Chapter Text
When Regulus was barely above what his people would consider a babe, he had often taken to tenuous acts of subversion. Sneaking away from his chambers late into the night required little to no prior forethought, nor planning. It wasn't something expected of him. And therefore he was able to execute the action with ease. Nearing eight, his servants had often taken to leaving him unaccompanied. Due to the demand for their services increasing by each year–Many nobles had decided to bless the kingdom with their own blessings when the king and Queen had excitedly announced their first pregnancy. Doing well to assure themselves of a joyous future– and faced with more boisterous children. Regulus in his unassuming nature had been discarded when it was questioned if he was a child that required such around-the-clock supervision.
He was quieter, less of a hassle. Obedience carved its way into his flesh with ease from an early age. And when the servants were faced with his unrelenting brother, who was prone to tantrum and outbursts that required their full attention, he fell back onto the opposite role with ease. He was dismissed from the servant's minds as soon as they tucked him into bed, lit a fire to keep him warm and bid him a do as night abroached.
With a thin blue blanket typically draped around his shoulders, Regulus would open his door. It would creak loudly in protest, but no one was around to hear such acts of tattle-telling. He’d shoot his entryway a smile and go on his way. Glancing behind himself warily at every other corridor he travelled down. He had watched the shadows with suspicion as if waiting for them to jump out and swallow him whole. Pull him deep within the dark crevices, dragging him deeper until he could never doubt he would never see the morning sky again. His whole body would shake at the thought, legs weak and straining to support the rest of him while in such freight. He was always so terrified of being caught.
His mother's glower, his father's grimace, the castle's whispers. He had no want for them to bestow upon him the look they often offered to his brother at the time. Alas, with such fears distilled deep into him. It had never crossed his mind to stop while ahead. Before he was to be found and punished. It was well past recollection by now, the servants chose rather to neglect their duties to keep it as well-kept as the rest of the kingdom. Knowing that they could get away with it, when nearly everyone had forgotten of its existence. The tower reached too far in the sky to be able to competently examine the grounds for the watchtowers or get an accurate shot for the archers. Ivy vines started taking over the safety railings. Dirt smeared across the stone brick by his feet.
His teachers taught him of the stars, thus ensuring his knowledge pertaining to the family tradition of naming the babes after them from an early age. Something his parents would be delighted at. He would sit up there for hours, looking upon the stars. The tower had reached higher than most of the castle, leaving it completely in the dark. And while the stars in the sky beamed back down at Regulus’ small figure. He would tilt his head to the sky for hours and ignore the dull ache of his body begging for him to move. The blackened sky lit up with faint hues of purple and blue. The bright white specks reminding Regulus of a painter flicking paint on a canvas. And though he could see all the stars in the sky…
He could rarely ever spot his own.
Regulus had smelted nothing but smoke as he plunged his steel sword into the woman's chest, it cut through her thick corset with ease. He had taken a gasp, hoping the air would offer him even the slightest bit of clarity. Instead, It chokes him as he tries to swallow it down. Like a hand around his throat, only tightening with each second. The cold air is little to no help, it only causes his limbs to struggle under the weight of the battle. His actions are stilted, arms shake under the weight of his sword. Despite this, he still stands tall, looming over her. Watches her and scowls as she gasps out in surprise. Watches her look down at the gushing blood spilling out from her open chest. He wonders if he could reach in, push passed her guts and past her ribcage to her heart, and rip it out.
Wonders if he’d be able to get away with putting it in his own chest before it stops beating.
She falls to the ground shaking, he steps over her. Towering above her, he lifts his left foot up to her neck. And crushes her windpipe with a single blow, leaving her dead on the cold hard winter ground. A mercy kill if anything. Better he end it now than leave her to slowly bleed now. She had long wavy locks of blonde hair that wouldn't stay up in the high ponytail she tied. Messy baby hairs stuck to the cold sweat on her forehead and glassy lifeless blue eyes.
She looks a bit like Narcissa, he contemplates. Taking in her high cheekbones, thin brows, and hooked nose. His tongue tastes rotten where it rests on the roof of his mouth. He winces, trying to hold himself upright instead of falling to the dirt beside her and retching up what was left of last night's supper. Struggling to hold back the bile in his throat. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and doesn’t bother to clean his sword of her blood. In a moment his crimson-stained blade will mix with another soldier's blood, and he will leave the battlefield in victory, a bloody mess in his wake. He can hear Barty’s booming laugh far to his right as he kicks a soldier to the ground. It rings in his ears, he holds back a grimace.
Then again, he hasn’t seen Narcissa in an awful long while now, For all he knows the woman lying dead on the grass next to him doesn’t resemble her in the slightest. He takes comfort in that, despite the persistent nagging that he ought not to.
He grips his sword tight. Finding solace in the worn leather of the handle and the slight weight of the steel.
The sky darkens, casting shadows across the land. Showing Regulus the passage of time without his need to keep track of it. Regulus’ sword stays steady, swinging at the opponents on the battlefield. Despite the fatigue slowly catching up to him. Though his armour is just as weak as theirs, just as easy to slice through just as he has done to them, leaving them beneath him as he carries on deeper into the battle zone. His weapon, just as dull as theirs from the stretched-out fight, he feels unstoppable. He feels like a formidable force. A force to be reckoned with. His enemies drop like flies. Weak and pitiful and, well, they had just never stood a chance in the first place. Did they?
He delivers a blow to a man's chest, his organs spill out and drop to the ground before he himself falls.
A younger lad charges at him then, in a desperate act of vengeance. Screaming bloody murder, screaming that the body that now rests to the left of them was his uncle. An honourable knight, a respected, hard-working man. But Regulus finds himself disagreeing. Thinks that if he was an honorable or a respectable knight as the boy suggests, he wouldn't have had been able to knock him off his horse so easily. Or that if he had been a hardworking knight, he would've been better at defending himself from Regulus’ attacks. Had taken to spending his days in the training yard rather than drinking his days away, something Regulus could distinguish quickly from the man's bulging beer belly.
The young lad charges at him then but it's almost too easy to disarm him. His legwork is laughable and his offence is pitiful. Regulus makes swift work with the knife that cuts the boy's throat. He uses his dagger for the boy, seeing not much of an opponent at all. He tossed him beside his Uncle so they could rot together. Maybe it'd even be a pretty sight come spring, their bones piled together and overtaken by the grass, flowers blooming through their eye sockets. If they liked the land so much it's only fair they rested there.
Soon, there were few foes to fight, the ones not staining the grass with the pools of blood by their feet had retreated. Had begun to run back into the thick of the southern wood to hide. Regulus’ people do not dare venture into those parts. Knowing the myths of the wood elves that led many astray, and were never to have been seen again. These were nothing but horror stories spread by the kingdom of Thebeso and their King Diggory, in a desperate act to preserve their supply of thick overgrown. Trees that stood taller and older than most kingdoms. Still though, it is best to avoid certain areas where your enemies undoubtedly hold the upper hand.
He spots Evan Rosier first, in the dwindling crowd. He’s sporting a vicious scowl, as he deals a final blow to a young man looking not older than sixteen. Bloodthirsty, in all rights. He swings his sword in a quick motion, flicking most of the blood that begins pooling onto a patch of grass beside him. Regulus makes quick work shortening the distance between them. He opens his mouth, about to call out.
A body slams into him. Regulus stumbles, barely catching his footing. Searing pain makes itself known in his shoulder from the impact, by a sudden crack. Regulus’ vision blurs. He sees a mess of curls first before he distinguishes that the hair belongs to Barty. He recognises his laughter first.
Well, Regulus thinks dully, at least someone’s having a bit of fun then.
There, again, just as Regulus was nearly recovered from the last altercation, there was a deafening clash of metal to his right. Despite himself, Regulus stills just a bit from it. It causes his ears to ring loudly. He gasps, bringing his hands up to his ears in an attempt to soothe himself. The noise was far too close for Regulus to have any misguided perception of safety. He clutches his sword close, taking a breath. Just again there's another loud clash, Barty fighting against a sword far too close to Regulus for his liking, it was inches from cutting him.
Regulus pulls back, spinning around as a strand of his hair gets left behind and falls beside his feet. Finally able to view the fight, he just catches the show as Barty sweeps the older man's legs out beneath him.
Quickly, Barty throws the sword into the man's stomach before he can recover, leaving him pinned to the ground. Blood begins to gurgle past his lips as he opens his mouth to speak.
“You–All of you…You're all monsters.” He coughs up, fighting against the gurgles of blood he spits up.
“Oh yes, well.” Barty gloats as he leans closer to him, making a show of pulling the blade from his chest. ”It wouldn’t be very fun otherwise, would it?” He grinned. The man chokes, body going slack.
“Don't be so imperious,” Regulus calls over, rolling his eyes. Barty just scoffs, casting over dubious glance. “Is there such a need for crude remarks?” Regulus crosses his arms, and plants his feet on the ground, looking him up and down.
Barty relents, lips stretching into a broad smile, he shrugs halfheartedly. A knight from the royal guard interrupts them then, with a clearing throat with a deep bow. Just has Barty parts his lips to speak.
Regulus gives him a nod, letting his unintentional disruption of Barty's mocking continue forth. Feeling strong vindication under the weight of Barty’s glare from it, He bites back a smile.
“Your Highness, I have orders to draw your attention somewhere else. The medical tents require your protection.” He says such, with such flare of dramatics. As if the tents had been under immediate threat of danger. Like the farmers, with their rusty pitchforks and all, that they had scared off into the forest to the East of them had only taken to the trees. In order to camouflage them selfs in the overgrown and mud. To start their expedition back a couple of miles over to the North. Enacting their long since brewing plans of overthrowing the Physicians who took to guarding it. Rather than to voice the opinion that the bloody cuts and aching shoulder that Regulus now sports require medical attention. They were to be careful nothing happened to him, they didn't have another spare.
It's a well-intended act of propitiation. Therefore Regulus lets himself be fooled and dragged away. Knowing well they had begun to wrap these things up down here enough for his departure not to seem weak. But just rather bored now that the fun part was over.
Regulus follows after him diligently, ignoring Barty's insistent teasing.
“A thank you would have sufficed, my Prince!” Barty calls after him.
Regulus has half the mind to turn back around and give Barty a quick stab chest for such slander. Then, surely, Barty would accompany him back to the tents. Offer him a slight sum of amusement even if it was muddled in with annoyance. Though he knows there is no mirth beneath the words. Barty simply fancies riling people up if given an opportunity to do so. Furthermore, he's well aware that the last brawl had been entirely his fault. In a moment of foolishness, he had not seen an attacker approach, Barty Crouch… had. And he had defended his Prince to the best of his abilities. Thus Regulus will let Barty claim this victory, if only just this once. Knowing Barty will only hold it over him for a day or so, Regulus offers him a nod, in thanks. Acknowledging the deed, while knowing that its nature could easily be abstruse. A thanks or a dismissal? Barty will have no difficulty understanding, he only leaves it for the knights watching him from afar.
Regulus was lucky he had only escaped with a minor wound on his shoulder. Which he suspected was a dislocation. It would seem luck was on his side today, as his duties had already required him to check in on the medical staff. He’d have one of them take a quick look, so as to not waste any time.
The neighbouring kingdom Cremia, though it was far enough to be hesitant to describe it as so. Had been using their land to farm. And as soon as the word reached Queen Walburga and King Orion Black, They had sent a dozen troops to fend off the land from the thieves. Their son led at the front of it. The smaller kingdom had few farming plots and had been struggling to feed their civilians for a while. Last spring King Diggory had tried to strike a bargain to use a plot of land closer to them than Walburga and Orion’s own kingdom. It was a grassy field remaining untouched by the expansion of buildings currently being constructed to support the influx of population density over the years.
They had outright refused, and Regulus understood, even at the time. Who needs be allied with a dying kingdom, when allowed to starve them out and take their land as your own?
And it was quiet for a long time after that.
It was only now that word broke out of the neighbouring kingdom's endeavours. And as Walburga and Orion send out their troops. They sent out their own. They met in the middle, about a mile out from the now farming district, They raised their swords and fought. Flat planes rolled as far as the eye could see and they were now burnt and scorched in blood.
Fought until bloodied, fought until bones ached and no one was left unscathed. No one left with anything but a simple cut on their cheek or arm.
Fought until Regulus’ Army walked back out claiming victory. Tonight a feast was to be had, then they would make their way back to their kingdom, and be praised for their glory. Their willingness to defend a worthless plot of land. Their courage to kill the starving that wanted to be fed. To be so offended as to kill because someone made something baren beautiful.
As Regulus belted his sword, he looked at the darkening night sky and saw the few stars bright enough to shine so early after sunset. Nowhere can he spot himself.
Regulus had exactly one night's rest after the long four-day venture home before he was to meet his parents in the throne room
He should be grateful they had given him that long, rather than requesting an audience as soon as he stepped through their walls. When they reached the kingdom's heart, Regulus parted with Sir Barty and Evan and made his way to his chambers, falling right into his bed with not one scrap of food and slept past noon. He’d woken to the bright rays beaming through his window, the drawn curtains still not strong enough to block its searing light. He groaned, hiding back under the thick covers and rubbing at his eyes, suddenly met with dizziness, the sore ache of his bones, and a pit in his stomach.
He orders the servants to draw him a cold bath, hoping it will wake him up before he is to meet with his parents.
They are quick to fill the tub and make their leave. The job quicker than if they were to heat it. He sheds yesterday's clothing from his body. Grimacing from how the sweat from them made the fabric stick to his skin. Pulling at the strings of his shirt and using his feet to slide each opposing leg from the garments. He dips his leg in the water and shudders.
He should have had the servants heat the water until it was boiling. He wanted the hot water to melt his skin away like wax, to watch it drip on the floor beside him. His mind gave away to the thoughts of his skin, thick and gooey like the quality of honey, dripping beneath him and onto the cool stone, until he was nothing left but bone. Stewing away in the tub as if chicken bones in a broth. Finally able to warm his bones without anything in his way. He shuts his eyes, the daydream easily as vivid as a dream, his mind still not fully awoken from his previous slumber.
The cold water had soothed his back, but the rest of him was left violently shivering. His teeth clattered as he brought his knees to tuck under his chin, and when he huffed out a breath he half expected to see the fog. He doesn't, the fire has warmed the air just enough to spare him of that. He made quick work lathering up the sponge with soap to wash himself. Scrubbing away until his skin was pink and tender.
He glances out from behind his dressing screen. Craning his neck to catch a view of the entranceway of his chambers. Spotting the leather boots he had messily kicked off when he had first discarded them at his arrival last night. They were a bit scuffed up, had dry mud chipping off them. The sabaton had begun to break off many months ago, what's left had been torn from his feet during his last battle. Leaving now, only the eroding brown leather of the boots. Worn from battle. He’d shed them off as soon as he had been able to, while he was safely tucked away inside his chambers. Feeling as if he’d tracked the blood from the battle all the way back home.
He leaves the water, quickly drying himself off with the towel left for him beside the metal tub before wrapping it loose around his waist and making his way over to the chair resting beside the fireplace. Careful to avoid the soot the servants had let fester in his absence. Honestly, he scowls, sucking on his teeth. Can't they do anything? he picks up the chair and carries it impossibly closer, despite the protest from his worn body. Placing it just a little over a foot from the fire. Far closer than what some would consider a safe distance. But the fire was low, the servants had yet to put another log on since they had filled his bath. And he had needed something to warm himself.
He had half the mind to crawl back into bed. And let the soft blankets and thick quilts do the warming for him. Though he knew that sleep would reclaim him quickly if he had stooped to such levels of self-indulgence. He settles for the raggedy blue blanket discarded on the soda a few feet from him. It was old, snitching having long since unravelled. He had been almost surprised to see it here still. After all his refusal to part with it had left the maids trying to discard it as discreetly as they could. And his time away gave them the perfect opportunity without any transgressions.
He rolls his shoulders back, wincing at the sudden sharp pain that greets him. His injury from battle had still not quite healed.
Regulus pulls himself up, walks over to his armoire and makes quick work of dressing himself in one of his more formal robes. Knowing it was only suitable after bringing home another victory–He could not dare to get away with loose slacks and a shirt not fine fabric.
Better to flaunt.
He reminds himself. And after doing so settles for a velvet blouse, the fabric a deep red boarding on black. And layers it with an embellished tunic. He adorns a thick leather cloak, sure to keep him warm while facing the frigid air of the unheated commons and corridors on his long trek across the castle to the throne room.
He reaches for another set of shoes from the floorboard of his wardrobe. Ignoring his nausea as he ties them to his feet. But allows himself the small relief of kicking the other set until they are gone from view, rolling under his oract furniture sets.
He composes himself as he reaches for the door. Rights his shoulders. The corridors are flooded with the folk, they part as he walks past. Like a school of fish as a deep sea creature creeps near. Strong, powerful, bigger than them. He widens his strides, walking with ease. Letting the whispers and the stares guide him closer to the grander room that awaited for him ahead. They've invited people to witness his return. His welcoming back, after such grand accomplishments. He revels in the thought they whispered such things. There was very little of much else to cause such talk. But still, there's satisfaction in the train of thought.
He's important. Crucial, to the growth of the kingdom. Their leering agrees, it's obvious they see it clear as day.
His ability to lead.
He’ll be a great king when the day comes, there is little to doubt in that regard.
He reaches the two doors of the throne room, swung wide in their opening. Tall in length, reaching nearly as high as the ceiling. The guard at the door bows deeply. Announcing his arrival loudly as Regulus strides closer.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" Cried the knight, his voice ringing out across the hall. "We welcome the arrival of His Royal Highness, the Prince of Black!"
Regulus made his way through the grand entrance to the throne room. The beauty of it was something he was long since used to. The high ceilings, adorned with intricate paintings and carvings. They spoke of their rich cultural heritage, while the walls hung with tapestries and were lined with pillars. The gleaming stone floor, they were all testament to the kingdom's wealth and power.
As he walked further down the plush red carpet, the sounds of courtiers and attendants bustling about, joining the festivities, had halted. The room fell silent as the prince approached the throne, his regal bearing and commanding presence filling the space. The courtiers and attendants bowed their heads in respect, their eyes fixed on the prince. With a nod of his head, Regulus acknowledged the crowd, his eyes sweeping across the room.
The atmosphere was one of regal elegance, and Regulus couldn't help the sense of pride bubble up in his chest as he approached the thrones. With each step he took, came that spiteful satisfaction. Felt the weight of his position as a member of the royal family, and the gravity of the duties that came with it. And knowing, no one else had ever held this much of it, and had endured.
The two thrones themselves were a work of art, a symbol of the kingdom's power and authority. Something that stole Regulus' breath every time he took the sight in. He felt a sense of reverence wash over him. It would be his one day.
He stops a few feet from the three-step staircase that leads up to them.
His father, King Orion Black had worn his usual attire. Deep viridian robes adorned with intricate silver filigree, He sat back rim rod straight, in anticipation, his eyes running up Regulus form. Taking in the sight.
While the queen's dress sparkled with jewels and fine lace. Her richly embroidered garments shimmering in the light of the grand hall. She regards him with pride, a refined smile. Bringing a hand up to touch her mouth.
The Lord, Severus Snape stands off to the side, a scroll in hand. Dressed in their house colours of Green and silver. He clutches the scroll tighter as he feels Regulus gaze, knuckles white. He turns his head away just the slightest bit. Dropping his gaze to his shoes. Standing beside the two knights on the right of his parents. Regulus holds back a snarl.
He drops one of his knees, bowing his head deeply.
“Your Majesties,” He acknowledges.
“Regulus.” He can hear a smile in his father's voice. A welcome home. But Regulus keeps his eyes on the cobble beneath him. Noticing the small cracks in the stone from the wear from the years of travel. Taking a deep breath, he steadies himself.
“My son,” His mother says, as warmly as she can possibly offer him. It's not by a lot, in the grand scheme of things. But Regulus doesn't really need much when it comes to that. He is not one for intensity, especially in the act of intimacy. Regulus forgives her, he knows her well. She gives as much as she's got. It wasn't her fault there wasn't much to offer him.
He stands, drawing his shoulders back. Taking in their smiles, small and polite in their nature.
“Mother.”
“Tell us of your exploits.” Onion urges, waving his hand. The queen cocks an eyebrow, urging Regulus further.
“I bring back joyous news. We have accomplished more than anticipated, Lord Crouch and Lord Rosier have done well in their assistance, aiding me.” He clasps his hands behind his back, jutting out his chin.
“The archduke and the Baron?” After Barty Crouch Sr. retired to his estate two winters ago; due to his old age and decaying mind, Barty was more than happy to take over his title of Archduke. Evan Rosier on the other hand had been far more hesitant to inherit the title of Baron after his father's death of last year.
“Noble adversaries, Your Majesty,” Regulus affirms.
The king nods.
Regulus steps closer,
“The southern lands have been thoroughly cleaned, Father” He declares proudly. “I am proud to say we have nearly forced all unlawful dwellers from the properties out. King Digg–”
“Nearly?” His mother scoffs, giving the king a hard look. Onion sighs, knowingly. Regulus drawls back, a bit puzzled by the reaction. He sets his jaw. Giving a short nod. “And this is to say you've not freed us from the primitive colonizers just yet?”
Regulus furrows his brows a bit by the wording. But nods again despite himself.
“I predict an arrival of a letter sent from King Diggorty in the next few days, outlining the terms of the kingdom's surrender,” Regulus informs, eyes bulging. Still thrown off by his mother's disapproval. Frankly, he hasn't expected that from her. It was a feat in of itself that he has progressed so quickly to this point.
His Mother's thinly veiled impatience. Yes, it was without a doubt a bad omen. He feels a bit of doom beginning to set in his chest. He takes a deep breath, trying not to get ahead of himself. Though somewhere in the back of his mind he knows, his mother would not act in this manner if it was anything but something sure to cause his demise.
He waits, the anticipation biting at him like a starved dog. Teeth rotted and dull, some even bloody and broken, straining at the use. But persistent in its gnawing. Hungry for scraps.
“My dear,” The king hushes, resting his hand on top of hers. “He has done well with the impracticable amount of time we have given him.” Regulus feels a bit of pride swell in his chest at that, he puffs out his chest at the praise. Now glad at least with one of his parents had acknowledged his unrelenting perseverance, that has carried him all these years. This spite that's kept him upright. He turns back to Regulus “So well, in fact, we had thought to have a feast on your return. That, however, has been pushed back as other headaches have had some light shed onto them.”
“You wish to give me another task?” Regulus asks, baffled. His shoulders ached in protest, there's a certain dizziness that washed over him when he shuts his eyes. His muscles suffered from such soreness his entire body resorted to aching. Why would they–They would demand he carry more, after he's nearly buckled from the weight of what he carries now? Alas, a king's request is not to go unaccepted. “I fear you mistake the calibre of abilities while working with this amount of workload.” He protests. “The fields down in the south of our lands require my full attention, Father. I've already begun my preparations to journey back. And that is not even to mention the neglect of Lord Slughorn's people. My duties there have been placed on the back burner for far too long since the word spread of the south. I cannot just abandon–”
“Worry not of such impervious tasks, you’ve most of the work. You will receive the most praise for your attributions.” His Father scoffs, waving him off. “We will send another.”
Then why hadn't they in the first place? In the corner of his eye, he makes out Severus’ form. He shoots him a harsh glower as the other smirks at the insinuation from the king. Taking over the Prince's responsibilities. If anyone had possessed the ability to do so, it had been the snake in the grass. He quickly shrinks back into himself after he seems to struggle to keep the same spirit under Regulus' gaze.
Regulus has to hold back a sneer.
“Father, I have obligations, I can not just run off again without a care for my–”
The king sticks out the palm of his hand. Silencing Regulus, as swiftly and demeaningly as he can. Regulus understands why. But he can not bring himself to stop.
“We have struck up a promise of a peace treaty with the Kingdom of Rayos De Sol. They’ve done well to keep a prominent influence in the passing years. Their trading districts have much to offer us. And as we struggle while in the face of winter. Their southern farms prosper. Our main goal is to offer our military exploits as a trade of sustenance.”
Regulus’ mouth drops.
Sirius, Is the first thought that comes to mind. Sirius, he can't help but think. And oh, oh god, that just makes everything so very worse.
James, is traitorously whispered. It's hushed, small in its essence. He can just about ignore the whisper when he is faced with the booming screams of Sirius. The name Sirius packs a certain punch that no other can compare itself to. But he cannot rid the name James from his mind altogether. It's latched onto him like a parasite. Fuck.
Food in recent months had been sparse, but not to such standards. Not to be as desperate as to–to resort to this.
“Mother, Father, I have an obligation to the South, do I not? Is there not a way you are able to adjust—modify the timeline? Delay until I have this sorted?" Regulus repeats, tone growing more and more desperate as the conversation continues forth. His mouth is suddenly dry, his legs feel weak beneath the pressure of his heart and mind. He knows better, no. His parents wouldn’t, they can’t.
He’ll beg and they’ll relent.
He knows they won’t. But this admission does nothing to squish his desperation to delay, if it was absolute then he at the very least needed more time to prepare himself.
He needed more time.
But in truth, he would need a lifetime to put himself together.
His father sighs, slouching slightly and bringing up a hand to rub harshly at his eyes.
“The last shipment of food, tainted.” The king snarls. Throwing his left right and up in the air. Walburga scowls, deeply. Crossing her arms with a huff.
“Tainted.” Regulus intimates faintly. His mind suddenly made quiet.
“Tainted meats, tainted grain, tainted. Lord Nott’s settlements can no longer be trusted for heavy Horticulture and the transportation of those goods.”
“Is there no one else to turn to? We must resort to such extreme measures? Their kingdom represents everything we have sworn against.”
“Contestants are slim. Few can give what is needed, even to offer is an accomplishment
in of itself. Rayos De Sol lacks what we can make up for.” And they can offer the same sentiment to us, his father does not say. His pride is too big for such words.
“Their population has grown. They've done well to grow into themselves.” His mother voices, beginning to tap her nails on the arm of her throne. A tell-tale sign of her impatience. “Our ties have indeed been…strained for quite some time. “ Regulus does not voice aloud that they had been the cause for such strain. He knows better. “We can not support ourselves through other developments, without the stock from lord Notts farming plants. Their kingdom offers much prosperity. Which calls to be entertained, given the circumstances”
“So has ours, hundreds more by the day.” Regulus counters. They had gained hundreds with each new property they had claimed. It had done well for them.
“Yes, though theirs grows more out of a certain willingness. They have a stronger sense of loyalty than our people. We take with force, what they are given freely. Most of their population comes from free migration.”
“We are so desperate to resort to the unsavoury, to bend our morals when faced with a struggle?”
“You are my heir, my only child. Tiss your duty to carry out my commands as I see fit. You will do what you are told.” It goes in Regulus' left ear and out his right. He has already opened his mouth to retort, making his displeasure known. Perhaps eating before coming here had been an idea he shouldn't have ignored. He knows distantly that arguing with his father wasn't a wise choice, especially as a public display. It only causes for a downwards tick in their reputation, nothing disastrous, but something annoying nonetheless. Something to be dealt with. But this is distantly, up close the view of discontent blurs all else that surrounds.
“Am I not needed south, in the valley? To secure the lands, and offer citizenship to the people willing to surrender?”
“You will do what you are told to!” Walburgas voice sharp as steel, “My boy. You tread on thin ice, must you watch yourself. ”
“I truly believe that this is the best course of action for us, immigration from—“
“Are you questioning my ability to lead?” A deafening silence befalls them.
The Prince stills.
Regulus' lips thin, he bows his head, “No, your majesty.” Conceding at last. He clasps his hands together, stooping forward in an act of submission. Bowing down to his king. “My allegiance to this kingdom and my family is everlasting, fidelity unshaken.”
His heart thuds against his ribcage. There's a dull feeling of fear, of adrenaline. But it is pushed to the side to make enough room for the enormous amount of guilt that settles in between in the flex of his shoulders. And tightens a hold around his throat. He feels like Sirius.
He couldn't deny them, he knows this. He could tear into his skin, scream into the wind, wreck the room, tear down the curtains, overturn the throne. Spill blood from both himself and the others who dare to stand in this room. Who dares to watch him, judge him as he tries to reason with the King and Queen. As if they had been making any sense at all. Stand on the level as him and cast judgment onto him as if he wasn't higher.
They stand on the same ground, but only for now. If anyone had dared to possess even the ability to question their leaders, it was him. Regulus is the heir, he will one day climb the stairs and sit on the throne. Something that could never be offered to the rest of them. The nobles at court really must learn their place, he muses. Though he knows he’ll have plenty of time to teach them better than this.
He craves for the day he sits on the throne, on top of the stairs, looking down upon these people. Welding all power, it would be his choice whether to cast them out or care for them.
It’d be childish, to have a tantrum now. Over the simple thought of seeing acquaintances in which he carried a strained familiarity bond with now. He would never lower himself down to that standard.
His mother nods sharply, sighing ever so slightly. But grants him the merciful act of forgiveness nonetheless.
“I must say I am relieved, tactless contrarian exploits are not how we go about availing oneself. Too akin to people that no longer carry our respect.”
Regulus nods his head, shame crawling up his neck.
“I shall ready for more travel, though if I shall dare to inquire, may I accrue my companions myself?”
The king raises a brow, “Such matters will be discussed at a later time.”
Regulus nods. This argument had been enough of a public affair as it is. It is best not to flame the fire.
He bows, deep.
As he straightens up, Regulus can feel the weight of his exhaustion dragging him down. The strain of the muscles in his legs as he pulled himself to his own height again, it had been an astonishing feat that they had not given out beneath him. His mind, distance and clouded over like a fog had led him astray. Lost in the thick of it. Nevertheless, he remains resolute in his commitment. For as a prince, he knows that his duties are not merely physical, he must be a pillar of strength and stability for his people, even if his own reserves running low.
For in a kingdom where duty and responsibility are paramount, there is no room for weakness or apathy, only a steadfast commitment to serving one's people with honour and distinction.
Regulus would rather face death than be unable to be the embodiment of that.
The Prince's heart raced as he stepped out of the grand hall, his head bowed in shame. Regulus felt the weight of the king and queen's disapproval heavy on his chest, a crushing blow. Threatened to overwhelm him. He had defied their orders, in front of their subjects no less.
He returns to his chambers as soon as he's given the chance to retire. Finally indulging in such behaviors as sleeping while the sun still hung high in the sky. And even worse, what was to be considered napping. And waits for the summons from his father. It comes as the sun begins to dip, beginning to hide itself away in the rolling hills of the west.
He had been lounging in his chair beside the fire. A book, long since forgotten, rested against his chest. He had lost himself in his enrapture of the fire. Thinking of the dark eyes that matched his own. Of a loud voice, unafraid, unrelenting.
Of Black hair, wavy and soft.
Of Brown hair, unruly and tangled.
As he closed his eyes, he could see both faces clearly in his mind's eye, Sirius’ gentle smile and sparkling eyes filling him. James’ with a playful smirk, one side of his lip raising just a bit, the closed mouth raised. One he had only taken on when they were alone.
The thought of seeing them, now. Send a chill down his spine. He imagines the feeling he’d get after gutting them open.
The memory of his parents' stern faces, of the disapproving murmurs of the courtiers, burned in his mind like a branding iron. As he had retreated to his chambers, the prince had felt the guilt set it. Now it had gnawed at him from within, at a tenfold. How could he have been so foolish, so impetuous? He knew that he had let his emotions get the better of him, that he had acted rashly and without thinking of the consequences.
With a deep sigh, Regulus opened his eyes.
A knock at his door startles him, he clears his throat. “Yes?”
A knight strode into the prince's chambers, his armour clanking with every step. Reflecting the warm glow of the candles that the servants had lit when they had brought him supper. He bowed respectfully before the prince and delivered his message in a clear, firm voice.
"Your Highness, the King and Queen request your presence in the war room. Urgent news to discuss with you." Regulus rose to his feet quickly, letting the blue blanket he had wrapped around himself fall to the floor, and chucking the book onto the sofa beside him.
He nodded solemnly, straightening his tunic. Knowing that he could not keep his parents waiting for long.
"Thank you for informing me, sir," he calls over to the knight, clasping his hands together. "I will make my way over to them immediately."
The knight bowed once more, turning to leave, his footsteps echoing down the long, winding hallway. The prince watched him go, his mind already racing with thoughts of the king's urgent summons. Itching to do something.
He hurries to bundle himself in thicker layers. Grabbing a scarf to wrap around his leather cloak. Quickly biding his chambers a do. Knowing the corridors are to be much colder now, than as they were in the noon.
Regulus briskly strode through the castle’s winding hallways, his feet echoing against the stone floors. The corridors became more empty as the night drew closer. As he made his way towards the war room, he felt the sense of urgency building higher within him. He knew that time was of the essence, with each step, his pace quickened, his long strides eating up the distance between him and his destination. He could hear the distant murmur of voices as he drew closer, the sound of his advisors huddled around a large table, their heads bent in deep discussion. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by the sight of a large table dominating the centre of the room, with a meticulously crafted map of the kingdom laid out upon it.
Gathered around the map were the kingdom's top military strategists, their heads bent in deep discussion. He, with great disdain, spots Severus Snape's long hair within the crowd. Many nobles wear it short nowadays, making it so he can spot Severus with much ease. Something that brings him immeasurable amounts of displeasure. He misses the day he could lose the Lord in the crowds with ease.
Lord Rodolphus Lestrange's voice rose in a crescendo as he pounded the table with soft thuds, his eyes blazing with intensity.
“And what do you suggest? Huh? Walk in with our swords drawn? Such action will result in nothing–”
“I fear it is you who made that suggestion,” The Count Earl, Lucius Malfoy drawls. Regulus perks up just a pit at the sight of the man, but knows that even if he himself has made the journey here. Narcissa had been to stay in their manner, under the premise of keeping things in order. The physicians had believed it best for her not to travel while so late in her term. He sometimes wishes Lord Lestrange had done the same with Bella, locking her way in his grounds instead of residing at the castle. She had grown a bit too–unnerving, for Regulus’ taste these days. He does his best to avoid her most days. Alas, Lord Lestrange was as hungry as they were–And who was to blame a starved man for staying at a banquet? “We can not treat them as primitive animals, they've done well to show their intellect. We must act with an air of respect if we want to go anywhere. Even if it is false.” He was making his case for the king to follow his strategy over those proposed by the other nobles in the war room. Though Lord Lestrange looked equally determined, the Count Earls’ face set itself in a deep scowl as he countered the argument with his own. The two men were deep in discussion, their voices growing louder and more passionate by the second.
The king sat bored in his chair, gaze flickering between the two as he sipped his wine. As the discussion grew more intense, the Prince felt the weight of the room bearing down upon him, Regulus took a step closer to the table, causing the attention to turn onto him.
“Such aggression.” Regulus observes with a taunt, a smirk playing on his lips. “Whatever you two fight over I assure you both that there is no real need to do so. We often invite you to these meetings as a way to keep us entertained, rather than hold your plans to good use.”
The joke elicited laughter from the table, lighting the mood, even just a bit. Barty sends him a grin, when noticing his arrival. The two men sour, at the jab. Undeterred, the king chuckles, setting his cup down with a loud thud, the movements a bit stilted. Showing he’d already had a bit too many cups. “Sit my son, there is much to discuss.” He gestures to the chair between himself and Severus, he slots into it with ease. More than happy to block Severus from the king's view. Severus had probably been ecstatic to sit so close to the king, Regulus finds himself wanting to make Severus regret that. He faces the king, turning so that his full back covers Severus’ form.
“Father,” Regulus nods, offering a small smile. He cranes his neck past Severus, forcing his eyes to run right past him, and onto Regulus’ mother. Who sat on the opposite side of the table, parallel to his father. “Mother.”
“My son,” She nods, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the papers clasped in her hand, even to glance up as her son greeted her. Although the prince could not discern the contents of the papers, he could sense the queen's preoccupation and the gravity of the situation.
He does not bother himself with it. Knowing that it had, most likely been something regarding the southern borders.
“We have much to consider, we must make a move on less we’ll be here until the sun rises.” Walburga hummed, neatly stacking the papers on the table. “We shall work our way up. Before your arrival, Regulus. We were discussing the best action for Duke Slughorn's villages by the northeastern seaside, this also includes the recent problems with his ports.”
She lifts the first page from the stack, making sure to give everyone a view. Before setting it down in the middle of the table.
The room jumped into action, head first. Quickly filling the wall with overlapping voices. Nobles hatching out more thorough strategies, desperate to catch their Majesties' approval with it. The tension in the room was palpable, each person acutely aware of the weight of the task before them.
The royal family had always been notoriously known for their iron fist. And a half-baked, impractical idea, would not win their favour.
The prince, his brow furrowed in concentration, studies the maps and reports spread out before him. His advisors, equally focused, pored over the same documents, their eyes darting back and forth as they considered the different possibilities. Certain adjustments that required change. As they talked, the discussions grew, and Regulus grew increasingly more exhausted. Wanting nothing more than to retire to his chambers. The nobles debated and argued, each one bringing their perspective to the table. They weighed the merits of different strategies, considered the strengths and weaknesses of their troops, and calculated the risks of each possible move.
Finally, after hours of debate and analysis, many plans had taken shape. Well within the early stages of enactment. The stack of papers grows thin, until there is only one flimsy sheet left.
Regulus felt his nerves begin to fray. A weird sort of buzzing makes itself known in his ears.
“Lastly, Lord Nott's farms, It seems in recent years we've invested far too much of our resources in the grounds. We have little other farming lands that can support the demand to feed our people. It has been expected of us to declare a famine if this issue is not resolved within the year. ”
“You are to say,” Lord Amaryllis Parkinson spits out, dubiously. “We've continued such tactics of forced displacement when we barely have enough coin to keep pace with their architectural needs. And now you say that we can no longer feed the people?” Looking like she had sucked on a lemon.
“Why were none of us informed of this early? It was foolish to continue such vigorous support of our military!”
The king raises a brow, looking over to the queen. “Ah judge not, Lord Lestrange. This is something you’ll find, that has auspiciously brought forth a solution.”
The queen raises a pointed brow, humming. “Favorably, the remedy has already been offered to us. We had been able to–roughly, come to terms in a peace treaty with the Kingdom of Rayos De Sol. Tiss nothing but a simple draft. Thus the King and I, send forth our heir into their lands as a means to advance it further. Set it into stone.”
The king flourishes his arms, “Over the course of this decade they have shown rapid growth, and with that, their markets expand and flourish. This is something we wish to gain control over. Crucial, if we wish to stay the most influential. They wouldn't even know the action of opening their gates to us would cause their downfall.” Onion snickers into his hand, filling his empty cup yet again. A vile smirk stretched wide on his lips. His movements are shaky. “They let everyone in.”
The queen looks him up and down, souring at the sight. She purses her lips, narrowing her eyes. “Though, as a direct cause they are highly vulnerable. They require our military support.”
“Something we can offer them without facing repercussions ourselves.” Regulus murmurs, nodding. Finally able to see how his parents had come to agree to this plan while he was away.
It had made sense. The kingdom of Rayos De Sol was soon to become a competitor. It was best to keep them in check now. Rather than wait for the day they were strong enough to bring them to stalemate, because of spite and ignorance. They had plenty of warriors to spare, especially since it would be the other kingdom's obligation to keep them warm and fed. The troops would be lining up for the opportunity to be stationed there.
His mother offers him a smile, it is thin and restrained. She’s only humouring him. “Yes, my son. Do you now see?” He nods, shortly. Gaze dropped down onto the table in front of him.
Regulus felt a bit embarrassed by his display in the throne room that afternoon now. After hearing most of their points laid out. It was clear his parents had once again proved their intelligence. It had made sense now. They wouldn't ever send Regulus there, to walk beside the low-class traitors that had been burned off their family tree. if it was not needed.
He rights his shoulders, sitting a bit taller.
“Mother, I had hoped to revisit our conversation earlier.” He says with a bit of urgency, her smile drops, knowing the implication. Eyes swirling in a dark sort of disappointment. His shoulders feel tighten.
“Regulus.” His mother sighs out, tapping her nails on the wooden handle of her chair. She faces the king, forcing eye contact, “Do you really think this is wise?” She asks.
Onion tilts his head, tapping his chin. He shrugs ever so slightly, “Who do you suggest?” Walburga tuts, and though she made quick work of her tongue, preparing for her own campaigning. His father waves her off, only glancing over. “Give him a chance, my dear.”
Regulus inhales sharply, clenching his fist. He sees this for what it is. A chance. An opportunity to further prove himself, not just as a warrior but as a politician worthy of a place besides his father. The crowd that gathered around the table fell away into the shadows, no longer peaking of any of his interests.
“I would take few Knights, relying more on the Aristocats with sharper tongues,”
The king's smile stretched wider, growing to new heights of sly and mischievousness, as if hinting at a secret.
Regulus thinks in the back of his mind, that his father should retire before the meeting comes to an end. He is far too drunk now, the mind is addled
His father hums, amused, “You mean to say Dorcus Meadowes?” Regulus tilts his head up, raising his brows. His father could not deny her talents in court. Her cunning perception and grasp of politics had led her to a cushioned life. She had been brought to court three summers ago to marry a middle-aged marquess, and had played well into the court presumption of a naive girl. Wide-eyed, just beginning to blossom, unprepared to face the brutality the court was bound to wreck her. A week after their marriage, he had taken ill. Dying shortly after, the Physicians had found no cause for his early departure. It had been odd–He had been in near-perfect condition a week earlier. And so Dorcus Meadows had gone back to her maiden name, and had taken to the darkest mourning cloths that could be offered. Weeping at any suggestion made to marry again. This was due to her grieves and tragic love for her departed. A love that was promised, but was cut out from her like a limb. Before it had ever gotten to flourish.
She had played the games well, and was one of the few to say she had won.
Though, she brings an assortment of women in and out of her chambers, like clockwork. That had been to make one wonder.
“Along with others,” He carries on, tapping his chin. “The archduke and the Baron have more than proved themselves useful. Not just in battle, but both have done well to offer insight by my side. Pandora Lovegood could, too, offer insight with her unique perspective.”
“Points of note, though this list seems rather…biased. How do you suppose you get any work done if you only bring the people you are fond of?”
Walburga cuts in as Regulus opens his mouth to defend himself.
“I suggest the knights, Mulciber, and Greengrass. Lord Snape will also add a nice touch, given the circumstances. They will do well to show our strength.”
Regulus stiffens ever so slightly, lips thinning. Watching in the corner of his eye as Severus does the same. It's truly grating, he decides. That Severus decided to copy him in that manner. Could he not have done anything else? A scoff? A gape? Anything else would be better. Even a sputter. Oh, Regulus would relish in the thought of Severus doing something that impolite. Anything he could twist into something offensive with ease.
Severus would be hung by the next morning.
“I had thought Lord Snape would be sent to our borders, to finish my work,” Regulus says, Severus nods in agreement. And Regulus resists the urge to emphasize the word ‘my’ knowing that it wouldn't be considered in good taste. It’d seem self-conscious, spiteful. Still, he wanted to reassure Severus of it, this was not something he could steal. This was not something he’d be able to slip past Regulus.
Despite his efforts to do so, he hadn't gotten away with it fully in quite some time now.
Regulus revels in that accomplishment.
This is their game–and Regulus is winning.
“No, the Avery family will take over in your stead, along with Lord Goyle and Parkinson if you insist on bringing along all your little friends.”
Regulus nods at that.
“The snow moon is upon us in a week. You will leave the morning after. If you move with hast, the journey to Rayos De Sol will be roughly four days.”
The group of nobles stood quietly beside the carriage, watching as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon. They had packed their belongings into the carriage the night before, and now they were ready to embark on their journey. The air was crisp and cool, and everyone was bundled up in warm clothes. Most stood rubbing their hands while blowing into them, while others paced while trying to keep warm.
“And how are we all to fit in this?” Drawls Evan, knocking his fist against the door of the carriage. A breath of condensation fills the air as he opens his mouth. He shoots a unimpressed look over to Regulus, as if this was his fault. Regulus draws his shoulders back, outraged at the accusation.
There had been two carriages for the journey. For the Eight of them. And though they had gotten away with strapping most of their luggage away on the roof and under the coachmen's bench, there was still very little room for the five of them.
But still.
Regulus narrows his eyes, folding his arms. “Well, a few of us will have to travel with the knights in the next carriage over, I suppose.” He mocks, gesturing to the smaller duo that stands further off to the side. Not bothering to acknowledge Severus who stood a few feet beside them, Evan straightens immediately, gaping at the words.
“Nonsense,” Evan says quickly taking another once over and now reveling in the space. He flourishes out his arms. “We can all fit just fine. We don’t want to impose on the knights. We’ll just leave them to do…knightly duties.”
Dorcas sends Evan a dry look, raising a brow. He just shrugs.
“We must make haste.” Regulus urges, walking over to open the compartment door. “I would like for this journey to be quick.”
“Oh, a few moments won't drag us down too much, Your Highness.” Muses Pandora, but follows him regardless, sitting on the cushion parallel to him.
He gives her a weak smile, wincing just a bit.
“Wouldn't want us getting any surprises. We must leave on time, the sun has already risen high enough. I don't want us late.”
"Oh, here he goes again." Barty sighs, rolling his eyes. "He was like this on our last journey as well."
"So highly strung." Evan faux whispers beside him.
Dorcas tuts, looking out the window. "I dont doubt this journey will be worse given the situation at hand."
Regulus scowls.
“I tend to think anxiety achieves the best outcome. Thinking of each until you can decide which plan will least negatively affect you often leads to the one least affecting you.”
“That just sounds like a posh justification for walking around as a walking anxiety attack.”
Regulus-well, he can not defend himself from that one.
"How can he not be?" Pandora muses. "Off to see who he's condemned to be dead, and watch them walk about."
Regulus draws back, his brows raising, the sentiment not quite bringing the reassurance he was looking for.
He rolls his shoulders, "I've already seen the dead walk about, given how had to see Barty try to rise from bed on our journey back.
“Oh, like you were any better, limping about as they popped your shoulder back in place.“ Barty squawks, swatting at him.
Suddenly a booming noise sounds to the right of the carriage, regulus sees a flash of white and blue strike the ground in the corner of his eye.
Evan frowns, “Surely that’s a bad omen, yeah?” Barty nods sagely, knocking their knees together with a huff.
"Merlin himself weeps.” Pandora agrees, pressing her nose up against the glass. “Gods, look at that, I think we might just drown.” Which was melodramatic even for her. The weather in winter has always been brutal there, they’ve all been used to it. Once when Regulus was six, he had awoken in the night with a fully blue pointer finger. The physicians practically scorned his hand up above a high fire until all color had transitioned into a vivid red.
“This is proving to be very inconvenient.” Barty chimes in again. “Not the strongest swimmer, me.”
Evan swoons, grinning and dropping his face into Barry’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, I shall come to rescue you.”
“My knight in shining armour.”
Evan huffs, “It’ll take much time to get used to my new title.”
"Might be hard to refrain from such physical labors you took to before," Regulus nods, dryly. "Say, punching one in the face."
“A kerfuffle.” Barty corrects, pointing his finger up in the air.
“It was only mildly disastrous,” Dorcas agrees steadily.
“And one must learn to embrace the chaos nowadays, best to prepare yourself for any and all possibilities.” Pandora adds quickly, before Regulus is able to fit in a word. “Maybe we're all to return as corpses stuffed into a singular box, or maybe we’ll return with nearly everyone engaged."
“As of recently, I've been trying my hardest not to be accused of any war crimes,” Regulus counters. "And I don't see any aspect of marriage to be in my near future."
“That does little in alleviating any of the suspicions that you’ve thrown Lord Howle from court because he tried to tempt you along with the youngest Rosier,” Dorcas calls back over to him, dryly. Regulus sputters.
“There was no evidence I had been involved in that, I am an innocent man.” Regulus says, blinking blankly. “And how dare you accuse me of such things, this is treason you know? I could have you hung."
“If you were to possess any ability to kill me, you would have done so by now.”
Which Regulus doesn't think is either true or fair to him at all.
“It's true. You are just too terribly fond of us, aren't you?
“So help me Merlin, I will turn this carriage around and I will find new–and better acquaintances to join me on this journey. Ones far more behaved than the likes of you.” Which is now seeming more and more like the only option he has left in order to approach this situation with the poise and tact that was needed.
"I'm afraid I have angered Merlin, to appease the god I will sever the heads of my closest friends as an offering."
"You admit then, we're your only friends"
"Closest," Regulus corrects.
"Only.” Barty sings, holding up a finger. Regulus rolls his eyes, with an exasperated sigh, before facing back to the window. “Oh Lu, it's best to admit it by now, if only to save yourself the humiliation later on when you are caught on your lonesome.” He teases. Having the nickname ready on his tone, rather than the infamous ‘Reggie’ that had been strictly forbidden from use since the first month of his brothers' leave. Reinforced only a few days later when he had punched Barty in the jaw after an offhanded, ill-timed, joke. Then when Evan Rosier happened upon them in the courtyard. With the Prince's forearm blocking the Archduke's son's windpipe from working properly. He made quick work to try to separate them–more so try and pull the Prince off of the other man, who was doing little else besides struggling. Resulting in his own broken nose after Regulus had struck him too, right in the face. After the Prince's apology, they had become fast friends. Both boys were easily impressed by his left hook.
They had interacted before of course, but nothing bonded the three quite like that had. And what better way to impress two fifteen boys his age than that?
He remembers the cold. He remembers walking into Sirius’ chamber, the fireplace unlit. The stiffness of his back. He remembers hearing Sirius’ voice after months of silence. A shiver down his spine. He remembers little to none, yet the things he does still haunt him.
He remembers…
“Can you honestly tell me you love them? Can you really?” Sirius's voice was cold, Regulus felt sick just hearing it.
“I can't imagine life without their influence,” Regulus had said earnestly. Trying his best to keep his voice steady. Knowing damn well it wasn’t the answer Sirius deemed correct. Sirius let out a bitter laugh and closed his eyes leaning against the wall behind him.
“That is not the same as loving Regulus.”
“They are not-“
“They are monsters. Hear me when I say that, please. Can you please just fucking hear that?” Sirius clenched his fists, and Regulus remembered watching his brother's hands with morbid fascination. As never would Sirius hit him… never had, he wasn't like their parents. Sirius spat words like poison, yes. But never would he cause physical harm. Regulus stopped the train of thought, he knew better than to think that for all of Sirius’ stubbornness to stray away from traits their parents carry, he would not cause damage. Sirius still had a certain violence in him just as well as anyone in their family. They're born with it coursing through their veins. They carry them with them. “If you can't see that, then you are made of their fucking likeness. They are not my family, and if they are yours? Regulus… If they are yours, then you and I? We’re not family, we’re just blood.” Sirius spat, shortening the distance between them, stalking closer. Regulus winced, pulling away. Not able to look at the disdain in Sirius’ eyes for long.
“We are merely related. That is all we are.”
No.
“And from this day forth, you're nothing but distant kin I will never affiliate myself with again."
No. Sirius wouldn't…
The air was sucked out of Regulus' lungs. Regulus Couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe. He tried to snap himself out of whatever this was. But he couldn’t see anything. Couldn't hear. He panicked, stumbling back. He can remember shutting his eyes but he couldn’t open them. Couldn't move. He felt the floor beneath him. The cold stone only offered the slightest relief.
He was left completely defenceless.
He needed to move, he needed to open his eyes. He needed to fight. He needed to make Sirius see that this is who he is now. Regulus doesn’t move.
Inhale. Exhale.
When he’s finally able to pry his eyes open, the room was dark and in ruin. Books were torn up and scattered across the floor, and fabrics from Sirius's bed were pulled apart, tables flipped onto their sides. He ignored the bitterness and found gratitude in the silence. He sat in the humiliation. It itched as it crawled up his back causing him to shift uncomfortably where he sat on the cold stone.
Sirius was gone. Not just from his chambers. When Regulus woke in the morning, Sirius was nowhere in the castle, his rooms were trashed and his favourite robes were gone along with his luggage.
The reports came in after nearly a month, where else would Sirius run other than to the arms of James Potter? It was laughable really, so Regulus laughs. Laughs until he cries. And cries until he can no longer do so.
The next five years pass by, and the only days Regulus can’t push Sirius out of his mind is when the leaves fall to form a patchwork quilt of yellow and brown. When his breath chills as he exhales through his walks on the ground. The first year November 3rd had come for him, With bitter laughter and a strong grasp on his throat. Regulus sat in a dark room and did not leave for a week. He had not spoken a word despite the efforts of the castle to indulge him in conversating. He sent food away, and would not change out of his brother's clothing. The second year, in a fit of hysteria he had outright refused to leave Sirius's rooms, still in ruin, a thick layer of dust covering everything in sight. His parents had left Sirius' rooms abandoned, sending servants away when they came to clean. Regulus had been a bit surprised they didn’t wall it off altogether, that they didn’t try to rid of all traces of their eldest born.
It never got easier, but by the passing of the third year, he was able to cope without causing such scandal. Without adding to their family’s shame. It came more naturally when no one spoke of his name, that all portraits he had been in had been hidden away somewhere in storage, where Regulus couldn't find them. He looked, if only for a little while. And had come up empty-handed. Most days Regulus could pretend he hadn’t ever had a brother at all.
He took to training, focused on his studies, and built stronger relationships with high-standing nobles in the castle. He took the Heir role, and with stride. As if he was born for it.
Thus Sirius’ inaptness was no longer needed, had never been needed, it was only ever something they let Sirius indulge himself with. Like a babe with a wooden rattle, bestowed upon them by their parents.
If only to have something to entertain the poor thing with.
And he hates Sirius. He loves him. He's twelve, crying in his brother's arms. He’s twenty with a knife he wants to hold against Sirius' throat. He wants to cut deep against the soft flesh of his neck. Feel the skin give away with ease. And feel the blood splatter against his face, to feel Sirius go slack in his arms.
He wants to gut him from the inside out, and with Sirius dead. He’d made sure that James would follow swiftly. He remembers the balls they attended together, how he always found himself trailing after the two. How during every the last dance of the night James would always pull him to the floor, and how Regulus would only tolerate his stupid, unbearable, blabbermouth tendencies and his Inconceivably rakishly handsome looks if only for Sirius’ sake.
That was years ago now, Regulus is grown now. Preparing for his inevitable succession to the throne. He is heir now after all. Regulus is grown, and he is made of nothing but anger. Nothing but spite. Nothing but murderous intent. He wants to kill them both. Though unfortunately, it is not something that has been granted towards him.
Regulus rolls his shoulders back, vaguely aware of the conversation around him, but not bothering to pay attention nevertheless weigh in. He rests against the soft cushions behind him, rests his head against the window. Letting his eyes fall shut.
Into the lion's den…
Would he be eaten alive?