Stepping through the doors and into the stone castle sent an uneasy shiver through Will. Maybe the stories of ghosts rang true because the moment he crossed that threshold he could hear the screams trapped in the walls as if there were someone behind the stone wanting to escape.
The sound of their boots echoed tenfold as they crept through a dozen men's shadows. Tapestries were ripped from the walls they adorned. Expensive artwork shattered and torn. It littered the corridor loudly.
The flickering of the lantern called the eerie silhouettes from the past and Will found himself following the yelling and shouting, Hannibal trailing slowly after him. The corridor opened into a grand space. Shattered windows had allowed the elements free reign and Will found the same foliage from outside scattered across the floor.
There was a steadying breath beside Will, and he glanced over at Hannibal who was holding the lantern out to cast the flame around them as far as it could reach. Will couldn't read the expression on Hannibal's face, but the way that Mischa's red ribbon was laced tightly between the fingers on his opposite hand told Will that he was struggling even if he didn't say it aloud.
"I would play here as a kid," Hannibal explained, voice stable. "My sister and me. We had a dog that enjoyed playing. We would stand at the top of the stairs," -Hannibal pointed to the grand staircase at the end of the room, covered in the same dust and leaves- and throw a ball down them so the dog could chase it."
The phantom barks of a puppy sounded, and Will watched a grey furry blur rush past him as a ball bounced away. When he turned back to the stairs, he found Mischa descending the stairs, bloodied and dead eyed, laughing and calling the nameless pet back to her.
Hannibal continued through the room without a word and Will followed suit through the crunching of old and new leaves and towards the staircase. When they reached the top of it, Will stole another glance over his shoulder to the blonde girl throwing the ball again.
He stepped a ways down the next hall behind Hannibal, but paused when his attention was caught by a rather faded, worn and tattered painting. There were four people. A man and a woman and two children. The man stood behind the woman with a protective hand over the woman's shoulder. His features were sharp and his gaze more so. He had slicked back grey hair and a thick bead. The woman was flawless in her beauty. Her long brown hair fell in thick curls past her shoulders. Her eyes were kinder than the man's, softer, but just as powerful. Her lips were curled into a smile of some sort as if she were hiding a funny secret.
She held a little girl on her lap who had the same curls in her hair, but it was a golden blonde instead of brown. Mischa's bright blue eyes stared back at Will. The life in them was so different from the way that Will's memory recalled them and he was grateful to give a touch more life back to the spirit who liked to beg him to read to her.
When Will turned his attention to the young boy standing in front of the man and beside the woman Will was face to face with a slightly younger version of Hannibal. A Hannibal whose amber eyes seemed to glow in the painting, no blood soaked into them yet. He stood tall, proud just as he did now.
A throat cleared beside Will and Will jumped, having forgotten that he wasn't alone. "Those are my parents," Hannibal explained. "The likeness is decent."
Will took a moment to look over Hannibal in the dim light, matching pieces of his mother and father in his face. His father's sharpness was softened with his mother's gentler features. His eyes belonged to the man in the portrait, but the smile that Hannibal enjoyed showing leaned towards the woman and her hidden little secrets.
"Your mother was beautiful," Will said, a hand reaching out and caressing over the gaudiness of the frame.
"She was," Hannibal agreed with a nod. "She was a rather studious woman. She greatly encouraged my schooling, and I don't think there was a day where I didn't see a book in her hand." Will smiled at the lovely similarity that brought his own mother to the forefront of his mind. "She passed on her insatiable sweet tooth to Mischa. They would often sneak to the kitchens together and steal treats."
"And your father?"
"I know that he doesn't look it, but he was a gentle and quiet man." Hannibal's own hand reached out to affectionately stroke the frame of the painting, leaving trails of dust and revealing a bit more brightness in the material. "He worked very hard for King Sanford to make sure that the trading between us and the Vergers stayed adequate. When he wasn't working, I would find him in the gardens. He enjoyed working the land with his own hands."
"They both sound charming." Will slid his hand towards Hannibal and gently caressed the ribbon tangled fingers. "I regret not having the opportunity to meet them."
"I think my mother would have liked you." The words were thoughtful. "She would gravitate more toward those with strong opinions who were willing to express them." Hannibal pulled his hand free and exhaled sharply, turning away from the portrait. "This way," he instructed, starting back down the hall with a sure stride.
Will stole one more look at the portrait, trying to burn it into his memory before he raced to catch up with Hannibal. "Where are we going exactly?"
"I'm not sure," was Will's answer.
His brows furrowed. "Was there something you wanted to see or something you wanted to retrieve?"
"Not unless something jumps out at me."
"What are you trying to find here?"
Hannibal's steps froze so swiftly that Will crashed into the back of his body and snatched up Hannibal's arm for balance. He was able to catch the slightest twist of pain in Hannibal's face before it once more gave way for impenetrable stone.
"Answers." Hannibal glanced down at Will and the corner of his lip twitched up for a microsecond. "If they weren't your father's men, which is difficult for me to believe, then who were they? Who sent them? Why did they kill my parents and kidnap my sister and I?"
"You really are just as in the dark as I am, aren't you?" Will asked softly, straightening himself back up into proper balance.
"Possibly."
"And will these answers be at the end of this hall?"
"I don't know."
Hannibal started off again, making a right hand turn down another hall. Doors lined this one and there was a large wooden door at the end of the hall. Will thought they were headed towards that one, but Hannibal stopped at one of the side doors, staring at it as if it were going to come alive.
"That was my room," he breathed out.
When it was clear that Hannibal wasn't going to make any moves to open the door, Will took it upon himself. He had to push at the wood, the rusted hinges creaking as they were forced to work. When the door was opened Will was met with a scene frozen in time.
There were shelves of books, dirty and dusty. From the ceiling was dripping water that tinked each time it landed in the puddle that had been created in the middle of the room. A desk beside the bookshelves held an old ink well and a pen and weathered parchment that barely held to the ink that had once been soaked into its pages.
The bed was what held Will's attention the most effectively. The bedding had been haphazardly flung aside, one of the blankets was half on the bed and the rest of it across the floor as if it had been stuck to the bed's occupant when they tried to leave the room.
There was a thud as a scared little boy tried to untangle himself and tripped, the blanket caught around his ankle. It was pushed free, and the younger picture of his friend scrambled back to his feet and rushed to the door, flinging it open in a panic and calling for his mother.
When Will turned back to the doorway, he found Hannibal trapped in it, seeming unable to step a single foot further into the room. His eyes were flickering around the space though, taking in the grimy details.
Will closed the distance between them, a hand resting against the man's chest, but he found Hannibal's heart just as steady as it had been in the bath earlier. He had seen too many things, lived far too many and it didn't affect him the same ways anymore. There was clearly some sort of storm brewing beneath the surface, but Will was not granted access to see how dark the swirling clouds were.
"Are you alright?" Will asked softly as if his voice would destroy some sort of spell that was over the room. "We can stop. We can go back to-"
"I could hear them," Hannibal muttered, a hand resting over the top of Will's, the grip warm. "The laughter, the shouting, them breaking things. It was so loud that it woke me from my sleep." As grateful as Will was to being allowed into Hannibal's past, guilt swirled through him watching the soldier relive the nightmare that had started everything. Will didn't need to know if it meant that Hannibal wasn't in pain. He could let the questions go unanswered for the rest of time if Hannibal needed them to be. "I left my room, and I could see their torch light down the hall." Hannibal pulled Will from the bedroom and to another door down the hall. "I came here to get my sister."
Will looked over the partly opened door before pulling from Hannibal and taking the handle in his hand. He glanced back as a grip took his shoulder, a plea in Hannibal's eyes.
Leave it be. She doesn't need to be disturbed. Let her sleep.
Will released his grip on the door and allowed Hannibal to guide him away from it. His back pressed up against Hannibal's chest and the one free arm wrapped itself around Will's chest. Will's hands took Hannibal's forearm in reassurance as the grip tightened around him.
"She was so scared," Hannibal whispered, and Will could see a frightened little face peek through the crack in the door, eyes blown wide like the moon. "We went to my parents' room. I remember when I slammed the door shut on the men at the end of the hall and my mother pulled us behind her I felt like we were safe. Like nothing could get through that door. Not with my father there." Hannibal inhaled deeply and loosened his grip on Will. "They're bedroom is at the end of the hall. I don't know what is in that room."
"We don't have to go into it," Will assured, but he was met with a shake of Hannibal's head when he turned. "Hanni-"
"It will help me remember if there's any details I'm missing."
Will couldn't bring himself to fight as the determined man went for the end of the hall. With a deep breath, Will followed and stopped beside Hannibal at the splintered door. The thick wood had stood no chance against whatever had been on the other side. Will wasn't sure if someone would have kicked the door down, but if there had been any sort of battering ram, it would have easily left the door in splinters.
Will glanced around Hannibal and into the room, doing his best to see as far as the lantern would grace him. There were even more books in this room. They filled floor to ceiling shelving that took up nearly three of the four walls. A blackened fireplace sat untended, and a long-ago wind had blown soot and ash across the room to decorate the furniture within.
The sitting chairs near the fireplace had been overturned and any ornamental pieces from the mantle had been hurled to the floor. The rug in front of the fireplace held a deep miscoloring in the very center of it where a jeweled and golden cross lay encrusted in preserved blood. One of its arms was crudely bent as if it had been struck against something.
The bed was torn to shreds and a dark rust color had stained the once white sheets. It had saturated the floor and left a dried cracking mess that once upon a time had been walked through as boot prints decorated the floor in blood as well.
The screams were louder in this room. They were deafening, cutting Will down to the bone. A mother screaming for her children to be spared, a father begging that his family be left unharmed. A little girl sobbing hysterically.
"They broke the door down," Hannibal whispered, a hand reaching out to caress the wood that still clung to its supports. "My father tried to fight them off, but there was more than a dozen of them. He killed two or three of them with that sword." Hannibal motioned to where a blade lay hidden in the shadows near the fragmented door, stepping through the doorway and fully into the room.
The sharp breath that came from Hannibal struck Will and for the first time since meeting Hannibal, Will saw him for the age he truly was. To Will, Hannibal had always been someone far older. Hannibal held a soul in him that had been forced to grow up far quicker than Will ever did and in reality, Hannibal was just a teenager. A child in the grand scheme of the world. He had lived through a thousand lifetimes in the last handful of years, but he was just the little boy that Will had wrapped his cloak around to protect him from the falling snow.
Hannibal stooped to pick up the blade, looking over it. It glowed, the old blood turning crimson in the firelight. He twisted the weapon in his grip, head tipping to the side the longer he regarded it.
"They grabbed him and took him to the fireplace. My mother was snatched away from my sister and me." The words were thick. Will could only listen as the memory came to life before him like a play. The man from the portrait was disarmed and violently struggling as his wife, who had their children hidden behind her, was overpowered. "They made my father beg for his life, laughing at him all while they forced my mother to their bed."
Will's mouth went dry as the apparitions fought for their lives. Will wished it would stop, willed his intrusive imagination to not force him to watch this. To not live through this. He wanted the screams to cease. He wanted these spirits to finally be at peace where they were safe in his home, where he had promised Hannibal, they would remain safe.
"One of them grabbed Mischa and I chose her."
There was a bitter laugh and it returned Will's attention to the tangible man standing in the middle of the room. Will inhaled deeply and blinked, vision blurred with tears he hadn't noticed were forming and he swiftly wiped at them before they had the chance to fall.
"I could have helped. I could have done something to save any of them and I chose Mischa. I held her against me, making sure she couldn't see. I covered her ears to block out the noise, but I saw. I heard. All of it."
Anger bit through Will and he knew it belonged to Hannibal. It was molten and bubbling and spilling over. It closed off Will's throat and ripped apart his chest, clutching his heart and crushing viciously.
"They took the cross from the mantle," -the blade of the sword pointed to where the golden artifact had once sat- "and they bludgeoned him. Over and over." The crack of bones breaking, and the squelch of innards nearly made Will gag as Count Giuliano's sharp features were turned to porridge on the rug. "And my mother..." The anguish that tore through Will as his eyes returned to the bed with the motion of the sword about brought Will to his knees. "The things they did to her, what was left of her when they were done, I will never be able to burn from my memory."
A trembling breath escaped Will as the tears finally broke free and rolled down his cheeks. He watched the life drain from the woman strewn halfway off the bed, blood flowing to the floor like a river.
Will found himself once more grateful for the closed caskets from the service that belonged to a time that felt ancient now that it was laced with dust. Caskets that hid the brutality of what had occurred that night, that took their secrets with them save for their one keeper.
Hannibal turned back to Will and Will was greeted with tear-streaked cheeks, though nothing had told Will that Hannibal had been crying as well. His voice had not cracked, his countenance not broken. He was perfectly intact.
Hannibal licked his lips thoughtfully. "There's nothing of value here," he explained. "Let us try the other wing." Hannibal made his way to the door, but stopped beside Will. It was difficult to drag himself from the performance still being put on before him, but he met Hannibal's gaze to find that the walls had come down a bit more. "Thank you for being here with me."
"You're welcome." It was barely a whisper, but Will couldn't find his voice. It was trapped somewhere in his throat. A warm kiss was placed on his forehead before Hannibal left the room and Will struggled to find his foot enough to catch up. "What's in the other wing?"
"My father's study. All his paperwork and documents will be there," Hannibal explained, voice a bit lighter now as they made their way back from where they had come, and Will avoided the eyes from the portrait that followed him as he passed it. "I'm not sure if there will be anything related to this in there, but I need to be sure."
"Hannibal?"
"Yes?"
He was going to regret the question the moment he asked it, but he had to know. He had to understand. Hannibal had already opened up so much and Will was afraid that once they left here the man would close up again, bury the past so deeply that the next millennia wouldn't be enough time to bring it back to the surface.
"What happened after that?"
"We were taken." Hannibal turned another corner and Will found himself looking over the vegetation covered courtyard with a fountain in the middle. As they grew closer to it, boots crunching on the gravel, Will could see that the still water had long turned green with algae. "We spent two or three weeks in your father's cabin. The storms got so bad that we couldn't leave."
When they entered the next wing Hannibal stopped, holding his lantern up though there was no need. Will could see the moon fully through what remained of the shambled roof. The pillars that had been helping support the walls had all fallen to bits, rotten, and without the pillars to brace the weight, a good portion of the walls had crumbled.
Will's brows furrowed together in confusion, and he stepped closer to one of the still standing walls that was darker near the top than the bottom. His fingers trailed down the wall, revealing an untouched stone beneath it. He rubbed his fingers together, the blackness gritty against his skin. Cinders.
"I guess you were right about the fire," Hannibal said with a disappointing huff of air. "Hopefully my father's study made it."
They started down the collapsed halls, each one more twisted than the last. Most of the windows had been broken with their decorative lead lines still standing against time. Other windows still maintained their stained-glass work, but the lead and glass had melted into hellishly disfigured forms.
"Were you still curious?" Hannibal inquired, taking their strange stroll on another turn. "I have the strength to tell you now. I might not retain it later."
Will couldn't lie. He had been searching for answers since the two of them had met. He had annoyed his father, begged Jack, tried to bribe other officers, searched for any sort of record of the incident but he never turned up anything other than those who attacked were not meant to be there.
"Yes," Will said with a nod, trying not to stumble over decaying timber and fallen stones as they took to a rather taller pile than what could be stepped over. Hannibal's hand outstretched and Will took it, finding that the man had managed to maneuver the lantern and sword into the same hand. "Thank you." When they were both settled on the other side, they set off again and Will noted how much larger this wing of the castle was even compared to his home. "You said you were in my father's cabin for several weeks?"
"Yes. We had to burn everything that was in the place to stay warm before they finally started venturing outside. We melted snow for water but there wasn't any food. Your father's traps, the ones that were found, continued to be empty. They grew desperate, angry and they would take it out on my sister and me."
Will nodded in understanding. "They got carried away," he surmised, but Hannibal's answer only pulled harder at his curiosity.
"Not exactly." Hannibal finally came to a stop and Will looked at the rough outline of a room that perhaps had once been as rich as the rest of the manor. The walls stood barely knee high and the damage was far worse here than it had been anywhere else. The rug was singed but the desk atop of it was charred. The chair behind the desk was so badly dilapidated that it was just the frame and looked like even a weak breeze could cause it to give out.
Books scattered the floor, some burned, others untouched, some of them were trapping papers that were being caught by the night wind and Will wondered how many had been lost to the flames or blown all over the forest to never be seen again.
Hannibal breathed deeply and made his way over to the desk, carefully stepping over the books if he had the ability to. Will mimicked the movements.
"Then what happened to Mischa if not that?" Will pressed, pausing to pick up one of the scorched books to flip through it.
He found a handwritten ledger of business expenses and somehow knew that this was Giuliano's dictation. The name Verger seemed to appear on every page Will flipped through. He had never realized how much trade went through the other kingdom. A good portion of their grain and metals came from over the border in exchange for wool and wines. The scraping sound of wood against stone pulled Will's gaze from the logs and over to where Hannibal was trying to manipulate one of the drawers of the desk open.
"I can only tell you what I have been able to put together myself," Hannibal admitted. There was another hard pull and with a loud splintering, the drawer freed itself. It pulled free from the desk as the legs buckled under the abuse and collapsed, leaving the drawer spilling its contents out on the floor. Will let out a small huff of laughter and went over to help Hannibal, who had dropped to his knees, to gather up all the loose papers.
"What do you mean?" Will lowered himself to his knees, not paying much mind to what was scrolled over the remarkably undamaged compositions. He just wanted to gather them up before a gust of wind strong enough to catch them came to take them away.
"She was gone when I woke one morning. I didn't think much of it, honestly. There were many other things bidding for my attention. I was cold and starving. I was physically hurt and still mourning my parents. And oftentimes Mischa would be in the privy. I think that's where I believed her to be."
Will reached for an envelope and was about to add it to the growing stack of papers in his hand when the writing across it caught his attention and he slowly reached for it.
His Royal Highness, The Prince
Will set the envelope aside, turning his attention to Hannibal who was trying to straighten the papers in his grip. The envelope could wait for a moment more, but it burned Will's fingers the longer he held on to it.
"And for the first time that morning we had something to eat. It wasn't anything wonderful. Just a rather bland broth with some meat. I didn't even think to question it." Hannibal paused his movements and his expression shifted to something distant as if he were in a far-off place, as if he had put up protection around himself. Will went over the details once more in his head, trying to save Hannibal from saying whatever was coming next. "It wasn't until they opened the door to go get more wood for the fire that I saw her, and I think when I finally put two and two together something inside of me broke. I had promised to keep her safe and I had failed. I've never been so angry in my life."
"Put two and two- oh."
Will's mind stuttered to a stop when he finally grasped what had occurred. Where Hannibal's sister had gone and where the soup had come from. Why she had been gutted like an animal and why all those men were killed in those very few moments before Will had stumbled upon them.
Hannibal nodded in silent confirmation when Will met his gaze with wide eyes and a slack jaw. The admittance only made the horror of the reality all that more real. It made Hannibal's actions and reactions to everything fall into place. It added a level of macabre that turned Will's stomach. It did nothing to change how Will saw the man who knelt before him, only made him pity the little boy he had found.
"And so, you killed them," Will supplied, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Hannibal nodded slowly as if unsure how much more information to divulge, unsure of how Will would react to what was already spilt between them.
"With the same knife they used to hurt Mischa."
Will's eyes dropped to the mess of books about him as he held back the way his stomach contracted and wanted to empty itself of the pork he had eaten for dinner. He didn't want to think about the theatre that would play out if he ever stepped foot near that hunting cabin again. He would never be able to return to that palace for as long as he lived, and he knew the moment the crown was placed on his head he was going to have it demolished and plant all sorts of wildflowers in memory of Hannibal's family.
"Will?" Unease gripped Hannibal's voice and Will finally pulled his eyes from the floor to meet a worried expression. "Please say something?"
Will struggled for any sort of words to offer at all. There was nothing that encapsulated the everything and the nothing that needed to be voiced. There was nothing that could have prepared Will for the harsh realization that the creatures he read about in books were nothing compared to the monsters that lurked out in the open sunlight. He regretted having ever demanded to be shown the truth.
"We'll find out who did this," Will finally said. He didn't think an apology could do anything to help them now. Hannibal didn't need condolences or pity. He had been given that already, had grown past that. The mourning period had come and gone and now answers were all Hannibal had asked for when they had stepped into this estate. "I promise we will find them."
There was a sense of relief that captured the two of them and Hannibal released a held breath with a grateful smile. "I thought that maybe you would never want to see me again," Hannibal admitted, returning to gathering the still scattered paper. "Maybe you would have your father exile me."
Will let a nervous laugh slip from him and he shook his head. "No. I don't think I would have the heart to do that."
He sighed and went to return to work but stopped when the weight of the letter in his hand returned to him. He held it closer to the lantern to examine the words written on the envelope and it must have caught Hannibal's attention because he leaned closer to better look at the writing as well.
"That's one of the letters I sent you."