Work Text:
Another kiss, then another as he tries to push Panto to the window.
"My love, you know you can't stay!" Silas protests, shoving the pink-haired man back by his hips, smiling all the while.
"Oh, but how I would rather stay and kiss you more." He enunciates this with a quick peck to Silas' cheek. "And more..." A few to his neck, hot on his skin. "And more..." A hand unlacing his tunic, so slow and sweet. He almost leans into it, his eyes fluttering shut. But- "Panto! You have to go now before the guards' patrol!"
His love sighs and pulls away, leaving a soft bite in his wake. He walks to the window, dragging his feet in a show of dramatics. "I suppose I shall leave, will you miss me my love?" He's got one foot on the windowsill, looking back at Silas.
"Always, now go! Expect a letter!"
He watches adoringly as the Trost prince bolts across the courtyard, hiding within fading shadows as the sun rises.
"We've caught another Trost in our hands this morning! “His mother's breakfast conversation is always so pleasant. Farson picks at his plate as she continues. "on the grounds, would you believe?"
Silas' pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. Surely she couldn't mean Panto? Sure, they'd had a few close calls, and the other prince had left later than intended, but he always got away safely.
Farson speaks up, less concerned about drawing their mother's ire. “A spy, mother?" "Very likely. A young woman in pitiful dress! Silas relaxes ever so slightly. He doesn't even want to think on what his mother could be planning for this young girl, but he's relieved at the least that it wasn't his lover.
Though, it could have been. They weren't always the most careful, what are the chances of them being caught? What would his mother do to the Trost prince if she caught him in her son's embrace, in his bed? Everyone across Inglenook, across Wendimoor itself knew how the Dengdamore matriarch abhorred the Trosts. Just the color pink would wrinkle her features in disgust.
As he goes about his day, he considers. Were they risking too much? Had he let himself be so blinded by love that he hadn't really
considered that Panto could be hurt? The last thing he would want is for himself to cause Panto pain, however indirectly.
Maybe it has gone on too far, crept into dangerous territory. He should break this off, he decides. Panto shouldnt put himself on the line just for Silas. He isn't worth that.
He drafts a letter, a summons like many he’d sent before, sans a few pet names he usually found a way to sneak in.
When they meet, somewhere in the woods where whisperwillows can hide their conversation, the pink-haired man ever smiling at the sight of him he lies to his love.
“Panto.” He begins. He takes a shuddering breath and his love’s smile begins to fade into a look of concern. “Are you alright, Silas my love?”
“I don’t. Love you anymore, that is. Maybe I never did.” His voice shakes, as do his hands as his chest tightens. “I don’t want to see you again.” Panto is frozen in shock and fear and heartbreak all in one. He’d thought- he’d been so sure- how could Silas just leave? Build Panto’s heart up into something so strong and then break it into pieces?
“My heart-you don’t mean that right? This is some kind of humor or-or some illness?” Silas turns to hide the tears he knows are inevitable. “You’re a Trost, this should never have happened in the first place.” “Silas, please.” He’s never heard Panto’s voice so weak. Even his whispers, across windowsills and pillows, have never felt this soft.
No turning back now, no time to regret this. He starts to walk away, the whispers of the willow muffling his footfalls. “Goodbye, Trost.”
Panto’s knees wobble beneath him and he hits the ground as his love leaves. “No no no, please no…”. He stays under that tree for hours, letting the white noise din of the leaves hide his crying.
When Silas gets back to the castle his eyes are heavy with tears and grief. He gives none a second glance as he makes his disheartened way to his bedroom where Wygar stands at the door, steadfast as always. “Your highness?”
“… you’re no longer required to keep eyes away, it’s over.” His voice is hoarse, and he pushes past the larger man to get inside. His boots aren’t even off before he’s laid face down on the bed in wallow. Wygar follows him into the room quietly, sits lightly on the corner. “… he break your heart?” The prince sniffles, turns over.
“No… I broke his.” The guard turns in shock toward his prince. “What?”
“I broke it off. It’s done. No more hiding.” And oh how pitiful he looked, laid on the bed like a child throwing a fit. "Highness, Silas-" "I don't want to talk about it, please!"
“... Okay." He leaves, and Silas wallows.
Panto arrives home in the late morning to his sister and her ladies laying around his room. "Goodness brother, I've never seen you home this late from one of your trysts-" she starts, only to spot the blank look on his face. She pauses, then waves for her ladies to vacate the room.
"... Panto? I'm only joking!" He sighs and sits on the floor against a wall, disturbingly silent. "Pan?"
" ... I'm not in the mood, Bitz," She nods, and heads for the door, stopping at its frame. "You'd tell me if something was truly wrong?" He nods from the floor and she prays her baby brother is being truthful as she exits.
Farson has never seen his mother so glib. The recent trend of court meetings sans interruption seems to have bolstered her. His brother hadn't spoken a word of peace in days. Admittedly, he hadn't said much at all, staying solemn and silent, scribbling endlessly in the journal he'd deny til the end of his days was full of poetry.
He'd noticed, as everyone had, that the eldest prince had lost his spark. No longer did he wander the palace gardens, humming to himself as he passed by pink carnations and roses. His seat at meals more often than not went cold, his food untouched.
The queen seemed satisfied with herself, perhaps Silas had finally been broken of his rebellious spirit that had so plagued her council. She didn't care what had caused it, just that the in convenience was snuffed out.
Wygar was... displeased. Of course he hadn't exactly approved of Silas' affiliation with the Trust prince. He'd been forced to endure hiding them,sneaking the pink-haired boy out of the castle. On more than one painful occassion, he'd had to defend the room as he suffered through noises no man should ever hear from a boy he saw almost as a son.
This was worse. He didn't know what Silas had done, but the cries he heard at night were telling. He'd known the Dengdamor prince since he was but a boy, he wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone do something so awful it would break the heart of Wendimoor's— and he did not use this title lightly—greatest scissor-swordsman. The only explanation he had was that Silas had gotten into his head. It really was his one true downfall.
He confirmed his theory when he found Silas asleep at his desk, book of definitely-not- poetry open beside him. Wygar would never invade his prince's privacy, but after he'd carried the young man to bed, he may have peeked.
And oh did what he see tell all. He’d had to quickly flip past a few unsavory pieces of prose that he’d never be able to erase from his mind to get to stories and poems of wizards and fairies and more, sacrificing their happiness to protect one they love. He had known that Silas was scared, the prince had always been a bit faint of heart. But he'd forgotten just how selfless his charge was. The boy wouldn't hesitate to give the shirt off his back if it would keep another warm.
Wygar sighs, pulls the blanket over Silas' prone form. He'd have to find a way to fix this, as much as it pained him.
Litzibite Trost fares no better. There's a particular ache an older child gets when their baby sibling is hurt in a way they can't help with. Rumors-painfully true-flew that the great Warrior of the Trost Kingdom was barely able to hold a pair of scissors the past few days.
Not for lack of effort, of course. These days Panto could scarce be found outside the field he used as sparring ground. His parries and feints have grown weak, his balance swayed. And yet he persisted, working himself all day until he was all but ready to collapse into the dirt.
Trying to explain to their father was difficult when she knew not what ailed her baby brother. Not a word could she wring from him, nor could anyone. She attempted, once, to trap him into conversation. Raised her scissors to him on the training ground to bait him into spilling his woes.
It hadn't worked, and she lamented the way Parto had cringed at the crossing of their blades, his scissors torn from his
hand in mere seconds. That day he'd turned in early, only to forgo dinner and head straight to bed.
Litzibitz regretted following him there. She hadn't heard her brother cry since they were small. It felt wrong to hear him now, little hitches of breath as if he was trying to stop the tears tugging on her heart.
The Trost prince didn't think he'd ever felt pain like this before. He'd imagined the possibility, in his deepest nightmares, that his love might one day leave. That one day his beautiful love would be torn from him, by their parent's hands, mage's spell, or some beast deep in the woods of Inglenook.
He'd never expected it would be Silas himself pulling them apart, and Panto's heart with them. He wondered what he'd done to lose Silas' love. Had he made some comment to hurt him? Or perhaps he'd let on a little too much of his simpler life of farm and field, and Silas had decided that he'd rather hold someone of
finer make, an insecurity he'd never voiced to the other prince.
Panto knew his breakdown was only making things worse, but what else could he do but try and train and train until he was so tired he couldnt think about his pain anymore?
This evening, as he drags his worn body to his room, his eye catches on a book set innocently on his windowsill. He's seen it countless times, had love poems read to him From it. He'd seen pages as Silas wrote them, struck by inspiration more than a few times while laid in Panto's arms.
He'd never chanced a look without permission, feared that it would be a catalyst to trigger a rage he still had not yet seen from its writer, but its presence was surely permission in itself? It isn't as though Silas will be present to scold him, he tells himself bitterly and opens the book.
A fair majority of the pages are lighthearted and soft prose detailing the sparkle of dew on leaves and the joys of peace. A share are love poems that give Panto's heart a tug before he pushes it down. That affection doesn't belong to him anymore. His face colors to match his hair at a few more... explicit entries as he skims the pages. As he reaches the last third of the book, the tone changes.
Where once were words of peace are now deprecating jabs at unnamed protagonists. Weak, cowardly, soft. Insecurities Silas had whispered in quiet moments now slashed across the page like weapons. And they tell of great loves turned to ash, men destroying themselves in self-sacrifice to save another. So much guilt colored those words that it
turned Panto's stomach.
Was this how Silas saw himself? As some pitiable thing destined to ruin himself for another? To break his own heart to... to protect his love. To protect... Panto? Could that be the reason the other prince had hurt him so? Because he wanted to keep Panto safe?
He reads each page in detail until his chest grows heavy with sorrow. How could he have gone so long unknowing of-Silas' woes? the closed the book, hooking it into the belt about his waist. He'd go to Silas, confirm what he'd learned was true, and maybe they could be happy again.
Silas wakes to familiar taps at his window. The sound brings a smile to his face before he remembers just why that sound is unwelcome. He slowly and quietly rises, creeping away from the offending window and toward his bedroom door where he knows Wygar's nightly watch has not yet reached its end.
“Wygar!" He whispers as he shoves open the door. "Yes Silas-?"
"Make him leave!" Wygar listens for the little noises of impact. Damn that boy was persistent, surely he should have run out of pebbles to throw. He nods and soon finds himself stood outside next to Panto Trost.
"You've come to send me away?" The prince asks, gaze still locked on the window above and bouquet of flowers in hand. Wygar huffs, arm rested on the handle of his scissors. "By order? Yes." He winces."But! I won't."
Panto turns to him. "You won't?" "No. I hate to admit, but you make Silas happy. Don't fuck it up." He claps a hand onto Panto's shoulder and departs to find a drink and a place to rest.
Silas sits on his blankets. The taps at his window have ceased, and he pulls out his new journal. He had tossed the old one, penning his feelings hadn't quelled the sorrow, so he figured keeping the vessel full of depressed scribblings wasn't helping.
He had barely put quill to page before he heard the scuffing noise of boots on brick.
He's climbing up.
When Panto hops through the window, there is nobody to be seen as he glances about the room. He glances down to see the ruffled sheets hanging down near the edge of the bed.
"Silas, are you under the bed?" He asks, his gut feelings are usually right.
" ... no." Panto lets his mouth fall into the smallest of smiles.
"Oh love, will you come out please?” It’s silent for a moment, then quietly
“... don't call me that." The prince sits on the floor against the mattress, resting the flowers beside him.
"Love."
"No."
"Silas."
There's a faint dragging noise as the bouquet is slowly pulled beneath the bed frame. Silas' voice creeps out, wavering. "I... You shouldn't be here, go away." Panto has to pretend that doesn't sting just a little bit.
"I think we both know you don't really desire that." There's a short sound like a scoff, then, "You don't know what I want."
Panto rolls his eyes. "And apparently you don't know what I want." A sniffle comes up from the abyss of the bed. Oh how his heart pangs knowing the man he
loves is uncomforted in his sorrow.
"I dont-" sniff. "I don't want you near me, you need to leave." Panto drops his hand to the floor, palm side up in invitation. After a moment, he feels a warm finger lay itself atop his pinky. He squeezes it.
"Silas, my love-" A grumble. "I don't plan to stop loving you just because I am told to."
" ... You ought to" "When have I ever done what I should?" He hears an almost lighthearted groan of complaint and smiles a little. Progress.
"You really hurt me Silas."
"That was the point!
He turns that over in his mind a moment, and-
"It-oh. Oh, Silas."
"What?"
He's going out on a limb.
"You didn't want me to miss you."
Panto lays onto his side, still keeping hold of the small bit of contact they have. He finally catches a glimpse of his Silas. Those big brown eyes shine with tears as he holds the bouquet to his chest.
"Hello. "Panto greets.
"Hello." Silas returns.
They look into each other's eyes for the first time in almost a week until Silas looks away, turning his head toward the dark. "Stop it." He bites out." Stop what?"
“Looking at me like I deserve it."
That hurts, icing on the cake confirming those worrisome words in Silas' poetry book weren't just prose. Silas' grip on the flowers tightens involuntarily, then loosens when he realizes it could damage them. He knows he's not
getting out of this conversation. His Panto has always been so stubborn, a trait he'd adored until this moment.
“I... I didn't want you to be upset," he mutters. He takes Panto's hand fully, gaze still averted.
"Silas. I have suffered every day just being apart from you."
Silas whimpers and curls in on himself. Why couldn't he have gotten this right? Broken it off easily so Panto could just stay safe?
"Can you come out please? We both know from experience that I will not fit." He had tried once, not too long ago. They'd gotten a little.. loud and had almost been caught. Panto had had to bolt to the wardrobe at the last second when his shoulders hadn't been able to squeeze under the frame.
He reaches his unoccupied hand further into the dark to hold Silas' cheek in his hand, the other man leaning into his touch. He relaxes a bit almost immediately. "I... I'm sorry" He whispers. "I'm just so scared.”
He pushes his way out toward the room, finally letting himself back into the light. He sits beside Panto, both with their backs against the mattress. Silas' hair is a mess, unstyled as it has been the past few days. Just as beautiful to Panto as always.
"Scared of what?" Panto wondered. "We meet at your home. I know your mother can be cruel, but surely she would not do something so drastic to her own son!"
"I don't care about me! I am scared for you, Panto." He leans his head to rest on his love's shoulder, breathing in the warm scent Pan to always carried. This he had desperately missed. He frowned as the form beneath him stiffened.
"For- .. Not an ounce of concern for yourself as always. When are you going to realize that you are worth the risk?" A huff pressed into the sleeve of his tunic. "You shouldn't risk your life for a man who would rather write than hold a pair of scissors." He picks his head back up, turning away.
"Love."
"I can barely hold a weapon, and I'm horrid with politics, and I am soft, and I like flowers, I'm not good enough to- mmph!" A hand under his chin pulls him into a soft, sweet kiss. Thoughts of self-deprecation fly from his mind at Panto's touch, and he's a little dazed when he's released.
"Silas Dengdamor," Panto starts as he pulls away. Both of their faces are wet from Silas' tears."You are the most brilliant man I know. I'm not going to let you talk like that about the person I love."
"I don't want to keep risking you for this!"
"This is the only thing I would never want to risk."
Silas nuzzles his face into the crook of his lover’s neck and shoulder, hiding the watery smile on his lips.
"So." Panto rests his hand on the back of Silas' hair, running his fingers through the dark strands. "We are smart, or at least you are. How do we solve this?"
A soft laugh. "What?" He tugs, just barely, affectionately.
“I don't want you worried, yet I refuse to lose you. So we will find a solution that leaves both our hearts undamaged."
They spend the night planning, devising strategies to protect their secret. More forest meetings where they can better hide, suffering through the embarrassment of-telling Wygar where and when they should have their dalliances, scheduling encounters ahead of time.
They curl up in Silas' bed, cuddled close. Wygar keeps watch at side as Silas lays with his ear to Panto's chest where he can hear his love's heartbeat and know that in this moment they are safe and secure.