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saratogaroadwrites · 7 months

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For King and Country (99/122)

For King and Country | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount: 280,466 characters: Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane, Aranella, Batu, Tani, Lofty, Leander Aristidies, Bracken Meadows relationships: Roland Crane & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Aranella & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane & Aranella, Batu & Tani, Batu & Evan, Tani & Evan, Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum & Lofty, Rolander other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Place Slowly Becomes Home People Slowly Become Family, Found Family, For Want of A Nail warnings: Vaguely suicidal implications in the context of ending bonded lives, discussion of methods of execution (hanging, beheading)

Pulled from his world by mysterious powers, former president Roland Crane finds himself caught in the middle of a coup meant to take the life of the young King Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum. Joining forces with Aranella, the pair of them set out to aid Evan in making his dream of a kingdom where everyone can live happily ever after a reality.

But the road to peace is a long and treacherous one and there is no promise of success in a world where darkness spreads ever thicker with each passing day. If they are to stand a chance, they must stand together, for king and for country.

(A retelling.)

nhale for five, hold for five. Exhale for five, wait for five.

Watching the tiny cloud of steam dissipate in the freezing air of Dell’s dark dungeons, Roland counted off the seconds. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. He inhaled again, focused on keeping his breathing steady and calm. The counting kept him from spiraling out into his own exhausted, half panicked thoughts.

It’d be too easy to fall into them. The dungeons beneath Dell Castle were nearly as cold as a meat locker and about as dark as one. Only a single, flickering torch at the entrance provided any light, and the drafts of frigid wind gusting through holes in the mortar and open drainage ditches threatened to blow it out at any second, plunging him into pitch darkness. Outside, the blizzard howled on.

One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand. Four one thousand. Five one thousand. Exhale.

He had to do something, find some way to escape, but there was nothing he could do down here. He knew that, logically. They’d stripped him of all his gear and chained him up, chains connected to a pair of metal manacles that held his wrists together. His legs were free, but the chain only let him go halfway towards the bars. Even if he’d had a lock pick, he’d never have been able to reach the door. He was good and stuck and they all knew it. It was probably why neither Mausinger nor Vermine had thought to put a guard in here with him. They knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He knew it, too.

Panic tried to sink its claws in, colder than the stone he leaned against. He didn’t let it, going through another full cycle. Three of them made a minute, but he’d long since lost count of how many minutes he’d been down here. There was no way to tell time in the near-dark, no way to know if it had been an hour or more than one. He was utterly exhausted, but in too much pain to sleep. Each calming beat of his heart brought with it another throb of pain. Every so often, the curse on his shoulder and back would twinge, causing him to flinch and start his count over again.

At least they hadn’t decided to start torturing him for information, he thought. The knowing his death was soon to come was torture enough. He reached up a hand to rub his neck, throat still sore from screaming. What passed for execution in Dell, he wondered. Would they be mercifully swift and just chop his head off? Or would they drag it out, leave him hanging from a shoddily constructed noose.

He didn’t really want to know.

With a sigh that was a bit longer than five seconds, he leaned his head back against the cold stone and shut his eyes. Maybe if he tried to get some sleep, he could get some of his strength back. If he could just fight them off when they came for him in the morning, he could try to escape again. He had to try. He wasn’t ready to just give up and die. Not yet. Not without saying goodbye to the others first.

Alex and Trevor were just going to have to wait a little bit longer.

His shoulder pulsated, the twinge stronger now than before. A choked off grunt escaped his throat before he could stop it. The curse was spreading, cold fingers reaching down his back. Maybe, if he was really unlucky, this thing would finish him off before Mausinger ever could. What a way to go that would be. Would he become like the Black Knight, a slave to Dark Magic fit to be tossed against any enemies of his master? Or would he simply succumb to the Darkness and cease to be? He snorted at his own curiosity.

At least it was better than panic.

As he started up his breathing exercise again, a warm sensation wrapped itself around his chest. It was almost like slipping into an old, favored sweater, the fabric gone soft with wear and the scents as comforting as a familiar embrace. He’d felt something like this before, a nagging feeling of familiarity that had called his attention like a child tugging on his hand. Exhaling, he closed his eyes.

“Are you going to stand there looming the whole time?” He rasped, voice bouncing off the stone walls. For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, a snort. A slippered foot scuffed across the frozen stone, headed towards him.

“Perhaps. Do you intend to shoot me once more?” Doloran asked. Roland rolled his head along the stone, opening his eyes just enough to watch as the other man walked out of the shadows in a corner, the weak torchlight flickering on the golden scales of his headdress. With a snort of his own, Roland spread his chained hands.

“No shooting this time,” He said sarcastically, too tired for even an attempt at polite. “Unless you count witty comebacks as bullets.”

Dolaran shook his head. His robes and cape fluttered around his ankles as he crossed the cell in three strides. He loomed almost directly overhead for a few seconds, giving Roland the distinct impression that he was being surveyed like an interesting tract of land, before Doloran went to his knees beside him. He clearly wasn’t concerned about being grabbed. Body heat radiated off of him, and it took almost more willpower than Roland had left not to lean into that warmth.

“Perhaps you should have saved some of those for your captors,” He said, his accent just this side of cultured. It sounded different than the accents in Dell, more refined. But then, it was nearly three thousand years old. Language changed in less time. Doloran’s frown was half hidden in shadow but evident in his voice as he added, “You have been tainted by Dark Magic. What happened?”

“What,” Roland narrowed his eyes at the sudden concern, “You worried I’m going to keel over and take us both out?”

“You are hardly that weak, Roland,” Doloran retorted sharply, “I am simply curious as to who could have done such a thing to a man of your nature. Those of Dark inclination are often immune to such things.”

Was that right. Roland snorted.

“Which is why I’ve been having headaches around your Darkness since the day I first got here,” he almost snapped, reining in his temper at the last second. “If this taint you’re talking about is a curse, take it up with Vermine. He’s the one who you gave your powers to, isn’t he? This has your magic written all over it.”

Doloran’s frown deepened.

“Does it now? You would know everything about my magic, hm?”

He raised both hands. Roland fought back a flinch as two deep-green magelights sprung to life in his palms, their cores struck through with midnight-indigo. They hung suspended, lighting up the cell and casting shadows across Doloran’s headdress. That was all they did.

There was no headache. No added pain, nothing. Roland blinked, frowning.

“It’s…not your Darkness.” He whispered, mind whirling. Was it Vermine? No, it couldn’t be. Not the whole time. Vermine hadn’t been in Goldpaw, or in Hydropolis, and he’d gotten the headaches there. Doloran had been in both places, but—oh. Oh, it was so obvious! It was—

“Correct,” Doloran cut off the thought. The magelights rose from his hand, hovering above them both. “The Darkness that has tainted you is one far greater than either my nature or your own. It is…touched by malice, and hatred.” He inclined his head. “And you say Vermine did this to you?”

Suddenly all too aware of his position here, Roland swallowed back his true revelation. Slowly, he nodded. He watched as Doloran’s pensive frown fell away into a disgusted snarl.

“The blasted traitor. Had I not been forced to work with such imbeciles, I never would have—” He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. “It matters not. He will receive his just reward in due time.”

“I’m sure he will.” Roland said. As the adrenaline began to fade, he leaned his head back against the stone once more. “Not that it’s going to matter in a few hours.”

Doloran startled. “What?”

“You didn’t hear?” Roland cocked an eyebrow. Here he’d thought Doloran watched everything. “Public execution at dawn. By this time tomorrow, neither you nor I will be around to have problems anymore.”

Fear sunk its cold grip into his heart. He wasn’t ready, not yet, not like this—he forced himself to take a deep breath, drawing what strength he could from the familiarity Doloran’s presence brought with it. He just had to keep it together. Keep it together and think. Maybe he’d think of some way out of this mess if he could just keep his head on straight!

“And yet, you do not seem troubled by this.” Doloran said with a frown. “Do you truly wish to die, Roland?”

Did he? He thought about it for a second, but the answer was pretty obvious. No, he didn’t want to die. Just the opposite, really. He wanted to go home, to be with his family, to sit around the breakfast table and laugh with everyone as Lofty tried once again to out-eat four Higgledies at once. To spar with Evan in the training yard, go over the maps with Batu and Tani or help Bracken with her ever-growing list of projects. Spend time in his office working with Aranella to better their home.

To walk the roads with Leander, being there for their people and drawing comfort from the man’s calm, steady presence even as his heart skipped a beat or two in ways best known to lovestruck teenagers.

The thought made him smile. He laughed under his breath, maneuvering his hands to wipe away a stray tear. Oh, he was such an idiot. Here he was with a second chance and he’d never said anything at all. Kept it all locked away inside out of fear and guilt and now…

“No,” he admitted honestly, the word getting stuck on a lump in his throat. He cleared it away with a painful swallow and added, “I don’t. And I’m not intending to just let this happen, but—” Taking a deep breath, he raised his chin defiantly. “I swore an oath, Doloran, to protect my people. I’ve known for years that, if it came down to it, I would gladly give my life.”

If only by taking the largest threat down with him when it was all over. It was a small comfort, but one he’d take all the same.

“Your devotion to those you call yours is without question,” Doloran said, his voice oddly gentle. “But what if I told you that there was a way to save them all? Both here, and in the world of your birth?”

Roland startled. “What?”

“You and I are connected,” Doloran pressed a hand to his chest, just above his heart. “In times long past, bonds such as ours were quite common. Soul Mates existed in droves, binding pairs between our two worlds. The worlds themselves were once thought to be bound as well, connected in such a way that what happened to one…”

“Happened to the other.” Roland finished. He had the faintest idea of where this was going. With the start of the war, his world would have fallen apart. For too long, this world had been divided. Were the events connected somehow? Or had what had happened to Allegoria all those centuries ago sent his world over the edge? He shook his head. Whatever it was didn’t matter now. “Why does that matter? My world is dead by now.”

“Perhaps, but if you and I are connected, why not our nations as well?” Doloran inclined his head. “I aim to restore Allegoria to its former glory, that is all. Should I achieve this goal, it is likely that your nation, and your world itself, shall be restored as well.”

Would it? Could it? He almost wanted to hope, but something was screaming in the back of his mind to not believe a word of this. It was too good to be true, and yet…

Doloran must have taken his silence as acceptance, because he reached out a single hand, the fingers lightly curled.

“Come with me,” He said, “Let us work together, as we were meant to the moment our Souls were bound! We shall restore our worlds, and bring back those we loved!”

Those they…loved.

Alex. Trevor.

“I…”

Whatever Roland had been about to say was lost as the curse throbbed across his back, harder than before. The sharp pain stole the breath from his lungs and caused him to double over. The door to the dungeon creaked open, plodding, unarmored footsteps making their way down the stairs.

“And how are you enjoying your accomodations, Roland—ah!” Vermine startled into a squeak, “M-Master Doloran! What a surprise!”

Doloran’s presence rose as the man got to his feet in a flutter of cloth that did little to hide his growl. Roland lifted his head just enough to peer above his knees as Doloran strode out of the cell like the bars weren’t even there. Vermine took a single step backwards.

“I was not expecting you, Master—what is it that brings you to our fine city?”

“I have heard that your King finally took hold of his Kingsbond. I am here to claim it, as per our agreement.”

“Ah, yes, well—” Vermine cleared his throat. “I am afraid that Mausinger has yet to summon for Oakenhart, Master, so I do not know if you would be able to—”

“My patience grows thin, Vermine,” Doloran took a step towards the portly mouse, “I have given you power and time. You swore an oath to give me Oakenhart’s Kingsbond.” Another step and he was looming, wreathed in the flickering torchlight. “Are you going back on your word?”

“O-of course not!” Vermine scrambled to say, “I would never—I am simply—I will deliver Oakenhart’s bond to you as soon as I am able, my lord! Please, give me a little more time—”

“You have had nearly a year!” Doloran erupted, and Roland found himself flinching back as well. “And now I come to find—”

He stopped himself. Took an audibly deep breath.

“…M-my lord?”

“Forgive me, Vermine. I did not mean to shout.” He shook his head, the coiled tail of his headdress slipping across his shoulders. “I understand your position. One cannot rush such things.”

“Yes, yes, exactly!” Vermine hurried to say, relief plain in his voice. “But my word is good, Master Doloran. I will make him summon if it is the last thing I do!”

“See that you do. Now.” Doloran looked over his shoulder at Roland. “This one will be coming with me.”

“Ah—” Vermine startled, blinking rapidly, “Master Doloran, truly, I owe you much and would be willing to give you anything you ask for in return, but sir—I am afraid I cannot allow you to simply take this traitor—”

“Allow me?” Doloran turned back around. Roland wondered about the expression on his face because Vermine scurried back, out of immediate reach. “You think you can stand against me should I simply take him?”

“O-of course not! I merely—” Vermine stopped himself. “He is due for public execution at sunrise, my Lord. The people will no doubt revolt against such a merciless display! Were you to appear then, you could whisk him away and no doubt force Mausinger to summon to combat such a threat!” His voice lightened. “Do you see? This serves both of us!”

“…So it does.” Doloran didn’t sound convinced. “Very well. At sunrise, I will come for him. I expect him to be intact then, Vermine.”

“He shall be as intact as he is now, Master.” Cloth rustled. “I give you my word.”

With one last glance over his shoulder, and one final unconvinced ‘harrumph’, Doloran disappeared in a wash of shadow and clean, sweet smelling air. That faded away as Vermine stood up from his half-bow, a sneer clear on his snout.

“Of course,” he said, eying Roland, “One should never be too careful with those who say they have turned on their masters. You never know when they’re going to turn on you, instead.”

“You’d know a thing or two about that,” Roland swallowed back a rising sensation of sick. His racing heart refused to settle down. “How long have you been working against your own King?”

“Well now, for once you ask a smart question!” Vermine walked closer until he was just outside the bars. Even if Roland had had the strength to lunge at him, the chains would have pulled him up short by a good couple of feet. The rat knew it, too. “Perhaps if you tell me a few things, I may even answer it.”

Holding his head up high as he could, Roland narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I’m going to tell you anything?”

“Oh, not much. Truly, you ought to be commended for your loyalty, misplaced as it is.” Vermine’s smile was all teeth and malice, shadows playing along his sharp looking incisors as Darkness and flames swirled around his form. The curse, and Roland’s head, throbbed so painfully that he had to clamp his teeth around a cry. “Though I have heard that the Darkness makes people much more…talkative. Shall we see if such rumors are true?”

#nnk2 #ni no kuni 2 #nnk2 fic #!fic #fic: for king and country

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