Disclaimer: I don't own the Keys to the Kingdom.
Author's Note: I noticed that at the end of Lord Sunday, the Piper says that he should have believed his rats when they told him that Saturday had him cast into Nothing. That made me think, why didn't he believe them?
He had been a fool.
A mere puppet. A tool at the disposal of someone else. He remembered her even now.
He remembered that time long ago.
"Mother has left," he had said to Saturday. "And has left my elder brother in charge and a Will behind." The Mariner was interested in the sea. Sunday in the Gardens. He was interested in her.
She smiled, her electric-blue hair billowing around her as if a breeze had touched it. That smile could light up a world, he used to think. He remembered it even now, how nice she had been. How happy. He used to think the world of her. She could never be wrong, she was perfect. She was everything that drove him.
There were the moments when she was depressed. When she seemed sad. She opened the cause for her worries; it was that Sunday ruled the Gardens.
"You would make a much better Lord than him," she had said. "I would be much happier serving under you."
He had actually blushed. Not that he cared for being lord of anything, he was interested in very little things. Those children that he had rescued from death in the Secondary Realms, his rats, Saturday, his world was so small.
"That Grim Tuesday overprices his goods," she had once growled once. Seeing her upset, he had offered to make everything the Upper House needed. No cost involved. She had giggled, actually giggled.
"Thank you, if only your brother was just as nice," she had said. It was the only part of her that had disturbed him. A dislike for his eldest brother. Though he didn't exactly agree with Sunday on most occasions, they were still family.
However, he ignored it, hoping that she would soon turn around. Hoping that she actually cared for him.
He had been blind.
Whenever he came, whether with flowers handpicked from a Secondary Realm or a new tune on his pipes for her, she would say a snide comment about Sunday. She painted a rosy picture of them living happily together, with him as Lord Sunday and her as his deputy. With time, he even began to believe her. One day, he had argued with Lord Sunday a lot.
The next day, he was tumbling towards the Void. He had barely saved himself. Barely. He made his worldlet. He planned his revenge. He was so sure that Sunday had been the one to attack him.
"Sire," one of his rats once said, "we believe that it was actually Saturday."
"Quiet!" he had snapped in rage. "Do not even dare to blame her."
The rat cowered, but still pressed on. "Sire, we believe that she does not truly love and merely seeks to use you-"
"Enough!" he had shouted. The rat scurried away. He continued making his army.
He had been deaf.
Oh, he had thought of a thousand reasons why Saturday didn't come to his aid. The other Morrow Days, including Sunday, would not approve, he thought. He did, however, send her messages of his well-being and his plan to strike against Sunday.
He did not wonder why she did not let him enter the Upper House while she was preparing her ram to strike the underside of the Gardens. She couldn't risk it, he had thought. But he had to help her.
When he entered the Gardens, and took her under his wing instead of killing her, he had not noticed it. The fear and resentment in her eyes. She had said she would have been proud to serve under me, he thought. He could not see the truth.
And now, the Heir had won. The Piper had only one question to put to his brother, hoping against hope that his rats had been wrong. They hadn't been.
He understood everything now. Saturday had never loved him. She never intended to give him the honor of being Lord Sunday. She had only sought to distract him in case he would aid Sunday. But then she found out that he was easier to manipulate than she had thought, and had sought his support against Sunday. But he had grown rash, and she was forced to dispose of him as he was too open with his anger. Dispose of him like someone would of a tissue they had blown in. Every moment of happiness he had shared with her crumbled into ashes in his mind, leaving nothing but shame of hating his brother.
She had let him invade the Great Maze. Not because she cared for him, but because it would help her. His eyes accused her of all of this as he advanced on her, and a thousand other things as well. Her eyes had no answer. He could see that all of his suspicions had been true, the veil called love had been lifted from his eyes.
He stabbed her, as she deserved, but before dying, he had shot a look at his brother. The Heir did not notice, he was far too clouded in visions of his own power. The look said, "Do you forgive me?"
His brother's face lost all of its pride and arrogance for an instant. It was the face of the caring elder brother that he knew. The look said, "Yes, and I wish it could have ended differently." The Piper smiled just an instant before he entered the Void, he was no longer mad at his brother.
He had been forgiven.