Fantasizing a war - A Sanders Sides Trilogy

King

Remus waltzed lazily through the halls, humming to himself. The song was one about prostitutes, that he had heard at a bar a few years ago. Every now and then, he got it stuck in his head. In his hand was a contract, a very private one, that he'd need his beautiful husband to sign.

Speaking of his beautiful husband, he couldn't find Deceit anywhere.

He hadn't been home for a while. He never slept in the same bed with Remus anymore, their meetings were brief and Virgil stayed well away from him. Maybe something was going on. However, Remus very much doubted this. Deceit didn't have enough patience to put up with the emotionless guards half the time, let alone some secret lover.

Remus turned the corner and stopped his humming so he could dramatically gasp.

"My dearest love!" He cried dramatically. "You're here!"

Deceit started, spinning around. His eyes were wide with shock and a voice told Remus in the back of his head that the king was being weird. It was nonsense, though.  Deceit was just thinking. That's why he was so surprised.

"Remus," he said, looking away instantly. "What do you want?"

Remus grinned, sauntering over. "Asides from your glorious company, I need only one thing!" He presented the contract. "From the Grey Realm. Just a little sealing order, to get those weapons over. I've gotten everyone else to sign it, we just need the good ol' royal  approval!"

Deceit stared at the contract, not seeming to read it. "Of course. Quill?"

Flamboyantly, Remus presented a quill, which the king rigidly took.

"Just sign your name, please!" Remus chirped.

"I know how to sign scrolls," Deceit hissed back, with a bite to his voice. "There, done.  Now, I'm busy. Leave me alone."

Remus took back the contact and let Deceit go for just a second. Then, he couldn't help it. "Wait!" He blurted out, getting the king to spin around impatiently.

"What?!" Deceit snapped.

Remus didn't back down. "Will you be here for the night? O-Or even dinner?"

"I don't know," Was the harsh answer, Deceit's scowl odd but cruel. "I'm busy, Remus. Leave me alone."

Remus watched him go this time, saying no more than just a quiet, "Okay."

With his husband gone, he slowly turned to look at the contract and he frowned. "That's not your name," He whispered to the empty corridor, looking at the cursive signature Deceit had just left on the page. "You know not to use that on these things..."

Finally, he had to admit it. He lifted his head, finding a mirror directly opposite him. He could see the pained realisation on his own face, the reluctant grimace and the dread in his eyes. Remus had seen the signs and this was the confirmation. He had to find Virgil.

But first, he needed to hear himself say it. He needed to hear it, just so it would finally become real. So he announced six words to his reflection in an empty corridor and he knew he spoke the truth.

"That man," he told himself, "is not my husband."

.:*:.

Fletcher had left his house hours ago. He hadn't stopped running since he jumped out the window and he wasn't going to stop now. It was getting sunny now, and he hadn't slept a wink.

Slowly, the boy stumbled along the road further and further, exhausted and terrified. He could still sense how heavy that sword had been when he used it to end a life. He could still remember the terror that had filled him when Skol showed him his 'special captive'.

That was how it had been described. 'Special'. Like it was a beautiful thing to do.

Fletcher hadn't found it very beautiful. He had found it sickening. Maybe he had been sick. He was pretty sure Skol had hit him, too. Possibly because he had thrown up. Or he was protesting. Fletcher wanted to vomit, possibly again, just thinking about it all.

But he didn't. A pile of sick was more trackable than footprints and he was too scared to let anyone find him.

His father would be heartbroken. His pa would be heartbroken. His sister would be heartbroken. He would be dead.

Maybe, though, King Roman would grant him a pardon...

Fletcher was a child. It was an accident. It was no one's fault.

It was Skol's fault. And he had to find him.

No matter what, Skol would understand. Skol had understood every time. He had just been through a lot. That was why he made him kill Elizabeth Grant. That was why he had killed others. It was just... stress.

Fletcher's legs gave in and he stumbled to the ground. It was an unforgiving fall, the skin of his palms scraped by the ground and his knees pierced sorely by the rough gravel.

Gravel? When had he reached gravel?

Slowly, Fletcher lifted his head. This was the Dark Realm's border. He had made it. He could find Skol. Skol would save him. Maybe.

The boy began running again, ignoring the pains in his sides and legs.

"One, two, one, two," He chanted to himself desperately, trying to get one foot in front of the other. His ankles felt weak but they worked mechanically as he kept going. He had to find Skol. He wanted to find Skol. Skol warned him he'd be in danger. Skol was right about that.

Maybe he'd be right about this too.

Fletcher found the cave. Skol had shown it to him. It was close to the border but just out of sight of any guards. Inconspicuous, dark and unwelcoming. A perfect place to hide your king...