Welcome home.
Author's notes: Sorry for the delay but I broke my laptop!
I didn't really write with any tracks in mind this time but there are definitely sections so feel free to use your imagination. Hope you enjoy this one!
Marcassin sent Esther back to Al Mamoon the moment she was relatively fit to travel with escorts from Hamelin to ensure that she got there safely - she was in such a state of shock after the incident that she seemed to be rendered mute. Marcassin sent her on her way with promises to write to her with any news. He would never forget the haunting way she stared out of the carriage window as she left. Her eyes, blank and lifeless.
He had hoped to shield her from seeing him like that. That thing that Esther saw was no longer his brother, or their friend. He was an uncontrollable wretched creature. The decision to move him to the dungeons had been difficult but the day that he had attacked both Esther and himself had proved him to be a danger to everyone around him. Despite this, he had still gone down to his cell to try to talk to him each day though in his heart he had known it was useless.
Esther had saved his brother, his family. He had deliberately misled her and yet she still gave a piece of her heart. He owed her so much. He desperately wished that he had stopped her from seeing the horror of what his brother had become. He could have held her arm more tightly, he could have cast a spell, or something. He would never forgive himself for his great betrayal.
Unable to leave the kingdom and his brother, Marcassin began writing to Esther as he had promised, hoping that she would at least read them and be comforted by the news.
It had not been an easy feat to force the cure down Swaine's throat. Despite his emaciated state his madness seemed to give him unthinkable strength. It took several guards to restrain him and hold him still long enough to pour the sleeping draught-laced cure into his mouth and make him swallow. Almost immediately, he had become still.
Marcassin had Swaine moved back into his old room and had him bathed, shaved and dressed whilst he was asleep for good measure. As he lay sleeping in the bed, he looked more like himself again - the Swaine version at least, not the Gascon one, although he was now almost skeletal. He cheekbones were alarminging exposed through the almost translucent skin. In his madness he had refused to eat, thinking everything was poisoned. Marcassin was sure that he would have starved to death in the dank cell if the cure had not been successful.
He was determined to stay by his side so that he was the first thing he saw when he woke up. He knew he was putting off important meetings but nothing else would ever be more important now. He had already let Esther down, he couldn't let his brother down too. It was a small step towards redemption.
When Swaine did awaken a few days later he remembered nothing. He opened his eyes to a strangely familiar room. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at his scarred hands in wonder. He didn't recognise himself.
He looked at his body covered in scars, bruises and scratches. He was shocked by how thin his arms were. He held them up in front of his face, gazing at the bones in his wrist jutting out, the yellows of old bruises and the purples of the fresher ones.
He then realised that there was something behind his hand. Focusing on the shape in the near distance his eyes slowly adjusted and he saw his brother watching anxiously from the chair beside the bed.
'Marcassin… what happened to me?' he croaked.
'Do you honestly want the truth?' Marcassin replied gravely.
Swaine nodded. Marcassin hid nothing and told no lies. From the curse, to its effects, Esther's mission, the cure, his madness, the attacks… By the end Swaine was distraught. He could hardly believe it to be true yet tiny jarring images kept flicking into his mind's eye, repressed memories. He saw snapshots of what had happened and realised it all to be true.
He stared at his hands in horror as Marcassin left him to his thoughts.
I really was a monster. What have I done to Esther, Marcassin, and everyone else? These hands… what have they done?… How could I?
Burying his face in the pillows he screamed until his he had no voice left.
The road to recovery was long and difficult. He was almost constantly exhausted and had to strengthen his muscles again to do the most basic of things like standing and walking. Seeing his frustration with how slowly his recovery was going, Marcassin suggested chess - 'Chess exercises the mind, encourages patience, and uses strategic thinking and logic' he had said.
What a load of crap Swaine had thought, but unable to say no to his brother they sat down and played once a day. He humoured him and lost every time.
In secret Swaine began working on a new gun. Esther had apparently taken his old one with her when she left and he felt plain wrong without it by his side. He slowly amassed the parts required by sneaking out on rainy nights, when everyone else around him was too busy rushing through the rain to see the hooded Lost Prince slinking through the shadows and climbing through windows. Without the aid of his gun he had to go back to thieving the old fashioned way. In a way, he was glad for the challenge. In truth, he knew that he had become lazy with his skills since developing the gun – thieving was a piece of cake when you could grab with a gun through a window or round corners. Piece by piece he began rebuilding. Cog by cog, a petal pipe, a claw, a spring or two, he worked carefully in the night before eventually succumbing to exhaustion around dawn.
In Al Mamoon Esther's behaviour was worrying her father. She would sit on her bed hugging her knees to her chest simply staring into the distance. She let her hair hang down unbrushed day after day. She ate, but only when Rashaad sat with her and coaxed some soup into her like he was feeding a small child. It was like she was an empty shell of a person.
Rashaad was at a loss for what to do. This wasn't the grief from before, this was something else. She never spoke, the only sounds she ever made were piercing screams in the night. Each time he would run to her room to comfort her. Sometimes he would find her with her eyes closed, other times she would have her eyes wide open and staring at an imagined scene in the distance. She would not return his embraces as he held her. She remained in the same position, stiff and unmoving.
One day, Rashaad woke up and went to her room in the morning as usual to check in with Esther, only to find that she was not in her room. She was not in the house at all. It seemed she had disappeared. Panicking, he quickly dressed and ran out of the house. He ran through town searching and stopped dead when he reached his babana stall. Esther was there setting up. She turned and smiled a ghost of a smile.
'Good morning, Father' she said 'I thought I'd set up early and let you have a day off.'
He didn't know what to say. What had caused this sudden change in behaviour? She was dressed in her usual clothes and had her hair in a ponytail now that it was shorter after that unfortunate incident with a fireball, though she had spared her father the exact details of how that had happened.
'Esther, you should be at home resting' he eventually said.
'I've rested long enough, Father,' she said firmly 'its time for you to rest now.'
Walking over to her father she hugged him.
'Thank you, for everything' she said, her face pressed into his shoulder.
Rashaad went home and thought. This wasn't right, he could tell she was pretending to be happy but that look in her eyes… it was like when Shadar stole a piece of her heart… and she had closed it to protect herself! That was it! That was what Esther was doing. That Swaine boy would have a lot to answer for. Curse or no curse, no one should make his daughter become so… broken.
When he reached home he found a familiar figure sat on the step. The lanky figure was dressed in his usual black boots but in clothes that were typical of a certain Autumnian city. He raised his head as he heard Rashaad's footsteps approaching. The wretched beast had dared to come to his home.
'You…' growled Rashaad 'Haven't you done enough?'
'Please,' said Swaine as she stood 'I just wanted to see Esther – to thank her.'
'My answer is no. Now leave.'
'Please, Rashaad! Sir!' spluttered Swaine 'I came a long way and-'
'I know what you did. I think my daughter has seen enough of you.'
'But-!'
'Go home, Swaine' said Rashaad 'and don't try and contact Esther again. If you care about her at all, you'll leave her alone.'
He raised his staff to cast a teleport spell.
'Wait, no!' cried Swaine.
It was too late; he was already on the shores of Autumnia. Sinking to his knees on the sand he let the incoming tide wash over him.
Esther…
Unaware of her father's argument with Swaine earlier that morning Esther sat down to eat. After forcing some food into her stomach she finally came to look at the pile of letters that had been waiting on the table beside her bed for the past few weeks. Taking a pen to paper, she wrote a few words:
Marcassin,
I can't come back yet. Forgive me.
Esther.
Back on the beach Swaine let the tide wash over him as it climbed further and further up his body. His boots filled with water and he was soon soaked with the salt water but he remained lost in thought.
What was this pull he had for the Al Mamoon girl? Sure, she had been a travelling companion and they had spent many intimate moments together but they were by no means the first romantic encounters he had had. He had spent many evening with other women in the past, women as well, not girls like her. He had been able to leave them all behind without a backward glance but with Esther things were different.
What happened to him? All the hanging out with those kids had made him soft! He was Swaine! The ruthless thief! What did he care about what some silly girl thought of him! She was just one of many! He tried to persuade himself of these facts. Yet… Rashaad's words echoed in his mind.
Go home, Swaine.
Home. For years he hadn't had a place to call home. Where could he call home now? He was like a dandelion seed carried on the wind. He turned to look up the shore where Hamelin waited. Could he even call that place home anymore? He had been gone so long that he had almost lost sight of the reason for his abrupt departure.
The clouds were dark and there was a cold wind as he walked back to the city. As he and Marcassin played their chess later he could feel the humidity in the air. Keeping his face in a perfectly practiced neutral expression he smiled inwardly, tonight would be a night for a wander. The worse the weather, the more chance people would be paying more attention to that than him. With a sigh he moved his knight in a seemingly amateurish move.
Marcassin moved his queen to trap his brother's king.
'Checkmate' he murmured.
Darkness fell quickly. Soon the kingdom began shutting down and Swaine heard Marcassin bidding his guards goodnight. He would leave soon. As he put the hood of his cloak over his head he looked in the mirror to check that it covered his face adequately. Suddenly in the mirror where he expected to see his reflection he saw instead a terrible creature snarling at him. Frighteningly thin, sunken black eyes, a rabid animal. Choking on his fear he slammed his back into the wall. His heartbeat raced and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. His breathing quickened as he was filled with terror.
That was me. That was the monster.
He slid down the wall as fragments of the repressed memories flashed through his head. He put his trembling hands over his eyes as if he could block out the images flashing through his brain.
Fruit scattered on the floor. The sound of thumping on a heavy door. Iron bars. Bloody footprints. A swinging pendulum. Tuneless whistling. The smell of blood. Bleeding scratches. Esther crying, hand to her cheek. Guards dragging him out of his room. Throwing the furniture around his cell. Marcassin's panicked face as he wrapped his hands around his throat. Tears. Vomit. Esther shouting his name.
He wasn't sure when memories turned to nightmares. He found himself standing in his room with skeletal hands crushing around the throats of Marcassin and Esther. He held them off the floor as they struggled. Tears flowed down their faces as the begged to be let down. Something inside him urged him on. Something inside him enjoyed killing them. Marcassin's face began to blur and his face was replaced with that of his father, Esther's became his mother's, a face he hadn't gazed upon since Marcassin's first birthday. Her wavy brown hair was wet with her tears. His father looked helpless.
All of a sudden it was as if Swaine was looking in through the window. He saw the monster he had become squeezing their throats. Their faces turned red, their eyes bulged as they gasped helplessly for breath. Horrified, he tried to punch through the window but he didn't even leave a crack, yet his knuckles were unbloodied. He continued hammering at the glass as he screamed.
His voice cracked and descended into sobs as he watched his parents' bodies turn limp and watched his monster self throw their bodies aside. Esther and Marcassin appeared in the doorway and the creature launched himself at them and began attacking them. Despite the walls and windows, their cries and screams were unmuffled. As the cries abruptly stopped and their bodies became still Swaine's fists broke through the glass and he tumbled through. The creature turned to face him with its terrible eyes. Looking around him he saw the vacant eyes of his family and Esther. In terror, he dug his heels into the carpet and pushed his trembling body backwards. The creature ran towards him, now impossibly large, took his body in one hand and crushed him.
With a muffled cry, Swaine awoke with his face in the carpet. Sitting up he listened for any noise around him but there was nothing but silence and the ticking of the replaced clock on the mantelpiece. He needed to get a grip and keep going! Looking at the time his firmed his resolve. There was still time to get the last few parts he needed.
He did not sleep that night. There was too much work to do. It was well past dawn when he had finished his work. He heard the staff rising and preparing, then Marcassin who always rose early to take a walk before breakfast.
It was noon when he finally stepped into Marcassin's office. The younger prince was busy with papers and was startled when his brother opened his door without warning.
'Brother! You're early today!' he exclaimed in surprise as he stood from his desk 'I'm afraid I have some pressing matters to attend to today so we may have to postpone the chess for today.'
There was a pause.
'Yes, we will have to postpone, Marcassin' said Swaine quietly 'I'm leaving. This time for good.'
'W-what?' said Marcassin, forgetting his manners 'Why? Why now?'
Swaine looked away. The look of despair and disappointment in his brother's eyes was too much to bear. He could never be the hero his brother wanted him to be. He was a thief that broke hearts. He was a monster, the curse showed him that. He had hurt enough people, he had no choice. This was his last chance to do what was right. To redeem himself.
'I promised to protect you' he said 'but I can't protect you from myself… I have to protect you and everyone else.'
There was silence between them as Marcassin processed each of Swaine's words. Sometimes his brother could be so overdramatic, that had not changed over the years. He smiled.
'You need stop being such a martyr, Gascon' he laughed.
Swaine took a small step back in surprise. He had expected tears, begging, quiet acceptance but laughter? Had he misjudged his brother?
'You underestimate me, brother. I'm not a little boy anymore' continued Marcassin seriously 'I can protect myself from anything, including you. I am a great sage after all.'
'But…!'
'I appreciate that you want to protect me, but we're no longer children,' he said, silencing Swaine with a wave of his hand 'It's time we saw beyond ourselves and looked at the truth.
The truth is that you are not the monster you have convinced yourself of, nor are you the creature that attacked people – you were not in your right mind. The curse has lifted and the only thing that is plaguing you is fear. You're not a monster, you're a coward, running away from who you are… a good person, my brother, a prince of Kingdom of Hamelin.'
Swaine looked at the floor. The words stung, but it was true. Every word was true. Maybe that was the real reason he had left Hamelin. So for years he played the villain, away from the responsibility of people expecting more of him. But the truth was that he was tired, so tired of running.
'Gason, come home,' pleaded Marcassin 'I want you by my side.'
'You seriously want me back here? After everything?'
'I've waited for fifteen years for you to come back.'
Swaine smiled as his eyes began to water. He quickly looked at the floor hoping his brother wouldn't see. His heart was beating so fast. Could he really come back? Could he be Prince Gascon again? He was uncertain. His brain was telling him to turn and leave, his heart told him he belonged here, as it always had, no matter how hard Swaine tried to force himself to believe otherwise.
It wasn't the comforts of the palace, or the familiar love of mechanical invention. This was his home. His eyes fell upon a model of a robotic pig that they had made together as boys. To think that Marcassin had kept that all this time… His heart yearned for those carefree days, when he was with his brother, his family. When he was where he belonged.
He looked at Marcassin. His face was so earnest, he believed in his brother. He always had. Maybe it was time for Swaine to start believing in himself.
'Alright' he said, and nodded.
Marcassin smiled as he extended his right arm to him. They clasped hands in the traditional Hamelin handshake. The Lost Prince had finally returned to Hamelin.
'Welcome home, Gascon.'
