Work Text:
The war could rage for a thousand more years and he’ll keep going.
For her.
A recurring theme in both their lives is that one of them would leave for an indefinite amount of time, but eventually, they’ll reunite again. And to describe any reunion as sweet would be vastly underestimating the speed at which the air would leave his lungs when he meets her gaze. So much that he’d forget where he was; he interrupted his own coronation to greet her arrival.
He’s hoping for one of those reunions to come again.
Pure Vanilla cookie left this time. But when he returned, she was gone.
An insult, really. She resided literally everywhere; her scent stained the air, the flowers of her image bloomed shyly, and her silhouette transformed golden light into emerald patterns across the floors he walked. Her name hung gravely unannounced, only hinted at during closed-door conversations, her memory hurt their dearest friends, and the fruits of her research across the land were still carried out, unaware of the bandaged, damaged hands that carefully brought them into the world.
She is everywhere but his side. By witches, does it hurt.
A part of Pure Vanilla Cookie wished the magically preserved memory of his coronation remained after the palace was healed; it showed the two of them, ever young and foolish. He saw it again as a shell of himself and thought he had crumbled; he was an outsider looking into a familiar romance he could never attain. He scrambled to carve her words into his heart:
“My apologies…” she said, her voice only louder than a whisper. “I wanted to be here sooner. I had to… repent, but you already know the details.”
It happened in the chapel. The mage seemed to glow faintly under the light from the stained glass. The golden columns towered over them both, spiraling into the far ceiling. But he felt like all of it would give away and collapse if he dared say anything that might have hurt her.
She did that thing she does; grasping a part of her cloak firmly over herself as if to hide. It was a new dress—he swears he didn’t pay much mind as to how it fit her perfectly—and a new hairpin. She barely brandished her tall staff. Pure Vanilla Cookie remembered the crowd’s necks craning to witness the stranger.
She still had her braid.
He paid so much attention to how she hesitated at her words, how her lip almost trembled, and how her eyes started to shimmer with tears, that he didn’t notice his reflection was already talking.
“… I am happy you’re here to share this day with me.”
He watched as his reflection tried for a stupid smile. (He tried not to cringe at his choice of attire, too.) It seemed tacky. But he was genuine, of course. His eyes looked so… hopeful. Was that how he looked like, every time she comes around? He remembered cleaning up nicely and even trying to picture how she looked like when she arrived. He was scared that she didn’t turn up.
The ceremony went on, and he didn’t spare his reflection or the officiator any more than a second’s worth of a glance. It went on, and though her eyes were teary, the ghost of a smile crept into his lover’s face.
His breath still hitches when he does remember it. From it, he feels the unbearable need to feel the same smile upon his lips; to have his upon hers, he’d sell the newly-acquired crown and the kingdom it entails in a heartbeat.
He could only be so thankful for the hood that hid his face, and the fact he was at the back; he was accompanied by children at the time
A brash knock on his door jars him from his thoughts and anchors his faraway gaze back into the neglected book in front of him. He is in his chambers, on his comfortable couch. The ice in his refreshment has all but melted in the heat of the afternoon sun glaring from the windows.
“Come in!” he says hastily after grabbing the book and half-heartedly selecting a page about poplar trees.
He hasn’t even finished calling out before the door to his chamber swings aside with a force so strong it was a surprise the hinges held up.
“Hey! So, we have a problem.” A small cookie announces.
He blinks to register a blur of pink and yellow speeding through the door frame and making a beeline for the expanse of the room.
“Strawberry Crepe cookie.” he exhales.
The fascinating child. They proceed to pace around the room and gesture rapidly.
“So, Espresso Cookie and I—well mostly me—wanted a break, but we ended up going out of topic after seeing blueprints for old models of the cryo-baking pod I came out of. And then! We both realized that the limitations set for the different valves of preservatives and margarine differed from the one I came out of. And that got us both thinking why it was necessary. Seeing as the substances would only flow through a specified chamber and not come into contact with the subject itself, therefore not affecting the jam or moisture content of the dough at all, we thought-”
She paces too.
He watches as the tiny cookie put one foot in front of the other while making illustrations in the air with their hands. They emerged from a cryo-baking pod, yes? He doesn’t recall signing anything that legally allowed children to participate as subjects. In fact, the official launch wasn’t supposed to commence until after the…
He feels a familiar pang of guilt ring through his ribs. Someone must have put them in a pod to protect them while the war raged on.
As heartbreaking as the thought was, if the war didn’t happen, Earthbread would have one less brilliant Macgichanical engineer. As small as Strawberry Crepe cookie is, they are just as intelligent… He remembers being described as such.
The somber cookie was studying the gradient of the little one’s cloak when he realizes they had finished talking and were looking at him expectantly.
“What’s with the weird face?” They frown. “Yes, or no?”
He blinks again.
“Pardon?”
“Urgh,” they roll their eyes. “Earthbread to Ancient Hero? Hello? We don’t need you slipping into any state of unconsciousness again.”
“Yes,” he repeats. “Uhm, what was the question?”
“I asked if Espresso Cookie and I could peer through the tower of the Wise.” Strawberry Crepe Cookie sighs. They make another air gesture for the king to comprehend.
“Oh, you’re asking for permission?”
A smile makes its way to Pure Vanilla Cookie’s face while they held up their hands, resigned.
“I dunno. Espresso Cookie thought it would only be fair to ask. Our supposed territory really only comprises of the Wafflebot lab. While he did go through the place, he hasn’t really delved into it because of this odd anger of his towards light magic.”
Pure Vanilla Cookie tilts his head at the latter part. It’s new to hear of such aversion towards Moon magic. But he guesses that Espresso cookie must greatly favor coffee magic more.
“By all means, please peruse through the tower as much as you’d like.”
They sighed in relief for a bit before covering it with a cough.
“Eh, you’re a pushover.” Strawberry Crepe cookie claims. “I knew you would say yes.”
“It’s not really the first time I’ve heard that.” He chuckles.
“Sure, sure.” They nod.
As a foreign silence starts to hang in the air, an unfamiliar twinge of discomfort flickers across their face, compelling Pure Vanilla Cookie to ask cautiously.
“Did… you think I would have forbidden you from going?”
The corner of Strawberry Crepe cookie’s mouth twitches.
“That place has a lot of books.” They say as a matter-of-factly.
“Yes, so…?” Pure Vanilla cookie probes.
“So, I thought you wouldn’t want me near it…” they manage to say. “Black Raisin Cookie says you keep the place clean because a friend of yours liked libraries.”
… Shelves #27 and #28, on the 3rd floor. Both are near the balcony overlooking the cauldron that took up the 1st floor. They have texts on biochemical engineering, dough starter guides, and cookie anatomy. Nearly all of the books on both shelves have faded footnotes on the corners of the texts. Some words are underlined, some are encircled, and some were not words at all, but doodles. All were written in graceful, quick strokes
… The only bay window seat that later was installed with cushions and a built-in cupholder resides on the 5th floor; the clear glass panes face exactly where the sun would set each day. The only other place that has cupholders is a low table; there are two rings to set down small cups. Right next to a comfortable couch underneath the skylight of the observatory.
… Everywhere but his side.
Strawberry Crepe Cookie had started to fidget with their cape while narrowing their eyes at him, no doubt scanning for anomalies caused by any negative stimuli. Next to Pure Vanilla Cookie, the staff trains its eye on the ground, and its tendrils move to grasp the side of the chair firmly. His warm smile slowly dampens with longing. This seems to alarm the little cookie immediately. He decides on a quick recovery for their sake.
“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure that my friend would have wanted me to have the place be upheld exclusively for her, you know?”
He gauges their expression as they do the same.
“Is that really the case?” they ask suspiciously.
“Yes,” Pure Vanilla Cookie answers. He means it with all of his heart. “She believes knowledge should be a commodity that everyone should share. I’m the last cookie who would disagree with her.”
This reassures the little one a little.
“Espresso cookie and I would have to fight for that last cookie title though.” They smirk.
Seemingly satisfied, they huff and plant their hands firmly on their hips.
“Alright! That settles the problem. Thanks, and see ya later, Pure Vanilla cookie!”
He watched as they strode out of the room and closed the door, thankfully with less force.
He wonders what White Lily Cookie would think of the tiny prodigy.