Carry On
Kygo & Rita Ora: Carry On
The chill bites and nips deeply into Bowser's scales and transverse rapidly down his spine. The cloak wrapped half-hazardously around his shoulders drifts briefly from the cool mountain breeze allowing the blast of air to ram full force into him. He shivers, biting down on his lip to keep it from trembling.
Oh, how he wishes he was back at his castle, surrounded by lava rivers which keep the air stale but warm. He's always hated the cold. His body just isn't accustomed to it. Despite his dislike for the chilly temperature, the pine trees surrounding him are a scenic sight he hasn't seen in years. He's almost forgotten how different the air tastes when he takes in a greedy gulp of fresh air free of ash and soot.
Bowser glances up to the sky, a frown forming on his face. He hopes the weather will continue to cooperate with him. The heavy grey overcast above has yet to release the torrential downpour it promises to reward to the patiently waiting greenery below. Maybe he should plan out his trips better instead of jumping straight into action. If it really does start to rain, he has no one else to blame but himself and his stupidity.
With an indifferent shrug of his shoulders, Bowser continues up the dirt path, Kamek trudging slowly behind him. The mage lifts up the bottom of his royal blue robes, carefully avoiding dirtying up his outfit like Cinderella bolting it from the ball. Bowser snorts in amusement at the sight of his mage skirting around a particularly deep hole in the worn dirt road when Kamek could simply hover or float on his broomstick.
However, the mage refuses to rely too heavily on magic and reduces how often he chooses to use it. It's a lesson he drilled into Bowser's head as a child about the importance of not being lazy. Although Kamek is many things; he is never a hypocrite.
They climb up the small hill to their destination in heavy silence. Bowser isn't in any mood to attempt small talk and Kamek respects his king's unspoken wishes by remaining quiet.
Finally they reach the top after what feels like days. Though, it only took mere minutes. At the top of the slope, Bowser immediately sucks in air through clenched teeth. The sight is as grim as he expected it to be.
All that's left of the home is charred skeletal remains of what once stood peacefully in the quiet forest. Kamek and Bowser grow still for a moment, air dour and depressive. Even the birds seem to cease their distant symphonies of chirps and whistles to mourn the loss of unnamed strangers. He forces himself to press forward, approaching the disaster left in front of him.
He spots a small garden a safe distance away from the house, spared the fiery demise had it been too close to the flames. Although it wasn't met with a fatal end like the empty plots of soil out front missing greenery, it's still overrun by opportunistic weeds. A homemade scarecrow guards the garden, a bright smile drawn on its face in neon orange paint. Despite the somber circumstances, Bowser's lips quirk at the thought of Lemmy—who else could it have been?—happily painting on the same expression he wears daily.
Bowser scans the rest of the yard, a rusted wagon sits in front of what was once the house near the cracked stone pathway and wildflowers have claimed the unkept lawn for themselves. It's about what he had expected, but his heart still lodges in his throat. His eyes take in all the devastation, but stop on something a bit peculiar; a tree. Which, in a forest, are plentiful, but this tree stands out from the rest of the conifers because it's no pine at all.
The tree's bark is tainted black by scorch marks and wears them like battle scars as it continues to stand upright, the branches sag gloomily despite being almost leafless, and some of the thicker limbs of the tree, now too heavy to support, litter the ground. Bowser notes the bark of the tree is brittle, cracked, and severely discolored. Due to its poor condition, the tree has become a new home for a variety of fungus and tiny critters who have taken the opportunity to make use out of what time the tree has left. Bowser takes meager steps forward, curious and ready to investigate when his foot gently taps something, stealing his attention away from the tree momentarily.
An apple?
A rotting apple rests at his feet in the long grass, bruised, and half-eaten. He scans the ground to find more apples hidden in the grass in the same state as the first. The tree before him is a dying apple tree, nurtured and cared for only to share the same fate of the owners who once lived here.
The toddler snatched at the bright red apple in Bowser's hands before taking a large bite out of it. Another child—far older than the Koopa toddler— with a magenta shell and pink head, pulled the toddler along, rushing out of the store with a heft bag of goods. Three more children joined him, all of them dirty and too skinny to be healthy. One of the Koopa clerks behind a register began shouting obscenities, face red from anger. Bowser watched the children's retreating figures, his gut instinct screaming at him to follow.
It couldn't be a coincidence.
"I thought you weren't a big fan of sweets?" Bowser had asked Ludwig as the child freed the cinnamon candy apple from its colorful wrapper.
Ludwig's timid smile was more of a grimace as he dolefully eyed the bright red candy apple on the stick in his shaking hands. Bowser couldn't understand why the child appeared so…somber.
"I have a bit of a soft spot for apples." Ludwig admitted quietly. "Especially candy apples."
Suddenly, it all makes sense to Bowser.
Bowser finds the simple task of swallowing his saliva a difficult process to achieve as the painful realization hits him hard in the chest. He closes the distance between him and the dying apple tree. Slowly, he rests a gentle hand on the cracked bark, pieces chip off just from the pressure of his palm. He takes in a deep but shaky breath.
"You don't have to worry. I'll take care of them." He thinks as his eyes flutter shut, feeling a bit silly. Like the ghosts of the dead can somehow read his inner thoughts, he addresses them with a solemn nod. Still, even if part of him feels ridiculous for acknowledging nothing but crisp air, another—far stronger—part of him is satisfied. Although, he knows there's probably no one here but Kamek, the wildlife, and himself.
After scavenging the rest of the area, Bowser returns to his ship empty-handed and feeling more dejected. The spontaneous journey is turning into a bust and only manages to make Bowser miserable. That is, until he spots the Koopa Troopa he had sent to request any records the town has on the children and their deceased parents waiting on board the aircraft.
The soldier hands Bowser a hefty manila folder of papers and Bowser rewards him with a job well done. The soldier beams, offering a perfunctory salute before scrambling off to assist the others with flying the ship. Bowser hands the folder off to Kamek and he knows no exchange of words is needed; the mage will know exactly where to set them when they return to the castle.
The trip home is an uneventful and sullen affair. When Bowser lands safely at his castle the first thing he wants to do is check on his son. The nanny assures him the moment he steps inside the entrance that the lavender scented bath she soaked Junior in will keep him asleep for a while. Still, Bowser's gut churns and there's an ache in his chest to just see his son in the flesh. Like it's a newfound addiction, he's frantically rushing down the halls to see the tiny bundle in his crib. He ignores Kamek's quirked brow as he takes off without an excuse or good-bye.
Bowser finds his son lost in dreams, just as the nanny assured him he would be. He sighs in relief despite nothing being amiss in the first place. He affectionately caresses the infant's chubby face but can't exactly explain why he's relieved to see his son. Junior wrinkles his snout in his sleep, eyes fluttering gently like butterfly wings, struggling to open. Thankfully, Junior seems to decide it's not worth the trouble to see who dares disturb him and continues to sleep peacefully as his dad coddles him.
Bowser won't admit aloud that he's growing much faster than he would like. Once tiny and still enough to hold with one hand, Junior is more alert and squirms in his Dad's grasp, trying to do simple things his body isn't ready for yet like walking. Now, Bowser has no choice but to use both hands to keep his son steady as he bounces around, more alert, bright-eyed, and painfully curious. Junior's grown more interested in the world around him the more his brain begins to understand, smiling at the littlest things like Iggy's obnoxious laughter or Lemmy's cutesy baby voice he uses only around Junior and Larry.
Bowser steps back from the crib. The storm in his chest is placated and he takes his leave before he annoys his son too much. He sends his sleeping baby one more longing glance before stepping out of the room. He heads off towards his study.
During his leisurely trip there, Iggy nearly barrels into him as Bowser's mind wanders elsewhere. Too lost in thought to avoid the collision, Iggy manages to dodge him at the last possible second. Iggy has the decency to shout out a quick apology to a stunned Bowser as he sprints down the hall. Roy follows behind his brother, many paces away and lagging behind. He breathlessly asks "what's up" and takes a quick breather before he bolts into a full-on sprint after his cackling brother.
Bowser shakes his head, chucking at their antics as he makes it to his study. He can't deny he enjoys how lively the caste feels now. He opens the door, expecting it to be empty, when he spots a very familiar figure sitting in his favorite recliner.
Kamek sits in the recliner like a king on a throne, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He regards Bowser with a nod before indulging in a tiny sip. Like always, Kamek is many steps ahead of him. The Magikoopa sits patiently in silence as he sips meekly at his tea, waiting for the moment Bowser stops gaping at him like a deer caught in the headlights and gets his act together.
Bowser recovers from his shock, shutting the door gently behind him, and plops into his chair at his desk with a sigh. The folder overflowing with hastily stacked papers sits on his desk in front of him, untouched. He notes there's another cup of tea beside the folder. He wrinkles his snout at the sight of the translucent yellowish orange liquid.
"You know I don't like tea." Bowser snaps like a picky child refusing to eat his meal simply because something on his plate looks suspicious. Kamek doesn't comment.
Instead, he chooses to remain painfully silent as he continues to enjoy his own sweltering cup of tea. Bowser, growing annoyed by his advisor's defiance, taps his claws loudly on the desk. The mage doesn't even have to look or say a damn thing to get his point across because the Koopa King knows what expression is adorned on the mage's face.
"It's chamomile tea." Kamek says at last with a tone of indifference.
Kamek seems to decide Bowser has sat and brewed long enough. His dry nonchalance suggests he won't ever allow Bowser's snappy attitude to get to and there's a tiny, almost nonexistent part of Bowser, who applauds Kamek's bold opposition. Bowser hears the clink of the tea cup being set down on the end table and the creaking of the recliner as Kamek gets up from his spot.
He approaches his king with a slight limp to his step. It's a permanent reminder to the horrors the past king awarded to anyone worthy enough to bask in his disgusting presence and dare to defy him. Kamek's expression is made of hard stone and he stands in front of his desk without an ounce of hesitation or fear despite the apparent frustration engraved deeply onto Bowser's face. It's such a stark contrast to how his other minions address him. Usually, any glare would send his servants packing and running to the closest kingdom for salvation, but Kamek is completely unaffected by his childish tantrums. The sad reality is that the mage has dealt with far worse than some bratty king.
"You may find that hot tea will help you in this scenario. These past few months have been rather stressful, wouldn't you agree? It almost seems like you enjoy being under constant stress."
His advisor's voice is cynical yet even and Bowser's irritated by the ping of guilt he feels in his chest for brashly speaking out. Kamek has done nothing wrong but offer him some tea.
"I think it comes with the package of being a king and a father," Bowser mumbles grumpily, running a hand through his mane. "Can't exactly avoid it."
Kamek hums in agreement, "That is very true, but too much stress will only cause more problems for you. I understand you're in a rush to try and fix the children you've let into your home, but it's a steady process."
"I know." Bowser seethes, hissing out the words through clenched teeth as smoke spills through his mouth. Then, like a bucket of cold water dumped on his hard head, he sobers once again. He quickly reminds himself that Kamek is only trying to help and his short fuse needs to stop being relit by simple observations.
He exhales deeply, his misplaced anger slowly subsides, and he glares down at the folder sitting on his desk like an ashamed child being scolded. Only Kamek still makes him feel like a lonely kid when he loses his temper. Although, without Kamek around, Bowser wonders how much of his power would go straight to his ego. Would he have eventually ended up like his father? Bowser internally winces at the thought.
"Your Hastiness," Kamek's tone is dreadfully serious but the nickname causes Bowser to impede on the mage's next set of words with a loud snort of a laugh. Bowser's one hundred percent certain Kamek is glaring intensely at him behind his spectacles at the rude interruption. He can practically feel the heat crawling against his skin. He flashes the mage an apologetic smile to tame the embers of annoyance he accidentally stoked. Kamek haughtily huffs and clears his throat noisily then moves on.
"I understand that things are approving alarmingly well, but do not grow discouraged simply because one of the children had a bad day. After all, those days may never truly go away. A pain like this stays with someone forever."
Bowser turns in his chair to gaze out the large window behind him if only to avoid where the conversation is possibly headed. Like most days, the sky is full of dark clouds and a thick layer of ash. A gloomy atmosphere for most, but holds a sense of familiarity that calms his mind and puts his worries at ease. But not today. Today, he's sending himself into a panic like he's expected to fight in an upcoming battle where his chances of survival are slim. Sometimes it feels like that. After all, Bowser, of all people, knows this type of pain only dulls and never disappears. He cannot help but be eager to save the children from themselves.
If he could bear all their pain, he would without hesitating. He immediately thinks of Iggy, clinging to him so desperately like a lifeline a few days ago as he cries. Iggy, with his claws digging into Bowser's scales like prickly needles, questioned why the world hated him and why he couldn't just be grateful to be alive. Those dark and conflicting thoughts that continue to run rampant like a sickness inside Iggy's head refuse to give Iggy any ounce of happiness or acceptance.
Obviously, Iggy doesn't believe he deserves either, rattled by the guilt he still carries. Bowser can pepper in a few encouraging words to his speeches, he can disagree with Iggy's doubts, but it only goes as far as Iggy's willing to allow them to go. All Bowser can do is repeat his sentiment, hoping that one day Iggy realizes his siblings forgave him long ago and that what occurred months ago wasn't his fault. Bowser wishes for Iggy to stop violently hurling all this self-hatred at himself like he's his own schoolyard bully.
"Iggy was doing so well. He hasn't had an outburst in months and he can finally talk about his parents without completely losing it. I just don't want all those steps forward to be taken back. Kamek, you don't get it. He just looked so…" Bowser swallows heavily, searching for his next set of words. What his brain settles on startles him because the truth they carry crash down hard on him. "He looked so afraid of living. Like he really believed he'd be better off rotting in a ditch somewhere."
"I believe this shows that you have made progress. He speaks to you about his thoughts without much prompt anymore. He is a complicated child and it will take time for him to understand the words you speak. He reminds me of you sometimes."
Kamek's voice carries somewhere far off and unknown as he reminisces about memories Bowser isn't inclined to unearth. He's spent years trying to keep them dead and buried.
"That's not exactly a good thing." Bowser mutters, gently kneading away at the pressure building behind his temples. He glances at the tea still steaming on his desk, the nectarous aroma tickles his nostrils.
He decides "what the hell" and proceeds to take a giant gulp. The burning temperature of the tea stings his unexpecting tongue, but he cannot deny the warmth that one sip spreads throughout his body. It isn't an overwhelmingly bitter taste either like the teas Kamek forced down his throat as a child when he was sick in bed. The tea's sweetness is a combination of soothing honey and something undeniably floral. It dances on his taste buds and he finds himself going in for another sip.
He suddenly feels more at ease, sinking into the comfort of his chair until his eyes find Kamek's smug expression. Bowser decides to take a page from Kamek's book on "How to Annoy Someone" and pointedly ignores it as he sips at his tea. He wants to avoid getting worked up again and making a giant fool of himself. Thankfully, Kamek doesn't celebrate his tiny victory for very long. After all, there's more important matters to attend to.
Kamek gestures to the folder sitting untouched on Bowser's desk.
"Is this why you felt so inclined to drag me to some tiny village on the outskirts of the forest?"
"I never said you had to come." Bowser rolls his eyes. The geezer practically invited himself. He was on the ship and waiting before Bowser even had a chance to decide whether or not he was actually going through with this unplanned adventure. Bowser taps his claws against the porcelain tea cup in thought, studying his distorted reflection staring blankly back at him and the tiny ripples his thoughtless taps create in the tea.
"And…not exactly. I was just curious to see where they grew up."
"Hoping it'd provide the answers you seek?"
Bowser looks up at the mage, dumbfounded. Kamek remains the castle's diligent mind reader. He has assured Bowser time and time again he's never used such privacy invading magic on him. He really is just that astute. Whereas, Bowser sometimes has to play the guessing game with him in return. Those spectacles hiding Kamek's sharp eyes don't help Bowser's case either. Maybe Bowser should invest in a pair of shades himself?
Bowser sighs dejectedly, taking the final sip of hot tea, silently relishing in the heat of the tea cup against his fingers before setting it down.
"The trip didn't really help much. And some part of me just wanted to see what was left. I don't know," Bowser runs a hand through his hair, growing more embarrassed by what he feels is a failure. "I thought I'd find something to help understand them better."
"Well," Kamek starts. He removes his spectacles, cleaning the frames against his blue robes. His coal black eyes meet Bowser's. "You haven't exactly read the files."
Bowser recognizes this move. It's an unspoken excuse Kamek uses to expose his kind eyes, usually hidden behind his impenetrable thick frames. It's a brief window that allows Bowser in, enunciating the honest words the mage speaks. Bowser finds no judgment behind Kamek's patient eyes.
If anything, Kamek seems to understand Bowser's jumbled thoughts better than him. Bowser's gaze falls to the untouched folder, a bit relieved and grateful for Kamek's perceptiveness. Words don't always come easy to him.
"Good point." Bowser glances up at Kamek. "And I'm guessing you're here to help."
Kamek places his glasses back on his face, readjusting his cap for good measure. A dramatic sigh passes his lips like the whole world has suddenly settled cozily on his brittle shoulders and he has no choice but to accept it.
"I suppose I can clear my busy schedule to assist you," Kamek shakes his head. "Oh, the sacrifices I make for a little extra paid vacation time."
His comments are dripping with sarcasm and laced with goodhearted humor. Bowser snorts. His own dry sense of humor is a learned trait from the best of the best. When it comes to snide remarks; Kamek can rarely be topped in that department. Bowser can imagine a mental tennis match between Iggy and Kamek; insults and remarks served back and forth between them until one relents. Bowser would put most of his coin stash on Kamek. The kid doesn't carry the same amount of experience Kamek has.
"You're such a drama queen," Bowser scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Now if you're done putting on a show for no one but yourself; how about we get to it?"
Kamek flashes Bowser a rare smirk as Bowser hands half the stack to Kamek. The mage flicks his wrists and summons a chair in front of the desk, then settles into the cushions to read. Acting as if his display is nothing more than a simple party trick because he's secretly a show-off that relishes in everyone's amazement and shock when he uses magic so easily in front of them. Bowser rolls his eyes again, not impressed. He begins to sift through his own half of the papers he's gathered.
He finds a copy of the children's birth certificates and sets those to the side to use as a cheat sheet for whenever he forgets their birthdays. It's a quiet affair as Kamek and Bowser lose themselves to the typed words in a font so small Bowser has to squint to read. From what he's gathered, it's mostly government jargon and collected data about their parents' lives and occupations.
Their father was an esteemed botanist and supplied healing herbs, fruits, and vegetables to local merchants. The files speak of his natural talent to keep greenery alive and their mother sold flower arrangements on the side for extra pocket change they didn't exactly need. Such a quaint lifestyle thrown off balance by one tragedy. Somewhere along the lines, Morton Sr.'s past gets blurry. Particularly during the years of Bowser's father's reign and Bowser can't help but wonder why that's the case. Records don't often disappear unless on purpose.
"Oh," Kamek gasps, interrupting Bowser's thoughts.
Bowser looks up from his reading, "You got something to say?"
Kamek hums thoughtfully, adjusting the glasses on his face. It's a gesture he often does before going on a rant and Bowser braces himself.
"The children had complained about 'weird feelings' when I discussed topics pertaining to magic during lectures. I thought it strange because they seemed like regular children."
Kamek gently sets down his stack of papers, then points to the name written above Morton Koopa Senior. Bowser notes it's a family tree collected many years back, he reads the name "Regis" and nothing of notoriety rings any bells.
"Regis Koopa was an old friend of mine." Kamek articulates further. "Quite a talented mage. He threw everything he had into his work. I didn't even know he had a child or wife until now."
Bowser let's that sorrowful thought remain in the air, unspoken. After all, a father more concerned with his work than the happiness of his family is no father at all. Bowser pretends it doesn't affect him, shaking off all the haunting ghosts and creeping shadows seeping memories of the past into his mind. Now isn't the time to be thinking of this. When is it ever?
"What happened to him?" Bowser asks instead to quell them. He wants to get his mind focused on anything else.
Kamek smiles wistfully, "He passed away during one of your Father's unnecessary wars. It's a shame."
Bowser heaves a massive sigh, unable to escape his dad's mistakes despite his best efforts.
"My dad really sucked."
Kamek, not expecting the blunt honesty, chuckles heartily.
"Yes," Kamek coughs, breathless. "Yes, he did."
A sense of pride pulsates in Bowser's chest at getting Kamek to laugh and he sits and applauds his success. Kamek recollects his thoughts and himself before continuing.
"Now I have reason to believe the children are magically gifted or, at the very least, magically sensitive because of their genetics."
Bowser's eyes bulge at Kamek's insinuation.
"And if Morton despised his dad as much as I despised mine, he probably never talked about him. So the kids have no idea."
Maybe this wasn't a huge waste of time. He's found something even the children appear to not know. Now the gap in the papers makes sense. Especially given the circumstances. Determined, Bowser continues to skim speedily through the papers. He sets off the finished papers to the side to join Kamek's read stack. He goes to pick up another small stack when a small piece of paper flutters onto his desk from between the stack. Extremely curious, he immediately snatches it up to get a better look.
Bowser is surprised to find out it's a photo. The old picture is faded but still in rather decent condition. Two large Koopas smile back at Bowser behind what Bowser assumes is their newly bought house. The female Koopa rocks a colorful Mohawk of various shades of blue and a customized studded vest while the male is the exact opposite; he lacks hair and is wearing the nerdiest glasses and tie Bowser has ever seen.
Bowser can see the resemblances almost immediately and can pull apart which features each child got from which parent like a genetic matching game.
The old saying of "opposites attract" couldn't be any more apparent in this one photo alone. Yet Bowser could see by the way the male Koopa bashfully held his partner with a blushing face and the teasing but loving smile she directed towards him that they were very much in love.
It appears they were an odd couple that complimented each other in ways he wouldn't understand. His dad married his mom for her perfect pedigree. A noble bloodline not tainted by the "blood of peasants" was a rare occurrence in this new age. Many nobles now prefer to marry for love, disregarding such old, and asinine practices. Unfortunately, his dad loved to stay stuck in his old ways. He wanted to breed the perfect heir.
Kamek leans over and peers down at the source of his king's sudden pause.
"Ah," Kamek's mouth pulls into a fond smile. "I see where Lemuel and Ignatius get their questionable hair from."
The couple in the photo appears so hopeful and excited for the future they'll mold and shape together. A future eventually filled by the laughter of children and brimming with familial love.
Bowser grits his teeth, overwhelmingly frustrated with the world. The people who don't deserve to suffer from tragedy are always the ones that fate seems to hunt down like some form of sick entertainment. Ripping apart a happy family by the seams, destroying the innocent lives of seven children before they even truly began, and forcing them to take drastic measures to survive is one of the many unjust actions fate has committed in the last few years.
Bowser knows, as you stare helplessly at the aftermath, all you're left with is this feeling of unexplainable remorse and emptiness. You can't help but question what you've could have done in your short life to have caused this to happen. What tiny action set off a domino effect and decided whether or not you deserved to have your life ravaged with despair?
Although the cards you're dealt from the very beginning are unknown even to you, you're still racked by guilt when it unexpectedly strikes. Why does he still feel responsible for his father's choices and his mother's untimely death when neither of them had to do with him?
Bowser swallows the threatening fire that's scorching his throat dry. He learned long ago that life is just a ride of unpredictability. He must accept whatever is thrown at him with a sense of dignity. Kamek had once compared them to rocks on a bumpy road. Whether Bowser lets them stop him in his tracks or not is his choice and he always chooses to continue down the path he's created. He has a son now. He has someone worth continuing for and now, he has seven more lives to live for.
Bowser cannot deny the moisture building in his eyes or how difficult it is to swallow the longer he stares down at the photo in his hands. Kamek, sensing the sullen shift in his king's behavior, reaches over the desk to place a comforting hand on his and squeezes. It's a physical reminder he's not alone. Despite all the mage's huffing and snide comments, Kamek won't abandon the child he raised from infancy when he needs him.
"I don't doubt they were a happy family. And I know you are doing the best you can with what you have now."
"Yeah," is all Bowser has the energy to conjure up. He fights down the rollercoaster ride of emotions he's experiencing and sets down the photo. The longer he stares at it, the more he struggles to pull himself together. He clears his throat, attempting to unlodge the words he wants to say.
"Let's get back to work."
Kamek, thankfully, doesn't press further. He simply nods his head, adjusts his spectacles, and reads onward.
…
Bowser trudges down the hall, feet practically skidding marks across the floor as he walks like an undead Koopa to his destination. He's far too exhausted to lift his feet and his rambunctious son won't allow him a brief break to take a nap. The baby is as active as always in Bowser's grip, fascinated by his changing scenario. His tiny head won't stop turning in all directions. His dad's apparent exhaustion doesn't bother him one bit and he eagerly begins to babble to himself, waiting for a response from his dad that doesn't come.
When he quickly grows bored of that, he sticks his little bib into his mouth and chews with his gums since his teeth have yet to appear. Bowser has to stop many times to free the drooled-covered bib from his son's mouth before Junior manages to inhale the entire thing. His son is teething, any object the baby finds chewable ends up in his mouth. Fingers, clothing, binkies, poor Kamek's robes; they suffered the most these past few days.
Bowser makes it to the playroom with the goal in mind to tire his energetic son out. He expects it to be occupied by seven other children who would surely speed up the process only to find one. Ludwig sits at the multi-colored coloring table, a book open, and an apple juice box beside him.
Bowser's mind monetarily flickers to the ruins of the child's home and that dying apple tree he's been seeing in his lucid daydreams since yesterday. He had stayed up most of the night rereading the files, attempting to memorize every word for some unknown reason. He finally called it a night at around four which explains his extreme fatigue and vacant state of mind. He honestly feels a tad drunk. He expects to fall on his butt any minute now.
Junior makes a tiny noise of delight at the familiar sight of Ludwig, startling his poor dad and Ludwig. The child nearly jumps out of his scales, looking frighteningly up at the source of noise. His panic immediately diminishes as he notices Junior, features softening as the baby speaks excited gibberish to him, squirming in his father's grip.
"Hello," Ludwig greets, folding the corner of his book, and snapping it closed. He gives Bowser and his son his undivided attention.
"How are you today?" He asks, conversationally. Bowser's eyes drop to the cover of the book Ludwig had been absorbedly reading. It's a basic spell book; how coincidental. Does Ludwig perhaps feel an unconscious pull towards it or is it because of Kamek's heavy influence?
"Exhausted," Bowser responds laconically, followed by a long yawn to prove his point. He scans the empty room, half-expecting the rest of the pack to all pile out and launch a surprise attack. It never comes.
"Where's the rest of the team?"
"Roy is still sleeping." Ludwig rolls his eyes at this. "The rest of them are out in the courtyard playing games."
"You didn't want to join 'em?"
Ludwig appears rather crestfallen, glancing hard at the cover of his book. He can't possibly be feeling remorseful for not wanting to join his family, can he?
"I'd much rather read in peace than entertain them." Ludwig rubs his arm, shifting in his chair. "Besides, Lemmy is better at that anyway."
Bowser nods understandingly, then walks over to his son's bouncer, and sets him inside. He rolls his son to the table beside Ludwig, avoiding the building blocks and action figures on the floor, and joins them. He chooses to sit on the floor next to Junior because the tiny chairs in the playroom would collapse under his weight.
Junior begins gnawing on his toy specifically for teething babies like a dog and its shiny new chew toy. Ludwig watches him, mildly entertained by the baby's newfound love to sink his teeth into anything soft enough for his gums. He listens to the strange noises Junior makes in between bites, nodding along, and responding to him as if he understands him. It's enough to make Junior smile and laugh as Ludwig rambles on and on, drawing out the one-sided conversation.
It's times like these where Bowser realizes that Ludwig is indeed an amazing big brother despite his vapid disagreement. If only he could see what Bowser sees. All the younger children rely so heavily on him yet he refuses to acknowledge his lead role in their family dynamic. Same can be said for Roy. Sadly, out of the three eldest, only Lemmy seems to recognize his importance.
Bowser allows the two to continue "talking" as his mind drifts to other places. Resting his head in his hands, Bowser's eyes slowly begin to drift close. It's a peaceful and quiet morning until his stomach growls noisily. He had skipped breakfast because of Junior's fussing, but the children seem to have enjoyed it. According to his servants, the kitchen staff were elated by how much they ate their newest concoction in one sitting. Apparently, they even appeased the pickiest eater out of the bunch, Wendy; a challenging yet deserving victory on their part. The kitchen staff need a raise.
Bowser ignores his angry stomach. When Junior is ready for his nap; Bowser plans to shove his face full of food and maybe sneak in some sleep before Kamek hunts him down to do more boring paperwork or something. Bowser cracks an eye open, glancing curiously at Ludwig wiping drool from Junior's face with his bib. Bowser notes Ludwig looks like the perfect blend of his parents; blue hair like his mother and iron grey eyes like his father. What kind of Koopas were they like? Is Ludwig a blend of their personalities too?
Ludwig rarely speaks of them. He used to treat his parents as some sort of taboo topic since Iggy's personal vendetta against the world only worsened when they were brought up. As of now, that's not really the case anymore, and oftentimes Bowser will catch Iggy and Lemmy sharing small stories between them about their parents.
Sometimes, Roy will join in on the fun with Wendy and Morton, adding in their own fond bits and memories. Ludwig, on the other hand, doesn't bring much to the conversations. He prefers remaining on the sidelines as an emotionless spectator while the other children reminisce and giggle through their tears.
Bowser mentally sighs. Maybe Ludwig needs a good push? What's stopping him from participating? Bowser can't deny he's curious to know what kind of parents the children had after reading about them all night. Though, would it anger Ludwig since Bowser went digging for information on his family without consent? Bowser mulls over the repercussions. None he imagines have any damaging effect on their relationship at the end of the scenario. Ludwig may grow upset, but he probably won't hold it against Bowser forever.
So, Bowser jostles himself awake as Ludwig makes silly faces to get the baby to crack a smile or giggle. Bowser grins at the heartwarming sight before his mouth contorts into a line. Now, how to properly broach the subject? He decides that ripping it off like a band-aid is better than tiptoeing around it. He's never been one to tiptoe much anyways. It's a difficult thing to do when you're a seven-foot Koopa.
"Can I ask you something, Ludwig?"
Ludwig pauses, face flushing a deep red as he realizes exactly what he's been caught doing and how he's acting in front of Bowser. He directs his attention towards the Koopa King, unable to look directly at him.
"Of course."
"I just want to ask you about your parents. You guys rarely talk about them. Figured I'd ask you first since you're the oldest."
Ludwig stiffens, tripping over his words. He hadn't expected this.
"W-why would you want to know that?" He chokes out.
"I—" Bowser swallows laboriously. It's now or never. "I recently read some files about them. I was just curious to know more about them. Y'know how I like to stick my big nose into your business."
He attempts to soften his explanation with a light joke, but the air is so thick with tension it doesn't properly land. His words uselessly tumble to the ground forgotten amongst the toys, seemingly unheard by a befuddled Ludwig.
Ludwig bites the bottom of his lip. He's silent for a long while, but he doesn't exactly say "no" either. He also doesn't appear to be upset or bothered by Bowser's snooping. Bowser takes this as an unspoken sign to press forward.
"So," Bowser trails off. He clears his throat awkwardly. He decides to start with something simple. "Your dad was a botanist, huh?"
"Yes," Ludwig stares down at his hands now folded tightly on the table. He looks like a suspect taken in for questioning, voice monotonous. "Father was extremely good at it too. It was almost as if he was using—"
Ludwig's brows knit tightly together. Whatever thought he wishes to say dies on his lips and he glares hard at the spell book in front of him like it'll provide him with the answers he seeks.
"Magic."
Bowser finishes the sentence in his head. Probably because, knowing what he knows now, it was magic. A proficient mage hiding behind the title of a botanist; helping others with his gifts without giving too much away. It was smart thinking on Morton's part. Talented mages are the first Koopas to be sent off to die tragically in wars. It's why the dots connecting Morton to Regis disappeared for a brief time. During Bowser's father's deadly reign, most magically gifted individuals chose to go into hiding.
Noble mages and their bloodlines vanishing without a trace in the dead of night. Any Koopa unlucky enough to get caught fleeing their homes had been executed on the spot or put in jail to rot their lives away. Bowser had spent a good amount of his childhood apologizing and freeing innocent citizens and soldiers who regarded him with fear and apprehension. How could you trust the spawn of the very King who dropped you into a cell in the first place or murdered your relative in cold blood? It took years to gain their trust, but there are rare instances where he spots the familiar look of suspicion in his people's eyes as they watch his decisions with skepticism.
Bowser decides to keep his newfound information and comments to himself. Kamek has a better grasp on this sort of situation than Bowser does. Magic isn't exactly his specialty. Sure, he has conjured up things here and there, but he always preferred the physical approach to solve problems. Plus, unlike himself, Kamek is exceptionally good at dropping truth bombs without causing too many casualties. Who knows how the children will react to their gift for magic?
Bowser imagines Kamek went through a similar situation during his childhood; many thousands of years ago. Now that's quite exaggerated, but who knows how old Kamek is anyways? Bowser never bothers to ask him; don't want to offend him and get those blue robes in a tight knot.
"I'm sure your Mom used all those fresh ingredients to cook up some good dinners then," Bowser says, hoping to gain more momentum to this already dying conversation. The comment, thankfully, snaps Ludwig out of his thoughts.
"Actually, Mother wasn't a very good cook, but she excelled in making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and, sometimes, grilled cheese." A ghost of a smile lightens up the child's face. "She always had the best peanut butter to jelly ratio. She was very particular about that."
"Sounds like my chefs can't compare to her natural talent for the classic PB&J."
Ludwig's shoulders sag and he sighs.
"Yes, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches just aren't the same here," Ludwig agrees immediately. His eyes grow wide and he tenses, "N-not that your chefs aren't amazing at their jobs. I enjoy their food very much. It's just I—"
"Relax, Ludwig," Bowser smiles, watching the poor kid throw himself into an unnecessary panic. "I'm not offended. Nothing wrong with having preferences."
Ludwig immediately calms, soothed by Bowser's reassurance. He clears his throat.
"Since Mother lacked cooking skills; Father was the designated cook of the house. Mother tended to either overcook or undercook our food when she tried. She could have probably burned water."
Bowser chuckles and Ludwig smiles, encouraged by his positive response.
"One time, she attempted to make homemade mac and cheese and it was…" Ludwig pauses dramatically, then snickers into his hands. "It was so disgusting, but Father and Roy ate an entire bowl of it for her."
"What brave men," Bowser comments with an amused grin.
"Was it brave or dumb?" Ludwig rhetorically questions. "I'd say dumb because they both got pretty sick afterwards. Mother promised to never accidentally poison her family again."
And just like that, Ludwig's smile drops. The mood is sucked free of humor or fluffy reminiscing. His eyes grow wet. He blinks and all the unshed moisture he tries to keep in trails down his cheeks. Ludwig immediately wipes his eyes and face free of tears, flashing Bowser a crooked smile.
"It appears that our conversations will always end with tears." He comments, lightheartedly.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, Ludwig."
Ludwig shakes his head.
"No, it's relieving. I can't keep avoiding their deaths like this. I know I should be properly remembering them like Lemmy says. I can't keep shoving them aside because it hurts to talk about. I'm trying to be better at this."
How incredibly mature of him. Compared to the Ludwig Bowser found hiding in the alleyway, this Ludwig is beginning to slowly heal and accept. Bowser can't fight down the wave of envy ensnaring his heart. It took him years to get to that point and Ludwig, with the aid of his siblings, is already way ahead of him.
Then again, Ludwig didn't have the time to mope around or hide under blankets and cry. He had the responsibility to ensure his siblings survived. He had no choice but to toss his innocence into the remains of his charred home and grow up faster than the others.
Ludwig suddenly stands up, snatching up his book, and proclaims he'll be joining his siblings in the courtyard after all. Bowser doesn't call him out on his poorly disguised lie. He's traumatized the child enough today. He knows Ludwig is retreating, but he did give him something to go on. As Ludwig takes his leave, he ruffles Junior's tiny red baby hairs on his way out the door, then bids them both a quick farewell.
Bowser can't help but reflect on his own life as he sits in silence while his son enjoys playing with his toys.
When Bowser's mother had died, he was too young to understand why everyone looked so sad. He remembers all the curtains in the castle being drawn tightly shut, the smell of lavender incense—his mom's favorite flower—filling the hallways to mask the reeking scent of death, and the soldiers and servants adorned in black traversing the dark halls carrying flowers by the dozens to her room.
She was gentle, kind, and compassionate. Those were the words repeated over and over again at her eulogy by many of its attendees. Though Bowser would never truly understand whether or not those words were just said out of kindness for the newly departed or out of respect to the king's wife. To this day, he is still uncertain if they held any truth or carried momentum behind them.
Snippets of her in his hazy memories tell of her warmth and gentleness he only briefly experienced as a child. Even as illness slowly took her life away, he remembers sneaking into her room while his dad was away just to curl into her bony side as he listened to her raspy breath tell him a story about a little prince meant for greatness. Her heartbeat was slow, abnormal sometimes, but he would listen to it for hours if he could. He hated leaving her behind. He just wanted to stay a bit longer, but Kamek was already sticking his tail out for him. Anymore and Kamek would have met his end if they were caught.
As little as Bowser was during the funeral, it was no surprise he grew bored of sitting still, surrounded by sobbing strangers. He hated wearing stifling black clothes and a stupid bowtie which had been tied too tightly around his neck. He remembers the bowtie slowly choking him every time he shifted around too much, forcing him to remain still. His lack of understanding and patience angered his father and Kamek had whisked the child away before his father grew too violent with his outburst.
Bowser noted, not once did his father shed a tear for his late wife in all the years he lived with him. Not once did he grant the child permission to visit his mother's grave. Not once did he feel inclined to speak of her when the day of her death or her birth passed by another year.
These facts angered Bowser many years later and still continue to haunt him. He had used them as verbal ammunition to launch back at his father when the former king, lying sick in bed, begged him weakly for forgiveness as he slowly succumbed to the same mysterious illness.
Irony and cold karma had worked in Bowser's favor and he watched the man he told himself he hated lose all signs of life. He had witnessed him take his last breath with some sort of sick relief. He told himself the man deserved it, told himself this was because he was a bad man. But then, the tears came in waves and the regret came crashing with it. He had been eleven, too young to fully understand why, but old enough to grasp lightly at the edges of what he was honestly feeling in that moment.
So, to Bowser, talking about his parents isn't relieving like it is to Ludwig, but that's because—from what Bowser's gathered from the crumbs he's collected—the child's parents were as understanding as they were affectionate to all their children. Bowser wishes he remembered his mother more than the handful of pieces that flash so briefly in his mind.
He experiences small fragments of déjà vu when he holds his son closely in his arms as he hums to him softly like he had once experienced it himself. He had scoured through every book in the library at one point, hoping to puzzle together the accounts left by historians of a woman he could barely remember. He had begged Kamek for any information Kamek could recall of her.
Why exactly, he can't say for certain. Maybe he wanted to feel closer to her in some spiritual way, maybe he wanted to ease the gnawing guilt eating away inside his chest, and maybe he wanted to know if she was the type of parent who would have loved him right.
Before Bowser is overcome with a barrage of conflicting emotions, he shakes his head, hoping to rattle up his thoughts and stop the sting in his eyes. He turns to his adorable son in his bouncer. He lifts the baby out of his seat and gives him what his dad never gave him. He showers him with playful affection, planting noisy kisses on his pudgy cheeks. The baby giggles loudly, tiny hands grabbing for his dad's long mane and gives it a firm yank. Bowser winces, lightly scolding his son.
Bowser will never be like his dad.
...
A week passes by since his trip to the forest without much incident, but Bowser finds himself unable to completely recover from it. He's grown more distracted whenever he gets the opportunity to breathe, mind returning to the picture that sits in the drawer of his desk. He's repeatedly told himself to let it go, but how can he?
The fact these Koopas aren't properly remembered or recognized for existing doesn't sit well in the pit of his stomach. The children, he knows, are living reminders, but everyone deserves a burial or resting place.
His father got one and he was an awful person. Whether or not it's still properly standing, untouched by vengeful citizens; Bowser doesn't know or care. Besides, Bowser believes the children also deserve to have their parents remembered. Something physical, like a memorial or gravestone, that holds their parents to the living world.
Maybe having something like this at his castle will also show the children this is indeed their home too. Maybe it'll help quell Ludwig's fear of being tossed outside when Bowser becomes bored of playing parent.
Bowser stares blankly at the sheet of paper in front of him, pretending to read the material to avoid angering the other occupant in the room while he ponders deeply about something completely different. His mind is miles away as he tries to figure out how to quench the unsteadiness coiling around his heavy heart. When someone you don't want to forget passes away; what do you usually do?
A funeral is the first obvious step. Although Bowser makes a pained expression at the image of the children standing around two empty gravestones, dressed in the darkest of clothes, listing off all the things they wished to say between choking sobs.
No, funerals are the absolute worst. Especially if you're a child. Bowser squashes that idea entirely due to his own personal experience. His thoughts drift to the paintings hung in the hallways instead. The intense glares of the past rulers of the Darklands haunt him and he can't help the judgement he feels as he scurries down the hall, but these aged paintings also remind him of who they were.
So, maybe a painting perhaps?
Bowser's face contorts. No, the children deserve something more meaningful than that and he has a photo of their parents already inside his desk drawer. Paintings are for more egotistical Koopas who need a constant reminder on how good-looking they are like himself.
Then the idea strikes him like a jolt of electricity. He bolts upright in his chair like he's been shocked awake, eyes finding Kamek's beak stuck in a book across from him. He's here to watch him since Bowser can't seem to get any work done without his constant nagging or looming presence.
"Kamek," Bowser addresses his loyal advisor, uncharacteristically giddy. "I have a question for you."
Kamek looks up from his mindless reading, tilting his head curiously with an eyebrow cocked upward. He is the very definition of a confused Koopa.
"What is it, Your Abruptness? Did you finally finish your paperwork?"
Bowser's grin instantly drops.
"No, but—" he starts.
Kamek huffs irritably to cut him off, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. He returns all his attention back to his book.
"Then I don't want to hear your excuses," Kamek snaps. "You've been neglecting to do any sort of work for a week. Now I have to babysit you."
"Okay, okay, I get it," Bowser pouts, shoulders sagging. "But at least hear me out, will ya? This has been bothering me for a while. I promise I won't bother you after this and I'll even get all my work done."
Bowser jumps slightly when Kamek purposely snaps his book closed to make a point. He's irritated. Bowser can't exactly blame him; he's sat here for an hour and has barely made a dent in the pile.
"Fine, I am holding you to your word." Kamek concedes, sighing loudly. "What is it?"
Bowser perks up.
"Would you be willing to help me with something?"
Kamek eyes him skeptically, brow raised. This grabs his attention despite his apparent annoyance.
"Depends on what that something is."
Bowser shifts uncomfortably, then bashfully rubs the back of his head the longer Kamek is kept waiting. He spills out his idea in one hefty, fast-paced explanation before he decides it's stupid and chickens out. By the end of it, Bowser doubts Kamek comprehended any of the jumbled mess he just spewed because even to him; it sounded like a completely different language altogether. He finds Kamek grinning wickedly at him. A reaction Bowser hadn't expected from the mage at all.
"I'll see what I can do, Your Thoughtfulness."
...
Ludwig is in the library when he's suddenly summoned to the throne room by a timid Shy Guy. Intrigued, he wastes no time in setting his book aside, getting up from his seat, and rushing to the door. He's surprised to see the other children gathered in the throne room as well since most of them don't rise before nine like Ludwig does on weekends.
Larry rests in Iggy's arms, slumped over like a rag doll and eyes hooded; he's seconds away from passing out again. The toddler's blue hair is disheveled, a big pout on his sleepy face, and a line of dry drool starts from the corner of his mouth to his chin. It appears he recently woke up, probably the last to rise, and clearly isn't too keen on being amongst the living at the moment.
The other children are far more alert than Larry is. Still, Wendy rubs the sleep from her eyes, Morton is slightly hunched over like he's too exhausted to support himself, Lemmy's movements are sluggish and far too slow to be defined as normal for him, and Roy lets out an obnoxiously long yawn before apologizing when Kamek sends him a disapproving look for being impolite.
Bowser, Ludwig notes with confusion, is extremely antsy to see them. It's an exact contrast to how he's acted these past few days; distant and preoccupied. Ludwig had wondered if one of them had done something wrong, but maybe that's not the case. Bowser ushers them forward as soon as he realizes everyone is accounted for. He exclaims he has a "surprise" for them and nearly shoves them all towards the door leading to the courtyard.
Lemmy tosses his sleep-deprivation out the window, bouncing excitedly at the prospect of a surprise. Iggy is more weary, sending Ludwig a quizzical look as he sets down Larry, choosing to hold the toddler's hand instead and Ludwig, just as lost as Iggy, shrugs his shoulders. He can't even begin to guess what this could possibly be.
The dry morning air greets Ludwig's scales as they step outside into crunching grass. The sky is cloudy as usual, though the sun has the opportunity to peek its rays out of the cracks in the puffy, usually impenetrable, formation. Perhaps they're in for a rare sunny day by the afternoon. Ludwig and the others follow Bowser blindly, stepping deeper into the courtyard until Lemmy's tiny gasp stops Ludwig in his tracks.
He looks up, eyebrows scrunched together, noticing a tree that hadn't been there before. It stands proudly in the corner of the courtyard, not too far off from the pavilion resting in the middle and surrounded by an array of pink tulips and bleeding hearts. A bountiful harvest of red apples bloom from the branches of the new tree and a stone marker is tucked between protruding roots. Ludwig takes an inquisitive step forward to read the letters carved into the dark stone.
"Morton and Ann's Tree"
Ludwig's eyes grow wide, instantly recognizing the name of his parents curved delicately into rock. Lemmy is the first one to react, connecting the dots quicker than Ludwig's addled brain can. The second eldest tries to stifle his sobs behind his tiny hands, but it barely muffles the heartbreaking noises that leave his mouth.
Iggy releases Larry's hand and appears at Lemmy's side in seconds, patting his brother's shell, murmuring softly to him while clearly fighting away his own tears as he stares longingly up at the familiar sight of an apple tree.
Ludwig shifts his astonished gaze to Roy. He finds his loudest brother uncharacteristically silent, face unreadable as Wendy clings to his arm sleepily. Or so he initially thinks, upon closer inspection, Ludwig spots wet trails of tears running down Roy's face and a broken smile pulling at the corners of his mouth like Roy's unsure if he should smile or break out into his own sobbing fit.
Ludwig is suddenly overwhelmed, bursting into a barrage of uncontainable tears. It's a strange mixture of happiness and heart wrenching sorrow. Part of him mourns for his parents while another is deeply touched by Bowser's act of kindness.
Bowser didn't have to do any of this for them. He quickly finds himself wrapped in Morton's arms as Morton worriedly asks if he's hurt. Ludwig can't find the words to assure his young brother he's okay. Any sentences he'd attempt to launch from his mouth would dissolve into a mixture of random blubbering and incomplete sentences. Instead, Ludwig allows his clingy brother to hold him tighter as he tries to gather himself off the ground.
Ludwig watches with bleary vision as Lemmy turns away from Iggy towards Bowser, tears still cascading down his face. The child doesn't have to say anything, Bowser opens his arms, and Lemmy runs into the embrace.
"Thank you," Lemmy manages to say between sniffs and hiccups. "Thank you."
Ludwig cries even harder. This tree is better than empty caskets burrowed beneath marble tombstones or an urn full of collected ashes. It holds familiar memories of a time when their family felt whole; the perfect symbolic reminder of his parents. Father stated his apple tree was one of his greatest accomplishments because he and Mother had planted it together the first day they moved into their new home as official spouses.
The deeper meaning behind the tree is lost to the youngest child, but Larry is ecstatic to spot the familiar sight of red apples hanging from the branches. He interrupts Ludwig's pitiful display as he grabs Ludwig's hand and yanks him away from Morton's grip.
Together, they trudge through the grass towards the tree. Larry is no longer tired or grouchy when food is right in front of him. Ludwig allows himself to be dragged along by Larry without a complaint, using the opportunity to wipe his tears away with his free arm.
Larry stares expectedly up at his big brother then his gaze snaps skywards to one of the many red apples hanging teasingly from the branches. Ludwig wonders how Larry figures his big brother can reach one of them if he's only a few feet taller than him when Bowser's arm stretches above them and plucks one for him. He hands it to the toddler with a knowing grin. Larry beams with appreciation, mumbling a quick "thank you" before wasting no time sitting on the ground and sinking his teeth into the bright red skin.
This starts off a domino effect because now Morton is shyly asking for one while Wendy is more demanding of her request, stomping her foot to emphasize her new need to have an apple. Bowser doesn't mind becoming the resident harvester, picking off two for each child then handing it to them. Both thank him before plopping to the ground beside Larry to munch on their apples.
At this point, Bowser begins tossing them to the other children. Iggy catches his apple with ease while Lemmy's is thrown too high. Luckily, Roy manages to intercept it before it hits the ground. He hands it off to Lemmy then catches his own apple without any difficulty. Bowser tosses one to Ludwig and Ludwig, not prepared, nearly drops it as it fumbles in his grip.
Ludwig stares down at the apple, seeing his distorted red reflection staring back at him. He recalls a time when Father had pulled him aside one evening, as the horizon succumbed to the milky darkness of night and the lanterns flickered on. They sat in silence underneath the apple tree, listening to the symphony of frog croaks mingling with strumming crickets, admiring the fireflies fluttering and twinkling like tiny stars as they munched on caramel apples.
Father angled his body towards Ludwig and told him the story of how he and Mother had met which somehow led to him telling Ludwig how proud he was of Ludwig's thirst for knowledge, his perfect grades, and his newest talent for music. Ludwig listened intently to his Father's sappy rambling and valid praise, enjoying the sugary goodness of the caramel apple he'd helped make earlier. The warmth in his chest grew the more Father complimented him.
Then, unexpectedly, Father had stopped talking amidst the conversation. Ludwig had worriedly directed his attention towards Father's. He found Father's eyebrows furrowed, mouth pressed into a tight line, and eyes staring intensely back at him, searching for something unknown. All Ludwig could see was unspoken pain behind his uncertain gaze. But why? Father opened his mouth, seemingly prepared to explain himself, then snapped it immediately close. He broke eye contact to stare out at the fireflies.
Although Ludwig could tell Father had more to say, he chose to seal away those words, and promised to continue the conversation another night, patting Ludwig on his leg. Father never did get the chance to finish his thoughts. All those times Ludwig felt as if Father was hiding something died with him, never to be spoken aloud.
What did Father want to tell Ludwig that night?
Ludwig swallows thickly, craning his neck to admire the height of the tree. This apple tree in front of him is over twenty feet tall, grown in less than a week by the aid of magic. Perhaps Iggy was right. Perhaps when Iggy claimed the tree in their yard had been far too huge to be the same age as Ludwig, he had been on to something. Logically, Iggy ranted, it didn't make sense. He began a long tangent on the lifecycle of trees that Ludwig, at the time, blew off as a silly conspiracy along with Roy.
But now? How could Ludwig deny Iggy's cemented argument now? After all, Iggy preferred scourging through Father's gardening books and plant encyclopedias more than the others. He often accompanied Father to the garden just to simply listen to Father drone on and on about plants with eagerness in his eyes. Iggy would know more than Ludwig on these matters.
It feels like Ludwig is trying to piece together a puzzle that's missing pieces he can't seem to find no matter how much he looks. He doesn't know if he'll ever receive the answers he seeks.
And maybe that's okay for now.
Slowly, Ludwig takes a bite into the apple. The familiar crunch resounds in his head and he chews thoughtfully, relishing in the familiar taste.
The rest of the morning is spent outdoors under their tree. Ludwig, Bowser, and his siblings snack on as many apples as they can while sharing snippets of their week and random stories. Kamek eventually joins them with a bright-eyed Junior in his arms. Though the baby is quickly snatched away by Iggy and Lemmy, eager to steal away all his attention for themselves.
Ludwig and Roy get a big kick out of Kamek and Bowser's back and forth bickering about a meeting Bowser doesn't want to attend in a few weeks. Bowser is adamant about not attending and Kamek is determined to drag him there no matter what it takes. Kamek is seemingly the winner of the argument when Bowser relents with a sigh.
As noon rolls around, Ludwig is the only child left standing by the tree. Bowser is looming somewhere behind him, probably uncertain if Ludwig wants to be bothered or not. Ludwig's siblings have since gone inside to recover from overeating and some, like Roy, probably went back to bed to catch up on missed sleep.
Kamek had left not long after them, scooping up Junior, and claiming the young prince was due for a nap as the baby whined in agreement. Bowser finally approaches Ludwig and they stand side by side in calm silence. Something has been nagging at Ludwig since this morning when he first laid eyes on their "surprise."
"I don't mean to kill the mood or undermine the gesture." Ludwig begins, fidgeting nervously with his hands. "But why did you do it?"
Ludwig sneaks a quick glance to gauge his reaction. Bowser doesn't appear surprised or insulted by Ludwig's question in the slightest. It calms his bubbling nerves, somewhat.
"A few reasons."
"May I ask what they are?"
"You guys literally lost everything without any warning," Bowser remarks, grimly. He settles a hand on Ludwig's shoulder. An unexpected, but appreciated gesture.
"I actually went there, Ludwig, and there really is nothing left." He squeezes Ludwig's shoulder. "I may not have known them, but they raised a damn good pack of kids and deserved to be properly remembered. And I hope this convinces you all that I'm not ever going to send you guys away. You're stuck with me now and I don't have any intentions of changing my mind."
Wait, why would he feel inclined to visit their home? Surely, he has far more important matters to attend to than travel to the outskirts of the Kingdom to see nothing but charred remains.
"Which reminds me—" Bowser removes his hand to dig into his shell. He pulls out a small piece of paper and hands it to a very puzzled Ludwig.
Ludwig stares down at it, quickly realizing it's an old photo, discolored slightly from age. His parents smile back at him, young adults with deeply contrasting styles. According to Mother, Father always had been an overachieving nerd with thick-rimmed glasses while Mother was more rebellious. She'd tell Ludwig about her colorful Mohawks and collection of rock band posters that littered her apartment wall before moving into a quaint village to settle down. She eventually grew out of that phase before Ludwig was even an idea in her mind.
Though, after hearing those stories, Lemmy had asked if he could have a rainbow Mohawk and a week later, he sported just that. It's definitely his parents in the photo, the crinkle of Mother's eyes when she laughs and the crooked smiles Father occasionally flashed Ludwig when he told him he loved him are undeniably theirs. Ludwig finds himself once again tearing up before more tears begin pouring down his face.
"I found it while digging through their town records. Figured you should be the one to hold onto it."
"Sometimes I feel like one day I'll forget what they look like," Ludwig admits with a sniffle. "I'm afraid of that day. I don't want that to happen."
He clutches the photo tightly to his chest and cries. The large hand settles back on his shoulders, holding the child steady and keeping him grounded in place.
"I miss you both everyday. I promise I won't ever forget you."
Ludwig looks at Bowser, smiles genuinely through the waterworks. All he can make out are the familiar colors of Bowser blended together like a watercolor painting. He hopes all the things he wishes to say but can't shine through his expression. His voice is too choked up by all the tears to properly express himself.
Bowser didn't have to do any of this. It was never part of their pinky promise they made many months ago. Eventually Ludwig finds his voice, although hoarse and cracked.
"Thank you for all of this."
Bowser grins widely at this, exposing all his teeth to the world. Ludwig hesitates, biting the bottom of his lip between his teeth. Until he finally gives in to his emotions, working up the courage to launch himself towards Bowser. He cannot reach Bowser's waist, so he settles for wrapping his arms around Bowser's leg, careful to avoid wrinkling up the picture. He feels a bit silly at first until Bowser pats him on the head.
Though Bowser seemingly decides it's not enough and scoops Ludwig up off the ground into a deeper embrace.
"No problem, Ludwig." Bowser's chest vibrates with his words, his hands settle in his mop of blue hair. Ludwig can hear his drumming heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Never forget this is your home too."
This hug is warm, but not stifling. It's familiar, but it's not the same Koopas he once sought out for comfort. All Ludwig hones in on is the pulsating in his chest that flutters happily as he repeats the sentiment in his head, holding the picture close to his heart. Bowser is right; it feels like he's finally home.
Me At Myself: What if the apples they stole in the first story had a deeper meaning?
Me: Pfft, that's stupid. Why would they?
And then I wrote an entire story. It's got everything. Crying children, Sassy Kamek, and more backstory for Bowser?!
Oh! Congrats to Kamek for finally joining the race in Mario Kart Tour! Also, I hate you because it took all my rubies to pull you from a pipe.