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authoraudreyg · 11 months ago

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Lost Magic: Conversations in the Library

Author's Note: Lost Magic is a children's/YA book that I'm working on. The first book is out, but I'm working on the second book right now. During the first couple of drafts, there was meant to be this conversation between The Magician and Illusionist, slowly reestablishing their friendship and romance.

I had to cut it out because I felt it was taking too much away from Winnie's discovery of her father's, The Magician's, past. It was more fun to have her link the pieces together. But I couldn't get over the idea of a tender conversation between the two adults, so here you are. I hope you enjoy this cut content.

Trigger warnings: Discussion of past genocide, dead friends, fake marriages. memory loss, curses, panic attacks

Main Couple: Magician/Illusionist

The Magician's search for the Planetarium, his inner sanctum, was once again fruitless.

“This isn’t working,” he mumbled, reviewing the castle's map. “I need a new plan.”

“MMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAGGGGGGGIIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCCCCIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAANNNNNNN!” It was a scream on the wind. Before he could ever react, The Magician’s fire was extinguished and he was caught in a hurricane of despair. It pummeled him senseless. He was overcome by the fear and pain that the winds carried. It was the embodiment of sheer anguish. It cut through him. It wounded him, but the pain was not unfamiliar. He knew it from somewhere.

“WHY?!” the wind screamed. “WHY?! WHY DIDN’T YOU COME TO ME?!”

It was The Illusionist’s voice. The Magician barely opened his eyes. He could see the vague outline of his silvery eyes and thin mouth.

“I WOULD HAVE BEEN AT YOUR SIDE IN A HEARTBEAT!” The Illusionist whipped about. “I WOULD HAVE BEEN THERE FOR YOU!”

The Magician focused on The Illusionist’s eyes. He reached out to him.

“NO!” The Illusionist recoiled at the gesture. “I CAN’T-“

He kept a sharp focus on the disembodied form. Never once did he break eye contact. The rest of the Illusionist’s body began to reappear. The Magician reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He slowly brought him back to the ground. The winds died down, but the pain didn’t cease. The Illusionist stood in front of him. His eyes were watery and his voice was but a whisper now.

“Why?” he sobbed as he grasped the lapels on The Magician’s cloak. “Why? I would have been there. I wouldn’t have left you. I would have helped. By the gales, I would have been there for you.”

“There, there,” The Magician rubbed the distressed man’s back as his shirt was used as a makeshift tissue. “Breathe, man. Remember to breathe…”

It felt like the right thing to say. As The Illusionist tried to regain his breathing, The Magician tried to think of what could have set the man off. He didn’t have to think for very long. Chastity, out of breath and panicked, skidded down the corridor. She spotted The Illusionist sobbing into The Magician’s chest. She tried to approach, but The Magician shook his head. He knew now.

‘I’ve got it,’ he mouthed to her. Chastity understood and departed for her rooms to repair the damage done. The Illusionist continued to sob and ask the same question again and again: ‘Why?’. The Magician didn’t know what the answer was to his why, but he felt that the entire evening would be draining for both of them and that further conversation would be done in a quieter and cozier place.

“Illusionist, why don’t we go to your library?”

The Illusionist could not speak. He was too caught up in his grief. The best he could manage was a slight nod and more tears.

The Illusionist fell through to the library while The Magician remained stuck on the outside. Both men picked themselves off the floor. The Magician tried once more to enter into the library, but he was pushed back by an invisible barrier.

“Can you please let me in?” he asked.

The Illusionist silently and tearfully nodded. With a flick of his wrist, the barrier was broken. The Magician stepped through. The smell of old books, a roaring fire, with a strange vanilla scent brought memories back to him that he thought he would never get to experience again. He knew this library very well. He had spent hours in it as a young man. The tables were still in the same place. The old rickety coffee pot and the chipped tea set remained close to the desk. In front of the fire, there were two large chairs. One was a winged chair in a faded red plaid. The other was a settee. It was very loved with a few patches of the black fabric having been singed away by a careless fire spell or three.

“You kept my chair!” The Magician delightfully exclaimed, neglecting the tearful Illusionist for a second.

“Of course, I did!” The Illusionist sniffled, grabbing all the tissues he could get his hands on. “I couldn’t-I wasn’t going to-I’m not like that. I don’t…I don’t destroy things.” Then in a spiteful tone, he added, “Not like John!”

The Magician helped The Illusionist to his sitting chair while he promptly went over to his settee. “I know it hurts, but we’re pulling ourselves back together again. This is a stressful time for everyone and-“

“Why didn’t you come and get me?” The Illusionist asked, his grief mounting again.

“What do you mean? Why didn’t I…you didn’t know?!”

“NO! I DIDN’T KNOW!” The Illusionist snapped, the winds blowing cold. He breathed again and again. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shout, but I had no idea. Chastity told me tonight. I thought…I thought that everything was okay. I didn’t know. Oh Mag, why didn’t you come get me? I would have separated John’s head from his shoulders the second he attempted to harm anyone.”

“A lot of good it would have done. John killed anyone who came sniffing around. Everyone’s dead, Illusionist. He stacked their bodies like firewood.”

“That’s why you’ve been in the dungeons,” he realized with a small gasp.

“Yep,” The Magician nodded, spreading out his limbs on his settee. He smelled the fabric and remembered happier times. “Chastity was the one pulling the bodies out. You know how she is when wrongs are committed. A fake king put them in so a real queen has to get them out. It got to her. Not that I blame her. All those years in the dungeon, hearing people die? It doesn’t surprise me one bit that she can’t go in there.”

“I thought you were going down there to handle the Mundust problem,” The Illusionist sadly admitted. “I thought you were cleaning up.”

“I am, but not quite like that.”

“W-Who is down there?” he dared to ask.

From his cloak, The Magician pulled out his notebook. With a heavy heart, he flipped through the pages. “Um, Lanny is there.”

New grief washed over him. “He had a family. Lanny was a good man. How did he…?”

“Peacefully,” The Magician lied. The Illusionist knew this, but did not press the issue further. If The Magician saw fit to lie to him about how Lanny died, then their poor friend had suffered terribly.

“Were you able to contact his family?”

The Magician wearily shook his head. “Everyone’s all spread out. Chastity sent out summons to last known addresses, but knowing John…” he trailed off, not wanting to think of the cruelty that John most likely inflicted onto the survivors. The Illusionist silently prayed that Matilda and their daughter had escaped the genocide.

“Ana and Raul,” The Illusionist began. “Are they?”

“I am currently entertaining the fantasy that they are somewhere safe and are cuddling underneath a blanket, but-”

“But?”

“When have you ever known Ana or Raul to sit quietly when others are suffering? Ana tried to assassinate Chastity when she thought she wasn’t doing enough to clean up her father’s mess.”

“In Ana’s defense, that was before she really got to know Chastity,” The Illusionist spoke. “But Raul, he would have gone barreling in the second he thought something was amiss.”

“The knuncklehead,” The Magician laughed. “I miss them. I hope that they aren’t down there.”

“Me too.”

The two sat in silence lost in the memories of the dead loved ones. The Magician stared into the fire, watching the sparks light up and die. “How did you survive?”

“Hmm?”

“The genocide? Where did you go?”

“I left the country,” he plainly stated. “I went to the Outer Isles. I wanted to get as far as I could away from Thamaturgy and everyone after, well, everything.” Tears flowed freely. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“You would have been killed,” The Magician informed him. “John didn’t spare anyone. He actually liked Lanny and look what happened to him. John hated you. Imagine what he would have done if he got his hands on you.”

“He hated you more. All that talk about you and Chastity,” The Illusionist paused. “Ah, but I guess that explains why he kept you far away from your lady love.”

The Magician furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You and Chastity, Winnie,” he shrugged. “Seeing you live the life John thought he deserved…we should have kicked him out of the group the second the war was over. It couldn’t have been safe to have Winnie with John around.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Chastity’s duty to marry and continue the line. Winnie is a precious daughter, but an no offense to you, Chastity should have either kicked John out or kill him before marrying you and having Winnie.”

The Magician, somehow, slouched further in his chair. His limbs spread out like an octopus’ tentacles. “Don’t tell me you believe the rumors?”

“What rumors? You and Chastity did get married, didn’t you? I saw it in all the newspapers!”

“Yes, but it was a sham,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was doing it as a favor to Chastity. After the war, we had peace but we weren’t invincible. Chastity had, what? Sixteen attempts on her life? All of her relationships fell through. Moral was low.”

“And there you were, the handsome and charming war hero. Your marriage saving the kingdom and raising the spirits of weary, war-torn country.”

“Eh, who doesn’t love a fake marriage between two people acting as each other’s beard? Chastity’s never seen me as anything more than a friend. I love her deeply, but she would never have me as a spouse.”

“No, but Chastity is bound to continue the line. Winnie is a perfect little princess. She’ll make a fine queen one day.”

The Magician blushed and laughed nervously. “No, no, no!” he turned bright red. “We did not go that far with the ruse!”

“What?” The Illusionist gasped. “But Winnie! She has Chastity’s hair and your fire!”

“She’s adopted!” He clarified. “How much do you know?”

“Apparently nothing,” he replied, turning as red as The Magician’s fire.

“Winnie’s thirteen. The curse started seven years ago. My mind is bad, but my math is good.”

“I’m sorry,” The Illusionist apologized. “The rumors, your marriage, I saw Winnie and thought that nature had taken it’s course.”

“You don’t really believe that Chastity and I would ever-“

“Chastity is bound to her duty! When would she have ever put her own happiness above the needs of her country? She’d kill herself if it would mean bringing peace and you know that. It’s part of her lineage. It’s her curse.”

“True, but,” The Magician shook his head. “Ah, it doesn’t matter. Chastity would never be with me. I was her pick because it was just the thing that would piss off her old man.”

On the subject matter of the murderous King Claudius, The Illusionist was inclined to agree. “Did he suffer towards the end?”

“Every moment he spent was in agony,” The Magician happily informed his friend. “When he died, I slept peacefully.”

“How did Chastity take the news?”

The Magician’s happiness disappeared. “She was there at his bedside. There are so many curses on her head. I don’t know how she’ll ever be free.”

“I wish I could help her. I want to be of some use.”

“Illusionist, you’re alive,” The Magician expressed utter gratitude towards the man’s mere existence. “You have a great son and have passed down the magical arts to the next generation. That alone is helpful. Magic can, hopefully, survive for our children.” Then, rather tentatively, he asked. “Are you planning on having any more?”

“I would love to have another child, but Archibald keeps me busy. He’s a prodigy and he gets bored very easily. I’m happy with his progress, but there never seems to be a real challenge for him.”

“What about your spouse?” The Magician asked. “Do they want more?”

“I don’t have one,” The Illusionist replied, showing off his ringless finger. “Archibald is adopted.”

“He’s so much like you. I never would have known.”

“He is my son,” The Illusionist beamed with pride. “He’s always been my son.”

“When did you get him?”

“A little over seven years ago,” he replied. “Best day of my life. I was on my way to catch my boat when I saw him. Oh, he was sitting in a clearing all by himself. He was seven – maybe eight and he was all alone. He said that he had been waiting for two days for his parents to come back for him. They never did. I tried to find them. Archibald and I spent weeks looking for them.”

“Did you ever find them?”

“No. They were dead,” he lied. The Magician knew this, but did not push the issue. The Illusionist was allowed to keep his secrets. “I couldn’t bear the idea of dropping him off at the orphanage. The war, Mag, there were too many orphans. I took him with me. I showed him the world, magic, and everything.”

“I wish I could say the same for Winnie. I have been a neglectful father to her. I have not had the time to teach her all the magical arts. Illusionist, I have no right to ask this of you. But in matters educational, you are unmatched.”

The Illusionist didn’t bother to deny The Magician’s praise. It was all true. Nevertheless, it was nice to be praised and complimented by a peer. “Go on,” he teased.

“Winnie needs an excellent tutor. I would consider it the highest honor if you could please instruct her in magic. I’ll help! I will do anything for my little girl, but the bodies…our friends have rotten for long enough.”

“Say no more,” The Illusionist eased his guilt. “I will educate Winnie as if she was my own daughter. She’ll get the very best! You’ll get progress reports every week! We’ll review lesson plans together like we used to.”

The Magician breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you!” he nearly cried. “Thank you so much. I don’t know I could ever repay you.”

“You could start by helping me out of the chair.”

“Getting old?”

“Old war wounds,” The Illusionist sighed. “It likes to act up at the worst moments.”

“I’m sorry,” The Magician apologized, pulling him up. “You deserve better.”

“I count myself lucky,” The Illusionist sighed. “You’re right. I could be dead. The fact that we survived is nothing short of a miracle.”

#creative writing #original writing #Lost Magic Series #what could have been #unused content #lgbtq couple #male/male #Magician/Illusionist

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