Hannibal moved about semi awkwardly as he was bathed and bandaged up before he got dressed and sat down to a now cold meal. Hannibal had kept a careful watch on Will, who sat in the corner of the room, feline-like eyes tight on each of Hannibal's movements, though no words were shared between them.
The silence continued, only broken up by cutlery on plates. It wasn't until Hannibal had finished his food and the dishes had been removed that Will finally shifted position from his perch on the chair.
He wandered in an aimless way until he was at the small table Hannibal sat at. Will's fingers trailed over the table top and Hannibal sighed, leaning back in his chair as he allowed Will the time needed for the boy to break the silence.
It dragged on, Will's fingers trailing designs across the table. Impatience bubbled through Hannibal and he did his best to hold the sensation back. He had to give Will the time. It hadn't occurred to him until he was in the bath that perhaps the actions that Will had taken that night had been someone at the very end of their rope, patience burned away to cinders.
Hannibal could only imagine everything Will had gone through while Hannibal had been away. He had only scraped up the barest of details and even that was enough to paint a decent enough picture for Hannibal to see.
Will had been under the illusion that Hannibal was as good as gone, dead or shipped to the ends of the earth. His only lead to finding Hannibal had been a pompous duke who obviously had no sense of care or love for anything other than money until fairly recently. Dead end, after dead end and hope faded on top of whatever other kingdom related issues there were and his own emotions.
Then everything collided in one single day. Everything Will had imagined gone, was mourning, and it returned. Hannibal had returned, but so had the man responsible for the lost hope and pain. And if the odds and ends that Beverly, James, and Brian had let slip about Will barely taking care of himself, were true, then of course his fuse had burned out and the cannon fired. There was nowhere else for the explosion to go.
Hannibal let his hand capture Will's in a gentle grip and Will jumped, as if he had forgotten that Hannibal was in the room. Hannibal brought Will's hand to his lips and kissed them softly. Will didn't fight the movement and Hannibal took it as a good sign.
"Where should we start?" he muttered, lips still caressing Will's knuckles.
Will shook his head, a nervous smile playing at his lips. "I don't know."
"I told you what happened to me. I told you about the treaty, about the ship, about Spain and the Marquess." Hannibal lowered Will's hand back to the table, finger reaching out to trace the excessive green jewel there. "Perhaps it is your turn to tell me what happened after I left."
Will frowned and he pulled his hand free. HIs body shifted until he was leaning up against the table with his arms folded over his chest.
"You want to know everything?"
The smile Hannibal attempted to give was reassuring. "The important points would suffice, I'm sure."
"I read through all of the papers you left, though why you did not explain them to me, I do not understand." Will's grumble tipped Hannibal's head to the side.
"Why I did not explain my reasoning behind the marriage and everything else I did?" Hannibal asked, only receiving a head nod. "The times I tried to tell you, something always came up, to the point where time ran out. I would not have left you to deal with it on your own if I had the choice."
"How hard is it to just pull me aside and whisper in my ear that I'm illegitimate and it can be discussed in fuller detail later?"
"I'm sorry we were unable to discuss them, but it is in no way my fault that this was the way you had to discover the truth," Hannibal defended. He could feel the bite of Will's tongue as the boy swallowed back his remark. The crease in his brow softened and he sighed. There seemed to be more there, something deeper, but Hannibal didn't pry. "What else?"
"The Vergers are the reason your family was killed." The words were dry, the pain still somehow as fresh now as the day that everything had happened to Hannibal. "I'm sorry."
"It was a long time ago," Hannibal excused, though the disbelief Will shot at him told Hannibal enough. Will could see his pain just as clearly as Hannibal could feel it. "I recall them speaking German when they didn't want us to know what they were saying. Unfortunately, I already knew the language thanks to my father." Hannibal waved away the memory and licked his lips. "And the wedding?"
Will's eyes closed and a hand went to his face so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. "It was a disaster," Will whispered and Hannibal leaned in closer to better hear, a hand reaching out to caress Will's arm, though Will didn't react to the touch. "Everything seemed to be going well. I had the revolt planned, the men were on my side. I knew exactly what my father was planning to do with Mason the moment the ceremony was done."
"What was going to happen with Mason?"
"My father was hoping that he could surprise me with the news of my being illegitimate and the blackmail so that it would enrage me enough to the point where I would dispose of that Verger bitch." Will groaned. "I honestly wished that was the route it took. It felt like I had been thrown from my horse with how sudden the jolt was."
"How do you mean?" Hannibal pushed himself from his chair and stepped closer to Will. Will didn't pull away, nor did he move closer, so Hannibal stayed put with a hand taking Will's shoulder in a firm but kind grasp.
"We were waiting for Margot to start the ceremony when a letter arrived. It was from the Duke of Wessex. My father pulled me to the side and…" Will trailed off, a sniffle being rubbed at by the back of Will's hand. Hannibal watched as a tear rolled down Will's cheek before Will wiped it away and cleared his throat. "Told me you were gone and that I needed to be a king instead of a prince."
"Will-"
"We were about to start when Mason said something about good breeding and not trusting me to perform my marital duty and so I panicked. I didn't know what else to do, Hannibal. I offered the bedding ceremony and Margot tried to defend me, but Mason ended it all. Right then and there."
Hannibal shifted until he was in front of Will, taking his other shoulder in his grip now too. Will's breathing had sped up, audible in its gasps.
"And then my father said he had to teach me a lesson." Will wiped another tear from his cheek. "He beat me, Hannibal, like he never had before. I thought he was going to kill me. And then he burned your ribbon. The beating was nothing compared to that. I lost you twice in one day."
"Will," Hannibal whispered, hands moving to cup Will's face. Haunted blue darted about Hannibal's face. Was Will scared? Afraid of his reaction? Was Will frightened that Hannibal would snap because of a ribbon? The idea made Hannibal nauseous. "It's ok. I'm not upset."
"But it was Mischa's and you trusted me to-"
"I'm not upset," Hannibal repeated, fingers tracing the harsh lines that Sanford had left in Will's cheek. Bitter and deep, forever changing Will's presence. A man traded for a boy with the cut of jewels.
"I killed him." Will's head tumbled forward into Hannibal's bare chest and Hannibal pulled Will into a secure hug, one hand cradling the back of Will's head and playing with the curls. "It felt so good, Hannibal. To finally have him gone, I could breathe. I could barely stand, but I was strong and powerful and he couldn't hurt me anymore."
Hannibal understood the feeling. There was something so breathtaking about freeing yourself from what wanted to harm you. Something about coming out victorious even if it cost you a little more than what you had been wanting to pay in the first place. It was gory and glorious and Will should never have had to have experienced such opposites violently tearing at his soul.
"I searched for you after that," Will continued on, breath warm against Hannibal's chest. "Went to the duke and couldn't follow you. You were gone."
"I promised I would return." Hannibal rocked Will gently, hiding his face in Will's hair. "I will never leave you again."
"I know. I will make sure of it." Hannibal's brows furrowed in confusion and he stepped back to bring Will's attention to his face. Behind the tears there was determination. "I have a plan."
"That is?" Hannibal couldn't be sure he wanted to know the answer.
"I'll be giving you back your titles and you will be my Royal Advisor so that outbursts like tonight aren't looked down on so savagely."
Hannibal meticulously slipped from the bed, careful to not wake Will. He fetched his trousers from the floor and slid them on before leaving the room to amble the corridors while thoughts plagued him and left him unable to sleep.
He found himself halted in the doorway at two tangled up figures blocking his path. A breath left Hannibal's nose as he tried to hold back his laugh and close the door quietly behind him.
"If someone came after the king, they would be able to sneak past you," he said. The air was sucked from the space around them as the two guards jumped apart, breathing hard. Hannibal grinned and leaned up against the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. James pushed his hair back, clearing his throat as pink filled his cheeks. Brian was adjusting the collar of his shirt and avoiding Hannibal's gaze. "How long has this been happening?"
"Oi, fuck off," Brian grumbled, returning to his position at attention.
"A while," James admitted, receiving a piercing glare from Brian. "It's not like he would tell anyone. He and His Majesty have been together since they were children. Even you saw how they acted at the funeral."
"How we acted at the funeral?" Hannibal repeated in a tease. "I didn't realize Will's and my emotions were on such a vivid display for everyone to see when we were twelve."
"You held hands the entire service." Brian's explanation was blunt. "What are you doing up?"
"Couldn't sleep." Hannibal removed himself from the wall and stepped between his friends. "The two of you need to be careful. If anyone else saw you, they wouldn't be kind."
"We aren't stupid," James grumbled, the blush seeming to deepen in his cheeks.
"I never said you were." Hannibal gave the two men a kind smile. "I'm happy for the two of you. I will speak to Will and see if I can get you two a night off so you can have some time to yourselves." Hannibal held up his hand to stop the objection that he saw coming from both men and they backed down. "But until then, no distractions. If any harm comes for him, you and the harm will face me. Now, do your jobs."
Hannibal nodded his departure and started up the hallway. His smile slowly dropped as he continued the phantom trails of his childhood. It didn't take too long for him to find himself in the chapel, the moonlight cascading colors through the stained glass onto the floor, pews and coffins there.
Inside, the temperature dropped noticeably, the cold seeping into his bones. The marble walls, polished to a spectral sheen, reflected the moonlight in ghostly, flickering patterns. Rows of ornate coffins and urns rested undisturbed in their niches, their silent occupants long forgotten by the world outside. Cobwebs draped from the corners, delicate filigrees spun by industrious spiders, undisturbed by the passage of time.
In the long lineup of Kings and Queens and other nobles alike, Hannibal found the three he was searching for. He sat on the chilled stone floor beside them, letting his head rest against the wall. Eternity stood silently in the moonlight, an imposing structure of cold stone. The air around him was thick with an eerie calmness, a stillness that seemed to swallow all sound. The night was unusually quiet, as if the very fabric of reality held its breath in reverence to the dead within.
The silence was profound, oppressive, as if the walls themselves were holding back some ancient, whispered secret. Shadows seemed to dance just out of sight, flickering in the corners of one's vision, suggesting movement where there was none.
It sent Hannibal back in time to when the shadows had been something real. Shadows that came in the night and stole him away from everything he had known. The world had collapsed into chaos the moment the doors had been forced open. It was as if time had frozen and raced forward at the same instant.
Hannibal could recall the way his heartbeat pounded wildly in his chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing the frantic rhythm of his thoughts. Both had to have been so loud that the men draped in blue guard uniforms must have heard them though the estate.
His surroundings blurred in a swirl of confusion and fear, each detail merging into a sickening whirlpool of sensory overload. The familiar safety of his environment was replaced by the unknown, every shadow a potential threat.
The snowstorm hit with a ferocity that was almost otherworldly, transforming the serene winter landscape into a frozen hellscape. The wind howled like a tortured beast, slashing through layers of clothing with icy claws, leaving no inch of skin unscathed. Each breath felt like inhaling shards of glass, the cold so intense it seemed to burn his lungs from the inside out.
Snow whipped through the air in a blinding fury, reducing visibility to mere inches. It was a suffocating whiteness, a relentless barrage that stung the eyes and froze eyelashes together. The ground was a treacherous, shifting expanse, where every step threatened to plunge you into knee-deep drifts or send you sprawling on the ice hidden beneath.
Panic set in, raw and consuming, an uncontrollable tide that swept through him. Every muscle tensed, ready to flee, to fight, to do anything to escape the nightmare. But they were trapped, powerless against the overwhelming force holding them captive. The walls closed in, and Hannibal was left with nothing but his frantic breaths and the deafening silence of his own terror shared with Mischa's.
Helplessness seeped into his bones, a cold, heavy weight that made it hard to breathe. He tried to scream, but the sound died in his throat, choked by fear and the harsh reality of his situation. Tears blurred his vision, the salty taste mingling with the metallic tang of fear. Every second stretched into an eternity, each moment cruel.
Fingers and toes quickly lost all sensation, replaced by a numbness that crept insidiously up the limbs, hinting at the terrifying possibility of frostbite. The cold burrowed deep into his being, an unyielding ache that pulsed with each heartbeat. It felt as if the storm was drawing the very warmth from his soul, leaving behind only a hollow, shivering shell that not even a fire could quell.
There was no escaping the relentless assault. The storm's roar was a deafening, disorienting cacophony, drowning out all other sounds. Even thoughts seemed to freeze, crystallized in the mind's grasping attempt to remember warmth, comfort, safety.
In that merciless storm, survival became a desperate fight against an indifferent, overpowering force. The cold was another enemy alongside the men, a remorseless adversary that showed no mercy, a reminder of nature's unyielding power and the fragility of human existence in its grasp.
His mind had raced, grasping for any shred of hope, any possible escape. The thought of loved ones, of safety, of freedom, tormented him. Desperation clawed at him, each passing minute amplifying the dread. He listened, straining to catch any sound that might offer a clue, a chance to break free.
Eventually, time lost its meaning in the white world around them. Hours could have been minutes and minutes, hours. The physical discomfort was a constant companion—the tight bonds, the cramped space, the aching muscles—but it paled in comparison to the mental anguish.
And when the only thing worth living for, the only person he had fought so hard to keep by his side had been ripped from him, a primal instinct kicked in. He clung to that spark, that inner fire, and used it to push through the suffocating fear and cold.
His heart leapt in a tentative flutter when he found the knife. He clutched to it, fueling his determination, waiting for the right opportunity to reclaim what little was still his. Escape had never been guaranteed, in fact, Hannibal was sure the devil himself had bet against him.
The first had been difficult and easy at the same time. His guard was not paying attention, focusing on something outside and he crept forward on trembling limbs. The knife met the man's throat, the marking jagged and uncertain, leaving the man gasping and clawing at the new carving in his flesh.
But it worked well enough for Hannibal's needs.
His hands shook and he desperately attempted to wipe the blood from his hands onto his damp clothes, but it only smeared the red around. He hated it. Hated how his insides now felt splattered with the same blood as his outsiders were.
The next was the same. Staining his innards while the snow was also transformed magically into a crimson lake. It flowed everywhere like a river, the heat melting the flurries and turning them to steam to dance away in the winter air.
He filled the self-made dam, one man at a time, swimming through the currents until he was back at his sister's side. He clung to her, willing his soul to go with her. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in the icy crystals and sleep for all eternity. Surrender to elysium.
The mental tempest raged on, swirling winds and relentless rain that obscured the world in a cloak of darkness. The once familiar path was now an unfamiliar labyrinth, each step a struggle against the elements. Desperation clawed at his soul, each breath a plea for respite.
Then, through the cacophony of the storm, a faint glow appeared on the horizon. Hannibal had first thought it a figment of his imagination, a trick played by his weary mind. But as a prince stumbled forward, the light grew stronger, cutting through the darkness like a beacon of hope. Hannibal's heart quickened, a flicker of belief igniting within him, though he tried to smother it.
There he stood, Hannibal's savior, bathed in an ethereal light that seemed to emanate from within him. His presence was a stark contrast to the chaos inside of Hannibal, a pillar of strength and serenity. Blue eyes, filled with warmth and understanding, met Hannibal's, and in that moment, the storm no longer mattered. The world around him faded into insignificance as the prince extended his hand and cloak towards Hannibal.
Hannibal's hesitation must have taken far too long to settle, because the cloak was draped around his shoulders, bestowing the prince's warmth to him. His touch was firm yet gentle, a lifeline in the midst of my turmoil.
He spoke, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. "Here! I'm over here! I need help!"
There was help. Someone else was coming.
The storm continued to rage around them, but it no longer held any power over Hannibal. With his savior by his side, the darkness was banished, replaced by a light that filled his heart with the beginnings of hope. In his presence, Hannibal found strength he never knew he had, a courage that carried him through the storm and into the promise of a new dawn.
"What are you doing?"
Hannibal jumped, eyes tired from the mindless staring. He rubbed at his eyes and inhaled deeply, stretching. Beverly stood before him, bathed in golden sunlight and Hannibal combed the chapel, trying to figure out how long he had been sitting there. Long enough for the sun to rise and his body to go comfortably numb.
"What time is it?"
"Well past breakfast." Beverly looked around the room, eyes finding the three coffins that Hannibal sat beside and her countenance softened slightly. "I'll have to bury my mom soon, too. It feels a touch funny, doesn't it? The idea that this is what we're reduced to. Life leaves our bodies, but our bodies don't leave life."
"It is funny," Hannibal whispered. He pushed himself to his feet and stretched again, bones realigning and popping at the movement. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother."
"I think it will be better for her," Beverly admitted reverently as her fingers outstretched and splayed across the face of the stone casket. "Her mind has already moved on. It's just her body that's still with us." She sighed deeply, tracing the dates of Micsha's life. "I'm also sorry about your family. I remember the funeral quite well. I don't think I had ever seen one so elaborately decorated before. It was beautiful."
"I only truly remember the candles," Hannibal admitted as he dug through the hazy memory. "I thought that the curtains would catch fire with how many there were. The rest is murky at best." Hannibal's lips tipped into a sad smile. "Minds are curious. The parts of my life I wish to remember are the parts that fade like a dream while everything that I wish to forget clings to me like it's sewn into my skin."
"You disappeared after that night. I don't recall seeing you again." Hannibal could feel Beverly watching him closely, trying to read him. "What happened after you were banished?"
"I went to live with my aunt and uncle in France."
"I didn't realize you had other family."
Hannibal shrugged, tearing his eyes from his sister and turning his back to the resting place. "Not anymore. They passed away a few years ago, but I was no longer living there when the news reached me."
"Where were you?"
"Fighting in Spain."
"Oh…" Beverly said softly, as if this was the first time the thought had occurred to her. "You joined Sandford's army."
"I changed my name and rose through the ranks." Hannibal sighed and ran a hand through his knotted hair, his fingers getting caught here and there until he broke through the tangles. "I honestly just wanted to have the chance to come home, even if I was never truly me again."
Beverly was quiet and Hannibal glanced back enough to reach for her hand. Her eyes shot to him, pity in them. Hannibal gave her a reassuring smile and pulled her along, out of the chapel. She followed him without question, falling in step beside him.
"I could never imagine that feeling," she finally said, voice soft. "I'm sorry that happened to you."
"I'm here now. I can't complain."
"What happened to your back?"
Hannibal's steps faltered and Beverly had to stop to not pass him. Despite the nerves in the brand being so dead that he couldn't feel touch there any longer, he could still feel the way the heat seared into him. The pain prickling and stabbing through his spine.
"Punishment," Hannibal admitted. He shook his head to dismiss the phantom pain and continued up the hall with Beverly.
"That Marquess did it, didn't he?" Beverly's anger wasn't missed and Hannibal's brow rose curiously.
"Is that emotion for me?" Hannibal teased. He received a light slap to his arm and he winced as it hit the bandage. His other hand went to the cut and he chuckled at the annoyance Beverly was now displaying. "Do you care for me, Beverly?"
"Don't think so highly of yourself," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "It's only for Will's sake."
"Absolutely," Hannibal agreed sarcastically. "Only for Will."
"Who is expecting you so you can discuss the details of your little promotion." Beverly stopped at the dining hall and waved Hannibal on. "Get dressed. I will let him know I found you."
"I don't think I like this mutual respect between us." Hannibal walked backwards, watching Beverly's face carefully to find the barest hint of a smirk show itself.
"Hurry up, will you? We don't have all day. And I do not feel like yelling again today."
