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sidespart · 3 years

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The Fall of King Romulus

This was originally a fake fic but I decided to turn it into a real fic because it looked like fun, The fake fic can be read as a prologue.

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Chapter 1

Previous (prologue) Next Chapter 2

When Roman had first left home, he had no intention of making friends.

Romulus had never had them, unless you counted Remus in their younger days. Royal life was often one of seclusion and once his… particular problem… had come to light, his parents took the necessary steps to ensure he was as isolated from others as possible.

This was for his own good. Romulus could not protect himself. Romulus was a liability to the himself and the Kingdom. One slip before a supposed playmate could lead to discovery and disaster. His father explained this to him when Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy when the family visited the palace.

“Suppose that boy notices,” his fathers voice was a hiss, his hand gripping Romulus small shoulder hard enough to bruise “suppose he realises you will do anything he asks, and he asks you for family secrets? Suppose he waits until your are older and orders you to favour his family, to give them position in court, to promote them above their deserved station- or to harm their enemies. Do you understand the risk you’re taking Romulus? Swear to me you will keep to yourself. Please.”

Phrasing, Romulus had come to learn, was extraordinarily important when dealing with his curse. The final ‘please’ from his father had turned the order into a request – something Romulus could technically choose to ignore. But the grip on his shoulder suggested it would not remain his choice for long. So he nodded at his father and swore to keep away and was rewarded with a smile and a hand stroking gently though his hair, before he was dismissed to go and study before his afternoon lessons.

He should have been lonely. But he had his parents and his instructors and his servants. And the occasional, highly orchestrated, public appearance wherein he would adopt a practiced air of aloof politeness, wave and make measured conversation with those who would never dare to give him an order. It could have been worse.

Still, he understood that once he left it would be necessary to speak to many more people then he had up to now. He would need food and shelter and work and direction, none of which he had had to procure for himself before.

So he prepared himself to make conversation with strangers, perhaps acquire acquaintances. He expected to find admirers once he was far South enough that he could perform with his lute without fear of recognition from the crowd. He hoped, perhaps, for some romances, some temporary but dashing companions to join him on adventures. He had read about such things during hours spent locked up in the palace library and told to entertain himself.

He had not planned on making friends. Traveling with anyone for too long, getting to know them and allowing them to learn about him – it inevitably increased the chance of them discovering his secret. Of exploiting him as his parents had warned against. It was not worth the risk.

And yet.

And yet somehow, he had acquired three.

Virgil and Patton and Logan.

Brave and kind and wise.

Not a drop of aristocratic blood between them but without doubt the most noble companions a man could wish for. When he thought of them, of how they had accepted him into their little band of misfit adventurers, his heart felt more full, his mind more alive and sharp than it had been in years. His blood buzzed with creativity and songs of friendship, love and loyalty sprang from his lips almost unbidden.

Not right now however.

Right now sort of wanted to kill them. Specifically Virgil.

Roman scowled at the surrounding trees “If there are any depressingly dressed half elves out there who want to APPOLOGISE for being JERKS the floor is open!” he called.

The trees remained silent. They had done that the last three times he tried.

Roman left out a dramatic exhale and flopped back on the ground.

The thing was. He knew, intellectually, that this wasn’t Virgil’s fault. Not Intentionally.

Virgil was prickly. And unpredictable. Last night, Roman had wailed in dismay at the sorry state for a fire the young man was building. Virgil had responded that they would be lucky if there was no fire at all, since that would mean no one would have to be subjected to Romans cooking. Roman had insulted Virgil’s hair. Virgil had made a creative suggestion for where Roman could stick the firewood he was holding. And back and forth the insults went until between them they had built up the fire and set the stew boiling upon it.

It was banter. Virgil had been giggling the whole time, Patton hadn’t interjected once to tell them to be nicer.

And then this evening they’d gone hunting for firewood together. And Roman had made some sly remark, hoping that Virgil’s fire building skills had improved somewhat overnight.

And Virgil had turned round and snarled at him to “shut UP Princy. I don’t need you to help me – just, just get lost.”

Virgil didn’t know about the curse.

Romans mouth had dropped open in surprise. And before he’s had time to close it, his feet had spun round one hundred and eighty degrees and marched him away from his friend, away from the path, deeper into the heart of the forest.

His feat had carried him on a winding route, over one shallow stream and through an extremely dense thicket of brambles that left Roman desperately hacking away at the thorns in front of him before they could shred him to ribbons. He had eventually stopped after an hour of relentless marching and sprawled at the foot of an impressively knotted oak tree.

Unsurprisingly, his surroundings were totally unfamiliar. The trees grew so thick here it was impossible to see more than twelve feet in any direction. He was well and truly lost.

Roman had spent an unsatisfying few minutes ranting to the trees about elves and their unpredictable mood swings and marching and blisters and curses and Virgil’s still subpar fire lighting skills until eventually he had run out of steam and settled himself down for a good sulk.

Phrasing was important. Virgil had told him to get lost but he hadn’t said to stay lost. And now that he was lost, there was nothing to prevent him being found again.

Patton was an excellent tracker. The idea of sitting around waiting to be rescued stung Roman’s pride, but his feat had already been aching from the days travel before his unintended march. His stomach growled, the smattering of cuts from the brambles burned, and evening was already turning to night. The most sensible thing to do was for Roman to stay where he was and wait to be found.

Assuming they wanted to find him.

Roman bit his lip sharply to try and banish that line of thought. They wouldn’t leave him.

Although, he drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees to fend off the evening chill, There was a strong chance they wouldn’t find him tonight. Patton had looked exhausted when Virgil and Roman and left on their hunt for firewood, in fact he’d been falling behind all day and –

Oh.

Patton and Virgil were born in Krutova and Finaley’ed respectively. Two small neighbouring kingdoms, politically insignificant and famous only for their densely forested landscapes and their intense dedication to wiping each other off the face of the Earth. For the past eighteen years bloody war had raged between the two. Roman had never asked directly, but he was fairly certain that this conflict was where Patton had acquired his enormous broadsword, his limp and, quite possibly, Virgil.

Neither of them liked forests. They carried extra tension as soon as they stood under the shadows of the trees. In addition to that, the uneven terrain aggravated Patton’s hip, sometimes leaving him hissing between his teeth with every step.

Roman had been walking up front with Logan all day, arguing the merits of modern Raspanzean poetry compared with the old masters. He had thought they had called a halt to the day a little early, but was tired enough himself not to question it. And really, since he and Virgil had been on fire and cooking duty last night it should have fallen to the others today…but Virgil had scampered into the woods as soon as Patton was settled on his bed roll, and Roman had gone chasing after.

Virgil fretted. He fretted after all of them, but Patton most of all. And Roman had chased after him when he was already stressed about his best friend and then started needling him about his fire making skills.

Roman groaned and pressed his face into his knees.

Maybe he was the jerk.

“It sounds like it.”

Roman sighed, hating the whine in his voice as he replied “but he still shouldn’t have taken it out on –“

Romans head snapped up so fast he hit his skull hard against the oak tree behind him. Wincing he twisted his head left and right, but the area remained deserted.

He frowned. Perhaps he was more exhausted than he thought –

“You certainly are over tired little Prince,” Roman made a sound which he refused to think of as a shriek and scrambled to his feet.

Standing not three feet- two feet – five feet- three feet from him, stood – hovered - sat – stood a figure in – black – yellow- black – shadow – gold - black. He- she – it – he? Laughed sweetly and stepped – slunk – prowled – flew – stepped closer

And drew back abruptly as Roman held up his dagger between them.

Roman’s sword was the best he could buy, made of blended steel with a bronze handle. He cleaned and sharpened it religiously and practiced often. It was beautifully made and perfectly balanced, suitable for a solider but ideal for a traveller in who knew how to use it.

Romans dagger was old and brittle. And more than once Logan had tried to surreptitiously throw it out and convince him to replace it with something usable.

But it was made of pure iron and it kept the scowling fae at bay.

Looking directly at the fae made something in Romans stomach twist. But he kept his eyes at a squint and held the dagger firm between them, even as his arms shook from the effort.

“What do you want from me?” he gritted out

“What do I want?” The fae’s face would not quite settle, the edges shifting and billowing, but when he smiled Roman was certain he saw fangs “You’re the one trespassing in my home, little Prince, I should be asking you”

Suddenly the fae was as close as he could come, his face less than an inch from the daggers edge. Up close, Roman could see two eyes clearly, one black and one pulsating with a sickly yellow light. “Come to make a deal with the devil, Princey?”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut and held himself firm, even as the shaking began to spread over his entire body.

“I am. A. Lost. Traveller.” He gasped out “I. mean. No. disrespect. To you. Or. Your court” for what felt like an eternity the shaking continued, rattling his brain and sending one knee crashing to the floor. And then it stopped.

Hesitantly, Roman cracked one eye open and looked up. The fae had, mercifully, settled its form. It had picked a face identical to Romans own, save for the yellow eye and scales that spread over its left side. A cloak of shadows hid most of its body from view, but when it moved towards Roman now it seemed to slither rather than step.

“You mean no disrespect” it nodded towards the dagger still clutched in Roman’s sweaty hands “but your bring a weapon to my home?”

“it is a shield, my lord, not a sword, despite it’s shape”

The fae harrumphed, a disconcertingly human noise, and circled Roman once. “You’re not from around here.”

“I’m lost, my lord.”

“I know that” The fae stopped in front of Roman again and rolled it’s eyes. “I meant you are not one of the town folk who trespass in my wood so regularly. You know how to speak to me.”

Roman opened his mouth to say ‘in my fathers Kingdom the Fae are welcomed, and representatives of the Saelie court attend each ball and function’ but managed to snap it closed before he made a sound. Rule one for dealing with the Fae, even those considered allies, was not to give them any information that they didn’t already know. “You flatter me my lord” he said instead.

Roman still hadn’t moved from his half kneeling pose and now the fae coiled down so that they were once again face to face. “Most humans in your position” he said, “would have already started begging for a deal to relive them of their…little problems. What’s the matter Princey, curse got your tongue?”

Roman couldn’t help the way his heart rate sped up at the faes words. But he did his best to keep his outward face calm. It was true, the first deliberate order he had received when his curse was discovered was to never talk about it, he couldn’t have brought it up to this fae if he wanted to.

But more than that – the fae who allied themselves with his father’s court had done everything in their power to remove the curses from him and his brother. Nothing had worked. “A gift once given can only be taken back by the gifter” an elder sprite in the guise of a kindly woman had told his mother. “And their gifter is unlikely to return here.”

The gifter was also unlikely to be a snake shaped creature tied to a southern forest. “I want nothing from you my lord, except to be allowed to leave your home” Roman intoned honestly. He had wondered, for a moment, when the creature had called him Princey – but Virgil and the others often called him by that nickname. If this was a lord of the forest he could have heard them when they passed by.

The fae stared at him for a long moment. And smiled. “Liar.”

Roman frowned – “what-“

“Roman!”

Roman jerked his head to the side, the shout had come from close by, he was sure. “Pa-Padre?”

A whisper in his ear: “time to go home Roman.” Roman quickly looked back to the fae, but it was gone. On the ground where it had been, lay a single oak leaf dyed a brilliant, autumnal, yellow.

He didn’t need to look up at the oak trees leaves to know they, like every other tree in the forest, were still a vibrant green.

“Roman! Roman are you here?”

Without much conscious thought, he reached forward and snatched up the yellow leaf, burying it deep in his pocket.

“I’M HERE. Patton? Virgil? I’M OVER HERE”

Within minuets all seven foot of Patton was crashing through the tree line and baring down on him, Virgil not far behind.

“Roman, oh my goodness we were so worried! Are you hurt? Can you stand? Why do you have your dagger – did something happen?”

“Princy! Shit are you – are you okay? I am so, - I’m really- We looked EVERYWHERE“

“I’m fine.” Roman promised ‘Its fine’ he added to Virgil, “I just – I figured you needed some space so I tried looking for wood on the other side of camp. Guess I got a little turned around” He allowed Patton to pull him to his feet, giving them both his best sheepish grin. Embarrassed but ready to laugh at himself. He really had got lost. Silly Roman.

It’s not like he could tell them about the curse.

“We’re not the far from camp” Patton told him, he glanced around frowning slightly “I’m sure we searched through here before.”

“I was trying to make my own way back,” Roman lied easily “I probably ended up walking in a circle and missed you.”

It’s not like there was any point telling them about the fae.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine Pat, what about you? How’s your leg?”

“Oh this old thing?” Patton gave them a wide smile “it’s just fine, Ro, don’t you worry. Now I think I know a short cut back, you two follow close to me alright?” and with that the large man spun round and headed into the trees.

Virgil and Roman shared an exasperated glance. The man was clearly in agony.

“Listen, Princy I-“

“I’m sorry too.” Roman cut him off. Bumped his shoulder against Virgil’s and winked. “Now lets get back to camp before Logan paces a trench in to the ground hm?”

Slowly Virgil nodded, although he was still staring at Roman guiltily. The two of them headed into the trees together, collected Patton from where he was half collapsed against an elm, and the three slowly made their way back to camp.

By the time they were explaining what had happened to Logan, the memory of the fae had faded like mist.

With a days more travel they would be out of the forest and on a path to Steveange. The largest and greatest city of the Central Kingdoms. From there they would have to chose whether to head east, towards the coast line, west to catch the merchant festivals or north, where Roman had always refused to travel.

Stuck between two pages of Romans notebook, a unseasonably yellowed oak leaf shivered.

Time to go home.

#sanders sides fic #roman sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #but not in this chapter #creativitwins #sidespart writes #TS: Fall of Romulus

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sidespart · 3 years

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The Fall of King Romulus Part 9

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him… Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Feedback appreciated.

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Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Roman kept his back straight and his gaze cold and aloof as he watched his proclamation sink in.

It was a simple thing, to be Romulus again.

Virgil and Patton had been sent to fight and die by their Kings. Roman had listened to Logan rant, many times, about his distain of the noble classes and their control over the common men. Whatever affection they had for Roman – it wouldn’t extend to Romulus.

They would leave.

“Well yes,” Logan said, sounding annoyed “I was getting to that.”

“What?!” Roman shrieked.

“Not require our services?” Virgil stared at him incredulously, “Didn’t we hire you?”

“Logan, you knew?” Patton said admiringly, “You’re so smart!”

“Oh, he did not.” Roman grumbled.

“Well.” Logan shuffled his feet, not looking directly at him, “The Marquis de Ornella called you Romulus. And you attempted to call him by his first name, so I assumed you knew each other- a noble connection was not out of the question.”

“Ha!” Roman pointed at him, vindicated “But you didn’t guess I was a prince, did you?”

“Well, no-” Logan looked on the verge of pouting.

“What services are we even providing? In this scenario?”

“-but If I had had time to do more research then- “

“You know what! That’s a great idea.” Patton smiled brightly, “I think we could all use a little cool down time – Logan why don’t you go back to the library and read up on Nothalevaele”.

“Notaleveale.” Logan corrected.

Patton frowned. “It’s not -aleveale? I swear that’s what he said.”

“It’s not Nothalevaele it’s Notaleveale”.

“Then what is it?”

Roman stuffed most of his good hand into his mouth to muffle a scream.

“Seriously.” Virgil smirked at him even as he leant over to adjust Roman’s pillow. “You just can’t get service like this anywhere else.”

Roman glared at him.

“He-” Virgil jerked his head at Logan, utterly unbothered by Roman’s glare – “shouldn’t go to the library alone.”

Patton nodded seriously and gave Vigil a wide smile.

Virgil glared back.

Patton raised both eyebrows.

Virgil folded his arms.

“No one needs to go anywhere – I told you I’m leaving.” Roman complained.

They ignored him.

Eventually whatever silent argument the two men were having ended with Virgil rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Go find your bag.” He told Logan, who nodded jerkily and all but fled the room.

Roman flopped back against the pillows with a thump, too tired to maintain his princely posture any longer. “He can go by himself, can’t he,” he muttered sulkily, “we’re not actually kids.”

Virgil and Patton exchanged another glance before Virgil turned away to the bedside table, fussing with his pots and potions.

“We’re not sure how many guards got a look at our faces before we got out of the bathhouse.” Patton told him, “Better not to risk traveling alone.”

“Oh.” Roman replied, his voice small.

He remembered the bathhouse. The screams from above. Virgil’s panic-stricken face as he glanced between them and the stairs. Logan with a blade at his throat.

He swallowed hard and cast his eyes down, picked idly at a loose thread of the blanket.

“We should be back before the bandages needs changing, but if you smell anything or see any new pus there’s some ointment left in this one.” Virgil held up a blue-green jar for Patton to see, “Just wash it out first with boiled water.”

“Pus!” Roman squeaked, looking up.

“Your hand was pretty screwed up.” Virgil told him gruffly, “The infection’s what gave you the fever. You need to drink more willow tea, at least one cup every hour – we’ll have to pick up some more salve whilst we’re out.” This last part he directed at Patton, who dutifully rummaged in their stack of bags and handed over their coin purse.

It looked worryingly empty. Roman remembered the extra nights they had booked at the inn – nights which they clearly hadn’t even ended up using - and winced.

“We should look for some road food too, Virgil continued “and a map if we’re really going nor – Oh!” He looked at Roman, eyes wide “Er – about the tea, I mean, you need to drink it every hour but only If you -want to? I mean you definitely should but” he waved his hands as if trying to physically shape the instruction into something optional. “You get it.”

Roman bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and tried to ignore the fondness bubbling up inside him. He had hardly even noticed the order.

“How long was I asleep?” He asked.

“Nearly two days.” Patton said softly. “You really scared us for a minute there kiddo.”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, “And- thank you. For taking care of me.”

“Aw Roman! You don’t have to be sorry for anything!” Patton said, “Or thank us – that’s what family’s for.”

“You’re not my family.” Roman said quietly, thinking of his father’s cool detachment and a castle full of empty rooms.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah whatever. Listen you gotta – you should eat. And sleep some more. And we are going to have to talk about all this when we’re back, okay Ro – er, Romulus?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Jeez do we have to call you that now?”

“I think it’s a nice name.” Patton interjected “It’s very umm. Regal.”

“Surely ‘Princey’ still works as a nickname?" Logan asked, returning to the room. He threw a pale green coat at Virgil, who made a face but obediently shrugged it on, pulling an orange knit cap down over the pointed tips of his ears.

Almost as an afterthought, he licked is thumb and rubbed at the dark kohl under each eye. He smirked down at Roman. “You ran away from being a prince and called yourself ‘Princey’?

“You called me that.” Roman said sulkily, deciding not to tell Virgil that he’d only succeeded in smearing the make-up.

“Umm.” Logan stood at the head of the bed. Roman braced himself for another round of interrogation, twisting the blanket between his hands. “I suspect I should apologise for– I was just trying to test my hypothesis before started making outlandish accusations. Obviously, I didn’t realise how long you have been dealing with- I mean, it’s actually quite impressive you maintained your sanity for this long given that-”

“Okay! Less talking!” Virgil declared, as Romans knuckles started to turn white. The elf slung one arm around Logan’s shoulders, propelling him towards the door.

“I was only trying to-”

“Later.”

The door closed behind them with a resounding thud.

“So” Patton said after a moment, casually reaching out with one thumb to wipe away the tears collecting in the bard’s eyes, “Would you like food first or a nap?”

***

The library of Steveange was the crowning jewel of the city. A towering hexagonal building that sat upon the cities highest peak, directly across from the gates to the royal palace.

Which meant the journey was almost all uphill.

Typical.

Virgil huffed, breathing heavily as he stomped his way through the streets, Logan practically trotting to keep up with his long strides.

Prince Romulus of Notaleveale.

Honestly, what the fuck.

At least it explained the whole armed guards thing.

Except actually it explained nothing because if you found a runaway member of the royal family, why in the hell would you then tie them up in a bathhouse basement?

Unless they were traitors working against the royal family – but then why go after a runaway prince at all? Ransom? They hadn’t exactly looked strapped for cash….

And why a bathhouse? Why not one the extremely defensible manor houses that were scattered throughout the upper echelons of the city??

Virgil let out a growl of frustration and came to a stop.

Roman’s injuries had been too systematic to have come from a fight. The northerners had tortured him.

And now he wanted to go back there?

It didn’t make any sense…unless of course the kidnappers had ordered him to go back…

Virgil took a deep breath and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to banish that thought. If he started thinking about the curse again he was going to lose it; end up in a spiral of what had they done and what had they missed and HOW were they supposed to protect him if-

“Virgil? Do you need me to count for seven?”

He forced his eyes open to meet Logan’s worried face and let out the breath he’d been holding in a rush.

“I’m good.” He told the younger man unconvincingly.

“We could go back-” Logan started, but Virgil shook his head.

As much as he bristled at being managed, he didn’t think Patton had been wrong to split the group.

Roman – or whatever they were calling him now– was barley recovered. He’d looked so small, propped up against the pillows without a lute or sword or smile between himself and the world.

Small and scared. And puffing himself up like a songbird trying to look big for a cat.

The four of them yelling for answers at once was only going to freak him out more. Patton had a much better chance getting information out of him one on one.

Still…

“You think we’re going got get anything useful out of this trip?” he asked Logan bluntly.

“The library of Stevenage is one of the greatest collections of written knowledge on the entire continent and in times of uncertainty, knowledge is our greatest weapon... and our greatest defence.” Logan told him, a serious look in his eye.

“Right.” Virgil nodded absently, “Do you think they’ve got a copy of ‘curse breaking for idiots?”

***

Roman woke up for the second time that day with a throbbing headache on top of his other aches and pains. He spent a few minutes cursing himself for not taking up Patton’s offer of willow tea before he’d gone back to sleep and then swung his legs out of the bed.

He needed to get up. He needed to relieve himself and wash and eat and and-

And figure out what to do next.

He needed to know if Remus was safe. If he was on the throne or locked up somewhere or worse.

Which meant going home.

Which meant getting away from his friends.

No one else was going to get hurt because of him and his petty little problems.

Nodding decisively to himself he sprung to his feet. And then swiftly sat back down as the world tilted alarmingly around him.

“Roman?” There was a polite knock at the door and Patton stuck his head in.

“Hey kiddo!” the big man smiled at him, “Are you hungry?”

Roman felt his heart rate speed up and tried to summon some of Romulus’ cool detachment. Patton knew about his curse. If anyone learned about his curse, they would try to exploit it. They would use it to hurt his family, to hurt-

Roman bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop the flow of anxiety. This was Patton.

Roman was more likely to be a burden to him then an opportunity.

Before he could manage to come up with a suitable greeting his stomach growled, loudly, making him blush and Patton laugh.

“Shall I bring something up? Or do you want to come sit at the table?”

“…Table.” Roman mumbled, keeping his eyes locked somewhere in the vicinity of Patton’s left ear. Even though he knew, in his head and in his heart, that Patton wasn’t going to hurt him - he still felt oddly vulnerable with his secret sitting between them. Attempting eye contact made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

His mother had always said Romulus was shy.

If Patton noticed his odd behaviour he didn’t mention it, nor did he insist on carrying Roman down the stairs or otherwise manhandling him. Instead he hovered at his elbow as he made his way from the room, keeping up a running commentary of the house as they descended the stairs.

The room that Roman had been staying in was the attic. Immediately outside the door was a set of stairs so steep they may as well have been a ladder. Patton must have been perched out here, Roman thought guilty, giving him space but close enough to hear him get up. At the base of these stairs was a short landing where most of the items normally stored in the attic were now haphazardly stacked.

“That’s Mama’s room.” Patton nodded at a closed door, as he gingerly ducked under a rolled-up carpet which was wedged against the wall. “And that’s the store cupboard”. At the base of the next steep flight was a hallway Roman recognised: kitchen at one end, main door at the other. There was another door opposite the stairs that he hadn’t noticed on his first visit, with a moon and stars motif painted at eye level.

“That’s her work room.” Patton told him, seeing Romans curious glance, “She’s asked us to stay out of there- it’s where she sees customers.”

Customers. Roman filed that thought away. He had almost forgotten they were in a witch’s house.

Patton took him straight through the kitchen, where a back door led into a narrow garden. The herb bed was surprisingly neat, given the haphazard nature of the house, with small labels pinned neatly next to each plant. At the far end were two wooden structures. “Storage shed.” Patton pointed, “Outhouse. Do you need help using it?”

Roman shook his head vehemently - clung to Patton’s arm briefly when the movement made him dizzy – and stomped to the outhouse to relieve himself.

After a few steps though he stopped.

Patton knew about the curse. And Patton wouldn’t hurt him so-

He could ask.

“Pat?“

“Yeah?” Patton – or at least his ear – looked concerned.

“I. um. My arm is…”

Virgil had instructed him to keep his arm still in his sling until the herbs had done their work and clearly, they hadn’t happened yet. The thing was still pinned across his chest.

Not that he couldn’t navigate the outhouse one handed if he had too. But his balance wasn’t exactly great at the moment and tripping in there was one humiliation he would have liked to avoid.

But then again, it’s not like his hand was any use. He would really just be freeing up the use of his elbow and why was even bothering Patton with something so stupid and embarrassing an-

“Roman. Hold your… hold your whole body however you like.”

He nodded jerkily as his shoulder relaxed for the first time since waking up, letting his arm drop a little lower.

He didn’t look at Patton as he made his escape to the outhouse.

***

When he returned Patton had pulled a tin bathtub from who-knows-where onto the slab of paving stone by the kitchen door and was testing the water’s temperature with his elbow.

“Virgil left us some potions.” He told Roman as he approached – “This is another one to help healing and this-” he held up a red tinted bottle “-should give us bubbles!”

Roman stared at the bath almost hungrily. Hot water was a luxury under normal circumstances and between the travel, the bath house and the fever he knew he must reek of sweat and dirt. Surely, he deserved a little pampering before the journey North?

“It’s still too hot.” Patton warned him before he could launch himself into the water. Instead, the other man gestured to a pretty wrought iron table and two chairs set against the left side fence. He produced bread and jam alongside a mug of tea, advising him to eat slowly as went to grab another bucket of water from the cauldron simmering away in Tay’s kitchen.

Although Patton had been careful not to make an order, Roman still made sure he followed his instructions carefully. He had no desire to make himself sick. Or to make more work for the other man.

He pulled his bread apart into small bites and ate them one at a time, watching Patton critically as he limped his way back to the table.

“Did you get hurt…in the bathhouse?”

“…A few bruises.” Patton told him honestly, spreading a thick layer of jam on his own bread, “Nothing too bad”

“I’m sorry.” Roman said again, pulling his remaining bread into smaller and smaller pieces.

“Ro-man!” Patton said cheerfully – “you don’t need to apologise! It was those Ornelly guys that hit me not you!”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

Roman hunched and cursed himself. Sorry sorry sorry. Couldn’t he say anything useful?

“Roman hey – can you look at me please?”

It took more effort than he would have liked, but Roman did. Patton’s eyes were big and blue and very, very kind. Roman jerked his gaze away immediately.

“None of us blame you for what happened. Okay?”

“You got hurt because of me.” Roman blurted. “Logan nearly died- “

“I told you, that was on the Ornellans, not you-“

“Who were there specifically because of me! That excuse doesn’t work Pat I-“

He cut himself off, eyes glued to the floor once more. Hadn’t he just decided he didn’t want to cause any more trouble?

“Sorry.”

He heard Patton sigh and tried not to flinch, but when the other man spoke his voice was still gentle. “How many bubbles do you want?”

***

Whenever Virgil got upset, he always wanted space. It was something Patton found difficult, as his instinct was to smother the other man with affection until he smiled again, but experience had given him the patience to wait until his friend was ready.

When Logan got upset, he always claimed he needed space – but what he really wanted was an audience. He needed to talk through the problem, often at length, and know that someone was listening, even if he didn’t always want their advice.

Roman though – Roman liked attention. Roman liked fuss and pampering and his favourite food and to know, demonstrably, that someone was worried about him.

It didn’t mean he was great at asking for it. Patton remembered vividly his insistence on hopping half a mile on a twisted ankle before Patton had all but begged him to accept a piggyback.

He also remembered a time after a poorly received show when Roman had spent the evening sulking, sighing loudly and dramatically and slumping against each of them in turn until Patton had laughingly pulled him into a hug. Oh my god Vigil had snarked were you not hugged enough as a child?

It had been funny. At the time. Sort of.

Not so much now.

Since lying back against the tub’s rim would aggravate the wounds on his back, Roman was hunched forward in the tub, his bandaged arm hanging over the edge.

“Did I ever tell you how Virgil and I met?” Patton asked, settling on his knees next to the tub.

Roman twitched. There was a tactic agreement amongst the four of them not to discuss their pasts. This was more than fine with Patton, who was much more concerned with making new, happy memories then revisiting old ones, but he didn’t blame Roman and Logan for being curious.

Whenever the pair were on watch together, conversation often turned to whispered debate over the southern pair’s origin. Whilst he felt a bit bad for pretending to be asleep, Patton quite enjoyed their speculation.

His favourite was the circus performer theory. Virgil would probably has made a good acrobat.

“It was in the war.” he continued, scooping up some of the water and wetting Roman’s hair.

“I um. I volunteered you know? All the boys in my town did. I think we thought- well I know I thought it was the right thing to do. Finaley’ed was the enemy after all, we had to keep our families safe.”

He chuckled sadly, focusing on making sure every strand of Roman’s hair was damp before gently capturing a handful of bubbles and placing them on the other man’s head.

“Made you a crown.” he giggled.

Roman turned just enough to peak at him incredulously through one eye and Patton winced.

“Right. Sorry.”

Roman turned away again but Patton though he saw him suppressing a smile. Score!

“Um anyway” – he poured a measure of oil from one of Virgil’s bottles and rubbed it between his fingers before leaning over to begin massaging Roman’s scalp – “It was okay at first. I was in a regiment with all my friends, it was a bit of an adventure honestly.”

“And then there was this Major. He came to inspect us before we got done training and he – he said I was good. That I should get a chance to really make a difference in the war.”

He dragged his fingers through Roman’s hair, gently detangling the strands.

“He put me in a new regiment. All big guys. Like me. And they- they gave us this – I’m not even sure what it was. My buddy Micha used to say it was ground up swamp frogs but I don’t know.”

He started scooping up water again, rinsing some of the bubbles and oil from Roman’s hair.

“It made us…strong. Angry. Scary. Berserk well– that was the point. I don’t. um.” Some of the water sloshed over his cupped palms and Patton realised he was shivering.

“I killed a lot of people…. I mean I definitely made a difference to them.” He finished bitterly.

“…s’not your fault.” Patton glanced up to see Roman had twisted to look at him, was doing his best to maintain eye contact despite Patton’s confession. Patton smiled at him. Roman really was a sweet kid.

“It’s what I signed up for kiddo. Just faster.”

He sighed, nudging Roman gently to turn around so that he could finish rinsing his hair. “I’m not. I’m not saying it’s the same as what you’ve gone through. I know it isn’t. Just – I get it. A little. What it’s like not having any control.”

For a moment they sat in silence, the only sound the trickle of water as Patton continued lifting handfuls to Roman’s scalp.

Then the bard let out a shuddering breath and said: “My major’s name was Julius.”

“Oh?” Patton whispered.

“He was my dad’s friend. He was supposed to find a way to break the curse, but he didn’t. Then he just…started helping me figure out how to live with it. He was helping me. He was supposed to be…”

Roman took a deep breath “He’s the reason I-ack.” He broke off, coughing. Patton reached forward to hold him up, alarmed.

“Ro?”

“I’m okay.” But he didn’t look it, red faced and scowling. “I-” he gripped Patton’s arm looking right into his eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

Patton nodded slowly, understanding. “You can’t – not because you don’t want to.”

Roman nodded.

Patton frowned. “Can I – could I order you too? I could undo what Virgil said about your arm right?”

Roman sighed shaking his head. “The curse is. It’s fickle. But words are important -if you don’t know what you’re contradicting it’s almost impossible and Julius he – he was very good at giving orders.”

“Right.” Patton frowned. “What if I guess? Like Logan figured out the curse?”

“You can try.” Roman laughed bitterly.

“Hmm okay – was he the reason you left home?”

Roman span around so quickly water splashed over the side of the tub. “Patton! How’d you know?”

“Well gee kiddo! The frog pills didn’t rattle too many cells loose!” Patton laughed tapping the side of his head. Then frowned. “Well, I hope not…”

Roman winced. “Patton I – I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

“Well.” Patton smiled sadly, “Likewise Ro-Romulus.”

The other man sighed, sinking low in the tub again. “I liked being Roman.” he blurted out suddenly, a look of abject misery on his face.

“Then – why stop?” Patton whispered.

“I-” He frowned. “I would like to not be naked for this conversation.”

“That’s fair.” Patton nodded and helped him to his feet.

***

By the time Roman was up, towelled off and dressed in one of Patton’s old shirts that he had long ago claimed as a sleep shirt, he looked about ready to pass out again. Patton left him sitting at the table to finish drying in the sunshine whilst he dashed upstairs to change the sheets on the attic bed. When he returned with the laundry pile, he found that Mittens had emerged and settled himself on the bard’s– the prince’s – lap.

Roman looked up at him guilty - “Your allergies.”

“It’s easier outside.” Patton waved him off. Mittens had been the key to them finding Roman, as far as Patton on was concerned, the cat’s comfort was worth a few sneezes.

He took a seat at the table and nudged the remaining bread towards Roman, who took it hungrily, eating with much more enthusiasm than before the bath.

“So you were saying...” Patton prompted.

Roman pouted at him, cheeks stuffed with bread.

“’u first.” he swallowed, “You never got to how you met Virgil. Was he in the berserkers – in the special regiment too?”

“Oh, no.” Patton shook his head vehemently. “Virgil wasn’t like me. He was a conscript – for the other side.”

An exceptionally fat bumble bee had found Tay’s herb garden and was repeatedly bouncing off the side of some chives. Patton focused on the bewildered looking insect rather than Roman’s face and his finished the story.

“A small group of us had got separated from the rest. It was quite deep in the forest, away from the main battle. We were meant to find their camp and pick them off there, but we couldn’t find them. And then we couldn’t find the way back.”

The bee, finally free of the chives, crashed headfirst into a Rosemary bush.

“It was like… like my blood was on fire. We hadn’t been so long without it before. And then...”

“And then?”

“We stumbled on a group of them. Of Finaley’ii soldiers. And there was a fight.” Patton closed his eyes. Screams and sobs and blood on his sword and in his eyes and Micha gasping uselessly around the arrow in his throat “I don’t remember it much. But when it was over it was like I…woke up.”

He smiled.

“And there he was. Virgil. Pointing s crossbow right at my face.”

“He what!” Roman yelped and Patton laughed.

“Well, we were on opposite sides kiddo and I had just…well. The thing was, it was only us left then. No one was ordering to kill each other and so we just…didn’t. Neither of us was in any big rush to find our armies again so….”

“Virgil asked me to help him find his mom, so we headed east. We couldn’t find her, so he said he’d help me find my town and we went west. That was gone too.”

“The whole town?” Roman as looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

“That’s the problems with wars kiddo – they don’t stay in one place.”

“What about your family?”

Patton shrugged. Mittens hopped down from Roman’s lap and began to stalk the errant bee.

“Maybe they got away. I hope so.” He glanced at Roman again. “Virgil was the one who suggested we keep going west. Get away entirely, see if we could find any refugees, look for our families.” He smiled fondly. “He’s always been the brave one, not me.”

“And – and did you?” Roman asked. He was bent forward, eyes fixed on Patton’s own.

“No.” Patton sighed. “I like to think they’re safe and sound somewhere. Set up a new house, found new people to care for. Like I did. But… “

He trailed off. But most likely they were dead. Like Patton should be.

“What if…if you knew where they were.” Roman said quietly, “Would you go see them- check on them?”

Patton rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the multitude of scars that littered the right side. “I don’t know.” He told Roman honestly. “I would like to know if they were okay but…I don’t know if they’d want to see me.”

Roman nodded.

On the other side of the garden, there was a sudden yowling from the rosemary bush. Mittens came charging towards them with his tail fluffed up and circled Roman’s chair twice before leaping onto the fence.

Patton giggled – “Well that’s what you get for trying to fight a bee you silly cat!”

“I think my brothers in danger.” Roman said in a rush.

Patton blinked.

“Your brother?”

He was back to staring down. Both fists clenched tightly together. “I left him. Back home. I thought I-” he coughed again. “I thought he would be safe but now I’m not sure.”

“In danger from what kiddo?”

“From Julius.” Roman breathed. “I saw him. Or. Or I think I did.”

Slowly, haltingly, Roman told him about meeting the Marquis. About the bathhouse basement and the northern soldiers and the figure he called the grey man who had slipped in and out of Julius’ face.

Patton did his best to keep his own face clam as Roman casually described being forced to hurt himself, even as his own knuckles turned white from his grip on the chairs’ arm.

“He said he had sent Lucius to the inn after some – some escaped prisoner? And he found me. But Lucius knew about the curse and he never did before so- “

“Roman?” Patton interrupted. “Sorry - can I give you a hug?”

“Oh!” Roman blinked at him, blushing slightly, “If you – if you want to?”

“I really do.” Patton scrambled to his feet, wrapping the younger man in his arms and feeling Roman sag against him. He resisted the urge to squeeze, mindful of his injuries. “You’re safe now.” He whispered. “I gottcha.”

Roman giggled wetly against his chest. “Julius. He said he’d assumed I’d died.” He mumbled. “But now that he knows I’m around? He’ll try again Pat I know he will. I- “

He drew back, looking up at Patton with tear filled eyes. “I can’t risk you all getting hurt because of me.”

“That’s not your decision to make Roman.” Patton told him softly. “We think you’re worth the risk.”

“But I’m not Roman.” He whimpered. He hadn’t relinquished his grip on Patton, who began to run his hand soothingly up and down the prince’s back.

“Well, if we’re being technical, I’m not Patton.” Patton rested his head on top of Roman’s own. “Me and Vigil picked new names after we left the war and I – I like being Patton.”

There was a pause. Roman squeezed a little tighter.

“I like Patton too.”

Patton laughed; some tension he hadn’t realised he was holding draining away. When Roman drew back this time, he had a shaky smile on his face.

“So.” He stepped back, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist. “I need to…go back north. Check on my brother. Avoid Julius and Lucius and anyone connected with Romulus. You sure that’s worth the risk?”

“Yep!” Patton said instantly. “And we need to break the curse!”

“I guess.” Roman shrugged. “I really do think it’s impossible Pat’.”

“Eh.” Patton waved a hand dismissively “That’s never stopped Logan before.”

When Roman laughed then, he almost sounded like himself.

If you enjoyed this chapter please hit ~ reblog ~

#roman sanders #patton sanders #royality #sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #creativitwins #sanders sides #ts: fall of Romulus #this chapter ended up ENORMOUS #i had to cut it in two #rip analogical library times we will get to you next week.#sidespart writes

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sidespart · 3 years

Text

The Fall of King Romulus Part 2

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Prologue Chapter 1

“Young Sir! Come look at this! A beautiful gift for your sweetheart, no?”

Logan bit back a curse as Roman, once again, slipped form his side and almost skipped towards the merchants stall.

They had finally left the forest earlier that morning. Barley a quarter- mile beyond the tree line the path merged with the great eastern road, already heaving with traders wagons heading to Steveange for the monthly market. Roman had gone to work immediately, finding an exhausted looking couple and charming them into exchanging a ride in the back of their cart for a selection of songs to soothe their gaggle of bored children.

Even Logan, no lover of music, could admit that Romans voices was objectively pleasing. Even the wailing baby settled down under the effects of his lullaby.

The closer they got to the city gates the more densely packed the road became, to the point where their pace might have been improved by walking. But the rest was welcome and the sun was still high in the sky by the time they had finally made it to the city square. They might even have made it to their target in good time, had Patton not insisted that they stay to help the family unload every box and crate from their cart before moving on.

Patton stood nearly seven foot tall, with shoulders to match and the patience of a Raspanzean monk. Moving him when he had decided not to move was difficult at the best of times. Currently, with a good deed in need of doing and no less than three small children clambering all over him, it was going to be impossible.

Logan looked at Virgil for support.

Virgil was already manhandling the smallest sack of produce down from the cart, under close supervision of a surly looking nine year old.

Logan looked back at Patton. Patton had somehow acquired a fourth child, and was swinging the small boy gently back and forth with one giant arm.

Logan sighed.

Eventually they agreed that Patton and Virgil would stay to help the family, and then set about finding the four of them somewhere to sleep. Logan and Roman would head down the main street, complete their mission and return with, hopefully, enough coin to let them settle here for at least a weeks rest.

Which Logan would have no problem with. Except that the monthly market seemed far larger than when Logan had visited the city as a young apprentice. The city square was packed with stalls filled with meat, produce, spices and enough live animals to generate a stink so strong even Patton and his twice broken nose winced. The main road meanwhile was filled with more temporary looking stalls offering books, jewellery and potions of every colour alongside the usual clothing and home wear. These continued the whole length of the road from the square to the city temple and even spilled over into the side streets and thoroughfares of the city proper.

All of which apparently meant Roman couldn’t walk for more than two minutes without stopping to gawk at whatever gaudy display was on offer or chat with the seller.

“Roman!” he caught up with the wayward bard at a jewellers stall, where a heavy set man with salt and pepper hair was holding up an extremely impractical looking necklace for him to inspect

“Oh there you are specs” Roman grinned at him, “have you seen Master Galvenets wares? Look how shiny!”

“Is this your sweetheart?” The jeweller – presumably Master Galvenet – grinned at Logan with far too many teeth and reached below the makeshift counter top, “Then may I suggest this one instead – to match his eyes?”

The necklace he presented was even bigger than the last. With blue glass masquerading as the sapphires surrounded by enough ostentatious filigree to decorate a dukes bed chamber. Logan stared, momentarily struck dumb by his own disdain.

Roman nudged him, waggling his eyebrows and giving him a lecherous grin “What do you think sweetie? It does match your eyes.”

Logan blanched. Turning quickly to the seller her snapped out “We are NOT together. And also - we’re, extremely poor. And not interested.”

He grabbed Roman’s wrist and proceeded to drag the giggling bard with him back towards the main street. “Can you try to focus?” Logan glared at him, “remember this package is time sensitive.” Superstitiously, Logan patted his pocket, feeling the shape of the vial they had been entrusted to transport to Steveange still safely stored inside.

Roman failed to look chastened. “Logan, it’s a herb. And we we’re asked to deliver it within a week – it’s only been five days! Your forest short cut worked, alright, the worlds not going to end if we stop to appreciate some fine wares on our way.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You consider Master Galvenet’s works, ‘fine wares’?”

Now Roman had the grace to look a little sheepish “They had a charm of their own.”

Logan hmphed. “They were very clearly fake.”

“Oh?” Roman linked their arms together, tugging him back into the steady stream of south bound shoppers, “How could you tell?”

Logan told him.

The ensuring lecture took them the rest of the way down main street, and into the rabbit warren of alleyways that branched out behind the city’s temple.

Even here, there were traders. Many had their wares spread out on blankets on the ground instead of stalls, but they seemed less inclined to call over whilst the two of them walked together deep in discussion and so, mercifully, there was less opportunities for Roman to get distracted.

“A festival?” Roman suggested. Logan shrugged, it was possible, something was certainly occurring to draw such an enormous throng.

Eventually, Logan had to admit that his boyhood memories were not enough to navigate every twist and turn of the city streets and Roman stepped away from him to ask a couple for directions. Logan took the chance to study him, but whatever fit of irrationality had led to him wandering back through half the forest the previous night seemed to have past. Even the scratches on his hands and arms had healed almost completely overnight, helped along by a generous slathering of healing salve from Virgil.

(Logan had, at the time, pointed out that the healer was using up rather a lot of their dwindling supply for an extremely minor injury. Virgil had hissed at him)

Roman was often contradictory. He would spend a day whining about his need for beauty sleep but then stay up till the early hours to fulfil every song request from whatever crowd they managed to gather. He fussed with his makeup and performance clothing as much as a lady at court, but kept his hair cropped unfashionably short and made no effort to seek out high class patrons who could have kept him in silks and finery. He was talented enough with a lute to spend the social season entertaining upper class lords, and talented enough with a sword to spend the rest of his time as a body guard or becomes some towns local hero. Instead he travelled with them.

“You know, I’m fairly sure there were some gentlemen painting miniatures on the main road, if you want to keep staring at me that is.”

Logan flushed, caught. “Don’t be insufferable.”

“You don’t pay me enough for that” Roman grinned cheekily.

This was an old joke. Virgil had originally found Roman, and hired him as a body guard and escort for a three day trip through a bandit ridden mountain pass. Three weeks and many diversions later, they had emerged on the other side of the mountain. Roman had become as much a part of the group as any of the others and had stayed to travel with them as a friend rather than a hire.

Logan was glad of it. Most of the time.

“Did you get the directions?”

“I did, I had to ask three people before I found someone who recognised the address – the city’s full of tourists!”

The woman who opened the door looked like the word crone ha been invented especially for her. Her grey hair stuck out from a shoddily tied scarf and her face looked like at any moment it might collapse under the weight of her own frown. She scowled at the pair of them, looking like she already learned everything there was to know about them from one glance and found it all spectacularly unimpressive.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

Logan resisted the urge to smooth down his waistcoat like he was presenting to a lecturer and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. We have been sent by Madam Valarie to –“

This, if anything, seemed to make the scowl deepen.

“My sister? What does that witch want?”

“To deliver you …this”

With a flourish Logan produced the vial and held it aloft. The thin shaft of light spilling from the doorway made the red herb glow a burning orange in the dim of the alley.

“And you think I’m dramatic.”

“Shush.”

Needlessly dramatic or not, he had the woman’s attention. She reached towards the vial with trembling hands but Logan drew back before she could make contact.

“Your sister paid us half, with the promise of the second half on delivery.” Reaching into a different pocket he produced an envelope and held it out. “She told us to give you this – it should validate our story.”

The woman muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary under her breath but accepted the envelope. Without speaking further she turned and retreated into the hovel, leaving the door open behind her

The two men exchanged a glance, and then Roman deftly stepped around Logan to walk in first, one hand on his sword.

He needn’t have bothered, the short hallway opened up to small kitchen, where every conceivable surface was covered with books, scrolls and bric-a-brac. Three of the four walks were taken up with shelving where kitchen ingredients and appliances sat shoulder to shoulder with ornaments, candles and what looked like half a taxidermy ostrich.

If the old woman had hired muscle ready to take to leap out and take the herb by force, they would have had a hard time finding space to stand.

“My sister claims this was picked under the glow of a full moon.”

Logan nodded, “that is what we were given to understand.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “For this to be worth the price it needs to be used within ten days of the moon’s glow, my sisters village is two weeks ride away on the eastern road.”

“We came through the forest.” Logan explained, “Also, I sealed the herb in a pre-sterilised sample jar – the lack of air exposure should help it retain its freshness far beyond its normal time frame!”

The was a silence. The woman was now looking at Logan not with suspicion, but with the exasperation of a teacher whose student has just said something rather stupid.

Logan crossed his arms.

“If you look at the specimen carefully you will notice no discoloration or other signs of degradation – this method can be used to prolong the lifespan of most vegetation and-“

She interrupted him by laughing, an awful crows call of a noise, and held up a hand for silence.

“You are obviously quite uneducated.” she told him cheerfully “And you are bothering Mittens.”

“I beg your pardon I- wait what?”

“YOWCH!”

Logan spun round, as much as he could in the cramped space, only to find Roman desperately trying to relinquish a scrambling ball of fur back onto one of the high shelves. The cat had already dug its claws deep enough into the bards wrist to draw blood, and was currently clinging on for dear life as Roman waved his hand around like Patton trying to kill a spider.

“My apologies Master Mittens” Roman told the cat a few moments later, after Logan and the crone had finally convinced it to release him “I thought you were a hat.”

“Why must you touch things.” Logan hissed and was surprised by a much gentler laugh from their hostess.

“Aw now, Mittens is not the most dangerous thing you could have touched in my kitchen. Here. Drink.”

Logan blinked as she shoved hot cup into his hands. Its contents was extremely dark and disturbingly viscous. A few drops glopped over the side, singeing his finger. He held it as far from his body as he possibly could.

“And for you?” She held up a second cup towards Roman who smiled politely but shook his head ‘no’

“No thank you, Madam.”

“We’re both fine.” Logan said firmly, putting the cup down on one of the first patches of exposed surface he could find. “If you wouldn’t mind completing our transaction we will take our leave of this…place.”

She looked at him for one long moment and then turned back to Roman.

“Your friend says you passed through the Serpents Forrest”

Logan frowned - “That’s not what the locals called it.”

“Well that’s who lives there.” The crone snapped without turning around, “One of the darker fae. I’m not surprised he” – she jerked her chin back towards Logan – “ got through alright, since the gods look after fools.”

“Excuse me!”

“But how did you manage?”

Roman juts shrugged, eyes sparkling with mirth at Logan’s outraged expression. “We saw no one Madam, but if we had done - I carry iron.”

That rusted hunk of junk Logan thought, but the crone was nodding approvingly

“A clever boy” she patted Roman cheek, “I thought so when I heard your accent – you’re from beyond the mountains.”

Logan frowned. He was not gifted when it came to interpreting expressions, but he thought Romans smile had suddenly become very fixed.

“So are you.” Roman replied softly.

There was a moments quiet whilst the two looked at each other and Logan tried not to roll his eyes out of his own head. All they needed to do was a simple swap of coin for produce and instead Roman had manged to find the only other grown adult in Steveange who still believed in fairies.

Whatever northerner to northerner communication was happening seemed to pass, and the crone reached past Roman to pull a small burlap sack from the shelf. Mittens took the opportunity to skitter across her arm and settle himself on her shoulder.

“Here you are then.” She tipped the sack out on top of an open tome, producing three cloves of garlic and a hefty pile of coins Logan couldn’t help but stare. That was more money than Logan had seen in one place since he had started traveling.

The crone picked out three gold pieces and a fistful of silver and handed them to Logan. He counted quickly and handed her the vial. Transaction complete, Logan headed immediately to the door, but turned back when he realised Roman wasn’t with him

He was still trapped between the crone and the shelving. “Will you come and see me before you leave the city?” she asked “It would be nice to share my tea with someone who would appreciate it.”

Logan thought to the gelatinous mess in the tea cup and gagged but Roman just smiled

“If time allows my lady.” He brought her withered hand to his lips and deposited a courtly kiss before sidestepping her and heading after Logan.

The city alley smelt almost like fresh air after the over mixture of incense, garlic and cat that her permeated the crones kitchen, and Logan breathed it in gratefully before setting off. Roman falling into sept beside him.

Logan glanced at him, uncertain.

He knew Roman was from the Northern Kingdom. He guessed from his speech patterns that he either grew up upper class or was truly committed to his larger than life bard persona. He had mentioned a brother once, off hand, and during an argument compared Logan to a tutor he’d disliked who had made him study maps until he could recount every river on the continent by heart.

That was all he knew.

Logan was curious by nature, a trait which tended to get him in trouble. He would have liked to pepper Roman with a hundred questions about life beyond the mountains, but Patton had told him once he should only ask a question about a sensitive subject if he was prepared to answer one himself.

None of them like to talk about where they came from, but that was fine. They were going forward together.

It was obvious though, that meeting his countryman had shaken Roman. He walked silently, even when they turned into a wider street and found the market still in full swing, shoppers crowding around each stall, he made no comment, only stepped closer to Logan.

If he was Patton, he might have known what to say to sooth whatever emotion was clouding Romans features. If he was Virgil, he might have made a joke or pointed out an interesting stall to distract him

As it was..

“So do all Northerners believe in fairy stories or is it just you two?”

“What?”

“The dark fae of the forest? She can’t have been serious.”

Roman straighten up, fixing him with a mock glare “Logan! You’re honestly going to keep pretending you don’t believe in magic? You travel with an elf!”

“Half-elf. And there’s nothing mystical about him.”

“He makes potions Logan!”

“He mixes herbs into useful medicines, it’s no different than any human herbalist.”

“He chants when he does it. And his eyes do that thing.” Roman wiggled his fingers in front of his face, apparently to illustrate ‘that thing’.

“Which I’m sure helps him know how long each concoction needs to stew before adding the next ingredient. You cannot decided a race is magical just because they’ve failed to invent clocks.”

“Urgh!” Roman threw up his hands, “Sometimes you sound like you’re from Arkaze’yed.”

Arkaze’yd was on the western coast. The most industrially advanced of the great cities, they had recently converted the city temple into an extension of the university.

Logan preened. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Roman pulled a face. “You are such a - ooh! Jam tarts!”

He darted away again, but this time Logan couldn’t fault him. A boy was hastily unpacking a crate of what looked like fresh jam tarts onto his masters stall and the scent was delicious

They had to wait for three families ahead of them before they could finally have their turn. Roman picked out four of the tarts and chatted happily with the seller whilst Logan carefully counted out the money.

“I had herd the monthly market of Steveange was something to behold but this! Are you going to go all night?”

“Most likely.” The trader told them happily, “The towns packed for the coronation.”

“Coronation?”

“Princess Stephanie is to become queen,” the man gushed, one hand over his heart in what Logan considered to be an alarming display of emotional royalism. “The guests have been arriving all week.”

Logan nodded absently. That explained the hubbub. The rich went traveling and the poor went to see them. A coronation was a good enough excuse for a festival. If you liked that sort of thing.

“They say,” the trader whispered leaning forward, apparently unbothered by Logan’s total lack of interest in royal gossip, “That even the mad Prince is coming - Remus of Notaleveale!”

“Is that so.” said Logan, monotonously “Here’s your coin.” He turned to Roman to claim his pastry and – stared.

All the colour had drained from Romans face. He gaze was fixed on the trader, his eyes so wide he looked quite wild.

“Roman?” Logan asked, as gently as he could. He realised that Romans hands were shaking the second before the bag of pastries fell from his grip.

“Roman- ROMAN hey-“

Other customers were starting to push between them, Logan bent down quickly to rescue the bag form the floor and reached out to grab his friends hand.

But when he looked up, Roman had gone.

Part three

#creativitwins #logan sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #Roman Sanders #TS: Fall of Romulus #this features #10% more plot but 100% more logan #this is the second full fic ive ever done and the first multichapter so feedback appreciated :o

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sidespart · 3 years

Text

The Fall of King Romulus Part 3

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

The mad Prince of Notaleveale.

Remus was coming here. Remus was coming to Steveange and if Romulus saw him-

Roman had to leave.

Which was easier said than done; when the streets were crowded with hoards of shoppers and revellers all pressing against him, blocking his path, stealing the air out of his lungs-

“Roman!”

He needed to go. He need to find Virgil and Patton in whatever rooms they’d managed to find, collect his belongings and-

No. That would take too long – he could replace the clothes and books, he already had his sword-

“Roman, what’re you-”

- but he needed his lute. To make any kind of living he had to be able to perform. It was the only thing he was good at and once he’d got away he’d be -

He could do it. He’d run away before. He survived alone, without anyone, he could do it again and-

“Roman! Stop!”

He stopped.

Logan. Heading towards him. But he hadn’t given a time frame and if Roman grit his teeth and pushed past the spike of pain he could start to move again in just a second-

“Wait!”

Dammit.

Roman waited. Fists clenched by his side, until Logan was next to him.

“Roman.”

His chest was tight. His brain wasn’t -wasn’t working right and Logan looked so odd, with his glasses askew and his face flushed – had he been running?

“I thought I saw Patton.” Roman blurted.

It was the first excuse that popped into his head and it was clearly not – not good enough. Logan was frowning at him, a pinched expression, studying him like an experiment and-

Roman hated him, suddenly.

Logan was an upstart swot with ideas above his station and a chip on his shoulder. He poked and prodded and lost them jobs with his terse words and his better than you attitude. He reminded Roman of the tutors who snap at him for his lack of understanding and bark orders for him to recite, repeat, remember, to be better, smarter, stronger: someone worthy of his title.

He reminded him most of all of Julius. His fathers closest advisor, who had been charged with unravelling the Princes’ curses. He was the one who had helped Romulus learn how to push against his curse. He would give him orders that were almost impossible to follow and watch with cold eyes as Romulus struggled to disobey. Together they’d categorised how much pain he could withstand, what orders could be navigated and misinterpreted and which ones he was truly helpless against.

Once, he’d bid Romulus to stand on one leg. And left him there until his muscles started to cramp and shake, waiting to see if gravity or the curse was stronger. Romulus had been in tears by the end. Had even wondered, briefly, about complaining to his parents. But is was such a silly, innocuous order compared to other experiments. What had truly upset him was how Julian had just stood there, not speaking, his eyes distant and cold and calculating as he noted down every twitch and whimper from the boy. Even when he circled him, Romulus could feel those eyes boring into the back of his neck like a-

“Princey.”

Roman blinked. Julius’ practice room disappeared, replaced with the sights and sound of the Steveange street. Logan was in front of him and his eyes were far from cold. When he spoke it was with the same gentle tone that Roman had heard him use when Virgil’s worries overwhelmed him or when Patton woke from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was.

“Did the cro- the woman. Did she say something to you?” Logan was holding his hand. Gently but firmly, he tugged at Romans tightly clenched fingers, encouraging them to unfurl. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at the deep crescent marks he’d made in his palm.

Slowly, Logan released his right hand and reached for his left, repeating the process.

Roman felt shame ripple through him.

Logan wasn’t Julius. Logan would never push him so far he broke.

Logan was his friend and Roman has made him worry with his silly behaviour and his slapdash lie. But he could fix it.

He forced a smiled. Flexed his fingers and straightened up his full height. Made a show of looking around him.

“I swear I saw him. Big man, big sword, big smile – he’s hard to mistake!”

Hesitantly, Logan glanced around too before quickly refocusing on Roman.

“Are you sure you –“

“Ah well, the mind plays trick I suppose – must be hunger getting to me, speaking of which…”

Roman reached forward and deftly snatched the bag from Logan's grasp, reaching in blindly and shoving the first pastry he found into his mouth.

“Mmmm so good!” He beamed at Logan with berry stained teeth, flakes of pastry flying through the air. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

Logan stared at him. Roman kept his smile sweet and his eyes clear. He held up the bag and wiggled it enticingly.

Hesitantly, Logan took the bag and selected a tart. Keeping his eyes on the bard the entire time, he ate his treat with much more refinement then Roman had shown. “Holding back?” Roman asked, teasing, “I’ve seen you eat jam before, there’s no point pretending to have table manners now.”

Logan just hmphed but his shoulders relaxed slightly and Roman decided to take that as a victory. “We should get going” Roman said and started walking, Logan easily falling into step beside him.

The streets were crowded enough that none of the sellers seemed to feel the need to call to Roman specifically, and so this time he was free to investigate the stalls he was actually interested in.

But instead he stayed by Logan's side

Logan was a good friend. For all he claimed to lack an understating of emotional nuances he was letting Roman have his space. He’d even distracted him earlier, when his biggest concern had been the a spike of homesickness after meeting their northern customer.

He was nothing like Julius.

Roman was going to miss him so much.

***

Roman kept up his performance of normality all the way back to the main square, where they had agreed to meet the others once their mission was done. The sky was beginning to turn dark by the time they got there, though it was easy enough to navigate from the sheer number of stalls still in operation, each one boasting its own selection of colourful lanterns.

“This is fantastic!” Roman gasped theoretically, spinning on one foot to take in the whole spectacle.

“It’s a fire hazard.” Logan muttered with a frown.

They found Virgil waiting for them by the central fountain. He had manged to find a seat on the fountains edge but was wedged between two young couples who had clearly taken the romantic festival atmosphere to heart. The healer’s shoulders were up by his ears and his cloak was wrapped so tightly around himself it looked constricting. When he saw them he sprang to his feet so quickly he almost knocked one of the young ladies into the water.

“Took you two long enough.”

Roman and Logan glanced at each other.

“Logan got lost-”

“Roman kept wandering off.”

“-We brought you baked goods!”

Virgil took one of the two remaining pastries with minimal grumbling and led them out of the square. They took the north east road, a path that curved its wary upwards into the higher levels of the city. Here the buildings were all built of a blush-pink marble that sparkled in the evening twilight. The streets were wide, with neatly arranged flowerbeds and street lights which had the steady glow of Arkazeii glow lamps rather than the flicker of oil. There were certainly no traders spread out on blankets. Logan looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Was this inn you found an…economical choice?”

“It was a ‘the whole town’s rammed and this was the only place with a room left’ choice.” Virgil snarked “and don’t worry – its one room for all four of us with no breakfast included, if you were worried about getting too… bourgeoisie…or whatever."

Logan raised his hands for peace.

“I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“Well …we were lucky.” Virgil told him, and then glanced over at Roman, his lip twitching.

“Apparently they give discounts to performers.”

***

The inn was certainly a cut above their normal haunts. With brightly painted walls almost obscured by well pruned climbing plants, outdoor seating, and a wrought iron gate leading to spacious stables behind the building. Even the doors were of better quality then your typical village tavern – made of wood heavy enough to make a satisfying crash when Roman stormed in.

The room was crowded, but Patton really was hard to miss. Roman shoved his way through to the back table where the big man sat waiting. Leaving other customers cursing in his wake.

‘Hey kiddo!’ Patton greeted him with a wide smile “Did you-“

“Key.” Roman snarled.

Patron blinked and him, shock writ large on his face. “Sorry?”

“The key. To my room. Give it.” Roman snapped. “It is mine right? Since you seem happy to pimp me out in exchange for-“

“Hey!” That would be Virgil. Roman half thought he had left both men behind in his rage after Virgil’s little announcement, but the elf at least seemed to have kept up. He’d reached the table just in time to hear the start of Roman’s rant. “What the hell is your problem Princey?”

“My problem? Oh I’m sorry, I’M not the one signing other people up to sing for their supper without permission Virgil.”

“You like singing for your – we thought you’d want to!”

“Well it would have been nice to have a choice!”

“Virgil. Roman.” That was Logan, it had taken longer for the shorter man to force his way through the crowd but he wasted no time now in inserting himself into Romans business. “whatever this is… it’s not about putting on a show.”

He turned to the other two. Virgil scowling, Patton wide eyed.

“He had an…episode in the market.”

“Excuse me?” Roman shouted.

“Roman, whatever disturbed you, you practically ran away.”

“Well perhaps I had simple grown tired of looking at your face? Had you considered that?”

He turned his back to Logan, rounding on Patton again: “Now, give me the-“

Patton already had his hand out, wrought iron key resting loosely in his palm.

“We’re on the fourth floor.” he said calmly as Roman snatched it from him. “First door once you get up the stairs.” Roman spun on his heel only to find Virgil blocking his path.

“Move.” Roman hissed.

“What is wrong with you?” Roman narrowed his eyes. Virgil looked angry. Looked one second away from telling him to sit down, shut up, stop causing a fuss. He wondered if he could get past him without using his sword.

“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” Roman blinked glancing back at Patton, startled. The warrior still hadn’t moved from the table - admittedly no easy task in the cramped corner- and was looking at him calmly.

“I don’t want anything” Roman muttered, sullen.

“But you might later.” Patton smiled at him. Not knowing how to respond Roman turned back to Virgil. The elf glanced between the two, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sighing and stepping to the side. Not fast enough to prevent Roman from knocking his shoulder with his own as he pushed past however.

It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped.

At a guess, the room was normally meant for storage not guests. Two rickety looking beds had been shoved in, so close together they might as well have been one. There was one small table forced between the end of one bed and the wall, with a basin of water perched on top. Someone, presumably Patton, had organised their bags neatly at the end of the beds. Roman’s was at the far end, closest to the window. Then Patton, then Virgil with Logan closest to the door, next to the only built in shelf where a candle had been left for the night. Roman would be able to wake with the dawn, as he liked to do, and Logan would have light for the longest to stay up and read.

Romans lute was not on the floor with his pack. Instead he found in had been placed on the bed itself, propped up on his pillow, away from any potential harm.

Whatever righteous anger he had been able to hang on too as he stomped upstairs dropped out of him now like a stone from a cliff. Without it, the despair he had felt in the market came rushing back. He sank down right there by the door, bringing his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the forest. As he used to do in Julius’ room.

He almost wished Julius was here – at least he would tell him not to cry.

The through was so absurd he let out a weak snotty laugh and buried his head in his arms.

He needed to leave Steveange.

He didn’t want to leave them.

But they had planned to stay for a week at least, hopefully longer.

Convince them to leave early? Except he couldn’t explain why. Find them a job out of the city? How? When the coronation and accompanying celebrations were over it would be easy enough to find a traveling group in need of a little extra protection, but for now no one was leaving.

They’d been excited to come. Virgil want to try the city baths, famed for their heated pools and soothing water. Logan had been talking about the library for half the trip. Patton was just excited to explore the city itself, meet the people and try the food. He loved when they stopped in busier towns but it was a rarity.

There was no way Roman would be able to convince them to leave just because he wanted to.

Roman did what other people wanted. It was all he knew how to do.

And even if he had a convincing reason…well, they probably didn’t want him around anymore anyway.

He scrambled up, grabbed the first pillow he could reach and buried his face in it to muffle a scream of frustration which turned into more sobs.

He was so pathetic.

Since he’d left home, he’d kept his memories, kept Romulus, buried as deep as he could. But now it was like Romulus was just under his skin. Ready to jump out If he let himself slip. With all his anger and hurt and fear.

Romulus was a liability.

Romulus was a murder. Or would be. If Roman couldn’t think.

He stepped over to his pack, still hugging the pillow to him like a teddy bear, and started to review the contents. He didn’t need to take all of this with him, surely? Half of it wasn’t even his, their belongings having become more and more intertwined the longer they travelled.

The healing salve was rightfully Virgil’s, the soft shirt he wrapped himself in during cold nights was actually Patton’s, at least one of the notebooks belonged to Logan.

He opened the nearest book to check, but instead of Logan's neat lists his own sloppy scrawl stared back at him. Song lyrics and passing thoughts and, on the next page, an unfinished sketch. It was of Virgil, hand covering his mouth but eyes betraying his laughter. The other pages, he knew contained scribbles of all three of them. He flicked back and found his favourite, the page marked with a yellowed leaf he couldn’t remember picking up.

It showed all three in one sketch. Logan, sleeping and so looking years younger, head pillowed on Virgil’s thigh. Virgil was turned towards Patton, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘can you believe this?’ but making no move to actually shift scholar off him. Patton was laughing, he was the most well rendered of the three figures, you could almost see his shoulders shaking.

Roman looked at it for a moment. Then slowly replaced the book mark and closed it. This would have to come with him.

A knock at the door startled him so badly he dropped the book, which bounced under the bed.

“Kiddo? Can I come it?”

Fuck.

Patton. He had -he had been so, so unbelievably rude to Patton.

His first instinct, which was admittedly not a good one, was to jump out of the window.

Roman took a deep breath. Focusing on the mundane task of sorting items had cleared his head somewhat. He was still a little shaky but his eyes were dry. He knew what would be expected of him now - Romulus had spent most of his life apologising.

“Come in.” he croaked and stood, squaring his shoulders.

Patton entered alone, two bowls of something that smelled delicious cradled in his arms.

Roman ignored the sudden spike of hunger – the fruit tart seemed a long time ago now- and bowed from the waist. He kept his back ramrod straight and bent low enough that it quickly became uncomfortable. It was the kind of bow Romulus would only have given his father or elder brother.

“Patton, I owe you my most humble apology I-“

“Roman I am so sorry.”

“The way I spoke to you was the height of disrespect and unprin- ungentlemanly behaviour I – wait, what?”

He straightened up and looked at Patton, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“Roman, I – wait hold on.” Patton handed him one of the bowls and turned to close the door. “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked and Roman nodded, smiling despite himself. Patton was the politest person he had ever met.

Once they were both seated, Patton’s bad leg stretched out in front of him, Patton looked at him seriously.

“Roman you were right downstairs. We should never have promised you’d perform without asking you first - no it's true!”

But Roman was already shaking his head. “Patton you were fine, you know I love singing! I was the one acting like, like some sort of beast I-“

“I know you love singing but that doesn’t mean we get to pick and choose when-“

“But I wanted to perform as much as possible whilst we were here- I’d told you that!”

“-especially after travelling all week. We were, er, presumptuous.”

Roman stared at him.

“Unlike this soup, which is pre – scrumptious.”

Patton beamed at him. Roman groaned.

“Anyway I’m sorry for letting you stew-“ he held up the bowl again waggling his eyebrows “- up here for so long, but we needed to make things right with the landlord.”

Roman, who had been starting to relax under the force of two puns in a row, tensed again. “What things?”

Patton smiled. “We paid the difference – you don’t have to perform! Uhh unless you want to of course, but it’s your choice.” He nodded decisively whilst Roman gaped.

“b-but isn’t it expensive?”

Patton just shrugged, “Well, the last job paid well didn’t it?”

“Not that well!”

“Aw c’mon kiddo, what’s the point of having money if we don’t spend it? Right?”

Not knowing what to say. Roman shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth without tasting it. Guilt turning the meal to ash.

“Patton…how many days did you pay for?”

“The rest of the week! And there’s still enough to have some fun at the markets, don’t worry, we can all have a – hey!” Patton put his bowl down, shuffling closer to put one warm hand on Roman’s knee.” Roman, hey kiddo, buddy what’s wrong?”

Roman found, quite to his surprise, that he was trembling. He followed Patton's example and put the bowl carefully on the floor before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I…can’t Pat. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“Go?” Patton looked at him with confusion clear in his big brown eyes, “But why kiddo? You don’t like the inn?”

Roman groaned shaking his head “not the inn. The city. I’m not – I can’t – if ‘m here it- “ he let out a whine of frustration, hating his curse heavy tongue.

Never tell anyone about our conversation.

“I just-“ My brother is coming and if I see him I-

“If – “ my brother is coming and he won’t be alone. There are people who know who I really am and I –

“Okay.”

Romans head snapped up.

Patton still had a frown on his face but when he looked at Roman his eyes were as serious as Roman had ever seen them. “If you can’t tell me the details it’s fine but-“ he lent forward, “Roman, are you safe here?”

Without breathing, Roman shook his head. No.

Patton nodded and squeezed his knee. “Well then of course we’re not staying.” Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and rested one large hand on the back of Romans neck. Forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever it is – we will help you. You know that don��t you?”

Embarrassingly, Roman felt his eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll leave in the morning.” Patton told him. Patton stood up, taking Romans congealing stew and his own empty bowl and headed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Everything’s going to be okay kiddo.” he smiled, “We love you.”

And he was gone.

For a long moment Roman sat frozen, staring at the closed door.

“Yeah.” He agreed, eventually. “Right.”

Except. They didn’t. Not really.

They loved Roman.

Roman had screamed and insulted them and instead of kicking him out of their group like they had every right to do, they had given up what little money they had just to make Roman feel better.

And Roman was a lie.

Roman was Romulus with a bad haircut. And Romulus was everything they weren’t’ – a stupid, pampered, prince with no power or pride.

Patton might be willing to upheaval their lives just on Roman's say so, But Logan and Virgil were more practically minded. They would want explanations. Might even demand them.

Never tell anyone about your curse. Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about it and put as much distance between you as you can.

Romulus was a liability.

One they shouldn’t have to deal with.

He strapped his lute to his back and secured his dagger in a hidden pocket that Virgil had taught him how to sow. Everything else he left, including, after a moments hesitation, his sword. He had been training Logan to use it, on and off, and whilst the scholar was no solider he was improving. At the very least, it would be some source of protection until they could hire another swordhand for their travels.

The climbing plants he had noticed on the way in made getting down from the window much easier than he had originally anticipated. Dusting off his hands he skirted the building, taking care to avoid the large windows of the main hall, until he found the entrance to the the stables.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had stolen before when he first left home. He would have to again now in order to put some distance between the city and himself.

It wasn’t his worst plan.

And it might even have worked, had they not already been waiting for him.

When Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy. Even now, under the weak light of a covered lantern and with almost fifteen years distance from the memories, he still recognised him instantly.

“Good evening, your highness.” The Marquis smile was as dazzling as he remembered, although his eyes were colder.

He had no army with him, and no weapon that Roman could see. But then, why would he need one?

“Come with me.”

Roman went.

part 4

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #creativitwins #this chapter is just #roman having an extended panic and making piss poor decisions #but also having great friends #alas #sidespart writes #TS: Fall of Romulus

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sidespart · 3 years

Text

The Fall of King Romulus Part 8

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

“From today, you shall have your own rooms.”

“But why?” Remus wails “it’s not fair!” Remus looks up at him, his small faced scrunched and red, tears threatening to fall, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I-“ Roman frowns. He feels too big. Shouldn’t he be the same size as Remus?

“You’re the future king, Remus” their father rumbles, “Your training needs to begin - without distractions.”

“Don’t cry.” Their mother tells him as Remus’ tantrum echoes through the room. She runs a cool hand over Roman’s forehead soothingly.

“I wasn’t.” Roman murmurs.

His mother’s hand turns cruel, pushing his head back, another hand gripping his chin.

“You need to drink, c’mon Roman drink this down for me, please?”

Roman chokes, twisting away. Hot liquid scalds his throat and drips down his chin. There’s a hand in his hair again, stroking gently until it grips tight, forcing his head back “He doesn’t look much like the Prince.” Marcus grunts.

“The mad Prince – Remus of Notaleveale!”

“But.” Roman whimpers, “that’s not-“

“Is he awake?”

“Your father is sick.” Julius tells him. The practice room is high in the north tower, always just too cool to be comfortable, but Roman feels hot. For some reason, water is rushing down the walls. Droplets splash onto his skin and sizzle where they land.

“We’re going to find a way to fix this my Prince, I promise.” Julius smiles at him, his eyes kind and unlined by age.

“What if you can’t.” Romulus whispers, voice breaking. He is the right size now he thinks. He had to tilt his head to look up at Julius who hesitantly pulls him close, letting the boy muffle his dry sobs on his shoulder.

“Then…we will find a way to help you live with it – and I’ll always be here to help you.”

He pulls back to smile at him again, but it’s not kind anymore. The skin flaking away reveals the rictus grin of the skull beneath, and Roman howls, trying to twist away whilst large hands hold him down -

“It’s okay! Roman, it’s okay!”

- he feels something cool on his eyelids, a strong scent of mint mingling with the rot of Julius body-

“Sleep.” a voice murmurs.

When Roman wakes, it’s somewhere he doesn’t recognise. Scratchy sheets pin him down to a bed as effectively as chains. A pale man with violet eyes is pulling at his arm, his arm which hurts. Roman whines, trying to tug the limb out of the pale man’s grip, but his body feels too heavy to obey.

The pale man is trying to talk to him but nothing he says makes sense to Romulus, it’s like listening to a foreign language.

“<My dad’s dead.>” he tells the pale man, because that seems important.

“Roman? Are you awake?”

There’s a hand on his forehead, the voice is saying something about water but Roman ignores it, trying to chase the thought.

If their father was dead, then why was he still Prince Remus?

The next time Roman woke up it was dark. The pale man had disappeared, but there was another figure lying in the bed next to him. The man’s bulk caused the mattress to dip towards him and his snores were so loud they made the whole bedframe vibrate with each exhale.

Turning his head carefully, Roman found himself looking at a face full of scars and freckles. A pale shaft of moonlight from the open window illuminated the man’s ripped ear and a nose that had obviously been broken at some point in the past. Even in sleep, he looked fearsome.

‘Patton’ Roman’s tired mind supplied, and he felt a relieved smile twitch over his face. It pulled at the cut Niki left him, making him bite back a whimper of pain.

He let his head fall back against the pillow. Everything felt heavy, even the air. The room seemed to melt at the edges. But if Patton was sleeping then they must be somewhere safe.

He dozed for a time, listening to the comforting rumble of Patton’s snores, until a withered pair of hands reached for him. The lady of the house began to gently wipe the sweat from his face with a cool cloth.

“<Am I dying>?” he asked her in their own language.

“<You can try.>” She told him dryly, “<Those three will probably end up chasing you down to the underworld too.>”

The lady brought some extra cushions and stacked them behind him, helping him to sit up. From his new vantage point he could see Logan on the floor, one giant book open on his lap and three more stacked beside him. He looked like he had fallen asleep mid study session, his head tilted back against the wall with a thin string of drool hanging from his open mouth.

Roman thought of the last time he had seen him, pinned to Lucius' chest, his eyes wide and frightened behind his glasses, and had to close his eyes. He breathed deeply through his nose until his panic subsided and glanced at Logan again.

He was so relieved to see him whole that might even forgo teasing him about the drool.

The lady brought him a pewter mug filled with something warm that smelt pleasantly of honey and helped him to lift it to his lips when his hands began to shake.

“<When I invited you for tea, this isn’t what I pictured.>” she teased him with a smile.

Roman didn’t smile back, eyes still roaming the room.

“<Where->“

“<Your elf is fine>” she told him, sounding amused “<I sent him on an errand. He would have worn a hole in my best rug if he stood here pacing much longer.>”

Roman did smile then, grip loosening on the mug which she deftly caught before it hit the blankets.

“<I lost my brother.>” he told her, eyes growing heavy again.

“<That was careless of you.>” she said, “<What are you going to do about it?>”

Roman didn’t answer, falling back asleep with the honey still coating his tongue.

The next time Roman woke up, daylight was streaming trough the open window and the last tendrils of fever seemed to have left him. Whilst he still felt tired, the unnatural heaviness was less and his mind was clear.

Unfortunately, his clear mind immediately occupied itself by cataloguing every single way his body was in pain.

His cheek throbbed, the small cut from Niki having been split wider by the force of the hit from Julius’s walking stick. His back and shoulders we’re equally bruised, and protested every tiny movement he made as he tried to resettle himself against the pillows. By far the worst was his hand, which felt like it was still burning.

Choking down any whimpers of pain he focused instead on the strange pressure on his chest.

Opening his eyes revealed the culprit. A grey cat with snow white paws was sitting primly on his sternum. Mittens looked deeply put out by Roman’s attempt to get comfortable and gave him an unsatisfied meow of protest when he continued to move.

“Good morning” Roman whispered, giving him a conciliatory head rub with his good hand, “Did you happen to count how many horses ran me over?”

“Roman!” The bard looked beyond Mittens to see Patton perched on the end of the bed, beaming so wide it almost distracted from the redness of his nose.

“You’re -ah-achoo – you’re awake!”

“Yeah.” He smiled, attempting to rearrange the pillows one handed. “Hey Pat’.”

“Guys!” Patton called, “Ro – achoo – Ro -acHOO – he’s awake!”

There was a thundering of footsteps on stairs and then Virgil all but exploded into the room, eyes wide “How awake is he? – does he recognise you? Patton I told you to put the damm cat outside!”

“Aww but it’s his hou -ah -ah -house,” Patton pouted.

“He recognises you.” Roman added, giving Virgil a half-hearted wave “Also his voice works.”

“Shame.” Virgil snarked but the grin on his face was too wide to hide his relief.

“You. Go bother the pigeons’” he shooed the cat as he came to sit on the edge of Romans bed. Mittens gave him a pointed meow before slinking out of the room, pausing only to rub against Logan’s ankles as it passed him in the doorway.

“How’s your head?” Virgil asked - he reached over to a small beside table and picked up a glass of water, holding it up for Roman to sip.

“Fine.” Roman whispered hoarsely, taking the water from him and drinking greedily.

“What about your hand?” Patton asked, kneeling on his other side, “I’ll ask Mama Tay to brew you some more willow tea, for the pain.”

“Great.”- Roman handed the glass back to Virgil shrank against the pillows as they both peered at him – “but I’m fine, honestly don’t worry yourselves-“

“Fine?” Virgil rolled his eyes, “You look like you went three rounds with a centaur and lost. Badly.”

“Okay, well, that’s rude.” Roman rolled his eyes right back, lifting one arm to try and bat Virgil’s hands away as they reached for him “Get off, Virge I’m fi-“

“Roman.” Logan was the only one who hadn’t come forward to paw at him. He stood in the doorway, most of his face obscured by the shadow. “Let Virgil check your injuries.”

Roman sighed, the fight going out of him. Obediently, he dropped his arms and tilted his head towards the half-elf.

“Oh sure,” Virgil murmured, running skilful fingers over the cut on Romans cheek and the surrounding swelling “you’ll listen when Logan tells you.”

“It’s the glasses,” Roman joked, his voice tired, “gives him authority.”

Once Virgil had finished his inspection of Roman’s face, he insisted at poking and prodding at every inch of him see how his other injuries were healing. Roman sighed but put up with his fussing with as much grace as he could. Virgil removed the bandages on his hand, packing fresh herbs next to the skin and rewrapping it gently with new cloth. The bruises and welts on his back and shoulders had begun to heal, turning from purple and blue to a sickly looking yellow. Virgil smeared something that smelt horrendous on the few welts that hadn’t scabbed over before stepping back, declaring the injuries extensive but, for the most part, superficial.

“Like your lyrics.” he added slyly, which got a squawk of protest from Roman and a giggle from Patton.

His hand was the most concerning. Virgil had him gently flex his fingers -causing Roman to hiss with pain despite his best efforts – before helping him into a sling and giving him strict instructions to hold it still until the herbs had done their work.

As Virgil worked, Patton kept up a running dialogue; happily filling Roman in on the day to day running’s of Mama Tay’s house. How she’d let him use her kitchen to cook for all of them and let Logan take over her small library (although the scholar was still only permitted to call her Mother Octavia). He giggled his way through a story about Mittens’ on going attempt to court the tabby cat who lived across the street – apparently he had attempted to show off by taking on street rat twice his size and spent the rest of the day sulking in the pantry after being summarily chased off.

Between Virgil’s gentle ministrations and the soothing sound of Patton’s voice, Roman found himself slowly relaxing.

Remus wasn’t in the city. His friends had come for him. They’d beaten the bad guy and got away.

He knew he couldn’t just ignore everything that had happened. His friends were eventually going to want some sort of explanation. The thing that had worn Julius face had been able to find him once – he didn’t know how, or how to stop I happening again.

Most importantly, he was no longer sure that Remus was safe.

But for a little while at least, he was with his family. He was safe. Things could start to go back to normal.

“Roman.” Logan said. He was leaning back against the closed door, a look on his face Roman couldn’t quite decipher. “Stand up.”

“Slowly,” Virgil added as Roman rose to his feet. The healer cast a glance back at Logan, confused, “what’re you-“

“Roman.” Logan cut him off. “Stand on one foot.”

Romans whole world seemed to narrow down to the glint of light reflecting off Logan’s glasses.

The rush of blood in his ears sounded very much like the rush of water in the pipe room.

Julius looked at him coldly, ready to categorise each whimper of pain as his leg began to shake, muscles cramping -

Patton’s hand suddenly griped his elbow as he wobbled, breaking the illusion.

Mama Tay’s bedroom was far more cluttered with blankets and knickknacks than Julius practice room. Logan was the one in front of him – face full of gleeful satisfaction as his theory was confirmed.

“I’m right aren’t I.” he breathed, looking dazed – “You can’t diso-“

Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about your curse. Put as much distance between you as you can.

Roman attempted to fling himself towards the door- immediately realised that this was a bad decision as he still only had one foot on the ground – and pitched forward towards the floor, free arm pinwheeling crazily.

Patton dived to catch him, one big hand grabbing his injured shoulder casing Roman to yell out in pain, which in turn caused Patton to instinctively release him. He found himself falling again, this time crashing into Virgil, who had come running to help. His injured arm exploded in pain as he fell against the other man’s chest.

“Roman! What the hell- Logan?”

“I’m sorry!” Logan’s delight at being proved right had quickly turned into alarm “Stand properly – I mean, stand however you think you should. Um-“

“Roman are you okay?” That was Patton, gently easing him off Virgil “Oh gosh I think you’ve opened your stitches again!”

Roman groaned.

A few moments later Roman was, once again, propped up on the bed. Patton sat next to him, holding his good hand loosely whilst Virgil smeared more of the horrifying smelling salve over the reopened cut on his cheek.

Logan, hands firmly clasped in front of him like a guilty school boy, was filling them in on what he thought he knew.

“Roman cannot disobey a direct order – when Lucius Amata met us on the stairs he was able to compel him not to move.”

“Who?”

“The Marquis of Orenlla!” Logan huffed, exasperated – “The kidnapper!”

“De.” Roman muttered.

“What?”

“Marquis de Orenlla.”

“Hmm,” rather than start an argument of etymology, Logan simply pulled a square slip of card from his waistcoat pocket and started crossing something out with his quill.

“Seriously?” Virgil asked, exasperated “Flashcards?” He twisted the lid back onto the salve pot with rather more force than was necessary “Logan, you didn’t even believe in magic until yesterday and now you’re saying – what exactly are you saying?”

He glanced at Roman, almost fearfully ‘That he’s -that he’s under a spell or cursed or- what?”

“Roman,” Patton’s voice was gentle. “Is that true?”

Roman met his eyes. Patton’s face was as kind as ever. For now.

Never tell anyone about your curse.

But they’d never set rules stopping him discussing what people already knew.

Even so, he braced himself for pain before he nodded.

Patton looked like he might cry.

“So –what?” Demanded Virgil, who had started pacing back and forth down the short length of the bed. “He did that? This Lucius guy?”

“How do we stop it? Do we….kill him?”

“Patton!”

“Well I don’t know!”

“It wasn’t Lucius.” Roman muttered.

He risked a glance at Virgil who was nodding fervently, shaking both hands out in front of himself as he tried to process everything, “No. He – you had it before right? That’s how he was able to get you to go with him.”

Slowly, Roman nodded.

“Was it before we got to the city?” Logan asked. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the door, a thoughtful frown on his face as he gently rotated the flashcards in his hands.

“The forest!” Vigil yelped before Roman had a chance to respond. “When you disappeared right? I knew you were out of it that night! That’s when it happened?”

“Oh, Roman.” Patton gasped, “You poor thing. Has this has been going on for days?”

Roman couldn’t help it; he started to laugh. Drawing his knees to his chest he hunched over them, his shoulders shaking. “No.” he managed to gasp out. “No, not the forest.”

“So…when did it happen?” Patton asked uncertainty. Roman could easily picture the three of them glancing at each other, trying to put the pieces together. He kept his eyes firmly on his knees. He didn’t want to see the moment of realisation.

“Before the forest?” Virgil asked hesitantly. Roman nodded without looking up.

“When I met you…” Virgil continued after a moments silence, “you wouldn’t come back into the tavern with me – you said you didn’t want the innkeeper to tell you to play another night.”

“I remember that.” Logan said “You met us on the road. I thought that was odd at the time. I assumed you were going to lie in wait to rob us.”

Roman could hear the understanding seeping into their voices. He’d been cursed since they met him. He’d been a liability since they met him – they’d hired someone to protect them who could be ordered to throw his sword down by any foe who happened to try. They were going to feel so betrayed. They were going to be so angry with him.

How could he have not told them?

“Oh, Roman – how could we have not noticed?”

Romans head shot up. “What?” he croaked.

Now Patton really did look like he was going to cry, his eyes suspiciously watery. “You’ve been dealing with this all by yourself for – for years?”

“So- “ now Virgil was the one shaking – “So any time I’ve told you to ‘shut up’ you-“

“If you don’t give a timeframe it doesn’t matter much.” Roman blurted quickly, wanting to remove the look of horror from Virgil’s face – “I mean when I was younger it maybe would have but, but I’ve learned work around it so –“

“Younger?” his rambling did not seem to be soothing Virgil’s panic. “How young?”

“Er. Well.” He glanced between the two of them “From when I was a baby. I mean, I don’t remember not being like this.” Patton and Virgil were staring at him with identical slack jawed expressions. Roman wished the bed would swallow him up and spit him out onto he street. “But hey – I was apparently a very agreeable baby – stopped crying so soon as you asked!” he grinned awkwardly, give them a thumbs up with his undamaged hand.

They did not look reassured.

“So, have we ever –“ Patton started,”-have we ever made you do something you didn’t want to-“

“NO! No, Pat - you’re always so polite and if, if it’s not an order it doesn’t count so-“

“I’m not polite.” Virgil muttered.

“You don’t order though.” Roman said quickly, “You’re too-“ he tried to find a nice way to say ‘too riddled with anxiety to give directives’ – “awkward.” he finished sheepishly.

Virgil bristled. “I told you to get lost.” He snarled. “In the forest.”

There was a silence. Roman found himself staring at his knees again and forced his head up to meet Vigils gaze.

“Well. That was unfortunate. But it was fine – you’re both good trackers, you found me easily enough so-“

“But what if we hadn’t!?” Virgil all but yelled, “What if you’d just been lost in the woods till you starved to death or-“

“Virgil.” Patton soothed, “Calm down, he’s fine.”

“He’s not! He’s not safe with us! How many times have we done something to, to-”

“It’s fine.” Roman announced calmly, cutting Virgil off before he could work himself up any further. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

“What doe that mean?”

“It means – I won’t travel with you anymore. You don’t have to worry about protecting me I’ll just-“

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Roman no!”

“Are you going to order me to stay?” He snapped.

That shut everyone up.

He glared at the pair of them. “Well?”

“No.” Patton said calmly “Of course not. It’s just that-”

“What happens if you disobey an order?” Logan interrupted, causing the other three to jump.

The scholar had been standing so still, gazing off into the distance whilst the argument went on around him, that Roman had almost forgotten he was there.

“I cant.” He answered eventually, trying not to feel resentful of Logan for causing this whole mess.

“But what if you try?” Logan said, “If I told you to raise your hand and you tried to keep it down – “

“It would hurt.” Roman gritted out.

“Hurt how? Can you describe it?” Logan tucked his flashcards away and pulled out a notebook, quill at the ready. Roman gaped at him.

“Logan.” Patton interrupted, “I think maybe Roman needs a break from questions right now-“

“But if we don’t know the parameters of his condition then how are we supposed to fix it?” Logan argued.

“I’ve tried. To fix it.” Roman growled out.

“But you were by yourself before.” Logan said dismissively “Now you have me, well, all of us, working on the problem. I’m sure we will be able to –“

“I wasn’t by myself.” Roman said coldly.

Logan really did remind him of Julius sometimes. They had the same stubborn determination to get the answers they were seeking. But Roman was not going to be anyone’s pet experiment again.

“I am Prince Romulus of Notaleveale.” he announced grandly, as If he was reclining on a throne instead of uncomfortable bed. “I have had the finest minds of the fae and human worlds look into my curse, I hardly think a failed apprentice and a couple of backwater deserters are going to have more success.”

He swept an imperious gaze over all three of them, amused to find they had finally been shocked into silence.

“I will be returning to my kingdom. Your services will no longer be required.”

Part 9

#Roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #ts lamp #creativitwins #sanders sides fic #THIS IS THE FIRST TIME THEYVE ALL BEEN IN ONE ROOM AND OH MY GOD #THEY TALK SO MUCH #NEW SYMPATHY FOR WHY THE VIDEOS GET SO FRIGGIN LONG #anyway this was so much fun #the big reveal #enjoy #if i update this again before next weekend please punch me in the face i need to work on my flipping essay #sidespart writes #ts: fall of Romulus

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sidespart · 3 years

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The Fall of King Romulus Chapter 7

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Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

The grey man was dead.

The grey man looked like he had been dead for some time.

What little skin he had remaining hung loosely from the bone. The eye sockets were empty, the patches of remaining hair were stringy and dirty. The skull had caved in around the crossbow bolt, revealing an awful wriggling mass of maggots on the inside. The stench of rotting flesh, which Roman had only been able to smell up close before, now filed the room, making him gag.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, wishing desperately for whatever glamour had made it so hard to see the details of the grey man’s face to return. He griped Mittens’ soft fur tightly with his good hand, earning him a disgruntled meow.

“What the fuck.” A voice muttered.

Unseen by Roman, a figure emerged from the doorway. One with skin bleached white under the lamp light and eyes that seemed to glow an unnatural shade of violet. Most of him was hidden under a dark cloak, save for the fearsome looking crossbow he held at his hip.

Had there been anyone left to see, Virgil would no doubt have made an intimidating sight. At least until he reached out one foot to poke at the grey man's body and recoiled with an undignified ‘eeeeeew!’ when the flesh gave way easily under the pressure.

Virgil had served more years then he cared to remember in the Finaley’ed army. He had seen many dead bodies. That did not make it any better to hear one squelch.

“Okay.” He called, “Okay, the coast is clear and I shot a dead guy.”

Roman heard a second pair of footsteps approaching before a new voice asked: “Did you retrieve the bolt?”

“The bolt that is covered in maggots? No. No I did not.”

“That’s a waste of resources.”

“That is not my main problem with the corpse in the basement Loga- no don’t touch it!”

“This looks like several months of decay- but there’s no surrounding detritus – do you think they moved it here? For what purpose?”

“I don’t care! Maybe it’s just…some, some unlucky bath house guy that got left down here. Who knows! Just help me find the damm cat.”

“Ah yes,” Roman could hear the disdain in Logan’s voice, “The magic cat.”

On the ground, obscured from their view by the network of pipes, Roman kept his eyes firmly shut. So long as his eyes were shut, he was listening to Logan and Virgil’s bickering and was seconds away from rescue.

But what if he opened his eyes and they weren’t there?

Julius had been found of testing his curses’ limits in this area. He would order Romulus to ‘see’ imaginary monsters in the shadows and then have him describe them. Or to recount conversations that never happened. Or to forget ones that had. None of this research had ever been particularly successful - he couldn’t be ordered to alter reality, even in the privacy of his own head – but Julius had never quite given up on it.

What if he had found a way to make it work?

Roman could hear his own heartbeat, the fast paced thump melding with the rush of water in the pipes that surrounded him, making his head throb and his whole body tremble.

What if it wasn’t Virgil and Logan there at all? What if it was Niki and Marcus back again, or Lucius himself, or no one at all?

What if it wasn’t even Julius doing it, just his own pain-addled mind playing tricks on him?

Romulus bit back a whimper, squeezing his arms tight around his middle.

This was too much for Mittens, who let out a yowl of protest and wriggled out of Roman’s grip.

“Oh!” He gasped, eyes flying open “Sorry!”

Mittens ignored his apology, scampering away through the open door and disappearing into the gloom of the corridor. There was a shout, a sudden rush of footsteps and a loud clang followed by a short curse as someone tripped on one of the pipes running along the floor.

And then two men were standing over him. Twin expression of relief morphing quickly into concern.

Virgil swallowed hard, the healers eyes flicking rapidly over each visible injury before meeting Roman’s own.

“Hey there Princy.” Virgil said softly.

***

The journey back through the corridors was a lot slower than their journey in. At least Logan had managed to retrieve one of the lanterns from the maintenance room so he was no longer relying on clinging to the back of Virgil’s cape to navigate.

When they had initially followed the….cat….to the bathhouse they’d thought their luck was beginning to change. It was coronation day, all businesses were closed; it should have been an easy matter to sneak in. When Virgil had scaled the opposing buildings for some roof top reconnaissance however he had come back grim faced – the upper floors were full of soldiers.

The design on their uniform matched the symbol Lucy had drawn the night before, and that Logan had identified in the library that morning. It belonged to the house of Orenlla in Notaleveale. It was not three ‘Vs’ as Lucy had thought, but a stylised version of the three largest peaks on the Sarindu mountain range, which marked the border between Notaleveale and the middle kingdoms. The man she had seen had apparently been wearing his clasp upside down.

Despite his success, Logan had left the library disappointed. Ornella was a noble house in Notaleveale but not one significant enough to warrant a permanent residence in the middle kingdom city of Steveange. It was surely possible to find out where the contingent were staying – the townsfolk seemingly obsessed with the movement of the visiting nobility- but the librarians he spoke to all gave different suggestions, if any at all. Checking every possible address was going to take days.

As desperate as Logan had been feeling, at least he didn’t return to the meeting point with a cat.

Patton had gone to see the crone – or ‘Mama Tay’, as she apparently insisted Patton call her - who had no new information as to where Roman had gone or why he had left, but who had offered to help find him anyway.

Using her cat.

(“I don’t like it.” Virgil said.

“Thank you Virgil.” Logan said, relived to find at least one of his companions hadn’t lost their minds.

“It’s blood magic”

“It’s a CAT!”)

Apparently, when Mittens had scratched Roman at the crone’s – Mama Tay’s – house, it had collected enough blood for a simple locator spell. And Patton, bless him, had agreed to swap a bushel of fresh food from the market for an hours use of the magical bard seeking cat.

Logan had despaired.

Logan wasn’t quite ready to eat his words (dogs could be trained to track blood scents couldn’t they? Why not a cat? There was a reasonable explanation somewhere, surely) but even he had to admit, Mittens had been a lot more successful than any of them.

After Virgil had returned from the rooftop shaking his head, Mittens had meowed piteously until they followed him to a side street, where thin slits set at ground level vented hot air from the bathhouse basement. The cat had slipped in easily, and after a few minutes debate, Logan and Virgil had wiggled their way in after.

They’d used a rope to reach the ground, finding themselves at the base of a set of stairs. There was a soft glow at the top, presumably the main floor of the house, enough to illuminate Mittens’ tail as he trotted off deeper into the basement.

It was only Virgil’s night vision that prevented them from breaking their necks on the next set of stairs, but eventually they had made their way to the a well-lit and uncomfortably warm maintenance room.

And to Roman.

An injured Roman. A glassy-eyed Roman who could barely stand and started shivering as soon as they left the heat of the room.

“He’s going into shock.” Virgil muttered, fixing his cape around Roman’s shoulders. He pulled it tight, wrapping the ends securely, but making Roman whimper in pain. Not knowing what to do, Logan just held the lantern higher. It illuminated the cut on Roman’s sallow face, and the bruises that surrounded it. Bruises which continued over his shoulders and no doubt down his back. Logan had seen the stick, lying next to the corpse, it’s end strained with blood from where the skin had split.

Stupidly, he wished he’d taken the time to break it into a hundred little pieces.

When they reached the first set of stairs, they paused to let Roman catch his breath. His breathing was shallow and he slumped heavily against Logan’s side.

Logan had once watched Roman hop on one foot for almost a mile rather than swallow his pride and admit he needed help. Logan exchanged a glance with Virgil, not bothering to keep the panic from his face.

Virgil let out a long exhale an reached over to squeeze Logan’s shoulder reassuringly, shifting himself to take some of the bard’s weight.

“He’s not going to be able to climb out the way we came in.” Virgil murmured.

“Obviously.” Logan nodded.

That was okay. They had a plan B.

As if on cue, a distant roar rang out above them, followed by quite a lot of screaming.

“Issat Patton?” Roman asked, staring into the darkness with unfocused eyes.

“Mmhmm”, Virgil leaned over and pushed some of Roman’s damp hair away from his face. “He was meant to come get us if we weren’t out in twenty minutes. I think he’s early.”

“There’s at les’ a dozen of ‘em.” Roman slurred “Niki said.”

“Patton can handle it.” Virgil said firmly, though his eyes flickered to the ceiling, betraying his nervousness. “Can you walk?”

Roman nodded, though he needed both their help to actually manage it. It was painfully slow going, with Roman unsuccessfully trying to hide a wince of pain with each step.

The first flight of stairs was relatively short, but by the time they had reached the top Roman’s shaking was so bad it was making Logan’s own teeth rattle. Still, they pressed on, almost dragging the bard between them to the base of the much larger set of stairs that would take them to street level.

Here the noises from the floor above were much louder – the clash of steel on steel reverberating down the stairs.

Logan stared at the next obstacle, uncertain. There were what amounted to five flights, with a small flat platform at each turning point. There was a banister running each side of the stairs, but it was missing in several places. What was there didn’t look like it would hold much weight.

Above them, there was an enormous crash followed by a bellow of almost inhuman rage.

“Frog mode?” Roman asked drowsily.

“Frog mode.” Virgil said grimly.

The berserkers of Krutova painted their faces with the green and blue mud from the rivers and swamps that saturated their forest home. Legend said they could lie in wait for hours, hidden under the water, using hollow reeds to breath before leaping out on unsuspecting enemies with a monstrous frenzied rage, dragging their opponents to a watery grave – assuming they didn’t, quite literally, rip them apart first.

Logan had never seen Patton paint his face. And the big man did not like to talk about his time at war. But Logan had seen him fight off more than a dozen men in a bar brawl without breaking a sweat. He’d once seen him wrestle a wild boar just for fun.

Still. The men upstairs were trained guardsmen, not drunks. And they were armed. And it had only been a small boar.

Virgil was clearly having similar thoughts, his fingers twitching against his side, his eyes constantly flickering up and then back towards Logan and Roman. .

“Go.” Logan said, “We’ll follow you.”

Virgil hesitated, but Roman nodded, straightening up as much as he could “We’ll be righ’ behin’ you. Go help dad.”

Virgil dithered a moment more and then let out all his breath in a rush, reaching for the crossbow strapped to his back.

“Okay just. Go slow. We’ll come get you when the coast is clear.” he waited until they both nodded before turning and all but leaping up the stairs. Roman held his pose until he was out of sight and then collapsed once more against Logan’s side.

The scholar adjusted his grp on the lantern, and hooked his other arm over Roman’s back. With a grunt of effort, the bard managed to sling his left arm over Logan’s shoulder, leaving his uninjured hand free to grip the rickety banister. Logan squeezed, holding him tightly. Roman groaned as he pressed against the bruises and welts that coated his back but Logan held firm.

“One step at a time.” the younger man said softly. “Okay?”

Panting, Roman nodded, giving Logan a sickly lopsided grin.

The staircase spiralled five times before reaching the top floor. They made it round twice before trouble found them.

“You.” The man growled.

The man standing between them and freedom was generically handsome, with large eyes and a strong jaw. He had a passing resemblance to Roman; with the same dark reddish brown hair and tanned skin. He wore a doublet of pink and navy, with the three peaked mountains embroidered in gold thread.

“Luc’-“ Roman gasped out, “don’t-“

“Shut up!” the Marquis de Orenlla snapped. He held a wicked looking dagger in one hand, eyes ablaze. “Is there no end to your duplicity? You foul traitor, I should have you hanged!“

Also like Roman, he seemed to favour being loud over being coherent.

With a grunt, Roman removed his injured arm from Logan’s shoulder and clung to the banister.

“Go!” he shouted to Logan.

Logan spared him an exasperated glance and threw the lantern at the Marquis head.

He went down with a screech, rolling back and forth on the small platform to put the flames dancing on his embroidery. The dagger skirted away and over the edge of the platform.

“You go.” Logan snapped at Roman, pulling out his sword and stepping between the two men.

Technically it was Roman’s sword, the one he had left behind in the inn. But Logan has been taking their training sessions seriously and it felt comfortable in his hands. He pointed the blade a the Marquis throat, effectively pinning him to the ground.

“Wow!” Roman laughed and lent to the side to grin at the flabbergasted noble “I trained him.” he said smugly.

“Hurry up!” Logan hissed and to his great relief, Roman did so, inching his way behind Logan and starting up the next flight of stairs.

“Stop.” The Marquis croaked out.

Roman stopped.

Logan turned towards him, frustrated “Roman, I’ve got this – just keep-“

Later, Logan would blame the stress of the situation for just why he chose to turn away from his prisoner at that precise moment.

Before he had chance to process what was happening, he was falling. Pain rippling through his ankle from a well placed kick from the Marquis. He dropped the heavy sword almost immediately, only for it to be snatched up by the larger man.

Logan felt himself being dragged through the air, and all at once he was pinned against the Marquis chest, sword now held at his own neck.

He saw Roman start back down the stairs towards them and felt the Marquis’ hot breath against his ear as he shouted: “Stop!”

Roman stopped. One foot frozen in the air, he lost his balance almost immediately and toppled to the side, reaching out instinctively to grab the banister with his injured hand, letting out a howl of pain.

The Marquis shuffled backwards, dragging Logan with him, dangerously close to the edge of the platform.

“I’m serious, Romulus.” the Marquis growled. “Not one more step. Or your friend here is going to be even shorter.”

“I'm average height.” Logan muttered sullenly.

The Marquis snorted in his ear. “Where? In the Dwarf kingdom?”

“Lucius!” Roman whimpered, he was hunched over, cradling his bad arm to his chest. “Please – he’s just a kid!”

“I am only three years younger than you!” Logan cried indignantly.

“Oh right.” Roman muttered. “My bad.” And then Roman straightened up. He hadn’t been cradling his arm at all – he’d been working something out of his tunic.

Roman’s dagger, a dull pointless object in desperate need of replacement, came hurtling towards them.

The Marquis let out a shout and instinctively raised the sword to bat the dagger away. Logan took the opportunity to wrench out of his grip, blindly kicking out behind him as he did so.

His foot made satisfying contact with the Marquis’ knee, sending him toppling off the platform, a resounding series of crashes and shouts echoing through the chamber as he bounced down the stairs.

Logan hurried towards Roman as fast as he could, not bothering to turn around and see how far the Marquis had fallen.

“Can you move?” he asked breathlessly.

“I don’t think so.” Roman admitted from his prone position at the base of the steps. Logan bit back a wail of frustration. Roman truly looked done in, his eyes battling to stay open, and there was no way Logan was going to be able to carry him up the-

“Logan? Roman?”

Logan hadn’t been to a city temple since he left his apprenticeship. He had no particular interest in the Gods or their silly squabbles. But the sight of Patton - working his way towards them with his clothing torn and face splattered with blood that wasn’t his own – well. Logan was fairly certain he could pass for an angel.

“You’re safe now.” Logan whispered, although he had no proof of the long term truth of that statement, “go to sleep Roman.”

Roman did as he was told.

Part 8

#roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #cretivitwins #i wasnt planning to get another chapter up so quick but im gonna have other things to focus on this weeek and aaaaah i just wanted to write #the rescue scene #EVERYONE IN THIS UNIVERSE IS A DISASTER BUT THEY LOVE EACH OTHER A LOT SO ITS OKAY #sidespart writes #ts: fall of romulus

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sidespart · 3 years

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The Fall of Romulus Part 5

Feedback appreciated.

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Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

The first time Virgil had seen Patton, it had been on the battlefield. The larger man was on his knees, three men wearing the same uniform as Virgil strewn around him, fresh blood gushing from deep gouges on his face. He’d looked up at Virgil like he expected to die, his eyes bright with relief.

The first time Virgil had seen Logan, he’d barely been more than a kid. Even skinnier than he was now, drenched to the bone in his threadbare apprentice robes and shaking with rage. He’d thrust a handful of coins across the table at Virgil and Patton, newly minted heroes for hire, and demanded they kill his master.

The first time Virgil had seen Roman, he’d been singing to a horse.

It wasn’t even his horse.

Virgil had wanted a break from the noise of the tavern and the simmering tension between his companions. But standing in the dark in an unfamiliar town had been unappealing and so he’d ducked into the taverns small stables. The hayloft was more of a glorified shelf, set close to the ceiling, but standing amongst the horses meant potentially having to explain himself to the horses’ owners and so he’d clambered up and shimmied his way into the narrow space, ducking down out of sight.

He just wanted a few minutes peace. Long enough to figure out what to do.

Logan had accepted a job. Without consulting either Patton or Virgil. It was a simple enough assignment -to transport a crate full of merchandise to a town on the other side of the mountain pass. So why could the townsfolk not deal with that themselves? Because the pass was full of bandits. Obviously.

Logan said they needed the money and he wasn’t wrong. Patton said they needed a break and he wasn’t wrong either.

They had been travelling from one skinflint town to the next for what felt like an age…but half the reason travel was taking so long was that right now they didn’t have enough coin to even to rent horses. Which meant Patton was going to end up dragging the gods-forsaken chest the entire way. Which was going to aggravate the hip injury- which he still refused to acknowledge existed - and leave all of them vulnerable to attack, since Logan wasn’t winning any fights unless it was a debate and Virgil…Virgil did better with the element of surprise.

Looming out of the darkness, his eyes glowing purple and his crossbow held aloft – Virgil had watched many an enemy turn tail and run at the sight of him with great satisfaction.

Actually aiming that crossbow, in broad daylight, at attacking bandits and successfully hitting one? That seemed less likely to be satisfying for anyone. Except maybe the bandits.

So now there was a stalemate, both Patton and Logan bristling at each other over their meal. Both waiting for Virgil to be the tiebreaker.

Hence the hiding in a hayloft.

Maybe if Logan had just talked to the them instead of making decisions for everyone-

“Who’s the prettiest girl in this stable? Is it you? I think it is!”

Virgil froze.

“My lady fair is pale as night and strong as all the stars that bright th- hey!” holding his breath, Virgil slowly turned his head until he could see the man below, who was currently trying to tug his sleeve out of the mouth of a blond mare. It was the bard from the tavern. Even without hearing his voice, the bright white outfit and ridiculously flouncy red jacket gave him away.

Virgil frowned. It was still relatively early in the evening and the bard had had a good audience – even Patton and Logan had looked away form their argument to appreciate his tune. Why leave now?

“Okay, okay you don��t like the classics.” The bard was back to petting the mare’s nose, “but you’re still stunning despite your terrible taste. And a beautiful horse deserves the most handsome of riders hmm?”

Virgil rolled his eyes and relaxed back against the hay. The movements of over the top performers were none of his business.

“That you singing back there?”

Virgil tensed again.

Two men were blocking the exit. Both big, broad and wearing matching insincere grins.

The one who’d spoken had a knife in his hand. The bard apparently didn’t notice and stepped away from the horse with his arms spread wide.

Under the dim shaft of moonlight spilling from the stable door, the silky material of the bards jacket seemed to shine. It highlighted his pockets, where the thin material was sagging under the weight of his bulging coin pouch

“Always a pleasure to meet my fans!”

He gave them a cheeky bow, his pockets jingling as he moved.

Virgil resisted the urge to bang his head against the ceiling.

If this idiot wanted to get himself stabbed was it really Virgil’s responsibility to intervene? What would Logan call this – natural selection?

“Must’ve made a pretty penny.” It was the second man who spoke, he leaned carefully against the stable door as knife-guy stepped forward. “Nice voice like that.”

He looked pointedly at the bard’s jacket pocket. The bard took a half step back, almost disappearing from Virgil’s view.

“Your town is very generous.”

“Yeah. Good people” The second guy smiled. “Drop it.”

Virgil heard the bard sigh, deep and theatrical. But, much to Virgil’s relief, he threw the bag down on to the ground between them. Murder, Virgil was probably morally obligated to try to stop. But if the two robbers just took the bag and ran? Well. Patton was constantly asking Vigil and Logan to keep out of trouble so he could hardly disapprove.

Knife-guy grinned dumbly and reached down to his prize. Virgil tensed himself, he wasn’t going to be able to leap gracefully into action form his confined hiding place but he could potentially…roll onto the guy if he tried anything.

He didn’t get the chance.

As soon as the wannabe thief bent down the bard was on him. A blur of white and red shot out from beneath the hayloft, slammed the butt of a sword – had he always had a sword? – down on knife-guys skull sending him sprawling to the ground.

The second man let out a shout but before he had chance to take more than a step forward the bard was there, sword swinging though the air before coming to rest less than an inch from the man’s throat.

There was a pause whilst the man just gaped at the bard. Breathing heavily.

“You have a choice. Leave now, with your head still attached or…”

There was a yell and Virgil cursed himself for being distracted as knife-guy barrelled towards the pair, weapon raised high –

Only for it to instantly be knocked out his hand by the bard’s sword. The big man let out a high pitched yelp as blood spurted from where his fingers had been moments before, the knife clattering to the ground. The second man aimed a swing at the bards head but he dodged low, springing back up to deliver a punch of his own to the man’s throat, which left him gasping for breath.

At this point, knife guy clearly decided he’d had enough, running for the door with his bleeding hand clutched close to his chest. The second thief, seeing his backup flee, shot the bard a venomous glare and hurried after.

And then there was quiet.

“Sorry about that.” Virgil startled – was he talking to him? “My precious babies.” No. The bard was heading back towards the horses, who had been remarkably unconcerned throughout his ordeal. This gave Virgil his first proper look at his face.

He looked young. Not much older than Logan. And tired.

“Did those mean old robbers scare you?” he cooed “Not to worry – your hero is here to save the day!”

With the bard facing the horses, Virgil took the opportunity to squirm out of his hiding place, managing to land lightly enough on the stable floor behind him.

“Hey.” He said.

The hero’s shriek of surprise was so loud that the horses reared up in their stalls.

After hasty explanations, Virgil had hired him as extra muscle for their trip. It’s wasn’t t an ideal solution, but the knowledge that there would be extra protection around for Logan and Virgil eased some of Patton’s tension. And since Sir Sing-A-Lot had pissed off two would be thieves who were presumably still in town somewhere, he was willing to leave quickly and for cheap which suited Logan.

He met them the next day about a quarter mile out of town, performance outfit replaced with something moderately more travel worthy and sword strapped to his side. Virgil had suggested he stay the night at the tavern but he had shaken his head. Said if he went back in there the bartender would insist he stay to play another night – and then he’d have to let him down, which would be far too painful to bare.

Virgil privately thought skipping out halfway through the night was probably letting him down worse, but whatever. One mans loss is another man’s gain.

It was only when he’s was making the introductions that he realised Roman hadn’t brought his horse. Which led quickly to the realisation that there were three would be thieves in the stable that night.

Virgil spent most of the first day with his eyes fixed on Roman, waiting for him to betray them and skip off with the loot himself. But as the hours past and the bard did nothing suspicious he slowly started to relax.

It was only going to be three days.

***

Three years later, Virgil was growling to himself in his mother’s language as he swept his eyes across the room again, finding absolutely nothing. Not that he expected to -the small room wasn’t exactly flush with hiding places. All he had managed to unearth in the first frantic search was one of Roman’s notebooks, tossed under the bed with its leafy bookmark a few inches away. Patton had carefully put both away in his own coat pocket, a look of abject misery on his face as his hands ghosted over Romans drawings.

The thing was. It wasn’t like adding Roman to the group had instantly fixed everything.

But-

But Patton got sad sometimes. And Virgil, he’d been through a lot of the same stuff as the big guy but he didn’t know how to reach him when he got like that. Virgil was pretty sure he actually made things worse. But Roman – Roman distracted Patton without even trying half the time. He’d sing, weave a story out of nothing, disappear down a side street and reappear with a gaggle of kids and two puppies he seemingly conjured out of nowhere. The two of them had the same bright energy and when they got together they laughed loud enough to banish any shadow.

And Logan – Logan had this need to prove himself. All the time. He needed a challenge to throw himself against or he wilted. Patton hated arguing and Virgil frankly didn’t have the energy but Roman? Roman loved it. The two debated everything, from poetry to politics and threw themselves into preparation with more gusto than seemed healthy. The first big blow up they had, Virgil had looked over at Patton, panicked, before realising both men were grinning ear to ear. Relishing the debate in a way that Virgil didn’t really understand.

And as for Virgil himself…well actually he had always been perfectly fine and Roman basically drove him crazy.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, the four of them worked better as a four. They balanced each other out. Even if they sometimes went too far and hurt each others feelings, they always apologised and moved on. And even if having four meant that their could never be a tiebreaker and every decision had to be discussed around and around until someone gave in…that was just what family was like.

And now Roman was just going to walk away from them? Without even saying goodbye?

Unacceptable.

“This is all my fault.” Patton wailed for third time. “I never should have left him alone.”

And on top of everything he’d upset Patton? Virgil was going to find their wayward bard and bring him home. And then kill him.

“Tell us what he said again.” Logan demanded imperiously, notebook and pen at the ready as he stared Patton down.

Virgil sighed and answered for him:

“He told him he wanted to leave the city. And now he’s left the city.”

Logan frowned. “The city gates are closed at sunset – unless he had a royal decree he would have been unable to leave last night.”

Virgil grit his teeth, “Okay, so, assuming he didn’t know that – because none of the rest of us knew that – he left the inn to try to leave the city.”

“So then why leave the inn at all?” Logan continued, pacing up and down the limited floor space and utterly ignoring Virgil “Why not just wait till morning? It makes no sense unless.” He paused at the window. “Unless he was taken against his will.”

Patton and Virgil exchange wide eyed looks. Virgil was normally the one jumping to worst case scenarios, not Logan. “You, uhh, you got any evidence for that one Lo?”

“He left his sword.” Logan pointed. “Amongst almost all his other possessions – he told Patton he wasn’t safe and then he leaves without taking a weapon? It’s illogical.”

“I’m not sure he was thinking logically.” Patton said softly, looking at Romans neatly piled possessions. “You didn’t hear him guys he – he sounded so scared.”

Virgil flinched. Fingers flexing uselessly. “Okay. Okay so. What spooked him? Something in the forest?” He asked, thinking guilty of Romans thorn scratched hands after he’d got himself lost trying to escape Virgil foul mood. “He was totally spaced out last night.”

“He seemed fine this morning.” Patton said with a frown “Logan?”

“He was fine before we saw The Crone.” Logan murmured, “he was, if anything, too effervescent. But when we left he seemed…” he trailed off, adjusting his glasses before glaring defensively at both of them “he didn’t say anything so I can’t be sure – but, he was very quiet. The Crone was northern so I thought perhaps homesickness? But I don’t believe he was scared. Not until the episode.”

Virgil nodded, Logan had already described the episode – Romans sudden sprint through the city street and subsequent panic attack – in detail, although he’d been unable to pin point what had set him off.

“Um I’m sorry …The Crone?” Patton looked horrified, “Logan, do you mean our customer?”

“I. Uhm.” Despite everything Virgil couldn’t help but grin the flush of embarrassment that quickly took over Logan’s face. “She was from the North” Logan told them with great dignity, “Roman has told us many time that it is considered rude to ask a strangers name on first meeting.”

“But, did you…know she was form the North? Before you started calling her crone?” Virgil couldn’t resist teasing.

“Logan that is so rude!” Patton said, giving his best disappointed dad eyes.

“SO rude.” Roman ginned “honestly Patton – Virgil - this kind of behaviour reflects poorly on you as parents. I personally think you should send him to bed without supper.”

And Patton laughed, a secretly pleased smile at being compared to a parent and Virgil rolled his eyes and shrugged Romans hand off his shoulder and Logan let out an offended humph before reminding Roman, again, that he was only a few years older than him and if he was a child Roman was too and a brat besides – an old and well-worn argument that made all of them laugh, tension broken.

Except it wasn’t. Because Roman wasn’t there.

Instead Patton’s exaggerated disappointment mellowed into real sadness as he glanced around the room again and Logan hunched his shoulders, burying his face in his notebook. Silence filled the room.

“I’m going to uh, look outside again.” Virgil jerked his thumb awkwardly to the door and set off without waiting for a response.

Definitely kill him, Virgil thought. Once they were sure he was okay.

Apart from his unusual eye colour, pointed ears and a youthful complexion well into his thirties, Virgil had inherited very little from his mothers people. But his night vision was undeniably better than his fully human companions.

Not that it was doing him much good right now. Didn’t matter how good your eye sight was if there was nothing to see.

It was easy enough to track Roman from the open window, down the wall of torn climbing plants to the ground, but after that the trail immediately went cold. If this was a small town with a dirt road there would at least be footprints, but on the cobblestone streets of the well-to-do there was nothing to follow.

He could be anywhere.

Virgil kicked a pebble with a snarl, sending it clattering across the square. Reluctantly he started to prepare himself for the long climb back up to their room, when he was distracted by a faint whinnying.

The tavern connected to stables.

Huh.

Well….he knew Roman had been prepared to steal a horse before…

Quietly, Virgil slipped around the corner and into the stables. This was a far cry from the glorified shack where he had first met Roman. The ‘stables’ was more of a courtyard, with various coaches and waggons parked in the centre, and an enormous number of stalls ringing the outside. Virgil guessed it was shared between the tavern and the several other buildings that bordered the square.

His heart began to race.

He hadn’t really expected to see much – how would he know, after all, if a horse was missing? But with this much money in one place, there had to be a guard. Someone who might have seen Roman pass through.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his expectations low, and began to search.

“Virgil. Did you kidnap a child?!”

Virgil winced. The force of Patton’s disappointed dad glare was a lot less funny when it was directed at him. “I mean,” he tried “is it kidnapping? She lives here! It’s not that bad!”

“I would say it’s significantly worse that calling a woman a crone in the privacy of your own head.” Logan muttered under his breath. Virgil glared at him.

“And I don’t live here,” the girl offered brightly “I just work in the stables.”

They were in the inn’s kitchen. Somewhere that they were absolutely not allowed to be. But between cancelling the promised performance, negotiating a week’s stay in an already overbooked establishment and then almost immediately afterwards cancelling that too and the panicked interrogation of the few remaining customers when they’d first discovered Roman missing; Virgil didn’t think the inn’s landlord could really get more irritated with them.

Although the whole kidnapping thing was probably not going to help.

“Here you go sweetheart.” Patton said, pushing a mug of sweet tea towards the girl and taking a seat next to her. He did not offer Virgil or Logan a cup.

“Thanks Mister Pat!” She smiled sweetly up at Patton before turning away from him and sticking her tongue out at Virgil. Virgil gestured wildly between the girl and himself but Patton just sipped his own drink, nose in the air.

Virgil slumped in his chair, glowering.

He’d found her sleeping in one of the empty stable stalls. The space was clearly being used as a hut for the stable boy – or in this case girl – with a small wooden bed pushed against the back wall and a desk covered in half cleaned riding gear near the entrance.

Elated to have found a possible lead he had rushed towards the bed and shaken the occupant awake immediately. And released in one horrifying instant that he was a fully grown man shaking a literal child who probably couldn’t even see him in the darkness.

She yelled.

He yelled.

She threw a horseshoe at his head.

He had managed to bundle her half way back to the inn - one hand clamped over her mouth despite the fact that she was biting him - before Patton appeared, ripping them apart with a growl and then blinking a Virgil in complete confusion when he realised who the would be kidnapper was.

“I – we – just want to ask you some questions.” Virgil said in his calmest I-am-not-deranged-I-have-just-had-a-very-long-day voice “Okay, um, sweetheart?”

All three of them stared at him.

“’Sweetheart’ sounds odd when you say it.”

“I know it does Lo’.”

“It might be the tone of voice.”

“I know it is, Lo’.”

“I’m Lucy.” Said the girl. Lucy sat back in her chair, swinging her legs back and forth. “Are you gonna’ pay me? The last guy gave me five gold pieces.” she grinned at them expectantly.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Okay well, that’s ridiculous.”

“We don’t have much money.” Patton told her, “but I can make you another tea?” She considered him for a minute but was clearly already besotted with her ‘rescuer’, so she just smiled and held out her mug.

“Now,” Patton asked gently as he poured a refill. “What guy is this? And…what did he ask you to do for that kind of money?”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “Just some rich guy. He wanted to know how many people had come in today, and then for me to let him hang around in my hut until his friend got there.”

“So you left your post?” Logan said disapprovingly. “What time did he arrive? What did he do? What friend was he meeting?”

“He paid me five gold pieces so he could sit in a shed” she told him. “If the guy wanted a horse he could have just bought one. And I just went and sat on the roof anyway, the market was way too busy.”

“Smart.” Virgil said. She glared at him, just long enough to let him know that his approval meant nothing, before continuing.

“He came just after four o’clock, that’s when Tommy goes home and I take over. And he didn’t do anything. Just sat there all grouchy. Then he left with the pretty guy.”

“Pretty?” Logan asked sharply, making Lucy giggle.

“Yeaaaah he had pretty eyes and a lute and really cute short hair. He was way better looking than the rich guy. I think he was a musician.” She sighed.

The three men glanced at each other, excitement building.

“Was he being taken by force?” Logan asked, steepling his hands “Could you see any sign of a struggle? Was he restrained in some way?”

“Logan don’t scare the kid for fucks sake.”

“Oh sorry, the one you kidnapped?”

“Guys.” Patton’s glare quelled them both into silence. Lucy took a long sip of tea, thinking before answering.

“He just walked up to him and they left together right away. I couldn’t hear nothin' but, they didn’t have time to say more than hello before they left.”

“So much for that theory.” Virgil muttered, disappointment settling in his chest. Not that he wanted Logan to be right, that Roman had been taken away by force but- this meant he really had just decided to leave them.

Logan wasn’t convinced. “A physical struggle is not necessarily required to move someone against their will – he could have been coerced.”

“How coercive can you be in one sentence??”

“If he was lying in wait and recognised him instantly the obviously we can assume they knew each other.” Logan told him snottily “Groundwork could have been laid beforehand.”

Virgil frowned, he hadn’t thought of that. But Roman hadn’t arrived until well past four – how had the mystery man known to come to this particular inn?

“Can you tell us anything about the first man?” Patton asked Lucy, “What he looked like or – ooh how about you draw a picture of him!” he produced Romans notebook from his pocket and opened it too a blank page.

“He was just some old rich guy,” she insisted “he was wearing one of those fancy patchwork coats. Pink and blue, and he had dark hair…” she shrugged. ”I don’t remember anything else, sorry Mister Pat.”

“What about an emblem?” Logan asked.

“What’s that?”

“A symbol of his house. Lots of rich people have them, maybe on a bit of jewellery or embroidered on his clothing?”

“He had a cape clasp with a pattern on it.” She said doubtfully, “it wasn’t fancy though just- here – “ she took the note book from Patton and hastily scribbled three interlocking Vs, the largest in the centre.

“We can go to the library and look for it when they open.” Logan told them brightly “If it’s one of the noble houses in the city we should be able to find an address.”

“And we can go see the cro – the customer too” Patton added putting a hand on the scholars shoulder, “Logan says Roman seemed down after they left- she might know something.”

“Right.” Virgil nodded absently.

“One of us should go to the city gates before they open,” Logan continued, “If he still intends to leave the city we can watch for him there.”

Virgil thought of the hordes of people making their way through the city gates. Spotting one man in amongst that throng was going to be near impossible. And even if they found a symbol that matched the child’s drawing, there was no guarantee they would be able to track down the owner. And from Logan's description, Roman hadn’t left his sight whilst they were at The Crones house, what could she possibly tell them that they didn’t already know?

And even if they found him. What good was that, if he truly wanted to leave? It’s not like they could order him to stay.

He felt one large, warm hand land on his shoulder and squeeze gently. “We’ll find him.” Patton told him reassuringly. At the table, Logan was scribbling in his note book again, eyes bright with excitement as he continued the barrage of questions at an amused looking Lucy.

Virgil nodded, and did his best to smile back.

It had been a long week on top of a long month of traveling, and none of their leads were things they could follow right now. They needed to sleep. Get enough rest for a full day of bard hunting in the morning.

And then, well.

If Roman wanted to leave he could leave.

But he was going to damm well explain himself to his family first.

Virgil glanced at Lucy who was watching them with open curiosity.

“I don’t suppose we could convince you not to mention the whole…kidnapping thing to the land lord right?”

She smiled at him. “That’s gonna cost you more than tea.”

Vigil sighed.

chapter 6

#TS: Fall of Romulus #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #what is writing virgils POV?#is it just a thounsad rehtorical questions?#maybe?#sidespart writes

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sidespart · 3 years

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The Fall of King Romulus part 4

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated.

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Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

“I will grant them handsome features and beguiling voices,” the maiden whispered, her own voice dripping with honey “that all who great them will be blessed from the meeting.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work!” Remus grinned smugly when Romulus was deposited back in in their room, their nanny shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Urghh.” Romulus whined as he hurled himself face first onto Remus’ bed, making his giggling brother bounce from the impact. “But it should have! It always does in the stories!”

What was the point of having a twin, Romulus wondered if they couldn’t even switch places to get him out of boring geography lessons?

Remus poked him until Romulus rolled over onto his side to pout at his brother.

“It’s because I’m better lookin’ than you.” Remus told him cheerfully.

Romulus thwacked him with a pillow. “We’re identical!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Remus grabbed a second pillow from the floor, “I’m still the cute one!”

“Are not!”

“Are too!”

“Are not!”

“Are to – oof!”

The pillow fight soon descended into a wrestling match, their shrieks and giggles echoing through the bed chamber.

Eventually they ran out of breath and Remus flopped back down on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge. Romulus collapsed on the floor amongst the fallen pillows, batted Remus’ foot away from his face and gazed up at the family portrait hanging above their fire place.

They were identical. The artist had taken care to draw the crown prince a little bigger than his brother, closer to the forefront of the picture, but even so; their hair, eyes, nose - everything was the same.

Romulus glanced up at his brother, who was currently digging snot out his nose with every sign of enjoyment. Romulus gagged. They were not the same -Remus was gross!

Except.

Everyone said what a handsome young man Remus was growing up to be. How brightly his eyes sparkled. How confidently he held himself, even as a child. They never said that stuff about Romulus.

Remus shone, even when he was being gross.

“Your voice is better.” Remus said suddenly, snapping Romulus out of his sulk.

“What?”

“Your voice.” The older twin lent over the bed, staring his brother in the eye “It’s nicer than mine, ‘specially when you sing.” Romulus beamed, showing off his gap toothed smile. Their parents had hired teachers to drill both boys on the lute and harpsicord, but Romulus’ talent for singing was all him.

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Remus smiled back at him. He’d lost a baby tooth that week too – one of his canines, giving him lopsided fangs. “And you’re way better at crying.”

“What! Well – your feet are stinker!”

“You’re worse at pranks!”

“Well you’re worse at fencing!”

“But l I’m the best at tickling!” declared Remus and leapt from the bed, pinning Romulus with his knee whilst his fingers attacked his brothers armpits. The younger prince’s peals of laughter and cries for mercy were so loud nanny came rushing back to check on them, finding the future rulers of Notaleveale wrapped around each other on the floor, covered in dust and wearing matching smiles.

“I will grant them strength and creativity.” The mother smiled, she had a thousand eyes and all of them twinkled under the halls many candles “so that their rule will never be questioned.”

“Lord Venchi?” Romulus asked.

The royal treasurer, normally one of the more composed members of his father council, was pacing the entrance hall alone, what little hair he had left sticking up in all directions as he tugged at it.

“Oh, Your Highness!” The he gasped when he caught sight of Romulus, “oh thank goodness! He-“

Romulus sighed. “What has my brother done now?”

Romulus had spent the morning on a rare visit into town, missing the days council meeting. It was completely unfair - Romulus attended meetings almost daily, under Julius supervision, as part of his training to one day take over managing whichever aspect of the kingdom bored the future King Remus the most. They were mind numbingly dull sessions and it was only Julius’ steady glare that kept Romulus’ eyes open and his face attentive.

But today, visitors from the far south were attending. Which meant the session might actually be interesting. Which meant Remus got to go, and Romulus was immediately barred from entry. Instead, his father had asked him to represent the family at the ceremonial graduation of the latest batch of city watch recruits. So, instead of hearing tales from beyond the kingdoms borders, he had spent most of the day on a podium waving dispassionately at a crowd of braying onlookers.

It was always daunting, being around so many common folk. They lacked the decorum of the nobles at court. Whilst most seemed content to gape and sigh at him from a distance, there was always one who would shout out ‘my prince, look at me!’, ‘come here!’, ‘kiss my baby!’

Even with his fathers voice ringing in his ears – “no matter what you hear, stay by your guards side until you are back in the palace.” – Romulus had spent the day tense and unhappy, pinpricks of pain dancing in his skull. By the time he was allowed to speak he had quite forgotten his prepared speech and been forced to make up a quick poem on the spot. The crowd had seemed happy enough – the watch captain had tears in his eyes - but he knew neither Julius or his parents would be happy with his improvising once his guards had reported in.

He had hoped to get a few hours alone before the inevitable lecture, and were it anyone else he might have tried to sneak by without getting pulled into whatever chaos Remus had caused.

But Venchi was an old ally, one who had served his father wisely for years and who always took the time to compliment Romulus on his few measured contributions to the councils discussions, or to explain carefully any point he had missed.

He had also seen Remus at council. There shouldn’t have been anything left that the older prince could do to shock him to this extent.

“He-“ the old man looked like he couldn’t quite believe his own words, “He flipped the table.”

Romulus stared at him. The council table was ancient and enormous, made of a stone so old it’s real name has been lost. Moving it was impossible, the palace had practically been built around it.

“The Arkazeii ambassador is being seen by a healer.” Venchi continued, “but I believe his foot Is broken, I-“

The side door behind them slammed open suddenly, crashing into the wall with enough force to make the hanging portraits shake. “I said.” Remus roared, a snarl on his handsome face, “Leave me alone!”

His voice was so forceful Romulus found he had taken three steps towards the main door before he stopped himself, face flushing. The order hadn’t been meant for him. Julius, who had clearly been chasing after the young crown prince, was now openly glaring down at Remus, two spots of colour high on his cheeks.

“Your highness I must insist-“

“Seriously?” Remus cackled, “You’re insisting? Juju, honestly, I am not interested in what you have to say.” He barred his teeth at the King’s advisor, eyes wild, “If my father wants me he can come get me himself but if not you can go and -oh.”

“Hello Remus.” Romulus sighed, giving the shortest bow he could get away with, “I hear your meeting went well.”

Remus eyes narrowed “Hello Romy, have fun getting your butt kissed in town?” he slug his arm around his brother’s neck, adopting a high pitched, sing song tone in apparent impression of the townsfolk “Oh Prince Romulus, you’re sooo clever and handsome and perfect. Won’t you pretty please sign an autograph and let me suck your di-“

“Your highness, please!” Venchi looked disgusted “There is no need for vulgarity.”

“Aww hey Vee! Wow, your hair is really going, you know the balder you get the more you look like my ballsack? Romy – I’m serious, picture him with two heads” he held up his thumbs and index fingers and positioned them in front of the red-faced treasurer like a frame “I can’t be the only one that sees this.”

“You are.” Romulus snapped, shrugging his brothers arm off of his shoulders, “Did you really break the Arkazeii ambassadors foot?”

“The Arkazeii ambassador deserved it.” Remus snarled, good humour vanishing instantly. “They want to dig up Orenlla till it’s hollow. Use the rock to turn their sky black. Have you heard the stories outta that place? All the chickens are dying, ’s a travesty.”

“The chickens are- what? Just. Whatever. Not liking his trade ideas doesn’t mean you can hurt him!”

Remus eyes were always sparkling. Like a man on the brink of madness. “I can do whatever I want little brother.” He grinned at him with too many teeth, “you should try it sometime.”

“Your sons have all the makings of rulersss” the final fae smiled, her one golden eye glinting in the depth of her cloak. “My gift is for you. I give your children honestly and obedience.” She smiled sweetly, “May they bring you joy.”

“Your father is sick” Julius told him.

I know that Romulus thought but didn’t say. Watching the old man carefully.

They were in Julius practice room, at the top of the northmost turret, where Romulus had spent so much of his childhood.

“There is of course, still hope. And we have the finest healers, from every corner of the Kingdom.” Julius was pacing as he spoke, wringing his hands. It was profoundly odd, to see the old man so unsettled. But he had known Romulus’ father from when they were both boys. He loved him, as much as he was capable of loving anyone, and he loved the kingdom that he helped rule.

So Romulus found he wasn’t as surprised as he should have been with what Julius said next.

“Your brother cannot be allowed to take the throne.”

Since Romulus curse had been recognised, his parents had taken great pains to limit the brothers’ interactions, for both of their safety.

Remus could not keep a secret.

Remus was honest. He was honest at their mothers funeral when he’d announced to the mourners that she was ‘a bitch by anyone’s definition’ and honest later than evening when he’d sobbed into Romulus’ shoulder and cried that he would miss her.

He was honest when he announced to Romulus causally, over are rare shared meal, that he dreamed about killing him. “I’d do it with a morning star” he told him, slapping his spoon down onto the head of a roasted tomato and watching the red pulp fly about his plate. “Just like that.”

He was honest when he forced his way into Romulus’ room at night, shook him awake and told him, shaking, that the palace was haunted. That voices whispered to him from every corner - so loud that he couldn’t sleep.

He was honest when Romulus asked him, baffled, why are you telling me this. “I trust you.” Remus admitted, his voice thick, “You’re the only one I can trust.”

Just because he was honest, didn’t mean he was right.

Romulus gazed at Julius, his face carefully blank – a skill he had perfected over many council meetings.- and said “I don’t think you can order me to change our birth order.”

“No.” Julius smiled, and had the decency to look pained. “That’s not what I’m going to ask.”

In this room, Julius had tried every trick to strip Romulus of his curse. And when he failed, he’d dedicated himself to learning every possible way it could be exploited. In order to help protect him, of course.

“Sit there and listen to me until I finish.”

If Romulus didn’t hear an order in full, even if he could guess it, it could be ignored. As a child he’d sometimes escape his teachers simply by running away before they could give him the next task.

“The next time you lay eyes on your brother, kill him. Ensure no one can trace it back to you.”

Vague orders were still orders, and often more effective than those that were too direct. If he couldn’t prevent someone from seeing him, then he would have to kill the witness too in order to obey the instructions in full.

“Let no one know you did it. Tell no one of our conversation”

There was, by now, a long list of things Romulus was forbidden from talking about. It was one of Julius’ favourite orders to give.

“If anyone contradicts this order, ignore them.”

Contradictions were tricky. Normally the most recent order would take precedence, but often enough once the newer order had been completed, the old one would return.

“Do you understand me, Price Romulus?”

Romulus nodded and some of the tension left Julius’ shoulders.

He smiled at Romulus then, and lent over the bush back a strand of hair that had fallen across the young man’s face. He left his hand on Romulus cheek and gazed at him like he really was a kindly old mentor and Romulus his favoured pupil.

“This year, it will be the rise of King Romulus. You will be a just and fair ruler. I’ll make sure of it.”

***

As the second son of a King, Romulus future had never been certain.

His parents discussed it often. He should have become a commander in the army, or a leader of the church or married off to a neighbouring princess and become king in his own right. With all options too likely to lead to discovery however, it had been decided he would stay home, construct a reputation of studious detachment and become his brothers distant advisor.

Help him. Protect him.

Like Julius protected them.

Instead, Romulus ran away and became Roman.

Roman was loud and confident and sprouted poetry and song without hesitation. He basked in the attention from crowds and flirted with every pretty face who crossed his path. He worked and earned for himself and argued back with anyone who disagreed with him and never sat still if he could help it. He kept Romulus and his memories of home buried so deep sometimes he forgot he’d ever had another name.

Even so, there had always been, at the back of his mind, the paranoia of this day. When he would be found. Recognised. Forced back to Romulus life.

He just didn’t think when it happened it would be so embarrassing.

They’d reached a fork in the road. The Marquis paused and whipped his head from side to side, presumably checking for witnesses although it looked more like he was trying to shake water free from his ears. He stepped in front on Roman.

“You.” He enunciated slowly and loudly “Turn left. Okay? Le – e -e f -t”

Roman stared at him.

He had been kidnapped by an idiot.

With great deliberation he rested all his weight on one foot and turned left. And then kept turning, spinning in a circle a few times until the Marquis hissed “no!” and grabbed his arm.

And then dropped it immediately, wiping his hand on his sleeve.

“You. Just – follow me, alright? This way.”

Roman rolled his eye but did as he was told. The man could have just told him in the beginning to follow him to wherever their destination was, and Roman would have done so. There was no need to give him a new instruction every few paces. But if the Marquis – what was his first name? Romulus must have known at some point – didn’t know the ins and outs of his curse then Roman wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

They continued on, the Marquis stopping every three feet to stare at him, or repeat some instruction, or glare at a crumpled map in his hands. Roman despaired. Romulus had had a crush on this man.

At first, Roman assumed he would lead him towards the Royal Palace and present his find to the Princess or to whatever other Notalevealian nobles were already here for the coronation. But instead he tugged him away from the wider streets, back down hill towards the main sprawl of the city.

“Where are you taking me, villain?” Roman asked after twenty minutes of marching “because I’m pretty sure we’ve passed that street lamp three times already.”

“Somewhere where your little friend won’t be able to help you.” the Marquis muttered, glaring at the lamp in question.

Roman felt his heart freeze. His friend?

He supposed it made sense. There was no conceivable way they could have been followed in the woods. Not without Patton or Virgil noticing. The Marquis must have spotted him in the market and followed from there, which means he would have at least seen Logan, perhaps the others too since he had been at the tavern…

Although why would a noble be at the Stevangie street market?

He tried not to let his anxiety show on his face, puffing his chest out and summoning his most haughty glare.

“Listen to me, lordling, if any harm should come to them I will personally-“

“Them?” The Marquis stumbled, map fluttering to the floor. When he spun to glare at Roman his eyes were enormous. “How many are there?”

Roman blinked, haughty glare ruined by his genuine confusion. “Erm,” he tried “lots?”

The Marquis audibly gulped, but before Roman could even attempt to interpret that the man’s face brightened, his gaze caught on something behind Roman. He smirked, some swagger returning to his step.

“No matter.” He said and grabbed Romans arm, dragging him towards a nondescript building in the centre of the street, unlocking the door and shoving the bard through.

It was a bath house. The back entrance, perhaps, but the damp in the air and smell of scented soap was unmistakable.

Roman tried, in his sleep-deprived, underfed, over-stressed state, to come up with a reasonable explanation for this.

He had nothing.

“Why-“

“Shut up” The Marquis snapped. “Walk that way.” He pushed Roman down a long corridor, past arched doorways through which he caught a glimpse of the bathhouse proper, and into a dusty looking stairwell. He had produced a candle from somewhere, but the dim light did very little to illuminate anything as they gingerly picked their way down.

When they finally reached the bottom floor Roman squinted to see boxes and crates of empty bottles– a storage room? But he had no time to take it all in before he was being dragged through another pair of doors. Two more rooms and another set of stairs later and the Marquis finally stopped.

The room he’d led them to was hot and humid. Sweat dripped down Romans nose after only a few seconds. At first he couldn’t work out what the noise that filled the room was, until his eyes adjusted enough to see the tubes running from the floor to ceiling.

“You’re lucky to see this.” The Marquis had to raise his voice over the rush of running water to be heard “This room is a modern miracle – the lifeblood of the city!”

Steveange’s heated bath houses were famous. So much so even Virgil had heard of them, and he seemed to take pride in knowing nothing about the outside world. Roman had assumed the city must have been built on hot springs or some other natural source, but this was something else.

“The furnace is below us.” The Marquis explained, as he propelled Roman towards the back wall. “The pipes bring water from the river, it’s heated and pumped up and out to every bathhouse in the city.”

He grinned with something like pride as he tapped one of the pipes above Romans head, making it sing, “Arkazeii engineering and Orenllan iron. Lined with Orenllan copper of course…give me your jacket.”

“But. Notaleveale doesn’t trade it’s ores” Roman blinked rapidly, trying to remove the sweat from his eyes, as he shrugged out of his jacket.

Jacket was a generous term – it was a silken red thing, better suited to performances than travelling. But he enjoyed the way it billowed as he walked. The Marquis took it and without so much as a moments respect for the garment, ripped one of the sleeves clean off.

“Hey!”

“You’ve been away a long time.” the Marquis snarled, “you little fae touched traitor.”

Roman gaped at him, even as the man grabbed his right arm and began attempting to tie it to the nearest pipe.

“I used to look up to you” the Marquis continued, “you were everything a Prince should be. But you betrayed your father and put a curse of madness on your brother - all because of your own petty jealousy!”

He squeezed Romans wrist with enough force to leave bruises. And stepped back to admire his handywork. The silky material had no grip and it was painfully obvious the man was not used to getting his hand dirty. The resulting knot looked more like a bow. “You are no prince of mine.”

“Lucius.“ Roman knew he’d known his name. “That’s not true. That’s- that’s not even a clever story! Who came up with that?”

“Shut up.” Some of the panic from the journey had come back to Lucius’ eyes but it faded quickly “And don’t think you can scare me with my name, there is more iron in this room then anywhere else in the city.”

He grinned at Roman nastily. “Your little friends aren’t coming to save you.”

Roman stayed quiet, mind whirling. They thought Remus was cursed?

Well. He was. But not in the way Lucius seemed to believe.

They wouldn’t send a mad man to another kingdoms coronation would they? Had the seller actually been certain Remus was coming?

Tied up, exhausted and with a man who seemed to hate him glaring down, Roman started to giggle in giddy relief.

Lucius stepped back, looking unsettled, before reaching out, roughly grabbing Romans chin and shoving the remnants of his jacket into his mouth. “Stay here,” he told him, slowly and clearly “until I come back with your transport.”

He stood, taking the candle with him to the door. He paused for one moment before leaving, the flickering light illuminating a cruel smirk. “You had better hope I can arrange it before the furnaces come back on.” And he was gone.

Roman glanced above himself into the darkness, where his wrists were strapped tight to the currently cool metal. A rush of fear went through him, finally bringing him down from the giggling hysteria.

Alone In the dark, tried to think.

Roman was a bad friend. He lied to his companions as easy as breathing and took his own fears out on them.

Romulus was a bad prince. He had abandoned his kingdom and his subjects and allowed some sort of conspiracy to spring up in his wake.

But he was a good brother. Remus was alive. And he would stay that way.

After all, this afternoon he thought that Remus was here. That he would have to confront his past, escape the city, evade every member of the Notalevealian court and his own friends and steal a horse.

Now all he had to do was get out of this basement and outwit one idiot who could barely tie knots and hadn’t even thought to pat him down to check for hidden daggers.

Easy-peasy he thought, his eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally overtook him.

Part 5

#roman sanders #sanders sides #remus sanders #creativitwins #sanders sides fic #ts: fall of romulus #sidespart writes

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