Good day, dear readers. My newest chapter took a little while to finish, but compared to how quickly I usually update, I don't think this was too bad. This is one scene I pondered over for a while and one that is vital to the story. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 3: Unintended Magic

Strangely enough, it seemed that nightmares were the only thing that could motivate Marcassin to brave the corridors after the gaslights had been put out, the only manner in which the residents of the palace could distinguish between night and day when the city outside had no sky to speak of. For an untold number of consecutive nights, as Gascon had given up counting sometime after the first two weeks, the elder prince was woken by a frantic pounding on his bedroom door. The time range in which this happened was not important, only that it happened.

With what he hoped was a thoroughly put-upon groan, even if there was no one about to hear it, Gascon rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into his pillow. He was still of the relaxed boneless quality of one yet to have fully left the world of dreams, and in such a half-asleep state, he reasoned that lack of bones would be a poor time to leave the comfort of a warm bed and goose down pillows. Right now, in fact, he felt more akin to a slug than a boy anyway, and hard floors just didn't interest him at the moment.

A sigh attempted to escape him when the pounding at his door subsided, but it went nowhere when the pillow hindered its progress. Remembering that even slugs needed oxygen, or so he assumed, Gascon squirmed about in the tangle of sheets he had become ensnared in. Without bothering to open his eyes, he tugged at the offending corner of the blankets until the leg that had become confined was free, only to go still again once the discomfort had been corrected.

Sleep was hardly given a chance to reclaim him, however, for a new sound began out in the hallway, a wail with the hint of a name hidden inside it. Deciding he was only prolonging the inevitable, Gascon pressed the palm of one hand against the mattress to hoist himself out of bed, and he shivered in his pajamas as the cold air took this opportunity to nip at him.

By the time he opened the door to stare down at the culprit, his younger brother was still breathing heavily, his face red with tears.

Gascon rubbed his forehead, an act that only succeeded in flattening his hair down over one eye. "Another one?"

Marcassin continued to sniff, and he moved his head up and down in several exaggerated nods. "Uh-hmm."

"What was it this time?"

The young child began to whimper more than ever, and he choked on his next words nearly to incomprehension. "I-it wa-as just s-scary!"

"Well, at least stop crying. It's over now. And you can't keep waking me up every night, you know. Everyone gets bad dreams, but that's no excuse to run screaming through the hallways."

Marcassin wiped the tears from his right eye with his sleeve as he continued in jerky syllables, "How e-else c-can I ma-make you wake up?"

"Well, do you want to tell me about it?" Gascon asked as he brushed his hair out of his face.

"I d-don't know."

"Then, what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know." The child sniffed, but made no sign he had anything further to say.

Gascon huffed. "Look, if you're not going to tell me anything, you may as well go back to bed. I'm certainly not going to spend the rest of the night staring at you. If it makes you feel any better, I can walk you back to your room. Okay?"

Marcassin's red-rimmed eyes widened. "But, the monsters might have snuck back in."

"Then, I'll just have to scare them away again, won't I?"

Receiving no reply besides a wordless stare, Gascon stepped around the child with a roll of his eyes. Without once looking back, he proceeded to stride down the dark corridor and was rewarded with the pattering of bare feet as his brother darted after him. Neither said a word as they walked down the empty hallway even the guards rarely patrolled, though Gascon wondered if it would bring his brother any comfort if they did. The clatter of metal boots, he had to admit, was a bit disconcerting to hear in the middle of the night when one was not expecting it. What he was doing roaming the palace at such an hour was another story and one he was not sharing.

By the time they reached the door to Marcassin's chambers, the child's round cheeks retained only a fading blush from his earlier display. Pausing before the double doors, the two brothers exchanged silent nods. Gascon entered the room first, while his brother continued to linger in the doorway, where he could maintain a safe distance with his bed in full view to confirm his elder brother performed the ritual correctly.

The official monster-tamer took up a nearby lantern, still lit thanks to the child's insistence that he couldn't sleep otherwise and began to peer under the bed from all angles. He was forced to start over when he was reminded that the monsters would only be frightened off if he started from the wall and went counterclockwise. (It confused them, Gascon had said, though he hadn't realized this would inspire a suspicion of clocks until he had convinced the child that the two were in no way related.)

Once he was certain nothing unsavory lurked underneath Marcassin's bed, or in the wardrobe, behind the curtains, or beneath the pillows, he beckoned for his brother to join him with a wave of his arm.

"I didn't find anything," Gascon said, his head held high with the certainty of these words. "You have nothing to worry about."

The child shuffled into the room and cast an uneasy eye at the nearest dark corner. "What if they come in while I'm sleeping?"

"They can't. Most monsters don't even have thumbs, so they aren't able to open doors and windows."

"What about the ones that do have—"

"Just get in bed."

Marcassin did as he was told, though he hardly delved any deeper beneath the blankets than his stomach until a stern glance from Gascon sent him sliding under the rest of the way. With a firm nod of approval, the elder brother made for the hallway, only to pause in the doorway.

"Try to get some sleep, okay?" he said over his shoulder.

The child made a slow nod. "'K-kay… Good…good night, Gascon."

"Night."

Gascon closed the door behind him and began the journey back to his own room. The long corridor seemed even colder than the room he had just left, and it was only the lights from the city beyond, what little was able to make it through the high windows, at least, that were available to provide sparse illumination, but certainly not enough to breach the shadows that gathered overhead and obscured the ceiling as if there was none at all.

Sometimes he would have preferred it that way, for he had heard that outside the city, the sky filled with stars whenever night fell. He had heard it was like staring up at a million glittering gems, that you could never truly feel alone in this world, no matter how big it was, because you could always see those stars at night gazing right back down at you. That's what he had heard, but he couldn't possibly know if it was true. There were no stars in Hamelin.

He would sleep beneath the stars someday, even if only once.

Gascon's reverie was interrupted when he felt something heavy pounce on his back, and he wobbled on his feet in his efforts to steady himself under a very real burden that had not been there mere moments ago.

"Get off me!"

"Give me a piggyback ride, Gascon," a familiar voice said over his right shoulder. "Please? Just like you used to!"

The elder prince nearly choked thanks to the arms wrapped around his neck. "You're getting too heavy! Seriously, let go!" As if to prove his point, his whole stance began to sink until his knees met the floor. The weight disappeared, and Marcassin arrived into view a moment later.

"Sorry, Gascon."

"You were supposed to stay in bed this time," Gascon said, though he made no effort to stand, lest he be tackled again. "Don't tell me you already had another bad dream."

The child shook his head. "No. I can't sleep at all. Can I stay in your room for a while?"

Gascon stared up in silence at his younger brother, but rather than ask how several minutes was enough time to confirm that one would be unable to fall asleep, he merely rose to his feet with a shake of the head and continued down the corridor with a mumbled request to follow. He didn't need to look over to know that his brother had fallen in line beside him, and once they arrived inside the room in question, Marcassin took no delay in climbing onto the bed, where his short legs proceeded to dangle, with no hope of reaching the floor. For a good many years, at least.

Gascon, on the other hand, found his own seat in the form of a wooden chair with red cushions that had been left in the corner, the very one his mother had used when she had tended to him all throughout a bad case of the flu when he was about Marcassin's age. Any who hadn't already known would have had trouble believing in that moment that she was the empress of Hamelin. How it had managed to remain here for so long, he wasn't certain, but seeing as it had already occupied that spot for this many years, he saw no reason to move it now. It clomped in an awkward fashion as he attempted to drag it across the floor, and he gave up when he had succeeded in bringing it as close to the bed as he deemed necessary.

The younger prince continued to watch the elder in an expectant stillness as he absently went about curling and uncurling the toes of one foot. Gascon cleared his throat, but rather than speak, he directed his focus instead on anchoring his feet upon the floor to aid in lifting himself out of the slouch he had taken up just as soon as he had sat down.

"So…" he began, "are you going to tell me what your dream was about or not?"

Marcassin's hands grasped each other in his lap, and he shook his head.

Gascon gnawed on his lower lip and tried again. "Well, what…what do you think's bothering you this time? You haven't had this many nightmares since-" his words faltered, "since mother."

The child stared at the floor in deep consideration, his eyebrows knitted with the effort he put into it. When his answer arrived, he looked back up. "I'm…I'm probably just scared of the dark."

The elder prince shook his head, both hands grasping the edge of his seat. "No, that's not it. You should be getting less afraid of the dark by now, not more."

"I've always been afraid of it, though."

"But, you don't always have nightmares, now do you?"

Marcassin kicked his feet and shrugged. "Just little ones."

Gascon planted his forehead in both hands with a groan. "Then, what could it possibly be? I can't help you if you don't tell me what your dream was about."

By now, his younger brother had taken to wriggling the toes of both feet as he proceeded to stare down at them with a suspicious fascination.

"'Marcassin, Marcassin, you're not even listening!" Gascon said, and though the child's head gave a jerk at the mention of his name, it seemed the focus on his feet only doubled.

The elder prince rose from his seat to join his brother on the edge of the bed. He couldn't say he would receive any better results over here, but if he wasn't allowed to get any rest tonight, at least this was the closest he could come to it.

Marcassin looked over. "Are there any games we can play?"

Gascon yawned and rubbed his eyes. "I don't feel like playing any games right now."

The child straightened as a smile sprouted without warning upon his face. "I know, maybe you could teach me chess. Father tried to, but I didn't understand it. I bet you'd be—"

With a groan, Gascon fell back onto the bed and laid there with his arms sprawled wherever they had ended up. "Chess is a stupid game." There were simply too many rules, a fact that very well might account for his inability to have ever won.

Marcassin's face fell, and he returned to staring at his feet. "Gascon…"

"What?"

"What was…mummy like?"

Gascon stiffened. "What's that have to do with anything?"

"N-nothing, I…I was just wondering…"

The elder prince stared, unblinking, at the canopy above them, its shape uncertain in the gloom, like a dark shadow looming overhead. It had always made him feel rather claustrophobic, even if one of the maids was always insisting that it was the only kind of bed suited for royalty. He really ought to consider trading with her one of these days. "Don't worry, I'm sure you were Mother's favorite, too. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

A heavy silence fell over the pair, a stifling sort of quiet that gave no peace, but added to the cold that enveloped the room, only to grow colder still when it was broken. The interruption started off soft, nearly inaudible, and he had to wonder if it was all just his imagination, until Marcassin burst into sobs that eclipsed his earlier tears.

Gascon shot upright as the child's small body shook, with no signs of stopping. "Hey, M-Marcassin," he began, his mouth working to form the proper words around a tongue that had suddenly gone numb, "I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that!"

Marcassin choked and hiccupped, and it was impossible to say at first if the noises he made were attempts at speech or gasps until some meaning managed to force its way through. "Y-you d…d-don't like m-e, do-do you, Gascon?"

"That's…that's not it at all! I like you just fine! You're my brother. Just please stop crying, okay?"

The child lifted a hand to his nose, but made no effort to rub at his face. "Then, y-you're go-ing to h…hate me, I kn-know it! You-you'll be m-mad at me!"

Gascon opened his mouth, but found he had no words to say until he was provided with some elaboration that would shed further meaning upon his brother's statements. He received none.

"Wh…what are you talking about?"

Marcassin sucked air into his heaving chest and lifted a single, shaky hand overhead with a curious amount of gravity. The seeming mystery of the gesture compelled Gascon to stare, unblinking, at it, as if he expected it to divulge the answers. With only a moment's more hesitation, the child gave his arm an unsteady wave, and that was all it took.

He jerked back as the lantern on his night table burst ablaze, seemingly of its own accord. His eyes pressed closed as if they wished to retreat from the baffling sight, but when he opened them again, a bright orange flame continued to dance within the confines of the lantern where before there had been none. Its glow pushed back the darkness and reflected off the table's polished surface, just as real as if it had been created by more conventional means.

When he turned back to his brother, the child's tears had ceased, but the sheen they left as they dried still graced his cheeks. Marcassin's mouth remained open just partly, his eyes round and expectant, and in his pupils, the flame had split in two, one for each, and Gascon knew this could not be some trick from lack of sleep. A wave of cold washed over him, as if ice had settled within his veins, constricting his chest and numbing his very mind with its chill.

"You…can use magic," he said, his words barely audible. He licked his lips, expecting something to happen in the pause that followed, something, anything, befitting such a revelation. But the room remained just as silent, just as cold. "How long…" he continued, "how long have you known?"

A shuddering breath attempted to break free, but Marcassin just managed to pull it back before it could pass his lips. His words, too, were a whisper. "Do you hate me?"

"No, I-why…why would you think that?"

"B-because…" the child drew in a sniff, "because I'm not supposed to." He rubbed his nose. "I'm not supposed to use magic. You are. I…I d-didn't mean to."

"Marcassin, we…" Gascon swallowed. He always knew this day would come. "We have to tell Father."

"No, no, you can't-" Marcassin attempted to jump to his feet, but was held in place when his brother grabbed him by the arms. "No, Gascon-" he tried to struggle, but the grip upon him remained firm.

"We have to. This is important, and…" He bowed his head, his voice dropping, as well. "I-I know it's scary. I've spent my whole life worrying about…how I could never manage ruling an empire. But, the more time you have to prepare, the better. Right?"

When he looked up again, Marcassin's eyes were wider than he had ever seen them, and they bored into his own until it took all of his willpower not to look away. "Right?" he repeated and gave his brother a gentle shake. "Quit staring at me. I'm almost worried you've forgotten how to talk."

The child's nod was unconvincing, but at least it was an answer. "But, Gascon," Marcassin's voice shook, "wh-what happens to you?"

Gascon released him. "Don't you worry about me. If you're afraid to tell Father, I'll…I'll help you train. I think I've learned some useful things from my old magic teacher, and once you're ready, then we'll talk to him together. Okay? Everything will be fine, I promise." He forced his mouth into a smile. "I keep my promises, don't I?"

One corner of Marcassin's lips lifted in half a grin of his own, and he threw his arms around his brother's neck in a sudden embrace. While the eldest was slow to respond, at first, he eventually did so thanks to a practice in such things all older siblings were forced to endure.

"It'll just be our little secret," Gascon said, and he felt his brother nod in his chest, paired with a muffled "mm-hmm" in the affirmative.

"Gascon," Marcassin turned his head to the side to better aid in proper speaking, "who comforts you when you get bad dreams?"

Gascon pushed his brother from him by the arms and considered him with the most serious expression he could muster. "Well, it would be impossible for me to answer that question because I don't get bad dreams."

"Never?" his brother asked, and Gascon shook his head as the traces of a smirk crept across his lips.

"Never," he repeated. "Now, are you finally ready to leave me alone and go to bed or do I need to carry you out of here kicking and screaming?"

Marcassin nodded in all earnest, and he grabbed Gascon by the hand for the return to his room and a bedtime long put off. It was lost to him, however, that his brother's smirk had since vanished from his face and his grip was lacking the strength a big brother should rightly have. For Gascon's mind had acquired a few too many things to ponder over during the course of their talks. Dreams were one thing, the good and the bad.

The real question was, who was there to comfort him during his waking hours?

Piggyback ride. Pun not intended. Anyway, I always thought it would be a scary moment in Gascon's life when he realizes that his future is no longer certain, even if the possibility of being the next emperor isn't the most soothing thought one could have. And I really enjoyed writing these two interacting. I see Gascon as a grumpy, but caring older brother. Kind of harmlessly crabby.

Please review, dear readers.