Like I said in my previous chapter's author's notes, this story is going to be kind of a collection of scenes (in chronological order, but still), so this chapter takes place some time after the first one. Anyway, you'll see what it is soon enough. Enjoy!

Chapter 2: The Hamelin Way

Gascon stood transfixed by two voices he knew all too well, that could have been too easily lost beneath the drumbeat of his own heart had he not channeled all his focus into straining his ears for every syllable, every pause, every breath that was taken, had the last been possible to detect at this distance. The only other thing he was paying any attention to was pressing his back against the cold wall behind him in such a statuesque stillness, he would have greatly benefited from sprouting roots to assist in holding him steady.

Long had certain questions plagued his mind, the deceptively simple "what if" that had served to torment mankind since before even the Nazcaan civilization was but a distant future. As long as they remained in his mind, however, they could do him no harm. As long as they never broke free, to find a voice to utter them and make them real, he had nothing to fear.

"But, Your Majesty, as I'm sure you're well aware…" came the meeker of the two voices through the crack in the great double doors the prince had found himself frozen beside.

"If I'm already aware, as you have just admitted, then I'd think there's no need to say it, now is there?"

Gascon winced at the deep voice whose very tone he had come to dread, that could inspire feelings of inadequacy in even a bumblebee over how well it flew. If anyone had left the doors ajar on purpose, if the gap through which their words could flow was intentional and a jury was debating over the culprit, he would be their man.

There was a pause, which he knew from experience was not for lack of something to say, and which he was certain must be accompanied by fidgeting, and then the first voice made a second attempt. "My lord, the heir to the throne must also be the next Great Sage. It has been this way since, well, generations, many, many generations. If he'd only apply himself, I'm sure I could-he's just a boy, but he could learn if you just. Give. Me. More. Time."

A soft chuckle just managed to creep forth from the room. "Are you pleading for his case or your own?" Several slow and heavy footsteps followed that forbade interruption. "As you are no doubt aware, my eldest son has no magical potential to speak of. You have expressed as much yourself. Unless this was untrue…."

There was no reply.

"He will not, will never, become a Great Sage," the deeper voice continued, "Nothing can convince me otherwise."

"He is only eleven, Your Majesty. We cannot…can-can his fate really be determined at so young-" the voice broke off, and even Gascon drew back in anticipation of the reply.

"I had full control of my magical abilities by his age. My decision is final."

A new silence fell upon the three, though had the speakers within uttered another sound, there was little chance Gascon would have caught it. He sucked in a deep breath as if it was his very last before being enveloped in rising floodwaters, only to clamp his jaw shut, lest any further noise escape him. His heart hammered within his chest with a fervor that put its earlier pace to shame, and he managed to reign in racing thoughts just in time to realize the discussion had not yet come to an end.

"It was…" a soft voice began, the words trembling, "it's been an honor and a pleasure to serve your household, Your Majesty. If you are ever in need of my services again—"

"I will contact you, yes. You have served our family well. Rest assured your dismissal is not for lack of effort."

No answer could be heard in return, and a small part of him wondered if perhaps he had gotten it all wrong. Perhaps he had stumbled upon a conversation between two entirely different people, who had come to discuss anything else.

The prince stiffened when the sound of soft-soled boots shuffling across the hard floor met his ears, already so close, escape seemed an impossibility. He pressed his back further into the wall and willed the shadows to obscure him as a figure emerged through the doorway, a man whose thin face was trying very hard to convey relative youth but was betrayed by a single grey hair at his right temple. Even magic couldn't defend against aging forever.

The man's pale eyes locked onto the boy's dark ones, the former's lips quivering as they parted to express some sign of his surprise. The prince shook his head, and the other closed his mouth without a sound being made.

"Gascon…"

Their heads swiveled as one, as if their eyes had been pulled back to the room beyond by an invisible string. The fact that one side of the double doors was now open fully served little to make it more inviting.

"You've waited out there long enough. Now come in."

Gascon remained frozen to the spot, and when his eyes dared leave the door to venture back to the man standing beside him, all he received was an apologetic smile in return. His gaze fell away, and with no further delay than a deep breath to calm his nerves, he turned to obey the summons.

His father's audience room was in the usual style of the palace of Hamelin, though it always made the prince feel cold, colder than all the massive rooms of metal and tile that felt far too large for their own good. And that said nothing of when his father was in it.

The emperor of Hamelin needed no introduction, for none could have mistaken him for anyone less. Unlike his eldest son, wearing the rags of poverty would have fooled no one, for he stood with a regal bearing that would make a lion look like an oversized tomcat in comparison. Gascon winced as he was met with hard eyes that had never once softened in all his recollections of his father.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop, or you might hear things you won't like."

The prince hooked the index fingers of both hands behind his back and ran his tongue over his lips, though it brought no relief when both were dry. "I-I wasn't," he told the far corner of the room, but said no more once he decided further defense was futile.

"And yet, somehow you heard it all, haven't you? I can see it in your face. You know as well as I that you will never be able to wield magic. Further waiting around was pointless."

"I tried. You think I didn't, but I—"

"Am I not correct?"

Gascon returned his arms to his sides when his father tucked his own hands behind his back, for it was clear who would win in a competition of similar stances. "I could have, maybe, if you'd cared enough to give me a proper chance—"

"Can you so much as light a candle without the aid of a match? Could you, if even your very life depended on it, heal a wound?" His father's voice boomed, and in case volume alone didn't do the trick, his tone, too, was enough to still the prince's tongue and cause clenched fists to go slack. "Even if you had cared," he paused, "to spend as much time studying as you do staring dreamy-eyed out windows, you will never possess so much as a spark of magic. Denying it won't do you any good. Now is this the truth or isn't it?"

The boy swallowed at the lump that had formed in his throat, and he was compelled to provide an answer when his father's eyebrows leapt upon his forehead. The prince inclined his head in a sullen nod.

"When I ask you a question, I expect a spoken answer. Now speak!"

Gascon's lips worked to force out a response, but only empty air came forth, until, with a choke, he said, "Y-yes, but…" he tried licking his lips again, with no more success than the first time, "but did you…did you really have to say all that to my teacher?"

The emperor chuckled, though if it had contained any hint of humor, the boy couldn't find it. "He certainly would have known once I had dismissed him, would he not? As if he wasn't already aware of the matter. I won't mince words for your own comfort, Gascon."

As if afflicted by some sudden exhaustion, his father bowed his head, a sigh escaping him as he rubbed his forehead with one hand. The prince tensed as he awaited the man's next words, only to stare in befuddlement when his father removed the sword he always kept at his belt and held it in both hands before him. Its gilded scabbard was elaborately decorated, a visible sign of the man's power that ensured his position as one of the four Great Sages and Emperor of Hamelin would never be forgotten.

"My son," the emperor said, his voice mild, but no less commanding, "I have long meant to pass this on to you one day, when you were grown. And yet," his hard eyes closed for the briefest of seconds, "I find it all the more vital I entrust it to you now. If you can't protect yourself with magic, at least you will have this."

Born of pure reflex and the unspoken knowledge that this was no time to disobey, Gascon took the blade offered him without looking at it. His eyes remained instead on the face of his father, parted lips unable to close, for there were countless questions they yearned to ask, but he picked just one to voice.

"What happens…if Marcassin learns to use magic?"

The emperor laughed and slapped a large hand down on his son's shoulder. "I should think you already know the answer to that question by now. If your brother does indeed show promise as a Great Sage, you would need to find yourself a new role to play within the empire. Everyone must find a way to be useful. That is the Hamelin way, after all."

Goodness, the second half of this chapter really required some hardcore editing. I'm much happier with it now, though. I just have trouble writing for Gascon's father. His time in the game isn't that long, so there isn't much time to study his dialogue and the like. Nevertheless, I still enjoyed writing the dialogue between Gascon and him. Sometimes I made him too harsh and sometimes not harsh enough, but I think the editing fixed all that. Anyway, please review, my dears!