Blood of my Brother

The Turning of the Tables

Hello! This chapter is more setup for the next one, since they were originally one and I chose to split it in half. So it's a little more fluffy than normal.

Trigger warnings: panic attack, mentions of scars

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After the chaos of the last few days, Varian desperately needed rest. Despite the events of the night before, not a single nightmare disturbed his slumber, and the morning sunlight fell on the face of a child peacefully at sleep. Varian stirred and rolled over, burying his face in Hector's side. Adira lay on the other side, she and Hector keeping Varian safely sheltered between them, though she kept her distance. Ruddiger snored gently in Varian's arms, and the bearcats sprawled around them, one of them draped over Hector's legs and the other functioning as Varian's pillow.

"Varian," Hector grumbled sleepily, "My dear nephew whom I love and would never dream of stringing up by his toes, are you aware that you kick in your sleep?"

"He gets it from his dad." Adira rubbed Varian's hair. "There's a reason I didn't like dogpiling with you boys on missions."

"It's 'cause you're a stiff," Hector clapped back. "You'd rather be cold than admit you need warmth. The mighty Adira's too tough to get cold. Well, I'm not, and you're also a blanket hog, kiddo." He grabbed one of the blankets they'd haphazardly thrown on top of them and pulled it around his shoulders.

"Remember that time Quirin practically suffocated you when he rolled over on you?" Adira's voice was laced with mirth, and Varian grinned sleepily. He loved listening to the warriors' memories of his father from years past.

"Ugh. The man's a beast. Nearly killed me."

"It's time to get up, anyway," Adira reminded him. "Sun's up, storm's over, and the sooner we leave this house of horrors, the better." She stood and yanked the blanket off Hector, grinning smugly as he groaned and grumbled about it's too blasted cold in this blasted house and I'm blasted tired.

They stumbled to their feet, grabbing their bags and heading for the door. Off behind them, the old man was saying something about a... seashell shaped like a house? Varian didn't question it. He was too focused on getting out of here. He could pay attention to everyone else once he stepped out the...

Door?

"Umm..." He took a step back. "Okay, I know I've only got one working eye, but I'm 99.9 percent certain that there was a door here last night. Where is it?"

Hector growled and stepped forward, running his hand along the wall. Then he unsheathed his sword and sliced at it a few times, the metal screeching as it slid along the shell. "Crap. That's just great. Nothing."

"So... we're trapped?" the princess—no, the Sundrop; she wasn't his princess—asked.

Varian's breathing grew laborious. "T-trapped?" he hissed. "As in... trapped as in we can't get out? We can't leave?"

"Yeah, pretty sure that's what trapped means," Fitzherbert said.

Hector and Adira turned to Varian, and Hector put a hand on his shoulder. "Deep breaths, kid," he whispered. "We'll get out."

Varian shook his head, his heart pounding much too loud. "N... no, we can't get out, he knew this... he wanted this... He wants us stuck here and he's not going to let us go..." Hector's touch was suddenly too heavy, too constricting. Tearing himself free, he lunged at the wall and started clawing at it. His nails raked across the shell, and suddenly he didn't see pink. He saw gray stone, stained with red, stone on all three sides and above him and under him and bars in front of him, flickering torchlight from somewhere in the distance his only illumination.