Chapter Text
Music was the first sensation that Will understood as happening around him, rather than inside him. It was not music he was familiar with, but something low and deep and mournful, a slow waltz in a minor key, picked out on crisp, echoing strings. He opened his eyes to darkness speckled with stars, and he absorbed the deep depth of field until he realised he was looking at the night sky. Was it nighttime? In a panic, he turned in search of a clock, but there was nothing but an endless stretch of warm wood flooring, polished to gleaming, radiating a gentle light.
His clipped footstep rang out in the space, and Will realized two things almost immediately. The echo off invisible walls meant the space he was in was much smaller than Will had realized. As well, he was dressed very differently than he had been before he had eaten the apple. Gone was the soft denim and plaid and comfortable boots, and in its place was a dove gray tuxedo, gleaming in the soft ambient light of the stars. On his feet were soft grey formal boots, with smooth soles that slipped easily across the floor. He sighed, smoothed his hands over the luxurious silk of his jacket, and yelled. "Hannibal!"
"No need to shout, little pup!" Will spun in place, but it wasn't Hannibal that stood behind him, but a short wizened creature with a long beard, standing barely up to his waist, in a ragged overlarge ballroom gown of indeterminate color and style. The gown was caught up around the creature's waist with ropes of vine, and on its head was a… it was a bird. A skinny-necked bird with bright eyes and tiny little feather plumes on an otherwise naked head. The bird peered at him curiously. "Well then!"
Will peered at the old man below, but he looked like he was asleep on his feet. The bird sighed and shook its little head. "You need some information, yes?" It blinked at him, and Will could hear the click of its eyelids in the quiet.
"I… what time is it?"
A little rattle brought his attention down to the old man. In his gnarled hands was a tiny iron box with a little slot in the top. "Contribution first!" the bird sang. Will gaped at him.
"For the time??"
The bird looked slyly at him. "Is it important, yes?"
And Will was about to say yes, but then he realized, if he had to pay for every question, that he might have to be circumspect, because he had nothing to offer. "I can't pay you," he admitted.
"Hmph. Nothing free here!" The old man, suddenly sprightly, turned to go. Will's hand shot out before he could stop himself, and he gripped the creature's shoulder more gently that he truly wanted to.
"When I solve the Labyrinth, I can pay you then." He thought, a little desperately, back through his foggy memory, to his life before. "The best fishing lure I own."
The bird turned its head, and whispered to the old man. The old man took stock of Will, in his borrowed silken finery, and scowled. "If you lose, what then?"
Will smiled, and it was not a pretty smile. "You can make a throne from my bones."
The bird gasped. "How generous, yes?!" The old man muttered at him, and the bird twittered back, and Will was ready to walk away, when it said, "Two lures. Two per question."
"Deal," Will answered quickly. "How much time do I have to solve this Labyrinth and save myself and my sister?"
The bird peered down. The old man was wearing a wristwatch, which had been hidden by his dress. It clearly read a little after nine. Since Will had begun as the clock struck one, he realised he only had four hours left. A shiver burrowed into his gut.
"One more question. How do I get out of here?"
The old man looked at him a little sadly. "If you are looking for a door, Will Graham, you will not find one here." He harrumphed, shaking the bird hat until it trilled angrily. "But doors are not always the way through."
Will stood and stared after them as they walked away. The bird hat looked back at him, and trilled, "Four lures! Or your bones! Either will do!" And it cackled madly until they vanished into shadow. Will shook himself and trotted over to where they had gone, and his hand hit a smooth clear wall, curved like a bubble. He stroked his hand over it, but there was no door, indeed. Another footstep sounded behind him.
"I could have saved you the barter, Will." Will turned despite his own frustration. Hannibal was breathtaking, of course, dressed in black silk threaded with silver, his braid threaded and falling over his shoulder in a cascade of silver filaments and glittering diamonds and pearls. The suit was so dark he looked like a part of the field of stars that surrounded them. "Whatever you want to ask, I will answer if I can."
Will barked a laugh, even though he knew it was rude. He was entirely in Hannibal's power, playing a game for the lives of himself and his sister, and he had no idea of the rules, or even if there were any. "Are their answers yours?"
Hannibal looked amused, starlight dancing in his eyes. "Everyone who lives in the Labyrinth is their own. I believe very strongly in autonomy."
Will scowled at him. "But you took my sister," he pointed out.
"She asked me to, Will." He frowned, a storm brewing on that elegant brow. "She whispered the verse with the last of her strength. And I find I quite like her. If you hadn't survived, I would still have taken good care of her."
Will felt the truth of it resonate within him. The thought that Abigail would be safe with Hannibal was as much a relief as it was terrifying to think about. He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. It came back covered with glitter. He sighed harder. "And now, Hannibal?
"And now, Will Graham." His voice was solemn, but a tiny smile graced his lips as he held out a hand. "Will you dance with me?"
"I have no time, Hannibal, to dance." Will frowned at him, trying to sort out what he had to do next. Hannibal tilted his head, questioning, and then waved a hand. A clock appeared in the air. It was just after nine, same as the watch of the little old man. Hannibal twitched his fingers, and the hour hand spun backwards, to settle on the eight. He raised a curious eyebrow, and Will snorted a laugh despite himself. He sketched a bow, and stepped close enough to settle his glitter-covered hand gently into Hannibal's.
Will was expecting the scene to burst to life with the touch of Hannibal's hand: bodies swirling around them, sumptuous music, the smell of sweat and perfume and sex. But when Hannibal pulled Will loosely into his arms and swung him lightly around, it was just them, alone on the smooth wood ballroom floor, surrounded by stars. The music that Will had heard as he woke was still there, an undercurrent to their soft, neat steps and quiet breathing. Hannibal was a generous dancer, graceful and strong, and he telescoped his movements so that Will could follow with ease. It felt an unimaginable luxury to be held by him, like this, and Will felt his body respond with a flush of heat as he moved with the king. Hannibal gazed openly at Will's face, taking in his curls, his eyes, his mouth. The look on his face was one of curiosity softened by uncertainty, as if he was not sure what to say to bridge their silence, now that they were so close.
Will was not one for dancing either, so he decided to look intently at the floor rather than to face the growing silence between them. Didn't people speak during dancing? Instead of aimless, comforting chatter, or whatever might pass for it between a king and his challenger, his ears filled with the sounds of Hannibal's breath, the slick rustle of silks brushing together between their bodies, and his own treacherously escalating heartbeat. Hannibal's hands felt good on him, unnervingly secure, and he found as they danced they closed the distance between them, inch by inch, until their thighs pressed warmly together on every turn. Will swallowed, his treacherous thoughts settling on Hannibal's mouth, thinking of the promised kiss, despite everything. He turned away, scrabbled in his mind desperately for something to say.
Hannibal spoke first. "I will make you a bargain, Will Graham." His voice was low and inviting, and Will shivered as it dropped soft against his ear. Hannibal's hand on the small of his back tugged him in a little closer, their bodies just barely touching. He turned his head to find Hannibal's eyes fixed on his. He looked very serious. "Abigail is here, within the bubble. Should you find her, now, I will let you both go back to your home, and our bargain will be settled." Will stared at him, searching for deception, but Hannibal's face was a perfect blank. With more reluctance that he liked to admit, Will stepped back, out of his arms, ignoring the twinge of regret as Hannibal's large, warm hand fell from his back. "You have the remainder of the hour." His voice came out a little rougher than before, and Will's throat was also dry. He swallowed.
"Thank you for the dance, Hannibal." He bowed again, politely, and then turned to walk straight to the wall, leaving the tall king and his warm, gentle hands behind him. As his hand met the cool surface of the clear dome that contained them, he began walking forward, trailing fingers to keep his place. Hannibal stood watching him, his tall dark form marking the spot Will had begun his perimeter search, his eyes in shadow. Will was so close to the edge that he could see stars under his feet, and he tried very hard not to look, concerned that he would lose the apple that was the only food his stomach had to surrender. His mind began to haze with fatigue, but he struggled on. After what seemed a very long time walking around the perimeter, giggles came to his ears, and a strange scratching sound, and his heart quickened in his chest. Further and further, until Hannibal was a tower of shadow, a black column against the midnight blue of the starfield. Will continued on, and the sounds grew louder, until he came upon a small clutch of white wicker furniture, framed like a miniature sitting room, right in the middle of the empty ballroom floor. Several small elaborately dressed dolls sat in state with teacups before them, and perched on a settee in her little white dress, Abigail.
"Abigail!" he cried, relieved. He scooped her up in his arms and spun her around. "Abigail, is it really you?" She hugged him, laughing.
"Will! Where have you been!" And she was light in his arms, and his head was a little foggy, and he smiled down at her.
"I've been looking for you." She beamed at him, her small hands clutching his shoulders.
"You found me!" And he had, hadn't he? He'd found her. After everything, they could finally go home. He began walking with her back towards Hannibal, and in the back of his mind he heard the scratching getting louder, but he was overcome with joy, and the wailing of his thoughts, crying 'Too easy too easy!' didn't reach him. As he came closer to Hannibal, he saw the king smiling-- a strange too-bright smile, but he ignored that as well. Nothing could touch him, now that he had Abigail in his arms again.
"Have you found her then, Will Graham," Hannibal asked, and his eyes were cold and merry, but there was an awful shattering sound behind them, and the clacking of claws against the hard floor. Will turned to look, his body responding to that noise on a cellular level, and there was Winston, careening toward them with a wild, fierce snarl full of teeth. She spun a full circle to a stop in front of Will, stood on her hind legs, and sank her teeth into Abigail's arm.
Abigail screamed, but it was not the scream of a child. Suddenly, a shocked Will was holding a bundle of rags, and a wailing goblin with its arm caught in a strong jaw, blood spattering blackly all over Will's fine silk coat. Will hollered and dropped the flailing, bleeding creature, and it tore its arm from Winston's jaw and skittered over the edge of the floor into shadow. Jaw dropped, Will stared at his blood-covered arm, and then at Winston, who was now growling at Will. Or rather, what was behind Will. He turned to look at Hannibal, ready to tear into him for lying, and his voice left him with an undignified squeak. For there, hooves to antlers and everything in between, was the statue from the garden, its teeth bared back at Winston. Hannibal was nowhere to be seen, and as Will took in the face of the statue with wide eyes, he could come to only one conclusion. "Hannibal?"
The antlered being turned and snarled at him, and then without answer, lunged for Winston. She yelped as long claws caught her flank, and Will kicked out, catching solid flesh, and then he was scooping up the howling dog in his arms and running for the wall of the dome. There was no door, so he was going to have to make one. He leapt, turning as well as he could to shelter Winston, and as his back breached the thin wall and he fell out into the darkness, he could see Hannibal, the antlered beast, reaching one taloned hand out, far too late to catch him.