WRITING
by Aru
The frigid northern air blows around the balcony, nipping at any skin that isn't covered by the clothes Chloe made for them. None of the wizards pay the cold any mind, however, wine and dance doing well to warm them from head to toe. Above them, the lights of the aurora dance as well, as if following along with the beautiful melody Rustica plays for them.
Arthur holds tightly to Chloe's hands as they twirl across the balcony, the two of them laughing as the world spins around them. He wonders if the other wizard can feel his desperation to pretend and dance the night away like everyone else, to distract himself from the swirling emotions he's been trying to get a handle on since they arrived. Usually he's good at controlling himself, but he's never had to do so here, in this castle full of memories. This place means so much, but so much has changed, something he's reminded of whenever he looks around him. In the same way he and Chloe are dancing now, his thoughts cycle between his ever-present excitement to be here and an uglier, darker feeling he'd rather not acknowledge.
(Maybe he shouldn't have come back.)
Eventually the dizziness becomes overwhelming, forcing them to stop. Chloe totters over to Rustica, drawn to him like a magnet. Similarly, as Arthur tries to make his eyes stop swimming, he finds himself gravitating towards Oz.
He doesn't mean to. In fact, for the first time that Arthur can remember, he doesn't exactly want to see the wizard who raised him. He can't help himself though, especially beneath the aurora; he can’t remember seeing one in person without Oz nearby. There’s more power than usual running through his body as he approaches the edge of the balcony and basks in the multicolored lights. Being here simply doesn’t compare to watching the enchanted replica in his amulet, not just because of the scale but because Oz is here, too, and this thought once again brings up a lot of mixed feelings that Arthur can’t figure out how to approach.
Magic comes from the heart, and Arthur’s heart has always been by Oz’s side in this castle beneath the aurora. He hadn’t considered that his little sanctuary, the place he’d carved out together with Oz, would ever be gone.
He's already talked about it with Oz; Oz regretted it, and that admission should be more than enough. He doesn't want his mentor, his idol (his most important person) to relive painful memories of being apart, memories he himself ignores whenever they arise. It shouldn't matter anyway, since he lives in Central Country now, in Granvelle Castle, his...his...
He stops his thoughts in their tracks, feeling much like he's just spotted a bear he isn't supposed to approach.
(He told himself long ago to think of Granvelle Castle as his home. If he hesitates to call either this castle or Granvelle home, maybe he doesn't belong anywhere.)
"Your Highness, are you okay?"
Arthur blinks away the vague burning sensation at the corner of his eye and turns towards the voice. "Cain! I hadn't realized you'd joined us here."
Cain gives him a smile, one that seems to make the night a bit brighter. "Oz seemed to want—" his eyes quickly glance up over Arthur's head before meeting his gaze again "—I mean, you seemed lost in thought, so I got curious. Anything you want to talk about?"
Knowing that he can’t match Cain’s grin even on a good day, Arthur still tries to smile back at him (or at least, he hopes he’s smiling). "I'm fine. Thank you for worrying though."
Cain looks him over skeptically. "Well, we've had a long day, so maybe we should call it a night."
Murr, despite being some distance away, immediately reacts to Cain’s suggestion with a long, drawn out whine. “But the party’s just begun! We can’t stop now!”
Shylock chuckles, his face turning down in resigned exasperation. “Remember, Murr, we have children in our midst,” he says lightly.
“You guys can stay up as long as you want,” Cain tells them with a laugh. “A couple of us seem kind of tired, though.”
As if on cue, Riquet yawns from where he’s standing with Akira. Chloe also seems to be leaning more on Rustica than normal, and Toto has been nothing but a bundle of exhausted nerves the entire time they've been here.
Arthur takes advantage of the distraction and opportunity to leave the balcony. “I can show all of you to our guest rooms.”
“I didn’t think Oz was the sort to have guests,” Cain comments. He throws a look over Arthur’s shoulder at Oz. “No offense, of course.”
“Master Oz has some friends that would stay over at times, like Master Snow and Master White,” Arthur responds. “We have a few rooms with beds that everyone can use.” He leads the younger wizards and Akira inside, refusing to look behind him despite knowing Oz is staring at him. (He wonders how long he’ll continue to avoid him. He also wonders, as he sighs in relief when the door closes behind him, how long the guilt will last.)
It’s better to focus on the task at hand. It’s always been better to focus on things that need to be done rather than his own feelings.
Toto and his dogs take up a room on their own, and though the burly young man tries to decline, none of the wizards take no for an answer. Everyone also agrees that Akira should have their own room (regardless of the Sage’s protests) which leaves three other bedrooms around the corner and much further down the hall. Chloe volunteers to share with Rustica and also assures them that Shylock and Murr will gladly share a room as well.
"In that case, if you don't mind sharing, you two should take the last room," Arthur suggests, looking at Cain and Riquet.
Cain looks ready to take him up on the offer before something seems to dawn on him. “But Arthur, where are you going to sleep?”
The question catches Arthur off guard. "I have—" Stupidly, he’s about to say "my own room", but they all know that isn’t true anymore. His thoughts stumble over themselves as he searches for a reassuring answer, finding none, and he has no choice but to say honestly, “...I don't know.”
His confession brings forth all the righteous indignation that Riquet has in his small body. His back straight as a board, hands curled into determined fists, he turns back the way they came and announces, "I'm going to make Oz give up his bed."
“Please don’t do that, Riquet,” Arthur protests, wincing internally at how pathetic he sounds even to his own ears.
“But it isn't fair!” His voice raises in pitch, filled with anger. His eyes shine in the hallway light, and he looks ready to cry for the second time today, but this time out of frustration for Arthur. “You finally got to come back here after so long, but everything is...I can't imagine going back to the Church to find my things destroyed, so for Oz to do such a thing to you—”
“Master Oz was just upset,” Arthur insists.
“Even so, that doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt you,” Chloe chimes in quietly, drawing the Central wizards’ attention. Under everyone’s gaze, he flounders a bit, wringing his hands nervously and looking away, but still he continues, “I mean, Master Oz was probably really sad. We all know he cares a lot for you, Prince Arthur, so we know he didn’t mean to hurt you. And we know he couldn’t help himself either. But it’s bad to only think of his feelings when you have feelings, too. That’s something Rustica taught me.”
Arthur purses his lips, unsure really what his own feelings even are. He knows he isn’t able to separate his feelings from Oz’s like Chloe is suggesting; his own happiness in this depends in part on Oz’s happiness, and if that meant burning his room, then Arthur wants to accept it. He wants to. (He has to.) There isn’t anything he can do anyway, so he doesn’t want to be upset. It’s better to just move on. And if Oz allows him to return, perhaps he could put new things into his room instead...but that doesn’t solve the current problem anyway.
Under the continued silence, Chloe starts to panic. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry; I probably shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sure you didn’t want to hear all of that but I said it anyway. Just forget I said anything—”
“No, I think you’re right, Chloe,” Cain says, cutting off his rambling. “Oz knows he messed up and he doesn’t know how to fix it. I think Arthur should be honest with him and have him make it up to him somehow.”
“I still think Oz should give up his bed.” Riquet mumbles. His eyelids are beginning to droop, however, so while he sounds ready to make demands of the strongest wizard in the world, he looks ready to fall asleep right in the hallway.
Cain laughs, pushing him gently in the direction of their designated room. “We’ll make sure to take care of it. But kids should probably be sleeping right now.”
Riquet pouts. “I’m not that much of a kid,” he says, but he relents nonetheless, heading into the room.
Cain then turns to Arthur, putting a supportive hand on his shoulder and gives him a reassuring smile. “In any case, I’m sure Oz’ll drop everything to make sure you’re comfy. After all, as we said, he thinks the world of you.”
Arthur forces a smile. “All right. In the meantime, you all should get some rest.”
“We’ll come with you if you need us to; I’m not that tired, anyway—”
“No, I can do it myself. Master Oz is a kind person, so there’s no need to worry. In fact, we might make him nervous if we go as a group…”
Cain still looks doubtful, but he’s never been one to push Arthur. “I’m not sure if any of the rest of us has ever made Oz nervous just by being there, but...okay. Take care, Arthur, and feel free to come get us if you need anything.”
Arthur nods absently as he waves good night, his hand dropping once the doors are closed.
And just like that, he’s all alone.
He takes a deep breath; though powered by magic, the candles in the lamps still give off a light, waxy smell. There’s a slight hint of dust floating through the halls, something he remembers always being present no matter how much he and Oz had cleaned when he’d been younger. The shadows on the walls dance the same way he remembers too; he allows himself to be distracted and follows them down the hall, comparing them to the ones in his memories, and he doesn’t realize he’s falling into a nearly forgotten route until he finds himself back at his childhood room.
The doorknob is still a bit too short for him, something he regarded with fondness this afternoon but that now seems like more of a reminder of how much time has passed since he’s last been here. He opens the door.
He knows what to expect now, but the emptiness is still jarring, especially without a friendly presence at his back. Now that he’s looking closer, he can see the scorch marks, the wallpaper darker in some places than others, and as he places a hand over one of them, feeling the slight coarseness, Rustica’s words come to mind, that Oz had wanted to forget him.
He imagines flames engulfing the room, quickly reducing his books to ash and eating away at his clothes. He imagines his toys succumbing next, various trinkets and souvenirs from his outings into the forest burning to nothing along with the memories he’d associated with them. And as he takes inventory of what had once been here, he honestly can’t quite remember everything, and that thought is what disturbs him the most.
“My, if it isn’t Prince Arthur!”
Arthur jumps, whirling around to find Rustica at the door, as if summoned by his thoughts.
The older wizard looks around the room like a tourist, but when he lets his gaze rest on Arthur, his usual cheer falls away. “Oh my, are you quite alright? You look close to tears.”
“I’m alright,” Arthur replies quickly, the words sounding hollow.
Rustica hums thoughtfully before his usual smile returns to his face. “I was looking for Chloe and I appear to have gotten lost. Do you think you can show me to him?”
Taking the chance to leave the room behind once again, Arthur moves to lead him down the hall. “Chloe went to sleep. You’ll be sharing a room with him; I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. This way I can spend time with Chloe even as I dream.” Rustica begins humming along to a tune in his head to amuse himself, the notes echoing through the hall to the rhythm of their footfalls.
Arthur lets himself enjoy the music, until it stops as suddenly as it had started. “Were you thinking of sleeping in your empty room?” Rustica asks innocently, though there’s an underlying sharpness in his expression that Arthur can’t quite place.
“...I don’t know. My feet led me there again, so I was reminiscing, I suppose.” He doesn’t let himself elaborate anymore than that. Wishing to change the subject, Arthur clears his throat, grateful that they’ve reached their destination. “Chloe is in this room. Please let me know if you need anything else.”
Rustica doesn’t move for a minute, hand on his chin while he looks Arthur up and down. Memories are such wonderful things, don’t you agree?” When Arthur tilts his head in confusion, he continues, “To be able to recall the joys we had in life is a blessing. Memories are a testament to the bonds we form, and we can only feel loss and loneliness because we remember what it was like to have something precious to start with.”
He folds his hands together, closing his eyes wistfully almost as if in prayer. “You are precious to Master Oz, just as he is precious to you. Even if some memories between you are painful, they are built on the fact you two care for each other, which I think is something special.” He offers Arthur a smile. “I do hope that knowing that can help you, Prince Arthur. My heart aches quite a bit when you are sad.”
And with that, he turns away with a wave and heads into the room.
Arthur mulls over Rustica’s words, clasping his hands together to mimic him as he tries to commit them to heart. It’s difficult to think of himself as anything special when he has nothing to show for it. Still, he wants to believe that his memories of Oz’s warmth when he was a child weren’t a lie. (He wants to be special.)
It isn’t long before he’s standing on the threshold to the den. Though his thoughts are still conflicted, it’s as if an invisible thread pulls him towards the room. The furniture is much the same as four years ago, comfortable and practical as most of Oz’s things are. The fireplace casts the whole room in a soft orange light, filling the space with warmth and the comforting sound of wood crackling. The windows tremble from the wind outside, which makes the fire even more inviting. And next to the fire, in his usual high-backed armchair, is Oz.
His cloak hangs over the back of the chair along with his hat, a half-full glass of wine on the end table. An open book lays on his lap, a scene so familiar to Arthur he has to keep telling himself that he’s no longer thirteen, that a quarter of his life has passed by since he was last here.
Just as when he was younger, Oz can tell he’s there even without looking up. “What do you need, Arthur?”
His heart pounds as he thinks—what does he need? It’s never really been about a place to sleep.
“I...Master Oz, if you don’t mind, may I spend some time with you?”
Oz doesn’t move for a moment, considering the words in that unhurried, thoughtful way of his that Arthur is still conscious of. Then he closes his book, placing it on the end table. “Of course.”
The simple allowance makes Arthur’s anxieties smaller. Beaming, he goes to pull over a chair, the same one he’d used as a child. It’s easier to pick up now, which throws him a bit off balance.
“Vox Nox.”
Arthur yelps as the chair sweeps him off his feet, carrying him over next to Oz. They’re practically on top of each other, Arthur’s chair perpendicular to Oz’s and facing the fire so that they have barely any leg room between them. Oz yawns, blinking sleep out of his eyes for using magic this late. He doesn’t try to move Arthur further away.
This close, the fire feels like a blanket, and only then does Arthur realize that he is very, very tired. It comes all at once, the journey here, the overwhelming emotions of returning, the battle he’s still waging with himself over his feelings towards his room. They sit in silence for a while as he tries to gather his rapidly deteriorating thoughts, wanting to say so much but also nothing at all as his body droops in his seat.
Oz doesn’t push him to talk, content in the quiet as he always is. After watching for a few minutes, he pulls his cloak off the back of his chair and lays it over Arthur, bringing the fur collar all the way up to his neck.
“If you are tired, you can rest here,” he says kindly. “I can carry you back to your room if you fall asleep.”
Arthur nuzzles into the fur at his chin, a small comfort as he finally says to him, “Master Oz, I no longer have a room here.”
Oz freezes, brow furrowing as he looks down and away. “Yes, that is true.” He pauses before his expression softens, a small, if a bit sad, smile on his face. “It felt as if you were younger and falling asleep while reading by the fire like you used to. It made me forget, for a moment.”
Arthur nods. “I’ve also been remembering and forgetting things tonight. I know where all the rooms are in this castle, but I also forgot I didn’t have a place to sleep.” He purses his lips and takes a deep breath before asking in a near inaudible voice, “Master Oz, can I still have a place here?”
As always, there isn’t an immediate reply. The fire pops in the background, the logs shifting as they burn. The shadows dance over them as Oz stares at him, deep in thought, searching for the right words before, finally, he answers, “I destroyed your room because you were gone, not because I never wished for you to return.”
He continues, “Your place is still as Prince of Central Country. However…” He trails off, lips turning downwards a bit in concentration as he finds what he wants to say. “If you wish to visit, just like today I will not stop you.”
Oz places a hand on Arthur’s head, smoothing out his hair. Then he smiles, light dancing in his eyes from more than just the fire, and something grips at Arthur’s chest, an overwhelming feeling that has him rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Oz’s back for the second time today.
He remembers when he was smaller, he would fit comfortably in Oz’s lap to read picture books in this same chair; now his limbs fall out of the seat in an awkward fashion, but in many ways it’s comfortable all the same. The two of them feel comfortable once more, and Arthur, for one, is glad for it.
He still isn’t sure how he feels about his room; he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to easily explain how he feels about it, no matter what Cain and the others seem to infer. But perhaps he didn’t need to explain, just as he has never been able to explain his relationship with Oz. Just as with his room, the important things have never been tangible.
Oz returns his hug, unconsciously rubbing small circles on Arthur’s back. “My bed is large enough for the both of us,” he comments. “If it’s alright with you, that should solve our sleeping arrangements for the night.”
Arthur can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from within him, giddily tightening his embrace just a bit. In the end, Riquet didn’t even have to threaten Oz; he gave Arthur his bed all on his own.
“If you don’t mind, Master Oz, I’d like that very much.”