Basically three life lessons for Laurent.
Canon typical warnings apply for oblique mentions of child sexual abuse.
#
1- Happiness is fleeting.
"Why?" Laurent asked again. It was his new favourite word and he was thoroughly pleased with his ability to frustrate everyone within five feet of him simply using that one word with various intonations.
"Because." Auguste answered breezily, for the third time, not varying his response. He ignored the pout that Laurent didn't even try to hide. Laurent tried a different tactic and tugged on Auguste's hand. Auguste chuckled and swept him up into his arms, ignoring the squeal Laurent couldn't contain.
Laurent pouted again from his position in his brother's arms. He was six now and far too old to be carried around like a doll! But Auguste, with all the wisdom his eighteen years gave him, ignored his valid and logical arguments and simply laughed at him. It was most displeasing.
"Come, don't you want a treat?" Auguste wheedled, changing his grip and putting Laurent onto his shoulders. Laurent, dubious at this new position, gripped two handfuls of the blond hair and squeezed. "Ah, loosen your grip you octopus." Auguste complained.
"Octopi have eight legs. I have two. Therefore I am not an octopus." Laurent sniffed disdainfully. Honestly, tutoring his brother about reality was tiresome. Did Auguste know nothing?
"How do you know they have eight legs? Perhaps three of them are arms." Auguste pointed out. Laurent frowned.
"No."
"Enlighten me, why do octopi not have three arms then?"
"Because." Laurent answered smugly. Auguste laughed and Laurent couldn't stop the smile that flooded his face even if he had wanted to. A few seconds later the destination of their escapade became clear.
"Are we going to the kitchens?" Laurent asked, confused. When Auguste had stolen him from his rooms, under the nose of his tutor, it had been only a handful of minutes until a meal would have been brought to him. So why his brother felt it necessary to take them to the kitchens instead of just waiting baffled him.
"We, my little brother, are embarking on a quest." Auguste said virtuously.
"Really?"
"Of course! Why else would I rescue you from the devilish watch of your dastardly tutor?" They turned down the stone corridor and made their way down the steps.
"So it isn't because the cook is making tarts?" Laurent said slyly.
"You offend my honour!" Auguste cried, so exaggeratedly that Laurent knew his assumption was correct. Auguste adored apricot tarts but he said they tasted even sweeter when filched from underneath the cook's nose. Laurent was sure that if Auguste just asked then the cook would be more than happy to ply him with tarts until he burst but for some reason that was apparently 'cheating'.
Adults did not make sense to Laurent and it seemed that the older his brother got the less rational he became.
"And you didn't 'rescue' me from Jean. I like arithmetic."
"I see how it is. The moment someone else comes along offering numbers and equations you desert me." Auguste sniffed. Laurent's eyes widened and his grip tightened unintentionally on Auguste's hair. "Ow!"
"Sorry!" Laurent hurried to apologise, working to loosen his grip. Auguste lowered him to the ground and Laurent miserably wondered if his brother would send him back to his tutors and disappear into the miasma that was 'duty'.
"Right. Here's the plan-" Auguste began with a tell tale glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He frowned when he caught sight of Laurent's expression. "What is up with you?" He asked, concern evident.
"Nothing." Laurent responded, fixing his face into a suitably serious expression, like the one he had once seen the king wear during a state meeting he accidently stumbled into. Auguste's lips twitched, like he was holding back a laugh.
"Okay. You go into the kitchen, get the attention of Anne-Marie. You keep her distracted with those big blue eyes of yours and I shall pilfer the tarts. Got it?"
Laurent nodded, he was going to do such a good job at distracting the cook that Auguste would be really proud.
"Hmm, maybe we should disguise ourselves, dress as cooks or perhaps as kitchen hands..." Auguste glanced at him. "Maybe next time. Alright, the battle lines are drawn. Now, soldier, don't worry, I'll be right behind you." Auguste said, affecting a pompous voice that made Laurent giggle despite himself.
Laurent entered the bustling kitchen and made his way over to Anne-Marie's counter where she was pounding away at a batch of dough with enough fervour that he felt the beginnings of nerves crest his stomach. He stood at a careful distance from her and cleared his throat. She did nothing, not noticing the quiet noise over the bustle of the kitchen. He cleared his throat again and coughed for good measure. Still nothing.
Laurent glanced back to the open door. Auguste smiled encouragingly and waved his attention back to Anne-Marie.
Laurent cleared his throat even louder than before and sent himself into a coughing fit. He wheezed for breath feeling the mortification spread through him at having choked on air. Luckily it seemed to have gained the attention he had been seeking.
"It's the prince! Who let him in here? Hush, let him breath." Anne-Marie scolded, crouching down to Laurent's level. "Well met, little prince, now what has you wandering into my domain?" She asked once his breathing was back to normal.
Laurent opened his mouth then froze. He had been so caught up with thoughts of completing the task his brother had set him that he had completely forgotten to think of a way to distract her. He opened his mouth again; mind rushing for an idea, anything to keep her occupied and away from the tray he could see Auguste inching towards.
He remembered Auguste's words and blinked at Anne-Marie, widening his eyes as much as he could. She frowned.
"Are you alright, little prince?" She asked doubtfully. Evidently that ploy had not been successful. He would have to practise in front of a mirror.
"Yes, madam." He said, eyes flicking over her left shoulder to where Auguste had just lifted the uppermost tray of tarts off the trestle. She followed his gaze and jumped to her feet in outrage. Auguste froze for a long moment before springing to his feet, scooping up Laurent with his free arm and bearing tray and child aloft sped out of the kitchen, cheerfully grinning at the insults yelled after them.
Caught up in the delightful ridiculousness Laurent laughed, wriggling about in Auguste's grip to look behind them to see if they were being pursued. His movements unbalanced Auguste who lost his grip on him and who tried to regain it by dropping the tray and grabbing Laurent with both arms. Their hard won pastries landed on the floor with the clatter of the tray ringing out through the hall, like a bell tolling their crime.
Auguste and Laurent shared a glance before dashing away as fast as Laurent's legs could carry him, leaving the commotion for those attracted to the noise.
Auguste led them through the palace twists and turns until they ended up in the herb gardens, devoid of people. Laurent flopped onto the ground, trying to catch his breath over the laughter that threatened to overwhelm.
"Next time we may need a better plan." Auguste mused thoughtfully, sitting in a robust growth of rosemary, heedless of the stains on his clothing. Laurent agreed. "Here." Auguste divided the one tart he had had the foresight to snatch when the tray went tumbling and handed Laurent half.
"Spoils of war." Auguste said around a mouthful, tousling Laurent's hair.
Later, when being scolded for their ruined clothing and sticky faces, Auguste caught Laurent's gaze and gave a conspiratorially grin. And when asked what on earth they had been doing Auguste simply widened his eyes and answered that they had been running in the garden.
Laurent kept his mouth tightly shut, just in case he leaked the truth. Well, more of the truth.
#
"I find it hard to imagine you a young thief in training." Damen remarked, amused. Laurent raised an eyebrow.
"It was only the first of many daring escapades to steal treats from the kitchens. We gained quite the reputation and were banned more times than I can count from entering the kitchen."
Damen grinned. "I bet that didn't stop you."
"It didn't. It just encouraged us to become more outrageous."
"And honed your ability to tweak the truth." Damen added fondly.
"Not really." Laurent admitted. "I was abysmal at lying and my excuses never got any better despite the elaborate disguises Auguste insisted upon."
Damen laughed, delighted. "Now you have to tell me of these disguises. How elaborate? Surely not more so than the dress?"
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2- There are no easy fixes.
Laurent is on the cusp of turning fourteen when loneliness overwhelms him, takes over everything he holds joy in and reduces him to pleading with his uncle to stay, to never leave.
Auguste is gone. Auguste was everything Laurent had and now he has nothing.
He begs his uncle to stay, promises anything and everything he can. Surely his uncle doesn't need to go to Chastillon?
He gets a sigh in response, a hand running through his hair and a whisper that he must remember that adults have duties, that he wouldn't leave if it wasn't necessary. That he won't be gone long, no more than a couple of weeks at most. And, surely, Laurent can be good and wait. Can make the memory of his brother proud by being biddable.
Terrified of even the thought of disappointing his brother (even though that is impossible simply because Auguste is dead) Laurent nodded mutely, eyes hot and dry.
He has not cried since he collapsed over Auguste's still, unmoving, bloodied body. He thinks he will never shed a tear again.
"Good boy." His uncle says, the praise twisting something inside of Laurent.
His uncle stays away for three weeks (longer than he promised). Laurent is good the whole time of his absence; he obeys his tutors, even when they get things wrong. He listens, learns.
His uncle seems pleased with him and it brings Laurent as close to happiness as he is able to feel.
#
"You know that you do not share blame in what your uncle did." Damen said, after Laurent had told him to be quiet.
"I do not want to speak of him." Laurent grits out through bloodless lips. Damen looks at him, stubborn, firm and unyielding as the sky.
"You said Auguste was free from the 'taint' you and your uncle share. You are not tainted." Said Damen, sounding more confident than Laurent has ever felt.
"Shut up." Laurent ordered, voice quiet, muted, past the roaring in his ears.
"You were a child, left alone, without a single friendly hand." Damen continued, stripping straight to the bone with ruthless care.
Laurent pressed his palms to his eyes and swallowed back the nausea; he cannot tell if it is down to rage or fear. He does know that in this moment he hated Damen. Hated him for his brand of cutting truthfulness. Or, what Damen sees as truthfulness.
"He is to blame for his actions. Not you, never you."
Laurent wishes there to be a table with refreshments that he could toss to the ground. Anything with which to vent the swirling mess of emotions. He curbs his tongue with the barest restraints of his control lest he flay Damen's flesh from his bones with every cutting remark his sharp tongue can muster.
What is it about this man, this king, who turns him inside out with a single look and tears him to shreds with a handful of words?
He eyed the distance between their bodies and looked to the door. Damen had taken a stance directly within his path to the door.
Laurent turned on his heel and slipped out to the balcony, he judged the distance and hoisted himself over the marble edge and dropped down to the gardens below. He walked away without a backwards glance.
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3- The past repeats itself. Or, caring is a weakness.
Nicaise, plucked from the streets and rolled in jewels and soft silks, is petulant, self absorbed and spiteful. Laurent is practically tickled. If Nicaise wasn't so ensnared in his uncle's toils then Laurent would have loved to have fostered a biting friendship filled with sharp retorts and ruthless insults.
Although, if Nicaise wasn't so ensnared then perhaps he would not be the same boy that Laurent sees so much of himself in.
His uncle's toys are usually swiftly discarded; Laurent observes and finds that, disregarding him, most of the boys don't last a year before his uncle grows bored.
Nicaise lasted three.
#
They sit for dinner in the hall, courtiers chirping away, allowing their pets liberties. Laurent is not in the mood to sally words around with his uncle today, a dull throb starts at his temples and although he is only eighteen he feels twice that with aching bones to match.
He had been careless in his practice today, his motions with the sword sloppy and earning him more than a few bruises.
Laurent flicked his eyes over and was relieved to find his uncle engaged in conversation with councillor Herode and thus not paying him one whit of attention.
His uncle's...pet, Nicaise, is quiet. Eating with delicate grace, his brown curls framing that exquisite face. There is a glint here and there, a wink of blue, sapphires placed upon him in ways designed to bring notice to the blue of his eyes.
Laurent has a pile of diamonds and pearls somewhere in his closet. A different theme for a different boy.
Nicaise noticed his observation and looked up with a moue of distaste. The boy sniffed and dismissed him; manners not fit to show to a prince. Laurent, inexplicably, feels the pressing presence of amusement. He keeps his features cool and aloft.
As the dinner progresses the laces of Nicaise's sleeve slowly unravel, not properly fastened at one point.
By the time the boy deigns to fix it (Laurent has no doubt Nicaise knew the moment it was tied that it would not last, he wondered if it was an attempt to secure the Regent's attentions...) the lace is trailing and in danger of dipping into their wine cups. Laurent took a sip of his water.
"Fix it." Nicaise demanded, holding out his arm imperiously to Laurent, having given up on trying to gain his uncle's attention. Laurent slowly put down his goblet; he blinked once before reaching out and gently gripping the ties between his fingers before deftly tying it.
He hears a few smothered gasps or exclamations of shock. It is certainly not a prince's duty to fasten a pet's clothing. The two of them ignore the courts muttering, the court always chattered with gossip.
"There." Laurent said, tightening it and retrieving his hands. Nicaise examined his work.
"My toes could tie the laces better." Nicaise announced, the dissatisfied down curl of his lips pronouncing a different story.
"That sounds like quite the feat. You must show me sometime. Maybe after a fire show, it would be just as exhilarating, I have no doubt." Laurent pushed, unable to quell the smirk that flittered across his lips. Nicaise glared and with his elbow nudged Laurent's goblet until it tipped over. Laurent avoided the water, not a single speck making its way onto his pristine clothes.
The beginning of fondness made its way dangerously through Laurent's chest and for once he sees Nicaise as himself, not merely an extension of his uncle and the unpleasantness that follows.
He likes this impertinent child, who wears precious jewels like they are not fit to grace his person, who sneers at royalty and who baits the crown prince just because.
#
Laurent feels the ring of the accusation in his ears but he found he couldn't refute the words thrown like weapons at him.
"You're right. I killed Nicaise when I left it half done. I should have either stayed away from him, or broken his faith in my uncle. I didn't plan it out, I left it to chance. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking about him like that. I just...I just liked him." Laurent haltingly said, unsure and almost surprised by the words leaving his own mouth. Had he liked anyone, as a friend, since the day his brother was brought down like a pig for slaughter?
He can see the planes of Damen's face across from him, those dark eyes devouring his every expression until Laurent has no more left to give.
"I should never have - said that. Nicaise made a choice. He spoke up for you because you were his friend, and that is not something you should regret."
Laurent regretted it. Nicaise would still be alive had Laurent not indulged in a whim and allowed a blossom of affection to well up for the acidulous child.