The Trickster's Test {Prinxiety}

Chapter 29

TW: sad sh!t, grief, illness, mentioned death

Third Person

"Virgil, have I ever told you how proud I am of you?"

The words brought about an abrupt end to the silence between the Lancaster's that had persisted throughout the ship's departure and the first hour or so of their journey. The few people handling the sails and steering appeared to be busy with their tasks and their own conversations, but Virgil still wouldn't have expected him to start what was bound to be a personal discussion.

"I don't know about outright declarations, but the message hasn't been lost on me," That may have partially been a lie, as there were points where he distinctly remembered feeling like a disappointment, but he couldn't say he was affected too much either way.

"Well I am," He swallowed thickly, "I may never know exactly what you've gone through, in your life or just the past week, but I do know this all couldn't have been easy for you. And maybe that's all my fault, but I like to think that something must've gone right to let you become who you are now."

"Thanks, dad," Virgil responded quietly.

"Also I hope you know you will be in the sight of no less than three guards at all times once we get back to the castle," He said, only half joking. Even still, they both laughed.

Edrick remembered learning the intricacies of the Trickster's Test, remembered his own father making fun of the title it had been given. He was pretty sure some scholar or other was the one to name it, describing it as a sort of cultural phenomenon. Regardless, he was made to understand early on that he had to be careful with the way he presented himself. Every word and gesture would be scrutinized by his peers, allies and enemies alike. Any sign of weakness would be attacked and exploited. Despite these facts he tried to be the best father and husband he could, tried to let his son focus on things other than the constant fear he had instilled in him. He knew it was selfish, he knew it wouldn't be safe for him in the long run, but maybe he was just a selfish man. And when he looked at his son now, he saw what that selfishness had gotten him; a young man he sometimes felt he barely knew stood beside him, lost in a world he was truly seeing for the first time. A part of him still wasn't sure if the happy memories of years ago were worth it, maybe he had hoped to make more before it all inevitably went wrong.

"Your Majesty, you have to understand. Even with treatment hydroxia is an unpredictable illness at best," The healer explained.

"It's not as though there's any alternative. Do what you can, I need to go."

"Wait," The third voice was quiet, persuasive. The king couldn't argue if he tried.

He returned to the bedside of the woman, "Yes, virida?" Love or dear.

"Could you tell Virgil to wait outside for me?" She requested, eyes impossibly soft at the mention of her child.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? You need your rest and he'll worry," The king didn't want for the young prince to watch helplessly as the queen's health declined; he was constantly reminded of how painful it was to watch.

Ignoring the hands that reached out as she pulled herself up to a sitting position, she replied, "Then I'll reassure him," And she did.

It was easy enough to get the child to believe that she was alright, because for now, she was. At the time she could still get out of bed and read her son stories, could still go to the gardens and tend the roses with only a minute shake to her hands. But the doctor visits continued, and Virgil remembered seeing those.

He could tell his parents tried to sneak the healer into their shared room undetected, and it was rather silly to see his father looking over his shoulder as the cleanly-dressed man hunched over, watching his feet as though a careful eye would keep him from making sound. However much of the humor was lost when one would come out looking somber. Most of the time it was his father that left first, usually stopping for a second after he closed the door to run a hand through his hair, mumble something to himself, and continue on. It was confusing to the young boy, and for as much as he wanted to ask what was going on, he knew from the way his father never brought it up that he wasn't supposed to know.

He was a lot less confused when he was with his mother, as she seemed to know his worries and made sure to tell him that things would be okay. They would still spend time together, and it was just the same as it always had been. Granted, he may have only believed that because he didn't notice the strain set deep in the queen's shoulders, or recognize the way she ran her hand along the wall was to support herself in case she stumbled. So, he ignored the signs, ignored his curiosity. He stayed in his room more than usual, stopped looking for the middle-aged medic that smelled like lollipops as much as medicine, and stuck to safe conversation topics with his father. He didn't really know what were and weren't safe topics though, so admittedly he didn't talk to the king as much.

He had no reason to worry, as he didn't see the things Edrick did. He didn't have to hear the medic continuously lowering the odds of the queen's survival, or see how shallow her breathing looked when she slept, making him anxiously stare until he saw evidence that she was still holding on. He wasn't there for the conversation where the healer had to admit he didn't know what else to try, if there was anything else to try.

"Could you send Virgil in after you?" The queen had asked, tracing the lines of her husband's hand. She would do it herself, if only to get out of this godforsaken room, but she hadn't been able to feel her legs for some time now.

"Of course," He told her, selfishly wanting to see her smile.

Virgil didn't remember much of that visit, much to his chagrin years later, as he fell asleep not long after he sat down on their bed. When he woke up, he was back in his own room. A couple days later, the healer was the first to leave his parent's room. Virgil didn't see his father all day. He cried when he learned the truth, his father did too when he spoke. It was the last time Virgil saw him cry.

Edrick certainly remembered the good times, and the descent into the bad. But he didn't remember it all, thanks to the ever so slight bliss the grief provided of forgetting some of the tragic details. He didn't remember how little he saw his son after the funeral, didn't remember one of Virgil's tutors off-handedly mentioning how quiet he'd become. Virgil remembered, how could he forget? How could his father forget? The young boy that now felt much older remembered watching his father slump to the ground in front of the throne to the right of his own, and he decided there he didn't blame him. He didn't blame anyone, actually, couldn't find it in himself to be angry with anyone. In fact, he couldn't stir up much emotion at all, and seeing his father's dry face, he wondered faintly if that's how he felt too.

King Edrick was a selfish man, he knew that. He was selfish for retreating into his work. He was selfish for leaving Virgil on his own. He was selfish for grieving alone, when he had a son that needed him. But he wanted to be better, to be there. Maybe that counted for something, it probably didn't (god did he wish it did).

"Who knows, one day you might even be a better player than me," He muses, and Virgil can't help but silently disagree. He wasn't sure he wanted to be better, to be a player at all.

A/N: I like to think me writing that flashback is akin to cutting onions, it's bound to make someone cry that isn't me. But fr this was probably my favorite chapter to write (at least thus far)