Chapter Text
Varian awakens, eventually. He usually does. He must.
He begins walking. He will try. He has to.
The world is at a silent standstill, and every inch of him aches, but he will keep walking. He doesn’t know how much longer he has, and he is not going to waste such precious time weeping or sleeping or waiting for help.
If no one will help him, he will go help himself. He walks along plains he had once trekked in snow, stacks he had once leapt off of, under skies that had once greyed as he sung and swore to the hidden suns and spindled snow. He will make it there. He has before. He always has.
His feet had never failed him. Not when he was running across the terrains and leaping through the air like a delirious madman. Not when he was smiling in the whirlwind of a world that seemed to never stop being so…so wondrous, and endless, and cold, and…lonely.
He begins walking, not knowing when he will stop, not knowing how he can.
He begins walking, not knowing what he’ll do when he gets there, or if he will be able to do anything at all.
He begins walking alone, not knowing how many more steps he needs to tread.
…
Morning dew dripping quietly down the blades of evergreen. The faint chirp and cheer of birds flocking and fluttering in unmoving air, drowning amongst the jeer of the rustling and rippling layers of greens speckling the trees. Still silence.
Silence still.
And then rain, an ambience drowning in with the still silence.
Though it was all the same to his numbed ears and whirring mind, it was not the same to his drenched clothes, his shivering form, his drooping locks of already messy hair.
Because of course, if there was anything Varian needed on his grueling journey to the palace, it was a sky with no sun and the heavy patter of raindrops pouring down upon him, ushering away the serene, brief yet unthinking bliss of the morning he had woken up to when he had started out alone. Not that he had noticed such a bliss with the appreciation he could have-he had been wrought with nerve-wracking anxiety, too desperate to be on his way and too terrified to stay where he was.
For his father was in danger-possibly doomed to be sentenced for a crime he would not have committed had it not been for Varian and the trouble he brought...and Varian would be damned if he merely sat there waiting for help to come.
Varian inhales sharply yet quietly, allowing his aching muscles some reprieve as he slumps sideways against a large oak, eyes wistfully and deridingly following the still winding path ahead, with the tower of Corona palace looming majestically yet distantly in the horizon. His throat and legs burn, his empty stomach twists and growls in protest, his heavy eyelids barely open. So…so distant…so far away…
Varian sighs, contemplating for a few seconds before hesitantly allowing his sore eyelids to flutter. No…no…shit don’t do it Varian, not now…please not now-
His knees buckle.
It is cold.
It is cold. The intrepid, distant sound of newly polished heels is cold, clicking and clamoring against cold puddles, echoing and entrancing and eccentric in the hollow chasms of his ringing ears…
…as the cold splatters of rain paint his pale face, blind his exhausted eyes, drench his disheveled hair and trickle down his sharp chin.
No…no. No flashbacks. Not right now. Please not now…
His arms stretch painfully in their attempt to brace his fall and yet his front still manages to hit the ground as his face sinks in the very mud, arms barely holding before buckling under his weight too. Varian instinctively closes his mouth, eyes watering with humiliation and pain as the putrid scent and texture of the ground floods his nose, before he forces his head to whip back up again, spluttering and gasping as he tries to catch his breath, trying to blink rapidly as he tries to clear the mud from his eyes, nose and mouth.
Something else…a cold, bitter metallic fluid floods his mouth, staining his teeth, gurgling in his throat with every dry, wretched gasp and heave that struggles to crawl out, worm and blossom their way past his lips from where they are forever embroidered, stuck, embossed into the center of his chest. Blood. He touches his lip, and then presses his tongue against the insides of his teeth. Fantastic. He closes his eyes and turns his face away as he tries wiping the blood away. He didn't think he would faint at the sight of blood now...he had become too used to see it, most usually from himself. Still, he liked to believe he could be consistent if he wanted.
Shuddering in disgust and self-contempt, Varian growls and presses the heels of his palms against his eyelids, their weight consoling and grounding as well as painful and pronounced. He tries to rapidly blink away tears of helplessness…why was he so weak? He had to make this journey! He had to get there-on his own! No one could help him but himself…why was his body being so adamant, difficult? If he couldn’t make this journey on his own…then everything he had hated about himself, everything that those who had hurt him had preyed on…had been correct.
He would be…justified, in staying where he was, if he never tried to move. And maybe he would feel a bit better about himself if his limbs would just fucking move…
“Varian?” A familiar voice in the distance. “What are you doing here?”
Varian blinks at the ground blankly, freezing in mortification that gave him the fleeting adrenaline to quickly struggle his way up to stand and turning around to see.…a tall, broadly built man, with dark skin, a bald head, a neat beard and a small mustache. A golden chain is secured around his neck, matching the small golden earring on one of his ears. He sits on the seat of what appears to be a cart, the back of it filled with sacks and the front headed by a horse...Maximus, Varian thinks his name was?
“It’s me. Lance.” At Varian’s still-blank expression, Lance frowns. “Rapunzel and Eugene’s friend? …I rubbed off your fake goatee?”
“Rapunzel?” Varian breathes heavily, watching Lance’s every movement and trying to process what he has just spoken. The man towers above him, with his large fists and burly figure. So much like his father, and yet so much like one who had hurt him. He only manages to catch three words.
Rapunzel-Eugene-friend. How long he had been asleep for? What if it was too late? Had his dad already been tried and executed for his crime? No, Rapunzel and Eugene wouldn’t let anything happen to his father. Lance was their friend, which means she must have sent for him to check on Varian as soon as she heard about the riot. But then, why not come herself? And why even bring a cart? Despite the short time they had known each other, Varian thought Rapunzel as the type to rush to the scene of the emergency, attempt to help pick up the pieces, run through flames and ashes looking for those in danger and need-unless it was him, of course, but could she really be blamed for that?
Staring closer, Varian is able to make out those two large and unfamiliar sets of eyes peering around Lance. Why would Rapunzel send children to a territory marked by riot? Sure…he was maybe a distance away from his village now but… “Did Rapunzel send you?” Varian broaches hopefully, the ache in his feet singing as his hope reignites and flutters faintly in his chest. So he wasn’t alone.
“Erm…no.” Lance reluctantly answers, already discouraged by Varian’s expression. “The girls and I were just going to Neserdnia to return some loot.”
Unable to stem the sudden twinge of simultaneous disappointment and fear in his chest, Varian stares blankly, lip curling as he withholds the first word that came to mind-partially because it wouldn’t look very nice to the two younger children present, and partially because he did not trust himself to be angry nor yet believed he had the right to be. Yet.
“…Cool.” Varian curtly replies, turning back around and continuing to walk as though that hadn’t just happened, as though his heart isn’t threatening to hobble and sink into the pit of his stomach. No, it makes sense that Rapunzel didn’t tell anyone near to her. That was their little secret, after all. And they had kept secrets before-
Lance’s voice is then raised, nearly stopping him short and eliciting a flinch. Varian steels himself inwardly. He’s not yelling at you. He’s not. You didn’t do anything wrong…this time…“Wait! Wait, buddy, where are you going? What are you doing out here all alone? Varian!”
As he walks, Lance’s voice becomes muffled, a faint ringing in his ears as he furthers the distance between them. Varian stiffens at the sudden pain in his side, pausing before continuing to walk without a response. If I ignore them long enough, they will go away. They usually do.
“Varian! Are you hurt? Wait! Do you need help with something?”
Varian stiffens, wrapping his arms around himself. He ignores the cold rain seeping through the thin cloth of his shirt, clinging to his otherwise bare skin and weighing heavily into his bones. “No.” He finally, quietly answers. “No, I don’t need your help. I just…need the princess. I need to get to the palace so I can see her.”
“Well, I don’t…have her.” Lance concedes, before pausing and smiling good-naturedly. As Varian tries to blink through the rain, holding up his hand over his half-open eyes, it’s harder to see. “But we can hitch you a ride to the palace.”
Varian quietly considers. On one hand, he very much needs to get to the palace, preferably as soon as possible. On the other…he is not sure if he is ready to ‘hitch a ride’ with people he barely knew…one of whom had still seen his past and what he was capable of…for who knew how long… “I can…walk by myself, thanks.”
Yes, you can most certainly outpace a horse and a cart in your current state. So dumb, Varian.
“Kid…” At the lowered, mellow tone, Varian frowns, feeling odd after not having been so gently talked to like that for long. He turns back again-half-hoping the man wouldn’t argue with him, and the other half hoping he would insist. The rain is soft, pattering. “I just don’t…think you should be going there alone.”
The boy pauses, arms still wrapped around himself, trying not to betray the way his shoulders hunch. His wrists are itching. They're probably staring. My knife...Dad had gotten rid of my knife...
“I don’t want to go with you.” Varian relents, less to Lance and more so to himself. “I’ll-I’ll wait for Rapunzel. I can walk on my own but if Rapunzel wants to come then-”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lance replies, though it is not as insulting as it should sound. “The palace is far from here, and you’ve already been out here for who knows how long. From the looks of things, you seem a little…” He pauses at Varian’s glare, seeing how the boy clutches himself and tries to hide the ache in his side and legs, and his fatigue. “It’s not safe for you to stay any longer.” Lance chooses to finish off.
“I can just continue. I’m used to being alone. I can just…make as many miles as I can until Rapunzel comes.” Varian answers truthfully.
Lance shakes his head, moving forward. “You’re not alone, Varian.” He states quietly, his voice confident and clear….as though saying it any louder will frighten his hope further away, and lower would cause it to shrivel and shake. “Not…right now. Not anymore.”
Varian does not listen, eyes flitting to each of the concerned faces. They would not make him do anything. He didn’t…have to get in there. Well, you don’t have to die here alone in the darkening forest, of hypothermia and illness and starvation and animal attacks. Shut up, Varian. “Rapunzel. Go back to the palace and tell Princess Rapunzel I need her. Please. I need her to come herself.” He pleads, blinking his tears away. Despite himself, he worries of how selfish it must sound to the others-Rapunzel is the Crown Princess, and cannot simply drop everything to spend time for him, or fix problems of his own making. But somehow, the instinctive need to cry into her shoulder, to grab onto her and beg her to save his father once more, is more poignant than possible.
And yet…why was he being so stubborn? Dad needed him…Dad was there all alone, in prison…God…what if his neck was resting on the chopping block at this very moment? What if…he is to be an orphan in the next second, and he doesn’t know it? What did it matter if Rapunzel herself came or not? There were more important things to worry about!
“I don’t plan to stay here any longer.” Varian continues. Maybe his next step will be worse, Maybe he ought to wait. But what more could he want? “It’s just…my dad. My dad’s at the palace and I really need to see him an I need to get there quickly because if I don’t get there quickly I might not be able to see-”
“Wait, wait-” Lance holds up his hands. “So this is an emergency?” Max stands to attention, neighing in response. Lance moves. “You can take Max, if you like. Max can get you to the palace-although running there would take time, it’s a bit hard for him to run in the muddy terrain. But it sure would be quicker than walking by yourself. Max can take you to the capital and then return for us later. We can wait.” Lance hops off, beginning to take the reins off.
“No!” Varian quickly stops him, despite the rush of adrenaline and spite running through him. “No, I mean...it is an emergency but….” He swallows in shame. “I can’t…I don’t know how to ride. By myself.”
He had always wanted to learn…but in the past, his father had not had much time for travel nor teaching his son the basics.
Cheeks burning, Varian watches Lance knit his brows in thought rather than judgment. “Well…I would just sit behind you and make you don’t fall off or jostle anything but…I can’t just leave the girls here alone with the loot, and we can’t all fit on Max either…it might slow him down.”
The black-haired girl perks up, shaking her head. “That’s alright, Lance! Red and I can take care of ourselves! You should go with Varian.”
Lance shakes his head. “No! Do you know how many thieves hang around these woods? Leaving kids anywhere by themselves is dangerous.”
Varian blinks, watching the man look back at the cart and then at Max thoughtfully, face twisted in conflict. “You know…we can just turn this ride around and take you to the palace. Once we get off this muddy terrain, Max can run with the cart in tow.”
“No, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to give you all that trouble.” Varian shakes his head profusely, torn between his desires. There…there wasn’t really a point, right? Max couldn’t exactly run right now and at this rate maybe he was better off on foot…Varian’s pains would subside and then he wouldn’t have to resort to doing something he was really uncomfortable with just for the sake of… “You don’t…have to offer that, you already have plans. I can make the rest of the distance by myself and then…Rapunzel will hear about what happened. And then she’ll come.” Suddenly, he is not there, with Lance and the girls. Suddenly, he is a young boy again, quietly peaking above the windowsill, waiting to see if his friends would appear at the horizon, save him from this hellish, seemingly endless cycle of agony. That he wasn't...alone. I’ll go with Rapunzel.”
“Varian, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I know this…might be a lot to take in.” Lance cautions, as though he anticipates Varian’s response already. “But Rapunzel isn’t here right now. I am. I can help you. On her behalf, if you want to think of it that way.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m being unreasonable…I just want my dad.” Varian whispers hoarsely, breath picking up along with his run-on string of words. “I’m not crazy. I swear. I just-I need my dad. I know it’s crazy…I need help but I’m scared of help but I need dad but I’m scared of actually going and I need to make this journey by myself but I need to get there before something happens to Dad but I don’t know or think me going there is going to be of any help and I don’t know what finishing this journey would mean or accomplish, or what being there would do…I just think it can and I don’t want to be here.” The voice begins to chip away at the steel coating he had erected around his heart, and every word feels like another blow to the otherwise sturdy structure, a burden to bear and breathe with the weight of his conscience flailing under the unfaltering test of time and torrent of tears. His hair sticks to the back of his neck, itchy. “You-you don’t mind too terribly if I just-?” He holds off the question…he feels horrible for asking for help.
He was supposed to make this journey on his own.
Lance’s face changes as he notices the boy’s distress, notices his reluctance, notices his half-finished sentence. He notices it as easily as he did the fake goatee Varian had drawn onto his face, as the hesitant stride with which Varian had trailed after Andrew and the Saporians not long ago, as the resigned and ashamed way Varian had ducked his head behind Rapunzel’s confident form as she readily led him out of the prisons-out of hell for the first time. “There is nothing crazy about needing help.” The man cajoles quietly, slowly. “You want to see your dad again, don’t you? You want to make sure he’s okay.” Varian nods vigorously, the image of his father’s hunkered figure in chains burnt into his mind even though.…Lance couldn’t possibly know about what had happened with Dad and the village, could he? Lance was just trying to ease him…calm him down with empty assurances.
Well, Varian feels empty enough and any assurance sounds more than swell.
Displaying ostensible relief, Lance continues. “Well, I’m sure he wants to make sure you’re okay, too. So here’s what we can do. We’re going to carefully get past this terrain as quickly as we can-”
"You can make yourself a nice, comfortable little bed out of these bags of loot if you like!” The black-haired girl adds in helpfully. Varian narrows his eyes, choosing not to question…that.
“-and you can rest easy in the back with the girls until we can get Max to pick up the pace. Or you can sit with me at the front, so we can talk all you like. Then you can rest at the royal physician’s office, while I find someone to fill you in about your dad. Doesn’t that sound fun? I mean…” Lance pauses and retraces his steps sheepishly. “Is that…okay?”
Varian latches onto every word, absorbs it greedily. He didn’t know about pancakes, or fun, but any mention of food did leave his stomach grumbling irritably. Varian stares past Lance’s outstretched hand and assesses the situation, a strange bout of simultaneous dread and relief pooling in his stomach. Given the room allowed by the size of the cart, he could comfortably squeeze himself in the very back with the two younger girls without worrying about being within arm’s reach of the man while also being able to avoid his gaze entirely. “I can sit at the back.” Varian replies carefully, still keeping most of his gaze focused on the man. “But…I need to get there fast.”
Lance’s face twists, sharing his concern. “Again, buddy, this is a bit of a muddy terrain-we’d have to tread lightly for now. We’re going about as fast as we can. When we’re past it, we’ll have Max pick up the pace. But when Max runs this whole thing jostles something awful and I don’t want you falling off, so you’d have to come over to the front when we do that.”
Varian scowls-that did sound like something that would happen to him. Nodding in concession, the boy quietly shuffles forward and carefully tries stepping onto the back of the cart, nearly stumbling over his own foot (because of course you do, Varian).
Lance notices, making to help him. “Here, if you want-”
“I can do it.” Varian hisses under his breath in the most assuring manner he can manage, trying not to sound frustrated as he takes a deep breath and shakily hoists himself up. Lance backs away cautiously. The girls watch him, and Varian feels relieved upon sparing some of his pride in front of them. “…Thanks.” He adds on breathlessly after a second thought.
The cart begins moving, and Varian’s stomach jolts with every jarring stop, queasy from not being towed by a horse since-since then. The rain continues its usual pattern, though a few patches of sun peak out from the moving clouds, the sky remaining largely grey still. The glimpses of sunlight are weak, and yet Varian squints irritantly, instinctively away. He resorts to fumbling his fingers against his apron.
“For reference, that’s Red-” Lance points at the red-haired girl, who strains a smile despite a brief flash of disappointment sizzling behind her emerald eyes-“and that’s Angry.” He points to the black-haired one, her quiet eyes squinting analytically at him despite her small smile and wave. "So…are you going to tell me what you were doing out here?” Lance carefully broaches.
Varian does not answer, content with turning as soon as the introductions were done and staring off into space. Fortunately, the ache in his side and legs are starting to alleviate…which unfortunately leaves him more time to his mind. What…what was he doing out here? Right…Dad-he wanted his dad. He needed his dad. Where was Dad?
“You’re right. I don’t have any right to expect you to be happy here. I don’t have the right to keep you here. I certainly don’t deserve to be believed in. I don’t get to choose how you hurt.” Quirin inhales shakily, as though even breathing a different way will splinter the delicate silence and all it can bring. “I don’t get to-”
“-sit here and expect you to be alright with telling me anything. But you know, I can help you, if only you’d tell me what’s going on.”
“Riot.” Varian manages, his throat feeling more parched than before. Almost...constricting even, though he could breathe just fine.
“Riot?” Lance straightens up, alarmed as he turns and gives Varian his full attention, hands still clutching the reins. Varian tries not to squirm under his gaze, maintaining his blank stare. “In Old Corona? Are your townsfolk-”
“-as dumb as you? Will they believe that a guard from the good king himself-the same one that protects and provides for his humble subjects-is going to attack a peasant vassal that remains undeniably loyal to him, despite all that’s happened? Not to mention, the reputation he has incurred…”
“-Alright? Do you know where your dad-”
Dad-Dad, please don’t be hurt. No, no, not him. Please.
“Princess, my dad needs help!”
“Can you imagine the look on his dad’s face when he must have found out?”
“Dad, can I listen to your heart?”
Dad’s in pain-
“-listen to me. I won’t go, ok? I won’t tell anyone. Whatever we do now is-”
“-up to you. But if you ever need a pal to hitch a ride with, we’d be more than happy to help. Won’t we, girls?”
Red eagerly nods, smiling, still seeming oddly strained and exhausted. Angry, however, eyes him suspiciously. Varian suddenly feels very self-conscious, and realizes that he must have been sitting there silently the entire time as Lance asked and talked and assured. The only person to be kind to him without properly knowing about his predicament-he had even offered a ride for free without question, and Varian had been ignoring him.
“Why won’t you talk?” She blatantly asks.
“Angry, you can’t just ask people why they don’t talk. And I just said Varian doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to. Weren’t you listening?” Lance admonishes, but the tone is light-hearted as he gives her a sideways smirk. Varian blinks and looks away sheepishly, hoping for the life of him that Lance doesn’t figure out that he hadn’t been listening all along. “Leave the poor guy alone.”
Angry shrugs, leaning back. Not two minutes pass before she begins again. “Does your dad make pancakes?” She asks, leaning forward and digging the heel of her palms into her pants. “Lance says he can, but the only time I’ve ever seen him go into the kitchen is to eat food, not make it. And if he could make food, he’d eat it all himself before thinking to give us any.”
Varian remains silent as he listens to Red laugh, suddenly feeling guilty for not indulging the girls. What could he expect? He knew what it was like, to wish someone listened to him even as he rambled about things no one else seemed to care about. He didn’t have the best experience with kids around his age either, and it didn’t look like merely sitting here doing anything was going to help. So he forces a dry chuckle, casting a quick glance to Lance for silent assurance. But the man was calmly smiling at the road ahead, as though blissfully unaware of what they were talking about. The man then says something to Max, and the horse neighs back.
“Speaking of food.” Varian’s attention is returned to Red, who surreptitiously looks around before sneaking a rather large pouch out of her pockets. “I’ve begun hiding our snack packs because Lance usually gets to them first, but I think you need it more than we do.” Reaching into the pouch, she withdraws a large round cookie, adorned with pieces of nut and chocolate. Good God.
She waves it near Varian’s mouth, but Varian quickly jolts away, stomach churning. “No thank you.” He quickly replies, as politely as he can manage. He still feels guilt at the way he had ignored Lance earlier, and self-conscious that two children younger than him had seen him like that. “I’m not-I’m not hungry.”
“How can you not be hungry? If you’ve been walking from Old Corona to here, you’ve been out for a while.” Angry asks, though not hesitating before she snatches the cookie out of Red’s grasp and takes a mouthful herself. Shaking her head disapprovingly while sparing a fond smile for her sister, Red merely picks out another one, hesitating at first.
“You’re not allergic, are you?” She unsurely asks.
“No, no, nothing like that.” Varian quickly reassures, though he does not understand why he cannot merely lie to her. Perhaps it is the way she looks at him so expectantly. “I just…don’t want to eat anything right now, alright?”
“But your stomach is growling. And you haven’t eaten in a long time.” Red insists sadly, holding it closer to Varian’s face. “Please just try a little. It might make you feel better.”
“I just-I don’t like eating.” Varian retorts truthfully. The year in prison had him expecting exactly one plate of gruel a day, along with a small cup of boiled water (usually still hot to the touch and horrendously uncomfortable for a parched throat). It had to be consumed in the time given, and would be taken away once that was finished. Varian's body was used to going long amounts of time without food anyways, but Varian became proudly convinced that he could outlast any of the older prison inmates the longest without food despite being the youngest. After his pardoning, it had taken a lot of ushering and encouragement from his father for Varian to finally finish a proper bowl of soup, let alone consume more than two entire meals a day. Unfortunately, that meant his appetite was returning-which made him more hungry more frequently. He had complained to Quirin about it once, saying he had stopped feeling hunger pains in prison and feared they were starting agan, but his father had only smiled in relief and thanked the heavens, saying it was a sign that he was returning to being a 'normal, growing boy'. Whatever that was.
“Lance says if you don’t feed your body, it will get angry with you.” Red warns as she reaches in her pouch for another cookie, despite how Angry rolls her eyes and pointedly takes another bite. “That’s why your stomach growls.”
Varian snorts in a mixture of amusement and contempt. That sounds like something his father would say. “Yes, well, I’m angry at it too.” He retorts automatically without thinking. However, despite the ridiculousness of the statement, Varian suddenly realizes he has never felt such self-loathing before. He is empty, and it is cold, and it is raining, and he was still alone.
He is angry at every inch of himself, for sporting the ugly bruises and scars that would draw his eyes away from the mirror. He is angry at his useless legs, which had not been able to keep up with the pace of the carriage as it carted his father away, for not being able to kick hard enough when the villagers had tried to drag him out of his father’s arms. He is angry at his scrawny arms and puny hands for never being able to fight back against the abuse he suffered, for never countering the fingers that had dug into his throat, for never stopping the lash that had entrenched into his skin. He is angry at his stomach, for growling and shrinking in on itself whenever he did not eat the disgusting prison gruel, for getting used to Dad frequently coaxing him to allow (more like shovel) food into his mouth. He is angry at his tongue, for lashing out so profusely against those who wished to help him, for being able to taste the blood that gushed forth whenever he bit it, for being unable to stay silent about his ordeals and subsuming his father into his own suffering. He is angry at his eyes, which cannot close without envisioning the man who now haunted his dreams, without thinking of the father so similarly cold and alone behind bars. He is angry at his mind, for not fathoming a smarter way to properly kill himself, for only being able to do something right when it hurt other people, for failing to acknowledge his mathematical errors. Hell, he is even angry at his face, for not sporting the facial hair that might have designated for him a modicum of respect for the fact that he was going to be a man, condemning him forever into the undeveloped and defenseless face of a helpless child. And lastly, he is angry at his heart, for not stopping that infuriatingly persistent beat at all of the times it should have, forcing him to live through this awful life and endure its unjust misfortunes. He-he is not angry. He is furious.
You can starve. Varian thinks contemptibly to himself. You don’t deserve food, after what you’ve let them do to me. After what you’ve made me and others who dare to care for me endure. You deserve to starve and shrivel like the miserable wretch you are. Well, screw normal growth. Varian thinks vehemently, vengefully. His body could starve for all he cared. He didn’t want it, or its ugly scars, or its useless limbs, or its constant hunger pains. He didn’t want to feed it any more hope. He didn’t want to feed it any more opportunity to grow if all it would do is cause him more pain. “I’m angry with myself, and every part of me, because it makes life that much harder to endure.” Varian growls back at the insistent stomach and the insatiable need to leech off another’s kindness. “It’s hard to like the way I am. It’s hard to like myself, after what I’ve allowed to be done to me and those I love, after what I’ve done to other people.” Leaning his head further back, Varian sighs. “It feels selfish to want to live, to eat, to breathe-to do easy tasks when I know things will always be this hard, because of me.” And do you know what the worse thing is?” His voice lowers into a whisper, and his fingers slowly, sub-consciously clench into fists. “I think a part of me knows I didn't deserve a good half of it, and yet I know that part of me will die quicker than if I refuse to eat, right now. Because sometimes I feel like I can't....live...thinking of how much fault others have in my situation. I can't....live like that anymore. I can't...stand thinking of myself as this helpless victim, this ... better person or shit that 'deserved better'. I want things to be okay, I want things to be right...I want to be alright. But I feel like the only way I can do that is...continuing...to believe that I'm not.”
Pressing his lips together tightly and not noticing Red listening to his words intently, he tries to stare up, at the rain that seemed to never end, the skies that seemed to never clear, the sun that seemed to love hiding its face away from him even as he frantically stumbled through time and space greedily looking for a glimpse to spare. Thirsty…in the rain…for a drop of sunlight. “Thinking that I deserved better would mean that...things have to get better now, and I'm supposedly doing everything I should have. And if things are only getting worse, maybe it's better if I...don't believe in the better I always thought I should have. Maybe this is all there is and scrambling to look for something I can never have and never deserved has only made the few good things about my life disappear."
Red quizzically scrunches her brow, withdrawing her hand and looking to her sister, who seemed to be distracted with seeing how many times she could kick the back of Lance's seat without him noticing. “Well, you don't know if that's all there is. You don't know what's about to happen next."
“...Well, you don’t know what already happened.” Varian simply retorts without thinking.
Red only stares back, unfazed. Angry narrows her eyes, miffed by his sudden and unjustly deserved contempt. Varian ignores it. “I've done horrible things, become a person I didn’t recognize, all because I thought it would make people listen to me more.”
“And…did they?” Red quietly asks, almost leaning forward. She hesitates before quietly pocketing the cookie into the pouch, hiding her disappointment and tucking the pouch back into her belt.
Varian squints, before lifting his eyes to meet hers. “If they didn’t before, they will now. They’ll have to try.” He speaks as though it’s a certainty, a truth even he himself doesn’t know. Frowning, he quietly looks down at his hands, listening to the soft patter of the rain, the soft chatter of the girls, the soft sinking of the hooves into mud as they approach closer to where he needs to be and yet further away from what he had thought he needed. He listens to it all fade into the still silence, and for once, he feels he can properly hear what he's thinking, confidently say what he's feeling. “At least…all I can do is try, right?”