Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quirin makes the discovery when Varian is barely a year old, not many months after his wife Ulla disappears from their lives.

“Are you hungry, are you tired, what is it? What do you want?” he mutters under the sound of his child’s seemingly endless crying, it having gone on for an hour now with no end in sight despite the pounding in Quirin’s head. Surely the little set of lungs must ache with all that they’re doing, surely they should stop soon—

—But they don’t. They don’t, and Quiring knows who it is that they would stop for, but she’s not with them anymore and who knows if she’ll ever come back. Yes, in truth he already knows what Varian wants. He curses under his breath at the rekindled grief that this thought brings, and in frustration he pulls the child from where he’s cradled to his chest and looks him in the face from his arms’ length away. 

The child lets out a louder wail at the loss of contact and wincing, Quirin orders him, “Stop crying!”

He feels immediate regret, already knowing that this will do nothing but make his poor son cry harder… yet to his surprise, the infant’s sounds cut off into snuffles and his distress-crinkled eyes open wide to look up at his father. 

Already-formed tears roll down flushed cheeks, but no new ones form as the two of them stare at one another, both seeming startled. 

Quirin recovers from surprise, gratefully swiping the remnants of tears away and pulling his child close again. “There you go,” he murmurs, “It’s all right, son, I’m here. I’m here. I know I’m not your preference, but I’ll always be here for you. Look, it will be morning soon and there is so much to be done tomorrow. Won’t you go to sleep?”

Varian’s eyes stay on him, big and no closer to closing than before. Quirin sighs, gently lays the baby down in his crib. His son begins to pout, his breaths speeding up. Quirin’s head pounds in anticipation. “Go to sleep, Varian,” he almost begs.

And then, to both their surprise yet again, the child’s eyes close. His breaths even out to the calm rhythm of sleep.

Quirin stares.

It takes some test of confirmation in the days and weeks following, but this is the night that he begins to learn: Varian is obedient. 

There is no apparent reason for it, that the father can tell. He only possesses a bare portion of the scientific knack that his wife had, and he knows far less than she about experimenting, but he does put in the effort to discover that only direct orders result in obedience. Asking and suggesting do not have an effect. He expects a different outcome to occur at some point, but it never does, even as the boy grows.

From an infant to a toddler to a young child- Varian remains obedient to his father’s instructions. His son grows up just as curious as his mother and is in many ways what Quirin would call a “handful”. Of course he loves his son and obtains whatever he can to help him fuel his learning, but when the boy wanders to close near rivers or wild animals or other dangers far bigger than him— then is especially when Quirin orders Varian. 

It turns from “Varian, eat your vegetables” into “Varian, put that spider down” and “Varian, don’t touch the blacksmith’s things”. These too change as years go by into “Varian, put your gloves on before touching those chemicals” and “Varian, you do not experiment on the livestock”. 

Eventually he ends up with a twig of a boy (too excitable to ever sit down and eat his meals fully) who wears gloves and goggles at all times and will cheerfully babble on and on about things Quirin has never even heard of. He feels like a rooster raising a kitten, some days.

“Varian, time to start your chores,” he calls, poking his head into the room he’d recently given as a dedicated space for Varian's experiments (to contain the disasters) and which Varian had quickly dubbed his “lab”. 

The eight-year-old is currently bent over his table, moving some kind of liquid from a jar into another jar filled with some other kind of liquid via an eyedropper. He doesn’t look up, just turns to scribble something on paper. “In a minute,” he responds in a distracted way that Quirin knows means in a few hours . 

“Varian, come start your chores now,” Quirin instructs.

Varian drops his quil. Quirin watches as the boy pulls his goggles off his eyes and stands, walking stiffly past his dad, a grumpy expression on his face. The forlorn frustration on him gives Quirin pause as the father realizes something.

“Varian, wait,” he says. Varian pauses and looks at him. “Son, did you want to listen to me?”

“What?” the boy says, tilting his head.

“When I- when I told you to come start your chores just now… you did, but did you want to?”

“Of course not,” Varian says slowly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m in the middle of preparing solutions for my poly alchemical subtration tests!” 

It’s words like these that get the rumors spreading in Old Corona that Quirin is raising a young wizard. Ignoring that, Quirin frowns. “Then why did you listen?”

Varian shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. And with that, he’s off, leaving Quirin scratching his head.

It occurs to Quirin at this time that maybe Varian isn’t steadfastly obedient of his own nature, as he’d previously supposed (or at least chalked it up to, because what else could it be?). Does Varian know that children his age are allowed to be obstinate from time to time? Of course it’s not necessarily a bad thing that his child listens to the things he’s asked by his father, but what if someone with less pure intentions tried to boss him around?

Varian and he both find out the answer to that question about a year later, when Varian is barely ten. 

Quirin had sent his son to run an errand at the Old Coronan market in the early evening before the sky gave way to night. It should’ve been a quick trip, just picking up something for dinner, but it was when a heavy hand knocked on their front door that the father realized too much time had passed and Varian wasn’t back.

Sure enough, when he opened the door he found the local butcher Mr. Harrison holding Varian by the scruff of his neck and looking furious. Varian, for his part, was sunken into himself like a kicked puppy, biting his lip with those big front teeth and staring at the ground with teary eyes. 

“What’s going on here?” Quirin asked, immediately on alert.

“I caught your boy stealing from my store,” Harrison says in his gravelly voice, made rougher by anger. He pushes Varian into the house, where he stumbles and clutches his arms to himself and otherwise remains small in between the two adults. 

Quirin looks between them, frowning deeply. “Varian, is this true? Did you steal?” he asks.

Varian’s eyes dart up to him, then back to the floor. “Yes, sir,” he says quietly.

“And, it’s not the first time,” the butcher goes on. “Apparently it’s been happening a lot-- Stafford and Marie next door told me that some of their inventory has been going missing over the last week. I questioned your son when I caught ‘im and he confessed to taking a few baked goods. I’d give that boy a good talking to, if I were you.”

“Understood, Harrison,” Quirin nods at his old friend, who in turn tilts his head and leaves as moodily as he came. Quirin shuts the door and turns to face his son.

There’s a tense moment of silence. Then Varian comes undone.

“Dad, Dad, I- I’m so sorry,” the boy says tremulously, fidgeting hands dropping to fists at his sides as he looks up. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong- I promise I really didn’t mean to-”

Quirin searches his son’s face as he continues to stutter apologies, not yet speaking in favor of thinking over where to start. He has a suspicion that he knows what happened, but finding this out and dealing with it inevitably means telling Varian a few things.

“Son,” he interrupts, kneeling to look Varian in the face. Varian shrinks to look at the ground and Quirin puts a hand on his bony shoulder to guide his gaze back up. “Varian, did someone tell you to steal?”

He can see the surprise and hesitation on Varian’s face and urges as a precaution, “Tell me the truth.”

“Yes,” Varian says, in an almost relieved way. “They told me not to tell so I- well I couldn’t say it.”

“Who is this?”

“Westley and his friends, the- the older kids? I don’t think they like me very much. They… they pick on me sometimes. They dared me to do those things for them.”

“And they told you directly, didn’t they.” It’s not a question.

“Well- well yeah. But I didn’t want to! I don’t know why I did it anyway. I’m sorry.” 

Quirin sighs. “Varian, we need to discuss something.”

…

Looking back, Varian supposed he just thought everyone did what they were told. How was he supposed to know it’s only him who automatically does? So he was confused at first, and a bit disbelieving, because where was the scientific sense? His dad doesn’t know the reason it happens, just that it happens. And Varian has now confirmed that yes, it happens. 

Thus the phase of his curiosity about how it works.

“Okay, ask me again,” the twelve-year-old instructs.

Qurin sighs long-sufferingly, looking at him over the top of the book from his chair by the fireplace. “Varian,” he warns in a way that says hasn’t this gone on long enough? . 

“Only a couple more trials! Please, Dad?” he begs, bouncing on his heels.

The only downside to these experiments is that he needs another person, and his father is not always the most willing. Said man rolls his eyes and turns a page. His voice lacks any real demand. “Varian, come here.”

Varian braces himself.

He’s figured out that what he has is an impulse, similar in a way to closing your eyes when you sneeze or throwing out your hands when you fall. 

His impulse begins when instructed and swells as the seconds tick by; the pocket watch in his left hand tracks them. Then, as he stands there ignoring the instruction, his legs begin to tremble with the need to move. He knows if he takes even a small step forward, it will alleviate some of the ache for a moment before the pressure builds up into another step. 

So far, his data has tracked instances of how far apart he can space the steps, how long he can go until fully coming to obey, that kind of thing.  But now he wants to know how long he can go in total noncompliance. 

Ergo, he holds his ground.

There’s a lurch in his gut like a wave trying to carry him forward and he grits his teeth, almost taking a step but sinking into a cross-legged sitting position at the last moment. His dad glances up at him in mild interest. Varian chances a look at the pocket watch; thirty seconds have gone by. 

Sitting still is like holding himself in a push-up, or something similarly impossible. But it shouldn’t be that way, he’s just sitting . A pounding starts up in his temples, and by one minute on the clock this has grown into a baby migraine.

“Son, you look ill,” Quirin says, putting his book down. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m just sitting,” Varian pants, unconsciously digging his gloved fingers into the grain of the wood floor beneath him. Even as he says it, he kind of feels like he might throw up. Are the numbers on his watch going in slow motion?

One minute and thirty seconds, and he can’t take any more. He launches forward and runs the ten or so feet forward that it takes to collapse at his dad’s boots. 

The relief of obeying is instant; his symptoms disappear with dizzying speed, though he remains out of breath and shaky like he’d run far farther than the length of a room.

“That’s a record,” he says, rolling over to lay spread out on his back on the floor and smiling triumphantly up at his dad. Quirin looks back, a frown of concern in his forehead.

“I think that’s enough for tonight, son,” he suggests gently. 

Varian opens his mouth to argue, but then pauses and closes his eyes in concession. “That, yeah, that’s probably okay.”

…

Varian is more than happy to let the princess and her friends boss him around. 

They do it lightly without thinking and the orders are ones he would do anyways; he’s so eager and excited that he hardly cares. He doesn’t meet many new people living in Old Corona, and certainly nobody with lore surrounding them. 

He’s used to spending time in the lab as a way to avoid being in situations like that of his childhood bullies using him the way they did. Despite keeping the secret between him and his dad for years-- and most days not even thinking about it-- Varian starts feeling the desire to share it with someone else, someone who might understand. 

Because Rapunzel is “magic”, right? Not to say that her hair’s properties aren't able to be explained by science, because he is sure that they are, but… the same goes for him, in a way. 

He’s fourteen now and after doing all he can think of to study the parameters of his obedience, he still has no explanation for why he is the way he is. 

Maybe Rapunzel could help him figure it out?

In a totally predictable turn of events, the first couple times Varian has to spend time with his new friends end in disasters of his own unintentional making, and there doesn’t come a time for telling anyone his secret. 

… 

By the time the black rocks are becoming a problem in his home, Varian is glad that his father only uses direct orders sparingly nowadays in an effort to respect his son’s agency. 

“Varian, please try to stay away from those rocks. They’re not safe.”

“Okay, but… that’s getting harder to do by the minute.”

He listens, because he loves his dad and he wants to make him proud, but the way a few specimens sprout up right in the middle of Varian’s lab, how is he supposed to resist the opportunity to experiment on them?

Sometimes when his dad is truly annoyed he does slip into orders— 

“How can I trust anything, when my own father just lied to the king’s face?” 

“That is enough, Varian.” 

Varian’s jaw snaps shut, eyes wide. 

—but in those cases, there is always a flash of guilt in his eyes before he sighs and walks away. 

It is only when his dad catches him red handed pouring something on the rocks that Varian makes an in-the-moment discovery about his obedience. 

“Varian, I told you to stay away from those rocks!”

“Yeah- yeah, you did, but-“

“Then there should be no misunderstanding,” Quirin thunders, and Varian can sense it like a bird sensing a coming storm—his dad is about to order him to listen. 

There’s a lurch of fear in Varian’s chest and without thinking, he slams his hands over his ears, cutting off his hearing. He sees his dad’s lips moving but the sound of it is lost on him. 

He feels nothing. 

The order has no effect when he can’t hear it. 

Emboldened by this discovery, and genuinely angry with the way his father thinks he can boss him around over something this important, Varian shoves his father away with a rebellious, “No! No, you listen to me!” 

It’s like hitting a mountain and expecting a  reaction, but it’s startling enough that Quirin stops his lecture and studies Varian in surprise. It is, after all, the first time he’s ever been openly defied by his son. 

The win is overshadowed by frustration for Varian as he begs, “Then tell me! I deserve to know!” only for Quirin to turn his back and say, “I’m sorry son, you’re not ready.” 

The sincerity in his voice drives a knife through Varian’s heart. 

And it only gets worse from there. 

“Oh, oh—Hold on, Dad, hold on, I-I’m gonna go get help!” 

“No, son, wait!”

Varian halts in his sprint to the door like he’s been jerked back on a chain, and he falls to his knees and looks back. 

The horror rising in him mirrors the rapid growth of yellow rock sprouting up from chemicals poured onto black stone by Varian’s own hand. It is wrong to see his father—an imposing pillar of a man—caught within the growth like nothing but a bug stuck in amber. 

His father begins to say something to him, probably to spout more half truths and orders to protect Varian, always for Varian’s own good because he thinks his son so incapable of making his own choices ( “you’re not ready”)— and Varian is done with that. 

He shoves his hands back over his ears, shutting his eyes to his father’s words and muscling himself back to his feet. The required moment of waiting passes; Varian bolts through the door and out into the winter storm. 

He will make his dad proud of him, and he will do it with his own choices. 

Chapter Text

Hearing Rapunzel tell him she can’t help, even though she is supposed to keep her promises– is known for keeping her promises, to everyone except him apparently– Varian feels hysteria bubble up and spill out his throat into begs and pleas. Her face is too uncertain, she’s supposed to look different. She’s supposed to be the supernatural princess who moves mountains for her friends. He sinks his fingers into her arms and begs, stumbling over words in desperation to imbue her with his need so she can understand, but instead of steeling and coming to his aid, her eyes flinch back and shut. 

Never had he wanted so fervently to flip the obedience inflicted on him and use it on someone else. He wants this so bad that the edges of his vision tunnel in on her as he’s dragged away.

His brain compartmentalizes when a door shuts between him and the princess; she can’t hear him anymore, he has to ask someone else.

“Please,” he says, fisting his hand in the coat of one guard who guides him. “Please, sir, my dad, he- in Old Corona, he needs help–”

“Kid, have you seen what it looks like out there right now?” the man interrupts incredulously. “This isn’t the time for road trips.”

 “You don’t understand!” 

“Yeah, not the time,” the other guard agrees, huffing in distaste. “And I don’t think I want to help a guy who just attacked our princess.”

What? Varian trips on his feet, trying to dig in his heels as he realizes they’re heading for the castle doors he had pushed through not long before. They’re throwing him out in the snow.

“Eu-Eugene? H-he’s here, right? Cassandra? Anyone–”

He tries to lock eyes with every passerby he can.

None turn off their paths.

He has the whole trip home to go numb both inside and out, to regroup and gather his wits, panic still thrumming through everything but at least he can try to reverse the effects his own alchemy caused, right? That has to be enough. It has to.

…

It’s not. 

… 

Varian isn’t sure how much time has passed when he manages to peel himself off the floor of his lab where he'd collapsed following experiment after failed experiment- but when he does, his vision swims with spots and he has to steady himself on the amber prison encasing his dad. He quickly yanks his hands away like he’s been burned and stumbles to the side. 

He stands there for a long moment, blank. Outside the window, he hears the chittering of birds. The sky is blue and sunny. Days must have passed since the storm. Rapunzel has not come.

Through the heavy blanket of stupor settled over him like so much snow that forgot to melt with the winter outside, there is something rising. As it rises, it burns. It curls his fists.

“They will pay,” he whispers. 

It comes out feeling wrong, like he’s not the one who said it. But the longer the silence that follows his words, the more surely the universe seems to say back, That’s right. Yes. They should know how it feels to feel as helpless as you. It feels like a dangerous imitation of hope.

He nods. “They will pay.”

And this is how Varian finds himself in the precarious position of being the bad guy.

… 

“What does it matter? It’s just sitting here rotting anyway!” he yells, closing his hand tighter over the dry flower. 

“I defied a direct order from my father, the king! We both broke the law!” She sighs, and Varian almost feels guilt gnaw at him for the distress on her face. Until, that is, he hears her begin authoritatively, “Okay, Varian, give–” 

Varian shoves his hands over his ears to drown out the rest. His heart beats loudly in the self-imposed silence as he turns away, because he’s made it this far and his plans will all be for nothing if his stupid obedience stops him from freeing his dad now. 

The tricky bit comes after his original plan fails; the flower doesn’t work and he needs Rapunzel herself, which means he needs leverage because he already knows that his need alone isn’t enough to motivate her. 

Queen Arianna continues to sleep soundly after Varian has carted her back to his home. 

He knows his hours are numbered before the remaining royals with all of their power comes down upon him, so he barely pays her any attention in the rushing round to finish preparations. It’s almost easy to forget his guest until eventually he hears her stirring on the floor of his lab and finds her looking around with frightened eyes. Even then she’s gagged and chained so it’s not like she can interfere. 

He’s in the middle of pouring glowing solutions into various colored balls when his eye catches on her fully. Her attention is not on him. He follows her gaze and sees the pitcher of water on his desk.

He almost goes back to work. But then her eyes shift to meet his and the way she’s looking at him… nobody has looked at him like that before. Like he could be poisonous. 

“Your Majesty,” he greets coldly, turning and drawing himself up to his meager height. “We haven't properly met before. I’m Varian of Old Corona. What’s left of it, anyway.”

Her eyes narrow, and it’s a bit easier to be mean to her when she’s glaring. 

“Come on, don’t be rude,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You want a drink, right? I don’t see any reason not to give you one, as long as you’re cooperative.”

He fills a cup with water and sets it down before her. She flinches faintly when he kneels and reaches for the gag. He hardens himself and yanks it out, turning away quickly.

“Fear not, your Majesty,” he says sarcastically, back to her as he strides away. “You are merely bait to lure the princess here. Only the magic of her unbreakable hair can shatter the amber and free my father.”

He can hear the queen drink deeply from the glass, coughing slightly as she pulls it away. “I’ve met your father Quirin,” she states, voice sounding brittle at the edges. “He is an old friend of ours.”

It makes Varian’s blood burn. He takes hold of the tarp cover and rips it off the surreal statue of his father’s prison, taking cruel satisfaction in the way Ariana gasps in horror.   

“This,” he says scathingly, “is your friend? A person you and your kingdom refused to help?”

She doesn’t rise to the bait. Her eyes drink in Quirin’s frozen form before drifting to Varian with far too much pity. “And after you’ve freed your father?”

He laughs humorlessly. “After? Oh, well I’m afraid Corona will pay for turning their backs on me. That’s when you should start worrying. Now if you don’t mind, I have soldering to do. Any moment now, your High–” 

“Varian, wait.”

The words are quick; too quick. He stops dead in his tracks, twisting his eyes shut in a moment of loathing for himself, for her, for the whole stupid world. Slowly, he turns on his heel and glares at her tiredly. “What,” he grinds out.

Arianna looks surprised, clearly having expected him to ignore her. “Thank you,” she says carefully. “For the water. And please know this– I never wanted this for Quirin, or for you. I know Rapunzel didn't either.”

Varian scoffs.

“She didn’t,” Arianna insists. “Please listen; I know what it is to grieve. With loss, even temporary loss, comes anger. It’s irrational and it’s going to pass, and then you’re going to see that none of this is what your father would want you to be doing. I know you must know that, deep down. It doesn’t have to be this way.” 

“Yeah well, Dad can’t tell me what to do right now. Whose fault is that?” Varian snaps, using anger to cover the way her words strike something in him. “Neither can you for that matter, so be quiet or I’ll gag you again!”

She bows her head sadly, allowing him to stomp away. 

… 

Varian’s plan perfectly delivers the princess into his hands. He’s almost impressed with himself in spite of the lens of hate obscuring everything. Just being around Rapunzel is making him angrier and angrier; how dare she seem so innocent and brave, like she’s got any right to call herself the hero?

“I demand–” the king is sputtering self-righteously, simply making Varian cover his ears and wait until the man’s mouth is done moving. 

“Your Majesty,” he says smugly, “I know it’s hard for you, but for the first time in your life, you are not in a position to demand anything.” 

The princess is the next to make him cover his ears just a moment later, begging for her mother’s freedom. He can’t help but feel paranoia rise when he lowers his hands the second time, noticing Queen Arianna looking at him with a curious expression. 

He hurries to reassert himself, but there’s a growing sense like the ground is getting shaky beneath him, unrelated to his automatons attacking Coronan soldiers outside.

“I forgot, we’re kind of on a time crunch here, so I’m gonna need to speed things along,” he taunts, pouring amber-forming compound onto black stones closest to Queen Arianna. The queen cringes away from it as it begins to sprout sharp crystals in her direction. 

His hands are busy with capping the vial and he has no warning when Rapunzel cries out, “Varian, stop!”

Varian’s hands freeze, the glass slipping through his fingers and smashing at his feet. For a moment there’s a computing error in his brain, the obedience spell almost not sure how to make him comply. It goes on for a beat too long. When he sorts himself and looks up, everyone is staring at him.

He shakes his head roughly.

“Sh-shall we get started?” he asks, meaning to sound intimidating and dangerous but sounding more like a kid who’s asking permission. Rapunzel nods carefully, eying him.

And so he gets to wrapping her unbreakable hair around the tip of his drill and setting it before the unbreakable amber. He keeps his hands over his ears for as much of the process as he can, his legs getting shakier by the minute. He doesn’t have any more energy to waste breath on snarky jabs at the royals. He wants the machine on, he wants the amber broken, he wants his dad back. Quirin always knows how to help him know what to do.

But as he pushes the drill forward, thrusts his whole heart into it the same way he begged Rapunzel to listen to him during the storm, he finds that he is once again denied. Things are yelled at him but the sound of the drill covers it up, and all he can hear is a rush of static even as he pounds the sculpture and denies frantically,

“Her hair, it- it should’ve cut through it! Why didn’t it work?”

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

“No…no… I wasn’t wrong! It’s not my fault!” he tells his father. His father does not respond. Behind him, Arianna has been freed and the whole royal family is united in a loving embrace on the floor. Warmth emanates from them like sunlight but Varian is frozen inside and he hates them.

“It’s all your fault! ” he yells, pushing haphazardly onto feet that no longer know how to stand properly. 

Red hazes his vision. How dare they have a happy ending when he has nothing, he will make them pay, everyone ignores him but he has more. More automatons to crush them with. He can and he will–

“Don’t move!”

It’s the Queen who shouts this, her hand outstretched at him. She hasn’t disentangled from the cuddle pile, but she’s found Varian with her eyes and he knows all at once that he has underestimated her. 

He has lost. 

“Stop telling me what to do!” he screams. His knees wobble, pushing to disobey, his fingers spasming to reach for his ears but stalling like there are short-circuiting gears within. “You can’t tell me what to–” 

“Varian, calm down,” the Queen says firmly.

A sudden overwhelming rush goes through him from scalp to toes like he’s a molten metal sword being dunked underwater. It’s violent enough to make him wobble and fall to his knees. He pants at the disorientation, but his breaths begin to even out, heart slowing.

The red clears from his vision. The ground stabilizes. A painful, ever-present squeeze in his chest that he’d forgotten he was carrying eases gradually like cooling balm across a burn. For the first time in several weeks of lonely anguish and spite-fueled restlessness, Varian feels totally and completely calm. 

What’s going on? What is he doing?

Thoughts spiral through his mind for review in chaotic succession– all that he’s done since the amber encased his father, all the horrid decisions coming into painful clarity and the looming guilt and regret laying ready beneath the surface like an enormous iceberg suddenly made visible– and despite it all he feels like a bystander observing this happening to someone else. He feels calm.

He feels… uncertain. He was about to try to… hurt people. Why? 

“What- what am I…?” he mutters, bringing a hand to his forehead and rubbing there, hard, like it might make things make sense again. Because suddenly nothing does. And even though he wants to, he can’t bring himself to care.

He becomes aware suddenly that someone is kneeling in front of him, someone in lavender skirts, their gentle hand guiding his chin up up. He sees the brown eyes of the queen looking him over. 

“Arianna, be careful–” King Frederick warns from somewhere behind her. Varian feels unable to look away from the Queen’s eyes.

“I’m all right, Fred,” she calls without looking. “His tantrum is over now.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “Isn’t it, Varian?”

He finds himself learning into the hand on his cheek just slightly. It’s the first kind touch he’s had since… 

He is calm, but he can feel a wetness spilling from his eyes. 

The door to his lab slams open and everyone, Varian included, turns to see Cassandra and a handful of roughed-up, pissed-off looking Coronans standing behind her. She locks onto Varian with no small amount of disgust, and through the calm Varian is aware that he would like the earth to swallow him whole and keep him there forever with the dirt and worms and no eyes to look at him ever again. 

Varian is led out of the house in chains.

Chaos of conversation surrounds him as the royals split off to discuss with their followers: Rapunzel surrounded instantly by Eugene and Cass, the King by his knights. Varian feels lost in the rejoicing, gaze wandering for something to hold on to.

It catches on the rocks.

They’re everywhere of course; the abandoned village is in ruin. He doesn’t know why his gaze catches on them at first, but then it hits him– after staring at these things and studying their behavior for months now, he has never seen them lay flat against the ground with all their tips pointing east, even continuing past a crumbled section of the Coronan border wall. They almost resemble…

“It’s a path,” he realizes softly. “To the dark kingdom.”

Queen Ariana, still watching him, though from a safe distance now as he is flanked by two burly guards, perks up at the sound of his voice. “What did you say, Varian?” Over her shoulder, Rapunzel turns to look at her mother, then follows her gaze. Varian looks at them, then at Eugene, Cass and Lance who follow the princess’ lead. He hesitates.

“Tell us,” Ariana nudges gently.

Varian swallows dryly and gestures at the path, chains clinking. “The rocks are all pointing in the same direction; they’re forming a path. For Rapunzel.” He realizes the truth as he says it. All along, the rocks’ growth were coming closer and closer to the island kingdom because they were seeking out the Sun Drop to lead her to her destiny. 

When he looks up, he meets more eyes staring at him now, some with suspicion, but from Rapunzel he sees only amazement. “For me?” she says in wonder, staring into the horizon where the sun has begun to rise and cast a reflecting light across the path.

“The first thing I did,” Varian says, “When my dad… I went through his things. Because he was keeping something from me about the rocks, and I thought it might help. That’s how I found and translated the scroll fragment. It tells of an ancient darkness which is the counterpart to the Sun Drop. The rocks came here to find the princess and take her to it.” 

He hears Eugene speak up in the silence that follows this revelation, something snarky in his voice, probably asking why they should trust Varian at all. Cass chips in, and Rapunzel answers them back, an undercurrent of excitement in her tone confirming that she understands what he’s saying. The other voices are lost to Varian, blurring in his ears as his forced spell of calm begins to ebb away.

The princess will seek out her next adventure, her loved ones at her side, and find what she is destined for because of the purpose and power that her magic bestows on her. 

As for Varian, he is led to a prison cart and a barred door is slammed in his face. The supernatural force placed upon him is not useful or helpful or grand; it has no direction to guide him to greater purpose. He is cursed. And as his loathing returns– now pointing inward rather than out– he can’t help but feel he deserves it.

…

Queen Arianna is more capable than most people give her credit for. It’s probably because she carries herself with practiced regality and has an earnest nurturing spirit about her, but in addition to that she is strong–  just as trained in the sword as her husband– and she is smart, as a good queen must be. 

When she chooses to visit the most recent addition to their castle dungeons late one evening, of course she doesn’t tell her husband about it. He would object, but she has a sense of curiosity almost as strong as her daughter’s, and she needs to know if her hunch is correct.

The patrolling guards give her a twin expressions of shock when she enters and pulls back the black hood from her head. She nods at them, then points with her eyes to the door in a silent command for privacy. “I just need a few moments,” she says, and they bow to her before leaving.

At the end of the block of solitary cells she finds him. He’s so small that her maternal instincts ache to see him this way, though her experience warns her not to underestimate.

Sitting knees-to-chest on one wooden bed hung off the wall, swallowed by prison clothes and staring hollow-eyed into middle space, is Varian. A bowl of food sits on the floor by his cot, looking untouched since it was slid inside- likely hours ago.

Arianna stands before the bars to his cell and, getting no reaction from the boy, clears her throat. His eyes blink slowly as though waking up, and it takes a beat for them to shift in her direction. She can tell by moonlight through the window that his hair is mussed and dirty, the odd blue stripe in his fringe just barely visible where it hangs in his eyes. He could probably do with a haircut. 

“Good evening, Varian,” she greets, smiling sadly. “How are you?”

He stares at her for a long time, almost to the point that she is sure he won’t answer. Then a pitiful croak: “How do you think.”

She nods, looking down. 

“If there’s anything we can do to make you more comfortable,” she says, “I’ll have it done. Frederick may be known for his harshness with criminals, but we do not have a system in place for inmates who are… children.”

This earns her a scowl, but it is still far more muted venom than she would have expected. He turns his head from her, resting it on his knees in the other direction so that the back of his head is to her. It’s a clear dismissal, and Ariana almost wants to leave him to whatever self-soothing he can get during what is clearly a great deal of suffering, suffering she has no real way to alleviate. 

And yet.

“Varian… There's something I need to be sure of. Would you stand up for me, please?” 

His posture tenses but he doesn’t move. She waits. Tries again.

“Stand up, Varian.”

This time he flinches, rocking back and forth momentarily in clear sign of internal struggle. Finally, the boy uncurls from his ball and rolls forward onto his feet in a motion that is slow and stilted, yes, but ends with him standing to face her. There is more of a sour look on his face than before as he regards her, throwing his arms out to the sides palms-forward as if to say, now what?. 

The queen studies him openly, one hand coming to brace her chin in thought. “Thank you,” she offers. “Now be seated.”

He wobbles on his feet before sinking to the ground.

“Touch your head.”

“Stop,” Varian growls lowly, even as his visibly shaking hands rise to rest in his hair. 

“And clap.”

This time Varian immediately brings his hands together in the most brief show of obedience possible before he rocks to his feet and drops them in fists at his sides, hackles raising. “I said stop!” he shouts. The sound echoes off the walls.

“I’m sorry,” Arianna concedes, clasping and resting her hands before her. “I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t imagining things the other night. It seems I wasn’t.”

Varian’s breaths pick up, bare expression of panic attempting to conceal itself as he sits haughtily onto the bench and clenches his fists on his knees. If he was a barely living thing when she got here, he is now tense and coiled as prey before a predator.

“What do you want?” he asks shakily.

“Nothing,” she tells him. “I won’t ask anything else, though I won’t lie and say I’m not incredibly curious.”

“Yeah, well that makes two of us,” he spits, shifting to stare at the far wall again.

There is a beat as the queen considers this information. Perhaps nothing else needs to be said; she means it, she has no intentions of telling anyone about this, not even her husband. Heaven knows what the king would want to do about it. For a boy who has so much interest in the reasons and workings of the world, Varian does not seem to do well with being studied himself. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she offers gently.

“I don’t want your solidarity, Highness,” Varian hisses. “I want you to go away. ” 

Arianna sighs. “I will have them give you more blankets. It is too cold down here, and you’re too thin.” Saying this, she takes her leave before Varian can form a response.

…

Does Varian feel bad for how he spoke to the queen, whose influence was surely what got him moved to a better quality cell with better rations and accommodations within a week? Yes, yes he does. He adds it to the list. She doesn’t visit again, so it’s not like he can apologize, even if he knew what to say. How could anyone forgive him after what he’d done? 

The best part of his new cell is that he actually gets a cellmate to talk to. Sure, Andrew is a Saporian brute and not the most intelligent one at that, but he is someone besides Varian’s ruminating thoughts with whom to have conversation. 

(If Varian brags about how he got put down here in order to seem tougher in the eyes of his new company, then at least he is feeling enough acceptance about the turn his life had taken to have that conversation. And, it works; Andrew looks very impressed.)

Apparently Rapunzel is gone on her destiny-seeking trip, that much news trickles down to them. He tries not to resent her for that; with time comes healing and with healing comes Varian returning to himself. He longs for a way to get out of here and start over.

And when one day, a group of Saporians break into the dungeon with a gnarled wand and news that they’ve used it to wipe the memories of the king and queen so they could free Andrew and take over Corona... well, it seems like as good an out as any. 

“Hello there, young man!” the queen greets cheerfully when Varian steps into the royal court, new friends at his sides, the bruises of wrist shackles still fresh and hidden under his long sleeves. He feels caught in search lights, frozen with guilt for a long moment as the person he’s wronged so terribly looks upon him with no trace of malice or disgust in her expression. “The king and I are having some trouble with our memory, but I’m told you are our most trusted advisor!”

Varian stares at her. “I-I…yes, that’s r-right,” he stutters after Andrew gives him a shove in the shoulder. 

Arianna smiles, reaching out to rub his arm. The king laughs fondly. 

Yes, this has to be how Varian turns over his new leaf. The fact that the queen no longer knows of his curse is just an added bonus.

Chapter Text

“Westley, come check this out,” snickers one of the figures gathered around. 

Varian, ten years old and struggling to figure out how this all happened to him in the first place, watches as the ring-leader of Old Corona’s nastiest group of teens saunters over. The small town market is busy around them as shoppers hurry to get last minute purchases done before evening sets, and nobody pays any mind to the gathering of boys.

Varian wishes they would. Maybe, despite how no one is overly fond of him, he could petition anyone to get him away from the people who dislike him the most.

“What’s up?” Westley asks, catching sight of Varian huddled against the wall and sneering. “Why are you guys with this trash?”

“Dude, kid does whatever he’s told,” another teen says. “Watch this. Varian, take that.” The instruction is punctuated with a point at something on the fruit stand.

Varian bites his lip, stepping forward and pocketing the apple out of sight of the vendor. It feels like it burns his fingers, but he’s unable to put it back.

Westley’s eyebrows raise in interest. “Cool, let me try. Take that.”

“Please stop,” Varian keens, looking around warily but unable to resist yet again.  “Guys, th-this is stealing! If my dad finds out–”

“Nobody’s gonna find out, because you’re not gonna tell on us,” one teen says casually, taking the good out of Varian’s hand and biting into it with gusto. Varian’s mouth trembles. 

Westley puts a heavy hand onto the youngest’s shoulder. “I have a feeling this is gonna be fun.”

… 

“Powerful stuff, kid. This is gonna be fun.”

Varian is fifteen now and somehow still surrounded by bullies. The thought resonates dully as he glances worriedly between Andrew and the green mist of explosion debris down below where Rapunzel and her friends fell moments before, struck with an alchemy bomb.

An alchemy bomb Varian made.

The Saporians are already hurrying away, on their way down to apprehend the Princess probably, and Varian almost trips on his way to run after them. He walks backwards alongside the leader, his hands wringing. 

“Hey, uh, Andrew? Sorry, just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page real quick– we’re not harming any Coronans, right? That includes the princess and her friends.”

The man’s content expression morphs into annoyance. “What do you care?” he asks. “You’re the one who almost killed the whole royal family, remember?”

Varian turns around so they are both walking forwards, taking the opportunity to drop a glare at the ground and mutter stubbornly, “Not all of them. Besides,” he comes to a stop at the top of the staircase so he can stand in Andrew’s path while the others go on below. “Even if I’m with you guys now, it doesn’t mean I want the same things as I used to.”

“Uh-huh, and what’s that supposed to mean?” Andrew challenges, putting a hand on his hips and leaning in. Varian swallows.

“Just, that, you know, hurting people isn’t necessary to bring about New Saporia,” Varian says carefully, relaxing when Andrew leans back. 

“Varian,” the Saporian sighs with an eye roll. It’s not an uncommon tone for Varian to hear his name spoken, but lately it’s the only way Andrew speaks to him, unless he’s being particularly useful. And Varian keeps trying to be useful. “I don’t see what you’re holding out for. It doesn’t matter what you do now– Corona will ever forgive you for what you’ve already done .”

He sidesteps Varian and continues leisurely down the stairs. For his part, Varian knows this, has known this, and is reminded by Andrew any time he starts to object to one thing or another about the way they treat their conquered kingdom but still he’s forced to smother down hurt.

“Still,” he calls, clenching fists at his sides. “Do you agree that we keep harm to a minimum?”

Andrew doesn’t even pause, back to Varian as he shrugs and responds, “Sure, kid,” before disappearing around the corner.

…

Andrew, Clementine, Juniper, Kai, and Maisie. He called them his friends in front of Rapunzel to try to convince her that that’s what they were, because that would mean he’s happy with them. That’s not… quite true. But, they don’t hate his guts so beggars can’t be choosers. 

Despite being semi-proud of himself when he told Andrew about his crimes while they were in prison, the pride was nowhere to be found when Andrew made him retell it for the other Saporians after breaking out. It probably had something to do with how fondly Arianna had looked at him earlier, a fondness he didn’t deserve in the slightest. 

“No way,” Kai had scoffed, scanning Varian up and down. “I don’t believe it. You’re tiny!”

“Alchemy aptitude and height are mutually exclusive,” Varian defended. 

“Prove it,” Maisie challenged. “If you really did all that, then make us something useful.”

So Varian did. If he was anything, he was sick of being written off. Plus, of course… It was a direct order. 

Their eyes got big and greedy when they looked at him after that. They didn’t want him to stop at pink goo and small-scale explosives. They wanted personalized chemical bombs, their own hot air balloon ship, even cosmetics like hair product. Well, that last one was Andrew. 

Andrew is always too happy to give demands. 

When Varian catches up to the others standing in the rubble of the castle wall, it’s the grumpy look on their faces that tells him that Rapunzel has gotten away. He feels an unwelcome surge of relief. You’ve gotta stop caring about her, she’s not going to forgive you. Not until her memories are gone at least.

“Alchemist,” Clementine addresses, spotting Varian’s approach at the edge of their gathering. “Why aren’t you in your lab?”

“Well I- uh, I was following you guys?” he says. “Why should I be in my–” 

“We need the Quirineon!” Juniper interrupts. Now they’re all looking at him in annoyance. “You’ve taken too long on it, and now the princess is back!”

“Can’t say it wouldn’t have gone faster if someone hadn’t needed a bath bomb in every scent known to man last week,” Varian mutters under a cough. To his satisfaction, everyone but Andrew either snorts in amusement or shoots an amused look at their leader.

“Oh, bite me, kid,” Andrew says, turning to his cohorts in clear dismissal. 

Varian flinches, trying to dig his feet into the dirt.

“Now if we could– hey, what the– owW! WHAT THE ACTUAL– get off !”

Varian and Andrew push away from each other: one to spit and wipe at his tongue in disgust, the other to grab at his arm and continue on his interestingly high-pitched screeching. Unfortunately for both of them, Varian’s compulsion to follow direct orders has no filter for sarcasm or figures of speech. 

The others stare.

“What just happened?” Maisie asks.

“Holy crap, he bit him,” Kai says. “He actually bit him with those nasty little rabbit teeth.”

“That’s gotta hurt.”

“WHY?” Andrew shrieks, reaching out and grabbing the front of Varian’s tunic so he can pull the smaller close to his face. Varian’s eyes are huge, his brain blanking with the desire to be anywhere but here. He gapes at the real anger in Andrew’s face, his feet kicking against open air as he’s hauled off the ground. “Tell me why!”

“B-because you said to!” Varian says obediently, horror dawning as he’s unable to snatch the words back into his mouth. “I have to do what you tell me!”

Andrew drops him unceremoniously. Varian stumbles backward, heart pounding. 

“You’re such a little freak,” the man spits. “Get out of my sight. We’ll come check on the Quirineon soon, and it had better be done.”

This time, Varian is happy to oblige. He scampers away to the sound of further banter behind him, wishing with all his might that Andrew didn’t take too seriously the answer he’d just been given. He doesn’t see Clementine giving him a calculating stare as he goes.

…

There is definitely a detour to brushing his teeth before the lab, but then Varian doubles down on getting the Quirineon formula right. Combined intelligence quotia of his current company aside, they are correct; time is running out now that the princess is back. And true to his word, Andrew and Clementine do come to check on him. When they walk in, he can tell they’ve just had dinner and that he’s been purposefully left out of it by the way Andrew is still waving around a chicken leg.

“So,” he says, leaning on the counter in front of Varian and allowing spittle to fly at the alchemist, who cringes back. “How’s it comin’, friend?”

“Yeah,” Clementine’s pipes up meanly.

Varian takes a deliberate breath before turning and pulling his goggles over his eyes to demonstrate and explain the progress he’s made. The sound of glass cracking sends ice through Varian’s veins seconds before a heated beaker explodes.

“Evidently,” he croaks from where the blast has him plastered against the wall, “my calculations were not correct.”

He’s mostly expecting to be yelled at when he peels himself up, so he takes his time removing the green-stained coat and wiping his goggles off as Andrew and Clementine murmur something behind him. He looks at them in time to see Clementine nod at Andrew before leaving the room so that Andrew and Varian are alone.

Varian gulps.

“I’m gonna fix it,” he promises. “I-I’ll stay up all night if I have to.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Andrew says. 

The way he’s looking at him makes Varian shiver lightly. He fidgets with his hands, reddening. “And, uh, about earlier– I really am sorr–”

Thud .

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” Andrew chuckles, and Varian looks from him to the heavy book on the floor in confusion. “Pick it up.”

Varian jolts forward, snapping up the book. He laughs nervously, rubbing his neck and replacing it on his desk in a more natural movement. “Uh, heh, sorry,” he says awkwardly, even though Andrew is the one who dropped it. 

“Of course, buddy,” Andrew says. “By the way, I used up my alchemical bombs earlier; what do you say you give me a few off your belt?”

“Um, well–”

“Give them here.”

Varian watches in annoyance as his hand rips a few orbs off his belt and passes them off stiffly. Like he hasn’t already made plenty of concoctions for them without Andrew specifically needing the ones on his belt? The man smirks as he uses them to tie up his hair into its usual man bun.

“Is that all?” Varian asks, trying not to sound too impatient.

“Yeah, it should be good enough,” the man says, patting Varian’s shoulder. He’s always uncomfortably touchy. “You’ve got work to do like you said, so hop to it.”

Oh how Varian wants to faceplant when his feet begin literally hopping him to the shelf for a new beacon. “Ha, ha,” he forces out, grabbing a new coat and shoving his arm into it, “I’m doing this ‘cause I want to. Ha ha.”

But when he turns around, Andrew is gone. He sags, muttering, “Varian, we have got to get this under control.”

…

Rapunzel sneaks back in by herself, and gets caught. 

Weirdly, Varian feels just as thrilled by the chance to talk to her again as he did when she and the others burst into the throne room a few hours before. Even if they’re playing on opposite teams now, she’s so much better company than what he’s used to. The princess is put into the same cell where Varian was held for month after month in her absence, and the sight does allow him to inject real venom into his words as he confronts her. He reminds her of her betrayal. She reminds him right back that they used to be friends. Doesn’t she see that that’s what he’s trying to get back? 

Then she says, “You’re only making it worse. None of these people did anything to you!” and he knows exactly how to retort to this.

“It’s not what they did to me,” he says, unable to look her in the eye. “It’s what I did to them . And there- there is no way they will ever forgive me.”

He expects decisive agreement. He does not expect, “How do you know, if you don’t give them the chance?” 

It’s so ridiculous that he forgets to be mad in his response, rather finds himself looking her openly in the face, ashamed.

Until, of course, he’s interrupted by Andrew’s presence suddenly close at his back.

…

Rapunzel is by no means dumb, but she’s having trouble understanding what she’s seeing.

Andrew, who was content up until now to let it seem like Varian was in charge– what Rapunzel herself had assumed– is suddenly towering patronizingly over Varian like a parent scolding a child. And Varian is looking around like he’s being left behind on some inside joke. It reminds her unexpectedly of the relationship she once had with Gothel. She can see the hidden resentment on his face as he pushes out of Andrew’s hold and looks down.

Cassandra may be lost to her… but maybe this former friend is in her reach now. Hope lights a true smile on her face as hears Varian hold out an alchemy bomb and say,

“I’m gonna have to ask you to step inside that cell. I’m getting on the right side of history.”

The small woman with the oversized hat opens her mouth to no doubt yell an attack order, but Rapunzel sees Andrew put his hand out in a calming gesture before stepping forward even as the rest back away. 

“Varian,” he says pleasantly, “Put it down.”

Rapunzel scoffs at the man’s attitude, but this quickly turns to confusion as her eyes shift back to Varian, who uncurls his fingers from around the ball one by one. It drops, bounces a little, and rolls over to Andrew. Varian reaches for another one but freezes just as fast as Andrew says, “Nope. Hand me the alchemy belt.”

“Varian, what are you doing?” Rapunzel whispers, dismayed as the alchemist once again does as he’s told. Varian looks back at her helplessly, eyes then darting around as if to locate another strategy. He spots, just as Rapunzel does, the key to the cell hanging on the wall and makes an aborted dash for it.

Aborted, because Andrew orders, “Don’t move.”

The boy jerks to a stop, hand inches from the key. Andrew steps around him and pushes Varian’s arm back to his chest with a smirk. Rapunzel watches Varian’s eyes grow wide with realization as they look at one another.

“Oh no,” he says. Andrew laughs.

“Oh, yes,” Andrew sing-songs, patting Varian on the head and spinning him to face the entire cell. “Hey guys, wanna hear a fun fact? This little twerp obeys every word I say. Clementine and I picked up on it earlier.”

“You?” Varian sputters. “You think this is about you ? Ugh, you’re so unendowed in the head, you arrogant–”

“Hey, buddy? Go ahead and stop breathing.”

Rapunzel’s mind begs for an explanation as to why Varian suddenly cuts off, eyes widening and hands flying to his throat. He bends down with a rasping cough, knocking at his chest in vain before sinking to his knees. Alarm bells go off in her head at the horrible sight as he continues to choke for air, and she hears herself yelling frantically for someone to stop this, stop it, help him. 

The memory of her mom’s kidnapping comes back unbidden– she had forgotten it in the excitement of what came after, but she remembers thinking how odd it was that Varian had responded appropriately when Arianna told him to calm down. At the time it was rationalized as an adrenaline crash, but with this– and with all the strange forms of magic she witnessed on her quest in mind– the answer comes to her.

“Varian, breathe!” she yells.

A harsh gasp claws itself out of Varian’s throat as he leans on all fours, breathing gulps of air like he’d nearly drowned. His eyes raise to meet hers, wide and fearful.

He’s still breathing raggedly when Andrew takes him by the scruff and hauls Varian up, laughing along with his companions. He flinches and shoves his hands over his ears, reminding Rapunzel again of the past but with new clarity, but Andrew yanks one of them away and says in the boy’s ear, “Hey now, cut that out. Aren’t you having a good time? I know I am.”

“Go to hell,” Varian hisses.

“You know,” Andrew says, ignoring this, “I knew he was easy to manipulate, but this is something else. Why didn’t we notice sooner, right guys? Ah, well, it comes in handy now since he had to go and get a bleeding heart. Don’t even have to waste space locking ‘im up.”  

Varian opens his mouth, but Andrew shoves him at the bars of Rapunzel’s cell with an order to “Shut up and stay there. You shut up and stay there until I get back for you.” She sees Varian go still, but his stilent glare leveled at the Saporians could melt icebergs. “We launch the airship in twenty; too bad you don’t get to see Corona burn by our side, eh, kid? You made your choice.” He gives one more rough mussing of the kid’s hair before turning and leading his group out of the cells.

Then the two former friends are alone. 

“Varian…” Rapunzel feels at a loss for words. “...That was very brave. Thank you.”

Varian snorts, sliding to the ground on the other side of the bars. He sinks a hand into his hair and fists it there, tugging. It’s quiet for a long moment.

“About– about the past,” she starts again, kneeling behind him. Her hand reaches for his shoulder briefly before retracting. “I want you to know that… I know now what it feels like to have someone you trust let you down. I mean, after you go through that– how can you ever trust anyone again?”

Blue eyes turn to look at her questioningly. 

“Heh, long story,” Rapunzel says with a forced smile, not wishing to bear the full sting of Cass’ betrayal right now. This moment is about Varian. “The point is… maybe you thought that if you could make everyone forget what happened, that you could start over? I think you know deep down that life doesn’t really work that way. But if you want… we can learn to trust again. Together?”

He listens with his eyes on the stone ground, arms wrapped around himself, but at the offer he looks up carefully and there’s an almost disbelieving hope in his eyes. Rapunzel can’t help but smile warmly. 

He tentatively returns it.

With this settled, she feels equipped to handle the other elephant in the room… before she can ask, though, a new voice rings out and makes both of them turn to the entrance of the dungeon.

“Okay, hi, was anyone going to invite me to this?” Eugene is mock offended. He and Lance stride forward, the latter snatching the key off the wall and handing it to the former. “Sunshine, you know that breaking into things is kind of my thing, right?”

The cell door swings open with a squeak of metal and Rapunzel rushes to her feet and embraces her love tightly, exclaiming, “Thank goodness you’re here!”

“Oh, it’s this little man again,” she hears Lance say disdainfully, and turns. Varian is still stuck to his spot on the ground, mouth shut and eyes wide in the man’s shadow and Lance stands over him with his hands on his hips. 

“Guys, we’re going to have to trust him,” Rapunzel says. “He’s the one who made the explosive that the Saporians are about to drop on Corona; he’ll know how to neutralize it.”

“After everything Hairstripe here has done, you want to trust him?” Eugene still asks incredulously, and the princess sees Varian flinch. 

“Yes. We need him,” she affirms, pushing Lance out of the way to kneel in front of the alchemist and take his hands. He looks at her gratefully. 

Her voice lowers. “Varian, you can ignore Andrew’s orders.”

He gives her a look, waving his hand in a circle in the universal ‘go on’ motion.

“Oh,” she says, feeling awful. “Varian, ignore Andrew’s orders.” 

He grins, shakily accepting her help to stand up then brushing off his knees. “Thank you, Princess. Uh–about all that…I can explain. Kind of.” His eyes dart warily to Eugene and Lance then back to her.

She pulls him into a tight hug. “Tell me later,” she whispers. “Are you ready for this?”

“One more thing.” Varian casts his gaze around, frowning in thought as though looking for something, before he ends up pulling off the red bandana tied on his neck. He determinately bites and tears it, then again, until shreds of fabric lay on the floor and two small wads are bunched and shoved into his ears as make-shift earplugs.

“I’ll do my best to read your lips,” he explains, gesturing to his handiwork. “But this will help me stay on- on your side.”

Rapunzel has to repress the curiosity that rises in her at this bizarre precaution. She nods.

Then they’re off.   

…

Varian watches the sky with adrenaline pounding in his veins as Rapunzel mans the falling airship alone. Wrapping him in her magic hair and sidelining him when it got too dangerous? Frankly rude.

He sees the balloon start to ride as the heating Quirineon plan starts to work and lets out a ragged breath of relief. 

Once he manages to get off the roof without twisting an ankle, he races through the bare streets of Corona after the airship, muttering, “Come on, Princess, come on Princess–”. He hardly looks where he’s going, nearly slamming into walls as he zig zags around corners to keep the balloon in his sight. He catches a glimpse of a glowing golden ball up above– now tiny at this distance– before a green explosion lights up the night, making him laugh in disbelief. Man, he is glad to have Rapunzel as his friend again.

Maybe if he weren’t so trained upward, he might have avoided the familiar figure step out of the shadows behind a building. Maybe they wouldn’t have had the opportunity to wrap their shackle-like hand around Varian’s wrist, yanking him back like a dog on a leash. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Andrew asks, slapping a hand over Varian’s mouth.

…

“I knew you’d make it,” Eugene exhales, hugging Rapunzel tight to his chest. For her part, Rapunzel almost didn’t have the same sentiment, particularly when her hair shield came undone in midair. But as he said, she did make it, and her heart finally starts to slow its staccato rhythm. As if he can hear her thoughts, her love pulls away and reassures her, “It’s all over.”

She exhales, leaning into his hand as he tucks some hair behind her ear. “Not yet. There’s still one more promise I have to keep.” 

“Varian?” he guesses. Eugene looks around as though the alchemist will pop up from behind her. “Where is the little guy, anyway?”

Rapunzel twists, looking back to the buildings she had flown over as the airship picked up speed. “I’m not sure. I set him down somewhere before the explosion.”

Eugene takes her hand and squeezes it gently. “Then let’s go find him.”

Lance goes ahead with the King and Queen’s carriage on the main road while the couple walks hand-in-hand along the side-streets in Rapunzel’s best guess of the path she had taken from above. The princess calls Varian’s name a few times. “He’s gotta be around here somewhere…” 

She’s just wondering if maybe he took himself back to the castle to wait for her when she hears a faint answering yell follow another one of her calls. It sounds like the word “Princess”, smothered off half-way. It sounds afraid.

It sounds like Varian. 

“Did you hear that?” Eugene asks before she can, and her boyfriend is frowning into the dark. 

“It was over there,” Rapunzel says, pointing to the left. She begins to run in that direction, her bare feet leading her almost by instinct, with Eugene close behind. 

The sight that meets them as they round a particularly dark corner chills her blood.

There is Andrew, disheveled by defeat with loose hair hanging in front of dark eyes. Gone is the groomed appearance, the casual attitude; he is drawn to his full height, and held before him with a white-knuckled grip on the shoulder and a knife to his throat is their missing alchemist. 

Varian’s eyes are wide enough to reflect stars above, irises shifting rapidly between the two of them and the knife– the knife which Rapunzel realizes in horror is held by his own hand. As she stares she can see the hand in question shaking faintly as though fighting with itself. 

The word escapes her in a mixture of sadness and fear. “Varian.” 

“Don’t come any closer,” Andrew warns them. He tightens his grip and Varian leans his head away as much as he can, cringing. “Unless you want your precious alchemist to slit his own throat, that is.”

“Kid, drop that,” Eugene says, horrified, and Rapunzel sees on his face the same confusion she felt about an hour ago in the dungeons.

“Ah, ah– I figured it out,” Andrew says, smiling cruelly and gesturing to Varian’s ears where the red cloth bits have been replaced since he took them out to communicate with Rapunzel in the air. “And you can’t have him back. This is my puppet now, and he’s gonna build me so many weapons that I won’t even need help destroying this forsaken city. And then? Oh, and then he is going to pay with his life for betraying Saporia.”

“Am I missing something?” Eugene asks, putting a hand on his hip. Rapunzel holds out her frying pan, determination lighting her heart ablaze and hardening her eyes.

“That’s not happening.”  

She pulls her arm back and throws the pan to the side, pulling hair into her hands while Andrew is distracted by the action. With well-used agility, she throws it forward so that it wraps precisely around Varian’s knife-holding hand, yanking it down and away from his throat. The knife goes skittering in the dirt when his wrist is twisted. Varian gasps.

“Eugene–” Rapunzel says.

Her boyfriend darts forward and kicks the knife away just before Andrew gets to it. The Saporian growls, pulling a sword and thrusting it up in time to meet Eugene’s own in a sharp clang. 

Rapunzel darts around them, taking the chance to get to Varian. He gives her an anxious smile as her eyes flutter around him in concern. She takes his face in her hands, noticing the beginning of bruises forming along his jaw. 

“It’s nothing,” he tells her loudly. She remembers the ear plugs and tugs them out. “Ha thanks,” he says at a more normal volume, rubbing his neck. 

The princess gasps when she catches sight of the swelling on his arm as his sleeve falls back. “Did I–?”

“No, no, not you!” Varian waves his hands, eyes looking past her at the Saporian. “Just a- a minor beating…” 

Andrew’s sword goes flying into the dirt like the knife, making Rapunzel turn as well. He stands at the point of Eugene’s sword, death glare fixed firmly on Varian as he heaves in anger. 

“Rat. You won’t get away so easily,” he breathes.

“I’ll tell him not to obey you,” Rapunzel says, blocking Varian from view.

“What if nobody tells Varian to do anything?” Varian suggests dryly. 

“Seriously, what am I missing?” Eugene asks. He flips and rams the butt of his sword into Andrew’s temple in one swift motion, stepping over the crumpled body easily. Just like that the fight is over. He looks between Rapunzel and Varian with a raised eyebrow. 

The alchemist sighs, fidgeting with his hands. Rapunzel puts a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell us everything, Varian. Your choice.” Varian looks up at her, something thoughtful and then sure settling into his face. 

“It’s okay,” he says slowly. “I ‘d like you guys to know. Trust, right?” A half-laugh. “Just… give me a second to– compose my thoughts.”

Rapunzel nods, smiling.

“Can do,” Eugene mutters, still slightly moody, but he sheaths his sword and gets to tying and gagging Andrew. He manages to round up a horse to sling the Saporian across so he’s less trouble to carry as the three of them begin walking back to the castle in silence. He gives Rapunzel looks over Varian’s head to which she merely smiles and shrugs patiently.

“Um,” Varian says, sounding like he had to fight to push the first sound out of his throat. “It’s- I don’t know where to start. I guess you could say I’m ‘under a spell’?” He uses air quotes to emphasize his distaste.

Eugene’s head whips to the side. “Whaaaaat? What was that scientific phrase you just used, Varian?” Despite his teasing, Rapunzel can sense his rise in curiosity. 

“Ha-ha,” Varian rolls his eyes, reddening. “It’s not magic, it’s just not otherwise explainable right now. Okay? And I don’t know where it came from or when it started. Dad said I’ve just always done what I was told and I… can’t help it. I’ve tried.”

Rapunzel takes his hand instinctively, pulling him closer to her side despite the weak protest he grumbles. Her eyes meet Eugene’s again and a small nonverbal confirmation passes between them: he frowns, and she nods solemnly.

“Varian, we’re going to help you find a way to break the spell,” she vows.

Varian turns startled eyes on her. “Break it?”

“Of course! It must be horrible!”

“I happen to be very good at thwarting magic,” Eugene chips in. “Have you heard I gave Rapunzel the world’s most dramatic haircut? Before she went and touched a magic rock, that is. That’s on her.”

“But it– what makes you think it can even be broken?” Varian sputters, a note of hope in his voice.

Rapunzel opens her mouth, but Eugene beats her to it. “Oh boy, have we got some tales for you about the strange and sometimes frankly disturbing kinds of magic that exist out there in ye olde world. Teapot that turns you into a bird? We got that. A top that toddler-ifies your friends? Got that too. In fact have you ever–”

“The point is,” Rapunzel says pointedly, “all those things were reversible. This has to be reversible too, right?”

Varian rubs a hand on his chin. “I guess that makes sense. Yeah.”

“Now if you don’t mind, I have a question or two, going back to the ‘do what I’m told’ thing,” Eugene says, and Rapunzel rolls her eyes good-naturedly.  

“Eugene.”

“I’m just asking– you know I am, I gotta know things, Sunshine, it’s how I dealt with the magic hair and it’s how I cope now. What if I say, ‘man I wish I had some grapes’, will he or will he not scour the kitchen on my behalf? Cuz I’ll have to be more careful what I say if–”

They’ve barely reached the castle grounds, Eugene almost talking to himself now as he leads the way. Rapunzel falls back along her younger friend, noticing for the first time how they’re the same height now. Varian has grown. He has grown all by himself, no father or friends on his side. 

She won’t let it go on any longer. She is lucky enough that he chose to be on her side again, and she will honor that choice.

“Hey, guess what?” she whispers. 

He blinks up owlishly with a “Huh?”, still clearly lost in thought. 

“I learned a new incantation while I was gone. Wanna know what it does?” Without waiting, she tells him, “It makes my hair able to destroy any substance.”

Rapunzel smiles, watching as the realization spreads slowly across his face.

Chapter Text

Varian has come a long way since believing that Eugene was Flynn Rider. Perhaps Eugene has come a ways from how he used to see Varian.

“It feels good to trust you again, little guy,” he tells Varian during Rapunzel’s celebration following the Saporian defeat. Even if he had been initially suspicious of Varian’s return to good, it does sound like he means it, punctuated by a kind pat on Varian’s shoulder. Varian, one hand in that of his newly-freed father’s and the other rubbing his neck awkwardly, gives a tentative smile back.

In that moment, his mind fresh with recent events, Varian finds himself comparing how different Eugene’s touch is from Andrew’s. It is inclusive, not possessive. His smile is inclusive, not private. Varian feels a tug in his heart– a familiar feeling, that of wanting to be something worthwhile in the eyes of another. Of his dad, of Cassandra, of Andrew. Now Rapunzel and Eugene.

It’s at worst a flaw that has led to some of his poorer choices; maybe now that he understands himself better, he can use it for improvement. 

Of course, turning over a new leaf is not as easy as the Princess’ offer made it seem. 

The people of Corona are generally kind people, but after Rapunzel publicly pardoned the alchemist whom they had villainized for so long, there were bound to be grudges. Varian ignores some things pretty well, like mean looks in the street or whispers behind hands as he passes (he’s ignored as much from Old Coronans). Others– feet jutting out to trip him and muttered “serves him right”s, the word “traitor” painted on his door, snide remarks to his face when he initiates conversation (“Don’t you have a kingdom to overthrow or something?”) – can pierce like arrows. 

And the red rocks come, in all their fear-amplifying glory.

Varian’s always had an underlying edge of anxious energy sending him from one project to another, but he wouldn’t say he’s ever had anxiety . Until now. 

“You tackled your fears, Varian! I knew you had it in you!” Rapunzel, ever the sunny side of any situation, exclaims. Varian can’t help but smile back at her and feel some pride, but it lasts as long as the day’s end. When night falls and he’s alone in his bedroom again, the nightmare of his father trapped in amber as angry villagers surround him comes back full force, and this time there is more:

As he collapses to the base of the amber statue with hands over his ears, Quirin encased and Varian unable to placate the hateful accusations growing louder and louder, he looks up to find that suddenly it’s all gone– his father, the villagers, the noise. He’s alone in the dark emptiness of his broken lab, and the change is like being dunked in ice water.

“Varian,” says an unknown voice from behind him. “Varian, get up.”

He feels himself rise and turn to face an unrecognizable figure cloaked in shadows at the doorway. Their hand beckons to him. 

“It’s time for you to build me tools of destruction, Varian. Those automatons will do nicely.”

“Wh-wha-what?” Varian stumbles into something cold and looks up to see the hulking form of his own weaponized robot towering over him, its eyes glowing like coals. He looks back at the figure in the doorway and clenches his fists. “No, I don’t do that anymore. Why would I help you?”

Dark laughter echoes. “You don’t have a choice. Come.”

“No!” Varian cries, fighting against the pull on his feet as he obediently follows. “No, no, please!”

This is about where he wakes up every time. 

It’s not always the same– sometimes the figure is Andrew with his plentiful demands; sometimes rather than build, he’s being told to attack his loved ones or leave Corona forever or some other awful thing. Each time he can’t deny it. Each time when he wakes up shaking like a leaf in autumn winds, telling himself over the sound of his racing heart and a worried Ruddiger to “fight the fear, fight it, it’s just a dream, it’s not real”... he remembers that this mantra is not completely true. 

Even if his father is free and the villagers are coming around, his curse is a reality that waits ready for someone dangerous to take advantage. 

Soon after the red rocks, Varian takes up residence in the Demanitus chamber under the castle. He’s regularly starstruck to be occupying the same space where Demanitus himself once worked, and feels a little safer there (if still sleep-deprived) for a few reasons. 

One of them is a certain ex-thief whose lax, joking nature calms Varian’s newfound anxiety like cooling alkali on acid.

…

The click of guard boots coming around the corner make Varian pause and slide into the dark space behind a decorative suit of armor. The patrollers pass by him unaware and he watches them go with a release of held breath. He’s not doing anything wrong at the moment, but he doesn’t want to deal with what questions they might have for him wandering the castle at night. 

After a moment he skirts back out and continues down the hall toward the kitchens. Unlike the hall patrol going on at all times, his destination should be empty at this hour– so it’s with surprised dismay that he sees a light on under the double doors.

“Baking soda, where is baking soda? Why is this so hard…” he hears when he presses one ear to the door. A relieved smile spreads over his face.

Eugene, pajama clad, is kneeling down with his head stuck in a low cupboard when Varian pushes in. Sweeping his eyes over the counter, Varian sees a bowl and various baking ingredients strewn about. Tiptoeing under the sounds of Eugene still muttering to himself, Varian peeks in the bowl and looks around. Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he adds a splash of vinegar then hides on the other side of the island counter as Eugene straightens.

“Ah-hah! There you are,” the man says. He hums a vague tune as he goes about measuring out his newest ingredient and tossing it in. The humming turns to a cry of panic as fizzing fills the air and the contents of his bowl begin to rise and overflow. “What the– what did I do now?!”

Varian pops up with a “Gotcha!” and then can’t stop laughing at the height which Eugene’s startled jump gets. “The look on your face,” he wheezes, holding his sides as Eugene sighs and folds his arms. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Eugene drawls. He tilts the messy bowl toward Varian. “This was you, I assume?”

“Alchemy,” they say at the same time, one proudly and the other without inflection. Eugene sighs again.

“What are you making?” Varian asks once he can stop giggling, leaning on the counter to take another look. 

“I was trying to make surprise brownies for my and Rapunzel’s date tomorrow,” Eugene admits. “But really, I’m no good at this baking thing. Not much practice making food when you’re mostly getting it by stealing during your formative years.”

“Hmm, well lucky for you, I am good at baking,” Varian says, pushing Eugene out of the way and getting a new bowl. 

“Really?”

Varian smiles at him cheekily. “Don’t sound so surprised. It’s not that different from alchemy.” And you can’t slip people truth serum cookies if you can’t make cookies , he thinks but chooses not to point out.

“Hopefully your baking doesn’t explode as much as your alchemy does,” Eugene mutters. Louder he asks, “So what brings you out of bed at this hour?”

“Oh, I was reading and wanted some cocoa,” Varian says. “And I ran out of cocoa in my stash so I had to come here.” 

“Your stash ?” Eugene says, looking on incredulously as Varian hands him a whisk and passes the bowl over. He merely smiles back before going to start the wood oven. Eugene scoffs and begins stirring. “Okaaay. If we’re going to ignore that, will you at least tell me what you were reading about?”

“Uh… it was something from the castle library. I cornered the section on spells and how to break them, haha,” Varian admits cautiously. He keeps his eyes on the oven as Eugene makes a confused noise.

“ You were reading ab– Oooh yeah, yeah, yeah,” Eugene says, realization hitting mid-sentence. “Okay, no, yeah, now I remember. You make yourself so scarce, kid, I almost forgot I’m remembering to censor my requests around you.”

“Ha ha,” Varian says again, sarcastic but this time more at ease. He gets out a pan and meets Eugene back at the counter. 

“Well, I mean, do I need personally delivered breakfast in bed? No, but do I wish I had that at least once a week? Of course,” Eugene shrugs, bumping Varian playfully. “In all seriousness, did you find anything good in that book?”

“Not yet,” Varian says, tapping his fingers on the counter. “I have to take a lot of breaks to roll my eyes at the–” he waves a hand, “-- magic bits. But there’s gotta be something to break it, like you guys said. I don’t know why I didn’t think to research this before.” 

Eugene puts a hand on Varian’s shoulder and they meet eyes. Varian is surprised by how warm the look is, and is again starkly reminded of how different Eugene is from Andrew. Rather than tensing, Varian relaxes.

“You were paired up with Xavier for the Herz De Sonne thing, right, Var? Well there’s someone who might have an idea– I can go with you to ask him if you’d like, he knows a lot about magic doohickies. Yeah, know what? I betcha that Xavier can help.”

… 

“I’m sorry, I cannot help,” Xavier says regretfully. 

Varian’s face falls. From his usual place on the alchemist’s shoulder, Ruddiger paws Varian’s cheek in comfort.

“What? Why?” Eugene asks, pushing off the wall from where he’d waited protectively while Varian entrusted Xavier with his secret. Xavier had listened with a kindly expression, polishing some tools absently, saying nothing until now.

“Because I do not know of anything that could cause such a thing,” Xavier answers. 

Eugene throws his hands out. “But you’re the guy for this stuff! If you don’t know, who knows?” 

“It– it’s okay, Xaves,” Varian says, but Eugene can see the disappointment on him. He frowns and rubs his chin in thought.

“I’m sorry, Varian,” Xavier says again, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It does bring a few legends to mind, which I can share… if you want.” They share a smile. “At the least I can look into it– privately of course– though my resources are the same as yours.”

“Resources,” Eugene echoes, something clicking in his brain. “Like scrolls, like artifacts– Oh! I know somewhere else we can try, kid!”

Varian’s brows draw together. “Eugene, what are you–” 

“The Spire!” he exclaims, taking the kid by the shoulders excitedly so that his raccoon scurries away. 

“The what now?”

“The Spire, it’s this mountaintop tower where we got a piece of the scroll! The keeper of the Spire… eh, well, as annoying as she is, Calliope is a know-it-all about magical doo-dads. You and me, kid, we’ve gotta give it a visit!” 

Wide-eyed, Varian asks, “But-but wouldn’t it take, I don’t know, weeks to get there?”

Eugene hums, rubbing his chin again. Xavier speaks up. “Varian, if you were to use a hot-air balloon such as the one you made for the treasure hunt, that trip may be reduced to only a matter of days.”

“You’re right,” Varian realizes, pacing back and forth now. “And I could chemically treat the flames to burn hotter and longer than any natural flame and increase our speed even more! You’re saying I could have answers as soon as–” he pauses in his tracks, biting his lip and looking at Eugene. “But shouldn’t– no, aren’t you busy? You’re the Captain of the Guard now. And I still need to finish the scroll translation…”

“Kid, I think we can take a quick break,” Eugene says. “Someone else can be in charge while I’m gone, and that old parchment isn’t going anywhere.”

“Rapunzel–”

“–would want us to work on keeping our promise to you.” At this Varian draws back, seeming stunned. Eugene supposes it’s been awhile since he’s had people in his corner, and the thought just makes his resolve harden. He smiles and holds up a hand. “It’s okay, Var, we can do this. Team Awesome?” 

Varian searches his face, hesitation turning to excitement. By his boot, Ruddiger chirrups in encouragement. Varian looks at him then back at Eugene, exclaiming and bouncing on his heels. Kid is honestly almost cute sometimes; Eugene blames it on the doe eyes. 

“Team Awesome!” Varian says, accepting the high five.

…

It takes Varian the rest of the day to finish preparations on their speed balloon; he’s always been good at finishing projects quickly once the hyperfixation sets in. The mapped route will take them two days there and two days back. It would be shorter if they skipped over Kresten Locke, but he decides it’s not worth it to brave miles and miles of frozen wasteland, not with his luck anyway. 

As Eugene predicted, Rapunzel is 110% on board with their trip, only lamenting that she herself can’t get away from princess duties in order to go too. She sees them off, squeezing Varian tight and telling Ruddiger to keep his boy safe. 

The raccoon chitters solemnly, making Varian laugh. He says, “He’s probably telling you he’ll do his best.”

Eugene leans out of the basket where he’s double-checking their supplies. “Remember, Ruddiger, ‘if something is not impossible, it’s not worth doing’”! Varian rolls his eyes. 

He takes great pleasure in pranking Eugene with the whole “Don’t touch that, or that, or oh my gosh don’t touch that or it’s gonna blow !” bit. Until Eugene somehow glues his boots to the ground when he’s not looking, and it feels like a declaration of war. 

“If you guys aren’t back in a week,” Rapunzel says while embracing her boyfriend, “I’m coming after you. Princess duties or no.”

“I love you too,” Eugene says, brushing hair out of her eyes.  

Then they’re off.

…

As much as heights are feared by others, Varian feels nothing but peace when he looks down from a bird’s-eye view, wind tussling his hair and sun on his face. Peace and excitement. He’s literally on top of the world and untouchable by the dark things that keep him up at night. 

“Kid, if you get any closer to that edge, I’m going to tie a rope around your waist. Show my heart a little mercy, would you?” Eugene complains.

Varian pulls back from his lean on the basket’s edge slightly and turns to look at Eugene sitting against the opposite wall. “Sorry, sorry. Don’t you love it up here though? It’s like being a bird!”

“Meh, being a bird is overrated. Been there, done that.” Eugene comes to stand by him at the edge and looks at the horizon. “I do love a good view, though.”

Varian smiles crookedly at him before closing his eyes and breathing out. There’s a moment of calm where he could almost doze off from the running on fumes he’s done lately.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, Var.”

Varian flinches lightly. “I’m hoping this works so no one can use me worse than Andrew tried to.”

He opens his eyes and sees Eugene looking at him with wide eyes. “Crud, I just did it, didn’t I? Gah, I’m sorry, Varian, I didn’t mean to make you–”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Varian says, face flushing as he turns away. “I understand.”

A warm hand settles on his shoulder after a moment. “How about this: you can tell me anything you want for this whole trip and I’ll do it.”

He looks back at Eugene’s kind face and slowly raises an eyebrow. “Anything?” 

“Anything.”

Varian squints in thought. “Hmm… tell me I’m the greatest alchemist you know.”

“Hear ye, hear ye,” Eugene announces, bending to one knee. “I, humble Eugene, am in the presence of the one and only Varian, greatest alchemist who ever lived.”

“Okay, you’re really overselling it,” Varian says, even though he can’t help laughing as he turns and leans one arm along the basket wall. 

“Would you like me to dial it back?”

“Nah. I mean why not… go ahead and put it to song.”

What follows makes Varian laugh hard enough for his voice to squeak. It makes Ruddiger perk up from where he’d burrowed in their supplies for a snooze, looking delighted to hear the sound.

Their map marks a town halfway to the Spire as a rest stop on their first night, and sure enough it comes into sight as the sun starts to set. Varian reduces the flame and they lose altitude gradually. After landing the balloon discreetly in the woods nearby, they go on foot in search of an inn.

“Hm, it looks like this is the best option,” Varian tuts. “Hand me the money.” 

Eugene, trailing behind him with both of their supplies on his either shoulder, groans and reaches around to try and take one pack off without dropping the other. “Anything else, oh great alchemist?” he asks once it’s done. Varian smirks.

“Well, when we’re settled you can find us some dinner,” he says. “Regret giving me permission to boss you around yet?”

“Never,” Eugene says, tussling Varian’s hair as he walks ahead of him into the inn. Varian runs his fingers back over it with a grumble, running to catch up. 

The day has been spent with Varian in such high spirits that he almost forgets what the dark brings for him– almost. As they climb onto their cheap mattresses and Eugene blows out the candle with a cheerful, “Good night, kiddo,” Varian swallows against the growing uneasiness behind his sternum. 

His eyes adjust to the dark and trace the grain of the wood overhead in increasingly quick patterns. Ruddiger, less nocturnal since being domesticated, nudges into his side knowingly and Varian settles a hand in his fur, but even this comfort doesn’t stop the thoughts from racing. 

What if I have a nightmare tonight? What if I don’t sleep at all? No, no it’ll be fine. It’s fine. Just think tired thoughts. Think–

“Hey Varian, do you mind?” Eugene’s voice intercepts.

Varian shifts, caught off guard to see Eugene giving him an unimpressed look. “Huh?” 

Eugene nods to the foot of Varian’s bed, where his foot had been drumming back and forth restlessly. “It’s hard enough to try to sleep on a mattress this deluxe ,” he draws the word out sarcastically, “but add squeaky hinges to the mix? No chance.”

“Oh,” Varian says dumbly. He forcibly stills himself and feels even more restless. 

Eugene frowns at him. Slowly he asks, “Everything all right?”

It doesn’t slip past Varian even while he’s like this that Eugene made sure to ask rather than direct this time. He pulls his face into a half-smile, half-wince. “Just, uh, have a hard time going to sleep sometimes,” he says. 

“Ah,” Eugene says. I hate when sleep disagrees with me. It’s frankly rude.” He lays flat again. “Have you tried good old counting sheep?”

“Usually I try reading. Counting sheep makes me think too hard.”

“Wha- what is there to think about?”

“Who owns the sheep, why am I supposed to count them, have they been sheared yet… you’re talking to a farm kid, Eugene.”

“Then think of it like a thief– the more sheep you count, the more of them you’ve snatched without getting caught, and so you keep going and going til you’ve fallen asleep.”

“That’s dumb.”

“You question my methods, but you’re the one who can’t fall asleep.”

Varian laughs. “Maybe you should just tell me more about it until I can fall asleep,” he says around a yawn.

“Is that an order?” Eugene teases. “Because you know I can and I will, no encouragement required. But first let me just say something… about earlier.” His voice turns sincere. “I want you to know that I’ll do everything I can to stop anyone taking advantage of you, Varian. It makes me uncomfortable to think of Andrew being your only company for any length of time, and I’m sorry. I’m gonna help make it up to you. And you don’t have to say if that’s why you can’t sleep, or say anything mushy back, because I’m going to start rambling in three, two, one: have I ever told you about the time Lance and I–”

Warmth spreads and settles in Varian’s chest. He relaxes against the pillow and allows his eyes to fall shut to the calming sound of Eugene’s voice.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

He thinks he hears a pause followed by a fond response, but it’s lost to him as sleep comes.

… 

The next morning Varian is more well-rested than he has in a while. Their time getting up and getting breakfast at the little inn is filled with light-hearted shenanigans– Varian switching the salt and sugar shakers so that Eugene ends up with sweet eggs for breakfast; Eugene retaliating by brushing Ruddiger and putting all the shedded hair into Varian’s backpack– and laughter on both sides. 

When they step outside to leave, the sights and sounds of the foreign town market greet them. Eugene isn’t too impressed, but Varian’s wide eyes take it all in with the hunger of someone who isn’t well-traveled. 

“Can we look around for a bit?” he asks. 

“I mean, we don’t really need supplies…” Eugene says, dithering. “But ah, what the heck? An hour won’t put us behind. I’ll let you lead the way.”

Varian bounds off as though this permission was barely tethering him back. 

They pass a row of food vendors first and indulge in trying a few samples of unfamiliar fruits and candies, and then move on to looking at other goods. As they go, however, they begin to run into a problem.

“Varian-” Eugene says, turning to find empty air where the kid should be. From across the road, he sees Varian at the stand of a vendor selling perfume. His brow knits in confusion as he paces over. “Kid, what are you doing?”

“Try our new scents!” a pretty woman at the stand is calling over the street. “Scents of rose, lavender, wildflower and more! Come try them while they last!” The other stall attendant is spritzing Varian with a crystal perfume bottle. 

Eugene tugs Varian away and teases, “Kid, uh– are you worried about how you smell, or something?”

Varian’s eyes dart meaningfully from Eugene to the vendor who continues calling her pitch. “Well I didn’t want to try ‘essence of vanilla chamomile’, but here we are,” he says, and then it clicks. 

“Even the sales pitches?” Eugene asks incredulously. Varian nods. “Oh boy. Can’t take you anywhere, huh? Well, vanilla chamomile smells nice on you at least.”

And so it continues– they go from stall to stall as their interest dictates, but here and there Varian will jerk to a stop and reroute because of a “Come smell these fresh pastries!” here and a “Get a look at the latest cookware!” there. Eugene lifts his eyes to the heavens in exasperation when one vendor advertises their wares with “Buy your next saddle here, only saddle you’ll ever need!” as he has to snatch a coin purse out of Varian’s hand and march him away.  

Despite it all, Varian seems to be having a good time and isn’t too bothered by the involuntary perusing of wares. At least, he recovers quickly enough to keep Eugene running after him to whatever he’s noticed next. 

Then they come upon a stall with a growing gathering of onlookers and Varian bounces on his heels.

“It’s about alchemy!” he says, pulling Eugene’s arm.

“It’s a cleaning products demonstration,” Eugene says, reading the sign up front.

“Which is alchemy,” Varian points out, undeterred. “Man, I’m so curious what they use for stain removal, I bet I could apply it for–”

An old lady to their left shushes them and Varian seems content to stop talking and listen, though Eugene rolls his eyes and looks around. 

The sun is coming to the middle of the sky now so this needs to be their last stop before they head out and find where they parked the hot air balloon. He’s about to tell Varian as much, when a stall catches his eye some ways away. It looks to be selling hair clips and bows, and he just knows there’s something in there that Rapunzel would love to own, given how attached she is to her simple pink bird barrett. 

“Hey, Varian,” he whispers quietly so as to not upset another old lady. “I’m gonna visit that stall real quick. Please don’t go anywhere? I don’t think we should stay much longer.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Varian replies, hardly taking his eyes off the stage. “I’ll be right here.”

Eugene sighs. “Keep track of him,” he tells Ruddiger– content in Varian’s backpack– before hurrying away. 

… 

“--And so, ladies and gentlemen, you can say goodbye to ash and lye based laundry detergent, because once you take a chance on our alkali-based cleaner, there’s no going back. The clothes won’t lie!” 

Varian joins the applause of those around him, his head full of ideas he wants to try when they get back to Corona. He figured out the alkali-based cleaning trick already– even used it to help Cassandra way back when– but it is fascinating to see how other scientists market it. Maybe he can get the castle staff on his side by synthesizing his own version of that stuff. 

On stage, the first demonstrator steps back to allow their partner with a spray bottle to take the lead. During the transition some of the crowd leaves while others join and Varian pushes closer to the stage so he can try to ask a few questions of the detergent guy, though he has to impatiently line up behind people making purchases.

“Welcome!” the next demonstrator calls to regain attention. “If you haven’t already heard of isopropyl alcohol-based surface cleaner, you are in for a treat.” He gives a presenter’s smile and spreads his fingers out dramatically. “First: forget everything you’ve known before.” 

There’s more to the thought, but Varian doesn’t hear it. 

From the outside, not much happens: Varian’s jittery posture goes abruptly still and he blinks a few times as though emerging into bright light. On the inside… his awareness swirls out of him like water down a drain. 

…

After pouring over the small, intricately made designs of the pins for sale, Eugene decides that what he can best picture Rapunzel getting for herself is a simple daisy barrett. He grins to himself as he purchases it, picturing her delight when he returns from the trip with an unexpected souvenir. Speaking of which, he needs to get back on said trip.

He makes his way through the crowds back toward the station selling cleaning supplies, but isn't able to locate Varian among the bystanders.

“Varian?” Eugene calls, cupping his mouth to be heard and turning in a circle. A knot of worry begins to take form in his gut when all he sees are strangers. 

He can’t have gotten into trouble in just ten minutes, he thinks. He probably got shiny eyes over something else and went to take a look. No big deal.

…

The boy isn’t sure what is going on.

There is a lot of information to process, a lot of stimuli taking place simultaneously, and he is in the midst of it without quite remembering how he got there; sights and sounds and smells all press in on him meaninglessly.

“Watch where you’re going,” says a gruff voice. It cuts through the chaos and he realizes that he has backed into a large man whose eyes are annoyed as they peer down at him. The boy gulps.

“S-sorry, uh– could you maybe, um… what’s–?” he tries to ask, but the man loses patience and moves around him so that he’s alone in it all again.  

It seems like everyone around him knows what they’re doing– he hears a lady bragging about her handmade scarves, a mother pulling a whining child away from candy, a man asking others if they’ve seen his lost friend. All the boy can do is wander among them feeling like a ghost catapulted from his body. He only knows he’s real because of the guy he bumped into, and the others who occasionally brush his arms as he passes by in a trance. 

He’s not sure how long he walks, but he feels as if he has to be somewhere so he keeps walking. Maybe if he just sees the place he’s supposed to go, he’ll remember where he belongs. If he sees a person he recognizes, maybe they can tell him who he is. 

He follows the path that the street lays out before him and eventually ends up at the end of the busy marketplace. He slumps onto a well-placed bench and drops his face into his hands. That's when he startles from the feeling of something squirming against his back, and exclaims as a furry face peers at him over his shoulder.

“Ah, what the–!” he cries, dropping the backpack he’d been carrying. The creature turns out to be a raccoon that was nestled inside, now on the ground in front of him chittering like it wants something. “Shoo, shoo!” Still it advances, making the boy trip backwards over the bench to get away from it. 

“Hey, kid,” he hears a voice call, and looks over to see the last vendor laughing at him. “Come ‘ere, don’tcha know you’re not supposed to feed the wildlife? They won’t leave you alone after.”

The boy hurries over and hides behind the jolly-looking man even as the raccoon gives chase. The man steps forward and waves his hands at the thing.

“You heard the boy, now shoo!” he says. “Get on, get out of here.” 

Finally the creature sulks away, and even then it merely goes back to the bench and settles underneath it to keep watching from a distance. Weird.

“Thank you, sir,” the boy says. “Um, could you tell me where… this is?”

“Ohoho, it’s your lucky day! You’ve made it to my booth just in time.”

“Well, that’s not quite what I–”

“See the wagon over there?” the man asks, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders and pointing. “I’m advertising a job opportunity. Just for a couple days, no age limits– and we have room for one more.” He winks.

“Um–”

“Ever tried your hand panning for gold, boy? Myself and my partners will take only a small percentage of your earnings in exchange for transportation and supplies during the trip. You keep everything else you find! What do you say?” 

“I really shouldn’t go anywhere,” the boy says, rubbing the back of his neck. “At least, I don’t feel like I should. Not that it doesn’t sound–”

“Ah, but you can’t say no! Come along with us.”

The boy winces. “Okay.”

… 

This is a big deal, this is a big deal, Eugene’s brain screams at him as the afternoon sun begins to dip toward the horizon and he still can’t find a trace of Varian. He’s asked every vendor, even gone back to the inn and to the hot air balloon to make sure the kid didn’t get lost and retrace their steps to wait. No dice. People are starting to pack up their things and close for the day, which clears some of the crowd off the streets at least. That’s how he manages to spot a familiar ball of gray fur barrelling at him. 

“Ruddiger! What happened, where is Varian?” he demands, scoping up the raccoon under its arms. Ruddiger squeaks and squirms back to the ground, then gestures with his head and scurries off. Eugene goes rushing after and is eventually taken to a stone bench on the side of the road.

Varian’s backpack is laying on it.

“No, no, no,” Eugene mutters, shaking his head as he clutches the pack. Nothing seems to be missing from inside, but why would Varian just abandon it unless something was very wrong?

Ruddiger tugs his leg, and Eugene sees him pointing to tracks in the dirt where a stall had previously been put away. 

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he asks the vendor next over, who thankfully isn’t gone yet. “Do you know who was in this spot earlier?”

She looks at where he’s pointing and tuts. “Hm, I believe that was the gold mining recruiters. They come every once in a while to pick up workers and head for the mountains. They’ll be back in a week, probably?”

“What?!” Eugene yells, tugging at his hair. A vigorous nod from Ruddiger confirms his fears. “Can you tell me where they went?”

… 

The boy looks around at his newfound company unsurely. 

Within the cramped space of the rumbling wagon, there are a few hungry-eyed boys, run-down men, one woman and a couple of sketchier-looking fellows. And the jolly recruiter man. No one has been talking much, all otherwise preoccupied by their own thoughts of fortune or just getting some quick money to feed their families, but when they do, it is in private whispers to one another. Nobody talks to the boy.

Except the jolly man. 

They travel a few hours by wagon before coming to a stop and making camp– now surrounded by woods that the boy recognizes no more than he did in the village– when the jolly man sits beside him on a log.

“So, what’s your story, kid? Awfully quiet, ain't ya.”

The boy pulls his gaze away from the flickering fire but merely shrugs.

“Come on, tell me your name at least.”

He starts to say, ‘I can’t remember’ but what comes out is, “I’m Varian.”

“Varian,” the jolly man enunciates. “Well, nice ring to it, but I can’t say I’ve heard that name on anyone before. Very neat. It’s nice to have you along, Varian; we’re gonna have lots of fun tomorrow!”

With that he pats Varian’s shoulder and walks away. 

“I’m Varian,” Varian repeats. 

The name does feel right, but his head is just as empty as before so he has no idea where he pulled it from. Well, empty besides the headache growing in his temples from all this confusion. It would be so nice if just one thing made sense. 

They give him the job of feeding the fire as night falls, and in between fetching sticks he searches his pockets for clues. All he finds are a couple mysterious glowy balls and a small notebook, the pages of which he searches until falling asleep in his bedroll under the stars.

He dreams of something amber that makes him wake early the next morning in a cold sweat.

Even though it’s hardly light out, the rest of the group is already getting themselves ready for the day. Varian brushes off the queasiness left from his nightmare and goes to join them. Apparently their destination isn’t that far ahead. When they get there, it turns out to be a beautiful stream cutting through the trees.

“You see these, everyone?” the jolly man says, holding up what looks like a dinged and dirty pie tin. “These here are your pans. I’ll show you how to use ‘em first, then you can have at it. Watch closely.”

He kneels down by the riverbank and dips the pan into its flow, scooping it back out once it’s filled with mud and rocks. He swirls the pan around in a circle and pokes through it with his fingers. 

“Now you gotta sift it a bit to look for the shiny stuff sinking to the bottom– bring it to me if you find any and I’ll tell you if it’s really gold. Panning works like that because–”

“Gold is heavier than other minerals,” someone finishes. With a start, Varian realizes it’s him. 

“Hah, and I thought you’d never done this before, kid,” the recruiter laughs, tossing his wet pan at Varian, who fumbles and drops it. “Alrighty then, get to work everyone!”

Despite the appeal that looking through the mud seems to have for Varian (he’s kind of picking up on the fact that he’s a nerd), it doesn’t take long to realize that panning isn’t a very effective method of gold mining. Here and there some of the recruits come across small nuggets that are stockpiled for inspection, but for several hours they just bend over the stream and look through pan after pan of nothing but rocks. 

It might be easier, Varian thinks, if they had some sort of machine to draw metals to it like a magnet, or maybe even make a noise when they pass it over the location of the metal so they could know to start digging. The more he thinks about it, the more sure he becomes that he could build such a thing. After their quick lunch break, he pulls out his tiny notebook and begins sketching his idea. He doesn't notice when a shadow looms behind him, not until a harsh hand latches onto his shoulder and spins him around. 

“And what do you think you’re doing, Varian?” the jolly recruiter asks, except he doesn’t seem so jolly anymore. He looks not-jolly.

“Well, I-I had this idea for a machine that would–”

“Excuse me, did you think I was being anything other than rhetorical?” Not-jolly man says, snatching the notebook out of Varian’s hands and shoving him toward the others at the river. “Break time is over, it’s time for work! So go look for my gold!”

Varian wonders, not for the first time, what he’s even doing there. Grumpily he takes his pan and settles at the river’s edge a bit away from the others to appease the not-jolly man. He's not at it for too long, however, before he’s interrupted again.

This time it’s by an almost-unfamiliar raccoon jumping out of the bushes and scaring his heart into his throat.

“You!" he says as he jumps up, not sure how but feeling sure that it’s the same raccoon from the day before. “How did you find m–”

A hand covers his mouth from behind.

“Kid, shush, are you trying to get us caught?” a male voice whispers in his ear. A shiver of fear prickles up Varian’s spine at the feeling of being trapped– caged . He quickly pushes away and twists around, breathing hard.

The worried brown eyes of a new stranger look back, searching him over. “Varian,” he breathes. “ Oh my gosh, Varian, are you okay?”

So I am Varian, Varian thinks. His eyes widen. This person knows me.

“Varian, I’m trying not to tell you what to do here, kid, but please, give me a sign that you’re alright.”

“Um,” Varian says, blinking. “I mean– yeah, I think I’m okay.”

“Good,” says the stranger. “Then can you tell me what in the ever-loving heck is wrong with you? How could you run off like that! Don’t you know I’ve been worried sick, I was gone for a second and you just disappeared! We’re lucky Ruddiger picked up the scent. Did someone, you know, tell you to leave?”

Varian’s jaw hangs open, speechless. Fortunately or unfortunately he’s saved from responding. 

“And who might you be, sir? I don’t recall you being in our party,” a cold voice asks. They turn around. Flanked by the two thuggish-looking recruits, the not-jolly man stands there smiling unpleasantly from Varian to the newcomer. “And I’ll have you know, I don’t take kindly to people messing with my workers. Varian, come here.”

Varian takes a step forward.

“Varian, stop!” cries the newcomer. 

Varian stops. He looks between both parties helplessly. 

“Um, you want the truth?” the newcomer says, hands going up and eyes seeming to dart around in search of the answer that gets them out of this situation. “The truth is– I’m Eugene and this is my little brother. Tell him, Var.”

“I’m his brother,” Varian repeats. It doesn’t feel quite true and yet… just like with recalling his name, this fact seems to slot into place in his heart. 

“Mhm, funny story, our parents sent me to get him since he ran off without permission, haha, so I’ll be taking him home now,” Eugene says rapidly, taking Varian by the wrist and backing them away.

“Not so fast.” Not-jolly recruiter holds something up, and Varian is surprised to see that it’s his confiscated notebook. “The boy drew something in here that I want him to build. He can’t go yet.”

“Oh, now you like my drawing?” Varian can’t help but scoff. It doesn’t do much by way of diffusing the situation.

“Yep, time's up,” Eugene says pleasantly, turning and yanking Varian into a run. The raccoon scampers after them and behind it there’s a yell of commotion in their wake. When Varian chances a look back, he sees that the thugs are giving chase through the trees.

He can’t tell if this is a better or worse situation than where he started.

… 

Running through woods in the middle of nowhere, Eugene is sort of feeling like the worst.

Sure, promise the kid you’ll look out for him, then break said promise immediately. I’m sure Varian won’t have any grudges for that. He shakes away the latter thought with a stab of guilt. It's just the stress talking. 

“Right there, get in!” he says, pulling Varian with him before the kid can even look where he's pointing. There’s a tree whose rotted-out trunk creates a hollow space inside facing away from where they’ve come, and it’s into this hiding spot that Eugene presses Varian and then gets in himself. Ruddiger scurries up into the decayed branches above them. 

Poor kid is breathing hard at his back, but as footsteps crunching through fallen leaves signal their followers approaching, he forcibly smothers himself. Eugene rests one hand on his sword hilt, ready, and with the other he takes Varian’s hand. They hold completely still like this for a long few minutes after the footsteps thankful pass them by. 

When there are no sounds but that of normal foresty things, Eugene swallows and asks, “Ruddiger? Coast clear?”

The raccoon’s head appears upside-down from the other side of the hallow and he chitters in confirmation. Eugene slumps, adrenaline rushing out of him. 

“That was a close one,” he says, exiting the tree. “Now to… fix the rest of this mess.”

Varian cautiously steps out behind him, his eyes looking big and scared, and Eugene’s heart softens. He takes a step toward him and pulls the kid into a tight hug. Despite the growth spurt Varian had while he was gone, the kid’s topheavy goggles merely press into Eugene’s collarbone. In his hold, Varian stiffens then relaxes, returning the hug after a beat.

“Hairstipe, you know I love you, but when I get my first gray hair– far in the future– I will be naming it after you.”

The kid lets out a laugh as Eugene releases him. 

Something about Varian is… off. But studying him, Eugene can’t put his finger on what. He almost presses, but lets it go at the last second in favor of gesturing for them to turn and make tracks. Kid is probably just processing the experience. 

To help with the tension and ease some of his own stress, Eugene opens up a can of passionate one-sided conversation about anything and everything as they trail after Ruddiger, the raccoon faithfully leading out a path back to the road. Varian listens without saying much, and he keeps studying Eugene’s face when he thinks Eugene isn’t looking. At one point Eugene points out how super-strong alchemy bubbles giving them a lift above the trees would be a big help right now Varian just looks confused. 

Yep, definitely odd. Kid never misses a chance to promote the merits of alchemy. 

“But, you know, mostly I’m regretting not having Blondie come with us. You know she could’ve taken out all those guys with her hair alone.” He laughs, elbowing Varian.

“Um, her hair?” Varian says, brow wrinkling.

“Heh, yeah, because,” Eugene mimes his girlfriend’s waterfall of tresses. Varian’s face doesn’t change. “Um, kid, you didn’t hit your head or something, right?”

“I– maybe?” Varian says, coming to a stop. He frowns at the dirt and clenches his fists on the straps of the backpack that Eugene had returned to him. “To be honest, I don’t know what’s going on."

“Hah, you and me both, kid,” Eugene huffs. “What a crazy trip, right?”

“No, like, I don’t know who you are.”

“Varian, you wound me! My quick escape skills are rusty since giving up the thievery, but they get the job done.”

“What? That’s not what I–”

A loud screech interrupts and their heads whip to the side. One of the thugs stands there, grinning cruelly and holding a squirming Ruddiger by his ringed tail. 

“Oh cra–” is all Eugene gets out before the second thug appears out of the brush behind them and ambushes him. There’s no time to do more than draw his sword. His opponent’s knife is already out though, and he easily sends Eugene’s weapon flying.

It clatters in the dirt at Varian’s feet. 

Eugene lunges for it, but Thug #2 is too quick again; he yanks Eugene by the collar of his vest and twists his arms behind his back in one swift motion. Panic breaks through Eugene’s adrenaline when he’s shoved to his knees and a rough cord begins wrapping around his wrists. 

“Get the kid!” Thug #2 yells to his partner. 

Varian’s eyes are big as saucers as Thug #1 advances on him. Ruddiger launches at the man’s back as a hissing gray blur whose claws sink in wherever they can. The man howls and grabs a fistful of bristled fur, tossing him aside. 

“Varian!” Eugene cries. He looks between the frozen kid and the advancing thug, heart an erratic drum against his sternum. Sunlight glints off the fallen sword, and he gets an idea that just might save them. Forgive me, kiddo. “Varian, get the sword!”

It’s a close call by the way Eugene’s yell invigorates Thug #1 at the same time, but Varian’s gloved hands get there first and hope draws a cheer from Eugene. The weapon looks awkward and ill-weighted in the skinny boy’s grip, and he’s looking at it like a snake that might bite him. Eugene gets the feeling Varian’s never picked up a sword in his life before now.

But it’ll have to do.

“Get into guarding stance!” he commands, and Varian’s feet slide apart, sword raising up in front of him like a shield. “Now parry!” Their weapons meet in a clash of steel as the thug lunges. “That’s it, block him again, and strike! Watch your left– Do a twirl disarm!”

This time, Thug #1’s sword is the one that goes flying. Eugene whoops. 

“Your bag, kid, hurry! Grab a goo bomb!” 

Nimbly Varian darts for his pack– dropped in the chaos– and withdraws a pink orb. Both thugs are on his heels, Thug #2 having finished tying Eugene’s hands and risen from the ground with a growl of frustration, and Varian looks just as shell-shocked in the face as before so Eugene gives one last order before it’s too late:

“Throw it, Var!”

A puff of pink smoke billows through the trees. When it clears, Varian is standing alone in the clearing, sword dragging on the ground as he pants over the fallen bodies of two thugs stuck harmlessly to the grass. They’re grunting and tugging but as always, the alchemical bond splattered across them holds quick. 

“Haha!” Eugene crows, shaking his hands out as a recovered Ruddiger gnaws through the ropes from behind. “Take that! You like that, pretty boys? Need some more of that?!” He punctuates his flaunting by stuffing the thug’s own rope bits into their mouths as gags for good measure. “Score one for Team Awesome! Way to go, Goggles!” Spinning to Varian, he raises his hand for a high five.

Varian does not reciprocate.  

“H-ho-how did I– I don’t know how I did any of that,” he states blankly, chest still heaving.

“I know, right? I guess your curse thing actually pays off sometimes! Maybe only this time, but still. I’m, uh, sorry I did that without your permission… I kinda thought you’d forgive me if it saved our skins.” Eugene laughs tentatively, rubbing his neck. 

Varian stares at him. He drops the sword and fists his hands onto his hair. Eugene’s smile drops as the kid grinds out, sounding close to tears, “I don’t get it! Just tell me what’s going on!”

Eugene puts his hands up. “Uh… What? Varian. What are you–”

“Varian this, Varian that- who is Varian? Is that me?” Varian shouts, ripping his hands out to either side so fast that his floppy hair goes askew. He points at Eugene’s chest. “And then who are you supposed to be? You told them you’re my brother, but I feel like that’s not quite…” He clenches his teeth and presses fingers to his temples. “Is that– Am I making myself clear? I don’t know what’s happening.” He enunciates each word like they pain him to get out. 

There’s a long moment of silence punctuated only by Varian still breathing heavily. He squints up at Eugene, and Eugene tries to remember how to compose his facial features. Shocked idiot face probably isn’t helpful right now.

He works his jaw. Clears his throat. “Bud,” he says. “You don’t remember who I am? Did you forget… everything? Rapunzel and Corona– Quirin?”

Varian just keeps looking at him, his anguished frustration answer enough. 

Eugene sobers, pressing a hand over his mouth and trying to stay level-headed. This is some kind of amnesia, that much is clear, and somehow he went this whole time without noticing… so when did it start? Back at the marketplace? Back where– back where people were shouting gimmicks for their products and Varian was doing whatever they said, no matter how figurative.

He blanches. Perhaps Varian hit his head, or perhaps… 

Eugene looks at Varian. He says simply, “Remember.”

…

Varian slams back into himself like he’s watching it happen to someone else. It's like waking up from a vivid dream and realizing that the real world exists again.

Varian wakes up.

Where there was a life ripped away from him as handfuls of pages torn from a book, the pages return to him one by one. His father, his alchemy, Ruddiger, the rocks and revenge and expansive loneliness in a forgotten cell. Andrew, the princess, his curse, this trip and –

“Eugene,” he gasps. He’s not sure when he fell to his knees but when he opens his eyes there is dirt between his fingers and grass tickling his nose. He digs his nails in and lifts his head.

Eugene is there, looking back with worry in his face, his familiar face; his eyes are cautious and Varian can see the moment relief breaks out as he sees that Varian has returned.

“I’m here, kid,” he says gently. “Looks like you are, too. Thank the Sun.”

Varian closes his eyes. Pressure is building up in his chest like the volatile water heaters he built so long ago. It swells in his ears. 

“Eugene,” he repeats brokenly. 

It’s as if Rapunzel is there singing her decay incantation that drains color and life from the world, taking some of his life energy with it. Except there is nothing external draining him– rather, he is a black hole falling in on himself. He can’t seem to bring any air into his lungs. His heart beats erratically like the wings of a bird wanting out of its cage. Everything is wrong.

From what feels like far away, Eugene kneels in front of him. A firm hand closes over Varian’s, tugging it from where it’s clutched over his chest and giving it a squeeze that Varian can’t feel. His voice is both quiet and loud. 

“Varian,” he says. “I want you to breathe.” 

Varian wheezes. “Someone told me to forget what I know– some stupid vendor doing a stupid bit about their product, and I- and I–”

“Bud, please.”

“I didn’t know who I was. I did-didn’t know anything –”

Eugene’s other hand cups the side of Varian’s face and tilts it so that they are looking at one another eye-to-eye. His face is unsettled but his voice is steady and clear. “You are safe now. I’m right here with you. This feeling will pass. Let’s breathe together.”

The darkness at the edges of his vision remains, Varian continues to tremor uncontrollably, but he holds onto the brown eyes looking back at him like a lifeline and he breathes. Eugene counts softly, “And inhale for one-two-three…” and it’s helpful to have simple instructions to focus on, but the effort it takes to actually lengthen his breaths to match is gargantuan. 

Slowly, slowly, feeling tingles back into his fingers. The doom overtaking him retreats. He blinks and something wet streaks down his cheek.

“I can’t take this anymore, Eugene,” he croaks. 

Eugene’s face crumples. He leans forward and presses a hug around Varian, and unlike the tight one from earlier, this one holds Varian like something fragile.

“I know.”

… 

Getting to the Spire after all that feels, in a word, anticlimactic. 

Eugene keeps shooting worried looks Varian’s way as they climb the stairs up to Calliope’s doors, but it’s been the same ever since they left the forest: the kid keeps his eyes forward,  a shadowed look in them that he can’t seem to break through. He’s vocal when asked a question, and sometimes Eugene catches him whispering to Ruddiger (they’ve been inseparable since the incident), but that’s about it. 

He’s starting to wonder if he should give the kid a pep talk before they head in, but that idea's lost when the door suddenly swings open before they can even knock.

“And so I said, ‘that’s where I put the Scepter of Scru– oh!” Calliope says, stopping mid-rant to her baby dragon creature as she sees who she just ran into on the steps of her house. Her wide eyes appraise Varian then Eugene, and when she spots the latter she squints. “Oh… it’s you again.”

Eugene sighs, drawing himself up longsufferingly. “Hi, Calliope. Yes, it’s me again. This is my friend Varian. Hopefully you weren’t going anywhere important because we have another favor to ask you that, if my crossed fingers are working, doesn’t involve defeating a giant Spire monster this time.” 

“Hmph, of course you do,” Calliope says, stepping back to hold the door open for them and adjusting her glasses. “And it’s actually pronounced Spire.” 

“Did he say it any differently?” Varian asks. Calliope doesn’t seem to hear him over the sound of her own voice, but Eugene is quick to share the amused smile that the kid throws his way, surprised and pleased.

Stepping into the entrance hall of the Spire, Eugene has a front row seat to how Varian’s face lights up with wonder. Rows on rows of shelves on shelves of books, trinkets and artifacts spiraling up and up as well as across the walls make him into his version of ‘kid in a candy shop’- his eyes go wide and his jaw slackens as he drinks it all in. The veil of the past day seems to melts away, and Varian begins bouncing on his heels excitedly. 

“Oh my gosh– is that what I think it is?” he asks, racing over to something and hovering his fingers over it. “I’ve read about Demanitus keeping something like this!”

Calliope bats his hands away, but appraises him appreciatively. “Hmm, yes, I see someone from Corona can identify a meaningful artifact when they see it. Do you know much about Demanitus, Vari- Varitas?”

Eugene smothers a laugh.

“Varian,” Varian corrects, exchanging another smile with Eugene. “And yeah, I do. I’m the one translating the scroll these guys picked up last time they were here.”

“A scholar!” Calliope applauds. “Well, if you like this one, you’ll be happy to know that it’s not the only bit of his history that I, keeper of the Spire, hold responsibility over…” 

And just like that, Eugene witnesses Varian finding a kindred spirit. In retrospect he should’ve called it: both are into their books just a tad too much and love to over-explain in terms nobody else understands. Even Ruddiger and Calliope’s baby dragon sniff at one another and go racing around the room companionably. Eugene easily tunes out their lore talk in lieu of enjoying the carefree look on Varian’s face. Kid's got a hundred questions for Calliope about the things around them, and he hangs on every word of her long-winded replies. 

Eugene wishes it could go on forever, but he’s also a little afraid of that happening.

“Calliope!” he interjects after a while, jumping into the conversation as fast as the small lull of silence appears. “Huh, hi, remember me? I’m still here, and I do want to ask you something. It requires your Keeper knowledge.” 

The little woman looks pleased and waves her hand in a ‘go on’ gesture. Eugene looks to Varian, but then changes his mind and plows in. 

“Do you know,” he says, steepling his fingers casually, “of any sort of spell or artifact or other such item that might possess the power to… make someone do anything they’re told?”

Calliope purses her lips, and for one dread-filled moment Eugene thinks she is going to say no. Instead, she taps her chin and says, “I do.” 

From over her shoulder, Varian perks up. 

“...And?” Eugene says. It’s the one time he’s ever spent in her presence wishing for her to be more verbose.

“And we don’t have it here, I’m afraid,” she says, clasping her hands behind her back. “Not anymore, at least. It was something called the Iolite of Obedience, a gemstone that could be used to control others.”

Not another cursed rock hunt, Eugen thinks miserably. This time Varian beats him to the punch, putting a hand on Calliope's arm and asking, “What happened to it?”

“Oh, it’s been missing since before I became the last Keeper’s apprentice,” Calliope says. “Stolen, I believe. There’s a sketch somewhere that my master made of the thief that I can show you, as well as pictures of the gemstone.”

“That would be great,” Eugene says. “But there’s more– if someone theoretically had that rock used on them, how would they become…”

“Uncursed?” Varian finishes. 

Calliope tuts. “Now that, I don’t know.” Both of them slump disappointedly and she looks between them, frowning. “Even I can’t know everything, guys. Not yet, at least. I’ll take you to the sketch, and any other information left about it is yours.” 

“Thanks, Calliope,” Eugene says, trying to sound genuine. He puts his arm around Varian comfortingly.

As they’re heading up the stairs, Ruddiger goes racing underfoot and Eugene wobbles and flattens against the wall to keep his balance. Behind him, a wooden box is tips out its spot. 

“Be careful of that!” Calliope frets, rushing to retrieve and brush it off. “That’s the chest that holds the Mind Stone, a rock that controls the–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eugene interrupts sourly, waving his hand. “I didn’t mean to touch your crusty box.”

“Hang on,” Varian says, pointing at it. “That symbol. My dad has that symbol on some of his old stuff.”

“The crest of the Dark Kingdom,” Eugene realizes, taking a second look. “Hey, why is that here?”

Calliope sniffs. “As I was saying, the stone inside gives power to whoever wields the Moonstone to control knighted members of the Brotherhood. What about it?”

Varian and Eugene look at one another.

“Calliope,” Eugene says. “We're gonna need to take that with us too.” 

…

The blue-black slab of rock feels cold even against his gloved hands as Varian shifts it back and forth, studying the engraving numbly. He sits against the inner wall of the basket as they take off into the morning sky of their last day of travel, curled around Ruddiger and the so-called Mind Stone. 

“So this dumb magic rock would give Cassandra the power to control my dad, huh,” he says. The irony.

Eugene, standing at the controls, looks over at him worriedly. “Yeah, well, we’re not gonna let that happen, kiddo,” he says. 

There’s a beat of silence before Varian shoves the rock into his pack. “Dumb magic rocks.”

“You can say that again. Do you… think that this Iolite thing Calliope mentioned could be–”

“Yeah,” Varian says. “That’s all it could be, right? It’s my only lead. And it was missing, so it makes sense.” 

He tosses another glance at his pack, where a rolled-up sheet of parchment depicts a vague drawing of a masked woman- the person who supposedly stole the Iolite of Obedience sixteen years ago. 

A spike of dread flares under Varian’s skin and he stands, inadvertently spilling Ruddiger from his lap, but too restless to stay seated. He does a useless pace around the edge of the basket before stopping and clutching the edge with a white-knuckled grip. Varian takes a deep breath and tries to let the wind brushing through his hair and the magnificent view of the world growing small below calm him down.

He senses more than hears Eugene come up beside him.

“You know that I grew up in orphanages, right, Var?” 

The question catches him by surprise. Varian peeks over and sees Eugene looking out at the horizon calmly. Without waiting for Varian to reply, he goes on.

“That’s where I found the Flynn Rider books. I used to read them to younger kids because, well, trauma is easy to come by in those places and reading silly adventure books helped. Sometimes, though, I’d take care of a kid who got these… attacks.”

Varian swallows dryly.

“And you know who that kid was? It was Lance. And me too, really– we’d take turns calming whenever the other had a spell. That’s how we became friends. It was probably born out of the whole no-stable-attachment-figure thing- no time to get into that, but the good news is we managed to mostly grow out of it. We even learned some techniques to keep grounded whenever things got to be too much.” 

Finally he looks at Varian, a slight smile on his face and he gives a light-hearted shove. “I don’t wanna see you struggle by yourself anymore, kid,” he says scoldingly. “Got it? You can come to me, or to Rapunzel or even to Lance.”

“Lance?” Varian says, teasingly skeptical.

“When he can keep his sticky fingers to himself, yes, he’s got a surprisingly gentle side to him,” Eugene confirms. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he becomes a father himself one day, but I shiver to think how spoiled those children would be.”

They share a laugh at the mental image, warmth settling over them as golden rays of sunrise spill over the balloon. Varian breathes and the cool air in his lungs seems to lighten every part of him.

“Thank you, Eugene,” he says eventually. “I’m... well it means a lot to hear that. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson about how bottling emotions isn’t good for me or anyone else.” He laughs dryly. “So even if it’s not my strong suit... I’ll try opening up more. Maybe you could even teach me some of those techniques? Ya know, for Team Awesome.” 

“Oh for Team Awesome, of course,” Eugene agrees seriously, ruffling Varian’s hair. Varian shoves him away playfully, then a thought comes to mind and a mischievous grin spreads over his face.

“Hey, know what I just realized? I only have a few more hours left to boss you around!”

Eugene puts on a fake look of horror and Varian laughs.

Yes, Varian has come a long way since he believed that Eugene was Flynn Rider. He’s learned that he likes Eugene even more.

…

…

… 

“Where. Is. The. Mind Stone?” 

After Cassandra arrives at the Spire– a few days later than she would’ve liked and in no better of a mood for it– she can’t stop the little rock spikes (still not fully under her control) from shooting up around the room when she hisses her demand and Calliope tells her, “It’s not here.”

In one swift motion she stabs her rock sword through the little woman’s shirt collar so that she’s pinned to the wall. She cowers as Cassandra leans in.

“What did you say to me?”

“A k-kid already took it!” Calliope stutters in her annoying nasal voice. “A-a-a kid with a blue streak in his hair and your old friend with the goatee came last week and they took it with them! Please don’t hurt me!”

Cassandra’s eyes widen. She drops Calliope and turns away, clenching her fists. 

“Varian.”

Chapter Text

“–and that is why I concluded that steel is superior to iron,” Varian says, fingers of one hand splayed on his chest, feet swinging back and forth contentedly beneath the table.

Quirin smiles as he sets a plate in front of his son, then another for himself before taking a seat. They both bear ham sandwiches. 

“It sounds like you’re being very productive,” the father teases, “since the capitol must’ve been desperate for an answer to that query.”

“Heh, yeah well, I still have time in between helping Rapunzel. The Demanitus scroll is amazing, Dad! Oh, did I tell you? I finally cracked his code for the third incantation! It would give whoever possesses the Moonstone complete control over the black rocks. But there’s more– it says that there’s even a fourth incantation, not three! I just can’t seem to find it anywhere on the–”

“Varian,” his father nudges fondly. “Eat.”

Varian laughs, not minding the order in the slightest as he takes a bite. “But really,” he says around his mouthful. “Dad, I’m kind of in disbelief that you were a part of the order who protected the Moonstone and actually had one piece of the scroll all this time.” He swallows. “Did you know that it said all that?”

Quirin’s smile abruptly fades. “I knew it had information on it about… those things.”

“What was it like?” Varian asks, leaning forward. “Rapunzel went to the Dark Kingdom and she’s told me some about how it is now , but it’s like– tha-that’s where we’re from, right? Was I– born there?”

His father sighs, not meeting Varian’s eyes. “You were a baby when we left. That was a long time ago.” 

Gentle as it is, it’s a dismissal. Varian is familiar with his dad’s discomfort surrounding saying much about the past, but after everything– after it drove a wedge that caused the amber disaster, after his dad claimed to be proud of him all along– it hurts that he still apparently didn’t trust him with much. Varian wilts. 

Seeing this, Quirin opens his mouth as if to amend his rejection into something kinder, but father and son flinch as a crash shatters the air. Varian’s heart jumps to his throat, frame flinching badly at the loud noise, and Quirin gets to his feet.

“What on earth?” the man mutters, striding quickly to the room where the crash had come from. He comes to a stop with a quick intake of breath, then his heavy footfalls are out the door with an indiscernible shout of anger. 

Varian stumbles into the room his dad just left, confusion giving way to dread at the sight that greets him: glass shards litter the entryway to their home as well as a heavy-looking green rock in the middle of the wreckage, thrown through what used to be their front window. Swallowing dryly, he picks through it and kneels to turn the rock over. It slips through his suddenly-shaky fingers as he sees the word Betrayer written in bold red scrawl. It’s then that he recognizes the mineral as one from the mines around Corona. 

“Oh,” Varian says.

Quirin swings the door back open. He’s scowling, muttering furious threats under his breath about the vandalizer who got away. He brushes his hands off on his vest with a huff and makes eye contact with Varian.

Varian wishes he could turn intangible and melt into the floor. 

Being back in his dad’s arms after Rapunzel freed Quirin was the safest Varian felt in forever. He had spent a year imagining everything his dad’s return would mean to him; had churned with guilt at the possibility of him witnessing his son’s mistakes. In the happiness of their reunion, he hadn’t thought about that. The disconnect was short-lived, and then his dreaded imaginings became real.

It started as soon as they got up from their embrace on the melted amber floor.

“What on earth happened here?” his dad muttered, appraising the mess in their home with a pinch between his eyes. Spoiled food filled the cupboards and everything was layered in dust, including scattered scrap metal from automaton construction. Rapunzel had politely left to give them space as they held each other so it was Varian alone who had to give an explanation. 

And Varian didn’t know what to say. He held tighter to his dad’s hand in his, desperate for more time where his father still thought of him as the innocent boy he’d been last time they talked. When the worst crime he’d done was be headstrong.

“Varian, you’re trembling,” his father murmured, taking his shoulder to make his son look up. Varian bit his lip and avoided his eye.

“Can we- can we just wait until tomorrow?” he said. “I-I want to… to have you back for now. Before we talk.”

Quirin was bewildered but catching on as he nodded slowly. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it,” he said quietly, not a question. “You’re taller.” A pause. “I’ve missed something important.”  

Varian smiled weakly. Tears welled up and he hugged his father tightly. 

It had waited until after Rapunzel’s celebration. At first, Quirin hadn’t picked up on the difference in Coronans greeting his return with cheers and claps on the shoulder. When those same people saw Varian, small and hiding in his father’s shadow, their smiles would fade and they would retreat. Others more openly scowled, but what finally got his father’s attention was when someone stuck their foot out, tripped Varian into the dirt and hissed at him, “ Stay down . You don’t deserve to show your face here, no matter what the princess says.” 

So Varian obediently kept his burning face in the dirt while his father intercepted with some choice words. 

“You clearly don’t know who he is,” the offender spat before retreating into the crowd.

And those words keep coming back to Varian. Even after the celebration had ended with a tearful confession and his father had claimed to still love him. Varian thinks, when his father finds him yelling himself awake from nightmares, when he reveals too much personal knowledge about the Coronan dungeons, and now when someone throws a rock through their window: you don’t know me anymore.

And so father and son stare, separated by a few feet of shattered glass and a wide gorge of secrets kept from one another.

Quirin opens his mouth first, and just the intake of his breath before he speaks makes Varian flinch. “Y… you wanted to tell me something?” 

Confused, he peaks up at his dad. “Huh?”

“When you first came, you mentioned–” Quirin gestures vaguely. “Something you wanted to talk about.” Before Varian could piece together a response, Quirin pointedly strides past the mess like it isn’t even there. Back to their lunch.

Varian follows.

“Uh, yes… I went on a trip with Eugene last week and I wanted to tell you about it,” he volunteers, scratching his neck. Everything except the traumatizing bits , he thinks. “We went to a place called the Spire.”

Quirin grunts, poking at his food. “I’ve heard of it. That’s a long trip, Varian.”

“Well yes, though we went by hot air balloon so it wasn’t as long a trip. I wouldn’t have taken Eugene away from his new captain duties for long if he hadn’t offered in the first place. In the first place we were going to find some kind of cure or answer for my whole… involuntary obedience thing.” Varian’s hand reaches down into the bag slung over his chair, feeling around until it tightens on the cold rock of the Mind stone. The one that holds great threat to any like his father– members of the Dark Kingdom’s Brotherhood. “Buuut, before I get to that, we found something else that you might–” 

“Wait,” Quirin interrupts, and Varian feels irritation flare when his mouth closes involuntarily. “Did you just say– Eugene went with you to find a cure?”

“It makes sense that one exists out there, right? I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before–”

“Varian. He knows ?”

Oh. Oh right. Varian studies the wood of their table like a cheat sheet to this conversation is written in the grain. “Well… yes. He and Rapunzel know. And the Queen, even though she doesn’t, er, remember right now. But the Princess kind of found out anyway after Andrew the Saporian–”

“ Varian ,” Quirin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s the way Varian is most used to hearing his name, but has been hearing less often ever since the amber. His heart sinks when his dad looks at him solemnly and orders, “Varian, you’re not to tell anyone else about your obedience.”

“No, no, no!” Varian says frantically, even though a knot ties in his gut as he feels the words take effect. “But, Dad, it’s my secret! I should be able to tell who I want! I thought we- We were past this.” 

To his credit Quirin does look regretful, but not enough to stand down. “It’s for your own good, Varian,” he says. “The Princess and her friends are one thing, but what if someone with the wrong intentions were to find out that you do everything you’re told? Don’t you remember when you were a child? I don’t want to see you get used, or hurt.”

“I’ve already been hurt!” Varian yells, standing and clenching his fists. “And I got through it! I did just fine without you there to take care of me! I don’t need you to do this anymore!” 

He can’t be bothered to see the hurt his words cause, can’t be bothered to be coaxed to understand where his father is coming from, because superimposed over everything like the bars of a Coronan cage closing in on Varian is the thought, Will I ever be free to make choices without my agency getting steamrolled again and again and again ? 

When he storms away from the table, the Mindstone stays in his bag, untalked about and completely forgotten.

… 

Varian is all too happy to throw himself into Eugene’s birthday party preparations. Rapunzel had invited him, and while the introvert in him itches for his to-do list of personal experiments waiting in the Demanitus chamber, he knows himself enough to know he’ll probably end up sulking about what happened with his dad. So. Party it is. And it’s Eugene’s birthday, so at least the few real friends he’s got will be there. 

And it goes well, at first.

Before the doors were thrown open and the candles snuffed out by a dark presence none of them expected to see so soon. 

Cassandra appears a different creature entirely from the last time Varian saw her. “I guess my invitation got lost in the mail,” she pouts dramatically, strolling over to the cake and taunting Rapunzel all the while. 

After learning about her betrayal, Varian asked Eugene how bad it was, to which his friend said simply, ‘pretty bad’. At the time Varian couldn’t quite believe it. Cass? The one who accepted his homemade necklace and begrudgingly allowed him to be her co-Lady in waiting? But actually seeing her, covered in unforgiving black rock and looking at Rapunzel with an equal amount of hate to what once was love… There's something poisonous about her that feels uncomfortably like looking in a mirror for Varian. 

He is pulled out of his thoughts abruptly at the sound of his own name.

“--heard you turned another stray criminal to your side. You need new hobbies, Raps, but more to the point– Where is he? Where is Varian ?” 

Varian’s blood turns to ice. Unbidden, the words he disregarded from his father only a few hours ago come to mind: The Princess and her friends are one thing, but what if someone with the wrong intentions were to find out that you do everything you’re told?

He’s got to get out of here. 

Wordlessly he ducks under the person behind him, turning and pacing as inconspicuous as he can for the servant’s exit. Not inconspicuous enough, it would seem, as a tendril of rock suddenly shoots out and spears through the collar of his vest just as he’s reaching for the door. He cries out and twists automatically to get away but it’s useless; he’s pinned to the wall like a butterfly caught for study.

“Don’t leave on my account,” her smooth voice laughs. Ironically a spell breaks after she says it and people begin to cry out in fear and make for the doors, chaos erupting from the partygoers who in all fairness did not sign up for being held hostage. Cassandra lets them go, paying no mind to anyone but Varian as she corners him with an unfriendly grin on her face. 

From the edges of his vision, Varian sees Rapunzel, Eugene, and a few others fall to defensive stances as they try to regroup and decide what to do. Eugene makes the move to put himself between Cass and Varian.

He’s thrown back with a flick of Cassandra’s wrist.

“Eugene,” Varian gasps. He takes hold of his vest and tries to tear it out of the rock’s grip, but unfortunately the sturdy material does not come in handy for this task. He hears a tsk tsk as her shadow falls over him and looks up in fright. 

“Varian, long time no see. You’ve dressed yourself up like an innocent again, I see.” She leans in and bats his chin up with one finger playfully.

 “Cass,” he gulps. “This isn’t you . Rapunzel is right, you don't have to–”

She rolls her eyes, pushing his cheek away. “Oh, shut up, Varian.”

He shuts up.

“Cass!” Rapunzel yells. Cassandra turns, revealing the princess, a frying pan in her hand as she glares at her old friend, eyes darting to Varian and back. “You leave him out of this. He’s not the one you want.”

“Wrong again,” Cass says, and before Varian has time to think about that, her elbow shoots back deftly into his solar plexus, and he gasps once before the world goes dark.

…

Varian wakes slung over a horse, feeling more than a little trampled. 

He hears Cassandra’s voice, out of his line of sight and murmuring to someone. Or herself? The way she alternates talking and listening certainly sounds like it’s a conversation, except that there’s nobody on the other end of it as far as Varian can tell. He shifts slightly to peek around the horse’s neck (and alleviate some of the pounding of blood in his head), but his act of pretending he’s still asleep must fall flat. 

She takes a handful of his scruff and yanks him off the horse. He goes sprawling with an undignified yelp, her feet coming to stand in front of his sideways vision. “Didn’t you ever learn that eavesdropping is rude?” she asks. “Or did your dad not get to that before you encased him in amber.”

Varian huffs, twisting to his stomach and glaring at the shoots of grass now in his face. The moon is bright and full up above, and they’re in an unrecognizable area of woods. Ignoring her low jab, he sits up quickly and gathers as much about their surroundings as he can before suddenly a sword is leveled at his nose.

“Don’t move,” she orders.

Magic stills his limbs and he curses internally. Takes a steadying breath. 

“You know what else is rude?” he asks pointedly, putting as much sarcastic drawl in his tone as he can manage– when he has nothing else, he has the ability to be annoying. “Cass, what happened to you?”

She studies him, prowling around him like a predator. “Don’t preach to me. I don’t wanna hear it from you of all people, Varian.”

“Why not me?” Varian questions, carefully stepping through the loopholes of the order (he’s good at that). “Don’t you think I know what it’s like?”

“What you did was throw a temper tantrum like a bratty little kid,” she spits. “I’m fulfilling my destiny.”

Varian’s mouth twists. The trauma of his past sins, summed up carelessly like they don’t haunt him every day. “Says who? People choose their own destinies, Cassie. Not the other way around. Or at least… most people– you can. You can choose for yourself and you’re throwing that away.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, one eyebrow raised, before rolling her eyes dismissively. “We don’t have time for this. You are going to help me get what I want, and you’ve already started.” It’s then he sees that, along with kidnapping him, she also has his bag slung over the horse. The bag from which she pulls the now-glowing Mind Stone. She grins at him over her shoulder. “I paid a visit to Calliope– found out you’ve been a bit busy too.”

His stomach drops out. “No. Cass, you can’t–”

“I can, actually. Just so happens that I go by ‘finder’s, keeper’s, loser’s, weeper’s’.” The stone pulses blue before she replaces it with a smirk. Something Varian doesn’t hear appears to catch her attention and she looks to the side. “What?”

Varian follows her gaze. There is nothing but open air, no sound or movement that he can perceive. “Who are you…”

“Enchanted?” Cass interrupts. She looks at Varian, but he can tell she’s not talking to him anymore, but about him. “When- since when has he been enchanted ?” 

Varian freezes. 

This can’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening. Whatever she’s doing, whoever she’s talking to, Cassandra appears to be- divining his secret. 

She hums and looks down at him again thoughtfully. Purposefully she says, “Get up.”

So much good you did ordering me not to tell anyone, Dad. In defiance, he completes the action as slowly as he can, legs wobbly.

Cassandra studies him. “Even if you’re right… there’s no way he always had it,” she tells her invisible companion. Varian follows her line of thought: there’s no way he’s always been obedient, otherwise how would he have been able to best them all during his stint as a villain? At this he can’t help but snort with a touch of pride. 

It draws her attention back to him and her brief wonder is replaced by a hardened look.

“Tell me the truth,” she barks. “Do you know the third incantation?”

Humor abandons him, but he throws on a smirk anyway. “Pft, no!” In his mind he gets through a slow count of 1-2-3-4- before his traitorous throat squeezes out, “ Nngah , yes .” 

A smile spreads slowly on Cassandra’s face. “Follow,” she says simply, turning and pushing aside a curtain of hanging vines. Beyond it, Varian sees a clearing scattered with the debris of a destroyed building. He’s never seen it before but he recognizes it immediately– the remains of where Rapunzel spent the first 18 years of her life. 

He reluctantly steps inside after Cassandra, counting his breaths the way Eugene taught him, trying not to spiral. 

“This is where I’m about to build a stronghold to lure and defeat Rapunzel,” Cass explains, gesturing to the radiant white stone in her chest and then to the sky before them. “But to do that, Varian, I’m gonna need that third incantation.” 

Varian takes a deep breath. He never did get very far in his childhood experiments, but there’s no better time to resume than in a real-life threatening situation. 

He levels a look at Cassandra. “Never.”

… 

When Cassandra finds no truth potion in Varian’s bag she knows she has to find another way to force him to help her. She has a brief moral dilemma over how to accomplish this, and is still talking it over with Blue before the twerp wakes up. 

Then Blue, the supernatural guide that she is, gets an unexpected insight about the kid. Now it appears all Cass has to do to make Varian help her… is ask . 

She should be thanking her lucky stars. She should definitely not be nervous as she faces off in front of the sweet kid she once assisted in an innocent science fair, now pretending to be unbothered but looking at her with very real fear in his eyes. She’s witnessed first hand how unruly and strong willed he is, so when did he become… afflicted? It’s unnatural to have to do what you’re told, anyone knows that. Cass has so many questions. But–

But that would be a distraction. She’s not a babysitter. To her, right now, he is only a tool; a means to an end. 

So in the shadow of where a tower once stood, she stands over him and she orders, “Tell me, what’s the third incantation?”

She watches as he bites down on his lip, slamming his eyes shut. In the seconds that follow he holds himself around the middle and begins to tremble. 

“No,” he grinds out. He doesn’t look like he’s talking to her.

After about a minute of this nonsense she rolls her eyes and repeats herself. “Tell me.”

He is her means to an end, so she doesn’t feel worried as he becomes frighteningly pale and his legs give out. He balls himself up tight as if hiding from a physical attack, and opens and closes his mouth several times. “Cre-cre-nn- no, no, I don’t, I don’t want to .”

Cass is not concerned when she mutters, “What is wrong with you, kid?” 

He sobs at the question, something that sounds like, “I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to.” 

It takes maybe five minutes before Varian throws up. Amid the dry heaving that follows, he whispers broken bits of an incantation. Cassandra’s relief is because she has what she wanted, not because telling her releases him from his unseen torment. 

He doesn’t respond as she recites the incantation for herself, filling her with power. He says nothing as the ground shakes and the sky grows dark and a new tower rises out of the earth. He doesn’t look at her as she leads him up an endless spiral of stairs to the top of the tower and locks him in a cage.

He just hangs his head, hair in front of his eyes, occasional spots of water dripping off his chin and spattering to the ground.

…

The blue-toned girl who shows up in Varian’s dream doesn’t beat around the bush.

“I know what is wrong with you, Little Demanitus,” she says, hands folded behind her primly as she floats near. “It took some observation, but I recognize it now. You’ve been exposed to the Iolite of Obedience.”

Varian watches her with a sort of emotional numbness, despite the eerie dream world she’s created around them setting him on edge. “And you’re the one manipulating Cass.” 

“Hm, you are smarter than anyone gives you credit for, aren’t you,” she laughs as her image splits in half and floats through him. “You’re only partially right, of course. It’s not Cassandra I want. She’s getting too unruly to control; she’s not like you after all.” 

He shudders and whirls. “So what do you want from me ?” he spits. 

Her malicious grin disappears in place of the scroll he’s spent so much time staring at lately. The sun and moon dance off the page and spin around him. She informs him of the fourth incantation’s secret, the way to unveil it. He already knows it’s meant to give Rapunzel a sort of power-up, something that will help her defeat Cassandra. 

What he can’t understand is why she hasn’t just ordered him to help her yet. 

When he states as much, she laughs. “I already know you’ll do it just for the chance to help your precious friends. You’re exactly like good old Demanitus.” 

A sudden fury overtakes him. He wants to stomp his feet, yell, shake his fists at the sky. “Are you the one who did this to me then?!”

“No, child. Even I’m not that cruel.”

…

He almost misses the creepy dream when he wakes up. Because when he wakes up, Quirin is there and his eyes are glowing the same blue as the Mind Stone. Right, earlier- the stone probably called the closest Brotherhood member to Cassandra’s aid. Of course. 

The incantation revealed by sunlight makes Rapunzel look like an otherworldly being. And in the midst of her fight with Cassandra and Eugene being trapped in stone, there’s only one person for the entranced knight to neutralize.

 “We all took an oath of allegiance to the Moonstone, son,” Quirin informs, pulling off a glove to show his tattoo as he advances upon Varian.

“Of course you did,” Varian scoffs, running from pillar to pillar. His current plan is 1. evade 2. find the Mind Stone 3. deactivate it . “Why the heck did you even do that?!”

“It’s nothing you would understand.”

“Hah! You never tell me anything about your past when I ask, not even when it’s clearly relevant, and here you are still-still doing it even when someone’s making you try to kill me. And you call me stubborn!”

He shrieks as his dad lunges into the space he’d just been, and the sword he’s got is not playing around. He doesn’t think Cass would actually order him to kill, but apparently his dad’s allegiance runs deep. The room shakes as Cassandra recites her incantation anew, and amid the falling debris Varian sees it- his confiscated bag that still has the Mind Stone flashing inside. 

He wastes no time skidding to his knees in front of it.

“Gotcha, I got this, I–” he mutters, fingers fumbling over books and bottled to get a grip of the smooth object. The sting of magic is warm under his gloves. He hesitates just a beat at the consideration of how best to destroy this thing, but it’s a beat too long.

The blow comes from behind and Varian’s face makes quick friends with the unforgiving floor with a startled yelp. Quirin’s foot lands again, this time staying heavily planted on the small of his back so that he can’t move. Varian whines and twists fruitlessly, breaths puffing out in frightened gasps. 

“Dad, you’re in there somewhere,” he begs, managing to turn enough to make eye contact. “You know that I know what it’s like to not have a choice, but you have to fight it!”

Quirin scowls and says nothing. 

“I was going to give you the dumb stone earlier, you would’ve known what to- but you’re just so bad at listening!” Varian groans, shoving again in frustration. “I know you want me safe, you want to protect me in your own way, but I’m stronger than you think, and we can… we can talk about it. Please .” 

The knight raises his sword. Varian shuts his eyes.

Something to the left of his face shatters– the Mind Stone.

Quirin stumbles back, hand bracing his head like he’s coming out of a nightmare. Varian, clambering to his knees and inching away, imagines he must feel like it. “Dad?” he asks cautiously over the sound of an earthquake happening hundreds of feet in the sky.

The sword drops out of Quirin’s hand like it burned him. “ Varian ,” he gasps, rushing to lift his son from the ground and shield him from the wind whipping up. “We- we need to get out of here, now .”

Varian could not agree more. 

… 

At the base of a black tower that held him prisoner, Varian tells them what he’s learned about the blue ghost girl. The way she’s manipulating Cassandra. They will be prepared to face her the next time she comes in contact. Quirin holds some part of Varian– his hand, his shoulder, his back– the entire trek home, seemingly unaware that he’s doing it, but needing reassurance. When they split off on the road from their friends– one group going back to Corona, one to Old Corona– Varian knows why. 

They’re coming into view of their home when his dad abruptly halts and blurts, “I’m sorry.”

Varian looks up at his father with wide eyes. “Dad…”

Quirin isn’t looking at him, but out to the horizon. “Don’t absolve me just yet. I know I wasn’t in control, but I- I should have prevented this. And I remember what you said. At the end.”

He swallows, scuffing his boot in the dirt awkwardly. “...Oh?”

Quirin heaves a sigh and sits down on the stone fence surrounding their property, in a spot shaded by one of their apple trees. He waits until Varian takes a tentative seat next to him before going on.

“After I was trapped like that…I  realized a little bit what it must be like for you. And for that I’m terribly sorry that I- that I ever–”

“It’s okay,” Varian interrupts, clenching his fists on his knees. “Well– not okay, okay, but you know what I… It’s not a common, uh, problem. To understand.” He laughs dryly, but grateful tears sting his eyes. No one has ever… apologized, least of all his dad. 

Quirin nods solemnly, his lined eyes boring into Varian with a sadness that speaks louder that his words. It’s as though he is seeing his son for the first time in a long time, maybe more clearly than before the amber. “It’s not just that,” he says. “I would like us to know each other better. It's sometimes difficult for me to talk about… but I won’t brush you off anymore. You do deserve to learn about our cultural heritage. Not from my old things, but from me.”

“I’m sorry too,” Varian rushes to say, before he can lose courage, and now he does meet his father’s eye despite the shame that churns in his gut. “I’m sorry, Dad, I’m– It’s not just your fault you don’t know me anymore. I made so many mistakes while you were gone and I never want to address it because– I get a-afraid that you wouldn’t lovemeanymore.” His voice breaks just a little, and Quirin puts a hand on his knee. 

“Varian,” he says. “You could never do anything to lose my love.”

Varian can’t stop himself from lurching forward and burying his face in his father’s chest, the familiar strong arms enveloping him willingly. And there they stay, with only the sounds of the birds and light rustling of tree branches for company until a gray ball of worried raccoon eventually finds and scurries all over Varian, drawing a laughing fit from the boy as his father looks on warmly.

They go inside, and they rest.

That evening, Quirin asks Varian about the rest of the trip to the Spire, and Varian recounts what he had found out about the Iolite of Obedience and the person who stole it. At the drawing of the thief, Quirin gets an odd look on his face and asks his son to wait a moment while he retrieves something– a book, well-loved but covered with a layer of dust.

Ulla’s journal. 

“She left to find some sort of eternal library. It was said to contain infinite knowledge,” Quirin says while Varian leafs reverently through the code-filled pages, messy scrawl and doodles in the margins making it look like it could’ve been any one of Varian’s research journals. “Your thief, she looks somewhat like your mother’s research partner, an Ingvarian woman called Donella.”

“Donella,” Varian echoes. He looks up and smiles slowly. “The Eternal Library. With a name like that… probably has at least some information about curse-breaking, right?”

Chapter Text

Hugo is observant. 

He knows how to read people, analyze the little details that they themselves don’t notice; he's been trained to sum situations up and find out how to take advantage of others before they can take advantage of him. He knows how to play innocent to gain pity, to play dumb so he can be underestimated, to make himself practically invisible until the right time to strike appears. 

He knows people. Or at least he thought he did… because then, like a chess piece in his game of cards, there’s Varian.

Even after he finally managed to get on the same team, Hugo could not for the life of him figure out the guy’s type. Half the time he was just as much the optimistic, goody-two-shoes “friendship solves everything” idiot Hugo assumed he would be, but other times he was as untrusting as a hardened criminal. 

“Are you ever gonna tell us why you own so many earplugs?” he drawls, walking backwards alongside the other boy. He’s found that generally acting like he doesn’t care / is better than them gets on Varian’s nerves the most, so that is how he opts to behave. It works out, because he doesn’t, and he is. 

The items in question are just coming out of Varian’s ears: the ritual he always has for when they journey through crowded places. After visiting the Neserdnian marketplace, their group is  back down to the normal four people and a rickety wagon making its way down the worn road. 

Varian doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing as he replies evenly, “I hate the sound of your voice.”

“Oh, that’s smart,” Nuru pipes up. “Can I have a pair?” 

“I should probably have a pair,” Yong admits. Hugo looks at the youngest incredulously (from the other two this sort of insult was to be expected), and Yong hurries to add, “Not because of you, Hugo! For hearing-safety, y’know, because… fireworks.” He gestures to the sticks of dynamite in his pack with a sheepish grin. Hugo rolls his eyes.

Varian’s raccoon leaps up onto his shoulders and Varian smiles sweetly at the creature (bleh) before reaching into his pack and withdrawing the thing he has his nose stuffed into at least 90% of the time: his mom’s journal. 

“Now where were we… Ah yes,” he mutters to himself, then raises his voice. “I did some decoding earlier, and my mom says that the Earth Kingdom trial is all about recombining known elements into new substances. Sounds like a challenge for the power of alchemy, if I ever heard one!”

“Well then it’s a good thing we have the best alchemist in the seven kingdoms in our midst,” Hugo says. A pregnant pause. “It’s me.”

Varian scoffs, deigning to send him a brief, unimpressed look. 

“Admit it, Stripes, you wish you had my skills.”

“I wish I had your skills,” Varian blurts, before going red to the tips of his ears and sputtering, “I mean, I don’t– ugh, shut up!” 

Hugo snickers. 

His initial game to appeal to Varian had been to play up his ‘remorse’ for double-crossing them at the Fire Trial– usually hero types were eager to rescue. But Varian had rejected that, up until Hugo outright begged, “Don’t you believe in second chances? Come on, at least let me try to earn your trust.” And Varian flinched. Though he’d said, “Fine,” it had sounded like anything but. 

Master of observation that he is, he quickly caught onto that: Varian automatically does what people ask. Hugo assumes it’s an impulse since Varian’s such a goody-two-shoes and has a whole self-sacrificing hero complex going on. 

For example, what happened earlier that afternoon:

They pass by others on the road occasionally, since they're not the only people to ever travel between the seven kingdoms after all. Hugo usually ignores them because he couldn't care less, but the others he’s traveling with are obnoxiously friendly. On this occasion they passed by a pair of middle-aged guys who offered brief conversion.

“Hey, cool belt!” one of them said. 

Varian, the one with the belt in question, looked at it then looked at them. “Thank you! It was a gift from my dad, it’s the symbol of the kingdom I was born–”

“Kinda looks like you, Kal,” the speaker’s companion said, nudging his friend and laughing. The circle with a couple lines through it does, in a cartoonish way, resemble his combed-over bald head. “Ha, you’re the one who should be wearing that belt.”

Kal laughed sheepishly. “Yeah I guess it does. Hey, can I have your belt?”

Varian’s smile waned, even though the guy was clearly joking. “Uh-”

“Go on, hand it over,” Kal’s companion added teasingly, elbowing his companion. They shared in one more laugh that was interrupted by Varian actually unlooping his belt and holding it out wordlessly.

Hugo frowned. When he thought Varian was the type to offer strangers the clothing off his back, he was mostly thinking figuratively.

“Oh,” Kal said stupidly, accepting the belt. “Uh, wow? Heh, thanks, kid.”

Varian looked like he swallowed something bad, staring at his still-outstretched hand like it betrayed him. “No problem,” he managed in a choked voice.

Something about the exchange still lingers in the back of Hugo’s mind, but he can’t figure out why.

Well, whatever. Now they have the business of getting to a good place to camp for the night and the usual chores that doing so entails. Hugo is tasked with collecting firewood and while doing so, takes the opportunity to make contact with Cyrus for an update. 

It gets cut short when they hear Varian’s voice calling for Hugo the trees. Hugo rolls his eyes and turns to go back.

The two of them step out of opposite treelines where the forest breaks for a winding dirt road and make eye contact at the same time. 

“Hi,” Hugo says.

“Hi,” says Varian. He looks relieved for a split second before the long-suffering expression he usually gives Hugo returns. “Where were you?”

“Getting the firewood like you asked, Goggles,” Hugo says, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. “Aw, were you worried about me?” 

A sudden redness across Varian’s face is answer enough. The concept is strange to Hugo, since Donella herself has gone days without seeing him before and never outwardly seemed concerned about his whereabouts. 

“Where is it?” At Hugo’s blank look, Varian emphasizes, “The firewood. The stuff you’ve spent all this time out here collecting?” 

“Oh yeah...” Hugo looks around lazily. “I made a pile of it around here somewhere.” In the corner of his eye, Varian raises clawed hands like he’s praying to the maker for strength. “Oooh yeah, I remember now. It’s over by that bridge.” 

Varian turns on his heel in the direction of said bridge, clearly intent on dismissing Hugo and collecting the wood pile himself, but Hugo is supposed to be playing nice, right? He decides to throw the guy a bone. “No, no, don’t move. I got it.”

He catches a squeak of protest as Varian jerks to a halt, but Hugo doesn’t wait for further response before turning and jogging back to the place he made his pile.

As he’s coming back, arms laden with wood, he spies a carriage coming down the road at a fast pace– someone clearly has somewhere to be, if the speed of those horses are anything to go by. Perhaps self-important royals. Hugo glances over at Varian, still in the middle of the road, expecting to see him moving out of the way. He has to be able to see and hear it, but as the seconds go by and the carriage hurdles closer without slowing down, his feet stay rooted to the path. 

“Cutting it kind of close, Freckles,” Hugo mutters.

But then the carriage is thirty feet away, twenty feet– and Hugo subconsciously picks up his pace back to the other alchemist. He can see Varian’s face again, now– he guy is panicking, looking from the carriage to his feet as he makes aborted tugging motions like he’s stuck in place by one of his own goo bombs. Ten feet and Varian’s not moving out of the way.

Hugo drops his arm full of firewood in a rush and sprints the last several feet to Varian, diving and shoving them both into the dirt in a tangle of limbs just as the carriage thunders over where Varian stood seconds before.

Both of them are breathing hard, shaky with adrenaline. Hugo raises onto his forearms and sees Varian's startled blue eyes a few inches from his own. He jolts back and covers any flustered feelings with a baffled screech that isn’t hard to conjure. “What the heck, Varian! Do you have a death wish, why didn’t you move?”

Varian pushes shakily up to his hands as well, gaze shifting to the wheel tracks in the dirt and the receding carriage with a pale expression like he’s seeing his life flash before his eyes. Wind whistles out of him in a particularly sharp exhale before he defends, “I-I was going to!” 

“Oh really, then what exactly were you waiting for? An invitation?”

Hugo’s shouting appears to help Varian find bearings because he looks at Hugo sharply and a wall slams down over his expression. In one fluid motion he stands and dusts his knees haughtily, muttering stiffly, “Can we just forget about it?” 

Hugo vehemently feels that they should NOT just forget about it, and goes about telling Varian as much before realizing belatedly that Varian can’t hear him– on the way to collecting the strewn logs that Hugo dropped, he’s shoved in another infernal pair of earplugs.

He ignores Hugo entirely as he stomps all the way back to camp. 

“This is fine,” Hugo gripes a few paces behind, some wood clutched in his own arms. “I can carry on for two, don’t worry about me. Just saved your life and you’re being extremely mysterious for no reason, but whatever.”

Varian doesn’t look back.

The situation replays over and over in Hugos’ mind and refuses to be forgotten. Hugo is confused, but he’s also not dumb. Varian can’t be more complex than an engineering problem, which Hugo has solved plenty of, and so he follows the pattern of analyzing what he knows.

Antecedent: he told Varian not to help with the firewood and left him alone. 

Consequence: Varian stood there and didn’t move out of the way, even though he clearly saw the danger coming and felt afraid. 

Hugo frowns to himself, tossing and turning long after the others have conked out. What did he say exactly? 

“Don’t move.” And Varian didn’t move. He seemed to be trying, but he didn’t.

He…Couldn’t?

The hypothesis forms: Varian does what he’s told. More than just because he wants to. 

Hugo lays in his bedroll while the others snore as their hard-won pile of firewood feeds fire and smoke spiraling up into the stars and he thinks the logical next question for someone in his position, which is: how do I use this? If he’s right then he doesn’t have to press his imagination very hard to realize just how many horrible ways a quirk like that could be used. It makes the earplugs make sense, in their own way– a way to avoid hearing people tell him what to do.

Hugo may be a conman, always looking for advantages, but he’s not cruel. 

And he doesn’t need to resort to cheating in order to successfully con the lot of them, Varian included. It’s certainly something to keep as an ace for later, to use against Varian if necessary, but he– doesn’t have to do that right away. 

Content with his conclusion, he finally allows himself to relax. For a moment, at least, because then he remembers something else. A stupid voice from earlier: “Cool belt!... Come on, hand it over”. 

Hugo facepalms, twisting to peek through his fingers at the sleeping form Varian cuts against the fightlight. “Geez Freckles, how do you go anywhere?” he whispers.

Unable to ignore the idea for long, the thief groans and gets up to go put to rest the conscience he will swear up and down he doesn’t have. It shouldn’t take that long; those two can’t have gotten too far in an hour or two of travel, not if they meander stupidly at the pace they’d been going earlier.

In the morning, Hugo is far sleepier and thus far grumpier than the rest of their group, and Varian is startled to find his beloved belt back among his things.

… 

Two kingdoms later they’re in a different kind of trouble on the road.

Well, it was a quiet morning until bandits jumped out of the trees and tried to stick them up. Hugo curses himself for not noticing their presence sooner– Varian and Yong had been playing an annoying game of I-Spy (Varian started it to help distract their youngest from a bout of homesickness and it was disgustingly sweet), and for some reason Hugo was drawn into that. 

And if this is the excuse he has to tell Donella, she’s going to be so pissed. Because the bandits will find out pretty soon that they don’t have much of value with them besides the three totems they’ve collected so far. 

There are five guys, one to restrain each of them– the princess, the kid, Varian and Hugo– and one extra to rifle through their stuff. Hugo is kicking and cussing them out the entire time because this is embarrassing. He’s the one who robs people. Yong is staring at him wide-eyed (probably because of the new 4-letter words he’s learning) and Varian looks calculating. Nuru is trying negotiation.

“If it’s money you want, we only have enough to get to the next town,” she tells her captor reasonably. “It’s not much. Even our donkey is old and wouldn’t sell well.”

“Don’t take Prometheus!” Yong whimpers. 

The guy rifling through their stuff pays the lot of them no mind. That is, until one of his men screeches and they all turn to see the guy who held Varian now hopping on one foot and clutching the other in pain. Whatever Varian did, he’s free and fast . Within seconds he’s thrown two chemical bombs– smoke and goo– and freed Yong and Nuru as well. Hugo takes the opportunity to elbow his captor in the gut and drop-roll away.

“Nobody move!” someone yells, and when the smoke clears Hugo’s stomach sinks to see that the leader now has an arm wrapped around Varian’s neck. He’s held aloft, scrabbling and gasping against the man’s arm. At the words spoken, however, Varian freezes obediently.

Crud. 

Hugo bites his lip, fingers twitching toward the knives stored on his person. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Leader growls. “Whatever goods you’ve got, this kid’s gonna give me. If anyone causes trouble, I give your friend a new hole to breathe through. As for you–” he sets Varian down and shoves his head forward, “–you won’t touch your magic.” 

“’S not magic,” Varian croaks, and though his hands are up in surrender, he sounds genuinely annoyed. His eyes dart to the side. “When will anyone learn that? I guess I won't touch it though…”

He slams his foot down onto the end of his fallen magic wand alchemical staff and it springs upward, launching a ball into the air which Varian ducks. It splatters into the man’s face and Varian goes deadweight to twist out of his hands, scurrying away with a victorious smirk on his face. 

“You never said I couldn't make YOU touch it.”

Hugo winces in sympathy as the man bellows. Chemical eye burns were the worst. At the same time, though, he feels undeniably… impressed. Sending the rest of them running is a piece of cake especially once Sparkles gets ahold of his explosives.

At camp that evening, Hugo cooks.

It’s his first time cooking for other people; he’s never really… had the opportunity. He likes to think he isn’t bad at it though. 

“This is surprisingly good,” Nuru concedes, giving him the nicest look she’ll ever give Hugo. When she first joined their group, Hugo was glad for the first time ever that he never had the experience of being an older sibling (Yong clung to Varian most of the time but Nuru was always on Hugo’s case, giving him as much irritation and he enjoyed giving her). Lately though he gets her nicer looks more easily and feels less irritated about her in return. 

“Eh, cooking is easy,” Hugo shrugs, even as he stretches his arms behind his head in a smug way. “It’s even easier than baking, which is essentially just–”

“ –Alchemy,” someone else finishes. He looks up to see Varian shooting a small smile over his own bowl of stew. Has he… always had dimples? Or is the firelight just emphasizing the smile in a new way?

“Heh… yeah,” Hugo agrees, thrown off. 

Yong steps between them.

“No way, Hugo’s food is good ?” Yong proclaims with the wide, not-so-sneaky smile he can’t contain whenever he tries to tease with the older kids. “Hm, must be poisoned. Quick, Varian, throw it up!”

“Har har, kid,” Hugo scoffs, leaning onto his knees to pick up his bowl. He’s lost in the gentle night sounds and his dinner for a few minutes so it’s only when he looks back up that he notices the sudden absence of their fearless leader himself.

“Uh– Starlight, where’d…?” he asks, tilting his head to Varian’s empty seat.

Nuru throws a thumb toward the lab tent with a fond smile on her face. “He never quits.”

Hugo frowns, setting aside his bowl and getting up. Without fully thinking about it he lets his feet carry him over to the tent in question. He lifts a hand, hesitates, then raps quietly at the post.

There’s a clatter from inside. “Uh–yeah?” Varian’s voice croaks. Hugo takes this as his cue to poke his head in.

Varian is slumped on the workbench, his head between his knees. There’s a metal bucket in front of him that must be what he dropped when he was startled, but luckily it didn’t spill because going by how Varian’s bangs are sweat-plastered to his forehead and the tint of green to his face–

“Oh geez, Goggles, are you sick?” Hugo asks, starting forward into the tent before stopping himself a foot in front of Varian. The stench of bile hangs in the air.

“I’m g- I’m good,” Varian protests, wiping his face and using a foot to shove the pail back awkwardly. “I just– uh, my stomach isn’t happy, heh.”

“Did you–” Hugo stops himself. Eat something bad? he wanted to say, but just thinking about it makes him realize that the only thing Varian ate in the past several hours was the food Hugo made… which Yong told him to throw up. Hugo’s hands find his mouth, horror dawning. “That’s so messed up,” he whispers.

Varian shrinks on himself. “Sorry, I’ll get out of the way if you want to use the lab–” he stutters, and Hugo quickly backtracks.

“No, no, not you! I meant– it’s not your fault you got sick, it’s fine! Here, let me...” He reaches out in a ‘stop’ gesture to keep Varian from pushing himself to his feet, throwing his gaze about until he spots a jug of water in the corner. In a moment he’s collected it as well as a clean beaker sitting out as a makeshift cup and offers Varian a drink.

Varian’s gloved hands accept the offering with shaky fingers. He takes the tiniest of sips before giving Hugo a grateful half smile.

There’s a long pause.

Hugo’s mind offers him a mental diagram of the various ways to fill the awkward silence: confronting Varian about the ‘do-what-you’re-told’ thing is the one at the forefront being underlined and circled. But who knows what can of worms that would open up? If Varian were comfortable talking about it, wouldn’t he have done so by now? Because this seems like pretty important, pretty need-to-know information if one throwaway comment is all it took for this. 

But then, if it were Hugo… He’d do anything to keep people from knowing. To keep it from being used against him. Is it a spell? A curse?

And then Hugo realizes all at once: this is why Varian needs the totems so badly. His mom’s notes and all that, sure, but– if there are answers in the Library about getting his free will back, then it makes sense why the determination runs so deep. 

Hugo does not want to be realizing this. He does not want to know this. 

“Sorry I–” Varian’s voice brings him back to the present. His eyes catch Hugo’s. They’re just the same shade as a bluebird’s wings. “I liked your cooking but. Do you remember if we’ve got anything… less adventurous to eat?”

“There’s always people in town to swipe bread from,” Hugo suggests. Varian gives him an unimpressed look. “Buuut, I’ll go look at our stuff first. I think I saw some crackers.”

“Thank you.”

Hugo pauses with one hand on the tent flap. “Hey… Varian?” he tries, looking back over his shoulder. “You, uh… You did good earlier, with those highway robbers. It was… heroic, or whatever.”

Varian blinks at him. “Is this a thank-you from Hugo himself?” he suggests, one corner of his mouth pulling up.

He snorts, “You wish,” ducking out before the smile on his own face can be seen.

…

Hugo never realized – but is suddenly aware – how often people tell each other what to do. He catches himself more than once biting back on something sarcastic or goading or lazy. 

If someone tells Varian to do something, Hugo rejoins with something nullifying. He puts on a show of being annoyed about it all. If Nuru teases “I'm too tired to set up my tent, Varian, you do it since yours always look so well done”, Hugo says “Don’t bother with that, Stripes, the princess can learn to fend for herself without servants”. If Yong says “Varian tell me a story, I'm bored”, Hugo says “No way, I want silence for once”. 

He catches subtle relief on Varian's face every time he does this. 

The act of giving into camaraderie starts to become easier and easier, until it’s harder and harder to remember that it is an act at all. He crashes back into reality every night when he lays in bed and remembers Donella. The pact he agreed to. That all these satisfying discoveries and team victories are cute and all, but in the end he will do what he's done his whole life: double cross and cut ties. Go back to living every day as a party of one.

Even if he wanted… No. He has no choice in the matter. 

Right?

… 

It turns out that the Dark Kingdom is not a myth after all, but is in fact a stop on their quest. Varian claims that their long lost prince is his brother or something, but Hugo’s not that gullible, thanks.

“This Dark Trial is about Rebirth,” Varian reads, finger tracing a line of the coded journal. “In the dark, some alchemical changes can thrive.”

“That fits oddly well,” Nuru says, gesturing out the window. “Since this kingdom is a place that was lost, but is slowly being rebuilt.” The population is still smaller than any city Hugo’s ever been to, but she is right: the signs of life returning are evident from the trails of chimney smoke grazing the morning sky and a few stores beginning to turn their ‘permanently closed’ signs to ‘open’ ones.

For once they’d chosen an inn over camping, a choice influenced by the insistence of the King after apparently knowing Varian’s family. Hugo notes the same symbol of Varian’s belt marking the clasp of the King’s fur cape. He’s confused as to why he is the only one confused about this. As far as he was briefed, Varain is the kid of a random farmer in Corona’s outer edges. 

In the present, Hugo peeks over Varian’s shoulder. It doesn’t help much, since his mom wrote in gibberish, but he can pretend. “So then alchemy again?” 

“Hm… maybe,” Varian says, “It seems like it’s gonna be about us, though. It says something about personal trials.” He looks around, and pink tints across his cheeks at Hugo’s proximity. Hugo spins on his heel to start pacing, hand on his chin and brow furrowed in the picture of deep thought. Seamless.

“What does that mean?” Yong asks, tilting his head from his seat at the table beside Varian, a fork full of eggs inches from his mouth. “‘Personal’? Are we gonna have to split up?”

Nuru stands and sweeps the table crumbs from her muffin into one hand neatly for disposal. “No matter what happens,” she says, steely tone belying any of the ‘princess’ habits Hugo likes to point out, “We’re a team. And we’ve got this.”

“Yeah!” Yong cheers. “We got this!”

Hugo smothers fondness with a scoff. He expects Varian to be the ringleader of this moment, but when he looks over, the younger alchemist looks troubled.

“We got this,” he echoes quietly.

Unlike previous trials, they know exactly where the entrance is, thanks to Varian’s aforementioned friendship with the Dark Kingdom royalty. Just like all of them, though, the trial chamber is filled with cryptic riddles and magic–tainted shenanigans. Wasn’t this Demanitus guy supposed to be a scientist? Why so many games?

They do split up briefly as theorized, and Hugo is the first to progress to what seems to be the end: a round, shadowy room lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, in the middle of which stands a podium that they know from experience is where the totem should be. But–

“Where are you?” Hugo says, feeling around the stand for hidden compartments or secret buttons and finding none.

One of the walls slides up suddenly to reveal Varian and Yong, who hurry to Hugo’s side with relieved smiles on their faces. It’s the mirror opposite to their first meeting at the Fire Trial, when they arrived to find Hugo standing over the totem and ended up kicking each other’s butts over it. Yeesh, was that only a couple months ago?

Another door slides open to permit Nuru entrance. As soon as they’re all together, the entrances seal off, leaving them looking at endless reflections of themselves no matter which way they turn, the only light emitting softly from the podium itself. It’s eerie, to say the least.

“Where’s the totem?” Nuru asks. 

“That’s the question, isn’t it,” Hugo mutters. “Does the book say anything?”

“This is the last trial my mom wrote about,” Varian says helplessly, “And it’s vague at best.”

“Are we trapped in here?” Yong asks, fiddling with a stick of dynamite nervously. Hugo opens his mouth to snap at him not to blow anything, but Nuru interrupts.

“Guys, there’s something written here.” She draws all their attention to the base of the podium, and Varian hurries to procure a green vial, which he shakes till it glows softly in the chamber. By the new light, Nuru reads aloud, “‘Through the candor of the mirror, discover the darkness that evoked change.” 

Like an incantation, the words suddenly shift the world around them, and it takes Hugo a moment to realize that the mirrors have become screens portraying a different time and place. They’re in a lavish living room of some kind, the architectural decor of the Koto palace placing this as a place in Nuru’s memories. Sure enough, the voice of Nuru herself rings out, but it’s not coming from the girl in front of them.

“Mom, we can’t just keep pretending this isn’t happening!” a slightly younger Nuru yells, pacing after the Queen of Koto with her fists balled and anger distorting her features. “And don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. I can help!” And so it goes, the Queen and the princess exchanging hurtful words until doors are slammed and the mirror Nuru cries herself to sleep in the light of the stars. When it ends, the mirrors return to their original state and a shaken Nuru looks at all of them with wide eyes. The totem still hasn’t appeared. 

She clears her throat roughly, stating, “Who- who’s next?”

Yong reads the incantation  and they’re shown a scene of one of his pyrotechnic displays going awry and the whispered scorn of people calling him a disappointment. Hugo’s is embarrassingly enough about his early life on the streets, when he’d collected enough thrown-out tech to fit gears together into a rudimentary version of Olivia and called her his first friend. Nuru gives him a coo and a pout when it ends and he shoves her away.

Then it’s Varian’s turn. Except instead of stepping forward, his hands are clutched at his chest and he’s looking at the podium like it might burn him if he gets too close. 

“It’s okay, Varian,” Yong says, reaching out to pat his arm. “It isn’t fun, but at least we’re all doing it together!” 

Varian backs away, looking at all of them with wide eyes. He looks nothing like the overly helpful, idiotically cheerful companion they’ve all gotten to know. He’s looking at them with mourning, like he’s two steps ahead of this situation and can already hear them spurning him, rejecting him, ordering him to leave them and not come back. 

“I– I can’t,” he breathes. “I know what it’s going to show, I already know my darkness. It’s– it’s not good, guys. I can’t show you that.”

“It doesn’t look like there’s any other way,” Nuru says gently. Varian shakes his head, shutting his eyes tight.

The others continue trying to coax and console him, but Hugo feels suspicion start to ghost up his spine, a familiar instinct urging him to distrust. It’s something that’s kept him alive this long;  anyone hiding something is not to be trusted. If Varian isn’t who he’s presented himself to be, then it’s in his best interest to know. 

Besides that, this side of Varian coming out now is an inconvenience at best– they need the totem, and they’re one step away from getting it. Varian needs to get his act together.

You could make him , a voice whispers in Hugo’s head. His blood runs cold at the idea. One order is all it would take.

The Hugo of the past– perhaps even a few weeks ago– would have done it. This is the moment he’s been saving his ace for, the time when he could and should use Varian’s weakness against him. It’s what’s best for the mission.

And yet…

Hugo thinks of Varian holding fully one-sided conversations with his raccoon as it rides on his shoulder. Varian allowing Nuru to show him every constellation in the sky despite probably already knowing them all, and his drooping lids testifying to how much he probably wants her to shut up and let him sleep. How he’d started taking Hugo’s opinions and suggestions into account every time he offered them both inside and outside the lab tent, trusting so openly that it sends a pang in Hugo’s chest every time. How he always puts others first.

Hugo kneels down in front of where Varian has crumpled. Cautiously he reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder and leaves it there until Varian looks up at him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “We can figure out another way of this place if we have to, all right? But if you want to…whatever it is you’re afraid of… we can get through it together.” 

The others chime in with agreement around them, but Hugo holds eye contact. Varian takes a few big breaths, and the raw look in his eyes steels. It’s not quite determination, but perhaps hopes to be. 

He nods. Hugo helps him to his feet.

With another deep breath, Varian reads out the inscription and the room comes alive again. The scene before them becomes a basement, tables cluttered with notes and beakers lining the walls. It’s a lab with Varian’s fingerprints all over it, disrupted here and there by spikes of unnatural black rock bursting through the floor. A younger Varian stands among them, in the shadow of a large man.

They shout. Quirin of Old Corona shoves his son out of the way, and an amber crystal grows over him. 

The walls shift into a different underground space, this time with high stone ceilings and instead of his father, Varian speaks to a girl with long blond hair. He holds a crumpled yellow flower out of her reach as she begs for him to listen. It almost seems like he’s yielding to her plea for a moment but then remorse turns to a glare and he spurns her, turning and running as people yell after him.

The display ends as suddenly as it began,  blinding sunlight entering the room as a door opens up to reveal the world outside. They’ve reached the end of the trial. 

Nobody speaks. Nobody moves. Not until Varian steps forward and takes the newly-appeared totem off of its pedestal, holding it to his chest with his hair hanging over his eyes. 

Hugo has another intrusive thought.

He could order Varian to give him the totems here and now. He could tell Donella that his undercover status became compromised and sure she wouldn’t be thrilled that he cut it short but she’d get over it and he’d still get paid well, as long as most of the trials were done for her. He doesn’t have to stand here and feel all these conflicted emotions for a second longer. 

But for the second time, he ignores it. 

He steps forward.

“You were a kid. Who doesn’t make some bad choices, when they’re scared, or– or in a bad situation?” He swallows uncomfortably against how close to home that hits. “You can tell us about it, or not. We trust you.” 

The others are quick to agree, reassuring as they swallow him up in a hug. Hugo gets pulled in. 

In the center, Varian squeaks out, “I love you guys.”

… 

The inn they’re staying at is, coincidentally enough, holding a celebration that night. It’s for a marriage of people they’ve never met but they still end up pulled into the festivities. Hugo supposes he doesn’t mind, because who is he to deny himself free food and drink? Especially the good kind that have been scrounged up for the occasion. It seems like everyone in the sparse kingdom is here, eating, drinking, playing music and dancing away.

Varian is dancing with them.

Well, he, Yong and Nuru are all dancing, some sloppy joyful dance that none of them know the steps to. Hugo has infiltrated ballroom events before; heck, they did that when they first met Nuru. He knows that kind of dance, the stuffy show-pony kind that Don taught him so he could blend in while undercover. He’s never actually danced to have fun before.

So he’s decidedly flustered when Varian grabs his hand and drags him out with them.

“We dance like this all the time in Corona,” he snorts, probably at Hugo’s bewildered look around to try and figure out the steps. “Try to loosen up, there’s no wrong way to do it.”

“Oh, I’m so loosened up,” Hugo says sarcastically, but consciously tries to relax his shoulders. “Did you not see the free bar, Stripes?” 

Varian throws his head back and laughs wide in a way that does something funny to Hugo’s heart. “Now you’re getting it!” With a mischievous glint in his blue eyes he tugs Hugo’s hands into his.

Around and around they go (it seems like a lot of this is just spinning), a few times passing Nuru and Yong doing the same, occasionally switching partners with each other and with strangers, and by the time the music settles into something lighter, they’re a sweating, dizzy mess at their table, laughing at nothing and everything. 

… 

Despite having an actual bed to sleep in that night, Hugo finds himself laying awake for hours.

It’s stupid.

It’s so stupid.

But he can’t get Varian’s face out of his head.

Ironic after a night of dancing that he’s locked in a mental footwork of his own: A light, obnoxious feeling fills his chest like the exhilarating kind he would feel riding a makeshift sled down snowy hills as a child, and then it alternated to a sick twist in his gut when he hears Don’s voice in his mind ask, “What exactly are you hoping for here? How do you think it’s going to go?”

Who is he even loyal to anymore?

After tossing and turning both literally and figuratively, Hugo groans and decides he can’t take it anymore. Nothing like a midnight snack to get the intrusive thoughts to go away, and there has got to be some of that pistachio pudding left somewhere. 

He tiptoes down the wooden stairs and into the foyer where surprisingly, the fireplace is still crackling with flames. A lone figure sits huddled in the armchair closest to the fire, a book in their hands. Even with the late party, he would’ve thought most people would be tuckered out by now. Who could possibly–

A floorboard creaks under one of Hugo’s steps as he rounds the corner and Varian’s head snaps up, wide-eyed. 

He blinks owlishly before his face settles into a tired smile. “Oh. Hi Hugo,” he says, ending the greeting with a giant yawn that shows off his tooth gap.

Maker above. Hugo is in so much trouble.

“Hey,” he says, aiming for casualness as he takes a seat on the arm of the chair in front of Varian’s. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” Varian points out, stretching his arms above his head. “But since you asked I may as well get your opinion on something. See I’ve been reading about this thing where…”

As Varian starts to ramble, Hugo finds his gaze straying down to his mouth without thinking about it. 

He’s not sure how it happens. Maybe it’s all the perfect combination for his downfall: the sleeplessness, warmth of the fire, the lull of the crickets just outside, the way Varian’s endearing enthusiasm soothes the mental turmoil Hugo’s been putting himself through for the last who-knows-how-long… whatever the case, somehow, at some point, Hugo's brain disconnects from his mouth.

“Kiss me,” he blurts.

Varian halts mid-sentence, and the sudden lack of his voice makes Hugo snap out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. His eyes meet Varian’s own startled blue ones, and he realizes what he just said.

Then his brain catches up. He’d given an order. Not only that, but the order was– 

Hugo stands abruptly. “Wait, no! Don’t do that, unless, if you wanted to, it would be– What I mean to say is, you can do whatever you–” 

“...What?” Varian interrupts softly. He’s looking at Hugo with an expression like he’s never seen him before– something near unreadable, or maybe that’s just the panic melting Hugo’s mind.

“Oh man, I’m so tired, heh. I don’t know what’s coming out of my own mouth. You know how I am, I just say things sometimes. Maybe we can just forget about…”

He trails off hopelessly as he watches Varian set down his book and find his feet. He looks far calmer than Hugo feels as he comes closer. And then he shuts Hugo up entirely by reaching up, slowly, thoughtfully, and settling one hand on the crook of Hugo’s neck. 

Hugo forgets how to breathe. 

“You don’t have to do anything I say just because I say,” Hugo whispers. “You know that, right?”

Varian’s gaze shifts between Hugo’s eyes contemplatively like he’s considering the pros and cons of an experiment. Then he smiles and it’s like the sun’s come out early, so close and warm Hugo can hardly bear it.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I’m not.”

And then Varian pulls him forward and presses their lips together.

Chapter Text

“There you are!” Nuru greets when Varian finally pads into the inn’s dining room for breakfast. “I hope you slept; you look like your raccoon with those eye bags.”

Hugo’s head snaps up when he enters, then quickly averts his gaze to the table. Varian slowly takes the seat perpendicular to Hugo’s.

“Varian, pass me the honey?” Yong asks, stirring sadly at what looks like a very plain bowl of porridge. 

Varian reaches forward but at the same time Hugo says, “No problem, I got it–” 

Their hands halt, overlapping one another around the ceramic honey jar. They look up to find one another’s faces inches apart and stare in fright like cornered deers and the moment goes on uncomfortably long. Hugo yanks back first, stuffing his hands under his thighs as though to restrain them, and Varian bustles with getting his own bowl of porridge like he’s suddenly remembered he’s starving. 

Nuru clears her throat and reaches bodily across the table to grab the honey for Yong, looking between them with a raised eyebrow. “Anyway,” she says. “Here’s what we’ve been talking about, V…”

Varian seems to do his best to pay attention while she catches him up on the plans for the day, but his gaze keeps flicking over to Hugo’s knee bouncing under the table, and she notes the deep, slightly-shaky breath the blond boy takes when he finally looks up from his lap and stares determinately at Nuru and Nuru only. 

So, Nuru has older sisters. She knows what it looks like when they’re acting confident but feeling anything but; when they’re holding onto their smile with their last shred of willpower; when they’re barely holding back a rant that they will be spilling as soon as they’re behind closed doors. 

She knows what it looks like then they’re crushing hard.

She likes to think she clocked the thing going on between Varian and Hugo while the two of them were still oblivious, but if the feeling in the air this morning is anything to go by, that obliviousness has come to an end. Time for the little sister shenanigans to begin.

“Hey, remember when Hugo called Varian ‘sweet cheeks’ that one time, and we had to save him from getting strangled?” she asks Yong loudly once they’re on the road, loud enough that she knows the boys in question can hear her from the way they both tense up hilariously. “Yeah… I miss those days.”

“Wait, didn’t that happen when Hugo drank the last of the hot chocolate?” Yong wonders, oblivious. 

She smirks and leans in to whisper in his ear.

“No!” he gasps, covering his mouth as he looks at the two older boys with new eyes. “Really?”

“Hey, can you two shut up over there?” Hugo barks, shoving the map into Varian’s hands and folding his arms. “I can hardly hear myself think.” 

“Wouldn’t want you to stop thinking about whatever…you’re thinking about,” Nuru says, eyeing Varian and smiling innocently. The dark-haired boy blinks like he’s not really following her point and shrugs before going back to his map, but Hugo goes the color of a ripe beet.

“Princess, I’m not above regicide,” he hisses, stomping closer. 

Yong gasps again, seemingly before he can stop himself. “They’re such a good match!” 

Nuru laughs so long that she has to drop to her knees and beg the goddess for mercy.

The weather starts to get colder as they near and cross into Ingvarr’s borders. The city is huge and intimidating in its differences from what they’ve experienced before, but Hugo seems to know how it like the back of his hand. He shoos off a pickpocketer that Nuru didn’t even notice, stops Yong from walking into the path of a nobleman’s oncoming horseless ‘automobile’ (something designed by the royal engineer of Ingvarr but only for the rich, he explains sourly), and navigates the group to an inn owned by someone he apparently knew in childhood. The lady waxes nostalgic about what a bright, cheerful little boy Hugo was before he disappeared one day. 

Hugo ducks down, red and muttering about needing air. When Varian makes to follow, Nuru touches his arm and tells him that she’ll get their rooms set up. The bell over the door signals his leave and she takes a self-satisfied sip of spicy Ingavarrian cocoa. 

Apparently they’re in town just in time for some kind of holiday the next day, which everyone but Hugo seems excited for. Again, Nuru knows siblings, and she reads this boy as highly troubled. When she finds him writing a letter by candlelight early the next morning, she pauses to ask if everything’s fine.

“Yeah,” he tells her, and she sees sincerity and steel in his eyes. “I’ve just made up my mind about something.” 

…

“Was I even alive before today?” Varian wonders, unable to contain the raw enthusiasm he feels watching the parade of culture and technology go by. There were the winter festival dancers, the band full of musical instruments– the things he’s not surprised to see. But the giant mechanical lion– he heard about that but that was nothing compared to seeing it. 

To his left Hugo snorts at him, unimpressed, but then he would be if he grew up here and got used to it. He doesn’t know what it’s like to grow up as practically the only person in your village who enjoys scientific pursuits. Varian is bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Look at that float!” Yong exclaims, tugging his arm. The massive stage rolling by has its own miniature ice rink on which a skater performs tricks whilst in motion. “Oh, do you think we have time to go skating while we’re here?”

“It’s trickier than they make it look,” Nuru warns. “We do that in Koto sometimes. You can get big bruises from falling on ice.”

Not if someone good at it is holding your hand , Varian thinks to himself, glancing at Hugo and then away quickly. He burrows his hands deeper into his puffy coat sleeves and watches their frosted breath spiraling into the air, intermingling and disappearing into the white sky. 

“Hey,” Hugo murmurs, and Varian snaps a wide-eyed ‘I was thinking respectful thoughts that weren’t about you’ look on his face when he meets the blond’s eyes. It’s obviously not perfect because Hugo raises an eyebrow but thankfully doesn’t comment, simply pointing and telling him, “The best part is coming. You don’t wanna space out for this.”

Varian turns back to the parade, eyes searching out the newest float turning the corner, a wave of excitement rising in his chest–

And then he sees her. 

And the icy wave crashes back in on him. 

His hands move of their own accord, patting his inner vest pocket. He quickly withdraws a sheet of parchment paper, worn from being folded and unfolded dozens of times in the years since Varian first got it from Calliope way back on his trip to the Spire with Eugene. The same day he learned of the Iolite of Obedience and the woman who stole it around the time Varian was born. His hands are shaking as he holds it up and uses it to compare, to make sure he’s not imagining things and–

It’s her. No mask on the lower part of her face, but the same hard eyes, the same gray braid. The woman who is most likely responsible for his curse is seated atop the upcoming float. 

Varian grabs Hugo’s arm without taking his eyes off of her. “Who is that?” he hears himself ask. 

“Uh… Queen Anya? And the princesses–” 

“Not them,” he interrupts. “The lady in green next to them. Closest to us.”

Hugo goes quiet and Varian looks over to make sure he heard. Is it the cold, or is the blond’s face suddenly paler? He notices the drawing in Varian’s hands and his brow furrows. “Wait, what is–”

“ Do you know her ?” Varian demands, more urgent.

Hugo draws back, eyes flitting around. “Like, not personally .” He clears his throat. “But um– she’s Donella, the royal engineer of Ingvar. She designs the floats and does other stuff for the royal family.”

“Donella,” Varian repeats, eyes narrowing as he studies her with this information. He folds the paper back into his pocket. “I need to talk to her.”

“I mean, that would be hard. She lives on castle grounds,” Hugo says dubiously. “What’s so important?”

Varian hardly hears him over the sound of his racing thoughts. He nibbles at his gloved thumb anxiously, happiness at the new sights all but extinguished like a flame under water as he takes in the sight of Donella going by in slow motion. Her hard face looks forward impassively, untouched by the jubilation around her. At the bend in the road where she’s closest to them she looks out and– maybe to his imagination, maybe not– locks eyes with Varian for a split second. 

The smallest smile turns her lips. He stops breathing. 

And then the float passes.

“Varian?”

He turns, air whooshing back into his lungs. 

Hugo’s brows are drawn together in concern as he reaches out but Varian steps back, cutting him off. “It’s nothing.”

Before anything else can be said, Varian flees.

…

He excuses himself to go to bed early that night. Eventually the others settle into their bed rolls around him and Varian pretends to be asleep while they drift off. Hugo tosses and turns for awhile but even he eventually starts snoring softly. 

And that’s when Varian gets up. 

Ruddiger chitters at him questioningly as he grabs his shoes in one hand and coat in the other, and Varian shushes with a finger to his lips. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers reassuringly. “Hold down the fort.” 

The raccoon tilting his head is the last he sees before he shuts the door. His back sags against it for just a moment as he contemplates before straightening and hurrying out into the cold. His teeth chatter but he pushes on through the dimly lit streets in the direction he saw the looming architecture of the Ingvarrian palace. 

The closer he gets to its wrought iron gates, the dirtier the streets, the more frequent the occasional homeless person huddled in blankets on the sides of buildings. He imagines a small Hugo as one of them and winces. Whatever Rapunzel’s flaws, she would never stand for such economic disparity right on her doorstep. 

Guards stand post at the entrance of course, but Varian came prepared. He makes quick work of creating a distraction with a smoke bomb at one side of the gate, and when the guards go running he uncorks a bubble potion to get himself up and over. 

The large double doors of the actual castle are no doubt well-guarded on the inside so he scouts around until finding a servant’s entrance and making use of metal-corroding acid on its lock. 

Then he finds himself in a maze of hallways. 

“Okay, Varian,” he mutters, hand hovering over his alchemy belt as he begins creeping forward. “You got yourself this far…” 

…

Hugo stirs to the feeling of a cold wet nose huffing in his face. Disoriented, he opens his eyes and takes in the blurry gray shape above him.

“R… Ruddiger?” he asks, and receives a responding trill. He rolls over to his other side with full intent of going back to sleep, but the critter crawls over him and gets into his face again with more determination. Hugo groans.

Blearily he reaches a hand out to the side until his knuckles brush what they’re looking for. Putting his glasses on doesn’t help much since it’s still fully dark in the room, but it does make the unmistakable worry in Varian’s raccoon’s face become clear. And the whatever the problem, he’s come to Hugo, not Varian; which means—

Hugo suddenly feels more awake.

“Varian?” he asks, pushing onto his elbows to look over at other alchemist’s set up. “Varian, you good?” Slowly so as not to wake Yong, he tiptoes over and lays a hand on the bedding. It’s cold. 

Varian is gone.

“Where is he?” Hugo asks, turning to face Ruddiger again. The creature is at the door now, scratching at the wood with his little paws. Hugo suddenly remembers back at the parade how a weird mood settled over Varian when he saw Donella, how he mumbled something about talking to her.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Hugo’s reaching for his clothes before he can think.

…

A sign stating “this way to the Royal Alchemist’s quarters” would be helpful but why would Varian get that lucky now? It’s been a good hour since he infiltrated the Ingvarrian palace and he’s beginning to wonder what his plan really was. He’s managed to avoid catching attention up til now but even that meager luck can’t last forever.

“You there,” a strong voice rings out, and before Varian can scramble up a pair of earplugs, the guard orders, “Halt! Put your hands up and state your business.” 

Varian winces as he obeys.

“I’m– Varian of Corona, royal engineer to Princess Rapunzel,” he says, hoping it will give him some merit. “I’m looking for Donella. She– she knows of me.” It might not be a lie.

The guard rounds him, appraising Varian’s appearance suspiciously. “It’s too late for guests to be wandering the halls,” he states, roughly taking hold of Varian’s upper arm. “You can spend the rest of the night in the dungeons and tomorrow we’ll see if the lady corroborates your story.”

Varian winces again. He really doesn’t want to see the inside of another kingdom’s dungeons. “Wait, wait! I can–”

“You can what?” a new voice interrupts. 

Varian and the soldier look up to see a woman leaning against the wall in the shadows. She pushes toward them and when she enters the torchlight, the scarred face of Donella herself comes into view. 

“Um,” Varian says. 

Donella smirks, then tilts her head at the guard. “I can take it from here.” She and the guard exchange looks of silent communication that Varian fails to keep up with before it’s over and he’s being shoved toward Donella. 

“I wouldn’t touch that belt of yours if I were you, Varian,” Donella murmurs warningly, eyeing the alchemy that Varian is already subconsciously inching towards, already walking briskly away with her hands clasped behind her back. Varian glances between her and the guard uncertainly before hurrying to follow.

“Y-you know my name?” he asks, a little breathless both from the turn of events and the pace of this lady.

“You announced yourself back there, didn’t you?” Donella says, pausing briefly both in speech and pace. Varian nearly runs into her. Her head tilts, not quite looking at him but addressing as she tacks on, “But yes. I did know your mother, after all.”

Varian’s eyes widen to what must be a comical proportion, but Donella continues on leading him who-knows-where as if she didn’t just drop a bombshell.

Ella says I’m too optimistic about this, but I think that… 

This one nearly got the better of us, but thanks to Ella’s handiwork…

I need to rethink Ella’s trust. The Dark Trial revealed so much…

“You’re Ella,” Varian realizes. “You- you were her research partner. She wrote about you in her journal.”

“Did she?” Donella muses, pushing open the door to what appears to be a laboratory and holding it for Varian. He cautiously steps inside, eyeing the equipment both familiar and unfamiliar. “How nice. Nobody’s called me that name in years. And you,” she finally turns and studies him for the first time, pinning Varian like a specimen under a microscope with stormy eyes, “I haven’t seen you in years. Not since you were an infant.”

As it has a tendency to do for him, rage ignites under Varian’s skin with little warning. “It was you then,” he hisses, fists clenching. “You did this to me!”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He laughs humorlessly, yanking the folded drawing out of his pocket and tossing it at her. She plucks it up, analyzing the picture, her apathy only adding fuel to his anger. Before she can feign ignorance any longer, he states, “You stole the Iolite.”

“Iolite…” she echoes, brow pinching. Something clicks and she says, “Oh, from the Spire. That was such a long time ago. Yes, that was me. Ulla’s idea, she thought we would need it, but that ended up not being the case.”

Now it’s Varian’s turn to stare blankly. “...What?”

She sighs as though put upon and gestures to a seat. Varian remains standing and she sighs again. “Well, as you know since you’re doing the same thing now, Ulla and I took upon ourselves Demanitus’ seven trials in the seven kingdoms. And as you’ve probably discovered, not all of the trials are open for public exploration.”

“How–” 

“Some trials require cooperation from the kingdoms themselves in order to gain entry, and to foreigners that is not always granted. You were fortunate enough to have family in the Earth Kingdom who helped you, for example.”

“How do you know all this?” 

She winks knowingly but carries on. “In planning, we tried to think of what might help us best access more restricted trials, and that’s where the idea of this obedience rock came in. Get people to cooperate with us. I obtained it, yes, but Ulla took it on herself to run tests beforehand. I don’t know what happened to the thing after that point. Ulla claimed it broken.”

“You’re… you’re lying,” Varian accuses. That can’t be it. He– he can’t come so close to answers only to get more questions. 

“You think so?” she laughs, eyeing him with interest. She reminds him of a barn cat: unassuming but fully capable of viciousness for her own wants or needs. That makes him the mouse being toyed with before a meal. “What is the truth, then? Why do you care so much about it?” 

So she doesn’t know. 

“I– I…”

“Because when I first saw you sneaking over the wall,” she continues, brushing her hand over her desk and scooping up an opened letter, “I assumed it was to talk to me, not about this but about–”

The door to the laboratory opens with a crash and Varian jumps about a foot in the air as a wild-eyed Hugo bursts in. 

“Varian!” he exclaims, looking Varian over in a dizzying mix of fear and relief. “Maker, what were you thinking, sneaking off without telling anyone?! You, uh-” he eyes Donella cautiously, “What are you–”

He cuts off with a yelp as Donella grabs him by the scuff, rolling her eyes. “I’d like a word,” she says simply before she begins dragging him hissing and spitting back out the door. 

“Hugo!” Varian exclaims, heart jumping to his throat in a sickening way. “Hey, stop, let him go!”

But as usual, he’s the only one who has to obey such words. 

“Wait here, Varian, and don’t touch a thing,” she orders casually, and Varian nearly trips coming to a stop. “This won’t take long.”

…

The panic-stricken look on Varian’s face before the door slammed shut between them sticks in Hugo’s vision like the imprint of light behind closed eyelids, ripping him in two over and over. Even though it was the plan all along for his two worlds to collide, he feels gutted at the thought of being exposed now.

Oh, this is such a fluster cluck. 

He pushes away from Donella’s hold and demands, “What did you say to him?!”

“Watch your tone,” she hisses and he shrinks. “He knows nothing of our pact from me, and apparently not from you either. Care to explain this ?”

She holds up the familiar envelope of his last letter, and Hugo tries to draw himself up despite being backed up against a wall. “Exactly what it says. I quit.”

“Oh, you think it’s that easy, do you? Ungrateful brat. After all this time, you would walk away with no payment, no nothing to show for it–”

“I don’t care, I don't want my share anymore, I’m done. These ones– they deserve to get what they’re working for.”

She starts to circle him, reading him like a book one line at a time in a way she’s always been able to do, has tried to train out since she picked him off the street and began sharpening him into a weapon for her hand. Her tone shifts from sharp to condescending. “Interesting, someone gave you morals. It’s that boy, isn’t it? As I found out from his mother before him, you would do well not to trust so easily. The smiles, the friendship– it’s all an act.”

“He’s different,” Hugo seethes. “He’s not like you or me, he’s– he’s good just to be good.”

She stops, looking at him in a pitying way that makes him feel less than the worms in the dirt far below their feet. “You’ve fallen in love with him.”

Hugo’s face burns. “No! Th-that’s– why would I ever…” 

Donella shakes her head. “I’m surprised at you, Hugo, but you do tend to be weak for pretty things, don’t you? Let me ask you something.” She tips her head toward the door behind which Varian waits. “I told him to stay in there and not touch anything. Is that what he’s going to do? Exactly as I ordered?”

Hugo didn’t think he could feel any worse at this moment but the universe loves proving him wrong. He swallows dryly, saying nothing.

Her eye twitches in impatience and she adds, “Because if you don’t want to tell me, I can easily go back in and experiment on my theory. He brought to my attention that due to long-forgotten actions on my part, he may in fact be… cursed with obedience.”

His stomach drops. “ You did that to him?”

“It’s true then. And you never thought that pertinent information to let me in on? You had to have noticed even before your little change of heart.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Doesn’t matter? Hugo, if I’d have known, I wouldn’t have needed you to waste your time infiltrating their group in the first place. You could’ve been sitting on your ass fiddling with your toy mouse to your heart's content while he does whatever we want just because we tell him, and for the first time in your life you didn’t want the easy way out?”

“No,” Hugo grits out, fear twining around his heart. “No, it’s not right–”

She puts a hand on his shoulder, and Hugo shuts up. “Let me guess. You want to be the knight in shining armor who helps him break his curse.”

He hangs his head, unable to hold her stare. She tuts.

“Let me help you think clearly again since your head has obviously been in fairytale land. Whatever you think is going on between you and Varian is going to end as soon as he finds out you’ve been using him all this time. I will have the Library, with your help or without. So here are your new choices: you can call it quits as you wish, and I will go back in that room and order Varian to do whatever I wish–”

Hugo’s eyes snap up, blood draining from his face.

“--since he was so useful in the totem trials after all. And even after I get to the Library, who knows… he could be useful to keep around. He probably listens better than you.” She walks back to the lab door while Hugo struggles to keep up. “ Or , you can proceed with the con and turn the totems over to me at the library entrance as planned, and your little friends walk away unharmed. I will even allow you access if you wish to search for a cure to the curse in the Library. Maybe he will even forgive you.” 

Her hand is on the doorknob, and by the way she raises an eyebrow, he knows she intends to hear his answer without delay or else she’ll choose for him. It feels like she’s offered him two ways to die and asked which one he prefers. 

Both ways end poorly for him… but there’s only one that ends well for Varian.

“Fine,” he grinds out.

Donella nods. She's not satisfied or triumphant; she doesn't need to be. She knows he will always bend to her will.

When the door opens and she sends Varian out, he comes running to Hugo like an arrow from a bow, eyes wide and checking him over worriedly as questions pour from his lips. Hugo hardly comprehends them, can only focus on the care with which he’s being looked at, talked to, hugged. As if he’s someone worthy of–

Of what he definitely isn’t .

“Hugo?” Varian asks, setting a hand against Hugo’s cheek in an attempt to meet their eyes. Hugo snaps into the present moment and pulls away as if burned.

“I’m fine!” he says, turning and leading them out of the palace on autopilot. “We can go, I explained that it was a misunderstanding, they're letting us off with a warning since I’m an Ingvarrian citizen.” 

Varian hurries after, twisting his hands. “I- I’m sorry. I never meant to get you in trouble. Donella knew my mom, I thought if i talked to her i could get some answers about… But I shouldn't have gone off without telling anyone-”

“Yeah, you shouldn't have,” Hugo snaps before he can stop himself, tugging at his hair in frustration. Hue takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Sorry. I- we care about you, idiot. And getting into trouble now isn't gonna help you get to the Library any faster.”

Varian says nothing. He follows a few feet behind as Hugo keeps moving.

The thing is. 

( “You’ve fallen in love with him.” )

The thing is that Hugo knows Donella keeps her word.

If he tries to double-cross her by not forfeiting the totems, he knows she will happily use Varian to her advantage. There was a gleam of interest in her eyes when she sussed out his curse, and that spells danger too great to tempt. So yeah, giving up is the safest way for Varian, especially if she really lets Hugo in to find a cure afterwards…He could possibly even talk her into letting Varian in, too. 

If Varian will even speak to him after this, that is.

She gave him two options, but maybe he can think of a third. Maybe he wants to be selfish. It’s just sad that you got attached , part of him whispers. People betray, people hurt .

That’s true , he thinks bitterly. But not of them; of me.

… 

Since her first time sitting for citizens’ petitions, Rapunzel has gotten much better at handling the role but that doesn’t make it any less tiring. It’s always a blessing when everyone’s needs have been met so she can finally collapse onto her bed or escape for a long ride with Max and Eugene. So when Feldspar finally shuffles out, and seemingly nobody else in sight, she is happily planning her escape.

Then there’s a knock on the door and she heaves a sigh, signaling the guards to let in none other than Quirin of Old Corona. A genuine smile lights her face.

“Quirin! To what do I owe the pleasure? I hope everything is alright in your village?” she greets as he approaches. 

“Quite alright,” he confirms with a humble bow. “I just thought you’d like to know that, well–” he turns and smiles at the door through which he came. “My son has returned.”

A familiar head pokes around the door sheepishly and Rapunzel bursts from her seat with the renewed energy of an ignited firework.

“Varian!!” she squeals, already halfway across the room by the time her friend gets past the threshold. She swallows him in a hug that lifts him off his feet with a squeak. “Oh my goodness, and who are your friends?!”

“Th-these are the ones I mentioned in my last letter,” Varian manages, smiling widely as she drinks in his appearance and that of the four people over his shoulder. “Yong, Nuru, H-Hugo, and um–”

“CASS!” Rapunzel squeals in higher pitch, excitement doubling as she races to hug the other friend she hasn’t seen in several months. Cassandra, looking just as remembered in her green travel clothes, reciprocates the embrace with a happy sort of resignation. “You guys met up? Why wasn’t I invited! I feel like I’ve missed so much!”

“Ran into this lot while I was doing undercover work in Socria,” Cass says, nodding toward Varian and company with a sly smile. “After getting them out of some trouble, I thought I’d just escort them all the way back while I was at it. Plus I haven’t visited in awhile so it’s only fair.” 

“Your princess doesn’t wear shoes,” the younger boy named Yong states curiously, tugging Varian’s arm. 

The girl Nuru makes a show of stepping out of her shoes and picking them up in one hand. “I love it here already,” she sighs. “It’s nice to meet other royalty who can be laid back about appearance.” She holds out a hand to Rapunzel, and the two are quickly caught up in conversation. 

“Sunshine, what’s all this noise?” Eugene’s voice asks as he rounds the corner from the other side of the room. “I thought by now you would’ve been done with–” his eyes flicker around the small crowd and widen comically when they land on Varian. “KID! You’re back!”

Rapunzel clasps her hands happily as her two favorite boys collide and Varian’s sorely-missed laughter rings out in the throne room. Eugene pats Varian all over like a mother hen checking over a chick and her heart swells. 

“My eyes must be playing tricks on me,” Eugene mutters, smiling despite his mock disbelief as he measures the crown of Varian’s head. “Have you gotten taller?”

Varian opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by a new voice snickering, “He wasn’t that tall to begin with.” Everyone turns to the blond boy who’s been mostly keeping to himself thus far, hands behind his back and keen eyes taking in the goings on in what Rapunzel might call uncertainty. Despite the new attention on him, he only levels a humored look at Varian’s glare.

“Wow, a short joke, I’ve never heard one of those before,” Varian says sarcastically.

“You might say it’s low hanging fruit,” the blond returns, smirk widening.

“Hugo, I am trying to have a happy moment with my family, do you mind not making me want to smack you for five min –”

“You!” Eugene interrupts, leaning around Varian and pointing at Hugo with a dumbstruck look on his face. His eyebrows draw down. “Do I know you?”

Hugo stares at Rapunzel’s husband, expression morphing from confused to carefully blank. “Definitely not.”

“I do know you!” Eugene erupts, shifting Varian behind him and stalking forward “Hang on, are you that scrawny backstabbing brat who dropped a piano–”

“Gee, would you look at the time!” Hugo says, unsubtly backing away from Eugene in equal strides, sliding a sleeve up to check the wrist watch he doesn't have. “It was nice meeting everyone–”

He backs straight into Xavier, and for a moment gets a startled deer look in his eye and he turns and looks up at the sturdy blacksmith who has appeared in the doorway. Xavier pats his shoulder and chuckles deeply. 

“Whatever your history with our prince consort, I think you will find people with bad apple histories don’t stay bad apples for long in the Kingdom of Light,” he says, a twinkle in his dark eyes. 

Eugene continues to fume as he hovers by Rapunzel, Varian quickly running to greet Xavier along with Quirin while Nuru, Yong and Cassandra make conversation about accommodations for their stay in the castle. She couldn’t have asked for a better almost-birthday gift, and the thought makes her gasp so loud that everyone looks at her.

“Varian,” she says, forlorn. “We missed your birthday!”

Varian blinks. “Well, most of us had birthdays on the road, Princess. That’s an occupational hazard of going on life-altering journeys. Right, guys?”

Nuru and Yong nod, but Hugo scratches behind his ear, unbothered. “I don’t even have a birthday.” At his companions’ looks, he states matter-of-factly, “Orphan sob story, remember?”

Eugene hums in grudging agreement. 

“You’ve never had a birthday? No cake or presents ever ?” Yong looks scandalized.

Hugo scowls. “You guys knew this already.”

Nuru slugs his shoulder and he jumps back, hissing at her in offense. “That was before we actually cared about you, idiot!”

Rapunzel gasps again and over the sound of their devolving into argument, shouts, “I have a great idea!! Group. Birthday. Party!” 

With the driving force of one very determined princess, it doesn’t take long to plan a small (at Varian’s insistence) but extravagant party. She insists that Varian and his new friends spend the next few days resting and having fun while she, Cass, Eugene and Lance set up the preparations. Decorating the dining hall would be easier if she still had 70 feet of hair to levy herself around to different beams of the room needing streamers, but a ladder is next best.

“Tape!” she calls, and Pascal runs up from the rung below her with a bit of tape extended. She takes it, humming cheerfully as she pins the blue ribbon in place. 

“So…” Cass starts from where she’s laying the table cloth down. “When I got your letter that Varian was going on a road trip, I didn’t think that meant alone .”

It takes a moment for Rapunzel to shift from her decorating mindset into interpreting the meaning her friend implies. “Oooh, you mean because of his problem.”

“Problem?” Lance interjects, placing plates of Atilla’s catering onto the newly clothed table.

“I think the owl lady is referring to how you say ‘jump’ and he says ‘how high’,” Eugene says seriously. To Cass, “Trust me, it was not my idea to let him go alone. I was not for that. I’ve seen how quickly things can go south; I think we all have.”

Cass hums, crossing her arms self-consciously. Rapunzel knows that she’s been protective of Varian out of an abundance of guilt ever since her own redemption, and that it has something to do with whatever happened when she kidnapped him. 

Rapunzel slides down the ladder, planting her feet on the floor. “Of course we worried for him, Cass, but he’s grown a lot! It’s not like we can tell him not to chase his destiny– er, well we could but that would be hypocritical. Besides, he came back to us just fine, and with new friends!” She grins conspiratorially and leans onto the table, cheeks in hand. “And a boyfriend .”

Eugene chokes on the sip of water he’d been taking. “What?!” he demands, outraged. “You- you mean that awful-haired beanpole? No, no way, all they do is argue!”

“That can be a love language,” Lance points out, no doubt considering the amount of love his two girls have despite all their fighting. 

“But–but– I was with them in Varian’s old lab yesterday and they kept stealing each other’s stuff!”

“Sounds like the nerd version of holding hands to me,” Cass snorts, but she looks troubled. “As… sweet as it is, I can’t say I entirely trust the guy. Something feels off about him.”

“Do you think he knows about Varian’s curse?” Eugene asks darkly, stepping close to her and becoming serious. 

“Maybe,” she sighs. “I really hope this Demanitus Library that they’re opening up has something to help him.” Everyone in the room nods in silent agreement. 

Rapunzel puts her hands on her hips. “Well, I can't wait to put Varian and Hugo into situations together. I will water their love garden till it blooms. I am the gardener of love.” 

Her husband rolls his eyes but smiles. “That you are, Sunshine.”

And the party that kicks off that very night is a success, if Rapunzel were to say so herself. The Coronan citizens Varian grew close with over the years come and it warms her heart to see them intermingling with the new ones he brought home with him: Yong being regaled by Angry and Catalina, Nuru talking emphatically with Xavier about a telescope design she’d like to commission, and Hugo–

Hugo hovering at Varian’s side and teasing the boy at every opportunity into giving attention. It comes in the form of sneaking berries off of Varian’s plate, of whispering things into Varian’s ear that either earn him a laugh or a smack, of stealing Varian’s goggles and holding them out of reach until Varian concedes some arbitrary point. Despite the air of annoyance her friend puts on, throughout the pestering Varian’s smile remains, bright and unabashed like he’s forgotten about it on his face as he leans into Hugo’s bids for attention like a flower receiving light. 

She knows Quirin picks up on it too, by the way Rapunzel meets his eyes behind the boy’s heads and they exchange a knowing smile.

There is cake, music and dancing. Small gifts are exchanged among the friends at the center of the celebration, and – having played a small part in Varian’s gift herself– she will admit she settles herself near the exchange to eavesdrop just a little.

“Rapunzel is an artist, and, well,” Varian begins, looking at his friends, “I asked if she could paint these for us…” To each member, he hands out small canvas paintings.

“Oh my goodness,” Nuru breathes. “It’s beautiful!” The portrait portrays her among the stars. Yong is similarly enthralled with the drawing of himself framed by triumphant fireworks. 

“What, I don’t get a picture of me being the best alchemist in the seven kingdoms?’ Hugo teases after peeking at the others, but his fingers brush reverently over his own gift: a painting of the four of them all together smiling out at the viewer. 

Varian’s face reddens and he rubs his arm self-consciously. “Well, you brought up how you never had birthdays because you didn’t have a family. I wanted you to have something that shows… You do now.”

Hugo goes slack-jawed, looking up with wide eyes.

“We’re a family!” Yong cries, rushing to glomp onto Hugo’s side in a tight hug. He awkwardly allows the group hug that it quickly becomes, and gazes at the painting until after Nuru and Yong have gone off to dance some more. When Varian comes back from retrieving a cup of water, Hugo clears his throat.

“Well–” The blond rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve never actually… given a gift before, and uh– I didn’t do anything like this , but… You should know that this morning I synthesized a compound which I’ve decided to call Varinium.” From out of his pocket he produces a vial of blue liquid, shaking it so it glows.

Varian blinks in surprise, then a lopsided grin splits his face. “Yeah, I guess I do deserve this. So, what does it do? Explode in people’s faces? Inconsistently produce semi-useful results?”

Hugo grins slyly. “Well, the main reason is that it’s surprisingly strong.”

Rapunzel smothers her grin in the back of her hand to keep from giggling too loudly, but luckily any noise she might’ve made is covered by the sound of Varian himself cracking up. 

…

The day they complete the Light Trial, Varian is excited to discover that when they combine all the totems they’ve earned so far, they form a miniature model of something that supposedly opens a portal into the Library for which the totems act as a key. He decides on his old chamber below the castle as the perfect place to build it.

His Coronan friends rotate through the chamber as it gets closer to construction as the feeling of excitement grows among them. Hugo seems antsy in particular, getting cross and looking after the many visitors with mutters of, “Doesn’t this place have any security?” He can’t stop pacing, suggesting Varian take more breaks, offering to take over. Varian doesn’t understand, but he can’t think too hard about it. 

The Library is so close. 

Varian suppresses a twinge of annoyance when Yong’s voice interrupts his hyperfocus screwing in one of the last panels. “Varian, have you noticed this?” 

When Varian tugs his goggles back and looks, he sees his young apprentice peering at the Light totem with squinted eyes. “Huh?”

“What’s that, Sparkles?” Hugo asks, beelining for whatever Yong is pointing out. 

“Something is written here. Not– not anything I understand, but you’re the one who knows codes,” Yong says, referring to Varian. Varian leans in– and smiles.

“I never thought I’d see this again,” he says, but despite the years since his translation job helping Rapunzel, he’s spent enough time staring at Demanitus’ code to be able to recognize it like an old friend. “Demanitus, you mad genius. It’s some kind of password phrase.” 

Demanitus certainly liked his puzzles. It makes Varian feel like this library is meant for him and his mom in that way– since they share a familiarity with codes and code breaking, based on the way she journaled and how he was able to crack it. 

Hugo looks up sharply. “You mean… someone wouldn’t be able to open the library without that code?” 

“Well I’m glad you found it!” Nuru calls from where she’s carrying over supplies. “That would be embarrassing if we got all this way and couldn’t get the door open. You know how to read it, right, Varian?” 

“Of course!” Varian chirps, but then he tilts his head. “Actually… I’ll admit I’m a bit rusty with some of this. But I know exactly the book in Corona’s library that will help me.” He pulls a sheet of paper close to scribble down a copy then peels himself up.

Footsteps bound after him. “I’ll come with you,” Hugo says.

“Oh,” Varian says dumbly, red coloring his face. “Um, I’ll be right back…”

“No, no, you two can go,” Nuru insists, smirking. Varian looks at her with wide eyes and she winks.

“We’ve got this,” Yong adds, picking up a tool that is definitely not a screwdriver and heading for the part Varian left off on. Varian reaches out to correct him but then stalls. 

“Fine, just…fine,” he sighs. Hugo snickers and butterflies fill Varian’s stomach at the crooked smile on the other boy’s face. He can’t help but smile a bit also, flushing harder and attempting to hide it by spinning on his heel to lead the way.

The library is empty save for the old librarian reading something at his desk and a worker browsing the shelves who doesn't even glance their way when Varian and Hugo walk in. Varian goes straight for the stacks he used to frequent back when translation study was his full-time job, and against his better judgment he can’t seem to turn off his motor mouth, info-dumping and tripping over himself like an idiot as he looks for the familiar spine of the book he wants.

“--wait, a demon?”

Varian pauses, looking at Hugo who has a quizzical look on his face. “Huh?”

“You just said you fought a demon.”

To be honest, Varian’s not sure exactly what words have been coming out of his mouth. Get it together. “Oh. Yeah, well, I did. Not me personally– the princess and her friends did most of it– I just helped get the translations…”

Hugo stares a moment longer before taking a seat. “This kingdom is weird.”

Varian grins, setting the heavy volume on the table beside him. “What, no demons in Ingvar?”

“Just the ones disguised as people.”

“Ah.” Varian taps his fingers on the table, momentarily stalling before he grabs for the book he wanted and flips it open. He pulls out the paper he wrote the Demanitus scrawl on and lays it out alongside the page filled with common symbols and their meanings. He’s hyper aware of Hugo learning in and tries not to think about the closeness of their body heat as he traces the text with one finger. “Okay… Okay, just what I thought. I got it.”

He snaps the book shut with self-satisfaction and Hugo blinks. “Aren’t you going to write it down?”

Varian shrugs, carting the book back to its place on the shelf. “Well I–” he pauses at a judgemental cough from the librarian and wilts, placing the book onto a sorting cart instead. The librarian nods and Varian starts again, at a lower volume. “I can, but I don’t think it’s necessary. it’s not like I’m going to forget.”

“Still, it might be a good idea…” Hugo insists, fidgeting. Before Varian can respond, the other boy snags a notepad and quill from the center of the table and scoots them in his direction expectantly. Slowly Varian resumes his seat and takes them, but not without shooting a quizzical look Hugo’s way.

“There,” he says, holding it out for him to see.

Hugo’s eyes dart across the line of text and he snorts. “A cheesy rhyme?” 

“Oh, Demanitus loves cheesy rhymes,” Varian confirms, withdrawing to fold the paper into his pocket and stand with a stretch. “Somehow the rhyme holds steady between translations, which is the real magic if you ask–”

“Varian,” Hugo interrupts. There’s an… odd expression on his face. He looks caught in a trance, eyebrows drawn minutely in discomfort and gaze not leaving Varian’s vest wherein the translation disappeared. His mouth opens and his throat works as though there are words stuck in there that he can’t quite get out. Then he raises a hand, palm up and says softly, “Let me hang onto it.”

Unease knots in Varian’s stomach unexpectedly and he tilts his head, considering Hugo’s face a moment longer as he delays the instinct to obey. There’s something wrong in the way Hugo won’t meet his eyes, in the way that he said it. Deliberate. 

But it wasn’t intentionally an order, Varian argues with his irrational side. All his friends have accidentally ordered him around before, and this is by far one of the most harmless examples... 

And this is Hugo . Hugo who has given no reason at all for Varian to feel such suspicion.

Before the knot in his stomach can intensify, Varian lowers a hand slowly back to the pocket and takes hold of the paper. He pauses, prompting Hugo to finally look up at him. Is it the fading sunlight glinting off his glasses, or is there something afraid behind his eyes?

Varian drops the translation into his waiting palm. Hugo’s fingers close around it and withdraw in one quick motion, breaking the odd spell. A smile plasters on his face that looks like many other smarmy, confident smiles Hugo has given Varian over the past half a year, but somehow feels like a bad imitation at the same time.

“You have the memory of an elephant already, Goggles,” Hugo says by way of explanation, still smiling wrongly. “You’ve gotta leave something for the rest of us to use.”

“Heh, I guess that’s fair,” Varian says, returning a half-hearted smile of his own. 

He shakes his head, trying to brush the whole interaction away. Hugo seems eager to do the same, and the two make quick work of starting up a more comfortable banter as they head back to the Demanitus chamber. Varian is even in the middle of a genuine laugh when they round the corner of the stairwell. 

It’s only when he looks up that the sound dies in his throat, the scene hitting him like a slap in the face and making him stumble back.

Nuru and Yong are where they left them, but now lay on the floor with legs trapped by crystals of adhesive alchemical compound and gags tied around their mouths, muffling their yells of warning. 

“Guys! What happened?” Varian cries, rushing forward and leaning down to inspect Yong’s bonds. His young friend looks behind him with wide eyes.

“Well,” a new voice purrs, so maliciously self-satisfied that ice cascades through Varian’s veins before he recognizes to whom it belongs. He whirls as a vice-like grip closes around one of his wrists. “Isn’t it nice to see you again.”

Donella of Ingvar grins down at him. 

“You!” he growls, gritting his teeth and yanking away. He grabs for alchemical bomb, pulls his arm back to threaten her with it–

She calmly orders, “Drop it,” and the pink goo splats to the ground uselessly, barely missing trapping his own two feet as he jumps back. “Oh, that is a fun little trick…” she muses. “What else can I make you do?”

Varian’s heart sinks and he tugs at her hold helplessly. She grins. 

“ Don’t you dare ,” Hugo’s voice hisses, low and threatening from behind. Donella turns to face him. 

There’s another guy, big and muscly and working for Donella if his Ingvarrian clothing is anything to go by, and he’s got a tight grip on Hugo’s upper arm. Hugo isn’t fighting the hold but he is looking at Donella darkly, fists clenched and anger burning in his green eyes. 

“Brat,” she greets appraisingly, untouched by Hugo’s heat. 

She tosses Varian’s hand away and clasps her hands behind her back, approaching Hugo as though coming to inspect the progress of any other project. She raises his chin with one finger and tuts when he pulls away from the touch. “I haven’t heard from you in awhile. Did you think just because you stopped writing that I wouldn’t find you when time came to collect? You know better than that.”

Varian doesn't know what that means, so much is happening so fast, but he sees anguish twist Hugo’s face and his chest tightens protectively. “Leave him alone!” he yells. 

Donella actually laughs. “Oh, darling,” she says. “You should thank me. In fact– yes. Thank me.”

“Don!” Hugo yells angrily, kicking out against the guy holding him. Donella ignores him, her interest wholly in Varian.

“Th–” Varian bites his tongue till he tastes copper, and the nausea forces his jaw apart. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says diplomatically. “For allowing you to get this far, that is. The charade is done but I’m sure you had fun while it lasted. Once I see that what you’ve built is functional, the Library entrance will be disassembled and rebuilt in Ingvar, where it belongs.” She gestures, and the shadows at the edges of the room step forward, shaping into a dozen or so Ingvarrian men. “Where it has always belonged, ever since your good-for-nothing mother stole it from me in the first place.”

“You can’t do this,” Varian breathes, backing away. He turns– there, his alchemical staff.

“I think you’ll find I can. Leave it,” Donella says, and Varian’s hands drop from his weapon as though burned. Desperately he casts about for something else and she doesn’t even try to stop him, just watches in amusement as he grasps at a wrench instead. He barely turns and brandishes it as Donella shakes her head and points to the ground as if telling a dog to sit. “Nuh uh. Hands behind your back.”

Varian curses, throwing as much resistance as he can into pushing his hands up against his head instead but it’s like going against a magnetic field: the effort makes blood pound in his ears and his wrists shake, and after a handful of infinite seconds he falls to his knees with a gasp and bends down before her, hands chained to invisibly bindings at his back. 

Disgust rolls through him; by his panting it seems he’d been holding up the sky, not something so little as trying not to obey. 

Through the static in his ears he makes out shouting.

“Stop, just stop!” Hugo’s voice is frantic, high-pitched with terror. “You got what you wanted, Don! Just leave him alone already! Cyrus, let me go !” 

Through the gaps in his bangs Varian peers up to see the other boy straining against his captor, pale and wide-eyed. He inhales sharply as he meets Varian’s gaze, and Varian burns with embarrassment. 

Donella ignores Hugo with the indifference of a parent waiting out a child’s tantrum, but the expression gives way to actual interest as Hugo reaches into his pocket and holds something out to her. She regards Varian with one last look of curiosity before strolling back and snatching whatever it is out of Hugo’s hand.

At the same moment Varian’s heart clenches in realization. “No!” 

But it’s too late and betrayal washes through him like nausea: Donella must recognize the paper because her eyes light up eagerly.

“So you did come through,” she murmurs, tussling Hugo’s hair roughly. “Good boy.”

It’s then that Varian is hit with two realizations simultaneously: 

The first is that Donella and Hugo are displaying far too much familiarity for their relationship to have begun recently. 

And the second… 

“You knew,” Varian breathes, denial in his tone even as he realizes it, the words tasting like ash. Hugo flinches back, shrinking in on himself. “You knew all along.”

Hugo goes a shade of gray like he’s going to be sick. The grunt holding him lets go and he takes a step forward, hand reaching out as though he could recall this whole situation. “Varian, I…”

Varian shrinks back. 

He’s thinking, trying to look back and pinpoint when he’d started to relax around Hugo. It was subconscious, but he can see in rearview– it was because Hugo never gave orders. He must've figured it out, saved it… because he was never on Varian's side, was he?

Hugo doesn’t pick up from where he trailed off.

And something in Varian cracks. 

“Oh, yes,” Donella relishes, bypassing both of them in favor of approaching the machine that’s effectively just become hers. “Hugo is always good at playing his parts, that’s why I gave him this assignment in the first place— ” 

Nuru sucks in a breath so sharply that Varian looks at her. She’s shaking her head and to her side Yong’s eyes shine with tears of disbelief. 

“—but letting me in on your little secret was a special prize,” Donella finishes. “One of the marks is a teenager who does whatever he’s told? Now, that’s not something you hear about every day.”

“That’s not how it happened!” Hugo refutes, but he’s just standing there, looking between his friends pleadingly. His gaze lingers on Varian. “I wouldn’t, I didn’t, I-I never mean for this to happen—” 

There’s a ringing in Varian’s ears that superimposes over everything else. He’s vaguely aware that more is said, that Donella isn’t done gloating as she puts the key into the portal and uses the code to bring it to life. There’s an explosion of light and wind gusting into the cavern of Demanitus’ chambers underneath the castle of his favorite kingdom and Donella’s wide smile is lit harshly with green-white light as she beholds the spiraling door with awe, her Ingvarrians around them backing away, but Varian is registering it as though it happens to someone else. He’s gone numb. 

In the chaos that his world has become he feels a hand grip his arm and looks up to see Hugo pulling him to his feet, mouth moving soundlessly. He takes Varian’s hands and Varian snaps back into his body with vicious clarity. 

He pushes back. 

Over the wind Varian hears the other boy yelling, “Varian, I can explain. If you just listen—”

In one fluid movement Varian snaps up his alchemical staff and points it directly at Hugo’s chest like a sword, eyes blazing despite the tears that he can now feel budding at their corners. Hugo freezes, expression raw and heartbroken. Varian doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

He growls, “Do not tell me what to do.”

He turns and launches a bomb into the controls of the portal, which jam as it begins to shut off. Lightning arcs over the panels of the machine and Donella shrieks in outrage.

Just before the portal blinks out of existence, Varian pushes forward and disappears into a blinding white light.

Chapter Text

As long as he can remember, Varian has had to do what people tell him to do. 

If he thinks back to that first time his dad sat him down and explained that not everyone does what they’re told, he remembers feeling genuine confusion. When he really thinks about it, he had seen other kids be unruly and noncompliant with their parents before and assumed that they just followed directions better when he wasn’t watching. After his talk with his dad, he began watching those other kids with envy and it’s a habit he never really stopped. 

Being free to choose is a gift everyone else has, but nobody but Varian would be grateful for. In darker moments he considers whether the only true solution is to isolate himself from anyone and everyone who takes it from him. Because at the end of the day, isn’t the core problem of his curse just other people?

As he steps through the portal and the white light filling his vision fades, Varian blinks dazedly at the otherworldly scene taking place of where he was moments before. No longer is he underground, or in a castle– but at the same time he’s not exactly outside. 

The Eternal Library expands around him in a never ending world unlike any he’s seen before. It is brightly lit but when he traces his gaze vertically up the shelves that reach like towers into the sky, there are pearly white clouds forming a high-rise ceiling and no sun to be seen. The shelves themselves are formed as if grown there like trees, the wood both alive and actively growing: leaves, vines and flowers drape over an endless eclectic collection of books that look taken from every time and place imaginable. 

The sight makes Varian’s breath catch in awe.

He turns in a slow circle, impossibly trying to take it all in. When he comes to a 180 degree turn facing the direction from which he came, he sees an empty framework similar to the Demanitus device that got him here. Tentatively he reaches out and feels the air on the other side. Nothing happens. The energy source keeping the door open has been disrupted. He feels a muted spark of unease at the thought that he may very well be trapped here. Alone.

His mouth tightens. Good.

He turns back to the Library, roughly brushing away the residue of tears in his eyes, and begins walking. 

…

Everything is on fire.

Not literally, but it may as well be for the devastation Hugo feels: his chest is scorched as though a forest fire has spread and burnt out all that he had growing within him for the past half a year. All the little roots of hope that against all odds he let himself plant. He’s hearing Donella scream about un-gunking the machinery Varian sabotaged before he disappeared and seeing the men scramble to try and help her, and feels that he’s fallen to his knees but for all the sensory information his brain offers, it feels like he can’t process beyond one thing:

The look on Varian’s face when he’d looked him in the eye knowing that Hugo gave him an order he couldn’t refuse and used it to betray him. As far as injuries go, the pain of a burn is the closest to how this feels: consistent and unwilling to be soothed, as if the flames live on under his skin. 

“-go. Hugo !” he vaguely registers someone calling. He turns his head.

Nuru has managed to spit out her gag and is glaring at him thunderously. Yeah, that’s about what he deserves. Once she sees that she’s got his attention, she frowns. “What are you doing, idiot? Get us out of these!”

Hugo blinks, looking at the alchemical crystal that binds her and Yong to the floor. It takes a second to register that he does in fact know this compound, and has access to the dissolving solution. It’s not like Don or anyone else is paying attention to him anymore, now that she’s gotten what she wanted. He braces himself and staggers to his feet. 

Their eyes follow as he frees them but he can’t reciprocate. They know now– just like Varian does– exactly what he is. And so he keeps his gaze on the dirty floor.

“Blech,” Yong spits, pulling the gag out of his own mouth as soon as the crystal around his arms dissolves. He falls back on his haunches and frowns, both he and Nuru warily eyeing the goons around them. “Wh-what do we do now?”

Nuru, for her part, takes it upon herself to sock Hugo in the arm. Hard. He jolts away, the pain bringing him back to himself.

“What the hell!” she cries, and oh, now Hugo thinks he understands the punch behind the phrase I’m not mad, I’m disappointed . The anger in her eyes has simmered to something mournful, something rightfully betrayed. “We trusted you! Was all of it a lie?”

“No!” Hugo says quickly, holding his hands up. “I–I was working for her in the beginning, but that was before I knew you guys. I tried to switch sides, I promise I did. It’s just hard, Donella’s– she took care of me for a long time when I had nobody, I might’ve died as a kid on the streets without her… and I owe her for that. I–I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“What was that with Varian?” Yong asks, brown eyes wide and voice small. “He was doing what that lady said but, like, it hurt him.”

“Donella put a curse on him a long time ago,” Hugo says, tone darkening. “Or at least she– well, I don’t know all the details. The Library might have a cure for him and I want to help him get that, but Donella said if she didn’t get her way she wouldn’t let me do that. And I wanted– I was trying–” 

To his embarrassment, his voice chokes up. Hugo ducks his head and swipes at his eyes discreetly. 

“You were trying to do the right thing,” Nuru finishes, voice softer but still intense. She puts a hand on his arm. “Hugo. Do you really mean that? Is it the truth?”

He looks up with all the conviction he can muster. “Yes.”

She searches his face. Squeezes his arm. “Then we’re going to fix this,” she says.

Yong smiles, but he’s bouncing on his heels anxiously. “How?” 

“You have Olivia with you, right, Hugo?” 

Hugo nods, retrieving his little mouse from the pocket she rests in while powered down. With a chirp she blinks to life and looks around at them. Nuru smiles and leans in.

… 

It’s hard to tell how long he walks. Time seems funny here… malleable. Like it could slip away like water in cupped palms. Varian isn’t going anywhere in particular, just tries to keep moving and keep from feeling too much. 

The scenery around him changes from setting to setting– there’s a winding path he follows and it takes him past a babbling stream and a variety of plant life both familiar and unfamiliar. Eventually it thickens into a forest, the bookshelves still sprouting out of the earth interspersed among the trees, and it’s in this environment that he turns a corner and his breath catches.

There is a woman, middle-aged looking like his dad and with fiery orange hair braided into a crown, sitting nestled under a tree with a book on the lap of her turquoise dress. With the light through the leaves falling over her in splotches, she looks like something out of a painting. Varian thinks for a second that she could be some kind of image, since so far he hasn’t run into a single other person, but when his foot lands and snaps a twig, she looks up.

Startled blue eyes the exact shade of Varian’s own meet his, and he knows exactly who this is with a certainty as sure as the air filling his lungs. He knew it was a possibility that he might find her here, but he didn’t want to let himself hope for it. Now…

He breathes, “Mom?”

The woman gasps, hands going to clasp over her mouth, her book slipping forgotten to the floor. “Varian?” she asks, voice like a forgotten lullaby. “My baby… is that you?”

He nods, throat suddenly tight. Something indescribable swells in him as she comes close and places a gentle hand on his cheek. Her thumb caresses the wisp of blue hair in his fringe and her eyes drink in the sight of him. She sobs and pulls him into a tight hug. “My sweet boy… I knew you would come for me one day.” 

“Mom,” he says, and the word still feels unfamiliar in his mouth, even though his senses are overwhelmed with how familiar she feels. “Wow, I– I really found you. I completed the seven trials of Demanitus, I-I used the journal you left behind.”

“I know,” she sniffs, pulling back to smile weakly at him, still holding his face. “I know, I’ve been watching! You’ve grown so much, you’ve been so brave!” 

His brow furrows. “Watching?”

She laces her fingers in his and smiles wider. “Come. I have so much to show you.”

Varian is startled out of the reverence of this moment by the involuntary pull of his feet following hers. He sucks in a breath, the reasons why he tried so hard to get here all flooding back at once and dampening his spirits. Ulla is still caught up in her excitement so he has to tug his hand away to get her attention. She looks at him quizzically.

“There’s, um, there’s something I need to ask about before we get carried away,” he says. She nods, gesturing to a natural bench of stumps alongside the path for them to sit. Varian takes a deep breath. “Mom, there was something you experimented on called the Iolite of Obedience, an artifact that Donella brought you from the Spire. Do you remember what happened to it? It’s important.”

Ulla searches his face. “Yes…?” she says slowly. Realization and then worry dawns on her face. “Oh. Oh, Varian, no… Here, let’s– I can show you.”

She reaches down and dips a hand into the pool of water that wells up in a fountain beside them, closing her eyes and concentrating. As he watches, the water shimmers and swirls from a reflection of their images into a different place entirely. The scene portrays the interior of the home Varian knows so well, but not quite as he remembers it– the furniture is arranged differently, the table cluttered with vials and beakers that aren’t his. Among them leans a younger Ulla, goggles over her eyes as she scribbles away in a journal not so different from the one Varian has spent so many hours pouring over. 

A pear-cut gem the blue color of a midnight sky lays in the middle of the workspace, gleaming ominously in the light of the hearth. 

“Now, now, now,” reflection-Ulla is mumbling, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she picks up the rock between her thumb and forefinger. “If magic is real, and this fancy little rock has any… you better start spilling your secrets. Ella thinks we’ve got it covered, but even she can’t turn down adding some, er– texture to the scientific process.”

Varian snorts without thinking about it, and it takes him a moment to realize why– it’s like watching himself. He claims that his verbal stream of consciousness is mostly directed to Ruddiger but the truth is that he talks things through whether or not he has someone to direct it to. 

An odd foreboding overshadows any sentimentality he feels watching this flashback when a new figure that can only be himself enters the room. His younger counterpart looks between 8-10 months old– newly crawling age. He putters along under the table in the direction of the fireplace unseen by his mother and unaware of the danger he’s nearing.

Ulla catches sight of him just as one chubby arm reaches out for the flames, and she gasps, “Varian, stop !” 

Little Varian freezes. Obedient.

The infant bursts into tears at the panic in his mother’s voice and Ulla’s eyes are all for him, not at all on the forgotten gem clenched in her hand. Varian watching in the present sees it, though: the gem glows a bright blue, and then the color leaves it entirely. Ulla discards the now-gray rock thoughtlessly in favor of scooping and cradling her distressed infant. 

“Hush now,” she comforts, and the baby’s cries cut out despite his still-wobbling lip. “I have you now, you’re safe. Momma will keep you safe, no matter what.”

The scene ripples silver as Ulla retracts her hand from the pond’s surface and Varian looks up to see her staring at him, horrified.

“At the time, I just thought– I thought it never showed any power because magic is–” she waves her hand distractedly “–fickle and unpredictable. But now I see that when I shouted, all its power must’ve gone into…”

“Me.” 

Varian, despite everything, feels like bursting into laughter. Laughing until he can’t breathe, gasping until those breaths turn into sobs. “Okay, that’s… fine,” he chokes. “Heh. This– I’m only minorly on the edge of a mental breakdown with this information. It was just– an accident? I’ve been this way my whole life because of an accident. Something you didn’t even know you did.” After all this time of asking himself why me , it feels like a slap in the face that there wasn’t even an intended purpose behind his suffering.

“You must be so mad at me,” Ulla says, and bulldozes through Varian’s weak protest while running her hands through her hair anxiously. “No, it’s okay if you do! Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I should’ve been more aware, I just wanted you safe, and I– if I had realized what I’d done, I would’ve found a way to reverse it! We’ll still find a way to reverse it. Look around us, we have all of eternity at our disposal!”

Varian does look around, swallowing past the bitter ache of unfairness in his chest.

It’s not her fault, he thinks. It doesn’t help to look back… they have to look forward now. He takes her outstretched hand again and nods.

She smiles.

…

“Hugo!” Donella barks. “Get over here.”

She’s pacing back and forth in front of the machinery, lashing out at her own men as her temper grows more impatient. At this point they’ve all been shewed away and it’s just her working frantically over the controls. Hugo makes sure to keep a good bit of distance between them when he approaches, hands behind his back. “Yes?”

“You know the formula for the brat’s compound, correct?” She gestures to the pink goo. At Hugo’s nod, she says, “Then I’d love to know why you’re not already telling me that formula ?”

Hugo looks around. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I can do that,” he says lazily, just to piss her off. “But I need to tell you something else first.”

She snarls. “What?”

“This,” he says, pulling a green vial off his belt and shaking it so it lights up, “is Hugorium.” Turning to where Donella’s tool box lays and, before she can respond, throws it in. The acid sizzles explosively as it eats through all the backup alchemical weapons. She jolts forward, a shocked screech on the tip of her tongue, but he beats her to it, finishing, “It’s called that because it’s ineffective and ruins everything.”

“Why you insolent –”

“Hey now,” a new voice interrupts, and their attention snaps up to the top of the staircase where his royal travesty Eugene Fitzherbert– along with his wife, looking less like a pacifist than usual with that frying pan, and Cassandra, sword at the ready– perch above them like three avenging angels. “If we’re coming up with insults for the beanpole, I’ll have you know I get first dibs.”

“Good job, Olivia!” Yong cheers, and the mouse in question preens from atop Rapunzel’s head, leaping onto the guard rail as the newcomers charge down the stairs. They’re followed swiftly by at least as many Coronan soldiers as it takes to match the Ingvarrians. 

Yells overtake the cavern and Hugo doesn’t hesitate to dispense a smoke/stink bomb onto the side where Donella’s men are gathered. They cry out in disorientation and crash into one another, making easy prey for the rescue party to disarm and incapacitate further. In the chaos he trades his glasses for goggles and hurries to the work table at the edge of the room where beakers and chemicals lay waiting strewn about: Varian’s labeling is atrocious but Hugo’s seen him work enough times to recognize the ingredients for his dissolvant. 

He has just compiled everything he needs when a shadowy reflection in one of the glasses makes him dodge to the left, a sword slashing the air where he was just one second later.

“After all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me.” There’s a glint of madness in Donella’s eyes, and Hugo takes in her weapon uneasily. It’s a saber of her own design, electrified and sparking, not designed to cut but to stun. Well at least she doesn’t want me 100% dead. “You would throw me aside for something better, just like Ulla? Getting attached to a job is the biggest rookie mistake in the book. I was your family .”

“Family?” Hugo scoffs. “This ‘job’, Don, they’ve shown me that they’re more my family than you ever were. They actually care about each other unconditionally, not just for what I can give them.”

There’s a flash of pain in her eyes, and she lashes out again with a grunt. Hugo dodges. “Is that right?” she spits. “Well, if I was so useless to you all along, you might as well not have wasted my time! To think I gave a single shit about you.”

Behind them the Coronans are finishing off the last of their victory, and Hugo catches sight of Cassandra skirting the circumference of his confrontation with Donella, catching his eye meaningfully. 

“Don,” he says, grasping onto something behind his back. "I’m sorry. But you’ve lost.” 

In one quick motion he throws the beaker out to the left where it combusts upon impact with the ground, and that distraction is all Cassandra needs to get the jump on the older woman. In moments Donella is on her knees, saber cast aside and arms restrained at her back in the same position she forced upon Varian earlier. Hugo feels a pang of heartache at the sight of her defeat and turns his focus away to the chemicals instead. 

“What happened?” Rapunzel is asking, checking Yong and Nuru over. She looks around frantically. “Where– where’s Varian?”

“He locked himself in the Library,” Hugo answers, wincing at the full story that he knows he is going to have to give them soon. Just maybe not while Varian’s big brother figure is looking so armed and dangerous. He nimbly combines and stirs at the dissolvant solution as he continues, “I’m going in after him.” 

“No!” Donella yells, and Hugo is surprised to hear genuine fear in her tone. “Hugo, listen, you think you’re invincible but it’s too dangerous. You have to wait until my men have scouted it out first, who knows what could–”

“No!” he interrupts, a well of anger suddenly rising to the forefront as he storms over. “ You listen. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. If Varian is in danger, I’m going after him. End of story.”

The cavern goes very quiet and Donella looks up at him with an expression of shock as though seeing Hugo for the first time. He holds her stare challengingly.

“If I know Ulla like I think I do,” she says slowly, “Then she is still alive in there.”

“Ulla?” Nuru asks. “Isn’t that–”

“Varian’s mom?” Hugo finishes, brow furrowing.

Donella nods, gaze wary. “When we opened the library the first time, she locked herself inside. Eighteen years isolated from humanity with infinite knowledge and power at your fingertips is a lot for anyone, but Ulla… she‘ll be dangerous. She will do anything to keep the world out, even if it means trapping her son in there with her.”

… 

Varian walks with his mom for yet another indeterminable amount of time, exploring the ethereal sights and sounds of the Library as Ulla opens up to him about her time there, becoming animated as she goes from shelf to shelf dumping information on him that he hardly has time to process. She talks about what she’s learned, the different areas she’s mapped out during her time here, and various artifacts that allow her to see glimpses of the world outside the Library. 

“Oh, and this is my latest discovery! Come, watch this!” she beams, and Varian can’t help but notice with a wince that she’s not exactly attempting to censor her own orders. He obediently follows her to the edge of a field of flowers. “I think it was 3 years ago– or maybe 5? I’m not sure– But I figured out that since I’ve been sustaining myself on the food and water available to me here in the Library that I’ve become infused with its magic! Enough so that the environment itself will respond to my will.” 

She gestures out and as Varian watches, the rainbow buds of the plant before them blooms in a colorful wave following the pass of her hand. 

“Fascinating,” he breathes, crouching to look into the newly opened flowers with a genuine smile of interest. Her enthusiasm is contagious. He has a feeling that he would be able to explore this place for the rest of his life and never grow bored. 

“Isn’t it?” She lays a hand on his back. “Soon, you will be able to do the same. All it takes is a little time for your body cells to absorb the ambient magic. Oh, cells! Fascinating science, that, I’ll tell you all about it soon enough.”

He smiles at her but it soon falls. “Mom?” he asks, biting his lip. “Why… Why didn’t you ever come home to me and Dad?”

“I would have, baby,” she says, hurrying to take his hands in her conviction. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t missed you with all my heart. When I came here with Ella and learned that she intended to squander this place’s secrets, I found a way to lock her out, but it only worked as a double-edged sword– it locked me inside as well. Forever.”

“You mean you can’t ever leave?” Varian asks, stomach dropping. 

Ulla nods sadly. “That’s the way it is, I’m afraid. But! You braved the dangers of Demanitus’ quest and earned your place here, and I can’t think of a better way to spend eternity than with my son by my side. We belong here, Varian. You and I can protect the library from the world.”

Varian laughs uneasily. “Mom, I’m– I’m so glad to see you, meeting you is a dream come true– but I mean, I have to go back. There are people out there who have a lot to gain from this knowledge too.”

She tilts her head, face pulling into a frown.

“Varian, you have a soft heart. I was naive like that once too, always trying to see the good in the world; When it comes down to it, though, people are selfish. They use you. They’ve used you . That pesky curse? Well, nobody can use it against you anymore as long as you’re here. Don’t you want to be free?”

Varian pulls away. “Yeah, but…”

He casts about for what to say and comes up short, wilting a little under the intense look his mom is pinning him with. There’s something almost possessive in her eyes.

Abruptly she turns and begins walking along a path as though a particular purpose has just struck her. She doesn’t look back to make sure he’s following, but asks as she goes, “How about this: tell me, what would keep you from going back?”

Varian answers, “My family, of course– I can't just leave them! Think about dad, and the others are waiting for me– Rapunzel and Eugene, or Yong, Nuru and–” he stops, pain piercing heart like a needle. His tongue goes dead. 

Ulla perceives the shift. “It’s that boy isn’t it? The one who broke your heart.” When he looks at her in question, she nods toward the crystal waters knowingly. “I knew he was Donella’s pet from the moment I laid eyes on him; he’s the same as her, Varian. You still think things can work between you two, but they can't.”

Varian shakes his head despite the ache in his heart. “It’s true. I trusted him and he hurt me. But Mom, I– I was the bad guy once, and I’d still be in prison if I never got a second chance. I just think… It wouldn’t be right to run from my problems forever. I want to hear him out.”

When he looks back he can see that Hugo was struggling with something all along, making abhorred attempts to tell him something that never quite came out— and Varian realizes that if Hugo had truly wanted to use the curse against him, he didn't have to wait until the Library. There must be more to the story. 

Ulla slams her fist down onto the closest shelf with a thunk, making Varian jump. “Why, so he can lie to you some more!?” she demands, a cynical, almost hysterical note pitching her voice. “No.” Slowly she turns and faces him, but her eyes are shadowed and distant. “He must pay for betraying your trust. Did you know… the ritual I used to lock Ella out when she turned on me… it requires blood.” A bubbly laugh. “How do you think Ella got her scar?”

Varian takes a step back. “Mom?” he asks, hair standing up on the back of his neck at the eerie implication in her words. He goes to cover his ears instinctually but fast as lightning her hands shoot out and grab onto his wrists like vices. He gasps, eyes widening, and she looks down at him with the blank expression of one possessed.

She says, “I'm sorry baby… momma is here. Momma will keep you safe now, no matter what.”

… 

The Demanitus device is barely cleaned of gunk when the door bursts inexplicably to life.

Everyone in the room– now devoid of all Ingvarrians aside form Donella since the Coronans escorted their intruders to the dungeon—  jumps back in surprise at the resumed light and wind that came with the device’s activation the first time around, but at the same time it seems less violent than before. Still loud and bright but softer, the gaping maw of light swirls at them innocently as if gesturing. 

An invitation.

“Uh… I didn’t say the magic words yet,” Nuru says over the hum of the machine, seemingly just as unnerved as Hugo feels by this turn of events. They share a look.

“Well, it looks like it’s running and who knows if it’ll go down again soon. Maybe I should go instead.” Eugene steps forward with a look of protective determination on his face. 

“No,” Rapunzel and Hugo say at the same time. 

“Varian’s friends know more about this thing than we do, Eugene,” the princess coaxes. “We both want Varian back, but it’s best if the person who goes in knows a bit about what to expect on the other side.”

“And they helped build it,” Hugo says, gesturing to Yong and Nuru, “So if anything goes wrong, they may need your help to fix it.” 

“--Plus, the fewer people in, the better,” Cassandra interrupts as Eugene opens his mouth to protest. “We don’t need more people to rescue if worse comes to worst.”

“...Fine,” Eugene bites out sullenly, but the glare he levels Hugo with is one of the most serious he’s ever seen. Hugo gets that the idea of Varian in danger is actively hurting him more than he’s letting on. “Glasses, you get in there and you bring him home in as fast and safe a manner as you have the capacity to do so. No messing around.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Hugo promises with equal conviction. He steps onto the platform. 

“Hugo!” Donella calls. Hugo looks back one more time, expecting another bid for him to stay, but instead she levels him with a steady nod. “Be careful.”

Hope swells in his chest and Hugo nods back. Without further ado, he steps into the light.

What feels like a wave of static pins and needles washes over his whole body as passes over the threshold of the Eternal Library. He steps out into a place unlike any he’s seen before and does a quick spin around trying to orient himself. 

In every direction there are a hundred things vying for his attention, but only one detail catches his attention, forces the violent assault of sensory information to narrow down onto a single focus:

A familiar figure. Varian, there on the path ahead. 

Waiting for him. 

“Varian!” Hugo cries, racing toward him so fast he nearly trips over his own feet and eats it before he’s gone five steps. He recovers with a stumble and skids to a stop a few feet away, desperate but not daring to come closer due to the fresh anger those blue eyes last leveled him with. He looks Varian over and sighs in relief at no apparent change to his appearance. 

Well, besides the clear distress on his face at Hugo’s arrival. Hugo supposes that that’s to be expected. 

“No, no, no, why are you here?” Varian is saying, shaking his head, face so pale that it's near sallow. “Hugo, go away. You need to go.” 

“Varian,” Hugo breathes, stepping closer. “Please, I’m so sorry.”

“I said leave!”

“I’m not leaving you!” he argues, and to his own heartbreak, Varian’s tears spill over. “Not again. I betrayed you, Varian, I– I deserve nothing from you, and if you never want to see me again after this then I will respect that, but please, please let me explain.” 

Varian’s lip trembles but seemingly in spite of himself, he asks, “Explain… explain what?”

Hugo swallows, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. “Varian, I figured out your curse on the road but I didn’t intend to use it against you. It’s true that I worked for Donella in the beginning, but it’s– She’s the mom I never had. I’ve never had a family besides her. After I told her I didn’t want to do the job anymore, she threatened you specifically, and I didn’t know what to do.”

Varian blinks, and Hugo hangs his head. 

“The thing is, I… I’ve never felt like I had a choice in my life. I grew up doing what it takes to survive, which is a lot of dirty work when you come from the place I did. I thought being out for myself is what made me safe. But you– you showed me that’s not really a life at all, and you made me want to be a better person. Varian, I took your trust and I broke it and you deserve to hate me. I'm so, so sorry.”

There’s a long pause, only the sound of Hugo’s pulse in his ears breaking the quiet as he forces himself to stop lest the apologies tumbling out of his mouth go on and on. He feels on the edge of a great precipice, waiting and expecting Varian to push him off, but still too cowardly to face what he deserves. 

Then–

“I don’t hate you,” Varian says.

Hugo looks up.

Varian is smiling weakly at him, soft in a way that makes Hugo flush. There’s a relief in him like the things he just heard are exactly what he wanted. 

Tears continue to roll down his face.

Unsurely, Hugo clears his throat. “I… don’t hate you too.”

Varian snorts at the poor attempt at humor but it quickly dies, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as it crumples in further distress. His shoulders shudder with a hiccup and Hugo’s heart shatters. He closes the distance between them, gently taking Varian’s shoulders and leaning to try and catch his eyes. 

“Stripes… hey, you’re okay. You can cry, it’s okay. I’m here for you. I came to bring you back.”

“Hugo…” Varian chokes out, sounding so miserable that Hugo can’t help but pull him into a hug.

…

As far as he can remember Varian has had to do what other people tell him to do. 

“Varian, go start your chores.” “Varian, calm down.” “Varian, buddy, go ahead and stop breathing.” “Forget everything you’ve known before.” “Tell me the third incantation.” “Drop it.” “Come here.” “Don’t move.” 

“You will take this dagger,” Ulla whispered, her voice low and poisonous. “And you will plunge it through his heart.” 

Varian gasped, the curse’s hold clenching around him like invisible chains even as he yanked back, crying, “What? No! No, I won’t!”

“Yes. You will,” Ulla sangsong, as if this were all a game, as if the twisted knife with runes carved along its blade was just a toy she held out to her son. His hand shook as it lifted, mind screaming to disobey, for once in your life you need to disobey. “And you won’t warn him about this plan, either. He and Ella both will know how it feels to be stabbed in the back.”

“Please,” Varian begged. “Please, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

The look she gave him was pitying, but not for the reasons that would’ve helped him. “You’re confused,” she said. “Once this is over, you will see that I’m right.”

And just as Ulla predicted, not five minutes after re-activating the portal from their side, Hugo was the one who burst through to follow Varian into the unknown.

Now here Varian stands– held close like something precious by the person he likes and maybe even loves but who is oblivious to the danger Varian poses with that hungry knife in his hand hovering just out of sight above Hugo’s shoulders. It wobbles precariously this way and that as Varian fights a battle more perilous than any he’s fought before. 

He thinks of every order, every involuntary choice he’s ever had to make against his will whether claimed for his own good or for someone else’s self interest. He thinks back on all his little experiments with a stopwatch when his childish curiosity wanted to see how long he could hold out.

He imagines moments from now, when Hugo’s blood will spill out over his hands and the light will fade from his eyes and his body will fall into Varian’s arms and slowly go cold and–

Varian’s soul batters against the bars of its cage.

“Speaking of not hating you, there’s something I…” Hugo is saying, his voice tentative, warm breath soft against Varian’s neck as he maintains their closeness. “Maybe it’s been obvious since the Dark Kingdom at least or, well, it feels obvious to me. Varian, I love… your dumb little smiles.”

Varian laughs wetly.

“--I love how excited you get when you figure things out, and the way you always see the best in people.” 

Varian shakes his head, unable to protest more as a sob catches in his throat. There’s something rising in him from the depths and far reaches of his psyche, growing stronger with every word Hugo speaks. It’s raw and determined and so, so angry . It overwhelms him like bolts of lightning racing through his veins.

“Sorry, I’m not very good at the sentimental stuff; what I’m trying to say is–”

All he can see is his own rage-filled eyes in the reflection of the blade that would take more from him after he’s already given so much. He stares into the soul mirrored back at him and thinks no more.

“--I love yo–”

With everything in him Varian orders himself, “ You will no longer be obedient !” 

A wave of energy bursts across his skin from head to toe– real or imagined, he can’t be sure.

And then.

For both an instant and an eternity, everything is still– no sound, no movement, no breathing as time suspends itself. It’s broken by the loudest thing Varian’s ever heard, something so small and yet so monumental that it leaves his ears ringing:

The clatter of the knife hitting the ground.

Varian’s next sensation is a muscle spasm in the hand that gripped that knife so tightly just seconds before. The pain makes him yelp and instinctively yank the cramping hand to his chest with a momentum that sends him stumbling backward off his feet. He sits hard and stays there bonelessly, breaths rattling his whole body, staring at the knife in open shock.

The urge to retrieve it pulsates one last time, then subsides into nothing. 

“What the– V?” Hugo’s voice penetrates the fog in his brain, and Varian registers that the other boy is still standing right where he was, arms outstretched to Varian as if belatedly wishing to catch him when he fell. He follows Varian’s gaze to the weapon lying exposed on the floor and takes a startled step back. “Uhhhh–”

Varian licks his lips, hardly daring to believe it as he looks down at his hands and whispers, “I’m free?”

He feels… nothing. Nothing but the ground beneath his knees and the newly-steadied beating of his heart. Again, more surely,

“I’m free.”

Hugo looks between the knife and Varian, unsure of what to do. “S-so, am I missing something? I mean, clearly I am, because there’s no way you just tried to–” 

He’s cut off by a rumbling under their feet and both of them look up. Ulla, hair and dress swirling around her in an invisible breeze, eyes alight more literally than expected with rage, thunders across the ground toward them. Her emotions stir the environment around them into something ominous and gray, the sky above them darkening. 

Her sights are locked on her son. 

“Varian,” she calls, voice dangerously sweet as though he were an unruly kindergartener. “Why aren’t you following instructions? My poor baby boy, did he deceive you again? Momma can help.”

“No!” Varian shouts, shoving to his feet and haphazardly throwing himself between her and Hugo, arms splayed. Hugo inhales sharply. “Leave him alone!” 

Ulla stops a few feet away and grins widely. Something twinkles at her throat, and Varian catches sight of a ruby talisman hanging there. As he watches she grips onto it with one hand and extends the index finger of her other hand in their direction. She breathes out something foreign with deadly focus and then unexpectedly, her eyes roll back and her body goes deadweight. The way she sinks down into the grass is eerily like a puppet with its strings cut.

Varian jolts, alarmed. He starts forward with a wary, “Mom?”

He stops dead in his tracks as a voice speaks from behind, or rather two voices layered on top of one another in a way that sends chills down his spine:

“The truth is, only one of you needs to shed blood. By your hand or his, it is the same.” 

Varian whirls around to find a slack-faced Hugo, the same red light of the palisman now emanating from within his eyes like hot coals in a fire, burning out the beautiful green that should be there. Slowly his mouth twists up into a wide smile, jagged and unnatural and altogether wrong on Hugo’s face. 

Varian’s eyes widen in horror as he realizes what’s happened, what’s about to happen. He looks at the fallen knife. 

Both of them dash toward it at once. 

Varian gets there first and send it skittering farther away with a desperate kick just as Hugo jumps forward and tackles them both to the ground where it once was. The breath goes out of his lungs as he hits the ground. He twists but his hands are pressed to the ground and when he looks he sees the possessed boy’s shadowed face leering down at him.

“Hugo,” Varian gasps. “Hugo, fight her!”

Ulla singsongs in her dual tone, shoving roughly off of Varian, “He’s not in charge right now.”

Before he can do more than sit up, vines spring from the ground and wrap around Varian like arms holding him in place. He fights them, but as soon as he snaps one, more take its place. He panics. “This is wrong and you know it, Mom!” 

“This is what’s best,” she corrects. “It’s for our own good. She tried to hurt us… she won’t be able to hurt us anymore when the spell is complete.”

She…Donella , Varian realizes. There’s no point arguing with her when she’s not thinking clearly.

“Hugo, please ,” he begs again as Ulla picks up the knife. “Hugo, I know you can hear me. I was able to fight back because of you. You need to fight back now!”

For a moment, those red-hazed eyes find his and flicker with uncertainty. Hugo’s knees give and he staggers to the side. “Varian?” he asks, voice clear momentarily as he grips his temples with a noise of pain. “Get– get out of my head.” 

Varian can hardly breathe as he watches the invisible struggle. In the midst of it, Hugo yanks something off his person and sends it skittering toward Varian. The bubble of hope rising in Varian’s chest pops just as fast as the figure before him straightens up and cracks their jaw.

“Tricky little thing,” Ulla mutters hatefully, gripping the blade anew and removing the glove from Hugo’s other hand. She grits her teeth. “Let’s get this over with before he can do more harm.”

Without further ado she slices into Hugo’s palm and a sickening wave of red spills out.

Stomach rolling at the sight, Varian looks down at his knees for fear of getting sick– he really doesn’t need that on top of everything else right now– and his gaze lands on the thing Hugo threw at him. He blinks. 

The blue vial of Varinian. Stronger than it looks , Varian thinks with a burst of determination.

He grabs for it, smashing the contents out over his bonds which catch flame and fall away. Staggering to his feet, Varian looks helplessly at Ulla in Hugo’s body is holding the bloody knife up to the portal door and reciting something that he doubts he could so much to make her stop… but a thought hits him and he swings around to face Ulla’s physical body still limp in the grass. He sprints toward it and quickly takes up the glowing red pendant in one hand. It pusates like a mini heart.

As though sensing his threat, Ulla pauses. She turns and her eyes widen with a cried, “NO–”

–just as Varian crushes it. 

Her cry cuts out and Hugo crumples.  

Varian pants, adrenaline-fueled pulse pounding loudly in his ears in the sudden stillness. He looks at his mom’s body–slowly stirring– once before discarding the red shards of pendant and nearly tripping in his haste to sprint to Hugo, who hasn’t moved. 

“Hugo,” he gasps, falling to his knees at the other boy’s side. “Wake up, you’re okay, you have to be okay–”

He checks the pulse in Hugo’s neck– it takes him a few tries due to the shakiness in his fingers, but he feels it there, strong and steady– and catches sight of the still-bloody hand. He raises his arm and uses his teeth to tear a strip off his own sleeve, making quick work of wrapping it around the wound to staunch its flow. Once that’s done he takes Hugo’s face in his hands and breathes out in relief when those eyelids flutter and reveal cracks of pure emerald green.

“Ow, ears popped real hard…” Hugo whines, giving his head a little shake. This brings notice to the palms against his cheeks and blinks up at Varian, startled, before breaking into a lopsided grin that makes Varian’s heart flutter. “Oh… hiya, sweet cheeks.”

A laugh bursts out of Varian, and a multitude of feelings too strong to name well up in him so that there’s little else he can do besides lean down and kiss Hugo right on the forehead. 

When he pulls back, Hugo goes bright red, his mouth slack. “Uh… that’s a way different reaction than the first time I called you that… Should I take this as permission to use it more often?”

Varian laughs again fondly, knowing he’s gone a little red himself. He opens his mouth–

“No… why,” another voice interrupts from behind, mournful and hopeless. He turns around.

Ulla has sat up, face and voice angry but the Library around them is no longer tilting with it. The chaos has settled. The storm has given way to something sad. Ulla is gripping the grass in her fists and pouting like a child after a tantrum.

Varian goes to stand and Hugo catches his hand, “Are you–” he whispers, eyes darting between Varin and Ulla worriedly. Varian puts both his hands over Hugo’s and helps him to his feet, nodding. Hugo swallows and nods back. Hand in hand they approach.

“Mom,” Varian says softly. 

She looks up at him and her eyes crinkle with pain. “How could you? This was our destiny!”

“All I’ve ever wanted has been to choose my own destiny,” Varian admits. “Everyone deserves to choose what they do and who they want to be. You can choose too. I know you weren’t always like this.”

She closes her eyes. “Shut up.” 

Varian’s eyes harden. “No.” 

To his side, Hugo jolts, looking at Varian in surprise.

Varian continues, “I’ve been in a prison my whole life, even literally for a little while. I'm not going to stay in one place any longer, and neither should you. Let’s find a way to reverse the spell you cast all that time ago with Donella. It might seem impossible–” Tears sting begind his eyes and he takes a deep breath to will them away, “--but maybe it’s not as impossible as you think. Trust me.”

Ulla listens skeptically with gaze downcast, but at his final plea she looks up and studies him standing resolutely before her. Her gaze flickers to Hugo at his side, whose hand tightens in Varian’s own, and then back Varian as they finally seem to clear. 

“My son…” she whispers, sniffing. “You remind me of who I used to be.” She shifts, becoming ashamed. “You’re right, I– I wasnt always like this. I used to be… more. You know?”

Varian untangles his hand from Hugo’s and crouches before her. “It’s not too late,” he says. “It’s never too late.”

He holds out his hand to help her up. She stares.

And then she takes it. 

…

When Hugo and Varian cross through the Library door once again, the first thing Hugo sees is the mountain of a man Varian calls “Dad” rushing into their field of view and scooping Varian up into a bone-crushing hug. Someone must’ve gotten Quirin in the time they were gone to inform him of the situation. Hugo backs away to give them room and bumps into Eugene Fitzherbert, who clasps a hand over his shoulder only to shove him away to get closer to Varian to fuss over him like a mother hen. 

“Wow, I feel special,” Hugo mutters, crossing his arms. But he has to admit, he too thinks Varian is and always will be the more important one of them by far.

“Brat,” Donella’s voice calls, and he turns to see her (wrists still bound behind her back, but not actively being restrained by anyone anymore) looking him up and down with relief. Her eyes catch on his bound hand and she frowns. “You’re all right?”

Hugo looks at the hand and shrugs. “Sentimental, Don?” he asks, raising a brow. She scowls and he grins cheekily. “Don’t worry, you can put all that sentimentality to a good use: Varian’s mom wants to talk to you.”

Her face goes blank in what he knows is her biggest expression of alarm. “Come again?”

Donella and Quirin’s gazes both meet with the swirling portal door and a hush comes over them at the figure standing there, obscured by the ethereal light as though seen through a waterfall.

Ulla’s voice rings out, soft but loud as a bell in the sudden hush: “Hi, Ella. Hello, Quirin my love.”

After going over the terms of the spell that locked her in, they had determined that the only potential way to reverse it was to mend the bond between herself and Donella: and even then, Ulla has been sustained and meshed with the magic of the Library for so long that leaving it might be physically difficult for her. With Varian’s encouragement, she was willing to try.

The goodness reawakened in her seems to solidify further as she shares a tearful reunion with her husband, their hands pressed against each other through the portal, Quirin’s deep voice breaking. It’s with this strong start that she’s able to turn to Don and overpower the hate that soured their love once and for all. 

As the adults converse in low, emotional tones, Varian ducks away, a forgotten smile on his face til he’s ambushed into a hug by Yong and then further buried by Rapunzel lifting them both off their feet. The rest form a second circle around him and Hugo stays on the outskirts of it, an aching fondness swelling in his chest as he watches everyone dote on their returned friend.

He feels poignantly unworthy to join.

Suddenly Varian slaps a hand to his forehead. “Sun, I almost forgot!” he exclaims, and everyone goes quiet expectantly.

Wide blue eyes swing around, searching, and latch onto Hugo. Varian pushes forward until they’re face to face and Hugo’s mouth goes dry, unsure if this means Varian’s just remembered his part in all this and is going to expose him for what he is, tell him in font of everyone that he doesn’t belong– 

“Hugo,” Varian says seriously. “Tell me to jump.”

Hugo’s train of thought screeches to a halt. “Huh?”

“Do it. Tell me to jump.” 

“Uhh… jump?” 

Slowly, deliberately, eyes crinkling in delight, Varian leans closer into his face and firmly annunciates, “No.” 

There’s a pregnant pause and then Varian laughs as though he’s just done the funniest thing in the universe, spinning and looking around at his friends in triumph. His smile is blinding, and Hugo’s thoughts are too stunned by it for a moment to comprehend exactly what Varian is trying to demonstrate. 

When he does, his good hand flies to cover his mouth.

Cassandra is the first to respond, breathing out an explitive as a wide smile overtakes her face. “Varian, you– No way. What exactly happened in there?” she asks, jabbing a thumb at the Library.

“So much,” Hugo mumbles against his palm.

Varian turns to Eugene next, wearing the giddy smile of a child who thinks their joke extremely clever as he repeats the demonstration. “‘Gene, give me an order. Anything.”

“Apologize for scaring me half to death,” Eugene says immediately, wide eyes watching Varian with cautious hope.

Varian rests his hands on his hips smugly. “Oh, you’ll get over it.” 

Rapunzel gasps loudly, a sheen of tears rimming her eyes. Nuru and Yong share a puzzled look, Nuru saying, “Wait, is this because–”

Eugene picks Varian up and spins him around with a shout of joy.

… 

Varian spends the next week wearing his voice out with asking people to give him orders. He tells his dad, Lance and the girls, Queen Ariana, even random people who never even knew about the curse in the first place who give him confused responses as he refuses orders and laughs in their faces. At one point he even spirits down to the dungeons just to inform a certain man-bun-styled inmate that he can’t be controlled anymore. He’s pompous about it, but he deserves to be.

Even when they all know and presumably the joke has gotten old, it doesn’t make his euphoria wear off. It’s the first thing he thinks when he wakes up and the last thing he thinks when he goes to bed: I’m free.  

Part of him is paranoid that the change isn’t permanent, that one of the orders given will make his body involuntary respond in that all-too familiar tug of invisible puppet strings. It never does. Varian’s obnoxious delight begins to settle into something secretly content.

And slowly the whole story gets around to everyone who matters.

Quirin sits down with his son and wife– now freed, slowly re-acclimating to the realities of life outside Eternity’s void– and hears the full story of how he was cursed in the first place. Ulla keeps her head downturned in shame until Quirin takes her chin in one hand and Varian’s shoulder in the other. He smiles sadly and rules, “We can’t change the past. We have to move forward… and because of our brave son–” he squeezes Varian’s arm– “we will do it as a family.” 

Varian hates to admit that it takes awhile for him to notice– in his defense he’s got a lot going on, showing Yong and Nuru the Library so they can finally get Nuru’s kingdom the help it needs, working closely with Rapunzel on an Ingvarrian treaty, getting to know his mom again– but something isn’t quite right. 

Hugo is making himself scarce.

Whenever Varian asks the others, they mention seeing the blond around here or there– “You just missed him”, or “He said he’d be right back”-- but Varian never seems to catch him despite his efforts to seek the other boy out. A knot ties in his gut at the thought that the other boy avoiding him… 

Luckily, Rapunzel notices too. And she ruthlessly puts a stop to it.

It’s early in the morning of the Princess’ birthday when Varian gets a knock on his door and opens it to see, against all odds, Hugo himself standing there, letter in hand. Going by the startled look on the blond’s face, he had no idea this was Varian’s room. 

They blink at one another. Varian becomes hyperly aware that he’s only in one of Quirin’s oversized shirts that he uses for sleeping, which hangs off of one freckled shoulder and leaves his legs bare. Hugo looks away, flushing, and Varian rubs his neck awkwardly, searching and failing to come up with something to say.

“The- your princess, she snagged me and sent me on an errand,” Hugo finally says, shoving over the piece of paper with his eyes still averted. “This is for you.” 

Varian nearly drops it but manages to steady himself and scan the neat scrawl of Rapunzel’s handwriting: To the Royal Engineer , the note reads. A list of technical preparations for the Lantern Festival tonight. PS… many hands make quick work ;) 

“Oh,” Varian says dumbly, eyes lingering on the winky face. He looks up and sees Hugo already trying to edge away and hurries to speak. “Oh, thank you! Hey, wanna come in?”

Hugo stops, looking at him, and pointedly at his pajamas. “You… sure?”

“Yeah!” Varian chirps, holding the door open wide and waiting until Hugo hesitantly steps inside before swinging it shut. “Just– give me two seconds.”

When he comes out of his closet, usual vest, gloves and goggles in place (albeit haphazardly from his haste), he finds Hugo standing stiffly exactly where he left him, hands clasped behind his back and looking around the room curiously. His eyes snap to Varian when he re-renters and his shoulders relax marginally. He even dares to smile a bit, teasing, “So… your beloved Princess give you lists of chores often?”

“It’s my job ,” Varian says, rolling his eyes. “Royal engineer, remember? Um,” he clears his throat, looking back at the note on his desk briefly, “Would you like to… tag along?” 

Hugo bites his lip, expression falling as he looks like he’s about to decline, but Varian plays up his puppy eyes that do wonders with Eugene, and what comes out of Hugo’s mouth is, “Okay.”

It only takes about half an hour for any lingering tension to melt away as the two settle into the familiar rhythm of playing off one another and working together as they go down the list. They’re a mix of actual errands– such as overseeing the firework show that will debut this year before the lantern ceremony begins– to mundane, superfluous tasks that seem to have nothing to do with engineering, such as, Swing by Attilla’s to sample the party cupcakes and “ Supply extra chalk and flags for the street dancers . It feels like a scavenger hunt or something. 

Varian can’t even bring himself to care about her obvious time-wasting efforts, or the suspicious way they never run into any of their other friends – he’s having too much actual fun starting food fights with chocolate frosting and tugging Hugo into the crowd to dance.

(If anything, he’s realizing it’s really fun to have a partner. To have Hugo as his partner.)

All too soon, the sun rolls around the sky and blue turns to dusky pink and purple and their list comes to an end. Varian’s cheeks are sore from smiling when Rapunzel herself crosses their path, sly smile on her face.

“Got everything?” Without waiting for an answer, she goes on, “Good. Because I found the perfect spot for you guys to watch the show from! Come on.”

The perfect spot turns out to be a blanket on the balcony of the astronomy tower, high above the sea of Coronan festivities dying down in the wake of events to come. A picnic basket is laid out and everything, and Rapunzel has barely got them there before she turns and leaves, practically skipping. Varian hears the door shut and wonders briefly whether or not she’d be willing to lock them up here. The fact that the odds aren’t 0% is troubling. 

When he looks back to see Hugo calmly leaning against the railing, wind tossing his bangs into his face and sunset light reflecting across his glasses, he swallows and forgets that thread of thought entirely.

As if sensing his gaze, Hugo turns. Their eyes meet and the corner of Hugo’s mouth upturns. “You’ve got quite a place here, V,” he sighs, gesturing out at Corona. 

Varian moves forward, settling against the railing next to Hugo. He peeks to the side. “You know, you could… stay here. With me.”

Hugo doesn’t move his gaze from the horizon. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

The pause that follows is long enough that Varian bumps Hugo’s shoulder playfully and opens his mouth to tempt him with something lighter, but then Hugo's internal battle ends and he blurts out, “I’m sorry. I know I already apologized, but I’m… so sorry. Again. For everything.”

Varian leans forward and waits until Hugo’s eyes raise, drawn to his like magnets. Varian says, “ I’m sorry my mom possessed you.”

Hugo snorts, and Varian feels something warm unfurl in his chest. “Yeah, that did happen,” Hugo says. “I guess it… gave me a chance to see some of what you’ve gone through your whole life.” 

Varian reaches out as naturally as breathing and intertwines their hands together. They interlock perfectly like the spaces between their fingers were made for each other, and Varian revels in it. Hugo seems similarly hypnotized. 

Above them, the first stars begin to twinkle into existence. Varian asks, “Do you wanna know how I was able to break my curse?”

Hugo starts, looking up. He nods slowly.

Varian goes on, “It was because… I love you, too.” He sees Hugo stiffen in the corner of his vision and continues quickly, “Um, to be honest, back in the Library… I was only half paying attention, what with– trying not to. Stab you.” A nervous laugh. “I’m pretty sure you said you love me. Did– Did you mean that?”

“Idiot,” Hugo says, and Varian faces him in surprise. He’s grinning widely, a tender shine in his eyes that the starlight emphasizes as he looks at Varian like something unbearably precious. “Of course I do. How could I not? Sheesh, I gave a whole speech and everything and you didn’t even appreciate it…”

Varian punches him. Hugo snickers and looks down at their intwined fingers again. “Well, the long and short of it is this: you freed me too. I wasn’t in the same situation as you, obviously, but– but I was alone. And now I’m not. It’s like my shriveled little raisin of a heart doesn't belong to me anymore… it belongs to you. In any way you want it.”

A smile plays on Varian’s lips and he flickers his gaze between Hugo’s eyes. “Kiss me.” 

Hugo doesn’t need any more convincing. 

His large palms take Varian’s face between them and presses their lips together as Varian winds his arms around Hugo’s shoulders. It’s an echo of their first kiss again but deeper, saturated with meaning on both sides. 

As soon as they break apart, Varian asks again, breathless, “Stay?” 

Hugo smothers a smile, trying to appear coy as he says, “I mean if you’re not sure you can handle all the stuff your Princess has you do on your own… I guess I’ll stick around.”

Varian sticks his tongue out then butts his head into Hugo’s shoulder and stays there. “Perfect.” 

A burst of color and light streaks into the sky as the first fireworks begin to fly. The sparkling bursts of energy mirror exactly how Varian feels inside.

“Hey…” Hugo says suddenly, shifting to speak in Varian’s ear over the noise. “What if we went and added Flynolium to some of those fireworks?”

Varian wrinkles his nose. “That would be a bad choice.”

The blond hums. “Maybe, but it’d be our choice.” 

Ours , Varian thinks, awestruck. Then he repeats it out loud, loving it even more, “Ours.”

“Anything we want, Freckles. You have a lifetime of bad choices ahead of yourself to catch up on, and I'm nothing if not an enabler of questionably choices. Say the word and we’ll go make them.”

A bubbly feeling rises in Varian's chest. “I want to make them all.”