Chapter Text
At first, it was all dark.
Disgustingly dark. Daniel could only attribute the murk to what it would have felt like to be a mere particle, moments before the universe exploded into a deafening cascade of color and sound. The creation of man, Daniel thought, of life- only, minus the life. The tenebrosity of his environment (of which he feared greatly- uncertain and backwards. Daniel lacked a sense of direction, unable to tell left from up or down from right, as if such concepts didn’t exist, or simply didn’t matter) instilled within him a sense of foreboding most grievous. He thought, and then pondered, and then mulled over the possibility that, should he walk far enough, he could stumble right out of a cupboard from his childhood kitchen. To his knowledge, he had been mindlessly trekking the barren void for hours, or maybe minutes, or centuries, much like a stranded woman would in a vast Sahara. He moved his feet, he knew that much, his feet which ached; he was at least two inches taller thanks to the thick blanket of calluses he had accumulated during his stay in Brennenburg— how long was his stay? At least one day. He awoke in the daytime and departed into the lower, more gory levels by nightfall. He only slept when he fainted from over exertion and even then his naps were not long. Had the world forgotten him?
It was all dark, until it wasn’t.
A dim blue light illuminating a radius of perhaps two feet flickered into existence. It’s luminosity wouldn’t be enough to comfort him while he was traversing the castle, but as it stood, it was a welcome introduction. It glimmered and gleamed, seeming to spasm in and out of existence- Daniel stared, and when he was finished staring, well, he wasn’t. He kept staring and staring until he realized he had nowhere better to go, no destination or goal in mind. The feet of whoever he had been prior to drinking the Amnesia potion carried him forth. Daniel had to shield his eyes from the brilliance of the light, suspended in the air, his palm receiving the brunt of its warmth. It had no center or source, it was entirely intangible, a pinprick, a beacon. He tentatively reached his hand (not saved from its quota of bruises and gashes). Blinking, he caught the tail end of a one-sided conversation.
“…There he is. Do you see him, Weyer?”
Daniel blinked, then blinked again. Stared into the mysterious depths of the orb- fickle it was, always threatening to trickle out of existence, leaving him to fester in the void, in the chambers of his mind. (He caressed it gently, grasping nothing in particular. Feeling for a comfort he could not provide, nor receive). The voices were familiar, but only just; Daniel could not attach a face nor a feeling but whoever had spoken first, who addressed the man by name of Weyer, had a sort of cadence to his tone that was nothing short of consoling. For a moment, Daniel thought himself an infant and smiled a woebegone, nigh pitiful smile. I have lived as a monster; my only hope? To die like a child.
“…He deserves so much more. Please, help him.” Another sad smile, more bashful this time. Perhaps this light and voice were incorporeal manifestations of whatever sliver of his consciousness was left, trying to assuage him, convince him his sins had been cleansed from his body and mind- they hadn’t. What a forlorn thought. A fleeting trace of left-over innocence, soon to be stamped out like a plague much like the rest of him. The sentiment was kind, though- the idea that Daniels few good actions could and should merit such sympathy and grace. With his free hand, Daniel held onto the sleeve of his shirtwaist. Waited for further human interaction. It never came and, much like a supernova doesn’t, fizzled out into nothingness. Daniel expected nothing less, and was only a mite grateful that he did not allow hope to form, only to be extinguished.
Thus, as did the nature of all things, he carried on. Daniel was not a good man, not as far as he knew. To forget who you are is not to erase your sins, and the thought that Daniel ever chose to run rather than repent, rather than accept persecution, was sickening. The daunting question of who was I before hung over him like a stormcloud. Who he was now was not much in the way of virtue, either; all he had ever done was destroy a castle and throw severed heads through portals. What did that amount to in the end? By what metric would that outweigh the sins of his predecessor? He who had lived once in this skin? If he could only speak to that kind man from the light, whoever or wherever he was. If only he could hear that familiar voice again.
If only he could. And then he did.
He had been walking for several eons, or maybe seconds before that same blue light returned, this time, behind him. Daniel saw the hue cloak him, sneak in between his feet. When he turned, it was upon him, nearly blinding him all over again. He did not need to touch it for it knew he was there, he did not need to make his presence known for it to speak. He focused his attention on it. It was pale and ridiculously blue all at once, and yet, not at all. It might have been the darkest thing in the room, in the void, Daniel did not know. Words failed him and such descriptive phrases didn’t exist here, as there was nothing much to describe.
“Don’t worry, Daniel,” spoke the voice again, but not from the light as it scurried away from him, twisting in a wide circle before being swallowed by the darkness. It’s debt paid in full. It echoed in his mind, bouncing off the walls of his skull and sending thick vibrations throughout. Henceforth, Daniel would be sure to cover his ears. He walked in the direction it had disappeared to until the light bloomed into something a mortal mind could only comprehend as white. Just as the voice was soft and the glow was blue, nothing was truly to be grasped here, and Daniel was not the greatest poet to walk the Earth, so the only applicable adjective was white. Luminescent, perhaps. Radiant and exquisite. Daniel did not approach it, but sure as sunlight was warm, it approached him. By God, it approached him.
He didn’t know how used he was to the darkness until he had it naught. He didn’t know how afraid he was of the darkness until he was within reach of something that did not scare him. So he spread his arms wide and let his lantern clatter to the- there was no ground- since when did he wield a lantern? The light was engulfing him in its brilliance before he could conjure up even an inkling of an answer. And for a while, everything was nothing and nothing was everywhere and it was all so, so sweet. Perhaps this was heaven and Daniel had happened upon its gate. This elation, this contentedness, this utter absence of the indescribable feelings he felt trapped in the walls of the castle. Spiral staircases and wells and pillars: none. Not a trace. Only Daniel.
It was all only Daniel, until it wasn’t.
He had begun to realize many things were, until they ceased to be so. When everything turned dark again, he was not afraid, because he saw the candle light bleeding through his eyelids, and heard the crinkling of a comforter as his chest gently rose and fell and was teeming with life and living and he was alive. He kept his eyes closed for a few moments more, and then a few moments after that, and twitched his fingers, and they moved. He clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling the tendons contract and relax, welcoming the dull ache that followed with a smile that said yes, come to me, breathe life into my nerves. He said nothing more. If his death awaited within the next few moments, let it be so, and if the world would crumble the moment he opened his eyes, let that be so, too; if he had learned anything it was that every moment was fleeting. To live in the present is the only option, nothing else truly exists. His eyelids began to nictate, and he relented. Two things did not happen: he did not die and the world did not crumble. He did, however, feel a pang of dreadful familiarity at the sight before him.
He was laid flat on his back in the same manner he would when Alexander had to carry his sleeping body from the library to his sleeping quarters. He was tucked in with the same care and attention, and to his right was a night table littered with empty laudanum bottles. He half expected a servant to barge in with more glass bottles on a silver platter, but this did not happen, either. The canopy at which he stared was not red, but a deep royal blue, as was the comforter. The sheets were a cool gray. The wallpaper was naught, but the walls were plastered in cobblestone. Cool to the touch, Daniel figured- how nice that would feel, he thought, as he felt a dollop of sweat trickle into the corner of his mouth. He twitched. The agony remained, of course, as many things tended to. Brennenburg Castle had a tendency to do as much- glue thoughts and feelings to you, to the point where you could not dream of removing them, and God did Daniel dream. The room was dimly lit and as he glanced again at the medicine he realized that it was not, in fact, Laudanum. He could not pronounce its true name scribbled onto the gummed tape label.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized to the tincture. His voice was hoarse and the trailing syllable caught in this throat, releasing him into the throes of a dry, labored cough. His body was wracked with hurt as he propped himself up on his elbows, which also stung. Now, he began to grow into his own skin, feeling his toes slot into the empty husk. (Surely this body was new- nothing of him would have survived the shadows slaughter). He might as well have been a mummy, what with all the bandages wrapped around his thin frame. He paid the medicine another glance, the canopy, the comforter and sheets. There was not a single mirror in the entire room, only a desk, a tapestry, and a chifforobe. It was delightfully simple and Daniel felt as if he could nod off, but ultimately knew he could not. The only time he slept comfortably, ironically, was at Agrippas feet in front of his— oh. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? Daniel ought to find and thank him.
His bones crackled like a new wick when he threw his legs over the side of the bed. He dared not imagine what became of his physical self. Whatever form had carried him across that dark wasteland- the afterlife, not the castle- was not the one he laid in now nor the one he suffered in before. He felt new. Rejuvenated. As if the grime had been picked from his joints, his flesh waterlogged before it was wrung and dry and clean. He was saturated with tender restoration, a fate he was not sure if he truly deserved- did he any more than Alexander? What lengths would he have gone to in order to escape that castle, that Alexander would not go to in order to return home? To mull over it was to subject himself to needless anguish, so he allowed it to curl up in his lap. When he stood, he felt especially queer, perhaps two inches shorter, and far thicker in comparison to his old form. (His bones had protruded and pushed against his flesh. Daniel figured he, too, would crave escape if he had to live in that old body of his, and perhaps that was the reason for this). Then, he was Daniel von Mayfair. Now, he was Daniel of this bed, of this room. A new identity calls for a new skin and a great deal of bourbon to wash it all down. He laughed internally.
He expected himself to collapse when he took a step, much like a toddler, and suddenly the room felt much larger, the trek to the door— half open on its hinges— longer. The smell of cheesecake and milk wafted into his sinuses. It seemed far too early for deserts, given that it was daytime, but Daniel could not be sure, nor could he judge either way. He was pushing the door open before he could register he’d ever made it so far.
The long, narrow corridor stretched out endlessly before him. He was at an impasse, it seemed. To leave the comfort of the room was to risk a more horrific fate that laid beyond, but as he pondered every second he had ever walked this Earth, it occurred to him that he only was around so long because he kept walking. Walking until the bone in his feet eroded and gave way to soot and the harsh elements of the soil. How quaint, how sad, how sweet. He stepped onto the cobblestone floor, feeling the striking coolness, only it wasn’t cobblestone and it wasn’t cool. The hall appeared to be more of a vestibule, which opened up to a large foyer. The layout of this house was questionable; he was certain he was nowhere close to the front door. The walls were adorned by Roman pillars and were smooth to the touch, as well as the floor, atop which a long, red and gold rug laid. When Daniel stepped onto it, it was warm, albeit aged. He continued his journey.
Several weeks ago he would have shrieked at his own actions, gawked at the bravery, shivered at the audacity. To wake up in an unfamiliar room and leave as soon as you gathered your wherewithal was sacrilege, but he was healed, and alive, and quite warm and that was more than the castle could ever offer. I am someplace unknown— take that in stride and I am someplace new. As he reached the opposite doorway from where he began, he gripped onto the jamb where a door would have been and poked his head inside. The space was grand and bright, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling in a symmetrical pattern, floor candelabras strewn about. The floors themselves, pristine as he had ever seen a floor be, reflected the light of the chandeliers and made the entire surface glimmer. What a lovely gift, Daniel mused as he moved his entire body into the area. A smile tugged at his lips. His entire world seemed to sing- he sensed no gatherers.
It was magnificent. It was lonely. Hazel would have loved this place, God damn her taste for the divine and the exquisite. She would ooh and ahh at everything that shone, scamper about asking asinine questions about the origins of the decorations, of the building itself. Daniel might have held her wrist and instructed her to settle down, fighting a fond grin himself. He swore he heard her laughter echo through the room. His fear crept in. He held his arms with his hands and hunched over slightly, clinging onto himself as he approached the large doors at the left end of the foyer. They reached the ceiling and Daniel stood wondering how he’d ever get them open.
He didn’t need to wonder long. They opened.
Two men, now, were stationed just behind the doorway. One had his hands on the doors as he pushed them open, turned to converse with his companion, who’s hands were stuffed in his pockets. Their attention was on one another as they blabbered in turn, the subject matter of great passion, it appeared. The former was gesticulating quite wildly, so wildly he did not notice Daniels presence, nor notice him slink away to take shelter behind an ornate pillar. The language sounded alien and illegible, no matter how hard Daniel tried to translate it (he knew only English, his native language, and a handful of French, anything else was picked up on from the baron). The two fell into a slow saunter down the foyer, sharing chuckles, sharing sighs. Daniel buried his face in his hands, listening to his breathing, labored and raspy just as it had been in the inner sanctum. The pair ignored the array of doors on the left wall, or in front of them, and treaded down the hallway Daniel had hailed from.
If there was a god, this turn of events was surely his doing- yes, that was it. God had just forgotten to look over Daniel from the moment he stepped foot in Algeria and only remembered his existence this very moment. He duckwalked across the floor and stood once he was out of eyesight behind the wall. The foyer appeared to open up into an even larger room, this time with two twisting staircases on either end that led to a dais. Beneath the dais was a fountain, and beyond that, a large front door. Large bay windows hugged it and appeared to filter sunlight in through the blinds, but Daniel could not be sure. Glancing over his shoulder one last time, he began to explore.
He let the fear ebb through him, let it run its course, before it bled out of his fingertips. Distant chatter. They hadn’t noticed his absence. There’s a specific sort of release in letting go of fear, even if it is to let go of a piece of your humanity. The door was wide open behind him. He ascended the steps.
Atop the dais stood a podium, looming over the palatial hall, its ostentatious presence paradoxically simple. Whoever once stood here entertained an opulent audience, Daniel deduced, placing his palms against the surface where documents would have previously sat. And for a moment, he felt just as powerful. He crouched down, feeling the base of his back ache and groan in protest, and eased open the two doors that made up the length of the podium. He pocketed the bottle of laudanum inside (or whatever equivalent this world housed- would that he could read this language) and inspected the first document that lay atop a thick stack. The title was written in English, and for a moment, Daniel felt a leftover flicker of hope. The paper was torn in some places, burned in others, and the ink was aged.
“…the matter, upon resolution, has proven itself uncertain; the survivability and depending factors of the subject are undetermined. It is a matter of lag, Weyer said. I retorted: less that, more, the pith of the endeavor in the first place. Were we too late, or far too early? Should he wake, we will be present to supervise and restrain, should the need arise, Gods in heaven, I hope it…”
The passage ends there and picks up later.
“…such is the unknowing of the orb in question. It’s offered no guidance, no assistance, and whether we are truly safe in this palace, well…”
The final sentence is succinct. “Daylight shines ahead of us.”
He was interrupted by the sound of frantic rustling, of speaking, calling. The tendrils of his fear wrapped itself around his limbs. As footsteps began and then picked up speed, Daniel retreated into the podium, closing the doors behind him- the darkness engulfed. The shadows hugged him and whispered taunts in his ear. A thin sliver of light made its way in from where the doors would not shut completely, and for once Daniel damned his good health. A trifle thinner and he’d be obscured entirely. He shrank into himself, listening as the footsteps stopped- the doorway? They hadn’t entered the hall he occupied yet. Yet, whispered his terror. Was it the men from earlier, or his father, or Alexander, or the servants? Daniel prayed to his dead god that it would be something, anything, that could kill him quickly.
Daniel. So it was Alexander. He had come to infiltrate and violate his psyche once more, for kicks, for old times sake. Daniel drew in a sharp breath as his vision warped and swayed, a large, invisible fist crushing his head. Let it take me, Daniel screamed into the void, into his hand. Daniel, I am not going to harm you. Like Hell you aren’t. You already have, you already are, you already will. Such is the nature of a man, of a monster, of the point at which the line betwixt the labels is blurred. I implore you to come out of the podium, Daniel of Mayfair. It is bright and sunny and a beautiful day outside. You are not in castle Brennenburg, spoke a voice much unlike Alexander’s, and much like the voice he heard during his time in that desolate realm- but when had the void given him anything good in this life? When had he been done a favor? Daniel, stubbornly, did not yield.
Across the world, he heard someone sit down. Alright, then. You were always stubborn, weren’t you? So keen on staying and chatting. Why don’t we do that again?
As far as Daniel remembered he had never been friendly with a single person. He pushed the doors open and only saw a rectangular cutout of a wall, curtains at the edge, but did not move, nor give a response. Did you rest well? the voice asked him, mild and contemplative. Daniel buried his head in his knees. Stupid, idiot child- he did not sleep well. He was snug in that bed but he could not recall sleeping, only the void, only whatever the opposite of the void was, and then wakefulness. Precisely what I mean, he said. That place you call the void. Did you find it to your liking?
I am only kidding, Daniel, don’t fret, please and thank you. Well, how did you find your quarters? We tried to… hold back on the red and black. It seems you’re all too accustomed to as much. How did you find the blue? It was dreary and brash. I am sorry for that. Fine, then. Fine. Daniel recognized the banter at once and descended cautiously down the steps.
Truly, Agrippa was unrecognizable. Daniel figured that’s what Weyer said when he first gazed upon his emaciated, lacerated body, and now that he is recognizable to Weyer he is thus unknown to Daniel. He had a smooth head and tan skin, as well as red facial hair that well suited him. When he smiled it did not show behind his mustache, but his eyes crinkled into slits, and he stood from his spot on the cold floor. Daniel gasped at him, taking a half step back, his expression morphing into one of surprise. He only knew the Agrippa who resided in his mind, comforted and poked fun, and wept as Daniel would. This Agrippa- warm, full of life- oh, it was not long before he was embracing him and closing his eyes and Agrippa was embracing back and everything was warm and sunny and perfect, only it felt like nothing and the room chilled his bones and Daniel opened his eyes and was in his blue bed.
This was not the worst of developments; Agrippa was leaned over him.
“Agrippa?” Daniel managed to rasp, his voice hoarse again, his body throbbing. The elder was rubbing a salve along the length of Daniels forearm, his glasses (he did not have them in Daniels dreamscape- he did, though, share the general rest of his traits) absorbing all the light from the windows (which were also not there before, and Daniel found himself grateful to be here and not where his mind had conjured him- it was virtually the same, but without windows, Daniel felt trapped) and hiding the expression in his eyes. When he pulled his hand away, Daniel grabbed onto his wrist. He loathed to let go. “Ah, Mayfair,” he spoke. “There you are.”
—
The courtyard, of course, was delightfully warm. He had learned but one thing: he was not in the world he hailed from. He was in the domain of the Guardian, the domain of the baron but not his barony, but he was also in the domain of Agrippa, and that was plenty enough for him. He crouched down by a lining of bricks laid without a clear pattern. The paths were paved in smooth stone tiles, and unfamiliar blossoms abounded the gardens. (He had inquired Agrippa about their whereabouts. Heaven Lilies, they were called. They were used in medicinal salve, their petals crushed to a pulp and then used in healing of wounds that extended past that of the skin-deep). Agrippa smoked a pipe in his rocking chair, writing a report, supervising Daniel as if he’d disappear if he removed his gaze for even a second. If Daniel felt like a child, he wouldn’t know, because his idea of childhood was pain and petrifying fear. This, this was not that. This was akin to what was described in novels.
“A harrowing… development. I find myself more and more… compelled… to hearken,” Agrippa mumbled, scribbling more furiously now. Daniel would have inquired to his growing irritation, but he already had a bit more than five times, and Agrippa kept telling him the same thing: fret not, my boy. It’s none of your concern this time, and what a quelling thought that was, for something to be out of Daniels control and thus out of his realm. Daniel thought back to his awakening, which was blurry, but he remembered the key moments in which there were more than a few tears and more than just one embrace, from both of them. Daniel had never been an unemotional person. Agrippa closed his report.
“The ferry will arrive erelong. I trust you are prepared, Mayfair?”
Daniel huffed like a petulant child and stood to his feet, dusting off his dirtied pant legs. No, he was not prepared, nor would he ever be. He had been here a grand total of three days and already his departure was upon him; he spent so, so long alone in the castle. He would not be alone again. “And if I weren’t?” Daniel returned, still admiring the lilies.
He heard Agrippa stand with an venerable sigh. “Well, then the ferry would leave anon, with or without you aboard, and we would have to wait for the next, and we do not want that.”
“Right, we do not.”
“Mayfair, are you well?” Agrippa asked, still standing on the porch. His tone was not hateful, not judgemental, and suddenly Daniel felt a pant of guilt at his agitation. He turned to face Agrippa, who had moved a foot or two behind him. “Forgive me, sir, I know I’ve overstayed my welcome, but… I find myself wishing I could not leave. You cannot fathom how long I spent alone— or maybe you can. What it’s done to me,” Daniel said, “I’m not sure I can bare the same conditions again.”
“…You will be returning not to Brennenburg.”
Daniel offered a curt nod. “No. But I will be returning somewhere lonely.”
“Is it the nightmares which ail you? I can contact the apothecary-”
“Heavens, no,” Daniel sighed. “The nightmares– they’re of the shadow no longer, but of the victims, of my father, sister, the… in any case,” he waved his hand dismissively, “I digress. My distaste for solitude doesn’t stem from any sort of illness. I simply… would enjoy company. I’ve gone a long time without it. I do not have to stay caught up in your hair, I could live in the basement and never make a sound, but please, I beg of you, do not leave me alone.”
Agrippa looked through him, retreating to the innards of his mind to contemplate Daniels request. Where the ferry would bring him was a land not unlike his own, as the two had discussed prior; he would have never felt at home in England nor can he return in his current state, so he might as well find new solace, a new world. The subdivision (who’s name is unable to be comprehended by a mortal mind) is foggy and dim, wooded and murky just like his beloved Mayfair. It would never be Mayfair, though, and if he lived in the most cozy and beautiful home custom tailored to him right in the heart of Mayfair itself he would be home not. His home was with other people, he then realized, where there was love and nurturing. He would not find that outside of this estate.
“…Daniel…,” Agrippa began, “you… will not be able to stay here forever. I will give you a half year, after the duration of which you will pack up your bags and be on your merry way. Is this clear?” He explained, placing a hand on Daniels shoulder. Rubbed circles into the bruised flesh with his thumb. Daniel nodded, a hint of forlorn sadness, but he understood; he was an adult despite being a youth of twenty-three and would have to leave the nest one way or another. For now, though, he was within the walls of the estate. Agrippa urged him forward by giving his sleeve a gentle tug, and the two returned to the estate, to their home. And Daniel looked over his shoulder as Agrippa began speaking of preparations to be composed,
and across the brush, across the river, across the town
he swore to god
he saw long white hair.
—
He awoke with a start in the banquet hall.
“Daniel?” A man whispered, the sound traveling to his ear. Daniels eyes fluttered open, banishing cobwebs, sticky with sleep. He looked around blearily, pushing himself up in his seat. He sat at the far end of a long table decorated with vases and dishes of food, the scent tantalizing. The man who disturbed his stolen sleep was not Agrippa, nor one of his servants (who were more of interns and rather friendly with their master- how gracious Agrippa was). His face was round and softened by blond mutton chops, and he had a jovial air to him. His head itself was hairless, his eyes a pale green. He looked upon Daniel and smiled when noticed. “Ah, hello, my boy.” He straightened his posture. “You nodded off.”
“…So it would seem,” Daniel agreed in a mumble, rubbing his temple tiredly. “Ah- are you a guest? Excuse my insolence,” Daniel apologized as he stood, adjusting his waistcoat. “I haven’t been sleeping so well as—” Daniel was interrupted by a hearty laugh. The man was significantly taller than he; Daniel stood at 5’7, and this happy stranger seemed to be six feet even, an inch taller than Agrippa. “No, dear boy, I’m no guest. I’m sure you’ve heard my name mentioned once before,” he said, outstretching his hand to be shook. Conceited, Daniel thought with a mental sneer.
“Johann Weyer,” he introduced.
Ah. Daniel did know him.
“Oh—! Mister Weyer! Forgive me,” Daniel stammered, feeling a twinge of guilt at his judgement. “Uhm- Daniel, of Mayfair.” He shook the man’s hand. “I have heard much about you. Truthfully, it feels as if I am meeting a celebrity.”
Weyer appeared to be quite fond of him, for he bellowed out another laugh, and then hooked his thumbs in his belt (Daniel, although made deeply uncomfortable by such an accessory, could keep his composure if he stared directly into Weyer’s eyes for the remainder of the exchange). “Oh, save the flattery, dear boy. I’m much more honored than you to make your acquaintance. You’ve been through quite a lot, you know. If anything warrants the upmost respect it would be that.”
Admittedly, Daniel was not used to compliments, especially an onslaught of them so soon. He laughed nervously and appreciatively, resisting the urge to deny it or brush it off; when it came to debates he was skilled. When it came to debates surrounding Daniels virtues he was a master. So he entertained and indulged the man until he grew weary, or was urged to the balcony to discuss some sort of business deal- whatever business was to be had in this world was beyond his understanding, beyond him in general. He took a seat once more and folded his hands in his lap. It had been two weeks since he and Agrippa’s encounter in the courtyard, and three days since Weyer announced the holding of a banquet in Agrippas honor. Daniel was more than happy to attend.
The exchange was as follows: Agrippa inquired to Daniels mental state. He gave a shrug. Questions of his physical state produced another shrug. Daniel requested ‘Laudanum’, and his request was granted. Agrippa told of the banquet; confided in him and confessed he did not desire such an ostentatious celebration of his arrival, but desired Daniels presence nonetheless, and Daniel smiled. He seldom smiled these days.
The banquet was set to begin in due time, early in the morning (likely the reason for Daniels falling asleep, though for the past few days he’s been stealing naps where he could. On bay windowsills, under tables, in chairs. He almost always woke back in his bed. What a blessing sleepwalking was). Mayfair was a wealthy city, and Daniels family were of the more affluent among it. The first Tuesday of each month a gala would be held at the city hall, hosted by Daniels father. (Daniel and Hazel, of course, would remain in the attic of their own cottage; on the rare occasion they were permitted to attend they were to be proper and otherwise silent). Daniel was no stranger to such festivals and grand displays of wealth, but after being alone with the baron for so long in the castle, and more so thereafter, he was rusty when it came to etiquette. He preferred to be proper and silent once more, would that the situation allow.
Servants scuttled to and fro across the hall, sometimes past him, greeting him as they went: “Good day, Daniel,” “Greetings, Daniel,” “May the day treat you well, Daniel”. If Agrippa had instructed him to address him as a superior, Daniel could only hope him to revoke the rule. To be treated as nobility, as royalty, was most unbecoming.
He stood once Agrippa entered the room, who opened his arms wide in jubilance. “Mayfair, my boy! Have you yet seen the greenwood? That husbandman made quick work of it, I tell you– Weyer met him on an expedition to the Levant, I’ll have you know, and– Mayfair, how fare thee?”
“Hazel would have loved this place,” Daniel answered thoughtfully. “She always did enjoy these lavish rooms… ah, her remarkable bookcraft, she so longed to write there.”
“Well, perhaps we could—”
“No, no. She’ll have to search elsewither.”
—
When he woke in the night he snivelled the sort of silent sob that locks your jaw in place. The sort that makes you forget how to intake and release each breath in any sort of rhythm. The sort that wets and reddens the whole of your contorted face, cements your eyes shut. The anguish that jumbles your brain and snuffs the candle that could make sense of the misery. The sort that requires you heal by sun-up.
Daniel had crescent-shaped marks on his shoulders from where he dug his nails into his arms, his knees folded up to his chest. His pillow was stained with tears, his neck was glistening from the damp, the dip of his collarbone. He would let out occasional hiccups but that was all, oh, that was all, the only sound he could muster. It gnawed at him, it tore his bones apart, it wrapped thorns around his throat. And he was alone. He was in a safe, well lit room, in a homely bed, but he was so, so alone, and when he woke he’d be alone yet still but none would ever know. God, how he craved sleep, and how he craved to sob until his lungs gave out and his emotions trickled out of him. He’d give up the ability to love and smile and laugh forever if it meant he did not have to feel this way for one night; such a pathetic, selfish prospect, fit for an idiot boy of the same nature.
He wished the Shadow had taken him. He felt the crushing pressure and guilt of the atrocities he had committed in those chambers, and his detachment from it, the lack of justice. He longed for his sister, to read or sing to her one last time, to lead her across the garden, to see her safe inside a cupboard; she’d be horrified of what has come of her brother. Footsteps began down the hall. Hazel would not be able to recognize him, or see the paleness of his hands rather than dried blood and dirt. His breath was warm. He missed his sister, and he swore now to his dead god that he missed the baron. How easy it was to be instructed on every minute detail, to have your hand held and lead along, to make comfort out of feeling so small. Paint the man, cut the lines, the more precision, the more praise, the further you fell. That man. The footsteps stopped outside his door and knocked gently. That man.
He curled further in on himself. “You stupid, shitting boy, duke of limbs, mooncalf, injudicious bitch, nugatory knave of an idiot child-” The door was pushed open and Daniels eyes were shut. His breathing was ragged as it always was when he slept. He felt Agrippas presence, felt him stop at the foot of his bed. Daniel was so, so tired. If he tried to explain his situation he would frustrate himself and break into a tantrum. You killed them, you daft, half-baked, baying idiot child.
He fell still. The exhaustion overtook him. His lungs, assuming he had regained his composure, relaxed out of tune with his brain. He felt as though he was rocking side to side, a passenger of the hold, or perhaps, being rocked in a cradle. He felt lost, he felt as if he would weep again, and then Agrippas hand clutched his shoulder and he took a seat at his feet and Daniel didn’t feel so horrendous for a while.
—
The following morning he slips from his sleeping quarters and pads into the gardens behind the estate. Where a mouse runs, carrying a seed in its mouth and scurrying back to whatever family awaits, Daniel kneels, grabs a stone and bashes its head in. It moves until it doesn’t. The stone is removed and a red, chunky smear has become of what was once a creature.
To slay by one’s own right. Alloweth this beest his lib'rty.