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The mood in the dining hall, for once, was one of joy and celebration. The war against the kingdom of Mikaenia had been going on for far too long and people were starting to lose hope. That is why their latest victory had been an occasion for celebration and party. For once, there was something to be celebrated in the city and everyone took advantage of this fact.
"Raise the glass to our Captain," Virgil, Captain of the Guard, called out from his position on a table. He had been talking about the past battle with some of his friends, and the conversation had garnered the attention of others. And somehow, he now found himself this position, talking to a small crowd — he usually stayed far away from these things, but the alcohol had raised his spirits enough. He locked eyes with Roman for a brief moment as he held up his glass. "Crown Prince Roman, who single-handedly slayed the Aitramancer!"
Cheers echoed through the grand hall as people raised their glasses and drank. Roman shook his head and looked down at his drink, avoiding the looks of Virgil.
"Speech!" someone called out. Roman recognized the voice immediately and he looked up, eyes darting across the room before landing on Remus, who looked back at him with a mischievous grin. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Roman rolled his eyes at his twin and hoped that the exclamation would be lost in the crowd but alas, people caught on. More cheers sounded across the room and more people joined in, urging Roman to give a speech.
"Alright, alright," the crown prince said with a soft chuckle as he handed his glass to someone next to him. "Help me up, will you?"
He held out his hand to Virgil, who happily helped him up on the table. It was a struggle, with only one hand to balance himself as the other was in a sling, after having sustained a bad injury in the battle. Once on the table, he crouched down to take his drink back and he straightened his back, holding up his glass. His injured arm remained close to his chest.
"My brothers and sisters," he started in a commanding voice that hushed everyone in the hall, "today is a day of celebration! Today, we celebrate our victory and the liberation of our glorious city. We celebrate the fall of a formidable foe, who has tormented us for far too long. May his Miasma never taint our lands ever again!"
Cheers and exclamations of agreement echoed through the hall and people raised their glasses.
"But-" The room fell silent once more as Roman continued, lowering his glass to the level of his chest. "My dear brothers and sisters, let us not forget the price we paid for this victory. Let us not forget our fallen friends, who paid for our freedom with their blood. Let us not forget those who gave their lives for us, our brethren, and our kingdom. The battle may be won, but the war still rages on. Let us go on to ensure that their deaths will not have been in vain. May they never be forgotten and may they find their peace in the Golden Halls of Elysium!"
More agreement sounded through the room and people drank to Roman’s words.
"But tonight," Roman continued, "tonight, we drink. We celebrate! We drink to our fallen brothers and sisters, we drink to our friends still standing, who have fought by our sides for this victory, and most of all, we drink to our freedom!"
He raised his glass high and everyone followed, a chorus of 'to our freedom's sounding through the hall as everyone drank.
Chatter started up again as Roman got down from the table, helped once again by Virgil and some of the soldiers who fought under him.
The hall soon reverberated with the sounds of chatter and laughter. There were many mixed emotions, with people celebrating their victory, but many people lamenting the losses of their friends and family. Some people found comfort in the arms of those close to them, while some recounted stories and laughed at their memories, or drank to the memory of their fallen friends. Roman knew many of the fallen soldiers, and he made it a point to talk to their families, or join their friends in their stories or drinking. It had always been important to him to forge a connection with his people, and he wanted to honour that, even now.
The night blurred together between the drinks and the many conversations. It was nearing the end of the night when Roman started to feel lightheaded and faint. He blamed it on the alcohol, even though he knew better.
He had defeated the Aitramancer, yes. But he hadn't come out of the fight unscathed. Before his death, his enemy had stabbed Roman. He only injured the prince's shoulder; it was a wound that, under normal circumstances, would not have been lethal. It would heal and he would be no worse for it. But this was not a normal injury.
The Aitramancer had mastered a kind of magic that no one before him had mastered. A weapon of his own creation. His weapons, imbued with a miasmic magic, akin to a poison, were lethal even with the smallest cuts. The poison would embed itself in ones veins, run through their blood and kill them from within. So far, no one had been able to cure the Serpent's Miasma. Even the smallest cut was a death sentence.
And Roman had been stabbed. Deep. From the moment his foe pierced his armour, he knew he was a dead man walking.
The poison worked slowly, travelling through the bloodstream until it reached a fatal point. So far, Roman had been able to mask the poison's path, hiding the blackened veins with a simple masking spell. He could see through it, but no one else could. He could not worry his men, not now. Not while the celebrations were still ongoing.
He didn't know how long he had left. He just hoped it would be enough for the celebration to pass.
The Prince excused himself and stepped outside, seeing the world dance before his eyes. He stepped into the hallway, finding support against the wall as he slipped his injured left arm out of the sling and looked down at his fingers. The miasmic black had spread to the very tips of his fingers already, darkening his veins and coloring his nails a deep black. Not even a masking spell could hide the damage the poison was doing to his extremities. It would eat away at him from within.
"Roman, are you-"
Roman startled at the sound of his brother's voice behind him. He turned around, head swirling with the speed at which he turned, and attempted to hide his hand behind his back, but Remus caught on, looking at him through narrowed eyes.
"Are you okay?" Remus asked, tone shifting to a deeper one, one of suspicion and worry. He walked closer to his brother, stumbling slightly after a night of many a drink. "What are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Roman lied. "I just-"
He cut himself off as Remus closed the distance between them in one swift step, grabbing the hand he hid behind his back and revealing it. Remus saw the black of Roman's fingertips and the darkened veins poking through his faltering magic spell. His eyed widened as he looked back at his brother, silently looking for an answer to an unasked question.
The twins stared at each other in a deafening silence. Roman was too afraid to speak, to move, to do anything. He just stared at Remus, waiting for him to say something, anything. And Remus stared back.
"How long?" He let go of Roman's hand. "Where did you get…"
Roman grimaced as he undid the first two buttons on his shirt, pulling it down just enough to reveal the wound on his shoulder. He hadn't looked at the wound in a while and it was even worse than it had been before. The skin along the entry point was inflamed and angry, pitch black veins shot out from all around it like a putrid web.
"Holy fuck, Roman," Remus muttered, lost for words for once in his life. He was unable to tear his eyes off the rotting, festering wound and the cursed Miasma flowing through Roman's veins. "When did it happen?"
Roman shook his head as he thought back to when it happened. "I don't know exactly," he answered. He averted his gaze, afraid to look his brother in the eye. "Maybe halfway through the battle."
"Halfway through the-" Remus spluttered, still lost for words. "Roman. Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"I had to lead my men, Remus," Roman defended. "They look to me, I needed to keep morale high. And after the battle… I didn't want to dampen their spirits. Not after our victory. You know what this means just as well as I do. I can't let them down now."
Remus huffed. "Good luck leading your men when you're dead. Does anyone know? Please tell me you told someone." Roman's silence was a clearer answer than anything he could ever say. "Damn you, Roman, did you even do anything?"
"I treated it with some healing spells," Roman tried sheepishly, earning a groan from Remus.
"Because a simple healing spell will save you from the Serpent's Miasma," he said with a cynical scowl. "I'm getting Virgil. Maybe there's a chance he knows what to do. By the Heaven's Grace he might have something in that little garden of his."
He turned around and made to leave. However, he was stopped by Roman weakly grabbing onto his arm.
"Please don't," Roman pleaded, nearly stumbling forwards. He felt a burning building up in his chest that wasn't there before. It left him breathless, nearly gasping for air. "Don't tell him."
Remus shook his arm free from Roman's grip — not that his brother held on tight anymore — and looked at him with a gaze that Roman struggled to explain.
"I'm getting Virgil," he said. His voice was almost uncharacteristically soft for Remus, who was often more harsh and abrasive than soft and gentle — it's how he showed affection. "Don't go anywhere."
He didn't have to say that twice. Or even once. After Remus left, Roman rested his head against the cool stone wall. The world spun around him and he closed his eyes to shield himself from it, taking deep and laboured breaths.
His legs had grown tired and he slowly slid down to the ground. Every breath he took burned worse than the last. The seconds ticked by slowly and for the first time in hours, Roman's blood ran cold as he realised he would die. This wasn’t just a vague future anymore, a possibility he could push away in his mind. This was real. He was going to die.
The door slammed open and the chatter and noise of the party filled the hall for one brief second as Virgil and Remus ran out of the room. Roman flinched at the sudden noise, and the abrupt movement made him wince in pain. His left arm had stopped hurting as much and was, in fact, growing awfully numb the more time went on. His chest, however, was still on fire.
"Roman." Virgil immediately rushed to his side, kneeling down next to the prince. His masking spell was wearing off and it started to become visible how bad the curse had affected him. He was pallid and cold, and the black veins poked out from underneath his collar, making their way up towards his jaw.
Virgil grabbed Roman's right hand with one hand, and with the other, he gently lifted the prince's head so they could lock eyes. Virgil had cured many wounds on the battlefield, and he had seen even more than that. A few rugged scars on his face and hands were the only evidence of that — though Roman knew even more hid underneath his outfit.
Roman looked awful. Virgil had seen multiple of his friends succumb to the Serpent's Miasma, and he could already tell that Roman was heading down that same path. He could see it in the prince's eyes. The Miasma was tightening its grip on him, slowly but surely. Virgil knew there was talk of a potential cure for the spell, but it was merely a theory. On top of that, it was complicated and he had never successfully done it. No one he knew had.
"My apologies, Your Highness," Virgil muttered as he let go of Roman and started unbuttoning his shirt. "I just need to see…"
He stopped as he saw the black veins running across Roman's chest. They hadn't quite reached his heart yet, which at the very least meant there still was a chance. Once the Miasma reached Roman's heart, there was no hope left. Even now, it was dire.
"The Miasma reached his lungs," Virgil told Remus, who lingered aimlessly behind him. "There's still a chance I can save him but there's no guarantees."
"But there's a chance," Remus repeated softly. "Do whatever you can."
Virgil nodded. "I will." He looked back at Roman, who appeared absolutely miserable. His face contorted in pain and Virgil winced in sympathy. He knew what Roman had to be experiencing now; he'd heard it before from the comrades he had lost to the very same curse. Every breath feeling like a stab to the chest, deeper and deeper and deeper. Eating away at your body, burning you from the inside until it was all encompassing. He had seen its effects up close many times, and he did not wish it upon anyone. Least of all Roman.
"We need to get him somewhere private," Virgil said as he got up. "My quarters are nearby." He looked down at Roman. "I suppose there's no use asking you if you can walk, is there, Your Highness?"
Roman grimaced. "No, you go on right ahead, I'm sure I'll be on my feet soon," he said in a clear attempt at a joke. However, the effort with which he spoke those words made it obvious enough that it was out of the question.
"Help me get him up." Virgil stepped to Roman's other side, being very careful as he swung the prince's injured arm around his shoulders. Remus, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, nodded and grabbed Roman's other arm, wrapping it around his shoulders. Together, they helped Roman get up and walked them towards Virgil's quarters. They weren't far from their space in the hallway, but Roman could barely put one foot in front of the other, meaning that it took longer than it would have otherwise.
But finally, they managed. Virgil swung open the doors to his room and the two gently laid Roman down on the bed. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was nearly unresponsive, overtaken by the pain of the Miasma taking a hold of his body.
The room was filled with a pleasant odor of herbs and incense. Virgil always kept his quarters clean and tidy. Herbs grew in little pots all around the room and the incense calmed him down whenever he came in. Right now, however, it did little to calm him.
"Do you think someone should find your parents?" Virgil asked as he moved to a cabinet in the corner of his room and pulled out a cloth. "They might want to be there in case I…"
He left his sentence unfinished.
"No way," Remus said with a shake of his head. "Roman needs me, I can't just-"
"Allow me to rephrase that," Virgil interrupted. "Inform your parents. Your father will have my head if he finds out his son was dying and he was not made aware. Go back in, tell him and come back as soon as you can. I'll need an extra pair of hands."
Remus nodded. His eyes fixed on the pale body of his brother once again. He noticed Roman's lips were starting to colour a grayish blue already and he swallowed down his anxiety. Fine.
"If you go and die on me, I will learn how to bring you back from the dead so I can kill you again, got it?" he threatened at Roman, who managed a small attempt at a laugh in response. Even Remus' voice faltered slightly, albeit hardly noticeable. He turned back to Virgil with a deep breath. "I won't be long."
And with those words, he turned on his heel and darted out of the room.
Now alone with the crown prince, Virgil filled a small basin with some water from a tub in the corner, added leaves from several herbs he kept in pots around his room, and drenched the cloth in the water. He then gently slipped Roman's injured arm out of his sleeve before dabbing the cloth at the Prince's face, down to his neck and to the wound on his shoulder, his arm and blackened fingers. Virgil's normally so steady hands trembled slightly as he got to work.
He mumbled some incantations under his breath, hoping they would be strong enough to at least spare Roman from the pain he was undoubtedly going through, even if it was just slightly. And indeed, Roman’s strained expression relaxed ever so slightly. Although his breathing remained strained and slow, it would appear the pain had subsided — if even just a bit. That at least calmed Virgil down a little bit. He had seen how all consuming the pain of the Miasma could get and even if he didn't manage to save Roman, he wanted to make it as easy on the prince as he could.
Remus burst back in with the announcement that his father had been informed and would find his mother. They would be on the way soon. Virgil nodded as he put down the basin of water.
"Go outside real quick," he said with a nod at the double doors that led to a little herb garden, "and get me some Maekola leaves. With the long, pink flowers. Just a handful should be enough."
Remus nodded and walked towards the front door as Virgil grabbed a mortar and pestle from his cabinet, tossing in a few herbs as he muttered incantations to himself. It wasn't long before Remus came back with the requested leaves, placing them in Virgil's hands. Virgil thanked him softly, instructing Remus to then take the wet cloth he'd used before and keep dabbing at the black veins.
Remus simply nodded, looking as pale as if he had been affected by the Miasma himself. It was an odd sight to see the normally so audacious prince so quiet and uncertain. It showed that, despite everything, there was a heart hiding in that tough shell of his after all. The younger prince took the cloth and gently dabbed at Roman's shoulder down to his hand and his fingers.
Virgil crushed the Maekola leaves together with the leaves of several other plants and herbs from his room as well as his garden.
He was doing exactly that when the king and queen came rushing into the room. Virgil looked up, but gave them nothing more than a measured nod as he was casting another incantation over the concoction he was making, speaking the words that would — hopefully — enhance its healing properties.
The two royals sat down on the other side of the bed and the Queen gently ran her fingers across Roman's pale cheek, talking to their younger son in hushed tones as she did. She carefully took the cloth from Remus' shaking hands and continued the work he had been doing.
Virgil finished the paste he was making, walking up to the bed and gently pushing past Remus so he could coat Roman's wound in the paste of leaves and herbs before bandaging it up properly.
That was all he could do.
A tense silence fell as Virgil stepped aside, putting down the mortar and looking at Roman. He was quite sure the prince had passed out earlier, and he could only hope he hadn't been too late.
"And now?" Remus finally broke the silence, looking up at Virgil with wide, worried eyes. He had no idea if it was done, if it was working, if it was going to work.
"Now?" Virgil shook his head, wishing he could give the prince a more encouraging answer. There was no way of knowing if it had worked, not yet. Either it worked, or it would only stall the inevitable. There was no way to know for sure. "Now we wait."