I never have been. And, before you cut in about this, I know that there’s a lot of hardship and responsibility that comes with that. I know. I've seen a lot of it firsthand, in fact. And there’s even more that you’ve been through that I haven’t seen, but… I’ve… well. I never got that experience. Everything I achieved, everything I have, is because I worked for it. And, in working for everything like that, I’ve… well. You learn a lot about the way the world is, when it doesn’t feel the need to go easy on you.”
Rapunzel stares blankly at the ground, pulling her legs close to her chest. “Well, maybe being locked away from the world isn’t such a good thing. Did you ever think about that, Cassandra?"
Oh. Right. The tower thing. Good job on phrasing there, Cassandra. “Ugh, you know what I mean. You have everything, and me? Well. I started with nothing, and barely have anything as it is. And even now, I still feel like I am going to lose it all at any moment. Like with just one mistake, I could be sent away by my Father, or lose my job, or something, and everything I worked for will be meaningless. And you? You were born with what you have. I don’t think anyone can take it away from you.”
You head over to the fireplace, glancing up the chimney. There seems to be enough ventilation for it to work, as long as you deal with the vines directly above the fire pit itself. And so you start to tear at them with your hands, thankful to your gloves for keeping the thorns from digging in too much.
Rapunzel sighs. The hurt shines through clearly in her voice, and it doesn’t annoy you this time. It just makes you feel guilty, which is arguably worse. “Cass, look. You’re right. I don’t understand what you’ve been through, what exactly it is you are going through right now. But maybe, if you told me, I could try ! Keeping your feelings to yourself isn’t going to help with that. It's just going to make you feel more alone."
“Of course. But it's bold of you to assume that you can, Princess.” You yank out a particularly thick vine, tossing it behind you, and you hear Pascal scurry away from it. Oops.
“But… Why can't I? If you’re right, if there’s some great, uncrossable divide between us, why can't you show it to me?"
You roll your eyes. Of course she asks that. Of course. Putting you between a rock and a hard place here. Well, she’s asking, and you’re tired enough that you might just actually give her an answer. One she’s not gonna like, but you’re gonna say anyways, because you don’t have the self control to stop yourself.
“I have been trying to, Princess. This whole time. You've just been blind to it."
You expect some kind of impatient, defensive retort, and then a fight to break out, and then for everything between you two to be ruined forever. You don’t get that. You get, silence. As you yank out the last of the vines, all you get from her is a hollow, “What do you mean, Cass?"
You shouldn’t be relieved hearing that, but you are. She’s clearly miserable, clearly taken aback, but you’re happy about it. Because, you think, for the first time, Rapunzel might actually let you explain it to her. Explain it to her in a way she might actually listen to, rather than just, push aside or misconstrue. She’s basically stuck in here with you, and Eugene isn’t going to be showing up to rescue her anytime soon, so hey. Captive audience. Hooray for you, jerk. You just can't help but make everything worse, can you?
You shake the chimney dust out of your hair, turning back towards her, but not before catching Owl’s judgmental look. A look you ignore as you continue your explanation. “Rapunzel, you’re the Princess. Like it or not, there are really only two people in Corona with more authority than you. But, there are a lot more people with authority than me. I may be your guardian, but… I don’t outrank them. I don’t outrank you, even. So, if your little antics end up causing a mess, who do you think ends up being the one to clean it up?”
She gets it fast, you can tell, but it takes her longer to actually come out and say it. You can see the way she turns it over in her head, the way she struggles to find another interpretation of your words, before she finally acquiesces. “...You, I guess, but, Cass, why would they try and punish you for my mistakes? If people have a problem with me, shouldn’t they just, tell me about it? I know I'm the Princess, but... isn't that all the more reason to try and get that kind of stuff fixed, before it becomes a problem for the whole country?"
You hold back the temptation to give her some witty comeback. It wouldn’t be helpful, not when you two are actually making progress. So, you just decide to go with the truth. Why not? “Because you’re in charge of them. Technically, you’re in charge of me, even if you don’t really act like it. Your word is law, ultimately, and everyone else has to fall in line with it. They can insinuate, suggest, cast judgment, even go to your Father, but you being, well, you , means that method isn’t really effective. And so…”
“They try to make you be the one to control me?” She doesn’t really sound surprised by that answer. Rather, she sounds more, frustrated, by all of this. That catches you a bit off guard. She doesn’t seem surprised by this conversation. Just, dismayed. Maybe she’s a bit more canny than you give her credit for.
“Sometimes.” You nod. “But not always. Usually, they just make whatever it is you did my problem. I’m the one they punish, not you. I’m the one who has to clean things up, not you. Because I’m your lady in waiting, so whatever your problems are, they're mine too."
“But… why? That doesn’t…”
“Yeah. It doesn’t make sense. I know. The world doesn’t make sense, Raps. The world doesn’t follow the rules of what is just, or fair, or whatever. You mess up, I’m the one who gets sent away. That’s how it works.”
You turn back to the fireplace, grabbing the tinderbox off of the mantle and hoping you can get things started. You barely manage to get in a good strike at the flint in before Rapunzel pipes up with, “Is, all of this, here, the reason you’re so scared of being sent away? Because you already were forced to leave everything behind before?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” you tell her frustratedly in response, as you strike again, the tinder catching as you move back, leaning back on your hands, trying to focus on the movements of the flames rather than the movements of your heart. “Why does it matter?”
You don’t have to look at the Princess to know she flinches at that. Not because it hurt her, mind you, but because she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get that the reasons, the feelings, all of it isn’t important. What matters is simply what is. And that? That is the reality of things. And maybe it’s unfair of you to make her deal with it.
Owl, rested on the mantle, gives you an enigmatic look as you silently ask him whether it is or not. Mixed, is how you see it. You shouldn’t have told her that so bluntly, but… well. The Princess does need to know these things. And if you’re the only person willing to say it, then, so be it.
“Look, Cass? I’m sorry.” She comes up to your side, putting a hand on your shoulder. Pascal skitters up next to you in turn, mirroring her as he places his own scaly hand on your leg. She takes a deep breath, puffing up, clearly trying to be the mature and reasonably adult here and comfort you in your time of need. “I am the future Queen, as you’ve said. It is my duty to make Corona a safe place for everyone who wants to call it home. And I can tell that you want it to be. You’ve worked so hard to protect and serve the Kingdom, harder than almost anyone. But… despite that, I wasn’t able to do that for you. I didn't even notice that you were struggling with so much. I failed to make my own Kingdom safe for one of the people I care about the most. And for that... I am sorry, Cassandra. I have failed. Both as the future Queen, and as a friend."
You laugh. There isn’t any malice in it, really, although you wouldn’t call it exactly an expression of amusement. It’s just… well, such a Rapunzel answer, really. But you think she gets it. Kinda. In her own way. And that’s enough for you.
Smirking wryly at her, you fire back with, “Eh, relax Raps, don't look so torn up about it. Wouldn't be the first person who failed at that."
She doesn't smile back, or seem to appreciate your attempts at lightening the mood. “Well... hopefully, I'll be the last." Eh, doubtful, but you keep yourself from rolling your eyes. She needs the encouragement after all of that. "But… thanks, Cass. For being willing to open up to me. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”
"Yeah. And uh, thanks. Raps," you pause awkwardly, before adding, "For the apology, that is. I, do actually hope you can make things better."
And you do. You don't expect her to, but... you want it to be true. You want things to be better with her too. After all... she is the best thing you've got. “Anyways, you can go grab a blanket from the other room, if you’d like. I know you must be getting cold in here, and it'll take a bit for the fire to warm things up."
“Ah, uh, right.” She stands up, heading over to the connected bed area. “Would you like me to grab one for you?”
“If you want to.” Which she takes as a yes, coming up to your side and swaddling the both of you in a red blanket. Your mother’s, you know, and she probably does too, but you both refrain from mentioning it. In fact, that implicit understanding lingers in the air between you two. The understanding that your shared Mother is something neither of you wish to talk about. Not right now, anyways.
Rapunzel will probably breach it at some point, of course, but for now, you’ll take the break from the hard conversations, and just… let yourself process everything. This visit “home” wasn’t a complete disaster, and as far as you’re concerned, that counts as a victory.