Wither and decay end this destiny,

Break these earthly chains,

And set the spirit free, the spirit free.

A haunting melody crawled over fallen walls of stone. Slowly it filled each corner with misery, draining the life from everything in its reach - a true fuel for nightmares.

He rose to its sound. Familiar voices whispered in the dark. Violently his head throbbed against his skull as colorful spots danced in front of his vision. He shoved down the upcoming nausea. Not sure what had happened, he tried to lift the fog from his hazy mind till it gave way to a flood of memories: a blizzard swallowing the kingdom; his son's gaze clouded in fear; ice and snow and pain waiting outside. And then Varian left. No. It was dangerous! Why didn't he stop him? Why didn't he go after him? Why - A yellowish glow flashed before him, the burning sensation of chemicals crawling over his skin, an acrid smell, and the eerie silence shattered by a crunch that grew and grew, coming from every direction, getting closer, getting louder, more frantic - The amber. He was trapped, crushed from all sides. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything. There was no escape. His heartbeat quickened while the rock-like substance wrapped around his body. Time passed in slow motion, constricting and binding until the blackness of his golden prison was absolute.

"Dad! Dad, you're alive!"

He blinked.

The next second Varian flung himself at his chest, nearly knocking them off their feet. Quirin like always was there to soften the blow. Weak-kneed they reached for each other. Varian buried his face into his father's coat. Hot tears soaked through the fabric while the child wept freely in his arms. Never had Quirin felt more grateful in his life. He held on to him as tight as humanly possible. Reveling in the endless relief, he allowed himself to relax. His son was safe. They were together. Nothing else mattered.

"Dad the note! Wha-What-what did it say? I need to know."

Lovingly he watched Varian tumble over his words. Quirin gently cupped the sides of his face in his hands, his palm a vicious contrast to the white of his skin. He didn't think he could ever have this again, treasuring the moment on and on. Though he did remember the letter. He also remembered the regrets while writing. So many things untold, so many things never to be heard, all bleeding over a single crumbled piece of paper. What a fool he was. Varian deserved better, and Quirin would be.

"I am so proud of you Varian. I always have been," he summarized its core and pulled him back into the hug.

As the world tilted around them Varian leaned in. Surrounded by a steady warmth, and tugged under his father's strong arms he finally felt safe.

"I love you, dad," Varian sniffed, as he accepted the embrace, snuggling as close as he could. It soothed an ache inside Quirin he didn't know he had.

"I love you too, son."

He couldn't ask for more. Clinging to the sweet, kind light, he swore to always be there. However, behind the pride and joy lurked a shadow, for light was a tricky thing to catch. Quirin's smile faltered. He couldn't quite put it into words, but something was of and it worried him. Upon close inspection, Varian looked tired. Not his usual tired, when staying up all night to tinker with his machines. The tear-streaked eyes acted almost as a distraction for the heavy bags below. His exhaustion reached deep, it clawed at his very being, ugly scars and bruises engraved in body and soul as if Varian would fall apart if he'd pressed too hard. Cradling his fingers through the mop of black hair, he eased his touch.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it was just the stress from the current events sneaking up. Maybe - No it was nothing. Reassuringly he rubbed careful circles over Varian's back and then it hit him. From beneath his clothes, he could feel bones, sharp shoulder blades sticking out like thorns while he could sense the rips underneath Varian's vest pressing against him. Sure Varian always leaned on the skinny side of the spectrum, but never like this!

His gaze fell, and for the first time, he saw the thin and pale child for what it was. Had he been starving? Quirin was going to be sick. The thought was laughable. The Princess of Corona was with them, so his son was clearly under royal care.

The urge to shield Varian from the world fought with his rising confusion. What had happened? He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Someone would have to answer for this, but for now, he was content simply holding his son. He kissed the top of Varian's head. It was fine. Nothing that couldn't be fixed by a warm meal and a tad of sleep.

Everything was fine.

.

.

.

Or not?


AN: Lately, I think Quirin needed to hear Varian's 'I love you' as much as Varian needed to hear Quirin's 'I am proud of you'. Next: Honesty and a bleeding soul