Chapter Text
The storm had been raging for days.
The normal tranquility of Acorn Plains was long gone. Grassy slopes that harbored abundant wildflowers were now lashed by merciless gales and enough rain to wash away a house. Branches were ripped from oak trees, landing on the ground with thumps that flattened the grass beneath them. Thunder rumbled overhead like a thousand lions roaring at once. Lightning illuminated the sky as if the Stars themselves were waging a battle up in the heavens.
The locals were shut up tight inside their homes, watching the destruction and praying to the Stars that the howling wind wouldn’t tear their doors from their hinges. Making themselves a nice cup of coffee and curling up with a blanket.
As if everyone had those kinds of blessings.
Another branch of lightning split the gray clouds with a devastating crack, barely missing the gnarled branches of an unstable, long since dead tree. Huddled in a shadowy cave beneath its roots, a family of children whimpered and pressed closer to each other, filthy and haggard, barely recognizable as members of the Koopa race underneath all the dirt.
The oldest child, a male and only six years old, held his baby brother closer as a scattering of dust showered over them. This old, dusty hollow had not been their first choice, but none of them had rested or eaten in days, and at least it was dry.
Squelching from outside. Ludwig froze, and the infant in his arms gave a whimper. Shushing the hatchling, Ludwig ushered his siblings farther back as a shadow fell over the entrance.
Ludwig felt his shoulders slump with relief a recognition struck. It was only their second oldest brother, Roy. His frame, tall and sturdily built for someone only five, was plastered with mud, the vibrant hue of his yellow scales nearly invisible. One spot near his thigh oozed blood, a recent wound that had reopened.
“Are they still following us?” Ludwig rasped. He knew it was foolish to hope his brother had found any food.
Roy shook his head. “No. But the storm’s getting real bad. We should go before this tree crushes us.”
“Go? So soon?” Lemmy lifted his head, multicolored hair drooping with sweat.
His twin brother Iggy huddled closer as Lemmy broke into a fit of coughs. He shook his head firmly. “Lemmy won’t make it two steps out there.”
“None of us will.” Three-year-old Wendy wedged herself into the driest corner of the hollow, scraping away the cobwebs. “We’re better off here.”
Ludwig sighed, a hollow, dejected sound. At this point, they were nothing but skin and bones, alone and forced to wander the streets of towns they came across. Time and time again, doors were slammed in their faces. Time and time again, they had to resort to rummaging through trash bins or stealing from vendors. Time and time again, locals would look upon their yellow scales and spiked shells with undisguised disgust.
What did we ever do? Ludwig closed his eyes and repressed a sob. He had to be strong for his family. “Maybe someone will help us.”
“ Help us ?!” Wendy’s shout was heard even above the roar of the wind. “Nobody’s going to help us, Luddy! Why can’t you see that?”
At the noise, their hatchling brother awoke and began to wail pitifully. Ludwig cradled him in an effort to ignore the way his heart broke further at the sound. Sweet, innocent Larry didn’t deserve this. None of them deserved this.
Memories of a past life flickered in Ludwig’s mind. He tried to hold them close, but they were like reaching for thorns, hurting more than they comforted. Gardens laden with flowers and butterflies and sweet rays of sunshine. Kindly maidservants that would sneak them sweets before dinnertime. Feather beds they would fall asleep in, curled around each other.
That life had been snatched from them a month ago. The world they lived in now was cruel and unforgiving, like a cat that toyed with its prey before delivering death.
“Shhh,” Roy crooned, taking Larry from Ludwig’s arms. The cries quieted as the hatchling curled into a sniffling, dejected ball. Behind them, Morton, only two and yet already as large as Roy, approached and stroked their baby brother’s head.
The previous night, all three of them had made their closest brush with death. The shed they’d thought had been abandoned had been opened by a farmer, who’d proceeded to lock them all in his barn. Their siblings had come to rescue them, but not without injuries. Another home lost.
Ludwig wanted to curl up and scream about the injustice of it all. He was only six, and somehow he’d thought he could hold his family together. But the world had broken them in a single month.
“We can’t just stop and give up,” he said halfheartedly. “Maybe we’re all alone, and maybe everyone’s against us. But we have to keep going. Something good will happen.”
“Like what? Like Larry dies?” Roy asked flatly. He continued to caress the hatchling, who’d begun to whimper and squirm from inside the rag he was swaddled in. A couple feet away, Lemmy’s fragile body was being wracked by coughs that tore from his chest. Ludwig beheld it all, the last embers of hope flickering out.
“Face it,” Wendy said despairingly. She rubbed her streaming eyes. “Nobody’s going to find us.”
Ludwig could take it no longer. Blinking away tears, he rose shakily and staggered out into the rain. The wind almost knocked him off his feet, as if he were nothing more than a moth. Rain pounded against his bruised, dust-covered scales, washing them clean. Really, he had no idea what he was searching for. Maybe some spirit waiting to deliver him and his family into an afterlife. Wouldn’t that be a mercy.
Shielding his eyes against the downpour, he gazed beyond the ancient tree and stared, frozen.
A shallow valley was scored into the earth before him. But past it, the grass fell away after only a few feet, replaced by dark, rippling rock as though it had been liquid once and had hardened. Further on, it formed mountains whose peaks glowed orange and spewed dense clouds of smoke. The rainclouds above Ludwig were a foreboding deep gray, but they looked friendly in comparison to the thick, black blanket tinted a hellish shade of red that covered the sky beyond.
It seemed so terrible it didn’t quite seem real. Like a gate had opened and a portion of hell had spilled out, a stain on the mortal world. And yet, it was beautiful in its starkness, in the way it was unapologetically different.
Nestled in between those mountains was a looming, mammoth of a structure, too neat to be a natural landform.
“What kind of place is that?” Ludwig jumped, finding that his siblings had followed him outside. Even tiny, fever-stricken Lemmy had gathered the strength to leave the hollow and cling to his twin.
Roy trudged forward and peered at the dark mass. “That’s definitely not a mountain,” he said. "Someone's out there."
“That could mean people are there,” Morton said hopefully, always looking for the silver lining in spite of everything. “Maybe they could help us?”
“Are you crazy, Morton? People only ever want to hurt us."
Lemmy started wheezing again, his frail body looking like it could give out at any moment with each cough. “Maybe we should try,” he whispered, his voice raspy as Iggy’s bony arms held him close.
Wind howled around Ludwig, making rain stream from the sodden tips of his deep blue hair. He sneezed, then realized faint light was coming from the structure. Light meant someone was home, if the locals' habits were any indication. The wind quieted just for a second, and Ludwig realized that Larry had fallen silent. Looking over his shoulder, he found the hatchling’s striking blue eyes fixated straight ahead, right on the mystery building.
Ludwig shook his head. We can’t go there. It’s too dangerous.
Larry’s gaze slid to him, innocent and challenging all at once, as if saying, What do we have to lose at this point?
There was always something to lose. And yet, their parents were gone, their home was gone, and they would last another day at least.
“We should go.”
Ludwig’s siblings stopped arguing abruptly and stared as if his blue shell had suddenly turned pink. He was never the one with the risky, crazy ideas. He was never the one who schemed to steal from market stalls or sneak into warehouses to escape bad weather.
“But whatever’s in there could kill us,” Iggy protested, stating what everyone else was clearly thinking.
“It’s our only choice,” Ludwig replied grimly. This was their last shot, assuming they even had enough strength to travel much farther. “We’ll die out here anyway. What do we have to lose?”
His family swapped glances he understood well enough. All we have left is each other.
This is our only chance.
The rain and thunder fell away. Suddenly, Ludwig was in his old room, in his mother’s lap, clutching her soft robe. You are a wonderful oldest brother, Ludwig, she’d whispered in his ear. One day you will lead your family when they need you, when your father and I aren’t here.
But you and Dad will always be here, he’d protested, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She always smelled like the roses and lilacs she tended in her gardens.
She’d chuckled, then scooped him up in her arms and carried him over to his bed. His tiny fingers had held hers as she’d pulled the blankets over him. Of course. But siblingship is different. You will protect them, and they will protect you. When you have lost everything else, you will have them.
The bed faded, as did the face smiling down at him. The loss crashed over Ludwig like a waterfall, stealing his breath away. He fought the despair. Right now, he had to be strong.
“Going is what Mom and Dad would want.”
His siblings went silent. Even the fevered brother had stopped coughing. They bowed their heads, thinking of the life they’d left far behind them. To do what they were about to do, they would have to let go of it completely.
Ludwig didn’t have to ask again. A new determination shone in the eyes of his siblings, their unspoken agreement.
Inside his castle, Bowser sat by the window and stared out the window, where raindrops ran down the glass.
The hurricane from Sparkling Waters wouldn’t last long on the mainland, but the edges of it were causing a storm as far as the Darklands, his kingdom. It had been raging yesterday when he’d returned home, battered and bruised from a humiliating defeat against that damn plumber.
Now he was in his private chambers as night fell, settled in a velvet armchair in front of a fireplace.
Though his pride refused to let him admit it, he was technically sulking.
Enveloped in the orange glow of the fire, he looked away from the window and watched the flames devour the pieces of wood. He dragged his gaze to the sprawling map above the mantel, past the Seven Lands and to the rolling, grassy hills of the Mushroom Kingdom. He tried hard to keep his eyes off the white castle in the center, huffing to himself—Peach’s vehement refusals of his affection stung even more than Mario’s beatings.
The sound of someone rapping the door pulled Bowser from his thoughts.
“Come in,” he called, trying hard to keep the sigh from his voice. Sighing was certainly not kingly. He sat up straighter and arranged himself in a regal manner.
The hunched form in the doorway paused and bowed before stepping into the light. "Forgive my interruption, Your Majesty."
Bowser blinked, surprised to see his chief advisor and healer at this late an hour. Kamek’s white-trimmed blue robes were peppered with darker spots as if he’d briefly been subjected to the downpour outside. “What’s this about?”
“One moment.” Something like guilt flickered in Kamek’s expression, but he turned away before Bowser could confirm it. Kamek, curiously, beckoned to the empty doorway. When it stayed that way for several heartbeats, he added softly, “Please, little ones. I promise you’ll be safe.”
After another long moment, a young face slipped into view, framed by locks of dark blue. The child’s black eyes found Bowser’s and widened with fear before he ducked back out of sight.
“Come on,” Kamek urged gently. “King Bowser won’t hurt you.”
The child showed his face again, followed by another, this one gifted with a wiry frame and haphazard strands of hair in three different colors. With more of Kamek’s encouragement, eventually six Koopa children were walking inside on unsteady legs. They stopped behind Kamek and refused to go further, some clutching his robe as if he were their lifelong guardian.
Bowser assessed them: there were five males and a single female, all very young. It took him a minute to notice a seventh child, a male hatchling so emaciated the tattered rag he was swaddled in must have weighed more than him. He lay in the arms of the male who had first glanced into the room, so still he didn’t seem alive at first glance.
“What happened?” Bowser’s voice came out taut with rage he hadn’t known was building. No child should ever have such a hopeless, broken expression. No child should ever be that thin. He dug his claws into the velvet armrests of his chair. Whoever is responsible should be punished.
“The sentries at the outpost on the northwestern border found them collapsed outside,” Kamek said quietly, looking over his shoulder at the pitiful children behind him. “I was there to talk with the healers. We brought them in and tended to their injuries. They just woke up this morning. They say they’ve been all over Acorn Plains with barely any food or rest.”
Bowser couldn’t take his eyes off them. The fire of rage cooled abruptly, and only pity was left in its place. Where were their parents? “Come over here,” he said softly, rising from his chair to sit on the plush carpet before the fire.
The children hesitated. Most of them looked towards the male with the dark blue hair, as if he were the leader.
The child glanced at Bowser uneasily, searching his face for anything threatening. When he found nothing, he took a cautious step forward and kneeled on the very edge of the edge of the rug. His siblings clustered around him, warming themselves by the fire and squeezing the fluffy folds underneath them with admiration.
Bowser respected their choice to remain wary, as much as it broke his heart. To be so young and so cautious reflected poorly on their lives so far. His eyes strayed to the nearest child, and what he saw made him go still.
Now that their backs were turned, their shells were entirely visible. Each one was a different color, and each one was spiked.
Only Koopas with royal blood in their veins had that trait. Firebreath would manifest later, around age five. Even more confusing, their shells were not divided into plates of carapace, like almost every type of Koopa regardless of bloodline.
So half royal… and half something else entirely. How was that possible? The royal family kept detailed records of any related members, even distant ones, but only the closest had spiked shells.
“What are your names?” Bowser asked them, thoughts racing. There had to be an explanation, like some obscure royal’s elopement or secret affair. Both instances caused enough damage to one’s reputation that they almost never happened.
The child cradling the infant swallowed visibly. It took him a few moments to work up the courage to speak. “I’m Ludwig,” he said in a voice that shook.
One by one he spoke the names of his brothers and sister. The infant was Larry, the sturdy, dark-skinned male was Morton, the solitary female was Wendy, the especially scrawny child was Iggy, his fevered twin was Lemmy, and the stocky brother was Roy.
Bowser listened to each name before asking another question. “Where do you all come from?”
Watching the fire, Ludwig shuddered like a seer beholding a future massacre. “We don’t know. It feels like we’ve been on the move forever.”
“Why did you have to leave?”
“It’s all a blur.” Ludwig’s voice was now barely a whisper. “I—I can’t remember anything…” He stopped, tenderly brushing aside a stray strand on his baby’s brother’s forehead.
A fresh wave of pity washed over Bowser. “What about your parents?”
Ludwig only stared back blankly. "Our... what?"
"Your mother and father," Bowser pressed, completely lost for answers when Ludwig just shook his head. Even if he was an orphan, how could he just not remember any parents at all?
The children ducked their heads submissively, shaking as though they expected to be killed. Kamek edged closer and offered comfort.
Little Larry appeared to be aloof from his siblings’ fear, meeting Bowser's stare with the boldness and innocence of someone too young to understand what a major breach in etiquette it was—one never looked King Bowser in the eye.
Bowser’s gaze shifted to Ludwig, trying to recall what his own life had been like when he’d been that age.
It came back to him in a cascade of loneliness and sorrow. His only parent had been his father, a stern king who’d cared far more about the affairs of his army than his only son. Of course, as the heir to the throne he’d never worried about being hungry or homeless.
And yet, during meetings and banquets and other important occasions when they’d actually been in the same room, he’d watched his father from his little throne, hoping for just the smallest of smiles. The tiniest bit of proof that he was loved.
But Bowser had never received one, not in all the years before he’d inherited the throne.
But I guess a bad parent is better than no one at all.
“Haven’t you found anyone willing to help you?” he asked the children, trying to bury the memories.
Suddenly Wendy looked away from the hearth, all shyness gone. Her blue eyes shone with their own fire, fueled by spite. “Oh yes, we’ve found plenty of people,” she practically spat. “Called us demons, tried to kill us.”
“Who?” Bowser demanded with just a hint of fury in his tone. If any of his subjects had dared inflict this kind of pain on children…“Koopas like you and me?”
“No, they were short, with really big, spotted heads…”
“Toads,” Bowser snarled, the ferocity in his tone making the children cower. Dismayed, he reached out to them in apology. “It’s okay. But remember this.” His voice took on the cadence of a growl. “You are Koopas. You are strong. Toads called you demons because they fear you. Each of you is worth a thousand of them.”
Even as he said it, he thought, You are royalty. I’ll raise you to be part of my army.
And someday, you’ll all be able to take your revenge.
“They can have the empty royal suites,” he told Kamek. “They can stay here.”
“Really?” Ludwig raised his head, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Yes.” Bowser beckoned him closer. This time he came without pause and even let Bower cup his chin with both hands. Poor, young child. He deserved so much better. “From now on, this will be your home.”
And anyone who dares hurt you will die at my claws.
“Thank you,” Ludwig breathed. Shiny trails slid down his cheeks, made bronze by the firelight.
Emboldened by their brother’s actions, the other children crept closer and crowded around Bowser, offering their own fervent thanks. Bowser nodded absently in response, meeting Larry’s eyes once more.
The hatchling blinked slowly, then extended one little hand. Bowser met it with one finger, fearing his own huge hands would crush such a delicate thing.
“May I hold him?”
He hadn’t realized the desire had slipped out in the form of a question until the children turned their heads to stare. He was further surprised when Ludwig wordlessly passed his baby brother over, expression full of trust. Larry didn’t squirm as he was lifted, only beheld Bowser with eyes that seemed wider than the moon.
Bowser carefully pulled the dirty rag away and replaced it with the silk covering on the end table beside his chair. No infant in his care would be dressed like a peasant. Larry wriggled a little in the fabric, cooing as if admiring its softness. He would be reared in the shelter and luxury of his castle—and learn from Bowser himself. How to take down an opponent far larger than him, how to travel undetected, how to trick his enemies into delivering themselves right into his lap.
Bowser knew with unwavering certainty that this child would be no spoiled royal. Someday, Larry would be one of the fiercest warriors in the kingdom, command the respect of the entire Koopa Troop.
But for now, he deserved to have a childhood.
Bowser carefully returned Larry to Ludwig’s waiting arms. Ludwig’s tensed shoulders instantly relaxed as the familiar responsibility of his baby brother settled on him again. “Do you know your last names?”
Ludwig considered, eyebrows drawn together in concentration, as though he had to dig for every memory he had left.
“No,” he answered timidly. “Some of us have middle names I remember, but no last one.”
Another odd, missing memory of theirs. Strange. Why would only their last name elude them while their middle and first names did not? No matter. Bowser would fix this as well.
“If you are asked, your last name is ‘Koopa.’” Bowser reached down to pat Larry’s head, as if dubbing a knight. “Larry Koopa.”
Ludwig watched in silence, exchanging glances with his siblings. In their eyes he seemed to find approval. His siblings straightened and craned their necks to look up at Bowser, already loyal soldiers awaiting command. From purpose stemmed courage, determination, and loyalty.
Bowser gently ushered them all closer, like a hen gathering its offspring under her wings. They leaned against him, some dozing while others stared up at him with wide, trusting eyes.
They could be more than soldiers, a corner of his mind whispered. You haven’t yet married or had any heirs of your own.
“What will you tell the court, Your Majesty?” Kamek asked softly, as though his magic allowed him to guess exactly what his king was thinking.
All of Bowser’s dreams retreated at the words.
In the eyes of the court, he couldn’t pass them off as his children, let alone heirs. The traditions that encircled such matters were ancient and revered enough that even he couldn’t hope to change them: only blood children could be heirs; nieces and nephews could only claim the throne as a last resort; there should be no more than one heir at a time.
But Bowser would ensure they found a place. The marble tablet the Laws of the Throne were etched on was only a tablet, so old Koopas no longer spoke the language it had originally been written in, and it would not stop him from taking in these children.
“This is your kingdom now,” Bowser told them, taking the same gruff tone his father had used the few times he’d deigned to speak to his son. “You will honor it one day, and make it proud of you.”
Six little faces nodded back, young but deadly serious.
Larry only watched, ever silent, and yet, Bowser could have sworn he saw the hatchling’s head bob just a fraction of an inch. A promise written in the smallest of gestures.
Notes:
...You still here? YAY! :D
What you just read is a fragment of the backstory I've created for the Koopaings. Canonically, they aren't Bowser's blood children. (they were, until Bowser Junior came into the picture and they had to get their facts straight.)
As the chapter name suggests, this is only the prologue, and the events of the chapter I'll be posting next week are going to occur fifteen years later.
Bye bye!
Chapter 2: Homecoming
Notes:
This week I'm posting early. Shoutout to anyone who has clicked my piece, and the reader who gave me my first kudos. You guys have made my day! Consider this early post a thank-you!
School has started back up for me, so I might not be able to keep publishing chapters as quickly. Remember, what you're about to read occurs fifteen years after the prologue. Consider this the real start of the plot in this piece.
The Koopalings' ages in this story will be mentioned, but I want to write them here just in case someone misses them.Larry: 15
Morton: 17
Wendy: 18
Iggy and Lemmy: 18 and a half
Roy: 20
Ludwig: 21
Junior: 7 (I don't consider him a Koopaling, but he's significant enough in the story that I'll list him)This may change in some of my later works as time passes, from this chapter on, these are their ages.
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The same bit of news had passed through the entirety of Bowser Castle in a mere hour. Snippets of gossip buzzed through the halls, hundreds of conversations about the same subject.
“—heard about His Lordship? He’s finally home.”
“Nobody’s allowed to see him until—”
“—I can only imagine what his siblings are going to—”
Lord Lawrence Koopa—or Larry, as he strongly preferred to be called—was finally home, weeks after the rest of his family had returned after Bowser had been forced to withdraw his forces from Peach’s Castle.
The return of a member of the royal family warranted some attention, but Larry hadn’t come by airship with a retinue of guards and attendants. According to the sentries on duty, Larry had literally appeared from thin air. After a fair bit of panic and doubt concerning that part of the story, Bowser’s chief advisor and healer had announced that Larry had used one of the magic stones distributed to the most indispensable of spies and officers, a rare and costly form of teleporting when there was no other option.
Larry had reportedly collapsed and lost consciousness moments after appearing. He’d been rushed to his quarters in the royal family wing, where Kamek had examined him and refused to share details afterwards. Concerned visitors were turned away by guards at the door to Larry’s suite.
Larry was to be left in privacy with only one servant to look after him until he woke up and his siblings could have the first chance to see him.
Frankly, Larry wasn’t sure which he would prefer: swarms of courtiers with questions and sympathy to offer, or his family. After a bit of thought he decided on the courtiers. Protocol kept them from asking too many questions to someone of such high rank.
Larry’s siblings, however, deserved an explanation he was in no hurry to give.
The fight with Mario and Luigi had gone as it had always gone. But right from the start Larry had known something was different. They looked… colder.
At first, he’d dismissed it. Now there’s a couple of faces that make a Magmaargh look friendly, he’d drawled, twirling his wand in one hand. Getting under an opponent’s skin: one of the surest ways to make them slip up, Bowser had taught him. Yeah, I’d be kinda grumpy too if an enemy kingdom showed up on my doorstep—again.
Larry had upped his training routine since his last defeat, and this time he’d faced his enemies thinking he’d stood a fighting chance.
And yet, in less than a minute, the fight had been over. Larry had been pinned against the wall, nose bleeding, cheek throbbing from the force of a punch landed there.
We’ve put up with your petty kidnappings long enough, Mario had said softly, dangerously.
This is a warning, Luigi had cut in. Your siblings can tell Bowser to stay far away from Peach, unless he wants us to burn every one your damn castles to the ground. And we’ll show how serious we are right now.
Larry had braced himself for maiming—or worse.
But instead, they’d simply left Larry there, alone and breathing hard. He’d begun to wonder whether their words had been empty threats when he’d sensed the familiar hum of the airship’s engines had vanished. His heart had plunged into his stomach at the realization. No sooner had he dragged himself to the threshold of the door when an invisible force had rocked the entire airship.
The world had seemed to tip forward, throwing him into the hall beyond. In the seconds before he’d been knocked out, destruction had howled in his ears, countless explosions and the shattering of metal and wood and glass.
When Larry had woken up, it had been as though his closest brush with death yet had never occurred. Everything around him had been white, soft, and sunlit, as hazy as a dream, focusing only when the concerned faces of Magikoopa healers in white robes had crowded around him, saying his name.
Larry had been of those lucky enough to regain consciousness in his castle’s infirmary. The explanation had been given later that day: after beating him soundly, Mario and Luigi had reset the airship’s course and shut off every engine. While they’d parachuted to safety and made off in a stolen rowboat, the airship had crashed into one of the orchards on an island neighboring the one the castle had been built on.
Among the crew, sixty-five had died, along with another thirty workers from the orchard.
Ninety-five casualties total. Larry’s vision blurred with tears as the number returned to him. Ninety-five now incomplete families. Ninety-five loyal henchmen honored and buried during a ceremony Larry had attended himself in spite of his concussion.
He was going to have to explain those ninety-five casualties to his siblings.
Larry only had himself to blame for his pathetic state right now. He should have stayed the whole month the healers had wanted him to spend recovering. He should not have argued so much about being confined to a bed in his own private ward.
And he definitely should not have talked the healers into letting him back up to his own bedroom, where he could easily access his backup teleportation stone and be whisked home in a blink with nothing but an apologetic note in his wake.
Now, he’d made a scene by falling unconscious exactly as the doctors had warned and any second now, the servant left to watch him would return with his siblings. Larry half hoped if he stared hard enough at the door, it would turn to stone and buy him some time to come up with another cowardly plan to sneak away.
The combination of silence and anticipation was unbearable. Larry rolled onto his back, his concussion protesting with waves of dizziness that pounded through his skull. He clutched his stomach and stuck his head over the edge of the couch, where a large ceramic bowl painted with whorls of blue and gold had been placed.
Such a pretty object didn’t deserve to be thrown up in, Larry figured, as if it could hear his apologies. After several moments, the nausea receded, and he slumped back against the couch.
In an effort to stave off the lightheadedness that was lingering, he directed his attention to the spacious living room around him. Everything was expensive and orderly, both things by no request of Larry’s. He’d once worked up the courage to politely tell the servants he was capable of cleaning up his own messes, but they’d brushed off his protests and continued to make their rounds.
At least he’d gotten to choose the colors of everything. Vibrant sky-blue wallpaper accented by a border painted gold had been plastered over the grayish bricks most other rooms in the castle featured. Plush rugs with intricate embroidery had been interspersed over the shining floorboards. Armchairs, sofas, and a low table formed a semicircle in front of a wide TV whose screen reflected the rest of the room. High above, a crystal chandelier hung, shiny enough to pass as solid diamond.
Larry reached for the steaming cup of tea on the coffee table before him. The liquid almost burned his tongue but cleared his head. Cradling the cup in his hands, his eyes slid back to the door.
More than anything, he just wanted it to open, and get the conversation over with.
And it did, flying open with much more force than strictly necessary. No knock, no greeting from the doorway.
Wendy O. Koopa marched in, arms crossed and posture straighter than a steel rod. Her old etiquette tutors would have been proud. To the Goomba a few respectful paces behind her, she was as authoritative and regal as always.
To poor Larry in front of her, she was furious.
Larry ducked his head in the face of her burning sapphire eyes and bit back a sigh. Careful what I wish for.
With a flick of her claw, his sister dismissed the servant. Despite only being eighteen, Wendy’s name was known across the Darklands and associated with any number of qualities that would make her a valuable leader in battle—including a razor-sharp tongue, which Larry was about to get a demonstration of.
Larry dared look past her to find Iggy and Lemmy following her inside. The twins stopped short as if Wendy were suddenly about to burst into flames. Iggy was the first to work up the courage to put a tentative hand on her shoulder.
“Kamek wanted you to take it easy,” he reminded her carefully, eyes on a brace covering her left wrist. “You sprained your wrist fighting, after all. Just—”
“This isn’t about me.” Wendy jabbed a finger at Larry. “You. Explain. Now.”
“Go easy on him,” Lemmy protested. “He just got home. The last thing he needs is to be yelled at.”
In spite of his words, Larry didn’t miss the fact that not even Lemmy had donned his usual smile, the mask he hid all pain behind. Hurt lay bare on Lemmy’s face, the sight another reminder of just how thoroughly Larry had screwed up.
“He’s home a month late.”
Even after being beaten by Mario, Larry and his siblings remained at their castles for days afterwards for a number of reasons. To recover, to assess the damage done to their soldiers and estate, and to await a message announcing Bowser’s defeat. Usually they were home within a week of each other. Larry tugged the blanket over his shoulders, unable to meet his siblings’ gazes.
“I sent messages,” he muttered.
Larry wished he could shove the cowardly excuse back down his throat even before he heard a string of soft thumps of objects landing on the glass surface of the coffee table. Looking up, he found himself beholding four envelopes with their blue wax seals already broken—his responses to the weekly concerned letters demanding when he would be home and why he wasn’t already.
Inside each was a short message so impersonal it had to have hurt his siblings’ feelings.
Wendy snatched up one letter and read it. “My apologies. I will return as soon as I am able.” Tossing it away, she grabbed another. “I will be home soon.” Her brothers recoiled as she ripped the parchment in half, letting the pieces fall to the carpet.
Larry flinched. She had every right to be mad. He was a jerk for not having the heart to send the messengers home with any real answers. His phone had been buzzing like an angry hornet for the past month, alerting him of texts and calls he’d ignored. “I’m sorry.”
“You’d better be!” This time it came from Iggy, who sounded hurt more than anything. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “How do you think we’ve felt, the past month? With all of our airships wrecked, we were stuck here. When you ignored our texts, we took the time to send messengers, all of which came back with one-sentence answers!”
“We had to talk Roy out of leaving to get there on foot," Lemmy put in quietly, looking away. "He would have swum through the whole ocean to get to you, Larry.”
Roy. Larry wanted to curl up and hide in his shell for a few centuries.
Out of everyone, Roy deserved to be outraged. Roy had taught Larry clever ways to fight, told him stories to calm his nerves when thunderstorms had raged outside, sneaked him into his bedroom when Ludwig wasn’t looking with plans to have the best all-nighter they’d had yet.
“I’m sorry.” This time the apology came out as a rasp in his throat. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. He buried his face in the velvet pillow beneath his head.
Just like that, Wendy’s fury deflated like a punctured balloon. For all her practicality and occasional crankiness, she was kind and even had a habit of fussing over those she cared about. The latter of those she seemed to reserve just for her brothers. She dropped to her knees in front of the couch and rested her chin on both fists. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry for yelling.” She blew out a sigh as if to prove she was letting the matter go.
Fingers ran through Larry’s mussed hairstyle. He lifted his head to find Iggy leaning over the armrest, Lemmy perched beside him. Both faces were still unsmiling.
“Put yourself in our shells,” Iggy said quietly, continuing to stroke his brother’s head. “We haven’t really heard from you in weeks and we have no way of getting to you and seeing if you’re okay, which you obviously aren’t. Then, when you actually show up, we hear you’ve collapsed.”
Larry dropped his gaze, shamefaced. Stupid, rash mistakes like these made him wonder why he, an impulsive fifteen-year-old, had ever been entrusted with a title and estate.
“Larry.” Lemmy waited until Larry looked up to go on. His head was tilted and his eyes full of sympathy, the exact way they were when he was about to ask hard questions. “What happened during your fight with Mario?”
A lump shoved itself up Larry’s throat, blocking all speech. More tears slipped free and slid down his cheeks. When he tried to form words, it came out as a sob.
He’d put this off for a month, shoved it all down—the reaction of knowing he’d survived an incident that had killed ninety-five others. The feeling that he’d almost died and by some random chance, he hadn’t. That others hadn’t been so lucky.
Stars, did Larry hate crying. Especially in front of his siblings. They knew it, and were regarding him with a mixture of shock and concern. Forcing his throat to cooperate, he finally said, “I want the others here first.”
As if on cue, the door swung open again, this time far more gently. A pair of deeply worried eyes peered inside, one covered by a star-shaped birthmark of dark scales, snagging on Larry’s tearstained face. Morton stared only for a second, then took a step back. “Oh. It’s okay if you need a moment, Larry. We can come back later if y—”
“Speak for yourself.”
Another set of burly shoulders shoved past him. Roy stopped short in the hall at the sight he laid eyes on. Even from his spot on the couch, Larry could see every muscle in Roy’s jaw tightening. Wendy promptly stepped back. Standing in Roy’s path to his little brother was like being in the way of a mother bear and her cub.
Roy almost tripped over the rug as he practically ran to Larry’s side. His muscular arms joined to form a ring around Larry’s head. “What did those bastards do to you?” he whispered fiercely.
Larry just pressed his forehead against Roy’s. The usual, he’d used to say. If only he could say that now and pretend everything was normal. If only ninety-five innocent henchmen hadn’t died. If only.
Another set of footsteps. Larry raised his head to find their oldest brother speaking to the guards from the doorway. Ludwig was graceful even in battle and courteous in the way that had made him a favorite amongst his teachers. But his intelligence and leaderly qualities had earned him his role as Bowser’s second-in-command and therefore Crown Regent. Only twenty-one, he was the youngest aide to a monarch in history, but deeply respected.
In places like these, though, he went by Luddy, a nickname he’d been called for as long as Larry could remember and still cherished more than any honorific.
“Leave us in privacy, please,” Larry caught Ludwig murmur to the guards on his way in. They bowed their heads and closed the door.
Very rarely was Ludwig angry, let alone at his siblings, which made the few times he was rather memorable. Larry met his gaze almost pleadingly, praying to any higher beings who might be listening that he hadn’t lost his brother’s affection.
Ludwig’s eyes met Larry’s. His mouth curled into a reassuring smile. Larry felt his shoulders sag with relief.
“We brought this for you.” Morton’s words were punctuated by the thump of something being set on the table. It was a massive gift basket, its handle tied with a gold silk ribbon and the inside laden with everything from a bouquet of flowers to bags of Larry’s favorite candies and confections.
Giving gifts was Morton’s love language, his way of saying, You might have screwed up, but the Stars know I can’t hold a grudge, so here’s some treats and my forgiveness.
“What happened to you?” Roy repeated, as if no one else was there and it was only him and Larry on their own little planet. He lifted one of Larry’s bandaged hands. Larry’s fingers gave a painful throb at his touch.
Larry drew in a shuddering breath. If he were telling any other story, he would have invited his siblings to sit. But it was so nice with them here, so close, gathered around him and waiting to console him during the breakdown he could tell was imminent.
“The fight was pretty normal. Lost in five seconds. Mario and Luigi looked a lot madder, though. Said they were done dealing with us and they were warning us now.” Tamping down a surge of images of broken glass and bending metal, Larry added bleakly, “They crashed my airship. And destroyed the others in my castle.”
“Same with us,” Iggy said bitterly. “Even here. Every last one of our airships is gone.”
Larry fell silent. He felt a little less accountable knowing his siblings had suffered the same loss, but… “You guys got out in time, right?”
“Well, yeah. They beat us and gave us a couple of minutes to parachute to safety. We watched them crash the airships right after. We—” Lemmy’s puzzled expression vanished under a tsunami of horror. “Wait. Did they—did—”
“ They crashed your airship with you inside it ?!” Wendy and Roy shouted in unison.
“Shh!” Ludwig looked over his shoulder at the door. Larry half expected to have his guards break it down and come running in. “This shouldn’t be made public just yet. Not until Bowser knows.”
“How many died?” Unlike his brother’s and sister’s, Morton’s voice was little more than a whisper.
Larry had to force the words out. “Ninety-five. They crashed the airship into an orchard, so a lot of people there died too.” He chose not to add how many had been brought into the infirmary and would be staying there for months more.
Roy pounded his fist against the couch cushion. Smoke rose in gray curls from his nostrils, dotted with tiny, flickering embers. His breath took on the reek of sulfur, a sure sign that firebreath was on the way. Larry squeezed Roy’s hand in an attempt to distract him. When it slipped free of its leash, Roy’s anger could be frightening and, in many cases, destructive.
“Why would they do that to just you?” Wendy walked over to one of the windows and yanked the curtains closed with more force than strictly necessary.
Your siblings can tell Bowser to stay far away from Peach, unless he wants us to burn every one of your damn castles to the ground. And we’ll show how serious we are right now. Luigi’s words sent a renewed chill down Larry’s spine. He knew why he hadn’t been granted the opportunity to escape.
Ludwig spoke it before he did, in a low tone underlined by the faintest hint of icy rage. “A warning. An extreme one. If they’d let us all escape, we wouldn’t take their threats seriously. But if Larry died…”
“We would have immediately retaliated with a full-scale attack,” Iggy hissed through his teeth. “If they want a war, they’ll get one.”
“They made sure we wouldn’t do just that,” Morton cut in, crossing his arms. “Destroying our airships wasn’t just another part of the warning. We’d be stupid to start a war without our biggest military advantage and our entire army recovering after our last defeat. And I’d bet my shell that Mario’s already contacted Sarasaland and had their forces prepared.”
So it was also a trap. Mario and Luigi had been betting that Larry wouldn’t survive. If Bowser sought revenge, he would be walking into defeat. But if he didn’t take the bait, it would be showing weakness that might appear enticing enough to convince Mario to take back the Seven Lands, and Princess Daisy would no doubt back him with her own armies.
Larry glanced around the room, finding bleak faces. Put simply, they’d been backed into a very difficult corner. Larry was inclined to agree with Iggy if only to avenge his soldiers, but he wouldn’t push Bowser into taking his kingdom into a war that could potentially destroy them. And yet Bowser had to respond somehow.
“I don’t care what Ludwig said,” an indignant voice barked from outside. Ludwig’s head snapped up at hearing his name. “I’ll deal with him. Just let me in.”
After a brief knocking on the door, a guard poked her head inside and offered an apologetic dip of her head. “Apologies, Master Larry. His Highness wants to see you.”
With no further delay, The Crown Prince of the Koopas himself shouldered his way in. He marched right up to Larry and crossed his arms with a huff. Only seven years old, Junior hardly had the manners of a prince, but he certainly knew how to command.
“I can’t believe you left me out. I also haven’t seen you in a month, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Beneath Junior’s usual swagger, Larry could detect real hurt there. Another name he could add to the list of people whose feelings he’d stomped on today. But the mistake of offending a prince was far less socially acceptable.
Larry hurriedly bowed his head as low as he could while lying down. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. It won’t happen aga—”
Junior cut him off impatiently. “If I’d wanted to see someone grovel, I would have gone to find Kamek. Besides, you don’t have to call me by Your Highness or Prince Junior or whatever anymore, remember?”
Allowing his shoulders to relax, Larry looked up. A little more than a year had gone by since Junior himself had declared Larry and his siblings exempt from the innumerable strict rules anyone with sense had to uphold when addressing Bowser’s heir.
Even so, old habits died hard, and when he was snapped at by the prince, Larry often found himself hastily dropping into a bow.
“I figured you’d be busy or something.” Larry reached out to place a reassuring hand on Junior’s shoulder. “Besides, you didn’t miss much. Just a yelling from Wendy.”
“A yelling you totally deserved,” Wendy huffed, plopping herself down on an armchair. She reached over for one of the wrapped stacks of cookies inside Larry’s gift basket. Morton gently batted her hand away.
“Hmph. Well, I guess I can’t say anything she didn’t already.” Junior clambered up onto the end of the couch, not quite gracefully but taking care to avoid stepping on Larry’s legs. “Next time give us more than six words when we message you, okay?”
Larry nodded earnestly, retaining his cheerful smile while giving Roy a warning jab with his elbow the moment Junior’s gaze flicked to the gift basket. He didn’t need to get a better look to know his brother had been glaring. “Be nice,” he murmured. “He has as much a right to see me as anyone else.”
“Anyone else except us.” Roy’s voice was a sullen stirring of breath against Larry’s cheek. “You’re our brother, not his.”
Larry repressed the urge to sigh. In public, court manners forced Roy and Junior to interact with civility in mind. Times like these, though, when no one was looking, were when conversation escalated into arguments peppered with insults. Until a year ago, Larry would have gone as far as to say they hated each other.
Bowser, seeking the cure for an illness called the Blorbs that had swept his and many other kingdoms, had reluctantly left for the Mushroom Kingdom to aid Mario’s efforts. Larry and his siblings had been left to run the Koopa Troop—and look out for Junior, who seemed to try to slip away whenever their backs were turned. Three foreigners had soon arrived, selling the recipe for the cure to the Blorbs.
Ludwig had jumped at the chance and gathered his family to help him find the ingredients, only to have Junior muscle in and demand to lead their party.
Matters had gone downhill early on, after Ludwig had left without much of an explanation. Without his presence guiding and advising his siblings, Junior had been their only leader left. Larry, doubtful at the start, had quickly grown resentful after the prince’s continual insults and refusals of their help, but he’d endured it for Bowser’s sake. Roy was far less forgiving and, after a heated argument with Junior, had left to rejoin Lemmy, who’d remained at the castle to keep things in order.
One catastrophe had spiraled into another.
Upon receiving information that Bowser’s Castle was under siege, Larry and Wendy had scrambled back only to be caught in a trap. Only Larry and Lemmy had escaped, leaving their sister captured. Those long days of wandering afterwards had been some of the darkest and loneliest of Larry’s life, until Junior and Kamek tracked them down and gathered the rest of their family to make one final stand for their kingdom.
Their success was still talked about throughout the Darklands. However proud he was of Junior for growing into the role of leader, even now, Larry was reluctant to speak of it. The shame that he’d left of his own free will and that he’d abandoned his sister, thinking she’d been right behind him, was hard to shake off.
“Hey!” Something prodded Larry in the side. “Are you listening?” Junior didn’t wait for an answer. He placed both hands over Larry’s temples, brow furrowed in concentration as though he were trying to read Larry’s mind. “Kamek said you got a concussion, which is like a really big head bruise. Did your head blow open when you hit it and they had to sew you back up?”
Morton looked aghast. “Junior!”
Larry grinned in spite of himself.
At least some good had come from the whole mess. Junior had learned how to lead with love rather than fear and was far quicker to accept help or opinions that differed from his. Larry and his siblings were now considered close friends rather than soldiers he would command someday. And while he and Roy bickering was still a common sight, their occasional insults weren’t usually heartfelt and they’d seemed to gain a mutual tolerance for each other.
“Did your brains ooze out?” Junior pressed eagerly.
“Yours clearly did the day you hatched,” Roy grunted.
Caught between amusement and exasperation, Larry gave his brother another nudge. Roy was loving and loyal in a way that never seemed clingy, but he did not like to share his siblings with just anybody. Usually Larry had to be that voice in his ear, telling him there was nothing wrong with letting Junior into their little circle. Being king was no easy role, and having their support would someday be crucial.
“The hell do you want, anyway?” Roy growled, head swinging towards Junior. That tone was nothing to take lightly—deep, gravelly, underlined with warning—something like a lion guarding its territory might sound.
Junior just stuck out his tongue and stole the corner of Larry’s blanket.
“To answer your question, having a concussion doesn’t make your head blow up.” Larry glanced longingly at the mountain of treats waiting inside the basket. He almost always had an appetite for food of any kind, but he was certain anything he ate would end up in that bowl at the foot of the sofa. “Still sucks, though. Just imagine feeling so dizzy you might throw up every time you try to stand.”
Junior’s pitying expression rapidly morphed into anger. “If our airships weren’t busted, I’d take a couple myself and set every Toad village I can find on fire.”
He carefully pulled the blankets back and grimaced at the sight of Larry’s bandaged legs. The bruises had used to be even more prominent, Larry recalled with a wince, like an artist had splattered black and purple paint across his scales.
“I'm a lot better than I was at the start. Still gonna make Mario and Luigi pay next time, though."
“They crashed the airship while he was in it,” Wendy said flatly and without preamble, propping her heels on a velvet ottoman. Iggy shot her an exasperated glance.
“They—they— what ?!”
“Keep quiet about it,” Ludwig urged him, flashing his sister a look of his own. “I’ll bring it up with Bowser in private tonight. The situation’s a lot more complicated than it looks, and enough people are demanding retaliation as it is.”
Junior opened and closed his mouth several times, as if so enraged he couldn’t form words. “They are not getting away with this,” he ground out at last.
“Of course not,” Lemmy assured him, voice suddenly as hard and cold as Wendy’s. It was slightly disturbing to hear that kind of tone from sweet, gentle Lemmy. “But we need to plan any attacks smartly. And before we can do that, we need to rebuild.”
All of this talk of battle planning and war should have made Larry happy, or urge him to join in—it was what he was trained to do, after all. Yet it instead ushered in a deep, overwhelming exhaustion. Outside, dense layers of smoke clouds blotted out the sky at all times, but Larry’s internal clock told him night had already fallen.
More than anything, he wanted to curl up and fall asleep and forget about reality for a little while.
Roy, Stars bless him, tapped into the sense that all older brothers seemed to have. “We’ll worry about all of that later,” he said, suddenly taking on the commanding voice of someone who expected obedience. "Right now, Larry needs to rest. We’ll see what Bowser has to say about what happened to him tomorrow.”
Larry gave Roy's hand a squeeze, an unspoken thank-you.
Even Ludwig didn’t question Roy's order. He made to leave with the rest of their siblings, motioning for Junior to follow. Each of them gave Larry a smile or pat on the shoulder on their way past. Larry beamed back at them as if the mere gestures were worth mountains of coins apiece, privately cursing his concussion for being the only thing stopping him from standing and hugging them. He had half a mind to do so anyway and fall over or vomit happy in spite of it all.
Only after the door had clicked shut did Larry realize Roy still crouched in front of him, a hulking boulder of a presence and yet a familiar, comforting one. “Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep too?"
“Since when do little brothers tell their elders what to do?” Roy now sounded teasing, like his old self. Doubt was there, though, weighing down the corners of his mouth. “Do you want me to go?”
The very thought of spending another evening alone and in pain was enough to make Larry shiver. He pressed his face into the curve of Roy’s neck. “No,” he said fervently, looping his arms over Roy’s.
Roy’s smile returned. In the light of the chandelier above, his fangs gleamed white, matching Larry’s. Oh, Larry loved that smile. He wanted to wrap it up and put it in a box, so he could hold it close any time in his life when he needed company.
Larry held still as Roy’s arms moved to his shell and the crook of his knee, lifting him as delicately as he might carry a princess. The notion caused a massive grin to split Larry’s face like cracking ice, allowing him to forget the dizzy throbbing in his skull.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing,” Larry said theatrically, heaving a contented sigh for good measure. He batted his eyelashes and swooned. “What did I do to deserve such a dashing male?”
Roy snorted a laugh. “It was my pleasure, my lady,” he said dutifully, straightening into a heroic pose. “I was born to grace the world with my godlike handsomeness.”
“And how humble,” Larry gasped.
Their laughter echoed off the walls as Roy carried Larry down the corridor to the bedroom, letting go with one arm for a second to pick up the gift basket. Their siblings could undoubtedly hear them from the neighboring suites, and perhaps even Bowser, but Larry didn’t care.
When he was with Roy, he could forget about being a lord and all of the duties that came with the title. They could be what they really were—a pair of teenagers—without fearing the court’s disapproval or damage to their reputations.
The door to the bedroom was cracked open, exactly the way Larry had left it when he dashed out in a hurry to board his airship.
It swung open soundlessly with a mere nudge from Roy, revealing a huge chamber dominated by a canopied four poster bed. Larry wanted to flop himself down on that bed, burrow into the heaps of blankets, then refamiliarize himself with every corner of the room. He loved Sparkling Waters, but the Darklands was where his family was.
Roy threw the covers back and laid his brother down on the bed. Larry curled up and buried his nose deep into the silk pillows, then glanced around the room to take in and enjoy the familiarity of everything: the desk where he’d used to doodle while doing his paperwork; the silver picture frames displaying scenes of him and his siblings at varying ages; the lacquered dresser with the hidden drawer where he stashed candy.
Crinkling snagged Larry’s attention. Roy pulled something wrapped in gold foil from the basket and, after a second’s struggle with the wrapper, popped the soft caramel candy into his mouth. He tossed one to Larry, who caught it with one hand and chewed on it absently while he shifted into the most comfortable position he could. It wasn’t difficult when the mattress made him sink an inch or two the second he climbed on.
Roy went around the room, tugging the drapes closed while nibbling on another sweet he’d fished out of the gift basket. He returned to his spot on the corner of the bed and peered over his shoulder. “Are you hungry? I can go get you something to eat if you want.”
Rooting around under the blankets and flipping the pillows over, Larry shook his head. He usually neglected to make his bed every morning, and every night it took a while to find the toy he couldn’t sleep without.
Once again, Roy came to his rescue. He peeled a cerulean blanket back, exposing the end of a limp sky-blue tail. Roy pulled it free and passed it to Larry. Smiling wide, Larry hugged the large stuffed dragon to his chest. Skye was an old birthday present from Roy, and Larry had cherished her for all of the nine years he’d had her. He lifted her floppy arm and ran a finger along the line of neat stitches that ran down her side.
He’d been distraught to find the hole but too embarrassed to seek out a servant to fix her, so Roy had gone through the trouble of learning how to sew to help his brother himself. Larry was grateful every night he climbed into bed with the toy tucked under one arm, knowing he was unable to sleep without her.
“Good night,” Roy said softly. He tucked Larry in like he’d used to every night when they’d been younger.
Larry took his huge hand in both of his own bandaged ones. Even with bandages, he can feel the scars and calluses on Roy’s palms—marks he’d earned slowly over hours of training with every weapon he could find. “Good night,” Larry echoed, then hesitated before asking, “Can you stay for a bit? Until I fall asleep?”
It was such a childish request that Larry winced, and yet Roy grinned and laid down next to him, still clutching his hand.
Too relieved to be embarrassed anymore, Larry rolled over until he was curled against the barrier that was his older brother, shielding him from another long night in solitude. A growl of pleasure rose in his throat, like a cat’s purr but deeper and raspier. A similar noise rumbled within Roy’s chest, even more guttural and drowning out Larry’s entirely.
“Hey.” Roy lifted their linked hands until they were a mere inch from Larry’s face. His fingers closed firmly over Larry’s. “Brothers forever, remember?”
There was no need to answer with words. Larry squeezed back. ‘Brothers forever’ was their private phrase, what they said to remind each other after a hard day that life was never going to be entirely fair, and they’d witnessed that firsthand—but even after everything they’d lost, they still had each other.
And nothing would take that away, not if Larry had anything to say about it.
He is tiny, small enough to fit comfortably in Ludwig’s arms. Around him, hiding amongst heaps of shiny black bags of trash, the rest of his siblings are waiting patiently for the moment to act.
Night has fallen, and the sky has donned a cloak of deep blue speckled with stars, but the streets beyond their alley are packed with Toads and lit by streetlamps and garlands of hanging lights. No one spares a glance at the dark alley as they hurry by.
He squirms in the rag he is clad in, trying to get a better look. He heard his siblings talking earlier, waiting until this day this week for the night market, when sellers and vendors will be too busy to notice a few of their wares vanishing into thin air.
Food and blankets are their targets; money serves them no purpose. Store owners would kick a filthy bunch of young Koopas out before they could scare off potential customers. But he’s seen Roy pickpocket passing Toads anyway and toss the coins in the river later, spitting a foul word as they landed with splashes.
It’s hard not to share his spiteful attitude. If Toads had been kinder, they wouldn’t have to run from one town to the next, scavenging from garbage cans and stealing food under the cover of darkness.
The patter of clawed feet dart across cobblestones nearby, rising over the clamor of voices beyond the alley. A wiry shadow flickers into view, clad in scraps of old black fabric that conceal scales and a green shell. The second Iggy has made far enough into gloom, his siblings crowd around him, eager to hear what he’s found. Nimble and quick-thinking, he is the ideal person to scout from the shadows and find which stalls they will want to target.
“They’ve got everything tonight,” Iggy says excitedly. “Imported silk and entire cases of food that’ll last us months. I’ve made a route that goes out and all the way back here. Just follow me and don’t get lost.”
Ludwig nods, glancing down at his baby brother. “I’ll come tonight. Lemmy, can you look after Larry?”
Lemmy walks out from behind a stack of dented cardboard boxes and begins to cough. Iggy rushes forward to support him. Lemmy has never seemed to be as healthy as his twin brother, which might be why he’s much smaller. But these days he has shown signs of sickness, much to Iggy’s dismay.
“It’s not fair,” he said bitterly one night, when Lemmy lay curled asleep next to him. “Even if we had the money for a doctor, they would never help him. We could give them all the coins in the world and they would turn us away.”
Within mere heartbeats, his siblings are gone, having donned ragged scraps of fabric like Iggy’s.
Lemmy is too small to hold him, so he drags over several of the dirty, discarded rugs and forms a layer of padding for him instead. Once he is comfortable, Lemmy sits down beside him, tracing a finger along the cold stone. An old tarpaulin stretches over their heads, one Iggy had climbed the ventilation pipes to secure so they would have a shelter when rain came.
“It sucks to be left behind, huh?” Lemmy says softly. Dirt scrapes as his finger completes the last petal on the flower he’d been absently drawing. “I wish every day I could help.”
If only he could speak his agreement. As always, silence is his only answer.
“I hope they bring back food this time.”
Stars, so does he. He is starving . Quite literally. His stomach feels so hollow he wonders if a breeze might blow it away one of these days.
Lemmy says nothing else, head turned towards the throngs of Toads in the streets. Iggy’s routes are quick and efficient. Hopefully his family will be back soon.
And then, voices rise above the normal chatter. Angry ones. Ones shouting, “Stop! Rotten Koopa thieves!”
Lemmy scrambles to his feet in a panic. Four shapes bolt into the alley—their siblings, not their Toad pursuers. Their makeshift cloaks have been shed. Outside, Toads look both ways in confusion.
Roy hisses a stream of curses and hurries to scoop his baby brother up in his arms, snatching a glance back at the Toads. It is only a matter of time before some of them think to search here.
“What happened?” Lemmy’s eyes search the alley, widening further in terror. “Where’s Iggy?”
“We were spotted,” Ludwig says grimly. He shoves aside the wooden crate that was pushed against the back wall. A hole lies there, one Roy and Morton spent days hacking open with bits of metal for a time like this. “We had to drop everything and run for our lives. Iggy’s distracting them. He said he’ll meet us back here later.”
Lemmy doesn’t protest as he is nudged towards the hole, but begins to tremble. Roy comes next, fitting less easily. At least they took the time to make sure they could all fit. One by one, their siblings follow, abandoning the shelter they have managed to keep for almost a month.
It seems it is only a matter of time before any small blessing they receive is stolen from them.
Ludwig takes up the rear, carefully aligning the crate back in its former place. Roy leads, navigating through stray shards of glass and rusty nails. This alley is even more decrepit than the last, but they checked daily to ensure no one ventures back here.
There are never any Toad beggars huddled along the sidewalks. It seems Toads had plenty of sympathy to spare for others of their kind, but they would sooner banish Koopas to starve in their alleys than grant them any favors.
Beyond the walls, the broken-down fences, they can hear that the joyful manner of the night market has soured. Footsteps pound alarmingly close, and Roy instantly throws himself back against the nearest heap of trash. His siblings follow suit. Through the gaps in the crooked, decaying fence, blue uniforms flicker in and out of sight.
“The town guards,” Wendy whispers bleakly. Ludwig clutches his temple and sighs through his nose.
Now that the guards have officially gotten involved, their family can’t stay. Security will only increase until one of them gets captured.
They will have to find a new home again.
Movement darts from above. Roy makes to retreat, then relaxes as he recognizes Iggy. Their brother nimbly leaps down the torn remains of a faded awning, disheveled and panting.
“I lost them. But we need to go now. Those guards aren’t fooling around.”
At least they had no tracks to cover and nothing to take with them. Their only possessions had been bits of garbage.
But once again, they have nothing.
Larry was wrenched from the memory with a gasp. He sat up, Skye pressed against his plastron. He stares into the darkness around him, too afraid to blink and slip back into another reality. His forehead was slick with sweat that became colder by the second.
“Larry?” He tossed Skye aside and lashed out at the sound of his name. This isn’t real. It couldn’t be. The Toads had caught up with them, and—
Strong, callused fingers grabbed Larry’s wrists and cut their blows short. He tried in vain to yank them away, only to be forced still by his opponents arms. “Larry! Stop! It’s me!”
Larry closed his mouth, his cry for help dying in his throat. The panic receded. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light, making out a pair of black eyes, like the darkest onyx, set above a pair of gleaming fangs.
Roy. Realizations and memories returned in a haze. He’d asked Roy to stay with him. He was only being restrained because he’d tried to attack. He was safe in Bowser’s Castle. Larry repeated that last one over and over in his mind, hoping it would dispel the lingering terror from the nightmare.
But could it really be called a nightmare? Nightmares were terrifying, but scenes created by the imagination. What Larry had just witnessed had happened, during the darkest period of his life.
“Larry. Are you alright? Talk to me.” Roy’s urgent words sounded far away, as if Larry was far underwater. So did his movements, as he fumbled for his sunglasses. No, Larry wanted to scream. I’m not alright.
What was wrong with him? He hadn’t had nightmares of his past since he was little. They’d faded over the years as his fear of being abandoned again had left. This was his home now. He had a purpose. He would not be discarded like an old, rusted piece of treasure.
Roy was still speaking, Larry realized, and shaking his shoulders just the slightest bit. He sounded genuinely panicked. “Are you alright?”
“I had a nightmare.” The explanation came out barely audible. When Larry closed his eyes, he was back in the alley, being carried through stinking piles of garbage, hiding from Toads who regarded his family the same as they did their trash. “A memory of back then.”
Disbelief spread across Roy’s face. “You said you didn’t have those anymore.”
“I don’t!” Larry practically wailed. “But I did just now!”
“Hey, hey,” Roy soothed. His grip loosened into a hug. The chill drenching Larry’s scales ebbed as a blanket was tucked around his shoulders. “It’s okay. Nothing is wrong with you. It’s only a nightmare. Toads can’t hurt us anymore.”
In Larry’s memories they could, it seemed. It was so unfair he wanted to smash something. Would he never be free of those times?
“Listen, Larry.” Roy leaned in close, his breath warm and peppery-smelling against Larry’s cheek. “You’re better than they are. They tried everything they could to kill you, and you survived a stronger person while they’re weak as ever. Now they fear us .”
Each truth sank in. Larry relished it. Indeed, he was better and stronger. His name was feared across the Mushroom Kingdom.
Taking his hand, Roy’s voice diminished to a low, fierce whisper. “One day, we’ll crush them all.”
Yes. It was what they’d been trained to do. Serving Bowser was their purpose. One day, they would go beyond kidnapping Princess Peach and do some real damage.
Thanks to Mario's boldness, that day would come very soon.
Notes:
If you ask me, the first five chapters of a book are the most important ones. Most people don't stick around longer than that if things don't get interesting quick.
To anyone who's following this piece, I hope I've hooked you already! This was one of the chapters I've worked the hardest on. (I'm going to prove that Larry is NOT a boring character after all! Give him some love, Nintendo!)
See you next week!
Chapter 3: A Bad Time To Cross Us
Notes:
Hi! So hyped to see you all again! Time for the third chapter!
Thanks so much to you readers for being patient! I promise to keep the chapters coming! Let me know what you think in the comments, even spelling or grammatical errors. That dumb spellchecker on Google Docs doesn't catch everything.
Without further ado, I present Chapter Three!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In Larry’s opinion, people who woke up early on a regular basis were absolutely, positively, without a doubt, crazy.
It was hardly his fault that it took until after lunchtime for most of his energy to kick in. He never failed to show up for a meeting or training session, and he usually had time to fit in some tennis practice. Every box on his to-do list was always crossed off by eight or nine at night, and he could enjoy the hours until morning in peace.
Nothing wrong with any of that, right?
Such a shame Larry’s siblings didn’t agree.
Larry had hoped he would get a free pass today, since the doctor’s orders were to take it easy. But sure enough, the door came crashing open like it always did. Grumbling, he clapped a pillow over the side of his head.
“Time to wake up.” Wendy announced it from the doorway like a royal decree.
“It’s already nine,” Ludwig’s voice chimed in.
Larry rolled over onto one of Skye’s floppy arms as he turned his back on his siblings and nestled further into a soft abyss of blankets. “Come back in two hours and I’ll consider waking up.”
Wendy snorted. She marched in and began tugging the nearest blanket off the bed. “Overruled. Get moving."
“It’s not healthy to sleep so late in the morning,” Ludwig added in that “oldest brother” voice of his that Larry found either endearing or infuriating by turns.
Larry poked Skye’s head out from underneath the corner of the blanket he’d managed to hold on to. “Boo, hiss.” He shook Skye’s head as if she were the one speaking. “The dragon has spoken. That is officially the worst plan ever, plus I have another two hours.”
Ludwig sighed, relenting. “Look, we know you’re in pain. There’s a healer waiting for you out there to check on you. If you’re not well enough to walk, Bowser will understand.”
“Bowser?” Larry’s head shot up the same way Junior’s did whenever he heard the word “cake.”
“He was furious when I explained what happened to you. Furious enough to call a meeting this morning. He says it’s urgent, and for the royal family only, other than Kamek. Don’t worry about dressing up.”
Larry blinked, too troubled to be relieved about being excused from having to present himself in full military uniform. It was unlike Bowser to call a meeting on such short notice.
There could only be one reason. It was hardly surprising that Bowser wouldn’t let the act of attempting to kill a royal slide, but he’d better have a plan for rebuilding their airships quickly. Without them, war was out of the question.
“I can go. I’m okay.” There was no way in all of Star Road that Larry was going to let something as dumb as a head injury stop him. If Bowser expected him, he would come.
Before his brother or sister could tell him otherwise, Larry pushed aside the covers and braced himself for dizziness. It came, but less strongly than it had yesterday. It had slowly been getting better until he’d recklessly teleported home and set himself up to spend the rest of the day resting.
“I’m fine,” he repeated to his siblings, who’d been watching and had gotten closer to support him if necessary. They traded unconvinced looks. Ignoring them, Larry peered over his shoulder at his massive bed, the events of the previous night returning to him. “Where’s Roy?”
Wendy’s skeptical expression eroded under waves of pity. Larry averted his gaze. Leave it to Roy to tell everyone else about what had happened last night. “He left a while ago to go clean himself up and get ready for the meeting.”
Larry should probably be doing the same, instead of freaking out about a stupid nightmare. “You guys should go, too. I’ll meet you there.”
Ludwig stepped forward and placed one hand on Larry’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay? Roy told us—”
“I’m fine.” Larry pulled away. How many times did he have to say it? Shame flooded him anyway as Ludwig flinched. Larry rubbed his eyes. “Look, I’m perfectly fine. What happened last night was nothing.” It didn’t matter whether they believed him. All he needed was for them to abandon the matter and stop worrying about him. He wasn’t three years old anymore.
Ludwig nodded, but there was no concealing the hurt lingering in his eyes. He took a respectful step back, though, and guided Wendy out, whose scowl said enough about what she thought of the way Larry had handled that.
As soon as Larry was alone, he whispered, "Dammit," to himself, wishing he could rewind the past five minutes and take back everything he’d said. But there was no point in thinking about it now. He shook his head and made for the door to the bathroom adjoining his room.
A shower—nearly scalding, just the way he liked it—and a hairstyling session later, Larry made his way to the living room, where a Magikoopa clad in the white robes of a healer waited. He’d chosen to stand, wringing his hands, instead of taking one of the many comfortable seats around him as if the act was disrespectful. Also with him were two Koopas in the uniforms of the Royal Guard.
“Sorry I kept you waiting.” Larry sank onto one of the couches as gracefully as he could, trying to hide his relief. “You’re here to check on these?” He extended both arms, whose bandages had been removed. Faded bruises peppered the scales on both.
The healer rose from his bow and nodded nervously. From the little bag he’d brought with him, he fished out rolls of cloth bandages and salves. Larry exhaled as the cool relief of the ointments were dabbed over his bruises and answered each of the questions he was asked. Yes, his head still ached and felt a bit dizzy. No, it didn’t feel serious. No, he didn’t feel like throwing up.
Once the Magikoopa was finished, he gathered his things but hesitated to leave when Larry dismissed him. “I’ve been ordered to stay with you today, my lord. In case anything happens.”
Larry glanced at him, then at the guards. Ludwig’s doing, undoubtedly. He wasn’t sure whether to be touched or annoyed. While he hardly wanted bodyguards and a Magikoopa stuck to his tail all day, it would be a reassurance to the court to see him under protection. Right now he had a meeting to attend, anyway.
Larry opened the door a crack and peeked through, half expecting to find the crowds from yesterday still waiting. It was a relief to find the halls were as bustling yet orderly as always. Guards and servants saluted and bowed as he walked by, but the hush in the background chatter was undeniable and followed him like a haunting spirit. As soon as he passed, murmurs replaced the previous conversations.
Don't tell me Bowser told everyone what happened to me, Larry thought, squeezing his eyes shut and praying that wasn't the case.
Schooling his features into blankness, Larry pretended to find the decor suddenly fascinating. Only a decade ago had simple bricks been replaced by glittering black marble, imported from Layer Cake Desert, hung with red velvet banners that bore Bowser’s famed emblem. Here in the royal wing, jewels were everywhere, from the gemstone pins the guards displayed to the plum-sized rubies and onyxes embedded in mosaics and statues.
Along both walls, life-size statues of Bowser himself stood in multiple poses, glowering through eyes made of rubies. The servants who went about polishing them moved carefully as if convinced their actual king was watching.
Larry almost stopped entirely to behold one statue featuring Bowser with claws outstretched and fangs bared.
Some days he appreciated their presence, the reminder of who he was and who he served—other days he wished they would disappear. Today was one of them; the idea of standing in front of Bowser and acknowledging how many soldiers had died on his watch was daunting. He could almost imagine Bowser was really there before him, the portrait of rage.
Banishing that thought, Larry hurried on before his guards could ask any questions he didn’t feel like answering.
The sight of a familiar pair of huge oak doors made him want to sigh with relief and recoil with dread at the same time. Larry forced his legs forward until countless markings painted with gold on the door became clear. Koopas no longer used the dialect they were written in, known as the Old Language. Thanks to Iggy’s efforts to recover the dregs, it had not been entirely lost, and the tales of famous battles in Koopa history had been etched into the doors of the room where Bowser’s attacks were planned.
Larry, having been taught the language, could both read it and have secret conversations with the rest of his siblings. On the battlefront, however, it would be a secret code they would write their messages in, preventing the enemy from discovering their next moves if the letters were intercepted.
If you asked Larry, the name War Chamber was a bit dramatic. The work that took place here was important though, and meetings here were private enough that only he, his siblings, Kamek, and Junior in some cases, were invited.
Larry knocked to signal his entry, then reached for one of the golden doorknobs.
The door swung open before his fingers could close around it. Nothing could have prepared him for the moment he looked up in confusion, and realized it was Bowser himself there.
The King of the Koopas was as impressive as ever. No statue could quite capture the power in his well-muscled body, the air of authority he radiated, the fierceness of his ruby gaze. Anyone could see with a simple glance that he was a king, despite his lack of a crown or scepter. He blinked slowly at Larry without betraying an ounce of emotion.
Robes sweeping over the floor and the scrape of armor reminded Larry of his place. He bowed extra low, hoping to make up for the idiotic mistake of staring. His spiked shell and firebreath marked him as royalty, but with his direct relation unknown, even he was not above the most basic of rules for addressing his king.
“Rise.”
Larry hesitated to obey. It would be so much simpler to stay on his knees. Wincing, he stood and clasped his hands behind his back, trying to meet Bowser’s gaze. Behind him, already seated at the huge hardwood table taking up most of the room, he glimpsed his siblings watching the exchange.
He very nearly recoiled as Bowser’s fingers brushed his chin, lifting it. Almost more startling was the concern in his eyes. He could not call himself Larry’s father without damaging his reputation, but right now he could have passed as just that.
Bowser’s eyes flicked across each one of Larry’s bandages in turn. He addressed the healer and guards next, face suddenly stony again. “Dismissed. Larry will be out shortly.” As soon as they hurried out, all of the sympathy brightened his features like the sun rising over mountains. “Is it true, what happened?”
Larry bit his lip. He wouldn’t lie, not to his king. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The gentleness vanished in a flash. Something violent flickered in Bowser’s eyes, almost primal and fueled by the deepest kind of rage. He quenched it with a long exhale, then leaned forward. His voice was low and there was no mistaking the repressed fury in it.
“They will pay.”
Larry nodded once, the uneasiness singing in his veins dimming. Stares tracked him all the way to the seat left for him in between Wendy and Morton. He's not mad, he realized dazedly. His heart leaped as it sank in. And he wants revenge.
The silence remained as Bowser returned to his own chair, decorated and embellished enough to be called a throne, at the head of the table. At his right, Junior waited in a smaller but otherwise identical seat. Ludwig was the next closest, flipping through a sheaf of papers.
Today, the vast map that usually hung on the back wall had been taken down and placed on the table, neat piles of figures symbolizing troops already gathered and laid along its margin. The Darklands, Sarasaland, the Mushroom Kingdom, and each of the Seven Lands were depicted in astonishing detail.
Larry heard the tap of claws of a table and dragged his gaze from the drawing of his own castle perched on its island in the eastern half of Sparkling Waters. He found Kamek across the table, snatching glances at Bowser and biting his lip in a way that made him look like Iggy when he spent too much time without something in his claws to fidget with.
It made sense, Larry supposed. Kamek's inclination towards peace was common knowledge, not to mention he was well beyond the age where he could assist on the battlefront.
Still, it couldn't be helped. Larry doubted even Kamek could sway Bowser from declaring war.
“You all know by now what happened to Larry and why he was delayed in coming home.” Bowser announced, slipping back into a commanding exterior as easily as he would don armor. In spite of it, the sympathy on his face as he regarded Larry was unmistakable. “Mario and Luigi let the rest of you escape, but they crashed Larry’s airship with him and his soldiers inside it. Ninety-five innocents were killed.”
Bowser’s claws curled into the velvet armrest beneath his hand. “This cannot go unpunished.”
Ludwig cleared his throat. Bowser spared him a nod. “It has been brought to my attention that walking into a war is a risky decision right now. Sarasaland may already be prepared to fight alongside Mario. Even so…” Bowser’s voice dropped until each word was an icicle, sharp and devoid of warmth. “Mario has crossed the line. If we don’t act, he’ll take the Seven Lands next. Every detail of what he did to Larry has been spread throughout the kingdom.”
Larry felt his cheeks heat up. So Bowser had told everyone. People across the Darklands knew that he’d failed and nearly a hundred innocents had paid the price for his stupidity. He had the sudden urge to run and hide himself far, far away.
“Hey.” The words were a nearly inaudible stirring of breath in his ear. Morton’s hand settled on his shoulder. Larry’s fingers instinctively relaxed at the sound of his voice.
“I’m fine,” he whispered to Morton, refusing to look away. Morton’s doubt was practically tangible, but he dropped the matter as Bowser began talking again.
“Mario’s gotten too confident. He thinks he can handle our airships by himself before they even reach the Mushroom Kingdom.” Bowser curled his lip as if what he was about to say disgusted him. “And that may be true. But…” A smile. “I believe Iggy has a solution to share with us.”
Iggy took that as his cue to stand, head raised proudly. He produced a thick binder and opened it, flipping ahead to a red tab. The metal clasps clicked once before he began spreading out the contents on the table.
Larry leaned forward for a better look. Most were blueprints of the current layout of airships with notes scrawled on the side, but a handful were covered in preliminary sketches of an aircraft Larry had never seen.
“Our airships are an unstoppable force when united and in formation.” Iggy’s fingers brushed the nearest blueprint, the design for Bowser’s personal airship he’d made himself and spent months perfecting. “Perfect for an open declaration of war and a show of power. Most enemies would surrender without a fight.”
Iggy's hands curled into fists, then relaxed. “Unfortunately, Mario has made it abundantly clear he wants a war, and he wouldn’t have gone this far if he wasn’t already prepared. There’s no hope of surprising them, and an outright attack on their capital could be costly.”
Curious, Larry took the corner of a paper sticking out from underneath a stack of notes and tugged it free. It was a detailed map of the Mushroom Kingdom, most likely collected by a spy of theirs. Most establishments were clustered around the huge sprawl of their capital city, but plenty were scattered around as well on the grasslands. Entirely exposed and the ideal place to take prisoners without fear of reinforcements arriving—if their attack force was concealed enough.
Larry’s eyes flicked to the models of unfamiliar aircrafts. They were slender and fast-looking, almost reminiscent of a moth, and equipped with cannons that could slide out from underneath.
“But there is another way.” Iggy’s smile was cold. It was the look of a strategist when they knew they’d made the right move in the long, deadly game of warfare. He took the map that had slipped from Larry’s fingers and placed it in the center of the table. “With careful planning, we could sneak up on the outskirts and take these outer villages—and any inhabitants. If Mario wants to play the game of endangering noncombatants, he’ll find that he’s started something he’ll regret.”
Iggy slid the sketches forward. “These are made for ambushes. They can swoop in, drop explosives, and scout the movements of enemies. Shooting one of these things down will be like trying to shoot a butterfly. And even a couple lucky hits will bounce right off the outside—entirely made of our strongest steel.”
Larry’s siblings swapped excited glances. Bowser only leaned back in his chair, regarding Iggy through proud eyes. Iggy had told him all of this before, and now he got to share the documents that could win them a war with his family.
“I mentioned explosives, right?” Next came the images of Blue Shells. Iggy’s claws flitted over each part of the diagrams as if he were teaching something as rudimentary as the alphabet. “Blue Shells have twice the range and power of Bob-ombs. They leave almost nothing behind. Of course, they’re a last resort and their effects are seen only when certain Paratroopas choose to lay down their lives for their kingdom.”
Iggy paused and bowed his head for a moment, acknowledging the sacrifices. “But a few months ago miners in the south found a deposit of an unknown element. I’ve carefully isolated it and found it’s almost identical in molecular makeup to the gas found on Blue Shell explosion sites. Even better, its reactant is simply water. The smallest drop is all it takes, and the resulting explosion is as big as a Blue Shell’s.”
Then there was the final sketch. It depicted what could best be described as a mechanical Blue Shell. Inside were two chambers, one of the gas Iggy spoke of and the other containing water. A piece of metal was all that lay between them, the only barrier between a reaction that could level nearly anything.
“I’ve expanded these ones so that their explosions are a mile or so each,” Iggy went on, indicating the measurements along the margins. “Smaller handheld ones can be made and triggered like time bombs, but the ones I propose we use are basically self-operating drones that lock onto specified targets and then detonate themselves.” Iggy’s claws drummed on the table, betraying excitement.
“Hell, if I input the right picture, these could track Mario and Luigi.”
Larry felt his jaw drop at the mere possibilities. It was a massive breakthrough in technology, made by someone not even nineteen yet. Iggy’s genius was famed and responsible for many inventions throughout the kingdom, but this was incredible, even going by his high standards.
“I’ve already had large amounts of the element and steel gathered.” Iggy’s bony arm swept the assortment of papers in a grand fashion. “This was all highly experimental not long ago, but my most recent tests have made me confident. We can commence construction today.”
Today. Beneath the table, Larry’s claws curled in anticipation. Across from him, he met Roy’s gaze and shared a toothy smile. Mario doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.
Bowser’s eyes were riveted on Iggy’s documents. They flicked to Iggy next, shining with pride. “Well done, Iggy. You are truly a credit to your kingdom. This service will not be forgotten.”
Iggy stepped back to bow. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Bowser nodded, looking at the jet models again. His lips curled into a broad smile. “Mario’s picked a bad time to cross us.”
As soon as Larry and his siblings left the War Chamber, Iggy was almost knocked flat by six separate tackle-hugs. As the word that he’d developed the technology that could mean the end of the Mushroom Kingdom spread throughout the day, countless grateful and awed soldiers came to offer their thanks and congratulations. Iggy was unceasingly modest, claiming Ludwig had helped his research and Lemmy had made the first sketches.
“Pat yourself on the back already,” Roy said as another pair of young soldiers walked off, still whispering excitedly to each other. “Half the castle’s busy making your new jets and bombs when they were terrified just this morning. You’ve given them purpose.”
Iggy nodded absently, staring off into the courtyard while draping one arm over Lemmy’s shoulders. From his place on the bench beside Roy, Larry held out the bag of chocolate-covered cherries. On lazy afternoons like these, he rarely went anywhere without a snack to share with his family.
Wendy dug her hand into the bag before Iggy could and tossed a handful of the treats into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully before saying, “How long do you think it’ll be before we can actually attack?”
Iggy’s bony shoulders rose and fell in a nonchalant shrug. He claimed his own share of the chocolates and, unsurprisingly, passed most of them to Lemmy. “It’s a good thing we already have plenty of the materials we need. Keep in mind we still need to rebuild our airships. I doubt we'd win without them, even with new weapons on the table. But I think we can stall long enough to hold the lines.”
In spite of Iggy’s insistence on refusing credit, his family threw their own little party for him in Roy’s suite that night. Junior joined them and managed to get Larry’s bodyguards to leave him alone for the night.
By midnight, the games and joking and conversation slowed until one by one, Larry’s siblings fell asleep sprawled over the couches and rugs of Roy’s living room. It was as lavishly decorated as his own set of rooms, cloaked in purple velvet and gold. Yet underneath all the excess, everything was as orderly as a military encampment. Even the bookshelves were lined with old texts of famous battles and war leaders.
Larry peered through the darkness. The television had been shut off, four white consoles designed to look like remotes scattered in front of it.
Ludwig and Wendy lay stretched out on separate sofas. Iggy had dozed off in a neighboring armchair, Lemmy asleep on his lap and resting his head on the armrest. Morton’s massive frame resembled a mountain atop a heap of cushions, Junior curled up at his side, somehow able to sleep through the low roar of Morton’s snoring. The only sound that could compete was Roy’s own snoring from Larry’s left.
It wasn’t abnormal that Larry was still awake. He liked being up even when the rest of the castle was asleep. Roy shared his night-owl habits, often joining Larry during the late hours. Larry held those moments close—it felt like the world had reserved a time just for them, and he refused to waste it.
Larry glanced at Roy’s hulking form, wrapped in a blanket. He could lie down next to him and fall asleep within minutes. For some reason, he hesitated. The fact that Roy had told their siblings about Larry’s nightmare was a thorn in his brain, distracting, stinging, yet difficult to let go of. How could Larry bring that up without coming off as rude?
It wasn’t their business, he would say. It was barely yours.
They care about you, too, Roy would answer stubbornly.
I don’t want their pity. And I don’t want yours either.
Larry winced. Nope. That made him sound like a certified jerk. He really was terrible at these kinds of things.
So just let it go. He did what he thought was best for you.
Suddenly Larry just wanted space. He pushed the empty bags of chips and discarded soda cans aside, cringing as they crinkled loudly. When no one moved, he cautiously stood and crept past his sleeping family to the door.
The halls were silent, nearly deserted save for the occasional sleepy-eyed guard. Fire glowing with orange light within gilded sconces had replaced the bold glare of the usual chandeliers. The marble had taken on a brownish tint and the gold veins glittered faintly.
All of it contributed to a quiet atmosphere Larry found refreshing. He turned left and found himself wandering, taking the time to admire the halls he’d grown up in. Memories of sneaking around the statues of Bowser thinking he was a master spy flitted through his mind, soothing like the feel of a favorite blanket.
“I thought we had reached an agreement.”
Larry jumped and instinctively dropped into a bow before he realized he was still alone. His head whipped back and forth, searching the gloom for Bowser. After a few heartbeats he recognized the door he’d come to. The ancient gold runes glittered in greeting. Underneath them, light spilled onto the marble through the crack below the door.
“I haven’t talked to them in fifteen years, Your Majesty.” That was Kamek. His voice was muffled by the thick door, but its raspy cadence was unmistakable.
Larry stared at the floor, at his hazy reflection. What was happening? Another meeting? Why this late, and why had he and his siblings been kept out of it? They were kept in the know about all of Bowser’s plans.
“They shouldn’t be hard to get in touch with,” Bowser pointed out impatiently. “You said your brother was their leader.”
Kamek has a brother? And he’s the leader of who? Some unruly, childish part of Larry wanted to burst through the doors and demand what was happening.
A long pause. “There’s a reason I cut ties with him, Your Majesty.” Kamek spoke the words so quietly Larry had to press the side of his head against the door to hear. “I’ll never let him into my life again.”
“They could be a great help to us. You said they were powerful.” A soft scrape as if Bowser were rising from his seat. “War is coming, Kamek, and I don’t just intend to win. I intend to have Mario and Luigi watch their kingdom be ground into rubble and their Toad friends be made into slaves. And I intend to give Larry the honor of slitting their throats.”
A softer, younger version of Larry might have cowered to hear so many threats in one sentence. Training had crushed those troublesome qualities. Now he wanted to write the words down and read them every night, a reminder of what lengths Bowser was willing to go to for vengeance on Larry’s behalf.
“Doing so will lose you Princess Peach’s affection forever,” Kamek tried. It was a low blow, a last resort. He really was desperate.
That was enough to make Bowser hesitate, but it didn’t last. He hissed, “If what happened to Larry was her idea, then she can take her affection and see what good it does her when her kingdom is destroyed.”
Willing to give up Peach? For me? Larry was fairly certain he was grinning like a total idiot. It was just about the highest sacrifice one could ask from Bowser.
“Message them,” Bowser growled That tone brooked no argument. “If they refuse, they refuse. But I will not turn down an extra force to fall back on if Iggy’s work is not enough.”
Kamek sighed. “They are powerful. Too powerful. I turned my back on them once my brother gained control.” Another long pause that seemed to last forever. “You don’t understand, Your Majesty.”
“Then help me understand.” Only silence greeted Bowser’s statement. He sighed, his patience at an end. “You will contact them.”
“But—”
“That’s an order!” Bowser nearly roared.
Kamek didn’t answer. Larry froze, half expecting Bowser to shout for guards to take Kamek to the dungeon when the reply came, soft and defeated. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” There was the scrape of a chair shifting as its occupant rose.
Still bewildered and shocked, Larry soundlessly slipped back down the hall before he could be caught, thoughts racing.
Notes:
...how was that? Honestly, I'm still working through the fear that I'm going to have a bunch of people tell me how much this piece sucks. All you people who click into it at all are so supportive!
Please stick around for Chapter Four next week!
Chapter 4: Lurking In The Castle
Notes:
Wow. Already this week is wearing me out. I almost forgot to post today.
Thanks for being patient, guys! Chapter Four will be worth it, I hope.
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Weeks flew by, and with each passing day the signs of war preparation grew more frequent. The effects of Larry’s concussion dwindled until they disappeared entirely and it was no longer necessary that he be trailed by a healer.
He was glad; some days his agenda seemed never-ending. Droves of new soldiers—citizens made furious by the news of Mario’s attempt to kill Larry—arrived daily and had to be organized into units under commanding officers. Crafters and stonemasons came from faraway villages to aid in the restoration of Bowser’s airship fleet.
Even when Larry was finally finished, Iggy worked until late at night supervising the progress made on the jets and explosives. Soon they would have enough airships to go to the fringes of the Mushroom Kingdom and set up hidden military camps, he promised his family when came by after he was finished for the day.
One of these days Larry was going to do him a favor and lock him in his bedroom and let him get an actual night’s sleep.
But as busy as he was, Larry was never denied the afternoon hours off.
The largest of the courtyards lay in the inner side of the front gates, big enough for ceremonies, parties, or in the case of more violent monarchs, public executions. Admittedly, it wasn’t picturesque by the standards of most people: no trimmed bushes or flowerbeds, only rippling volcanic rock that had been smoothed and a handful of paved pathways. The occasional statue of Bowser was the only ornamentation, unless one counted the long, rectangular pools of lava dotting the outskirts of the courtyard.
Larry had once questioned such an unsafe addition—then Ludwig had informed him that past rulers had used them as a quick method of corpse disposal during deadly plagues and wars. It had been weeks before Larry had set foot in the courtyard again.
Despite its rather desolate appearance, Larry was still quite fond of it—he’d developed a habit of coming to this particular courtyard every afternoon for tennis practice.
Tossing the ball upwards, Larry deftly flipped his racket in between bounces, even closed his eyes and relied solely on the vibrations of the racket as the ball struck. He opened his eyes and deflected the ball against the wall, skillfully bouncing it back with his racket each time it ricocheted in his direction.
A patrol of passing soldiers paused to watch and applauded as the ball became a blur or green, darting this way and that as Larry refused to let it slip by. After a minute or two Larry snatched it from the air and waved to the soldiers as they went on their way again.
When he was alone again, he admired his racket. It was his favorite blue, and when he held it, his hand concealed the golden Mushroom sticker near the end. The kind of lame souvenir people mocked but bought themselves because it was the cheapest keepsake from the gift shop.
The sticker was crinkled and faded, but the sight of it never failed to bring a grin to Larry’s face.
Every three years the Mushroom Kingdom held an elite tennis tournament, and during the most recent one two years ago Mario had shockingly been stripped of his status as the reigning champion by a new competitor no one had ever heard of. The next day, the winner had vanished—before anyone could figure out he was in fact one of the Koopalings, using a specialized potion to turn himself into a Toad.
Well, the original mission had been to check up on the spies posted in the Mushroom Kingdom’s capital and relay fresh orders—but Bowser hadn’t batted an eye when Larry had returned with a trophy in tow, even flashed him a knowing smile.
An audible bloop behind Larry snapped him from his trance. He whirled around, instinctively putting his racket in a defensive position as though it were a blade, then relaxed as he spotted his observer floating in the nearest lava pool: a Lava Bubble, one of many that resided in the neighboring pools.
Larry risked a quick glance around to ensure he was still alone, and then gave the Lava Bubble a viewing of his middle finger.
Its coal-black eyes narrowed—it probably didn’t quite understand the gesture, but it seemed offended anyway.
“Don’t think I don’t recognize you,” Larry called across the courtyard, now waving both fingers.
Indeed, they had history. For whatever reason, this Lava Bubble took wicked delight in destroying any of Larry’s tennis balls when they had the misfortune to land in its pool. Once the hall went up in a whoosh of embers and smoke, it would then look up at Larry’s furious face with false innocence as if to say, Oops, was that thing important? Oh well!
Part of Larry knew the balls probably weren’t salvageable anyway by the time they hit the lava, but it was still very rude and pissed him off to no end.
In any case, by now Larry was skilled enough to keep control of his racket, measure the exact amount of power to put behind each swing, all while poking fun at the Lava Bubble over his shoulder. Maybe his biggest drive behind the long hours of practice hadn’t been for admiration or self-respect, but the thought of losing a fourteenth tennis ball to the creature waiting eagerly for one to fly its way.
Larry was in the mood to rub it in a little more, so he sauntered over to the pool, disregarding the heat crackling off his scales. “Looking for this?” he taunted, waving the tennis ball tantalizingly close but still out of reach. “I bet you’d just love to burn it up. Well, buddy, you can kiss my—”
Without warning, the Lava Bubble rushed forward with alarming speed, forcing a splash of liquid fire over the edge. Startled, Larry drew back, his toes just missing the smoldering wave—
—and as if the Great Mother Herself was punishing him for his arrogance, the tennis ball slipped from his hands and landed in the lava with a splash and a crackle.
Looking elated, the Lava Bubble leaped and landed directly on the already blackened remains.
“Argh!” Larry grabbed the nearest stone and hurled it at the creature, a pitiful attack it easily dodged. “You rotten, blobby, damn son of a Magmaargh! That one was my favorite! Even a dense thing like you should know who I am! I can have you executed!”
The Lava Bubble casually bobbed a few paces away into the center and shook itself, scattering embers, as if to say, You think you can hurt me in here?
“I can pour water in there,” Larry spat, “and I’ll laugh while I watch your face shrivel up and die!”
Actually seeming a little unnerved by this, the Lava Bubble quickly vanished beneath the surface of its pool.
Feeling triumphant and utterly humiliated at the same time, Larry marched back to the center of the courtyard, hoping like crazy that no one had seen that. He stood for several moments, considering whether he should make good on his threat and send for a bucket of water when his gaze went to the grand set of doors leading inside.
Lemmy usually helped him practice, helping serve the ball so he could bounce it back. In spite of his lack of tennis knowledge, he was remarkably agile and able to return almost any ball no matter the direction, so he was always a tricky opponent even as Larry improved. But he was never late to an arrangement, and he never forgot to tell Larry when he was unavailable.
Maybe he’s resting, he thought, heading towards the doors. We’re all busy and tired these days.
Iggy and Lemmy shared a suite, even though the castle was huge enough they could have chosen to have separate ones if they wished to. To anyone who knew the twins, it was easy to identify the rooms as theirs.
The first chamber was where a living room met a library—velvet couches and drapes, lacquered bookshelves and secluded tables perfect for the shy reader. Objects seemed to be perpetually engaged in a war for space on every available surface: countless books Iggy had left open, half-completed drawings of Lemmy’s, candles that filled the room with the scents of cinnamon and apples. In spite of the crowdedness of it all, there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen and a kind of organization to the piles of books and papers.
Leave it to Iggy to somehow find a way to make a space seem cluttered and orderly at the same time.
Entering the corridor, Larry walked past the other doors and knocked softly on the bedroom door, which had been left cracked open. No answer. Maybe Lemmy really was asleep.
Larry quietly stepped inside and surveyed the huge bedchamber. Like the first room, there was an abundance of bookcases, and on the shelves were both encyclopedias and colorful notebooks. Tacked up on the walls or scattered across the tables were a few of his drawings of animals and flowers. Altogether, it was an odd mix of professional and artistic that complimented each other surprisingly well, much like Lemmy and Iggy did when together.
The two beds were easy to tell apart. Iggy’s which was neater than most beds ever looked, every black pillow in perfect place and every green blanket free of wrinkles. Lemmy’s had heavy curtains that ran down the canopy, leaving its owner in peace and privacy when they were closed, which was often.
Larry nudged aside the curtains, allowing light to spill over layers of the finest furs and silks the kingdom had to offer. Save for the six plush cats that were piled on the gold pillows, the bed was unoccupied.
Maybe Lemmy had finally managed to convince Iggy to let him come along to help him with his work in the hangar, where most of the construction happened. Iggy was reluctant to let his twin anywhere so crowded and noisy, as if Lemmy were a delicate flower that might be crushed under the feet of busy workers.
It’s not like him, though. Larry consulted his mental map of the castle to find the nearest way to the hangar. Where Lemmy was concerned, Iggy was a force to be reckoned with and almost impossible to sway.
Distracted, Larry collided with something hard on his way around a corner. He was about to apologize to the poor guard or servant when he found himself looking up at a very concerned Morton.
“Oh, sorry!” Morton cupped his brother’s chin in both hands and assessed his face as if expecting to find a black eye. Typical fussy seventeen-year-old brother. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. It didn’t hur—” Larry broke off as Iggy came into view, scales peppered with soot and glasses tinted gray from smoke. “You’re out early?”
“Morton came to get me. Said I should rest,” Iggy huffed, casting an accusing glance at Morton.
“Your argument might be more successful if you didn’t look like you just crawled out of a grave.”
Iggy snorted a laugh, disapproval already gone. He dusted the ash from his plastron. “I was in the steelworks today. It’s messy work. Done practicing already?”
Larry shook his head, and twisted out of Morton’s grasp to peer past Iggy, expecting to find Lemmy. “Lemmy didn’t show up to help. He wasn’t in your rooms either.”
“He wasn’t there?” Confusion replaced Iggy’s amusement. “He said he wasn’t feeling well this morning, so he was going to take it easy today. I left a servant to look after him.”
Worry spiraled through Larry’s stomach. “No one was there.”
Iggy went still, then strode past his brothers. His fists were clenched with anxiety.
Morton moved to intercept him. “We shouldn’t panic. Lemmy could have gone to get some fresh air. Wherever he is, he wouldn’t have gone far without telling us.”
Iggy took a deep breath clutched his temples, leaving a smear of ash behind. “You’re right. I’m probably worrying over nothing. Let’s go see if he’s back.”
In spite of his words, Iggy walked faster than strictly necessary, and Larry caught him wringing his hands more than once. Iggy was practically Lemmy’s guardian, all sweetness and generosity most of the time but fierce and potentially violent when Lemmy was placed in danger.
Their rooms were still deserted when Iggy opened the door. Larry helped him search the rooms, finding each empty once again. By the time they were done, even Morton could barely keep Iggy calm enough to act sensibly.
“He should’ve been back by now if he went anywhere outside. He would have told me if he was planning to go anywhere at all,” Iggy fretted, pacing the bedroom and wringing his hands. Morton watched, looking lost.
“I know.” Larry murmured, sitting down on the edge of Iggy’s bed. Lemmy was perfectly aware of Iggy’s incessant concern for him and would have left a note to prevent this kind of panic. He was never thoughtless.
“And look at this!”
Iggy crossed the room to Lemmy’s desk, overlooked by a covered window. A collection of potted plants had been pulled from their usual shelf and laid out on the desk. Alongside it was a thick book lying open, and on its pages were a scattering of freshly picked flowers—marigolds, daisies, goldenrods—and several of the same types already pressed flat. Like his close interest in circus tricks, pressing flowers was another hobby Lemmy hid out of embarrassment.
“He would have put these away. He’s not messy.” Iggy spun around. “And where is that servant?”
“Calm down,” Morton said firmly, his hand settling on Iggy’s shoulder. “Overreacting makes things worse. Lemmy isn’t helpless.”
Larry wasn’t listening anymore. Through the aromas of the scented candles, he could swear he’d caught a whiff of another smell. This one was pungent and bitter and ugly compared to the sweet fragrances wafting around the room, like a maggot concealed amongst butterflies. But a Koopa’s nose was far keener than that of just about anything else, and Larry’s had never lied to him.
Ignoring his brothers, Larry eased onto his feet and made his way to the closet in the corner of the room one slow step at a time like he was a cat stalking its prey. The smell only grew stronger, bringing sour lumps to his stomach. His hand reached for the doorhandle.
His movements snagged Morton’s attention. “What are you doing?”
Fingers closed over the curved handle, Larry looked over his shoulder as he opened the door. “Something smells over—”
Something fell at Larry’s feet with a dull, lifeless thud, as though it had been leaning against the door. The hint of the bitter smell became a wave that crashed into his nose. Bile rose in his throat. Morton and Iggy stared openmouthed, twin portraits of horror.
Larry dared follow their gazes, then sincerely wished he hadn’t.
A Koopa in the apron of a servant stared back at him through clouded eyes, blood still trickling from a vicious slash in his throat and mouth open in a soundless scream that would never end.
“Larry?” A series of knocks followed.
“Come in.” The words felt raw in Larry’s throat.
Roy poked his head inside. Larry should have been glad to see him after the long day he’d had, but all he felt was numbness. He’d been here, lying in bed, since discovering the corpse of Lemmy’s attendant. What had followed had been a blur: Morton shouting for help, Iggy running forward to examine the body as if he might ask where Lemmy had gone, guards running in and stopping in their tracks at the scene before them.
“I brought you dinner,” Roy said softly. He placed a silver tray lined with dishes. Larry’s gaze snagged on the sticky red pepper glaze coating the slices of seared pork. His thoughts went back to the blood oozing from the Koopa’s throat, dark and bitter like coffee. A whimper escaped his lips.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Roy climbed onto the bed, his arm snaking around Larry’s shoulders. “Look at me.”
Larry forced himself to meet Roy’s eyes. The memories slithered back into the shadowed corners of his mind, probably planning on haunting him in his sleep in a few hours. He threw his arms around Roy, suddenly filled with overwhelming relief at having company.
“That’s it. You’re okay.” Roy’s fingers combed through his hair, which had dampened with sweat. “How do you feel?”
“Like a chicken.”
“This might surprise you, but you’re actually a Koopa.” The joke lacked humor. Roy grabbed a buttery roll from the plate and shoved it under Larry’s nose. “You should eat.”
Larry looked away. “What kind of soldier loses his mind when he sees blood?”
“Only idiots don’t have fears. Right now I’m scared you’ll starve.”
Larry accepted the roll and chewed noncommittally. The fluffy bread turned to ash in his mouth.
His fear of blood was his private curse, which he’d discovered one day he’d been practicing with Bowser. Bowser had told him he was holding back, so Larry had struck hard enough that his blunt training sword had broken scales. He’d spent the rest of the morning in Roy’s arms, gripped by terror.
“I’m trained to fight. How can I do that when I know I’ll lose the second I draw blood?”
“Then learn to fight without blades,” Roy said sensibly. “I taught you how to use a staff and your own fists. Fighting bloodlessly means you can knock an opponent out and interrogate them later.” He cupped Larry’s chin in both hands. “You're stronger than you know, linxyo.”
An Old Language term that meant “little warrior.” An endearment Larry heard from all his siblings every now and then, but Roy used it the most often. Hearing it now felt patronizing, as if he were a soldier-playing child being humored by the real ones. “You’re just being nice.”
“Is that really such a bad thing?” Roy reclined against the pillows and heaved a sigh. “Iggy’s lost his mind. Bowser’s furious too. He thinks Mario’s kidnapped Lemmy and that servant died trying to protect him. We made sure the servant’s family will be compensated, and he’ll be buried in a place of honor on the castle grounds.”
It was generous, no doubt, but it wouldn’t bring back the life of a family member. Larry’s chest clenched with anger. This had to be Mario’s fault. Abducting a member of the royal family had to be his way of getting revenge on behalf of Princess Peach. Not that it meant anything. No excuse would save Mario when he was delivered to Bowser.
Another string of knocks sounded on the door. This time it was Ludwig. As Bowser’s second-in-command, he’d been almost as busy as Iggy lately and probably charged with finding out the identity of the murdered servant. Of course, he would still find time to check on Larry.
“Oh.” Ludwig hesitated upon seeing Roy. “If you guys need a moment, I can come back tomorrow morning.”
“No, come on in.” Larry had to know more about how Bowser planned to respond to this. War was now guaranteed. It was only a matter of time before the Koopa Troop was actually dispatched in full force. “We were just talking about what Bowser thinks of all this.”
Ludwig shook his head. “He’s outraged, and so is everyone else around here. They have every right to be.” He lifted a bundle of papers and flipped through them. “The servant was Arin Rhonan from the mining town Firestone. He came here four years ago and usually works as a cleaner. His older sister serves as a guard here.”
“Wow.” Roy helped himself to a slice of pork on Larry’s tray. “You work fast, Luddy. Was it really necessary to learn all that?”
“In cases like these where we have almost nothing to go on, it’s important to gather whatever you can. The smallest of clues could shed light on something crucial.” Ludwig tossed the papers on Roy’s lap. Larry peered over his shoulder as Roy flipped through them.
“Tomorrow I’m planning on talking with his sister. Anything could be possible, but some things are off the table. He’d paid well enough he wouldn’t commit this kind of crime for any bribe. Even if that were the case, he wouldn’t kill himself right after. We found the window by the desk broken as well, so I’m assuming the kidnapper came in through there.”
Roy set the documents aside. “Lemmy’s loved by everyone around here. Besides, isn’t our biggest suspect pretty obvious?”
“I don’t think it was Mario.” Ludwig showed both palms in a gesture of peace as Roy opened his mouth to argue. “Hear me out. It definitely makes sense. It could be him looking for revenge on Peach’s behalf. But if he were to do that, he would have made his intentions clear. Left a note or signature or something. With Larry, he said what he was doing was a warning.”
Roy scowled and crossed one leg over the other. “I hate it when you make sense. But it could still be possible, right?”
“Lots of things are at the moment, unfortunately.” Ludwig rubbed his eyes, a rare admittance of the exhaustion that weighed him down underneath the calm exterior. He walked around the bed and sat down at Larry’s other side. “How are you? Feeling okay?”
“Better,” Larry said tonelessly. Funny how “better” didn’t exactly mean “okay.” In fact, he felt like shit.
It must have shown. Ludwig scooted closer and pulled him into a hug. Larry accepted it without protest, even nuzzled his older brother a little, fairly certain Ludwig needed love and care a lot more than he did right now.
“We’ll find him,” Ludwig said quietly, as if saying it more for his own comfort. “Bowser’s sending search parties across the whole kingdom. Whoever's got him couldn’t have gone far.”
We hope. Ludwig was right, that anything was possible. It was already frightening that someone had managed to slip into a heavily-guarded castle in broad daylight and escape with a valuable hostage.
“Go get some rest,” Roy said gently, drawing Larry from his thoughts. “You’ve had a long day, and I’d be willing to bet another one’s coming tomorrow.”
Ludwig nodded tiredly, pushing a few stray locks of hair out of his eyes. He gathered up the servant’s identification papers and left without another word.
Once he was gone, Roy picked up the tray of food that Larry had barely picked at and set it on the dresser. “Want me to stay with you? Or are you okay now?”
“I’m okay,” Larry said, painfully aware of how unconvincing he sounded. He hadn’t been troubled by nightmares since the night he’d returned from Sparkling Waters, but he wouldn’t be surprised if tonight he jolted awake in a cold sweat.
“You sound remarkably not okay.”
“What a surprise. Lemmy’s only vanished and there might still be a freaking murderer-slash-kidnapper lurking around here.”
“Then why did you say you’re okay?”
Larry flinched, hating himself for the hurt that belied Roy’s response. He’d had no right to lash out. “Because there’s no time not to be.” He had responsibilities. Duties. Expectations.
“There’s time right now.” Roy flopped himself down on the covers and patted the space next to him. An invitation.
Larry accepted it. Within seconds he was snug against Roy, a blanket around his shoulders, Roy’s hand patting his shell. First it was a mere prickling in the corners of his eyes, and then the tears were rolling down his cheeks.
Notes:
This chapter was honestly wicked hard to write.
I kept wondering whether I should just take all the fluff and humor and make a short story out of it. Instead I said, "Screw it all, let's chuck a murder and kidnapping in there." And so it began. Don't get me wrong, there's still fluff and humor, but the hard parts make the sweet parts even better.
Just so you're aware, I won't feature any major canon character deaths in this story, so don't get worried about that. You'll see what happened to Lemmy next chapter.
Chapter 5: Nothing We Can Do
Notes:
I'm posting a day early because it felt literally so mean to leave you guys on that cliffhanger with Lemmy gone. Don't worry, you're going to see what happened to him in this chapter. Remember, I currently have no plan to kill any major characters.
Shoutout to the guest who left me a lovely review! Have fun reading.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For the first time in weeks, Larry was allowed to sleep in. The flood of preparations had slowed enough that he wondered whether his family was being granted the day off.
He was naturally opposed to the idea—there was still so much for him to do. In addition to his usual strategy meetings, he had arranged to meet with the generals under his command and inspect their regiments. Even so, waking up to a hearty breakfast and an older brother content to dote on him all morning made the idea of a free day rather tempting.
“How’s Iggy doing?” Larry licked the sweet glaze that cinnamon rolls had left on his fingers. He hadn’t had time to savor a meal like this in a while. Once he was out on the battlefield, he could say goodbye to luxury entirely for anywhere from months to years.
“Not good. It sounds like he’s even worse than yesterday.” Roy dragged the brush he held through Larry’s silky hair. “Luddy’s going to keep an eye on him. I doubt he got any sleep last night, worrying about Lemmy.” He paused in his task and dropped his gaze.
Larry stared at the collection of dishes still left in front of him, his appetite dwindling. Lemmy had been sickly as far back as any of them could remember, always left behind when his siblings went out to scavenge.
When they’d first come to Bowser’s Castle, Lemmy had been taken to the infirmary almost immediately, predicted to recover soon. But he’d spent weeks there, only getting worse despite the best efforts of the kingdom’s most talented doctors; Lemmy’s illness seemed to be a fundamental part of him, something rooted so deep no natural cure could purge it.
Kamek, desperate, had eventually risked everything and sent a potentially lethal amount of magic straight to Lemmy’s heart, the source of the issue, and managed to destroy the majority of the disease.
But the previous damage could not be reversed: Lemmy would always be smaller than the rest of them; he had a tendency to catch every passing cough or illness; minor colds could wreak havoc on his body; he was prone to fainting from spell-based healing techniques.
Because of this, Iggy had been known to practically barricade his twin in their bedroom when sickness went around, and he was reluctant to admit visitors. Even when the Koopa Troop was perfectly healthy, Iggy remained fiercely protective. Any hint of disrespect to his twin was all it took to invoke his wrath.
Sweet, patient Lemmy accepted Iggy’s rules and clung to him just as tightly. Iggy wasn’t entirely unjustified in thinking of his twin as fragile. Even the rest of his siblings knew perfectly well that Lemmy endured troubles beyond his apparent physical ones. He was haunted daily by any number of thoughts that stemmed from embarrassment at his weak state and eccentric interest in acrobatics and traveling troupes. Some days the thoughts were minor and impossible to see; others they were intense enough he stayed in his suite all day, where one could hear his sobs through the door if they listened hard enough.
Further mortified by this, Lemmy had trained himself to smile and laugh no matter the hardship, even when underneath he was breaking down. He was observant, empathetic, and simply loveable in a way no one else could achieve. But he insisted on keeping his mental torment private, where it slowly ripped him apart.
Larry wriggled away from Roy. It felt so wrong that he should be fussed over when it sounded like Iggy really needed the attention. “I want to go see him.”
Roy didn’t argue. His face matched Larry’s for concern. He remained unusually solemn as he followed Larry out, walked past the doors to their family’s rooms, and knocked on Iggy’s.
Long moments passed without an answer, and then finally, a dejected-sounding “Come in.”
Larry slowly opened the door to see Iggy kneeling on the rug before the fireplace, back turned, his neck bent over something in his lap. As he got closer, Larry made out pages full of photographs. Every one was of Iggy and Lemmy.
“Remember that day?” Iggy’s voice was distant and barely audible. He drew his fingers over a photo of him and his twin nestled in the petal-strewn grass beneath the boughs of a blossoming apple tree.
Larry nodded wordlessly. Iggy’s and Lemmy’s fourteenth birthday, which they’d spent in Lemmy’s estate in Acorn Plains. He remembered helping himself to another slice of cake while watching Ludwig take the picture.
As Iggy flipped through the pages, the cracks in Larry’s heart deepened. The snapshot in the corner had the pair sitting on one of the many beaches in Sparkling Waters and building a sandcastle. The picture below showed the twins in a small town near Bowser’s Castle, sitting on a bench outside a bakery and digging into doughnuts baked fresh that morning.
In each one, Lemmy’s smile was clearly real, not the fake one he displayed far too often.
A single glistening trail began to cut its way down Iggy’s cheek. Larry sat down next to his brother and reached up to wipe it away. “We’ll find Lemmy soon,” he promised, all too aware of the way his own vision was blurred from tears begging for release.
The album slipped from Iggy’s shaking fingers and dropped to the floor with a thump. Roy picked it up and made his way over to the bookcases.
“Second to last bookcase,” Iggy said tiredly, gazing at the charred logs behind the fireplace grate. “Top shelf. In between the ones with the purple and blue spines.”
Larry looked over his shoulder to trade a glance with Roy. He supposed it was a good sign that Iggy was still healthy enough to care about maintaining the order of his books.
“Did the search parties find anything?” Iggy sounded like he already knew the answer.
Even so, Larry still felt guilty about shaking his head, even more so when Iggy covered his face with his hands and loosed a trembling breath.
“Last night I had a nightmare that it was Lemmy in that closet,” Iggy whispered. “His blood was everywhere.”
Larry froze. Before he could think better of it, he asked, “What then?”
“Then Mario came with Sarasaland’s army. I watched you and everyone else go down fighting. Before he killed me, he said Lemmy had died screaming my name.”
Larry wasn’t sure what to be more horrified by—the fact that Iggy’s mind had conjured that kind of scene, or how he sounded so resigned. Like he was still convinced that had been reality and he simply didn’t care.
“That won’t happen.” Roy’s voice had dropped to a growl deep in his throat. He walked over and sat down at Iggy’s other side. “Luddy’s doing everything he can.”
“And yet Lemmy’s still gone,” Iggy said dully. He lifted his gaze to the arrays of framed pictures above the fireplace. Some displayed the whole family, but it was obvious which two siblings were the closest. “And there’s nothing you or I or anyone else can do.”
“He’s kind of right, you know.” The hapless wooden dummy in front of Larry splintered down the middle as his staff descended on it without pity. He stared at the remains for a second afterwards, feeling like a bully who took out his rage on anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby.
“No he isn’t,” Roy insisted, grunting as he hefted the giant iron Bullet Blaster onto his shoulder again. “We’re tearing up the kingdom looking for him. Whoever finds him gets a reward that’ll make him rich for life.” A click resounded through the cannon as another Bullet Bill was loaded. He spared Larry a glance before he launched it at the next target. “Have a little faith.”
“You’re just as worried as I am,” Larry said sharply, waving a hand at the deserted practice court around them. It was plain and undecorated, the kind that everyday soldiers came to daily to practice. Wooden benches and racks of every type of weapon clung to the walls. The long, rectangular space in the center was covered in sand to cushion hard falls and littered with the targets Roy had set out.
Roy came here every day, even on days off, and Larry tended to join him. He would spar with any soldiers brave enough to accept his offer and collect any fighting techniques he hadn’t added to his arsenal. He tirelessly worked at mastering every weapon there was, be it sword, axe, spear, dagger, crossbow, or pistol.
Smashing targets and dummies was some kind of a stress reliever for him, it seemed, and he always seemed to fight more mercilessly than normal when something was really wrong.
Larry stared at Roy’s shell as his brother put down his Bullet Blaster and took a breather, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to get an answer, he turned around and ran his claws over his staff—a gift from the year Roy had taught him how to use one. It was expertly carved from hardwood imported from the ancient trees in Soda Jungle. Both ends were shod in iron, making blows fatal, as were two other sections in between, lined with grooves to fit his fingers.
“Come and kill me,” Roy rumbled, his voice suddenly much closer.
A gruesome invitation, but Larry knew to expect it every second they were together in this court.
Whirling about, he flew at Roy, staff raised to crash over his head. Roy spun around and moved to intercept it with the flat of a sword he’d grabbed, but Larry pivoted at the last second. The staff snaked in front of Roy’s throat, then cut off his air supply as Larry hopped onto his back and grabbed the other end. Even as Roy thrashed, Larry was essentially unreachable and already choking his opponent.
But Larry was unprepared to see Roy’s sword come swinging up to pierce him between the eyes. Thinking quick, he bent so far backwards his spine groaned, jerking his staff just the slightest bit. Roy dropped the attack and held up a hand to signal surrender. The fight was over—if Larry had tugged harder, he could have snapped his enemy’s neck like a twig.
“Clever,” Roy praised him as Larry slid off his violet shell. “Who’d you learn that from?”
“Vin tried it on me,” Larry answered. Even as he said it, his heart gave a pang of anxiety.
Larry’s friend was two years older than him and had been fourteen when he’d come to Bowser’s Castle. His aloofness from the other young cadets had quickly drawn Larry’s eye. Within moments they'd been engaged in a discussion about steel monopolies in the west and the issue of poor communities not being able to afford earthquake-fortified homes. Larry had recognized potential and pulled a few strings to get Vin into the arduous training required for joining the Royal Guard, which had made him eligible to become captain of Larry’s personal guard in Sparkling Waters.
By the time Vin was given his captain’s cape and pin, he and Larry were nearly as tight as brothers.
Just a week ago Larry had sent Vin a letter with a more personal apology for leaving without warning and had yet to get a reply. Larry must have hidden the private burden well, for Roy only nodded and went on.
“Needs some work, though. If I’d been using a dagger instead of a sword, I’d have moved faster. The best way to fight is to look one place and then actually strike another, but the one eye should always be on your opponent’s weapons.”
Use whatever means necessary to win, Bowser had used to tell Larry in that frank tone of his. There’s no such thing as fighting dirty. Fighting is just that, and you do it to win. Only fools trouble themselves with ethics during a real battle.
Larry thoughtfully drummed his claws against the iron tip of his weapon with little clinks. “I’ll work on it.”
The look on Ludwig’s face when he’d first seen Larry and Roy in a sparring match had been priceless. He’d launched himself in between and yanked four-year-old Larry away like a mother falcon whose chick had been heartbeats away from falling out of the nest. Roy had argued with a nearly hysterical Ludwig for ten whole minutes until things had cooled down.
Larry rose and stretched, surveying which targets were still standing. Most had already been reduced to splinters wood, but there were plenty left. He readied himself, unable to shake a feeling of restlessness. His mind slipped onto a different track before he could stop it.
Last night I had a nightmare that it was Lemmy in that closet.
Iggy’s words repeated themselves like a scratched tape record in Larry’s head. His fingers clenched so hard around his staff they throbbed in protest.
His blood was everywhere.
Now a picture of Lemmy, his tiny body crumpled in an unnatural way and covered in a pulp of gore, falling at Larry’s feet. Bile rose in his throat. No.
Then Mario came with Sarasaland’s army.
Larry was running now, blood turned to lava in his veins. He felt like he was trapped in the current of a raging river, Roy’s questions a dim noise drowned under pounding waves of rage. Justice, they roared in his ears.
I watched you and everyone else go down fighting.
His staff came down with such force the dummy before Larry was obliterated in one swing. Battle cries and agonized screams rang around him. Thousands of soldiers were locked in combat. Flashes of motionless spiked shells flickered in his peripheral vision.
Purple, pink, black, dark blue. And two more, both deep green, one a hulking mountain and the other a mere stone in comparison.
Larry lashed out wildly, striking anything in his path that moved. His family was dead. The king and prince he’d sworn to serve were dead. The royal bloodline would die with him.
The relentless tide of soldiers parted briefly. There, in the middle of everything. Aside from him, only one royal was still standing, tall like a lighthouse amidst the frothing waves of battle.
Before he killed me, he said Lemmy had died screaming my name.
Iggy collapsed with a gurgling cry, the bloodied tip of a blade protruding from the back of his neck. Mario wrenched it free with a wicked smile.
Grief came, but it only fueled the inferno of rage that already burned within Larry. Arms grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms behind his back. But his attacker had forgotten the weapon Larry had been born with. He twisted and inhaled, then breathed out a plume of his hottest fire.
A pained yelp. The battle fell away. Larry’s anger abruptly retreated, but the adrenaline rush remained, making him feel like lightning was coursing through his veins.
Roy rolled in the sand, putting out the flames that were spreading over both arms. Around them, the bodies of fallen troops had replaced themselves with wooden imitations, now nothing but decimated bits of wood. Not a single one still stood.
Larry sank to his knees, staff hitting the ground as he crawled to Roy. His older brother lay there, chest heaving as he panted. “I’m sorry.” The apology was drowned under a sob. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Roy sat up with a grunt and threw his arms around Larry. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m barely hurt. See?” He held out one arm. Normal skin would have been burned to the point where amputation was needed, but Koopa scales were naturally fire-resistant. Even so, Roy’s scales had an angry red tint to them now and had to be stinging.
I did that. Larry tore his gaze away and sank into Roy’s embrace. I hurt him. If I’d been using my staff, I could have broken something.
“Wherever you thought you were, you aren’t there. You’re here, linxyo.” A pause followed Roy’s statement. An unspoken question. Where were you just now?
Larry couldn’t bring himself to answer. He sat there against Roy for long minutes, feeling like a monster.
Darkness pressed in, as suffocating and heavy as water and so absolute he questioned whether his eyes were really open. His thoughts were a muddled collection of blurs running over each other like hues in a poorly-done watercolor painting.
Pictures flicked in and out. A room that smelled of apples. Lavish furniture in shades of green and gold and brown. An unobtrusive figure in the corner.
He blinked slowly in an attempt to make them focus, but the dizziness continued to drag the memories down like a bog. The sharp, bitter scent that hung around his nose wasn’t helping things, trying to drag him back to sleep again. Resisting, he blinked hard and tried to remember how to move and feel things.
Something bristly had been wrapped around his wrists and refused to allow any movement; not that he could have been remotely able to move anyway. He got the distinct impression he would either collapse or throw up the second he tried to stand.
Through the chemical smell, another odor suddenly surfaced. Bile rose in his parched throat, burning it. He would know the reek of sulfur and smoke anywhere. Stifling heat hung heavy in the air. Lava. He was still in the Darklands. And if the dusty scent of old, old stone was any indication, he was underground.
“Why, in the name of the Mother, are we wasting our time here?”
A squeak might have slipped from his throat, had his voice not been reduced to tatters. He wasn’t alone after all. It was worse knowing he had unknown company who spoke with the tone of someone who sounded liable to put a knife through anyone who looked at him the wrong way.
Then again, the sound produced a small echo. Another clue—they were definitely underground, somewhere with a decent amount of space.
“I wouldn’t recommend arguing.” Another person. Her voice was a soft hiss, colder than a winter night. “We have strict orders, and I’ll be held equally responsible if you mess this up.”
“Just look at this pathetic thing,” argued the male. “I swear the royal bloodline gets weaker every generation. Why don’t we just slash his throat and get rid of his body before we find out this place isn’t really abandoned?”
“Don’t you dare,” the other voice snarled. “He’s far more useful to us alive than dead. And you were there when the plan was explained, so you know exactly why. You know it’s here. We’ve spent the past twenty years looking for it, and I’ll slash your throat myself before you ruin our one chance.”
“We should have launched an attack and taken it when everyone was distracted. That way we wouldn’t have to babysit some tiny brat.”
A soft, dismissive scoff. “Don’t be an idiot. Staging an assault of that level would be suicide with so few of us left. The plan will work out. You only made things harder, killing that servant.”
“He’d seen me. What else was I supposed to do? I swept up the broken glass, too.”
“Exactly. You were messy about both the kill and your means of entering. Do you even realize how…”
The rest of the conversation was drowned out over the roar of thoughts racing through his mind. Everything was coming back to him.
Lemmy is at his desk by the window, wrapped in a soft bathrobe, idly arranging flowers across the pages of an old book.
His stomach still aches, but the nausea has dwindled enough that he can finish the plate of toast Iggy had left for him. It was definitely those oysters. He and his siblings ate dinner during a meeting with Bowser yesterday. Larry must have smelled something and warned him against trying the shellfish, but Lemmy thought he was being paranoid. He really should have taken the advice—those few oysters were certainly not worth spending most of the early morning in the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach.
The window was open, the drapes fluttering in a breeze that smells of ash. When he stands he has an unobscured view of the large, blocky buildings topped by smokestacks. The steelworks. Iggy was there today instead of the hangar to oversee the mass production of his new explosives.
A broom swishes over the floorboards. He looks over his shoulder at the servant Iggy left behind to keep an eye on him. “You know, that’s really not necessary,” he says gently. “Iggy does all the cleaning around here. It’s kind of a therapeutic thing for him.”
The servant jumps and quickly bows his head low. He cleans with the efficiency of someone who’s been here a while but has a nervous aura that implies he’s only seen Lemmy and his siblings from a distance. His name is Arin, if Lemmy remembers right. Arin returns the broom to the closet but scrutinizes the nearest candles, seeing their stems reduced to a mere inch. He hurries out, relieved to have a task to do.
“Iggy keeps the candles in the bathroom in the cabinet underneath the sink,” Lemmy calls over his shoulder. Maybe next week Iggy will break out the lavender ones he bought recently to celebrate the commencement of spring.
Lemmy turns back to the window and sighs through his nose. Some shameful, selfish part of him wishes that Iggy had never shared his blueprints. If his twin was here now, he would find a new story for him to read while they huddled together under a mound of blankets and drank steaming cups of tea.
Returning to his flower pressing, a flash of black swooping out of sight catches Lemmy’s eye. His head snaps up to the window. A clever raven hoping to snatch up the crumbs left on the plate? He stands up, both hands planted on the desk, and peers through the glass.
Metal glinting is the only warning Lemmy is given. He draws back a split second before a grappling hook bursts through.
Glass explodes outwards, shards snagging in the folds of his bathrobe as he stumbles backwards. Both him and the chair topple to the floor with jarring thuds.
When the stars fade from Lemmy’s vision, someone obscured by the folds of a black cloak swoops in through the broken window. They hop down from the desk and seize Lemmy by the arm.
Lemmy sheds his bathrobe and manages to scramble a few feet before something strikes the back of his head, triggering an explosion of pain that knocks him to his stomach. He struggles desperately as his hands are bound behind him with bristly cords, but they refuse to budge. He opens his mouth to shout and is smothered by thick, black fabric.
“Don’t be afraid,” a nasty voice purrs in his ear. “You’ll get to live for now. We need your help with something.”
The door slams open, making his captor freeze. Arin stares in horror at the scene he beholds, but he reacts before the intruder can. He makes a beeline for the closet and brandishes the broom he left there.
“Get your hands off of His Lordship,” he says through his teeth. “Now.”
The cloaked figure chuckles, a guttural noise. “I take my chances with an untrained lackey like you.” He throws Lemmy against the wall at his left and draws a dagger with a silver hilt.
The pain barely registers as Lemmy hits the floor. All he can think is, No. Run. He’ll kill you.
Arin charges with surprising speed. The stranger sidesteps him easily and grabs his shoulder, then thrusts his forehead into the wall. Arin slumps in his arms, groaning as he is dragged over to the closet.
“Please,” Lemmy begs, trying in vain to stand. “Please. It’s me you want. Let him go.”
His kidnapper laughs but doesn’t turn. He shoves Arin into the closet. “I wasn’t aware that the Illustrious Lord Lemmy cared about the life of a lowly servant.” He raises the dagger.
Lemmy glimpses Arin’s eyelids flutter open and widen in terror just a heartbeat before the knife descends. A choked gasp is the only sound he makes before the life trickles from his eyes.
Lemmy doesn’t even have it in him to scream. He can only cry in silence, dimly aware he’s going into shock. The tears are still falling when he is grabbed again. A damp cloth reeking of some kind of chemical sends him into an oppressive slumber as a hood is yanked over his head.
Remembering it all was like watching a horror movie. Terrifying, but difficult to imagine himself in that position. Lemmy would have given anything in the world to be a mere spectator, because being the main character came with a thousand fears and questions.
Where was he? How long had he been unconscious? Had his siblings noticed he was gone? Were they searching for him? How could he escape?
What did these people want? Were they mercenaries hired by the Mushroom Kingdom to deliver a valuable prisoner in exchange for a generous reward?
Lemmy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to set up a mental barricade to protect his mind from the thoughts that were already worming their way in, parasites that fed on his fear and anxiety.
What a useless waste of space you are, they taunted.
You let Arin die trying to save you.
Stop! Lemmy wanted to wail. Those were the thoughts he tried to stop thinking, the thoughts he hid from everyone except his siblings. The “dark thoughts,” as Iggy had dubbed them.
The thought of Iggy was the force of opposition against them. Even now, Lemmy heard his twin’s voice in his ear. You matter to me, Lemmy. And to all of our siblings. Screw whatever your head or anyone else tries to tell you. Listen to what we tell you.
Lemmy’s brain reached out and seized that voice, using it like an anchor against the storm of self doubt the rest of his mind was creating. Stop panicking. Think rationally. You will escape. Find out where you are.
Easier said than done. Darkness was all his eyes beheld. A blindfold, Lemmy realized. Fear rose at the back of his throat again as he discovered that the rough thing secured over his mouth was a gag—using his firebreath was out. His arms were still bound behind his back, the cords tied so tight they cut into his scales. Extending his ankles, which were also tied together, he felt coarse fabric brush against them. Even if he got the gag off, he would burn alive in whatever sack he’d been stuffed into.
If Iggy was here, he would find some clever way to escape that his kidnappers never would’ve thought of.
But he wasn’t here now. Lemmy was helpless and alone.
The cold, hard truth of that made him let out a tiny sob.
Suddenly the conversation from the two voices in the background halted. Lemmy’s heart lodged itself in his throat.
“Did you hear that?” snarled the male.
“Yes,” came the accusing reply. “Sounds like he’s woken up. I thought you gave him another dose of that sedative.”
Lemmy’s heart skipped a beat as he heard hands struggling with a knot. Just a moment later, his world was turned upside down and he yelped as he tumbled out of the sack and hit the ground plastron first. He groaned softly, his ribs aching from the impact with firm, unyielding stone. Though he could sense the burning stares of his kidnappers, his blindfold kept him from seeing their faces.
“We need to be more careful,” the male snapped, sounding less muffled and much closer. “How long has he been awake? How much has he heard?”
“Let’s find out, shall we?” Rough hands shoved Lemmy against a wall and removed the gag around his mouth. He gulped in air, not realizing how suffocating the cloth had been. His relief was cut short when something alarmingly sharp and cold was pressed against his throat. A blade.
“Listen well, Lemmy,” said the female, now silky and incongruous in comparison to the threats she proceeded to list out. “Don’t even think about crying for help. No one will hear, and I strongly doubt you will enjoy how I’ll make you pay. Try any fire, you’ll wish you’d never hatched. I’m going to ask you a few questions. Answer them honestly and you get to live, at least for now. Refuse to answer or lie and you’ll get to see how harsh I can be. Do I make myself clear?”
Speechless and shaking with fright, all Lemmy could manage was a shaky nod.
“Very good,” his captor purred. “First question: Do you know who we are?”
He shook his head.
“Do you know where you are?”
He shook his head again.
“Did you hear anything we were saying?”
This time Lemmy hesitated. He wasn’t sure it was safe to tell his kidnappers that he had. Would they kill him to keep him silent if he’d heard anything important? Gulping, he shook his head.
A short pause. “Hm. Best to be safe.” A string of foreign words followed—which Lemmy recognized as magic commands. He flinched at the peculiar, unpleasant sensation of claws raking his brain. Apparently those claws hadn’t found what they wanted, because the blade was pressed even harder to the point of almost cutting off his air entirely.
“I believe I advised you against lying to me.” The voice tsked, as a disapproving mother would. “Maybe you’re bolder than I thought.”
Lemmy gasped, fighting to breathe. A glimpse into one of Kamek’s old spellbooks tumbled into his head. Some Magikoopas had the magic capacity for a spell that could discern truth from lie based on a brief glimpse into the victim’s mind. A breach in privacy, most believed, so it was one of many spells that were illegal to use outside of the Crown’s orders.
It was not at all comforting to know he was in the clutches of Magikoopas willing to use banned magic.
“Should I kill him?” The male offered hopefully.
“Of course not,” the female growled. “We need him alive, remember?”
The crushing grip loosened slightly, and air rushed in once more. Shaking with relief and gasping to regain his breath, Lemmy was unprepared for the searing pain that tore down his arm. He cried out and tried to twist away, but his kidnapper’s grip forced him to hold still.
“That was a warning,” the female said sweetly. “Lie again and I’ll show you what real pain feels like. So I’ll ask again: did you hear anything we were saying?”
Breathless from the pain radiating from his arm, Lemmy nodded weakly.
“What did you hear?”
He gulped again. “Only a little.” His voice was small and hoarse. “Something about wanting to kill me and you saying that you needed me to get something you’re searching for.”
The male let out a low growl. “He heard all that?”
“Do you know what we’re searching for?” When Lemmy shook his head the female whispered the same foreign words. He trembled, let the claws dig around inside his mind. But this time he had nothing to hide. Satisfied, the claws withdrew, and so did the blade. “Next time don’t forget to drug him every hour. It’s lucky he didn’t hear anything else.”
“Who would he have told, anyway?” was the disgruntled reply. “The rats?”
“Quit making excuses. Dose him now, or you’ll find those rats making a meal out of your corpse. We should consider sending for better restraints just in case you slip up again and he finds a way out.”
A claw ran down Lemmy's cheek. He shuddered with revulsion and tried to twist away. The female’s voice became soft and honeyed once more.
“Watch yourself, little royal. I’d hate to have to ruin a pretty face like yours, but I’m afraid I’ll be far less forgiving the next time I find you’ve overheard our little chats.”
Footsteps approached. Muttered complaints heralded the return of a familiar fabric being pressed over Lemmy's face. The musty smells were swept away by that sharp odor that seemed to stab his nose. Sleep slithered up to him like a cobra, sinking its fangs in and dragging him back into an abyss.
Notes:
NOOO LEMMY :( :( :(
It pains me to write this kind of stuff to a character I like so much. (Hang in there, buddy, plz! I promise you'll have a happy ending!)
I hope you all look forward to new posts as much as I do. You make me feel like all the long hours of yelling at the spellchecker (I think I know how to spell 'silhouette', fluff it!!!) and spam listening to Soda Pop (low-key Baby Saja's voice is an absolute treasure) worth it!
Chapter 6: Without Him, I'm Lost
Notes:
I was so excited that so many people really liked chapter five! I'll be honest, I was sure someone was going to get mad at how I write Lemmy.
Who's ready for Chapter Six? I hope it's as good as the last one!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Days passed uneventfully at Bowser’s Castle. Search parties and spies continued to return with no leads on Lemmy’s whereabouts. One couldn’t walk ten steps down the street without seeing a handful of posters offering a vast reward for Lemmy’s safe return.
And yet, nothing.
Every morning Iggy seemed more heartbroken, more reclusive than the day before, like a tree slowly losing every leaf to the chill of winter. He’d always been lithe, but lately he’d basically stopped eating. On the rare occasions when he came out, he was silent where he’d always had a joke to add to a conversation.
Some days he locked his door and refused to admit anyone at all for the entire day, family or otherwise.
Ludwig was worried sick about both twins. Whenever Larry came by to check on Iggy, Ludwig was almost always there, trying his best to coax him into taking a walk or bringing news of how the search was going. Iggy would just stare ahead without offering a single indication that he’d heard anything Ludwig was saying.
One morning after his own breakfast, Larry was heading to Iggy’s room, steering a serving cart laden with dishes that Morton had meticulously cooked and arranged himself. The love and concern behind the act showed in the shiny filaments of spun sugar wrapped to look like branches and the silk ribbons that had been draped around the frame.
Delivering the meal was a task that could have easily been done by a servant, but Bowser had already excused Larry from most of his normal duties to give him proper time to grieve Lemmy’s absence—Larry was grateful, but very rarely could he stand being idle for long. He slowed a couple times on his way to inhale the smells of sugar and cinnamon and oranges that rose in the form of steam from underneath the silk covering. He’d eaten his fill only minutes earlier, but Morton’s food had a way of convincing one’s stomach to make room by whatever means necessary.
Morton had started to cook as a hobby, one he hadn’t been very good at. His siblings had kept their misgivings about his culinary skills to themselves, loving him too much to risk hurting his feelings like that.
But the truth had slipped out the day Morton had made a steak for Larry’s birthday dinner. Larry had tried, he really had, but there was no way in Star Road he could have swallowed that mouthful of undercooked meat drenched with what had tasted like the juice of a whole lemon.
But instead of being offended—he very rarely was—Morton merely asked what he’d done wrong and wrote it down. He started to borrow cookbooks from the castle cooks and practiced when they were taking their breaks.
Still feeling guilty about the steak incident, Larry had offered to taste test his brother’s food, a job that wasn’t very fun at the start. But he’d given his honest opinion and kept a check on his criticism to make sure it was constructive and not outright hurtful.
Morton never gave up, no matter how many times he burned a batch of cookies or accidentally used salt instead of sugar in a cake. He took it day by day, always recording Larry’s comments word-for-word, until he rivaled the skill of the most experienced chefs in the kingdom and made delicious meals even a picky eater like Junior couldn’t find fault with.
Today, Morton had spent hours making Iggy’s favorites in the hopes that it might encourage him to eat more.
And today, Larry wasn't going to take no for an answer. Iggy was going to eat every last bite if it meant Larry had to spoon-feed his brother himself.
Larry opened the door and halted in the threshold, the dishes on the cart rattling. Never in his wildest dreams had he seen the room before him in a state like this.
Throw pillows that were usually resting neatly in the corners of the couches lay haphazardly across the cushions and floors like Iggy had lost his zeal for cleaning. The tables had a thin layer of dust, and there were a few books scattered carelessly on the displaced carpets. The scented candles on the desks had melted down to stubs, their wax beginning to drip out of their glass holders.
The Iggy that Larry knew must really be gone if he’d allowed this kind of disarray to happen.
Larry entered the bedroom—which was even more untidy—to find Iggy lying in the middle of his huge bed, Ludwig at his side.
“Morton made breakfast for you,” Larry said softly, knocking against the doorframe.
Iggy sat up and showed his face. What Larry saw nearly made him recoil. Iggy’s eccentric but carefully styled hair was ruffled and its vibrant hue faded as if he’d stopped caring for it. His eyes, once shiny and full of humor, were dull and rimmed with red. Larry could even see a more than faint outline of his brother’s ribs through his plastron.
Ludwig put his hand on Iggy’s shoulder, so gently it was as if he thought his brother might shatter entirely if he was too rough. “You should eat. You need to stay healthy.” When Iggy didn’t move, he continued in a pleading voice. “Please, Iggy. You can’t go on like this.”
A spark of something defiant entered Iggy’s expression. The first emotion other than sadness Larry had seen from him in days.
“Since when does my health matter to you?”
Ludwig pulled away as if struck, taken aback. “It always has. You’re my brother. I’ve always cared about you.”
“Always?” Iggy repeated. “Did you care when you abandoned us a year ago? When you left Junior to lead us even when he wasn’t ready? When you walked away and left me to die at the bottom of that cliff so you wouldn’t blow your cover?”
Larry stiffened. They almost never spoke of Junior’s quest for the cure for the Blorbs, but this incident had been left even farther behind, and for good reason.
Iggy had strayed too far from their group and been ambushed at the edge of a cliff. Unbeknownst to him at the time, Ludwig had been in disguise as one of his attackers, acting as a spy. The choice had been to expose himself and rescue Iggy, or keep his cover and hope his poor brother survived the fall.
Iggy had lost his grip and plummeted before Ludwig could decide, and he’d hate himself for his indecision ever since, even after Iggy had heard his confession and extended forgiveness.
Ludwig blanched and dropped his gaze. Few things were capable of making him agitated, let alone to the point of showing it. “That was the biggest mistake of my life.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “I’ve regretted it ever since—”
“Bullshit,” Iggy snapped, straightening like a snake rearing up to strike. “You regret that I survived so you have to live with a constant reminder that the great, honorable Ludwig von Koopa left his brother to die.”
Larry clenched his fist. That was too far.
Ludwig didn’t even open his mouth to counter that. He just stood there, his trembling lip suggesting he was on the verge of tears, and walked out without another word.
Larry managed to bite his tongue until he thought Ludwig was far out of earshot. “That was uncalled for and you freaking know it.”
Iggy gave a derisive snort. “You can’t deny what he did to me. To all of us, by running off for no reason. Am I just supposed to act like that stuff didn’t happen just because it’s a stain on his precious reputation?”
“Luddy doesn’t value his reputation over us and you know it!” Larry snarled, his anger spilling over. He knew he shouldn’t be so harsh. But no one, not even Iggy, got to look at the time and effort Ludwig had devoted and label him as unfeeling. “I can’t believe you. He doesn’t stop by every day to have you bite his head off. This isn’t you, Iggy. And if Lemmy was around, he wouldn’t stand around and let you be an asshole, either.”
Iggy recoiled as if bitten, anger flaking away like a poorly-done coat of paint.
All that was left in its place was the same devastated, cracked wall that barely held itself up. His flare of temper was like paint: a mere illusion, incapable of fixing what damage was underneath.
One look at what he’d done, and Larry knew it was him who’d crossed the line this time. Taking a deep breath in the hopes that his lost patience might be sucked back in, he softened his tone.
“Iggy, I get that you’re stressed out and worried sick about Lemmy. And I know you’re lashing out because you can’t take it anymore. But the worst thing you can do is turn away from the only people keeping you from losing yourself entirely. You know Luddy loves you, and I know you don’t really have any hard feelings about what happened back then.”
For several moments Iggy only stared blankly. Then he seemed to curl in on himself, as if too ashamed to ever show his face again. “You’re right. I really shouldn’t have said that. It’s just…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I wake up every morning expecting to see Lemmy. But he’s not there when I look so I start to feel worried and then I remember he’s gone and there’s nothing I can do to find out if he’s safe or not or where he is…”
Iggy stopped to take a shuddering breath. “I just want to see him again so badly. I would do anything, anything at all just to get him back…” The sentence trailed off into a sob.
His anger dissipating like mist, Larry came closer and wrapped his arms around his brother. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. We’ll find him, I promise.”
“Without him, I feel so lost. I don’t know how I can go on.” Iggy wiped his eyes and looked towards the window that had been found broken. A new pane of glass had been set in, but the windowsill still bore a deep gouge where a grappling hook had caught in the wood.
“I know. But you’re not alone. I’m here for you, and so is Luddy. Don’t feel like you have to push us away.”
Larry sat there with Iggy while he cried, feeling more sympathy for him with every second that passed. Lemmy was treated like a younger brother by all of them, so innocent and easy to love.
Losing him was like losing a warm, glowing presence they had had all their lives, but it was worse for Iggy—he’d built his entire life around his beloved twin, and without him, he was an empty husk. That confident, curious, brilliant mind was gone.
“You’re right,” Iggy said, sniffling. He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. His fingers settled on the side of his face, and he closed his eyes as if trying not to burst into tears again. “I really shouldn’t have said that stuff to Luddy. I owe him an apology.”
“Want me to go get him for you?” Larry asked as he untangled himself from his brother. He was faintly surprised when Iggy shook his head.
“I should talk to him myself.” Iggy stood up and headed for the door, stride confident and shoulders lifted.
Delighted as he was about the sudden improvement, Larry had to block his way. “You should eat first.” He pointed to the serving cart still at a standstill by the table. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed you skipping your meals.”
Iggy opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it when he caught a whiff of what awaited him under the white covering. Even so, Larry stood by like a guard, prepared to call Iggy out if he tried to get away with only a few bites. Luckily he didn’t have to do much except watch: Iggy fished out the nearest plate, a steaming stack of pancakes, and dug in ravenously.
“Damn. I think I’d forgotten how good Morton’s food tasted,” he said with his mouth full, flopping back on his bed and nearly spilling syrup all over himself.
Larry snorted and hauled himself onto the bed, helping himself to a blueberry. “It’s impossible to forget how delicious his food is. Especially his pancakes. That’s like forgetting what one plus one is.”
Iggy unceremoniously shoveled the last piece into his mouth. “I used to think those cruddy microwave pancakes were tasty until I tried these.” The flash of humor in his eyes faltered as he rubbed his head and looked at his lap. “And, before I forget, I just wanna say… thanks, Larry.”
Larry cocked his head to one side. “What for?”
“For talking with me. You heard me out and listened. And after what I said, you had every reason to be out of patience with me.”
“I kind of was for a moment.”
“But you still listened anyway,” Iggy persisted. “I really am grateful for you and Luddy checking on me every day.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you guys feel unwanted because I’m focusing so much on Lemmy.”
“We never felt unwanted,” Larry assured him. “We know how much you love Lemmy. He means the world to you. To us. And I’m worried about him too.” He paused for a second to lift Iggy’s downturned chin. “Hey. Look at me. I bet wherever he is, he wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick out of concern for him. Never forget to take care of yourself. It doesn’t make you selfish. Everybody needs to look after themselves.”
Iggy nodded, smiling hesitantly. This attempt was awkward, like he’d forgotten how it felt on his lips.
“Best breakfast food.”
“Pancakes,” Larry answered immediately. “Or doughnuts.”
Iggy tossed a smile over his shoulder. “All that sugar is why you never have any energy in the morning.”
“Well, what do you have?”
“A whole-wheat bagel, usually.”
Larry clutched his throat and pretended to gag. Iggy threw back his head and laughed, drawing several surprised stares from nearby guards.
This little walk around the castle seemed to be doing Iggy a world of good. Their final stop would be Morton’s kitchen, where Iggy planned to help Morton prepare lunch as a token of thanks for the breakfast he’d sent.
The main kitchens lay on the border between the working-class and wealthy sectors of the castle. Morton had used to practice there, but once his cooking had shown improvement, a disused room nearby had been refurbished for his personal use. There he had as much space to cook as he wanted, and his siblings—and, occasionally, Junior—ate their meals there instead of dining alongside Bowser.
Larry peered through the door, which had been left ajar. It resembled a dining room one might see in a wealthier household. A marble counter split the space, the top half taken by two stoves, a fridge, sink, and walk-in pantry, the bottom dominated by a polished wood table where Larry and his siblings enjoyed breakfast, lunch, and dinner whenever they could fit it into their schedules.
Morton was in the back by the counter, busy kneading bread. As well as cooking, he was adamant on doing various chores around the kitchen himself, instead of enlisting a servant. Most days his siblings would assist in the cleanup after meals, but Larry and Ludwig were busy keeping Iggy in his right mind, and Wendy and Roy were helping lead the search for Lemmy—poor Morton had been on his own for a while, Larry realized guiltily.
But today Morton had company. Junior was there, seated by the counter. Larry could guess what he was trying to do even before he heard him speak. “Don’t you have a few leftover cookies in the fridge?”
Morton nodded without looking up from the huge mass of dough he was working between his flour-dusted hands. “Some chocolate chip ones I made last night.”
“Can’t I have just one?”
That had Morton looking up and grinning indulgently. “You know the rules,” he rumbled. “No cookies in the morning.”
“Please?” Junior donned his most imploring expression, the one that worked on Morton every time. He’d learned the art of puppy eyes well.
Sure enough, Morton hesitated, but only briefly before reaching into the porcelain jar he’d purposely placed atop the fridge, far out of the young prince’s reach. He held out a cookie to Junior with a conspiratorial grin. “Our little secret, okay?”
Already taking a bite, Junior elaborately pantomimed locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key.
“And use this to wipe away the crumbs around your mouth,” Morton added, giving him a napkin. “That’s how Kamek found out last time.”
“Oh, yeah. Man, was he pissed.”
“Language,” Morton scolded him, wagging a finger. He began kneading the dough again but paused once more as Iggy stepped in, knocking on the doorframe to signal his entry. Morton’s eyes widened with undisguised surprise. It was a moment before he could speak. “Something you need?”
“Just wanted to come by to thank you for the pancakes,” Iggy said shyly. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
A smile spread across Morton’s face like sunshine. In a few bounds he crossed the room to wrap Iggy in a hug. Iggy’s expression was almost comical, as if he’d forgotten what it was like to be touched in such a personal way before. A matching grin slowly dawned as he returned the embrace.
Larry was leaning against the counter and watching when a finger tapped his arm. He glanced over his shoulder to find Junior looking at him hopefully. “Is he feeling better? Did we get a lead on Lemmy?”
“Nothing on Lemmy. I just talked to him. He really needed someone to listen to him say how he felt.”
The light in the prince’s eyes dimmed a little, confusion in its place. “Isn’t he still worried?”
“Of course. But I told him he needed to take better care of himself. He’s only going to get worse if he keeps hiding in bed.”
Junior shrugged. “I don’t know. Doesn’t he deserve the chance to grieve?” he asked uncertainly.
Larry opened his mouth to answer, and found he just couldn’t. Everyone deserved time to grieve. He glanced towards Iggy, where he was already taking over the task of kneading dough while Morton preheated the oven.
Someone with a role like Iggy’s… the unity of the Koopa Troop could depend on him keeping it together. When Ludwig had left them a year ago, their family had fallen apart. Did that just mean leaders could never rest, or take a moment to cry a little?
“Larry?”
Larry found himself staring at Junior. A child. His future king. Someday, he would have to make choices like sending his soldiers to war. He might have to see his friends die and have to keep his chin up for the sake of his kingdom.
“We’re leaders. It’s our job to keep it together.” Larry’s voice sounded raw as he said it.
It wasn’t the easy answer, but it was the answer a good soldier would give. The answer Bowser would be proud of.
That was what mattered.
Thoughts of Junior’s question continued to nag Larry, enough that he made himself helpful in any way he could throughout the day to take his mind off it.
While he was down in a practice court demonstrating how to quickly and accurately aim a rifle with a few trainees, Wendy caught him during a break and let him know that Iggy was back at work for the first time in days. The news lifted Larry's spirits, but he reminded himself that Iggy drowning himself in work was no healthier than his previous tactic for dealing with emotional strain. He advised Wendy to keep an eye on him and let his worries fade as he finished the session.
That evening Larry helped Morton set the table for dinner. Tonight Junior was joining them, saying that arguing with Roy was much more fun than “listening to a bunch of crusty old generals.”
Larry could tell Morton was listening attentively while he set down plates and glasses. Morton had quite a soft spot for the prince, who had been quick to pick up on it. At first he’d only used that weakness to get treats or learn exactly what he was getting for his birthday. But recently he’d begun to return the affection; when he was upset or angry about something, he would go looking for Morton first, as Bowser was often busy—not to mention that Morton also had a cookie jar.
First to arrive was Roy, likely drawn in by the delicious scent of freshly cooked food. Junior chose that moment to try out a new swear he’d heard the guards saying on him, and Morton had to cut Roy off mid-sentence before the prince heard an even worse word to add to his growing arsenal.
As Ludwig and Wendy walked through the door, Larry peered around them, expecting to find Iggy behind them, his spirits sinking when he found no one there.
Trying to convince himself that Iggy was just busy and would come later, Larry sat down at Ludwig’s right, seeking confirmation. Ludwig guessed his question and had an answer before Larry could open his mouth. He shook his head. “I don’t know where Iggy is. He seemed to be doing a little better then. He was starting to clean up his rooms.”
At least it doesn’t sound like he’s gone back to moping. Larry felt a twinge of guilt at the thought, ashamed of himself for labeling Iggy’s depression as something so petty and unserious.
Morton returned to the table with his arms full of dishes. Steaming steaks, spiced rice, seared vegetables, and half a dozen shakers of different seasonings. Any other day Larry would have enjoyed both the meal and talking with his siblings. But the room was silent, and the mood felt almost somber—even Junior wasn’t bickering with Roy like he usually was.
Everyone seemed to be staring at the two empty chairs as they picked at their dinner.
Larry shouldn’t have been disappointed. Iggy was still missing Lemmy. Larry shouldn’t have expected him to magically turn back into the brother he’d used to know. Still, it hurt more than he wanted to admit.
Just as Larry was about to excuse himself, the door creaked open once more. Every downturned head looked up to see Iggy’s face peering into the room.
This time he was at least recognizable, from the way his hair was restyled to the way he stood at his full height. Not that he appeared particularly confident. He fidgeted with one of his spiked bracelets, like a naughty child about to be scolded.
“Hey…” he said awkwardly, running a hand through his hair in that anxious way of his. “Sorry I’m a little late. Are you guys finishing up here?”
“No, no,” Ludwig said quickly, now eager. “We just started, actually. Come in.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Iggy entered and sat down in one of the unoccupied chairs. He cast a sideways glance at the seat beside him and closed his eyes. His family could only stare.
Amazingly, Iggy’s mouth curved into a smile. “The last time I saw you guys looking at me like this was when I first tried this hairstyle.”
Larry smothered a laugh. Iggy had been five, then. Larry recalled telling Iggy his head looked like a mutant plant was growing out of it. “Seriously, what inspired you to do that?”
“I think Lemmy said one of us should change it up. I was so used to dying my hair to look like his that I forgot this was my natural hair color.” Iggy combed his fingers through the lime-green strands. “This style started as a joke, but it kind of grew on me, so I kept it.” He smiled wider, flashing his teeth. “You should have seen the looks on the guards’ faces when they saw me that morning.”
“Oh, I saw,” Roy interrupted. “One of them actually came up to me later and asked if you were drunk.”
“To be fair, sometimes it’s hard to tell with you,” Wendy agreed.
Junior made a choked sound like a laugh and had to spit his sip of water back into his glass.
From there on dinner was a much more light-hearted affair. Subjects of conversation changed often, and every minute Iggy seemed a little bit more like his old self.
He told them numerous stories about mishaps while conducting research while in Soda Jungle, each one more hilarious than the last. Only a few minutes into the change in mood Roy and Junior found something to quarrel about—as their argument grew more heated, Morton cleverly chose that moment to bring out dessert, a chocolate cake drizzled with salted caramel and sprinkled with peanuts. He’d wisely made two, predicting that everyone would want a second slice.
Or, in Junior’s case, a third, a request that Morton politely denied.
“I don’t know how you do it, Morton.” Ludwig leaned back in his seat with a contented sigh, allowing himself to relax for what was probably the first time that day.
“Practice and effort,” Morton said modestly as he went around, collecting everyone’s plates. “You can look forward to cinnamon rolls tomorrow morning.”
“Dibs on taste-testing duty,” Junior announced.
Roy snorted, unceremoniously licking a dollop of frosting from his claws. “Last time you ‘taste tested’ his cookies, you ate half the damn batch when he wasn’t looking.”
“And I’m happy to report they were delicious,” Junior huffed.
Larry intervened before the situation could escalate. He leaned over and looped one arm around Roy’s massive shoulders. “Why don’t we head to your room? We’re not even halfway through that new game of yours.”
His tactic worked. Roy tousled his hair. “Sure. Bring some of your snacks. I know you’ve got a stash big enough to last you years.” His eyes caught on a bruise on Larry’s cheek, which Larry had tried to hide with a smear of concealer he’d borrowed from Wendy. “Hey, what’s that?”
“Nothing.” Larry batted Roy’s fingers away, but not before they brushed most of the concealer. Shit.
Roy scowled and studied the paste on his finger. He was a pragmatic leader who commanded the respect of every soldier in the army at the young age of twenty, but that couldn’t change the fussy nature of an older brother. “This doesn’t look like nothing.” His demand for an explanation was left unspoken but no less obvious.
“It’s just a bruise.” Larry made to walk past.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Roy scooped him up easily and hefted him up on his shoulder, the same way he held his Bullet Blaster. “Sounds like someone needs a checkup with the doctors.”
Larry wriggled, unable to keep from laughing. “Put me down!” He twisted out of Roy’s hands and slid down his back. “I was just sparring with the new recruits earlier. They’re shaping up fast.”
Roy snorted and guided him out, one hand around his shoulder. “Tell them no one’s allowed to make you fall on your ass except me, ‘kay?”
“We’ll see who’s laughing when I mop the floor with you tomorrow. Remember to bring your troops to watch.”
Roy tousled his hair until it was as disarrayed as could possibly be. On his way out, Larry looked around his older brother Iggy grinning at him out of the corner of his eye.
Pushing aside stray locks of hair from his face, Larry smiled back and waved.
Notes:
...Oh, so sweet!!!
Fun fact: I have days where I can't write something scary or angsty to save my life, and days where that's all I can write, period. This was a day where I was somewhere in between and had so much energy and was just vomiting ideas everywhere (That's the Mountain Dew talking). This chapter needed a lot of refinement, but I'm happy with how it turned out.
(It's occured to me that some of you might not know whether the journey with Bowser Junior mentioned in this chapter and also in Chapter Two is canon or not. It is canon and referencing a game from the Mario+Luigi RPG series called Bowser Junior's Journey. In one cutscene Iggy really did get pushed off a cliff, and yes, Ludwig was there. And yes, it was FREAKING HEARTBREAKING for me, at least.)
Those of your who are leaving such nice reviews, your compliments matter so much! Tell me what you think of this chapter!
Chapter 7: A Powerful Tool
Notes:
Early post this week!!!
I'm going away for the weekend, and I really don't want to keep any of you guys waiting. Especially for this chapter.
See you next week! I'm probably going to come back with the lamest souvenirs ever and get ridiculously excited about them!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Morning had Larry being nudged awake, wrenched from a dream about a vivid, chaotic world where his arms were instead a pair of feathered wings as powerful as an eagle’s. He’d soared across the skies, exhilarated, until it began raining boulders, knocking him into an unending ocean.
The smothering presence of water turned out in fact to be a heap of pillows that had somehow wound up on top of his face during the night.
When Larry pushed them away, wrappers crinkled underneath his weight, the only evidence of a long night he’d spent stuffing his face and laughing with Roy. Evidence he should probably remove soon before Ludwig discovered it.
Larry rubbed his eyes, Roy’s form solidifying in front of him. “This had better be pretty damn important.”
“It is,” Roy said shortly, already tossing aside the blankets and attempting to nudge Larry out of bed. Important indeed—Roy was in full military regalia, a sleek black jacket with gold buttons and epaulettes. A trio of crests formed a triangle at his heart: his own, Bowser’s, and the crossed golden axes that marked him as the Grand General, the highest military rank in the Koopa Troop.
“If you want me to move, you’re going to have to give me more than two words,” Larry said flatly, refusing to budge.
“We’ve got guests. We’re expected to greet them.”
Of course. Larry would give anything to be another ordinary soldier right now, able to sleep in without fear of his presence being demanded. He reached for a glass of water on his bedside table and stared at his reflection. “Let’s see if you can set the record for how fast you can style my hair, because there’s no way in hell I’m leaving this room looking like this.”
In a matter of moments, Roy had scooped Larry right up, bundled him into the dressing room, and begun brushing out the knots in Larry’s unkempt hair. “Quite vain, Master Larry is,” Roy tsked, exactly as a gossipping courtier would.
Gulping down the water, Larry glared at Roy’s reflection in the vanity mirror. “Quite brain-dead, the brother who got me high on sugar last night and dragged me out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn and is now trying to yank out my hair.”
For the first time that morning, Roy cracked a smile, but he resumed his task of brushing much more gently as Larry had requested. “Sorry,” he even murmured. “Just stressed.”
“About what?”
Roy only turned to face the wardrobe, taking a suspiciously long time to find Larry’s own uniform. Curiosity nagged at Larry’s throat, a thousand questions demanding answers, but they were already late.
Another minute, and they were out of the door, Roy still making final touches—straightening Larry’s sleeves, adjusting his many medals of honor, and ensuring the gold scallop shell clasping his blue cape was secure. Larry would have batted his brother’s hands away and insisted he looked fine, but his attention was elsewhere. On their way through the halls, he counted a total of six guards and two servants where there should have been hundreds of both. Perhaps most of the staff had left to get an early glimpse of their visitors.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Larry said abruptly as he sensed Roy’s fingers smoothing his collar. “You’re never this fussy unless you’re really freaked out.”
The calloused hands withdrew immediately, and Roy looked askance as though embarrassed to have been caught performing a nervous habit.
“Be honest.”
“Something’s not right about these visitors,” Roy snarled, taking Larry aback. Before Larry could reply, he was nudged into turning away.
When they finally arrived in the entrance hall, Larry almost wondered whether he’d walked in on the most impromptu wedding he’d ever seen.
Impressive glass sculptures had been hung from the ceiling, whorls of red and orange reminiscent of shooting stars. Brass posts and velvet ropes partitioned the crowd into two masses, an aisle in between. The royal family waited at the head of the room, watched over by a tremendous statue of the first monarch of the Koopas, Queen Reykia, fierce and regal yet benevolent all at once.
The circle of royal guards shifted to allow Larry and Roy through. Roy made a subtle gesture over his shoulder. Three guards peeled away from their comrades and pressed closer to Larry, hands on their sword hilts.
Despite knowing he could trust these soldiers with his life, Larry squirmed, sensing the weight of his family’s curious looks. “Is this necessary?” he hissed at Roy.
When he received no answer, Larry glanced up, intending to demand one. Before he could, one of Roy’s burly arms pressed Larry against his side. Now touching, Larry could feel Roy's chest contracting, drawing and releasing heavy breaths. What could have possibly made him so agitated?
A fanfare scattered his thoughts. The murmurs ceased. Where a herald’s voice would have rang out, there was heavy silence. Bowser’s mouth creased into a scowl and took on the task himself. “Come forth.”
Footsteps. Larry assessed the sound—multiple sets, steady, and awfully slow for someone being summoned by a king. It was no legion of soldiers, though. Skilled mercenaries, maybe? Larry broke away from Roy and peered through the guards’ frames.
His mind was still racking through possibilities when he saw the eight Magikoopas sauntering up the carpet.
For any others swaggering in like that, Larry would have pegged them as arrogant and made a mental note to find the right moment to remind them of their place, guests or otherwise.
But instead, he recoiled, gripped with oppressive fear without having the slightest idea why. His breath quickened, heart pounding, blood tingling with a sudden rush of pure adrenaline.
Roy was the anchor that kept him from running out altogether, wrapping him in a complete hug as if to drag him back to the present. Larry clung to him, fighting the terror, fighting the urge to grab all of his siblings and run far away, as if the world was crumbling down around them.
Each of the Magikoopas wore unconventional robes of black, rather than the white, blue, or red ones that symbolized different roles. The one in the lead was slightly taller than the others, with just the smallest of hitches in his stride to betray age. Nevertheless, he walked as though he were the ruler here and the gathering of spiky-shelled Koopas before him were nothing but a few more simpering courtiers scrambling for his favor. At the last possible moment he stopped and bowed low, just before he could be called out for disrespect.
Larry leaned over to see Junior glowering at them, face pinched like he’d bit into a lemon. His message was so apparent Larry could almost hear the prince’s voice in his head. What a stuck-up old crow.
“Rise, Kautrin.” Bowser addressed the newcomer as warmly as he would an old friend. “An honor to meet in person.”
The Magikoopa straightened once more, smoothing his robes. “The honor is mine, Your Majesty.” Larry shuddered at the sound of his voice. What an awful, grating tone, with enough slyness to make a fox look innocent.
“I’m afraid Kautrin is not here, Your Majesty. Passed last month from a fever.” The Magikoopa lowered his head in deference. “Kamek should remember me, though. I am Verion. His successor.”
Bowser looked no less enthusiastic. “Ah, yes.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Unfortunately Kamek isn’t present at the moment. He’s been quite busy lately.”
“I understand completely.” In spite of his reassuring statement, Larry didn’t like the subtle smiles the other Magikoopas shared. “It’s been quite a long time. I can’t wait to see him.”
Roy was right, Larry thought, wanting to tear his gaze away but unable to. Something’s not right about you.
As if Verion could read his thoughts, his eyes locked onto Larry’s. He tilted his head to one side rather than inclining it. A challenge. The gesture was a spark cast into a splash of oil, igniting rage. Larry was drowned under the desire to force the Magikoopa to his knees, and revel in the feeling of dominance. The softest of growls reverberated in his chest. Roy shot him a warning glance and held him tighter.
Bowser glanced in their direction, oblivious to the storm of tension about to break loose. “Ah. Allow me to introduce the famed Koopalings. I’m sure you’ve heard of their accomplishments.”
Larry felt a childish triumph at the pride in Bowser’s voice as he spoke their names. He’ll never trust you more than us.
With what could only be reluctance, Verion finally lowered himself to his knees. “An honor to meet the seven of you.”
Everyone in the room stilled. Almost every pair of eyes went towards Iggy. He just bowed his head in silent mourning. The gesture spread like a ripple over the crowd, until only the Magikoopas stood with heads raised.
“Only six are present, I’m afraid,” Bowser said gravely. “Lemmy has disappeared without a trace. His attendant was killed. We suspect it’s Mario’s doing. If Lemmy is a hostage, it complicates our options for retaliation.”
“Very unfortunate. I will do everything in my power to take him back from the fiends who stole him, Your Majesty.”
“I look forward to working with you,” Bowser agreed, excitement creeping back into his voice.
Larry could have sworn he saw one corner of Verion’s mouth turned downwards, as if in disgust, discordant to his amiable tone as he added, “Your Majesty promised me this will be equal cooperation. The days of Magikoopas being forced into your family’s service are over.”
Dead, utter silence fell, so loud the crackle of fire from sconces was painfully loud.
Looks directed at Verion ranged from shocked to hostile. An awful scene in Koopa history, one the royal family hadn’t just allowed to happen but contributed to, had just been thrown at Bowser. The guards present stiffened, hands locked over their halberd or pistol handles, ready to kill or throw the Magikoopas out at their king’s command.
But Bowser only nodded solemnly, ignorant to the gasps that followed his reaction. “I swear on my throne you will not be forced to do anything against your principles. If you refuse, you are free to leave at any time.”
Verion bowed again. “Your Majesty is most gracious. I can promise that I will not forget this honor.”
“Did you see the way he walked like he owned the place?!”
Larry nodded absently, picking at a slice of apple pie on his plate. He regretted bringing up his suspicions about Verion already. It was hardly a relaxed lunchtime conversation. But there was no stopping Junior when he was on a rant.
“I should have him whipped for it,” Junior seethed. “He’s like those cocky army officers who have a bunch of lackeys and think they know everything.”
“Sounds familiar,” Roy remarked. Iggy hid a grin by pretending to wipe the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
Morton grabbed Junior’s arm just before the prince could hurl a butterknife at Roy. “Hey. That’s an eating utensil, not a weapon.”
“Larry says anything can be a weapon if used at the right time,” Junior retorted.
Larry showed both palms as Morton turned an exasperated glance on him. “Hey, I recall saying very clearly not to put that into practice with Roy. Even if he’s being a dumbass.”
Wendy rolled her eyes. “Trying to hold a conversation with you guys is impossible. Back to discussing the creepy hunchbacks.”
“This doesn’t leave this kitchen,” Ludwig reminded them sternly. “We have no proof. If we want Bowser to hear us out, we need to be smart about this.”
“This might have just been me, but…” Iggy hesitated. “I felt really, really terrified just looking at them.”
Larry’s throat suddenly went dry, a bite of pie lodged inside. “It wasn’t just you.”
Junior cocked his head to one side skeptically. “Terrified? I just wanted to punch him. He… scared you?”
“Junior, remember that time you found that snake in your bed?” Ludwig prompted.
Junior shuddered and hugged himself as if a snake had just slid down his spine. The snake had been a shy, docile species, simply searching for somewhere quiet and warm. It had been easy for a servant to remove it. The real challenge had been getting Junior to calm down. He’d slept in his father’s bed for a month before returning to his own.
“Now you’re terrified of snakes. Just seeing one makes you want to run away. Seeing Verion made us feel like that.” Ludwig clutched his chest, dropping his gaze. “It was like an instinct.”
No one spoke for several moments. Wendy broke the silence in her usual blunt way. “Let’s not ignore how Kamek was missing. Even if his schedule’s a nightmare, he never misses a meeting that important.”
Larry paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Something clicked. Verion and the other Magikoopas were who Kamek and Bowser had been talking about in secret that one night. Why hadn’t he made the connection before?
Roy propped his chin on one fist, chewing thoughtfully. “Think I should ask a few guards to keep an eye on them? Say they’re bodyguards, but have them report back to me?”
It was well known that he was a favorite among all the soldiers. Officers had reported to him even before he’d been given the title of Grand General. Any one of the guards would be happy to grant a simple request of Roy’s, even if they weren’t informed of the reason.
Ludwig considered, then shook his head. “That’ll attract unnecessary attention. News might come back to Bowser, and I’d prefer not to have this conversation with him until we know more. I know a few servants who can discreetly keep an eye on them.” He grimaced. “We need to be careful. I get the feeling we don’t want these people for enemies.”
There were many things Larry despised in life: black licorice; waking up early; bad hair days; Mario, obviously.
But he would have taken all of those things—yes, he would have hopped out of bed at the crack of dawn and stuffed his mouth full of black licorice and gone toe to toe with Mario with his hair a catastrophe—if it meant being excused from the welcoming party Bowser had arranged for his guests.
Events like these were rare, and Larry was glad. He and his siblings weren’t technically heirs, but being brought up by Bowser himself had slowly integrated them into the royal family.
Tedious lessons in court etiquette were inevitable.
Larry was quick with math, a decent reader, and admittedly a mediocre speller, but anyone who knew him could guess that decorum had been his worst subject. Even the most lauded of protocol tutors had found their greatest challenge in trying to mold Larry into exactly the kind of pompous, sycophantic courtier he hated.
Stand straighter, they’d clucked. Keep your hair smooth. Don’t doodle on your meeting notes. Don’t slouch. Keep your elbows off the table.
Young Larry had tried his best to answer politely without complying, but those sessions had been like sandpaper against his temper, wearing it dangerously thin. As insufferable as the mock situations he’d been drilled in were, they were nothing compared to reality. Now he was too old to hide in the servants’ quarters in order to avoid a party.
Tonight Larry was wearing his finest, an exquisite tuxedo of sky blue, accentuated by a black undershirt, and silver cuffs and buttons. As if that wasn’t enough, his usual bracelets had been swapped out for solid silver ones, studded with sapphires instead of spikes, along with gem-encrusted rings that encircled at least half of his fingers. An elaborate pin emblazoned with his insignia lay at his heart.
It felt like a cage of velvet and jewels. Larry wanted to rip the bars apart and run free. Breathe air that didn’t reek of the cloying perfumes and see something other than a sea of staring, admiring, envying faces.
In spite of all the remedial lessons and courses, he was still unskilled at the art of small talk, blunt to other courtiers who wanted favors he could grant rather than friendship, and generally pissed off by everything when it came to being forced to stand and look pretty like a doll.
He felt like a goose among swans—an awkward, outspoken, standoffish presence surrounded by a flock of vain, elegant, preening birds.
Something nudged Larry in the side. He turned on a scowl on Ludwig, the offender. “What?”
“Don’t look so grumpy. You look great tonight.”
Ludwig took a sip from his wineglass, fingers steady as ever. As befitted the Crown Regent, Ludwig’s appearance was just as ostentatious than Larry’s, if not more. His jacket was the same blue as his immaculately-styled hair. Diamonds and sapphires studded his bracelets, rings, and the dragon brooch pinned at his heart. As always, his strikingly handsome features drew the dreamy looks of many a female whenever he turned.
Larry made a disgusted noise. Fat chance he was going to plaster a fake smile on his face and pretend like he wanted to be here—and there was no way in hell he was going to try flirting with potential suitors, as Bowser’s advisors surely wanted.
He swung his gaze around the raised platform, his bowtie chafing. While the rest of the court mingled below, interrupted by the dart of servants depositing new platters of food on tables, royalty oversaw everything from the dais at the head of the room, accompanied only by the Royal Guard. Glimpses into galleries ran above all four walls, broken up by pillars and interspersed with vigilant guards.
“Just tone down the frown,” Wendy cut in, overhearing. “You look like you want to kill everyone in this room.”
“If that’s what it takes to get out,” Larry muttered rebelliously. In that moment, he weighed the consequences of simply making a run for it, but his tight dress pants would probably slow him down enough for Wendy to catch him.
Ignoring the remark, Wendy steered him over to the table of food behind them. She knew his weaknesses well. Scents both sweet and savory assailed Larry’s nose. He zeroed in on his favorites, following the aromas of ginger, vanilla, and paprika. If he had to be here, he might as well seek the few pleasures there were.
Wendy reached for a miniature almond cake, polishing it off in three swift bites. She placed practicality above most things, but she’d never minded showing off a little during parties. Her maroon gown was an elegant garment embroidered with gold roses. A gold choker set with rubies hung at her throat. The bow she wore was the same deep red, accompanied by a delicate gold tiara.
She was beautiful, but Larry hated seeing his wild, untamable sister made to look so delicate and soft.
She lets her enemies think she’s weak on purpose, Roy had told him once. All the more humiliating when she kicks their asses.
Larry’s eyes wandered a ways to his left, where Bowser loomed like a guardian. He and his son looked even more alike, resplendent in shades of red and gold and black. The contrast showed when it came to their expressions, though—Junior looked bored out of his mind while Bowser’s attention was on his guests, all of whom wore similar finery. Kamek was also present, wringing his hands and standing as far away as he could from the other Magikoopas without coming off as rude.
One look at Verion’s puffed out chest and gold ornaments had Larry huffing to himself. Cocky bastard.
“Hey.”
A broad hand settled on Larry’s shoulder. His nerves went tense at the voice, the they usually did when he was readying for an attack. He spun around. The tension deflated as he recognized Roy, accompanied by disappointment. He was in the mood to fight someone.
Roy was grinning, in spite of Larry’s unfriendly reaction. He’d favored purple in his outfit, paired with black opals and gold. “Yikes. Someone’s grouchy.”
“Shut up. You hate these dumb parties too.” Larry’s eyes slid to Roy’s hip, where a sword was usually belted. Roy always brought one, and it was no ornament. The only thing that kept him from going insane during parties was the familiar feel of a weapon within his grip. “No sword? What’s that about?”
“Luddy said it’d look inhospitable,” Roy grunted, emphasizing the term with heavy sarcasm. Even as he said it, he instinctively reached for his side and scowled as he remembered there was no blade there.
“Poor, poor Roy. Whatever will he do without the option to stab anyone who pisses him of—”
Larry broke off as Roy gave him a playful nudge. He was preparing to shove Roy back when he spotted a flash of iridescent green in the crowd of court officials.
Iggy, speaking to a pair of captains. His stylish green tuxedo caught one’s eye in an instant. Morton stood alongside him, less colorful but no less striking in the simple black and white he favored, his cautious expression like that of someone accompanying an elderly person to ensure they didn’t lose their way.
A flutter of movement caught Larry’s eye. One of the Magikoopas was making its way down from the dais, heading straight for Iggy and Morton. From his confident stride and the way courtiers stared and even took several steps back, Larry was quick to guess which guest of theirs it was.
“Where’s he going?” Roy murmured, voice heavy with suspicion. He set his glass down and made to follow.
Larry grabbed his arm. “No. I’ll go. I’m a lot more laid back. Come on, don’t give me that look. If you follow him, you’ll come off as suspicious right away. I can just look curious to meet him.”
Roy gave him a dubious look but stayed where he was. “Make it quick.”
It was all the approval Larry needed. He schooled his features into neutrality as he wandered down, his shoes clicking over the marble floor.
Partygoers made way for him, some military officers murmuring his title and bowing their heads. He got a shy wave from one of the cadets he’d introduced himself to after training that afternoon. Larry nodded and cheerfully greeted soldiers by their names on his way past, all while keeping the black blot of Verion’s robes in his sights.
As if sensing his pursuer, Verion increased his pace. Larry muttered a curse under his breath as Morton followed the captains into the crowd, still chatting. No. Stay there. I don’t trust this creep with Iggy.
Iggy turned as Verion spoke a greeting Larry didn’t catch and lowered into the necessary bow. To his credit, Iggy’s face was carefully neutral, revealing none of the misgivings he’d shared with his siblings earlier.
Dropping in on the exchange would only attract attention. Better to listen in and report back. Surely Iggy was in no danger. Verion would hardly be stupid enough to attack physically or verbally in such a public setting. Larry decided to stop by a banquet table and pluck up a chicken leg glazed in a honey sauce, the perfect excuse to linger without looking out of place.
“Is the food served to the royal family not to His Lordship’s satisfaction?” an amused voice behind him whispered. Her companion chuckled.
Larry glanced backwards at the two young soldiers and grinned. “It’s fantastic,” he said around a mouthful. He lifted his chicken leg. “Can’t beat my sister to any of these, though. Hope you don’t mind me stuffing my face.”
The pair, initially mortified at being caught in their gossip, laughed and wandered off. Larry hoped they would spread the word and keep others from asking questions about his presence. He cursed again, wishing the chatter would cease so he could hear what Iggy was saying.
Larry walked a little farther down, where crystal flutes were arranged around elaborate miniature fountains that poured an assortment of drinks. Bowser was careful with how freely the booze flowed in his castle, even at the grandest of parties, but Larry could spot several partygoers who would no doubt be fighting a hangover tomorrow morning. He took a glass and stuck it below a silver spout carved in the shape of a dragon’s maw, which was pouring a spiced wine that smelled of cherries.
“…I’ve been lucky… have a good education, that’s all,” Iggy was saying modestly, words dipping in and out of inaudibility as laughter and music drowned them out. “I… anything to serve my kingdom.”
“Very noble, sir,” Verion said admiringly. “Your mind… some say your… is greater than what is possible through magic.”
“…Limited resource. Only so many… willing… the old laws.”
A solemn nod from Verion. He looked old enough to have seen that time, Larry mused, or perhaps even been one of the countless Magikoopas forced into the service of noble households or the army ranks. And yet he retained an icy smile.
“Indeed. And… Lord Lemmy… how tragic.”
The tightening of Iggy’s jaw was all that revealed tension. The tiniest of cracks in his demeanor. Verion began to speak again, but a round of laughter from behind Larry drowned his words out. Larry quashed the spurt of annoyance. Something was wrong here, and he knew it.
The chatter quieted without warning. A large figure entered Larry’s peripheral vision, clad in purple and gold. The eyes Larry had so carefully nudged away returned, already prying. “I told you to stay back there,” Larry hissed.
Once again Roy’s hand met Larry’s shoulder, but this time its grip bordered on painful. “They were watching you. The others up there.”
Larry’s blood froze. He shifted to smooth his jacket, surreptitiously catching a glance of the seven guests of honor. Sure enough, their eyes were on him, pinning him like a butterfly, their faces knowing. “Did they try to follow me?”
“No.” Roy’s voice was little more than a fluttering of breath. “But they were watching you the whole time. I thought I caught them gawking at you earlier, but this confirms it. They’re watching your every move.”
“That makes no sense. They don’t even know me.”
“They must know you don't trust them.”
Larry shuddered. His plan had been seen right through as if it were glass. Turning his back to Roy, he did a double take. Iggy and Verion had vanished. Shit. Tonight was really not his night.
“Where’d they run off to?” Roy’s gaze swung around the ballroom. There were few places to hide and only one pair of doors to exit through.
Larry’s stomach churned, food sinking like stones. He felt like he was losing his mind. He hated Verion. Hated him for making him feel so scared and skittish and—
A horn blew from somewhere on the dais. Guests halted their dances or conversations. Bowser’s attendant lowered his horn and called out, “His Majesty leaves us now.”
Armor clanking and velvet swishing was the only sound as courtiers parted like water before a divine being, bowing low. Bowser led the way, his son at his side, flanked by royal guards.
Larry weaved through the crowd to follow behind his siblings in an orderly line. And behind him and his family, the Magikoopas walked at the end of the procession. Roy purposely placed himself in between them and Larry, watching them dip their heads in cold silence.
Just as the doors swung open, someone finely dressed burst from the throngs and nearly collided with Larry. It took all of Larry’s self control not to whirl around and shake Iggy by the shoulders.
“Where the hell were you?” Roy whispered.
“Just got distracted.” Iggy sounded breathless. Larry sneaked a glance over his shoulder and found the calm, composed lord he’d seen just minutes ago had become pale and mussed.
Roy was not so easily brushed off. “You look like you got in a streetfight. What were you—”
“It was nothing.” The last word came out as a quiet snarl. Larry flinched. Roy didn’t press further, but his stormy demeanor suggested this conversation wasn’t finished by a longshot.
Larry kept his mouth shut on the way to the throne room at the heart of the castle, just below the suites for the royal family. The festivities would continue a while longer for the rest of the court, but there was an important rite to be performed before Larry was dismissed for the night.
More guards awaited them at the grand set of doors etched with gold flames, dragging them open at Bowser’s approach. The colossal, sparkling interior was empty, save for few elderly scribes tasked with formally recording tonight’s events. An imposing throne of black marble glittered at the head of the marble hall. A small, identical one lay directly at its right, meant for Bowser’s only son.
Larry's gaze strayed to the seven smaller but just as grand thrones were spread out on either side, where he and his siblings would sit—Bowser's acts of having them built and placing the portraits of Larry's family in the Royal Gallery had cemented their status as royalty, a strong message to the doubters in his court. Respect them, or else.
Kamek already stood at the raised podium just below the platform. In addition to chandeliers, brass braziers had been lit, the flames held within already devouring the cherrywood placed inside. Larry obediently followed the Bowser up the short steps and onto the dais, casting mournful a glance at the throne the third farthest to the right, glittering with gold and emeralds, nestled in between Iggy’s and Roy’s.
Its owner wouldn’t be present tonight.
Verion had halted as the royals took their seats. His eyes slid over each of them as if comparing jewels, locking on Iggy as if he’d found the solitary diamond.
Larry’s claws curled over his armrest, scraping painfully over the marble.
“All hail His Majesty, King Bowser of the Koopas, Lord and Protector of the Darklands, Star-blessed descendant of Queen Reykia!” Kamek’s raspy call echoed around the hall.
As protocol dictated, the Magikoopas sank to their knees and bent forward until their foreheads touched the ground. Where Larry had used to find this groveling an unnecessary show of subservience he felt a nasty delight.
Should he ever suffer the misfortune of having an actual conversation with Verion, mutual battle lines would be drawn very quickly.
“The oath you are about to say is sworn on all of your ancestors and the name of the Great Mother,” Kamek intoned. “To break it is the gravest of crimes. Speak with utmost sincerity, or not at all.”
Verion remained on the floor. “I swear to serve King Bowser and his army, obey his every command, and protect his rule and kingdom as long as I live.” One by one, his companions repeated it.
“Rise,” Bowser ordered. Something in his face softened. “Remember that I will not command you to use magic that may harm you.”
That’s too easily twisted. We know so little about magic that he could lie to us, or use dangerous spells. This isn’t loyalty. He can practically refuse direct orders.
It also wasn’t right to force Magikoopas to do whatever people in power wanted. But leave to disobey orders a powerful tool, and Larry couldn’t help but think that before long, Bowser would regret giving it too freely.
Notes:
...just a heads-up, I won't be answering any questions about Verion or Larry's reaction to him in the comments. I'll reveal everything eventually, so be patient. Let's be honest, spoilers are never fun.
Speaking of comments, thanks again for all the nice reviews! Stick round for Chapter Eight!
Chapter 8: The White Wolf
Notes:
Low-key, this week was just so draining for me. I hit really bad burnout in my artwork recently. And my weekend's going to be PACKED.
If you're also exhausted and in dire need of some Koopaling stuff to cheer you up, here's Chapter Eight for you to read. My gift from me to you!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Iggy said he heard wolves last night.”
Larry looked up eagerly, pausing in his task of drying dishes. Stacks more waited on the rack in front of him, and Morton seemed to add another every second. He was amazingly quick and yet thorough. Larry had yet to find a single speck on anything.
Sipping from his tea, Ludwig closed his book, a lengthy historical fiction about a Koopa civil war. “Is he sure? Spring’s not here yet. They should be farther north, hunting the migrating deer.”
“He’s sure. Kinda strange, huh?”
“Must be the recent earthquakes. They might have caused rockslides or eruptions that blocked their way,” Wendy mused. “If I were a wolf I’d try my luck with catching townspeople unaware.”
Roy shrugged. “I sent out a warning just in case. Extra guards will be stationed around the smaller villages. Outright attacks are pretty rare, anyway.”
Once Larry had finished, he turned to find Roy had remained seated by the counter, idly peeling an orange.
He grinned and beckoned Larry closer. “I thought you and I could go out on our own little hunt. Just you and me. Haven’t seen a wolf around here since last summer, and they don’t come around often.” His cheerfulness dimmed a little as he added, “It’ll be nice to take our mind off of things.”
Nice, indeed. It had now been three weeks since Lemmy’s disappearance. After the welcoming party several days ago, Iggy had slowly grown more sociable, but very rarely did he seem miserable anymore. If anything, he’d become… jumpy. The times he roamed the halls or went on walks he repeatedly glanced backwards like a mouse fearing that a cat would appear around the corner.
Even more infuriatingly, Larry’s urge to prove his suspicions was kept in check by both his growing list of duties and the fact that the Magikoopas were as innocent as birds as of late. Most days they were kept busy in meetings with Bowser that even Larry and his siblings were kept out of. Their guest suites weren’t far from the royal wing, and Larry was dying to search them, but he would need more than fleeting opportunities.
“What do you say, linxyo?” Roy prompted, hauling Larry back to the conversation.
“Of course. I’ll clear my schedule.” Larry leaned over the counter to throw his arms around Roy’s neck.
Roy returned the embrace, a pleased rumble rippling through his throat. “I’ll pack for us. Meet you in the hangar in one hour.”
Only a few mechanics were around when Larry entered the hangar, his favorite rifle slung over his back.
The nearest ones simply bowed and murmured his title to acknowledge his presence, then returned to their tasks. He and Roy were frequent visitors. Larry nodded and made his way down a flight of stairs. The uppermost floor of the hangar housed airships while the lower ones were where tanks and other armored vehicles were stored. Tucked away in the lowest level was a locked door, once an old storage room that Roy had converted into a private garage of his.
While not quite as inventive as Iggy, Roy occasionally tinkered with his motorcycle and enjoyed a good ride. He’d been riding since he was twelve, and from the start Larry had gone with him, clinging to his older brother’s back with wind whipping through his hair.
For Larry’s twelfth birthday With Iggy’s guidance and advice, Roy had built Larry a bike of his own from scratch, and by now they’d made a habit of going out for a joyride at least once a week.
Roy was already waiting inside and busy securing bags to his motorcycle, which was a glossy, vivid purple with hot pink highlights underneath. Larry’s was the same shape, but smaller and painted in his favorite sky blue and yellow. With a wide grin, Roy waved Larry over.
A shred of winter’s persistent chill rushed as he pushed a button and the metal panels of the door were hauled upwards. The garage happened to lead directly out into the front courtyard, which was busy at this time of morning. Roy cut a path between the clusters of guards on their way to their posts, waving and greeting each by name. A shout to the guards stationed in the gatehouse, and the thick iron grid was creaking and groaning as its points dragged themselves from the earth.
The sight of the familiar wide bridge stretched before them, the only way across the river of lava below, made Larry feel like a prisoner getting his first taste of freedom in years.
Just beyond, the ruins of a buried world lay scattered around them.
According to legend, the first ruler of the Darklands, Queen Reykia, had built her castle in the center of the kingdom, the homes of her people all clustered rightly around here after she’d fought to unify them. During her successor’s reign, eruptions and earthquakes had destroyed all but the castle.
The superstitious feared the crumbling towers and caved-in temples were haunted—a younger Larry had decided to find out and crept away one night, raising a panic when didn’t return the next morning, having fallen asleep in a tiny burrow.
Larry smiled ruefully to himself at the memory. Luddy really let me have it that time…
“Where are we headed?” Larry asked, hopping onto his motorcycle. It was built for someone just his size, and under Roy’s care its engine ran no less smoothly than it had three years ago.
Roy pointed westwards, where the tips of a gnarled, blackened forest were visible above the crest of a hill. “The only prey over there at this time of year would be hares and mice, but starving wolves will take anything if they’re starving. There’s also decent shelter.”
“Sounds good.” Larry squeezed the handlebars and put on a burst of speed, barreling past Roy. His hair went nearly flat against the wind. “See you there!” Roy barked a laugh and took off after him. The earth beneath Larry was marked with ripples, where thousands of layers of lava had washed over everything and then cooled.
“Look up!” Roy called.
Larry craned his neck, initially confused but not at all disappointed by what he saw. Through the usual cloak of heavy, gray clouds, the sky had muscled through in a few places. That same beautiful color Larry loved and got to see so rarely. A laugh slipped from his throat. He hadn’t felt this free, this relaxed in forever.
After only a few minutes Larry reached the outskirts of one of the few burned, lifeless forests in the Darklands—before Roy, he would be proud to add. Spindly branches were outstretched like the claws of a monster, sharp and ready to tear at any passing. The tree trunks were gnarled, scorched messes of decay and cracks.
Ugly, most would have called it. Yet to Larry it was just another piece of his home, a place of countless adventures.
Roy climbed off his bike and swung his rifle around. He rubbed a speck of ash off the gleaming steel barrel. “Come on. We’ll try deeper in.”
“Okay.” Larry loaded his own weapon, checked to ensure his warning horn and flask of water were fastened around his belt, and followed his brother into the shadows of the trees. He kept his eyes downwards as the minutes passed, searching for the usual suspects: tracks, dung, or prey bones. A thin layer of mist clung close to the earth—odd, given the lack of humidity.
Distant cawing split the eerie silence. Larry’s head shot up eagerly. Crows meant carrion nearby, carrion that could be leftovers from the wolves’ recent meal. “Hear that?”
No answer. Larry frowned and turned to his brother, only to find Roy a vague smudge of yellow and purple. The little tendrils of mist had grown to sweeping shrouds, growing denser by the second.
Roy’s head swung around, his expression baffled, but he gave no indication that he’d heard Larry’s voice.
The fog wound around Larry like a python, squeezing tighter and tighter, its tendrils sweeping Roy out of sight.
Panic sparked in Larry’s chest. He stumbled forward blindly, still calling for Roy while swatting at the whiteness. He staggered into something hard, a tree. His rifle slipped from his hands, and he groped for it until his fingers closed around the familiar feel of its lacquered wood. He hugged the weapon to his chest, fighting the fear down. Roy could still be close. Even if a wolf found him, he was anything but defenseless.
Right before Larry’s eyes, the haze thinned into a light mist, as though his mental reaffirming had blown it away. He looked back and forth warily, half expecting a monster to materialize out of the white tendrils wafting at his feet. Roy was nowhere to be seen.
Surely I can't be that far away. It's been, what, a minute or two?
A chilling howl rose up, splitting the air. Larry perked up.
At last, his target!
He listened for other howls and heard only silence. Even better—the wolf was alone. A loner could still be dangerous, Larry reminded himself, so slowed his pace, ducking to keep under the cover of thornbushes. With a lot of snagging and whispered cursing, he reached the edge of narrow clearing. Between the thornbushes on one end and the sudden precipice on the other, there was almost nowhere to run.
Good for him, bad for his quarry.
The patter of paws over hard earth. Larry dropped to a crouch and almost gasped as he got his first look at his prey.
The wolf was hunched over the stinking carcass of something too mangled by other scavengers to identify. Most of the wolves around the Darklands were a plain, unassuming gray, to blend in with the rocks. But this wolf’s coat was bright white, still thick from winter’s chill, with gray highlights on its tail tip and ears.
In a healthy state, it might have been beautiful. But its pelt was filthy and ragged, sagging over its bones, outlining every rib, its yellow eyes dull and sunken into its gaunt face.
Pity pierced Larry to the core the same time realization did.
This wolf had been cast out of its pack. With a pelt like that, deer would see it a mile away. Now it was alone, slowly starving, a once noble creature reduced to eating carrion for the crime of being different.
A white wolf—a mocking term for an outcast. And yet, White Wolf was a title Roy had taken up himself, and he bore it with pride.
Why do you call yourself that? Larry had asked once. You know it's not a compliment. It means you're different. Unwanted.
Roy hadn't turned, just lifted a quartz figurine of a wolf in the corner of his desk. We were just that, once. It was then that he'd finally spared Larry a glance, his smile proud as he cupped his little brother's chin in one hand. But not all outcasts die. Some adapt. They claw their way to the top. Just like we did.
But some outcasts, like this wolf, were simply unlucky. It was in its nature to depend on a pack—without one, it was only a matter of time before it died.
Now came Larry’s least favorite part when hunting: the killing blow. All the meat he and Roy brought back was always sent to those who needed it most, but it was still a lost life. One more unfortunate creature doomed to die simply for being defenseless.
Lifting his rifle, Larry took aim, murmuring the customary words of prayer. While people no longer believed the meat of their catch would be cursed if they neglected to thank their creators properly, it still seemed right to show some hint of respect.
The wolf suddenly went stiff, its maw closed around a bit of gristle. Larry sucked in a breath as it raised its head, its pristine white chin stained scarlet.
It took a moment for its yellow stare to register, two cold stones fixed on him.
A light breeze tugged at the spindly bushes around Larry, dragging a few strands of his hair over his eyes, confirming his worst suspicions. The wind had changed without him realizing it—he was no longer downwind.
A rookie hunter’s mistake, but a costly one to make when faced with prey that could kill just as easily as be killed.
A guttural snarl slid from the wolf’s throat, its ears flipping back and its tail lashing. Starved as it was, it crossed the distance between it and Larry in a couple of bounds.
An actual rookie would have run, would have shouted for their partner, but Larry’s years of training took over. Running would only trigger a wolf’s instincts to pursue.
Larry rolled to the left, avoiding a fatal bite to the throat. The wolf landed clumsily, growling as its pelt snagged on the thorns. He spun around and didn’t hesitate. A bullet flew from his rifle and embedded itself deep in the wolf’s chest.
The animal released a yelp, staggering back.
Knowing the struggle was over, Larry averted his eyes to avoid seeing any blood. As the adrenaline left his blood, shame took its place. If this wolf had been at its best, he would have lost. This had not been a fair fight.
Fights are never fair, Bowser had used to say. At the end of the day, it’s your honor or your life. Take your pick.
The whimpering stopped abruptly—too abruptly. Larry looked back and recoiled in shock.
What had been a wolf was now fading, twisting, morphing into the shape of an unassuming log.
When he dared to step closer, Larry circled it, racking his brain for any scientific explanation there could possibly be for this. There was still a smoking hole where his bullet had struck, but the drops of blood on the ground had vanished, as if they’d never existed. Even the musky smell of wolf was gone, replaced with the sharp odor of pinewood.
What kind of sick prank—
Branches creaked. Larry didn’t turn fast enough.
A gloved hand closed around his throat, driving the breath from it. His hands were seized and shoved behind his back. He thrashed, only to be held tighter.
Breath billowed at his ears, a familiar voice now a nasty whisper. “Looks like you lived after all. You Koopas are like weeds—you can spend years getting rid of them, but they just keep coming back.”
“How?” was all Larry could choke out.
How is Mario here?
Mario just shoved him forward. Stumbling, he landed hard on his stomach, just inches from the precipice. Far below, a thick vein of lava glowed an ominous orange. He scrambled to rise, only to be pinned down in a crushing grip that allowed for no movement.
No no no please no.
“Roy! Roooyy!” Larry cried as loud as he could.
“Your brother is miles away. It’s just you and me now,” Mario said mockingly.
“Kill me, and the entire Troop will hunt you and Luigi down until they have you both rotting in prison,” Larry gasped, scrabbling at the hand on his neck. “I’ll give you a day’s head start to leave before we start searching.”
A laugh. “Princess Peach sends her regards.”
Larry dug his claws into the stone in a final, desperate effort. They scraped painfully as Mario shoved him again, forcing him over the edge. One hand found a tiny hold, the muscles in his arm screaming even as the rest of him dangled over certain death.
Mario stood over him, lip curled in disgust. “So persistent. I hope the rest of your family isn’t this annoying.” He brought his foot down hard on Larry’s fingers.
Agony bubbled up in Larry’s throat in the form of a scream. His broken fingers slipped free, and he fell like a marionette whose strings had been severed.
As he plummeted, all he could see was Mario’s wicked grin. He was going after Larry’s siblings next. Maybe Lemmy hadn’t been taken after all, but died in a way like this.
Cold, numbness crept over Larry’s scales, even as the lava’s heat drew closer. All he had left to do was wait for fire to swallow him up.
It never came. An impact smashed through him, utter blackness in its wake.
Wakefulness crept up on Larry like a cat, and then pounced, bringing him back to a world of utter agony.
Larry couldn’t remember feeling this much pain in his life. Not even that time he’d fallen from a tree and broken his leg, or when he’d gone swimming in Sparkling Waters and felt the burning sting of a box jellyfish’s tentacles wrapping around his arm.
The memories were a messy, hazy blur. Both times it had been Roy who’d carried him to safety, whispered comfort even as Larry had screamed and sobbed. And yet once Larry had been released from the infirmary, he’d been urged to try climbing again, coaxed into returning to the water.
If you quit at something every time you get hurt, your life will be more boring than a council meeting, Roy would say.
Larry’s head slipped to one side. His eyes were watering from the reeking fumes of sulfur, blurring his surroundings. Ash coated his mouth. Something was prodding him all over, like a nosy doctor.
Multiple somethings, with glossy black feathers. Larry’s attempt to sit up and bat the crows away was greeted with a surge of pain that had him going limp. In spite of his failure, the birds leaped back with startled caws. A few shot him reproachful looks before flying off, but most remained, perfectly aware they would have a fresh meal if they were patient for a few minutes longer.
Larry snarled at them. What a shitty way to go, dying at the bottom of a hole and having his remains packed over by a bunch of filthy scavengers.
How in the name of the fire spirits had he ended up on solid ground instead of lava, anyway?
Larry gritted his teeth and finally sat up, his chest heaving and stars dancing in the edges of his vision. His vision cleared enough to let him see the narrow lip of rock he’d landed on. Judging by the throbbing ache pulsing through his back, his shell had taken most of the impact. It was probably the one area he could have fallen on from so high and survived.
Even more miraculously, it didn’t feel cracked. He heaved a raspy sigh of relief. Being connected to his backbone, any fracture to his shell could get him permanently paralyzed and required a difficult surgery to fix, and most injured in such a way didn’t live long enough to be treated.
But he hadn’t escaped without serious injury. His entire body was burning with pain, soaked in his own blood. Splinters of what was left of his rifle dug in between his scales, stinging fiercely. Bloody scratches made by hungry beaks were everywhere, the sight of which had bile surging up his throat. But all paled in comparison to the pain raking its fiery claws along the back of his neck and shoulders. A broken collarbone, he guessed.
Mario. This was his fault. That coward had been hiding out in the Darklands, planning to murder the royal family one by one. The kingdom would collapse into chaos afterwards, rendering them easily conquered. The Seven Lands would fall back into the greedy hands of Toads.
If the Koopas were lucky, they would be banished. If not, slavery or mass murder was always possible.
The twist of the knife was that Larry was the only one who knew—and he was going to die here.
He acknowledged the fact, almost welcomed it. A rasping sigh escaped his lips as he sank back. The crows hopped a little closer, their beady eyes glittering with anticipation.
Thunder boomed in the skies above, accompanied by a rare bolt of lightning. Then came the downpour. Even down in the chasm, Larry felt several fat drops land on his midsection and face, making clean spots amidst the blood and grime.
The crows cawed in complaint and shook droplets from their feathers, perhaps questioning whether this meal would be worth the trouble.
Larry blinked, seeing another flock of shapes outlined by the flashes of lightning. Stars-blasted birds. Even from miles away, they could smell death.
The shapes descended with grace unbefitting of scavengers. Maybe Larry was hallucinating. He half hoped so, because at least the crows would wait until he was dead to eat. Hawks would begin tearing into him regardless of whether he was still breathing or not. A sound reached his ears as the hawks drew nearer, almost tugged away by the wind…
“I… him… Down there!”
Larry squinted. No, not hawks.
Robed figures mounted on broomsticks. And there, in the lead—
“Larry!”
Kamek almost crashed into the ledge in his haste to land, sending the crows scrambling into the air. He kneeled over Larry, cradling his cheek in one hand. He was shouting something, his voice slipping in and out of audibility.
“…happened… you remember?”
Mario, Larry wanted to say, but his voice refused to work, coming out as a low, agonized moan. His senses were spiraling away.
“…steady… doesn’t have long.”
Something soft was pressed around him. A wool blanket. He bit back screams of pain as the other Magikoopas carefully lifted him onto another layer of cloth. It stretched around him as he was lifted into the air.
Larry fought to stay awake, but fatigue was weighing on his eyelids, threatening to drag him into a slumber he would never wake from.
“There he is!” someone shouted as Larry was gently lowered onto solid ground. Rain was lashing him now, seeping through the wool. He coughed weakly.
“Junior, get your shell back over here!”
A familiar face was made hazy by the water stinging Larry’s eyes. Soft cheeks. A shock of red hair. Black eyes, wide and horrified.
"Larry?" Little fingers brushed his cheek, shaking. Junior's voice rose to an outraged shriek. “Who did this to you?!”
Kamek was speaking again. “…excuse us, Your Highness, but Larry needs treatment as soon as possible.”
Larry was lifted again. Wetness spread over his chest—not cold, clear rainwater, but warm, coppery-smelling crimson that seeped through the blanket. Bile rose in his throat. He could barely feel the pain anymore. Could barely hear Kamek barking orders at soldiers.
“Larry…”
A new face. Blue eyes so like his own stared into his, bright with tears. Wendy. He blinked blearily, and her face was suddenly an inch from his, her hands clasped over his.
“Stay with us. I see you wanting to close your eyes. I said stay awake. Roy’s waiting for you back ho…”
Her words faded away. Larry sank back into blackness, never to return.
Notes:
If you couldn't already tell, this is another instance where I decided to blast heavy metal until my ears bled and write something tragic, all while snarfing down whatever snack I've stashed.
Speaking of which, does anyone else just have a snack they obsessively eat when they're on a writing spree? is that just me? Personally, I can't keep my hands off those Tostitos tortilla chips.
See you next week! In the meantime, I'll get myself a refill of chips.
Chapter 9: It's All For You
Notes:
Hi again! Ready for Chapter Nine?
I'm going to apologize right now for the cliffhanger last chapter. When I started writing this, cliffhangers were up there with hornets, Mondays, and algebraic equations in the long list of things I hate. But I'm really particular with the way I end my chapters, and at first a lot of them ended on really boring notes when there was nothing exciting or foreboding at the end.
Okay, so, if you remember, Mario came and screwed Larry over. Don't worry, he's not dead. I'm going to be a total jerk to a lot of characters in this story, but main character death is, at the moment, not on the table.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Larry had always believed in an afterlife. He’d been taught at a young age that Koopas had been challenged with living somewhere almost entirely inhospitable, and if they demonstrated faith and loyalty in their lives, their reward would be a paradise up in the sky, often referred to as Star Road.
Toads were soft, lazy creatures. They claimed to worship the Stars just as Koopas did, but it could not be true faith if they got to see their Stars in the sky every night. Their afterlife, if there was one, would be far less cushy.
When he’d been little, sitting in on Monday services and listening to a priest drone on monotonously, Larry had spent much of the time entranced by the gilded mosaics of what awaited him after death. Palaces of solid gold, dragons and phoenixes at his command, a place at the side of the Mother of the Stars Herself.
The day that became his, he hoped he would be able to share it with his siblings. What was paradise without company? Would he see his parents there, whoever they were, or would they be denied for the crime of abandoning him?
Still, Larry had never truly imagined that hazy someday. Koopas could live up to two hundred years, and he would spend his working to earn that afterlife. And in the back of his mind, he’d always thought that none of it would be worth leaving his family behind to grieve, assuming they didn’t pass on first.
But here he was, thanks to Mario, and so far, Larry’s expectations were not being met.
He was swimming in darkness, black and sticky and oppressive like tar. No sunshine, no clouds, no palaces, and certainly no sign of any mythical beasts. Maybe the Mother had assessed his life and found him undeserving of Her blessings.
Then finally, light poured in.
Larry's eyes streamed. Forget it. Maybe the sunshine part was overrated. He would have the darkness back, please.
His poor pupils adjusted with painstaking slowness. Even then, everything around him was far too bright a white for Larry's liking. Thick white curtains at his left and right sides allowed him some privacy, but he could still see a long panel of glass stretching along the far wall.
Something was beeping next to him. Larry managed to turn his head to see a heart monitor, where a healthy pulse was displayed, alongside a bedside table crammed with notes and syringes.
Ah. Now he knew where he was.
The majority of the occasions when he’d visited the castle infirmary, he’d only seen the first few rooms, simple and meant only for patients receiving a checkup. But he’d seen one of these private wards before, when Lemmy fell ill and needed more intensive care.
Being in one now sent an avalanche of heart-wrenching memories over Larry: Lemmy shivering, claiming he was cold when his forehead burned to the touch; Lemmy unconscious, an oxygen mask over his face; Iggy raging at Kamek behind a closed door.
"No," Iggy growls in a tone that brooks no argument. "End of story."
"Please, Iggy," Kamek implores. "Chemotherapy may be Lemmy's last hope—"
"End of story!" Iggy roars. Through the frosted window, Larry sees his brother rising to his full height, towering over the Magikoopa. "Try it, and I swear on all the Stars that I'll have you tried for treason."
With a shudder, Larry shoved the remembrance away.
Larry assessed his condition. Most of the pain had dulled to throbbing aches with the occasional sting left by a scratch. The bruises and open wounds had been covered by cloth bandages wrapped around his plastron and limbs. Three fingers on his left hand which Mario had so callously stomped on were held in tiny casts.
The worst of the pain was coming from beneath the brace encircling the upper half of Larry’s chest, which he knew from the few first aid lessons he’d had would help support weight while his broken collarbone healed. Blankets covered him up to his neck, soft like down and just as warm, lessening the pressure on his most grievous injuries.
Final conclusion: he was damn lucky.
Larry sighed and murmured a prayer of thanks to the Mother and all Her children. Maybe She had shown favor so he could stop Mario’s plans to murder his family. He would remember to leave an offering at the temple later.
A door creaked open. Larry peered through the flowing curtains in an unsuccessful attempt to see who had entered. A few soft voices began conferring, and he spotted darker shapes outlined against the snowy screen.
“They say they want to see him.”
Not Kamek, but familiar all the same. One of his assistants, Larry deduced. Kamek was indisputably in charge of the infirmary, but he had a handful of Magikoopas help him. Larry recalled thinking of them like mother hens, always clucking over his eating habits and sleep schedule and this and that. It was hard to be annoyed with them, though, when they spoiled Lemmy rotten during his stays.
“It’s best that he’s left alone until he wakes up and we know he’ll be okay.”
“He should be—thank the Stars his shell wasn’t cracked. Those ribs will take time to heal, but the fractures aren’t serious. Same for his collarbone.”
“Today’s the third day he’s been unconscious. Maybe we overdid it with the sedative.”
Third day? I’ve been asleep that long?
Someone pounded on the door with much more force than strictly necessary, then stopped abruptly as if they’d remembered their manners. A collective sigh rippled through the doctors.
Larry tried to sit up to catch a glimpse of the visitor, but fell back on his pillow with a soft gasp as rebellion screamed in his chest. Then movement from behind the window caught his eye, and Larry’s breath hitched.
All of his siblings, as well as Junior, were gathered in the hall behind the glass, each face ranging from devastated to furious.
Ludwig was speaking to the assistant, undoubtedly asking if they were allowed to see their youngest brother. Roy hung back, hissing a trail of smoke as if ready to claw the permission he needed out of the doctor.
Larry was still watching when Junior happened to turn his head. His black eyes widened like saucers as they met Larry’s. He threw himself at the glass with an audible thump, his shouts muffled. Every head went straight to the prince, who looked half crazy, then to Larry. The assistant wisely stepped aside to avoid being crushed by the ensuing stampede.
“Larry!”
Junior crossed the room in a matter of seconds, quite a feat for his small size. His face a picture of rapturous delight, he catapulted onto the bed and ensnared Larry in an embrace so tight it made a python’s constriction seem gentle. Junior’s grip made Larry’s ribs scream, but he managed to keep his reaction to a mere hiss. As much as it hurt, it felt infinitely better to see Junior, to be hugged, to be alive.
“Hey! What are you doing to him?!”
Roy’s massive frame sent the curtains billowing. He pried Junior away and shook him like a rag doll. “Dumbass!” he roared. “Do you have any idea how badly he's hurt?!”
Junior stopped wriggling and twisted around to fix Roy with a scorching look. “Dumbass? You’re one to talk, you fat—”
Larry didn’t hear the rest. The rest of his siblings appeared, bringing with an unceasing barrage of questions they’d accumulated over the past three days. Quickly overwhelmed by it all, Larry found himself weighing the consequences of pretending to faint when Kamek entered and restored order.
As soon as he’d sent his assistant away, Kamek sat down heavily on one corner of Larry’s bed with a sigh. “Stars, Larry. I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”
“That’s not what you told me,” Junior said suspiciously. “You said he was going to be just fine.”
Kamek ducked his head in embarrassment. Morton gave Junior a consoling pat on the head. “You know he doesn’t like to worry you.”
“Well, I would like to know if my friend’s gonna die!” Shooting Kamek a glare, Junior hopped back up onto the bed, poking Larry’s blanketed foot. “How do you feel?”
“Better.” Larry gingerly felt his stomach. The pain in his chest dulled to its previous throb. Annoying, but bearable. “A little ache here and there, but nothing serious.”
“Nothing serious?” Wendy exploded. “You call three broken fingers, a collarbone, and five ribs nothing seri—”
“Why did you wander off?” Roy interrupted, thrusting his face forward. “You were miles away from me. All of those survival lessons and not one of them sank in?”
That rubbed Larry the wrong way. “I called out to you,” he snapped. “Something was up with that fog and you know it. It—took me somewhere. It shouldn’t have even been there, on a dry day like that.”
“The fog made you fall down into a gorge that only a blind, brain-dead Toad wouldn’t have seen.” Roy’s voice dripped with skepticism. “I suppose you saw a unicorn that crapped rainbows, too.”
“Shut up!” Larry snarled, itching to rake his claws over Roy’s face. “What’s your problem? I almost died! You want the whole story? When the fog cleared up I found this wolf, and it attacked me. When I killed it, it turned into a log. Don’t give me that look, I’m dead serious!”
While Roy looked none too appeased, Ludwig’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Illusion magic,” he and Kamek said at the same time.
“That was an illusion?” Larry shook his head. “No way. This looked and smelled and sounded and acted exactly like a real wolf.”
“That’s all possible to do, with the right commands,” Kamek said gravely. Silence greeted his answer. No one liked the idea of a rogue Magikoopa with the plan to murder a royal. Larry liked it least of all. So Mario had a magic-user on his side—a powerful one.
“What next?” Junior asked, prodding him again.
Larry figured he might as well drop this bomb and wipe that stupid look off of Roy’s face. “Mario showed up, grabbed me, said he was planning to kill all of you next, and then pushed me over the edge of the cliff,” he said flatly.
Instead of the shouts and commotion Larry had expected, it was a long moment before any could speak again. When Ludwig finally broke the heavy silence, his calm, steady voice came out taut and uneven like a harp string pulled too tight.
“I’ll go get Bowser.”
Larry’s hope had been that Ludwig would carry the news to Bowser. He did not at all want to face his king in this pathetic state. Every minute that went by, his nerves seemed to crumble into smaller pieces.
“What’s the matter?” Junior asked, rolling onto his stomach. His face turned knowing. “You know, you don’t have to freshen up every time you see my dad.” He wagged a finger from side to side as Larry opened his mouth. “Nope. Don’t even try to deny it. You’ll come to training sessions a mess, but whenever Dad goes around the corner, suddenly you look like you’re ready to walk the red carpet.”
“He’s the king. I can’t be a mess in front of him,” Larry objected. Oh, the embarrassment that very thought gave him.
“Just chill out. And quit fidgeting, or Kamek will have to replace those casts on your fingers.”
Larry was about to snap a retort when a hulking form lumbered past the glass panel. He wanted to curl in on himself and disappear.
He shooed Junior away and quickly shifted into as much of a bow as he could while sitting. It was agony for his back, which still hurt with a passion after absorbing most of the damage his fall would have given him, but preferable to looking Bowser in the eye.
The door slid open quietly. Bowser went straight to Larry’s bed and scooped up his son in his arms, nuzzling him affectionately. “What are you doing here, Junior?”
Junior ducked away from his father’s attempts to straighten his tiny shock of red hair. “Ludwig couldn’t make me leave,” he huffed. “And Larry shouldn’t be left alone.”
“I agree.” Bowser’s voice grew even gentler. “No need for that, Larry. I imagine that position’s quite painful.”
Oh, painful didn’t even begin to describe it. Larry flopped back onto the pillows rather gracelessly.
Bowser leaned over and inspected Larry’s broken fingers, then his arm in its sling, and the assorted bandages wrapped around every other appendage. Those blood-red eyes narrowed. “I understand it was Mario who did all of this.”
“With the help of gravity and a flock of hungry crows.” Larry wished he could shove the pert response back down his throat the moment it came out. “Your Majesty,” he added quickly.
“And a Magikoopa,” Bowser rumbled dangerously. He sighed and drew his claws through his hair. The act made him look far less like a king and more like an exhausted father. “I’d always wondered when a Magikoopa would turn on us. Most were too grateful to complain when I got rid of the old laws, but they have every right to be angry. Still, turning to Mario…”
“They’ll be ditched the first chance Mario gets,” Larry said bluntly. “The Mushroom Kingdom hates our magic because they’ll never have it.” He clenched his fist. “And I recall Toads having issues when Koopas try to find a place in their society.”
Another sigh from Bowser. “First Lemmy, and now this—” He paused, horror lighting his face. “Stars. Could he have—”
“I thought the same thing, Your Majesty.” Any other words dried up on Larry’s tongue. Formality was his only shield against a breakdown. “The only way we’ll know is catching him and interrogating him.”
Bowser looked down at his son, still nestled in his arms. “If it’s true, may the Mother have mercy on him.” Because I certainly won’t, he didn’t need to add. “I officially declared war on the Mushroom Kingdom yesterday. And I’m assigning Roy to be in charge of the search for him. If we find him, we’ll find Lemmy. For now, I’ll make sure you’re as well-protected as possible in case Mario thinks he can show his face here.”
Larry’s heart sank. Roy was the obvious choice for the job of hunting Mario—sending the Grand General himself would send a reassuring message to the public. But all Larry could think about was how long he would be confined to this bed, the scars he might be left with, and the long days he would go without being able to see his older brother.
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Larry fought to keep the disappointment from his voice, offering another bow of his head.
“Come on, Junior,” Bowser said, turning and making for the door. “Daddy made sure all your favorites were made for lunch.”
As if that kind of pandering wasn’t normal. Yet Junior jumped out of his father’s arms and plopped himself on one corner of Larry’s bed. “Have it brought up here. I’m staying with Larry.” He crossed his arms, which was his way of wordlessly saying no amount of coaxing or bribery would make him back down.
Bowser knew that even better than Larry. He sighed and tousled Junior’s hair. “Fine. But no playing rough. Remember he’s hurt.” It almost sounded like something said to a pair of brothers.
“Man,” Larry sighed as soon as the door had clicked shut. “I guess that means no fist-fighting.”
Junior made to give Larry a playful shove, but thought better of it as Larry quickly extended his bandaged arms in reminder. “Why’d you look so upset when Dad said Roy’s going to be finding Mario? Don’t you dare tell him I said this, but if anyone can track down Mario and claw some information out of him, it’s Roy.”
“I know. But it means he won’t be able to see me as much.”
The prince frowned. “But I’ll be here,” he said, obviously hurt.
Larry beckoned him closer. Junior curled up in the crook of his elbow. “I know, and I’m glad. But you can’t just replace someone you love. Roy can’t replace you anymore than you can replace him.”
“He doesn’t deserve to see you,” Junior muttered into his side. “Two seconds after you wake up, he’s yelling at you. I wanted to punch him.”
As though the conversation had summoned him, the door swung open again. Roy had the decency to come in looking more than a little abashed. Junior looked up, scowling.
“What are you doing here?” Roy grunted, returning the glare.
“Comforting Larry over what happened.” Junior’s lip curled in disgust. “You know, instead of being a total Magmaargh for no reason?”
Roy recoiled as if struck. Anger quickly washed over the guilt that passed like a breeze over his face. Larry spoke before Roy could return with an equally nasty remark, but his voice came out just as affectionless as Junior’s. “What do you want?”
The curt words seemed to hurt Roy more than an insult. He stopped short of the bed, knowing a lack of invitation when he saw one. “I came to say sorry,” he said quietly.
“About time,” Junior cut in harshly.
Larry shot him a look. He wasn’t too happy with Roy right now himself, but the commentary wasn’t helping. “Can you wait outside? I think we need some privacy.”
Junior shrugged. “Whatever. Go ahead and hand out forgiveness like candy, but all that does is make your feelings worth even less to him.” He hopped off the bed and strode past Roy without another word, slamming the door behind him.
The second he was gone, Roy spat a curse. “Spoiled lizard.”
“Don’t call him that,” Larry said sharply.
“Because he’s the noble Prince of the Koopas and can do no wrong?”
“Because he’s my friend. He’d be yours too if you quit holding grudges for stuff he did years ago when he didn’t know any better. Keep this up and you’ll have to come up with another apology.”
Roy flinched at the venom in Larry’s words. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Larry asked testily. “In the past five seconds you’ve racked up at least three things to apologize for.”
“You don’t get it. Do you know how worried I was?” Roy’s voice rose. “I spent an hour searching for you. I called out a search team that tore up the forest looking for you. Luddy had to drag me home. And when they finally come back with you, you’re unconscious and half-dead and I’m not allowed to see you until you wake up.”
“None of it was my fault,” Larry objected.
“How was I supposed to know that? How was I supposed to know you hadn’t run off and done something dangerous?”
If only Larry could say that wasn’t possible. He had quite the record of adventures his siblings certainly didn’t approve of. “You know hunting has its risks,” he said as calmly as he could. “You take me because you know I can handle it. You trust me not to do stuff like that. You say you can’t protect me from everything, so I might as well be prepared.”
“I know I say that." Roy removed his sunglasses and rubbed the eyes underneath, but not before a single tear could escape. "But that was the scariest three hours of my life. Morton barely kept me in my right mind. This was different from when you go to Sparkling Waters to fight Mario. Then, I know what to expect, and I know you’ll survive and come out a stronger you.”
Roy's voice was coming out shaky now, tugging at Larry's heart. “I thought I’d lost you. I can fight. I can go to war and hold an army together. But I can’t lose you, linxyo.”
Tears pricked in the corners of Larry’s eyes. “Come here.” Roy threw his arms around Larry’s neck, holding him tight. “I didn’t want to go either. Mario would’ve come for all of you. But we know he’s here, and he’s how we’ll find Lemmy and maybe stop this war before it starts.”
“He’s mine.” The sentence came out with a long trail of smoke. “I’ll arrest him in Bowser’s name, but his death blow is mine.”
“Iggy gets Luigi if they really took Lemmy,” Larry said dryly. He pressed his nose against Roy’s shoulder. His brother smelled faintly of the lemongrass oils he used to clean his scales. “Things will be alright, now that I’m safe.”
A soft purr rumbled in Roy’s throat. “This means I’m forgiven?”
“It also means I want you to get me lunch.” Larry flicked a bit of lint at Roy. “If Kamek lets you, you can join Junior and I. Watch me beat him till he’s broke in Ravens and Aces.”
Roy chuckled and hauled himself onto the bed. “As if. You’d lose your whole fortune in a real casino.”
“Think you can do better?”
“I know so.” Roy leaned closer and went on in a conspiratorial whisper. “Listen up. Here’s what you need to know…”
It was a brutal fight back to consciousness. Lemmy nearly sank back asleep the moment his eyes fluttered open, staring into the blackness of a blindfold. As the sedative wore off, the ropes on his wrists and ankles stung with renewed passion.
This time, Lemmy was somewhere different, he was sure of it. The air smelled less like coal and bat droppings, more drafty. It was both reassuring and unnerving. Why had he been moved?
Something wickedly sharp prodded Lemmy’s foot. He gasped, feeling warm pearls of blood well up against the puncture mark.
“Good. He’s awake.” The voice was a stranger’s, silken but devoid of any true kindness. “Our guest will be here soon. Get him over to the table.”
Hesitation. “Are you sure this is safe?” Lemmy recognized this one as his kidnapper, the one who’d been so eager to kill him earlier. Just how many people were involved in this scheme?
“They abandoned this place because some little eruption buried most of it. But it won’t come down anytime soon. Koopas at least know their architecture.”
Lemmy went still. Now he had a guess as to where he was: the ruins of a guard tower just a few minutes walk south of Bowser’s Castle. The tower had been evacuated in preparation for the kind of eruption that had buried its entire bottom half almost a decade ago.
Hands yanked his blindfold away but left his gag in place. Lemmy recoiled instantly from the touch, blinking furiously in the near complete darkness that surrounded him. Cracks and gaps in the walls and roof allowed shafts of moonlight to penetrate the blackness, spilling onto a floor of rippling black stone. Three cloaked figures stood before him, faces concealed by heavy hoods and hands covered by black gloves.
Lemmy scrambled in an effort to flee, only to be grabbed by two of his captors and hauled over to an old, rusted iron table in the center of the circular chamber. Silver light poured in from a hole in the roof above. Thick manacles lay discarded at each corner.
His blood ran cold. This was no ordinary part of the tower, but the torture chamber, where the blood of defiant prisoners was the price paid for information.
The shackles produced grating sounds as they were opened. Lemmy was held in place on his back while his bonds were sliced open. The moment the ropes fell away, the sting of freezing metal replaced them, numbing his swollen scales. Once he was in place, arms and legs outstretched, his kidnappers assessed him with poorly-concealed anticipation.
Unable to control himself, Lemmy began to shake so hard the chains rattled.
“Don’t be scared,” one of the figures purred, reaching forward to stroke his shackled arm. The companion to the violent one. “Chances are you won’t be hurt. Your brother will do anything we say to spare you.”
Brother? Lemmy’s heart soared at hearing the word, then plummeted as the rest of the sentence sank in.
“Silence,” the stranger hissed. “He’s here.”
Lemmy’s breath caught. Sure enough, the sound of hurried footsteps was slowly growing louder. Heartbeats later, a wiry shadow slipped through the biggest hole in the wall.
“Lemmy?”
No. Tears sprang to Lemmy’s eyes. Stars. Please. Not him. Anyone but him.
“Stop right there,” the male snapped. “That’s close enough.”
“Damn you,” the new arrival breathed. His voice rose to a shriek and went up an octave. “Damn you all!”
The stranger chuckled. “Scream all you like, Iggy. I imagine you’ve had a stressful day.” An aggrieved sigh. “Such a shame the plan failed.”
Iggy’s feral snarl echoed through the chamber. He stepped forward, moonlight outlining every crease in his outraged expression. “You never told me you were going to kill Larry, you piece of shit. All you told me was to lie about hearing wolves, so he and Roy would go out alone.”
Larry? Lemmy’s throat filled with bile. Oh no.
Now he understood everything. He hadn’t been taken for ransom or information. This was extortion.
I’d do anything to keep you safe.
Iggy said it often—nights when Lemmy couldn’t sleep, days when he felt crushed by fear and self-loathing. The words had always been touching.
But now Lemmy knew just how high a price Iggy would pay for him, even if that meant the blood of their brother. Sweet, loyal Larry would never suspect his own family—until too late.
“What exactly were you expecting?” Mockery laced the words. “That I would invite him into my summer home and serve him tea?”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“The fact that I succeeded in enlisting your help proves that I am quite sane. I know what I’m doing, and I have another task for you.”
“Never,” Iggy spat.
Cold steel kissed Lemmy’s neck. He sucked in a breath. “Never say never,” the stranger crooned. “I had dear Lemmy brought here specifically because I knew you’d never agree unless you saw just how serious I am.”
The fire in Iggy’s eyes dimmed, making room for fear. More than anything, fear was a powerful tool.
“I’m glad I have your attention now.” The knife pulled back, just slightly, but remained hovering dangerously close. “I’m almost in awe of your brother’s luck. I was sure that would kill him, but it’s clear we need something more fast-acting.”
Iggy’s only response was a long, smoky hiss of breath.
The stranger extended a small glass vial to one of the others, who approached Iggy and held it out in one hand. Iggy stared in disbelief. “Glitter? Are you serious?”
“Perfectly. That is a crushed up salt found in the desert, and it reacts quite violently with internal fire like that of your family’s. For someone of Larry’s age, that full dose of that should act about an hour later. He will die seemingly without cause.”
Die. Lemmy fought another wave of tears as he pictured his little brother, chest still and eyes as dull as stones. Larry’s going to die.
Iggy’s lip curled, his voice dripping with contempt. “What kind of lie would you like me to tell this time?”
“No lying is necessary. I will have no hand in this. I expect you to find the right moment to poison Larry yourself.”
Dead silence. And then, a hard, flat, “No.”
The stranger tilted his head as if in amusement, but his voice was icy. “Come now. You don’t have to expose yourself to him either. You might as well have Larry die believing you loyal rather than a traitor.”
“Never!” Iggy screamed, hurling the vial at the stranger. His companions scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground.
The stranger studied Iggy closely, then shrugged. “Very well.” He signaled to the other two beside him.
Wands flew out, trained on Iggy. Before Lemmy’s eyes, the shadows thickened, slithering over the moonlit patches on the floor like vipers. Gasping, Iggy backed away, but not quickly enough. The shadows coiled around his legs, smothering the bright yellow of his scales. Iggy hissed and clawed to free himself, but to no avail.
Lemmy’s cry came out muffled. Iggy should have run. He should have reported these criminals to Bowser and let his twin die. Lemmy wasn’t worth any of this.
With slow, casual steps, the stranger walked over to the crumbling remains of a rack near the wall. He lifted something free from the mess. A mallet, with a rusted iron head the size of Lemmy’s shell.
The weapon was passed to Lemmy’s kidnapper, who took it with evident excitement. He stalked over to Lemmy and placed the mallet just an inch above his knee.
A cold, sick feeling settled in Lemmy’s stomach.
Iggy’s eyes were wide, shining with undisguised panic. “Stop. Leave him alone.”
“What a tragedy,” the stranger purred, ignoring him. “A lifelong dream crushed in one stroke. No more circus tricks for poor Lemmy, hm? How sad.”
No. Anything but that. All the training, the dreaming, made useless by these people. Lemmy thrashed, the rusted manacles scraping painfully against his wrists, but he was held tight.
“You wouldn’t.” Iggy was breathing hard, rage drowned under desperation. “You’ll ruin his life.”
“There’s a way you can spare him,” the stranger reminded him.
“The Mother will curse me. I can’t hurt my own family,” Iggy wailed. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, glowing like diamonds in the moonlight. “Just leave Larry alone. He’s not dangerous to you.”
“You know that’s not true. He’s too curious, too impulsive. He will do anything he can to destroy me if that’s what he thinks is necessary.”
Lemmy watched, utterly helpless, as the mallet was raised in a smooth arc. Strangled sobs rose in his throat. He would be a cripple, reduced to limping around with a servant’s aid for the rest of his days. Long, empty days without Larry.
“Shatter the bone,” the stranger instructed. “Make sure it will never heal.”
“Stop! I’ll do anything!” Iggy screamed.
The mallet fell.
A shriek ripped itself from Lemmy’s throat, sourced from the deepest recesses his pounding heart.
Yet the terrible blow never came. The iron head paused just above Lemmy’s knee.
The stranger’s hand was raised, a signal to his companion to stop. “Anything?” he repeated silkily.
Iggy nodded tiredly, face drained of color. “I’ll poison Larry,” he said hoarsely. “Just don’t hurt Lemmy.”
“Lemmy will remain unhurt. But be warned.” The stranger paused to toss Iggy the vial of powder. Iggy caught it and stared at it as if it were a calamity about to be unleashed upon the world. “Should you be caught, expect no help from me. You have one week to find an opportunity. I’ll no doubt hear about it when you’ve finished, and I’ll contact you afterwards.” He snapped his fingers. “Leave.”
At the waves of wands that had summoned them, the shadows retreated back to their dark corners. Iggy sank to his knees, sobbing. “Can I at least see Lemmy?”
The stranger’s laugh was cruel. “Why not? He deserves to know why his twin’s become a murderer.”
Iggy nearly tripped in his hurry to reach the table. He stumbled to the side, throwing his arms around Lemmy’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Lemmy’s hair, voice cracking like ice. “It’s not my fault. I don’t want to do any of it. But it’s all for you.”
All for me.
Even without the gag, Lemmy doubted he could have spoken. Sobs of his own filled his throat, choking him.
Notes:
Wow, I am really beating on Lemmy right now. I don't know if any of you suspected Iggy or anything. I wouldn't consider myself good at writing plot twists, but maybe that's because I'm not the one being surprised.
Hopefully you'll find out what happens next in a week!
Chapter 10: Who I'm Fighting For
Notes:
I've gotten almost a hundred more hits since my last post, guys! This kind of support means so much!
Anyway, I applaud your patience. The ending of Chapter Nine probably had you all going "Right, and they say they hate cliffhangers."
Enjoy Chapter Ten!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
True to his word, Junior spent most of the following week by Larry’s side, finding small ways to cheer him up, whether it was a hand-drawn card or a dirty joke he’d overheard the sentries telling.
Kamek and his assistants were strict about visiting hours, but they wouldn’t deny Larry the company of a friend, not to mention they could hardly kick out the heir to the throne. Ravens and Aces was their favorite way of passing the long hours—Larry won more than half the time, thanks to Roy’s tricks, but Junior never tired of the game, so a deck of cards was always kept within reach.
Larry’s siblings were twice as doting as the doctors. They catered to his every whim, bringing him his favorite blankets from his bedroom and baskets of flowers and sweets. Morton made all of Larry’s meals himself, at his little brother’s request. In spite of the pressure to find Mario, Roy somehow found time to visit at least once every day, always with a new snack or confection he’d found while out leading the search.
Of course, there were caveats to being bedridden Larry had expected.
It felt like every hour some doctor stuck his head in to make sure Larry wasn’t dead, and then sanitized each wound. Some days the healing spells used for Larry’s fractures seemed to barely help him at all, but he knew small steps were for the best. Too much magic at once was draining for the user, and if used too forcefully, the bone could set in the wrong place.
Still, his walk along the road to recovery was painstakingly slow and Larry occasionally wondered whether he would ever reach the end. He was both a pampered guest and a prisoner—anything he asked for was fetched in a matter of minutes, but actually leaving his ward was strictly forbidden. Small stretching exercises were the best he could hope for as far as working stiffness out of his muscles. And perhaps worst of all were the nasty medicines Larry had to force down with each meal. One for bone repair, one for fighting infection, a myriad of different things Kamek was adamant about him needing.
But at the end of the day, he could look at the blessings. He was alive, his family had been warned of Mario’s threat, and he had a friend to play cards with.
Larry propped his chin up on one hand and held a fan of cards with the other. Junior kneeled on the other end of the bed with his own set, facing him, a deck sitting on the sheets between them. Seated beside the prince was Wendy, texting Roy.
A glance at the clock reminded Larry of how painfully early it was. Technically he was encouraged to rest whenever he needed, but there was no falling back asleep after the doctors barged in to commence the first of the three checkups he was subjected to daily.
Privacy had become increasingly rare these days, between Kamek’s assistants and the bodyguards charged with Larry’s protection. The entire royal family had been accompanied by at least two elite guards, as Bowser had ordered until Mario was arrested.
Apparently that wasn’t enough reassurance for Roy, who’d gone and gotten Larry two extra. Now there were four total with Larry at all hours of the day: two highly-trained royal guards blocking the only window and the door from the inside, and two burly Sledge Brothers keeping watch out in the hall.
Larry studied his cards, deciding on his next move. He gingerly rubbed a scratch on his side, which was loudly protesting the recent applying of a fresh poultice. “Hmm. Got any fours?”
“Nope. None,” was Junior’s reply, his expression a little too innocent. “Go fish.”
Suspicious and rightfully so, Wendy leaned over and took a peek over Junior’s shoulder. “He has two,” she said flatly before he could bat her away.
Larry snorted, trying to smother his amusement under the weight of a disapproving look. “Hand those over, cheater.”
Junior grinned, unfazed at getting caught in the act. He held out the cards in question. “Cheating always makes the game more interesting.”
“Now you know why Kamek hates playing with you.”
“Morton likes playing with me,” Junior sniffed.
“He lets you win, you know,” Wendy told him.
Grinning, Larry accepted the cards and took the other two fours he already had in his other hand. He laid them all out on his lap where the rest of his matches were, now seven to Junior’s two. “Ha. I’ve got the most. Add another win.”
Smartphone still in hand, Wendy reached over for the pencil lying across the open pages of a small notebook. She marked another tally under her brother’s name.
Junior took a peek at the amount of wins he had and didn’t seem pleased with what he saw. “I’ll get you this next round.”
“You could use a little humiliation,” Wendy offered. “I’ll help. Deal me in, Larry.”
Wendy was thoroughly trouncing them both when Morton came in, carrying a cart full of Larry’s breakfast. Larry was so hungry he wanted to leap from his bed, only restrained when Wendy made another demand. “Any fives?”
“Dammit,” Larry grumbled, tugging the cards from his hand. Wendy promptly laid another set in front of her. He counted them and swore again.
“Go easy on them, sis.” Morton playfully nudged Wendy on his way past. His own bodyguards stopped at the door, already watching the window like a killer might vault through it at any second.
“I’m just keeping them humble. Speaking of which…” Snatching a card from Junior’s hand, she laid her last quartet in front of her, alongside seven others, and arranged them like a bandit laying out her plunder.
Junior’s pride looked very bruised indeed, looking at his solitary set. “Have Larry play you at Ravens and Aces,” he retorted. “He’ll slam you.”
“First he should eat,” Morton cut in gently, shooing the prince off the bed. Wendy climbed off next, taking the cards with her, eyes agleam at the prospect of beating her brother again.
Morton pulled back the white silk cover and placed a tray on Larry’s lap, which he proceeded to pile high with the half dozen things he’d made just for Larry that morning. Fried eggs sprinkled with pepper, hashbrowns, sausages, cinnamon muffins, buttermilk waffles, and a steaming cup of mint tea.
Wendy raised an eyebrow as she helped herself to a muffin. “Wow. Talk about a morning attack of the munchies.”
“Last one.” Morton bent to grab something on the second rack. Out into view came a piece of chocolate cake, elegantly frosted and topped with a glistening cherry.
Wendy gave it an incredulous look. “You’re insane. You agreed to this?”
“It’s not for me,” Larry corrected. He passed it to Junior, who accepted it with delight. “Told you he’d do it.”
“Nice work. Now he’s going to ask for that every morning,” Wendy muttered to Morton.
Junior gave no sign he’d heard. He scooped a chunk of the cake out with his one hand and devoured it, crumbs falling into his lap. Wendy rolled her eyes as he greedily licked the icing off his fingers.
“How about you use one of these,” Morton offered gently, handing Junior a fork.
“It’s more efficient this wa—” Junior broke off without warning, coughing as though something had gone down the wrong pipe.
Only he didn’t stop—he began to wheeze smoke, clutching his throat.
“Junior?” Brow furrowed in concern, Morton reached for the prince.
A terrible scream wrenched itself from Junior’s throat, broken up by hacking coughs. Blood dripped down his chin onto the pristine sheets. Larry recoiled, the familiar terror crashing over him, just before the prince began thrashing.
Larry’s bodyguards nearly broke down the door, believing their charge was the one who had screamed. They froze at the sight of Junior writhing on the bed, still coughing blood.
Morton seized Junior and pressed him tight against his chest, even as tiny claws raked his nose. He winced as pearls of blood welled up around the cuts. “Go get help!” he shouted at his own guards.
In a blink they were gone and back with a frantic Kamek. “Out of the way,” he barked at the guards crowding the already small room. He stopped a bit short of Morton, out of the way of Junior’s wild attacks. “Hold him steady.”
“It hurts!” Junior’s wail was drowned under another fit of wet coughs. “Make it stop!”
Eyes bright with pain, Morton did as Kamek had ordered. The effort earned himself another scratch on his cheek. Wasting no time, Kamek injected a needle into the prince’s arm.
The effect was immediate. Junior slumped in Morton’s arms, his cries reduced to agonized groans, eyelids fluttering closed. Morton loosened his grip and cradled Junior, the scratches on his nose dripping blood onto the prince’s prized bandana.
“What the hell was that?” Wendy whispered, backing away as assistants hurried in to carry Junior away on a stretcher. He was frighteningly still.
Kamek bent to examine the cake, picking up a large crumb. “He was sick immediately after eating this?” At Larry’s shaky nod, Kamek frowned. He pulled his wand out and murmured a word of command. The fluffy bits of cake seemed to disintegrate, until all that was left in his palm was a sprinkling of finely crushed powder that sparkled.
“What is that?” Morton murmured.
“Meteor salt,” Kamek said heavily, leaning against the frame of Larry’s bed as if to steady himself. “It’s not actually from meteorites—it gets its name from the way it shines like a shooting star. It only forms in extremely dry, hot, environments.” He glanced over his shoulder to give Morton an odd look. “Like Layer Cake Desert. It’s not toxic for most, but for creatures with fire, it triggers a fatal chemical reaction.”
Every pair of eyes latched onto Morton. No one dared to say what this new information could mean, but Wendy was ready to counter it.
“What are you saying?” Wendy’s voice whipped out like a lash, stinging and relentless. “Morton has never been anything but loyal to Junior. He hasn’t been to the desert in months, and even if he wanted to poison Junior, why would he have waited this long and let the poison take effect during broad daylight with multiple witnesses?”
Silence and ashamed looks greeted her statement. Wendy’s eyes, which had hardened to two chips of ice, raked the room until everyone was nodding in agreement.
“The real culprit is trying to frame him,” Larry cut in, far more gently. “Don’t worry. Junior’s going to be alright.”
Guilt pricked at Larry’s scales as he spoke the last sentence. Judging by Kamek’s guarded expression, he wasn’t comfortable with making any confirmations.
“It makes no sense,” Wendy muttered once Kamek had gone to help tend to the prince. Morton had stayed as well, though he seemed unsure whether he was welcome after his loyalty had been cast into doubt. The guards took up their previous posts, stone-faced as ever.
“It does. Even if they didn’t manage to kill Junior, it still means Mario has an accomplice here, or he got this close without being seen.” Larry rather disliked both options. His appetite ruined, he put aside the remains of his food and did his best to ignore the flecks of blood speckling parts of the sheets.
Morton noticed his ill expression and began pulling them away. “I’ll send for someone to replace these.” With the other arm, he scooped up the dishes. His fingers hesitated over the half-eaten slice of cake, as though a snake might leap from the frosting out and bite him.
“Just wait a second,” Wendy interrupted. “Did you tell anyone that the cake was for Junior?”
“I don’t think so.” Morton seemed baffled by the question. “By now people know I spend mornings cooking for Larry. I was in my own kitchen, so none of the servants could have slipped something into it when I wasn’t looking.”
“Was anyone there?” Wendy pressed, eyes narrowing in concentration.
“Nobody.” Morton paused, then frowned. “But I did step out for a second to get my recipe book from my rooms.”
“There it is. Perfect opportunity.” At Morton’s aghast face, Wendy added softly, “It wasn’t your fault. We had no idea Mario had someone working on the inside.” She sat down again, propping one leg over the other. “Come to think of it, this could be the same person who took Lemmy. Mario would never go through the trouble of sneaking in when he has someone on the inside.”
“They could be spying on our war plans, too,” Larry put in, and then wished he hadn’t as soon as he said it. He hated all the new threats and possibilities that notion unlocked.
“Anyway, back to what I was saying about the cake,” Wendy said thoughtfully. “Even if the murderer was looking to kill Junior, it would be pretty dumb to poison food being sent for Larry. They could just poison food they know for certain is going to him. Also, he is right in the infirmary, where he can get treatment really fast, not to mention the amount of witnesses. It’s a really messy kill.” She paused to think. Larry could practically hear all the gears in her head turning, puzzling out an answer.
Her head shot up a moment later. She beckoned one of her guards closer. “See if you can get Kamek in here. I know he’s busy, but I’ve got a hunch that could change everything if I’m right.”
As the soldier hurried out, Larry gave his sister a quizzical look. “You do know the heir to the throne could be, like, dying as we speak, right? Not sure this is the best time for questions.”
“Trust me.”
Larry swapped a glance with Morton, who shrugged. It didn’t seem like Wendy was going to be talked out of this. But Larry trusted her judgment enough to give her a shot at whatever she was thinking.
Kamek poked his head in a minute later, looking harassed.
“Whatever this is, I can’t fathom why you think it’s more important than Prince Junior’s treatment,” he said exasperatedly.
Wendy was entirely unfazed. She’d dealt with far crankier brothers before. “Real quick. I think Junior might not have been the target of this. It doesn’t add up.” She crossed her arms. “That meteor salt stuff. You say it reacts to our internal fire, which we have more of as we age. Would that salt work quicker for someone with more fire?”
Kamek’s irritability faded into curiosity. “The opposite, actually. Someone older would have hotter fire, which would be able to break down most of the salt too quickly for the reaction to be triggered. As more comes and is digested, however, it would eventually take effect. By then it would be too late to fight it, and the victim would die. His Highness’s fire is still quite small, however, so the reaction happened almost immediately.”
Wendy took all of this in, then turned around, her face bleak.
“What’s the—” Larry stopped. Pieces snapped together in his head. Wendy’s seemingly arbitrary questions made sense.
The killer, thinking the cake had been meant for him, had poisoned it. They had known he would eat it, and because he was older and his fire relatively large, death would come slower, and by the time it was noticed, it would be too late.
Junior hadn’t been the target. Mario was after Larry again, determined to finish what he’d started.
It was hours before one of Larry’s siblings stopped by again. Long, empty hours of watching the hands of the clock hanging above the door resume their eternal journey.
His only visitors were timid servants sent by Morton, there to replace Larry's sheets and bring him his lunch. One of Kamek’s assistants accompanied them to test the food for poison. Even after receiving confirmation that it was safe, Larry’s bodyguards glowered at the poor Goombas all through Larry’s meal. They’d scurried out in a hurry as soon as he was finished.
Wendy stopped by sometime after Larry’s midday checkup, which Kamek had been absent in, apparently occupied with Junior. Her visit was disappointingly short, and her news troubling. Fewer people were permitted to see Larry now, and visiting hours had been shortened. Even worse, Junior would be confined to his own ward for an indefinite amount of time.
The afternoon was long and lonely, and Larry spent most of it deep in dejection. Fewer visitors, no more games with Junior, and confirmation that Mario had found someone just as eager to murder the royal family—Larry wanted to curl up and forget about life. The Stars took pity on him and let him sink into a deep sleep.
The horror of a nightmare jolted Larry awake. He sat up quickly—too quickly. He winced at the fierce ache rooted deep in his collarbone.
“Larry? You alright?”
Finally, company other than bodyguards. Roy sat at Larry’s left, face etched with lines of concern. A dusty traveling cloak hung over his broad shoulders, lined with fur and fastened with a gold pin shaped like a crescent moon.
Larry realized he was staring and shook his head to clear it. “Fine. Just a dream. When did you get here?”
“Just a couple minutes ago. I didn’t want to wake you.” Roy pulled Larry into a hug and nuzzled him.
Larry buried his nose in Roy’s chest, detecting a musty but familiar odor. “You smell like coal.”
“We were in a coal mine today. We heard rumors of something lurking around there. Most of the townspeople thought it was haunted.” A sigh. “Not Mario, unfortunately. Just a colony of foxes.”
“What time is it?”
Roy glanced up at the clock above the doorframe. “Almost nine. Visiting hours are way past, but Kamek knows you spend all day without seeing me. He says I’m allowed to talk for a while after I get back. By the way, I saw these in a shop.” He tapped something crinkly with his claw. Larry looked over his shoulder to find a pile of wrapped rice balls. “I tried one. They’re really good.”
Larry reached over and unwrapped one. Herbs and spices sang on his tongue, pairing perfectly with the salty fish roe hidden in the center. “Mmm.” He leaned against Roy, devouring the snack in a few famished bites. “Wow. I need, like, twenty more of these. Thanks.”
Where he would have made a clever joke, Roy was silent. Larry looked up to find his expression solemn. “I heard what happened today with Junior,” Roy said quietly. “I left some of the rice balls for him.”
“Was he awake?”
“Yeah. He says hi, and he wishes he could see you again. His dad’s been with him all day.” Roy combed his fingers through Larry’s hair. “I’m really sorry that happened. I know it’s scary.”
Larry paused mid chewing. The delicious flavors turned bitter in his mouth. “I wish you were here with me,” he whispered.
Roy’s arm draped itself over Larry’s shoulder. “I wish that, too. Every single day.”
Larry stared at the cold white tile floor, the blank walls, wishing he was seeing his bedroom instead. Even while technically home, he felt homesick. He swallowed his mouthful and laid back against the pillows.
“What was that dream about?” Roy asked, sliding off the bed and tucking Larry in exactly as a father would.
Larry clasped his hands over his stomach, staring at the ceiling. “I was in a battle,” he said, throat suddenly dry. “With the Mushroom Kingdom. I… lost. I was captured. Only a few retreated when I ordered them to, but most tried to rescue me. They were killed or taken prisoner.”
Roy murmured something sympathetic. Reaching down, he placed Skye in Larry’s arms.
“Peach sentenced me to death.” Larry’s claws dug into the stuffed toy, wishing they were sinking into Mario’s flesh. “Mario got the honor of killing me. But just before he did, I saw a bunch of severed heads they’d put on display. Our family’s heads.” He didn’t know why all the words came out flat and steady and almost uncaring, but they did.
No, he knew why. He was tired of being afraid. Tired of being hunted in his own home.
Roy’s breath billowed at his ear, catching every now and then. Crying, Larry realized, eyes widening. He’s trying not to cry in front of me.
Trying and failing.
Pity washed over Larry. He pressed his forehead in the cavity of his brother’s neck. Arms curled around him, holding him tight.
Something hard met Larry’s cheek. He pulled back a little, finding a necklace of unpolished amethysts and onyxes untidily strung together on a thin cord. A locket charm hung in the center, the silver tarnished from years of being loved but no less eye-catching.
“You wore that today?”
“Of course.” Roy touched the uneven crystals as if their feel gave him comfort. “I’ve worn it every day since you got hurt. While I’m out, I need something that reminds me of who I’m fighting for.”
Larry’s heart swelled. He held the locket in his fingers and opened it. A folded scrap of worn paper tumbled out into his hand. Inside, in the messy scrawl of a five year old, were three words, I luv u, accompanied by a tiny and rather terrible sketch of Roy.
Stars, spelling had been a nightmarish subject for Larry, and the best he could do as far as art was a stick figure.
Larry had collected each of the little crystals himself during their march through the Seven Lands. One night when Larry couldn’t sleep, he’d gone digging around camp and prized out stones in Roy’s favorite colors. Carefully poking holes in each one with a red-hot needle had been tedious and incredibly delicate work, but it was worth the look of joy on Roy’s face when Larry had presented the necklace after the banquet and ceremony celebrating their success.
“I should really replace this,” Larry remarked, cringing for the hundredth at his poor drawing of his brother. “I made you look like a deranged cow with a shell.”
“Don’t you dare. That’s my terrible art.” Roy refolded the paper and placed it back in the locket. “Sometimes I need a little comic relief anyway, linxyo.”
Larry laughed, which was mostly drowned under a yawn. Apparently sleeping most of the afternoon wasn’t enough.
He fell asleep against Roy's chest, enveloped in the warmth of his brother's internal fire, drowning in his familiar purr.
Notes:
I figured I owed you all a sweet ending after all the dark stuff I've been throwing at you. Plus, I feel like there needs to be more of a brotherly relationship between Larry and Roy like there is with Iggy and Lemmy.
Now, because I was extra productive this week, (I've technically finished this story and now and now I'm just going back and making edits) I'll be done with Chapter Eleven as well very soon. Hopefully by Sunday. And I'm glad, because I want to start jumping into the actual story I promised in the summary.
See you in two days!
Chapter 11: The Dragon In The Treasury
Notes:
Here I am again! I've been absolutely on fire this week.
First, real quick, shoutout to the guest who keeps commenting on my chapters! You have no idea how much I look forward to hearing from you!
I'm so glad we're finally in double-digit chapters. This is where it should pick up a little more.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Two more weeks slid by, each day filled with a happiness Larry had thought would vanish with right along with Junior.
Roy, finally unable to bear the thought of Larry cooped up without his company, had gone to Bowser with Wendy and suggested they share the role of leading the hunt for Mario, leaving him free every other day.
Better yet, he’d convinced Kamek to allow Larry out of the infirmary for periods of time that grew larger after Larry proved he could be responsible. Tennis was off limits, sparring forbidden, and any other strenuous activity strictly prohibited, but Roy always had something just as fun in mind.
Some days when the pain was worse, Roy would take Larry to his suite, sit him down, and tell him about surprisingly hilarious moments while out on the field. Other times Larry was in the mood for something more social, and he and Roy would spend the day in the barracks with the guards.
Supposedly when Roy wasn’t training or busy with his family, he came here and enjoyed everything from sharing news to gambling. Ravens and Aces was the most popular game, and Larry quickly figured out where Roy had developed his various clever tactics. After a round of humiliating losses, Larry began to pick up a few tricks of his own. Prizes ranged from loose coins to trinkets to bottles of wine, which the winner usually shared with everyone anyway.
As for Junior, he overcame the effects of the poison within a couple of days and was soon complaining to his father about the boredom and the healers always sticking their heads in to check on him. On the days Roy was away, Larry went back to spending time with the prince. Kamek, guilty about having to keep Junior cooped up, refused to separate them and permitted Larry to visit whenever he pleased and stay virtually all day.
But today, Larry had a surprise planned.
A little bit of persistence had gotten Kamek to agree to allowing Junior to leave the infirmary with Larry on several conditions—their bodyguards must be there at all times, Junior had to do what Larry said for his own safety, and absolutely no adventures.
The prince had grumbled about all of the terms, but he’d agreed that it was a small price to pay in exchange for a day’s respite from nosy doctors.
After breakfast, Larry pushed his comforter aside and hauled himself out of bed. His guards flocked to him, but he waved them away. By now, he could get out of bed and stand with no assistance, but by the end of the day he usually had to recruit Morton’s help to support him on the way back. The door was already open, the two Sledge Brothers outside waiting for him. Larry greeted them with a nod as his other two guards moved in front of him, completing a square of armor and weapons with him in the center.
Larry continued up the hall, the left side of which was interspersed with doors to other wards and glass windows, but Larry was only interested in the last one.
At a glance, one could tell the ward belonged to a prince. Piles of gifts from Bowser and other well-wishers speckled the room, almost all of them already unwrapped in the messy manner of an eager child. Sumptuous fur rugs had been brought in to cover the austere tile floor. The bed’s simple white sheets and pillows had been replaced with huge red and black ones with gold brocade.
Junior lay on the bed, Kamek’s assistants gathered around him, checking everything from his reflexes to his scales. He looked ready to claw someone when Larry knocked on the glass. At the sight of him, Junior smiled wide, yanked his arm away from the doctor holding it, and ran for the door. His guards hurried to follow.
Junior leaped into Larry’s arms as if he were an angel who’d descended for the sole purpose of saving him from the healers. He craned his neck up at Larry and hissed, “I swear, another minute and I would’ve killed someone.”
“Whoa, easy there, you little barbarian.” Larry let the prince slip into the space under his arm and guided him away. “Come on, you’ve been spoiled rotten and eaten candy for breakfast for two weeks. Can’t be that bad.”
The prince rolled his eyes. He lifted a small satchel he’d grabbed on his way out. A rainbow of wrapped treats waited inside. “Speaking of candy, I made sure to bring snacks.”
Larry helped himself to a lollipop that had been poking out. “So. What were you hoping to do today?”
After days of confinement, Junior had plenty of ideas, all of which Larry had to veto instantly. Entertaining as they sounded, Kamek would barricade them both in their wards for the rest of their recovery if Larry gave permission for taking his motorcycle and riding to the nearest town, teaching Junior how to climb a tree, or pranking the rudest members of the court in creatively awful ways.
Still, Larry had already prepared something he knew Junior would enjoy. Their guards couldn’t follow, so he’d had to ask Kamek specifically. “Come on. I know a place you’ll love.”
“It better not be something boring.” Junior hurried to keep pace with Larry. He popped a peppermint into his mouth. “Kamek’s idea of a good time is showing me around the Royal Gallery and giving me a history lesson on every single king and queen.”
Larry grimaced. “Yikes. Sorry you had to go through that. No, this is way cooler. You’ll love it.” At the sound of more crinkling, he looked down to see Junior opening a small skewer of crystalized raspberries. “I think I’m obligated to tell you to not spoil your lunch.”
“Why else would I bring this stuff?” Junior looked into his satchel for a minute, scowling. “You know, Roy brought me a lot of this.”
Larry almost stopped on his way through an arched doorway leading into a vast chamber with a vaulted ceiling. “Really?”
“I know he brings you treats. He leaves them for me, too. I wake up and there’s something new in the stacks of other stuff people bring me, and there’s a note on each one. Something like, ‘I saw this and I know you like these, but I’m still going to be a stuck-up Magmaargh, so don’t get hopeful,’ or something.”
Larry snorted, but was inwardly proud of his brother’s thoughtfulness. Roy was openly and unashamedly kind and generous to those he loved, but just as transparent when he hated someone.
Still scowling, Junior fished out a bag of caramel-covered walnuts. A simple snack, but among his favorites. His face was sullen as he nibbled on each nut, as if he couldn’t stand the thought that Roy knew him so well.
Down a few floors, the gold-veined marble walls turned to modest black bricks. The lower parts of the castle had been given to functionality rather than ornamentation, which the soldier in Larry appreciated. Junior’s presence merited a few curious glances, but Larry had become a fixture, and it showed. Even the older, more disciplined guards greeted him with grins or waves on his way past.
“See you tomorrow for another game, sir?” a young soldier called over his shoulder.
Larry waved. “Of course. Better come sober this time. Roy said the winner gets an invitation to the next banquet.”
A round of excited chatter greeted this promise. Junior peered up at Larry. “Why does it feel like you know everyone?”
Larry shrugged, leaving the soldiers behind as he went around a corner. “Why get to know only a few people when there’s a whole world of them out there? Sure, you’re never going to like all of them, but you never know until you try.” As Junior seemed to consider this, Larry added quietly. “It’ll be harder for you, I’ll admit. Plenty of people will want to use your friendship to get favors.”
The prince looked a bit crestfallen at that. Maybe Larry was being a bit too cynical. He backpedaled quickly. “But if you’re sincere, and you see past someone’s rank or how much money they have, plenty of people will want to know someone like you.” He patted Junior’s shoulder as if he were a younger brother. “Like me.”
Junior beamed and pressed himself against Larry’s side. It was hard to believe that not long ago he’d found Larry as tiresome as any other courtier, regarded him as a servant to command. Forgiveness had never come easily to Larry, and yet it had been granted the moment Junior had returned, risking his life to save them from his own mistakes.
He was young and he’d been raised to expect instant obedience. What matters is that he learned he doesn’t want to rule that way.
“Aha. Here we are.” Larry opened a door that looked even plainer than the others. The room inside was large, but its notable qualities ended there. All that occupied the space were old crates, most already prised open and empty. Dust coated everything in layers. Light from the hall behind them pierced the near complete darkness inside.
Junior said nothing, but the skepticism etched into every feature got the message through well enough.
“I know it looks like a dark, sketchy, abandoned storeroom.” Larry agreed in response to the unspoken criticism. “But just wait.” He turned to the eight guards trailing them. “Wait here. We should be back in an hour. Kamek’s given us permission to be separated from you. This is something for the eyes of the royal family only.”
The guards looked reluctant, but bowed in acquiescence and arranged themselves in front of the door.
Satisfied and somewhat surprised they had agreed without protest, Larry guided Junior in and shut the door. The prince, like any child would be, was clearly interested at the prospect of being let in on a secret.
“Why is only the royal family allowed in here? Is there a secret treasury or something?”
“You’ll see,” Larry said cryptically. Junior grumbled something under his breath, and Larry turned away to hide a smile.
Larry navigated through the crates haphazardly strewn over the simple flagstone floor. “This room has been kept abandoned for a reason,” he told Junior, his gaze sweeping over the walls. “Bowser showed me and my siblings this before you were hatched. I figure he hasn’t—”
“Is it a torture chamber?”
Larry grimaced. “Fire spirits, no. Someone’s violent today.” He flashed a sly grin over his shoulder. “I kinda like it.”
Junior gave him a toothy smile in return.
Turning back to his task, Larry lifted his gaze to the walls once more. Torch brackets lined them, holding nothing but charred stubs. Now that the door had closed, the only light was the orange glow of lava slipping in through a single window.
Larry spied a particular torch bracket, at the bottom of which was a tiny, almost unnoticeable knob. Last time he’d been here, more than a decade ago, Bowser had been able to reach it easily. Larry had to drag a crate over and climb up on it. Junior watched, entranced, as Larry twisted the knob and tugged it down.
Beneath a nearby flagstone, rusted metal groaned.
“What was that?” Junior was already on all fours, feeling around the dusty floor.
Larry hopped down and shifted a lidless crate to reveal a bronze handle. His fingers closed around it, tingling with the feel of an old spell. Bowser words came back to him. “It was a precautionary lock. It was added later by someone who wanted this secret even more guarded.”
No matter your strength, you will be able to lift this door. To most it’s not only heavy, but unliftable, Bowser had said, then urged Ludwig forward. Ludwig had given the handle an experimental tug. Larry had stared in amazement as he’d watched his brother lift the flagstone above his head. The king who had this made a Magikoopa cast a spell on it. It yields to royal blood only.
Even after seeing it, it still came as a shock when the stone slab became as light as a feather in Larry’s grip, sensing his lineage. Dust sprinkled down, tickling his nose.
Before him, a flight of stairs descended into the earth.
“Whoa.” Junior breathed. His head swung from Larry to the stairs. “Where does that go? And how are you able to lift that?”
“Try it,” Larry offered, laying the stone back in place.
Junior approached the handle cautiously, as though he believed it would bite him. His curiosity outstripped his fear of the unknown. He yanked the handle, expecting it to be a challenge, and nearly fell over when the flagstone sprang up.
“It’s magic,” Larry said in answer to the disbelieving look thrown his way. “An old spell that makes it liftable for those part of the royal bloodline. It’s impossible to move for anyone else, though, even if they actually have the muscle for it.”
“That’s so cool. Do we get to explore now?” Junior didn’t wait for an answer. He bolted down the stairs, Larry just barely managing to catch the flagstone just before it crashed to the ground.
The staircase spiraled down and inwards on itself like a snail shell. Fragments of glowing crystal set into the ceiling lit the way, natural light bulbs. The passage was surprisingly large, wide enough for four of Larry standing side by side. A vaulted ceiling arched several feet over his head. It had seemed even vaster when he’d last been here, only half as tall as he was now.
At the bottom of the stairs, Junior had at least waited for him, if only to take another snack break. His eyes were still wide with excitement and wonder as he scarfed down a brownie. He ducked his head in slight embarrassment as Larry gave him a stern look, passing him another brownie as if to signify an apology.
Larry was quick to accept the peace offering. He would have done the same his first time here if Roy hadn’t been holding his hand tightly the whole time, knowing exactly what would happen if he let go.
“Why were these made?” Junior said, chewing thoughtfully.
“Oh. An old killjoy of a queen was tired of her son playing pranks on her court. So she lured the little prince down with some candy and locked him down here forever,” Larry said cheerfully. “The rats ate everything, even his bones.”
He held his composure for a few seconds, then dissolved into laughter at the sheer horror on Junior’s face. “I’m just kidding, Junior.”
An indignant huff. “I knew that. But you’d better be nice. I’m the one with the snacks, in case you forgot.” The prince stole an anxious glance at the stairs behind them. “Um. We’re not trapped down here, are we?”
“Of course not. The same spell is on all of the doors. We can lift them easily and just climb out anytime we want.”
Junior’s face flooded with relief. But a look of intrigue flew back in before Larry could smile. “You said doors. There’s more than one way in here?”
“Yep. Come on. I’ll tell you the real history behind these tunnels.” Larry led the way and added cheekily, “It doesn’t frighten little princes as much, but it’s still interesting.” He turned away in time for the hard candy Junior chucked at him to bounce off his shell. He grinned to himself.
“Long ago, like, centuries back, there was a king with three sons. He had a daughter, but the queen murdered her because she looked like a hag and the princess was super hot. Then the king fed her to a Magmaargh. Another long story. I’ll tell you some other time.” Larry cleared his throat and went on. “Anyway. The king became really paranoid after his wife went nuts. Plus, the kingdom had just gone through a famine and the commoners were pretty unhappy with the royal family at that time. So the king had these tunnels built as a place where only he and his family could hide and escape if necessary.”
Junior drew pace with him, running his hand across the dusty walls. “How far do these go?”
“All over the castle grounds. Roy went back one time without telling us because he was convinced there was a dragon hiding here. No dragon, but he came out all sorts of places, like the temple, the kitchens, the library, the barracks, the hangar, and so on.” Larry cracked another smile. “He ended up in Bowser’s own bedroom, actually, while Bowser was in it.”
Junior burst out laughing. “Wow. I wish I’d seen Dad’s face.”
“Bowser thought it was pretty hilarious too, actually.”
“So, what kind of stuff’s down here?”
“Oh, all sorts of things.”
Larry showed Junior all the places he’d seen before. There were bedrooms that hadn’t been tended to in years, full of dusty sheets and moth-eaten pillows. Shelves of dried meats and bread that had been picked apart by mice. Chambers of bunk beds where a few elite, trusted guards would be housed. Chests of armor and weapons used as a last resort if the royals had to defend themselves.
“Remember how you asked about a treasury earlier?” Larry asked Junior as he absently unwrapped a chocolate bar.
Junior looked up eagerly. He seemed to want to know every part of the tunnels there was. No doubt he would be coming back to play explorer down here.
Larry hesitated for a moment. What he was about to show Junior was known by a select few and should be kept secret more than anything else down here. Maybe he was too young for this. But it would be unkind to withhold it now, after Larry had dangled it on the end of string.
“This treasury is special,” Larry went on. “And only me, my siblings, your dad, and Kamek know about it. You’ll need to know about it when you become king.”
Junior was practically quivering with excitement. “What’s inside?”
Larry turned around a corner, guided by memory. “It looks ordinary. But each bit of treasure, down to the last jewel, is enchanted.”
“Enchanted? Like, things that make you strong or invisible or something?”
“That’s the thing. Some of it’s marked, and some of the Magikoopas who enchanted the stuff didn’t bother. For all we know, some effects might be permanent or dangerous.” Larry stopped the prince and looked him in the eye. “Look, but don’t touch. I don’t want to tell Bowser that some bracelet turned you into a frog.”
“If that happens, promise me you’ll take that bracelet and put it on Roy while he’s sleeping.”
“Ha!” Larry gave Junior a playful shove. “Absolutely not. Leave me out of your petty little prank war. Yes, I know about that too.” Another stern look. “Roy had to get new sunglasses when you used black paint on the lenses. And his prescription is a lot more expensive than you think.”
Utterly unapologetic, Junior grinned and hurried ahead of Larry. “Come on. I want to see some magic treasure.”
“Let’s be quick,” Larry called after him. He winced as his healing fractures rebelled the exertion he’d been making. “I said we’d be back in an hour. We can always come back later for a better look.”
The patter of Junior’s footsteps over dusty stone quickened into a run. Larry increased his own pace, ignoring the pain. “Come on, Junior! You’re supposed to stay with me!”
Larry thought his statement went ignored until the sound of Junior’s footsteps stopped abruptly. Turning a corner, Larry found Junior had stopped dead before the stairs that led down into the treasury. “What’s the matt—”
Sscrraappe.
Larry didn’t dare breathe.
The grating noise came again. Sscrappe. Larry could swear he heard ragged breath down there.
Junior peered down the stairs. When he met Larry’s gaze again, his eyes were wide with terror. “The door’s open,” he whispered.
Something was down there. Maybe Roy had been right about the dragon.
Sscrraaappe.
Get a hold of yourself. Larry gave himself a mental shake and put on his bravest face. “Whatever it is, it has to be small enough to fit through these tunnels, and I’m a trained soldier. I should be able to take it.” He took Junior by the shoulders and knelt so they were at eye level. “If I’m overwhelmed, promise me you’ll run. Stay behind me until we know this thing wants a fight.”
Junior trembled a little, but nodded.
Larry looked back at the stairs, logic kicking in. “How did it get inside?” he murmured. “The door is solid iron, and only Bowser and my family have keys. There’s also supposed to be a spell in place that warns Kamek if the door was opened by force.”
There was no point in puzzling it out now. They would have to capture whatever this was to find out the truth.
Signaling to Junior to be silent, Larry began his descent, his footsteps as soundless as a cat’s. He was painfully aware that he was unarmed, but to make up for his hesitation in fighting with blades, Roy had schooled him in ways to make his fists as lethal as any other weapon. His injuries were all that would put him at a disadvantage.
Larry would prefer to keep this creature alive for questioning, but he would make his first kill if it meant protecting his prince.
The door was indeed open, but unscathed. Whatever this creature was, it didn’t seem to act with the mind of an animal, using brute force. The thought chilled Larry further. Maybe this was Mario’s Magikoopa accomplice. It was possible that there were spells capable of rendering even the most complex of locks useless.
Larry reached for the spiked bracelet on his right wrist and slid it off. There, hanging from a simple cord, was a charm made of a typical alloy embossed with the image of a spiked shell. Seeing it was a small relief. Some part of him had feared his own key had been spirited away by this mysterious magic-user.
Sscrrraaapppe. Larry froze. It sounded like the intruder was rifling through the treasure. His fear was snuffed out by cold resolve. He would make this thief sorry.
Larry peered into the doorway, keeping Junior at bay with one arm. There were no glowing crystals in the chamber, blanketing it in darkness.
Except for a beam cast by a flashlight, held by a large figure shrouded by a black cloak. Their back was to Larry, as they rooted through burlap sacks of jewels and coins, miscellaneous pieces of armor, golden scepters, gem-studded crowns, and chests of assorted jewelry. They were taller than the average Magikoopa, taller even than Verion had been. Their urgency was obvious in the way they carelessly tossed aside necklaces and knocked over silver helmets.
Finally the thief paused upon opening a plain, wooden box that seemed drab compared to the riches around them. They lifted something from inside Larry squinted to make out. Clearly this person had found what they were looking for.
Very carefully, Larry edged inside, not making a sound. At least, until his elbow bumped the lid of an open chest, which shut with a thump. The figure spun around instantly, carefully holding the flashlight away from their hooded face.
Cursing his poor luck, Larry snatched up a nearby dagger with a gold hilt and an odd blade made solidly of red carnelian striped with milky white. He hoped it wasn’t magicked to shoot lightning bolts or something. “Surrender now,” Larry barked in his best commanding tone, “and drop whatever you’ve taken, and you’ll have the chance to defend yourself in a court setting—”
The thief bolted for the door without warning, dropping the box and making off with the treasure they’d found. Larry barely caught a glimpse of it, something thin and sinuous. A necklace of some sort.
A shadow appeared in the doorway. Junior, arms outstretched to bar the figure’s way. “Oh no you don’t, you—”
The prince was shoved out of the way, colliding with the wall head-first as the thief ran on.
“Junior!”
“Go!” Junior pointed down the corridor, grimacing as he clutched his left temple. “I’m fine! Catch that guy!”
Larry didn’t need to be told twice. Knife still in hand, he chased after the cloak’s folds disappearing up the stairs. Fury gave root to energy. He would not be inclined towards mercy now that Junior had been hurt, and neither would Bowser.
The thief tripped on one step, grunting as he tried to catch himself with one wrist. The glove tore, scraping the flesh raw. His cloaked back was oddly lumpy, as if he’d stashed something underneath it, but he scrambled to his feet so quickly Larry wasn’t allowed further looking.
Stumbling had cost the person dearly. Larry was just bounds away and closing the space between them with the speed of a tiger after its prey.
Fumbling in the folds of his cloak, the thief tossed something in his wake and ran on. A thick cloud of ash-gray dust rose up on impact. Larry skidded to a halt, but too late. The powder went up his nostrils, cloying and dulling his senses.
Larry’s eyelids closed against their will. He crashed to the ground, only feeling a dim shadow of pain, and then everything was dark.
Hard, unyielding impact. Pain flaring up like embers fanned to flames. Larry was wrenched from the claws of slumber, clutching his face. Warmth gushed from his nose.
“Ow!” Larry swiped at the blurred form of his attacker. His eyes refused to focus, but there was no mistaking that whoever had just punched him in the face was more than a foot shorter than him. “Get away from me, you—”
“Hey! Easy!” The shadow backed away, palms shown in a gesture for peace.
Larry blinked away the fog in his mind. He sat up and looked into a familiar pair of black eyes. “Junior…? What happened?”
“I saw you fall. I don’t know what that dust was, but I’ve been trying to wake you up for two minutes now.” Junior looked away and added apologetically, “Punching was a last resort. Your nose is bleeding like nuts, by the way.”
The bitter smell and the feel of blood clogging his nose made Larry feel sick. He blew it out, where it stained the floor. He averted his gaze before he could vomit and touched the prince’s cheek. “What about you? Are you hurt?”
“Just a bruise up here.” Junior gingerly rubbed a bump forming on the side of his head, where he’d hit the wall. “The bad guy’s gone, by the way. If there are really as many exits as you say, they could be anywhere by now.”
“They’re definitely a Magikoopa. A really powerful one. There are similar spells on all the entrances. Only royalty should be able to get in here.” Larry rose to his feet. His ribs screamed in protest, bruised by the impact. He grimaced at the prospect of the lecture he was sure to get from Kamek. “Whoever this is has some serious magic.”
Junior supported him on the way back, following Larry’s directions. They had to be late returning by now. Hopefully their guards hadn’t raised the alarm and caused a panic.
Who was that?
Notes:
Well, at least no one got murdered/attacked/extorted/poisoned this chapter, right?
And you should know right now that this is nothing. Just a warning, it WILL get darker from here. So just be careful---and don't be afraid to tell me in the comments about a ridiculously bad typo I made. ;)
I'll be back on Friday!
Chapter 12: The Harder We Try To Hold On...
Notes:
I've gotten some more lovely reviews from some people since my last post! It means a lot to get this much attention on my first story!
So, last week's ending left another mystery to think about. Again, I absolutely encourage speculation in the comments (it helps me learn how to make my plot twists more exciting!) but be aware that I won't give any early spoilers, because I hate to imagine someone stumbling across that when they wanted to be surprised.
Thank you for your patience! Expect another chapter in a couple of days, because this one's a little shorter than what I usually write. I've had another very productive week!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“His Majesty will see you now, Master Larry.”
Larry gave Bowser’s personal attendant a short nod. As the uniformed Koopa turned to lead him into Bowser’s chambers, he surreptitiously smoothed his hair and adjusted his collar. His cobalt jacket and slate-colored tie were relatively plain but formal enough. Someone of his rank didn’t request an audience with a king and show up underdressed.
Kamek had waited another week before allowing Larry to leave the infirmary for good and return to his duties—with strict instructions to take it easy for the next few days and seek the healers’ help if he pushed himself too far. By then, Junior had been released a few days ago and was already back to mischief.
All of Larry’s siblings had been present early in the morning to see him to Morton’s kitchen with a celebratory bouquet and box of his favorite coconut doughnuts. Accompanied by their guards, they’d resembled a small procession through the royal family wing. Larry ate breakfast with his family for the first time in nearly a month, had a training session with a regiment of trainees, and squeezed in a walk with Roy—sparring was still off-limits, unfortunately.
But where he’d expected to feel energized at finally having something to do, people to help… he was restless.
Bowser’s study was elegant and richly furnished, a testament to the wealth the Seven Lands had brought him. Maps covered the walls, each marked with a different subject in mind: significant trading posts, military fortresses, natural resource hotspots.
Practicality showed in the very arrangement of everything, but there was no missing the gilded frames on the walls, each filled with a different picture of Bowser’s beloved prince at varying ages.
Bowser sat behind a huge desk of lacquered hardwood, his back to a window that overlooked the northern mountains of his kingdom. Smoke betrayed the locations of both volcanoes and towns nestled between the cliffs.
Junior lounged against the armrest of a chaise, playing some handheld video game while his bodyguards looked on. He’d apparently been kept as close as possible to his father since the encounter in the secret tunnels. Larry had recounted what had happened and what little he could remember of the stolen artifact, but the thief had covered their tracks well.
An armchair had already been placed in front of the desk in preparation for Larry’s visit. Before he took his seat, he bowed as low as his still sensitive ribs would let him. “Your Majesty.”
“No need for that.” An unexpected warmth lay in Bowser’s voice. “It’s good to see you back on your feet, Larry.”
As the servant closed the door behind him, Larry sank into the chair with a sigh. “You have no idea how good it feels, Your Majesty.”
Bowser chuckled and dismissed his son’s guards. “What’s on your mind?” His eyes darkened. “Still nothing on the thief. I still can’t figure out how they entered the tunnels. It should have been impossible.”
Magic made many things possible. Larry wished he could have pinned the suspicion on the Magikoopas who’d arrived just before all of the incidents. But eight had been accounted for each time, preoccupied with Bowser or elsewhere in full view of the court. A few handsomely-paid servants in Ludwig’s employ had made sure their every movement was accounted for. As much as Larry hated to admit it, it might be time to expand his ring of suspects farther.
Shoving it out of his mind, Larry got right to the point, stating his request before Bowser could ask. “I’d like a mission, Your Majesty.”
Ruby eyes studied him curiously. “A mission? You were discharged just today.”
“I need more than my usual tasks to do,” Larry said frankly. “I’ve been cooped up for almost a month. The only reason we haven’t officially brought our forces to the border is because Mario might kill Lemmy as soon as we do. There has to be something we’ve ignored that I can do. I just need to get away for a while and be more useful than I can be here.”
“With Lemmy missing, it would be more reassuring to the court to keep you and your siblings close and well-guarded.”
“I think it would be even more reassuring to know I’m out there pulling my weight and not sitting on my ass.”
Larry slapped a hand over his mouth as soon as it was out, heat rising to his cheeks. He ducked his head, fumbling for an apology, when Bowser cracked a rare smile.
“Well put.” Bowser’s face turned thoughtful as he drew a map of the Darklands forward. His claws tapped on a line of tower symbols. “There are several fortresses in the north that can provide a significant amount of soldiers for the attack force. And you do have a point. A public appearance or even a single interview shared on the news would send a powerful message.” He nodded. “I can arrange it.”
Larry wanted to jump for joy. He managed to contain himself and bowed his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Majesty.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
Larry looked up from his lunch of spiced salmon fillets on a bed of black rice, accompanied by seared scallops. A favorite dish of his that reminded him of Sparkling Waters—Morton must have spent hours grilling each fillet to perfection. Guilt gnawed at Larry's heart as he recognized the hurt in Roy’s voice. The hurt in the eyes of the rest of his siblings. A shake of his head was all he could manage in the way of responses.
“You just barely left the infirmary. You’re back with us,” Roy persisted.
“I know. And I’m glad.” Larry took another bite. He was sorry to be rewarding their weeks of care by going away for weeks, but he wouldn’t back down. “But I need to be out there, making myself useful. You all have been busy. Meanwhile I’ve been kept perfectly safe and risked absolutely nothing.”
“No one blames you for it,” Wendy said gently, sensing his wounded pride. “You barely lived through what Mario did to you.”
“Then some traitor tried to poison you,” Roy cut in, forcefully stabbing his fork into the fish on his plate as if wishing it were Mario instead.
“And then you attacked someone in the tunnels.” Ludwig set his hand over Larry’s. “Give yourself a break, Larry. You can’t fix everything at once.”
“These past few weeks have been nothing but one big break. I’m more than ready for a mission.” Larry’s temper bubbled over as his siblings traded dubious glances. He sat up, his chair scraping. “I get that I’m your little brother. But I’m also a soldier, with a job to do. When the war starts, you can’t keep me here where I’ll be safe and comfortable. So get used to this.”
He turned and stormed out without waiting for an answer.
“Larry! Wait!”
Iggy. Larry didn’t stop. He admitted to himself that this was what he’d wanted, to have his family follow and apologize for doubting his capability. In the back of his mind he knew he’d later feel guilty for his needless unkindness, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. They’d grown too used to seeing him as something soft and breakable.
“Just hear me out, okay?”
Finally Larry halted, sighing irritably. If this went on, rumors of an argument between the royal siblings would follow him everywhere. He only hoped Iggy knew he would not easily be swayed.
Iggy laid a hand on his shoulder. Larry spared him an unfriendly glance and found himself staring. His eyes were clear and bright and his ribs now concealed once more by a healthy diet. Iggy’s visits to the infirmary had been few and far between, and Larry had feared he was sinking back into depression. But perhaps time had been all he’d needed.
“I’m going, whether you like it or not.” Larry spoke in the Old Language, as he usually did when he was having a disagreement with his siblings in public. He didn’t need to make it any easier for the court gossips.
“Note that I never said I disagreed,” Iggy said mildly in the same tongue.
Caught off guard by this answer, Larry let his brother draw him aside, away from the many pairs of eyes already staring. Iggy didn’t speak until they’d reached Larry’s rooms, where he sat Larry down on a couch. Servants had kept his entire suite pristine during his recovery. Someone had thoughtfully left a bowl of fruit on the coffee table.
Having left his meal behind, Larry helped himself to a pear. Iggy waited, arms crossed and face expectant.
Something about his calm, understanding presence made Larry spill everything on his mind.
“I’m happy to be better, I really am. But you know I hate not being useful, and I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m fifteen, and that’s old enough to make my own choices. I’ve had plenty of time to rest, and now I need to do something.” Tossing a glare up at Iggy, he added sarcastically, “Sorry I’m growing up too damn fast for you.”
Unperturbed by his hostile approach, Iggy ran a hand down Larry’s shell. “There’s no need to yell at me,” he reminded him gently. “I think you have a right to go if that’s what you want. The harder we try to hold on, the more you want to break free, linxyo.”
The use of the endearment was mollifying. Larry leaned against his brother, fingers tracing whorls over the odd feel of the pear’s skin. “I didn’t want to yell. I—”
Iggy forestalled him. “I think you did. And that’s okay. Some people never learn how to put their feelings out there.” A wry grin. “Well, you could stand to learn how to be nicer about it, but—”
“Hint taken.” Larry smiled back in spite of himself. Iggy chuckled and tousled his hair. “So… you think I should go?”
“Absolutely.” Iggy seemed to contemplate for several moments as he selected a plum from the bowl. “Would you mind if I came with you?”
Larry blinked. He’d figured he would go alone. But now that he thought about it, he hadn’t spent time with Iggy in what felt like forever. It would also be safer to have one of his siblings—and more fun.
“I’d love that,” he said softly, placing his hand over Iggy’s. “I bet the others would feel better about me going if you were with me.”
Iggy pulled Larry close with the same gentleness he’d held his brother with when they’d been much younger. A purr rose in Larry’s throat.
“I’ll talk to Bowser tonight.” Iggy lifted Larry’s chin with one finger. “Remember to talk to the others at some point. Clear up what happened back there before you go.”
Larry nodded, looking away. “I wished you’d visited me more,” he said quietly, unable to stop the words from slipping out. “You almost never came.”
In a blink, Iggy’s smile faded. He held Larry tighter, as if proving he wouldn’t make the mistake of letting go again. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make up for it.” The corners of his mouth curved upwards once more. “I know a lot of places up north. Lemmy and I like to go every spring.”
Larry looked up, faintly surprised. Iggy spoke Lemmy’s name as casually as he used to, now with a hint of wistfulness rather than sorrow. “You don’t sound as sad when you mention him.”
There, in Iggy’s eyes, that old haunted look crept in again, and Larry regretted his prying statement. But it was gone before Larry could apologize, buried under a forced smile. “Come on. Better start packing. I’d recommend bringing a coat—they actually get snow where we’re headed.”
Steaming water lapped at the confines of the black marble tub, cloudy with bath salts and speckled with rose petals. Larry grunted as he shifted and dipped his hair in. He worked shampoo in and submerged it again, careful not to get the soapsuds in his eyes. When he sat up, the strands ran down his nape and shell as smoothly as silk, water streaming from the tips.
One too many push-ups, he figured. Larry had known almost immediately after his exercise routine that he’d overexerted himself. If luck was on his side, his bodyguards hadn’t noticed his limp and this bath would ease the pain—and Kamek would be none the wiser if he came by for a surprise inspection.
When the ache in his ribs had dulled, Larry climbed out and dried himself. His hair remained sopping wet, as it would for hours until it regained its shape at its own pace. Even a hairdryer did little to speed up the process. He pulled a fur-lined bathrobe over his shoulders and stepped into a pair of slippers on his way out.
The hour was late. Most of the castle should already be asleep. Iggy, having asked Bowser for permission to accompany Larry, had turned in early in order to be well-rested for the trip. He’d advised his little brother to do the same, but Larry’s night owl habits had gotten the best of him.
In just a couple days, he and his brother would be escorted to the nearest train station. An entire train had been chartered for their use, currently being staffed and filled with luxuries befitting royalty. Their route lay along the Black Fangs, the northernmost mountain range in the kingdom, where they would stop at each of the strongholds.
Larry traipsed into the corridor, finding his bedroom door open. He was certain he’d closed it. It instantly set him on edge. He was about to call for his guards waiting in the living room when he realized, with a bit of embarrassment, they would have stopped anyone they deemed a threat.
Only a select few were allowed this close to him. And considering the time of night, there was only one person it was likely to be.
Sticking his head into the room, Larry scowled at the sight of Roy lounging on his bed as he arranged Skye against the pillows, his back to Larry. “How long have you been waiting?”
Roy’s head snapped up, Skye flopping over as his elbow bumped her flank. At least he had the decency to look abashed. “Only, like, five minutes.”
I see you’ve made yourself at home. Larry bit back the words. He glanced around the room, relieved to find that Roy had left his guards outside.
His brother catching him fresh out of a bath was one thing—total strangers was another thing entirely.
“Look, I know we hurt your feelings earlier,” Roy said quietly, hauling Larry back into the conversation.
Larry looked away. It was unfair to be so cranky with Roy. Today was supposed to be happy, the one day Larry could spend quality time without the knowledge that he would have to go back to the infirmary soon. But Larry had ignored another suggestion from Iggy and avoided his siblings the rest of the day.
When he received no answer, Roy turned and sat legs crossed, clearly unwilling to leave until he got one. Larry just sighed and nudged the door closed with one foot. “Well, I was kind of out of line, too. But if your goal here is to convince me not to go, it’s not going to happen.”
“I know. At least Iggy’s going with you.” Roy waved Larry forward, his expression almost pleading.
Larry couldn’t withhold forgiveness any longer. He climbed up on the bed and reclined against the pillows. Wordlessly, Roy grabbed a brush from the bedside table and began combing his hair.
It was a task Larry could have easily done himself, but there was something calming in Roy’s smooth, measured strokes. The ends of his hair were already drying, as wispy and unorganized as clouds.
“I was really upset earlier,” Roy went on as he worked. “It felt like I’d just barely gotten you back, and I was losing you again. You’ll be away for at least another month, and almost as soon as you get back, we’re headed to the Mushroom Kingdom.”
That soon? Then again, that timing was quite strategic. If Mario didn’t find out in time, he would be trapped in the Darklands while war raged in his own kingdom. In his haste to return, he could be caught.
“You’re not losing me,” Larry protested. Even as he said it, Iggy’s earlier words rang in the back of his mind. The harder we try to hold on, the more you want to break free. “I’m still me. And I’ll be back soon.” He reached up to clasp his fingers between Roy’s.
Maybe they would get assigned to oversee the same unit. There were three: their ground force, their airforce, and the navy. It was unlikely, though. Logically Larry would oversee the armada he’d slowly been amassing in Sparkling Waters, having knowledge of ship repair and most efficient formations. Roy, on the other hand, knew how to hold a battalion together in the toughest of ground battles.
It was only natural that Bowser would assign their tasks according to their knowledge and capability, but it gave rise to the daunting idea that it could be months of brutal combat before Larry saw his siblings’ faces again.
Roy said nothing more as he brushed Larry’s hair until the strands were silky within his fingers. Next came an oil that smelled of coconut and almonds. Larry shed his bathrobe and held still as it was applied to his scales, seeping in through the cracks and forcing out the water left behind from the bath. He’d always thought the nightly need to purge them of any bacteria-welcoming moisture was irritating, but under Roy’s touch it never felt like a chore.
Larry sighed when his brother was finished. He slid into the bathrobe once more, cast in Roy’s hulking shadow. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper earlier. But you know I hate being treated like I’m too little to handle anything.”
The mattress dipped as Roy laid down, staring up at the heavy canopy over the bed. “I’m sorry too.” His head slipped to one side. Larry saw his own face reflected in the black pools of Roy’s lenses. “Can we let this go?”
“Yes. And we should.” Larry rolled over until he was in Roy’s arms. “Don’t worry about me. Iggy will keep me safe. I think he needs to get out and do something just as much as I do.” He paused and tapped Roy on the nose. “And be nice to Junior. Keep him company.”
Roy gave a dissatisfied grunt, but Larry knew he was more grateful to Junior than he was letting on. He held something out to Larry. “I had this made for you to celebrate you leaving the infirmary. Didn’t get the chance to give it to you earlier.”
Larry beheld the bracelet in Roy’s palm in awe. Gleaming black pearls hung on a delicate cord. A sea turtle of delicately wrought gold was clearly the crowning piece. Noticing a tiny hinge on its shell, Larry flipped it open to discover a picture of a younger him perched atop Roy’s shoulders, mouth open in a laugh. A moment of joy captured in a beautiful gift.
“I love it,” Larry whispered, taking the bracelet with reverent fingers. The pearls were cool against his scales, reflecting his blue eyes. He slid the accessory onto his wrist, above his spiked iron wristband.
“I thought you could look at it and remember me while you’re gone.” Roy pressed his forehead to Larry, his chest rumbling with a purr. “Just like the necklace you gave me.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you,” Roy echoed, the words hollow. His head turned towards the pile of luggage stacked by the door. Yet he managed a smile.
“But I’ll be okay. I’ll call you every night. And I want to hear about everything when you get back.”
Notes:
(Come on, Larry! Being the youngest always looked like so much fun to me!)
I'm actually the middle child. I used to wish I'd been the youngest. Really I'm just glad I'm not the oldest---my oldest sibling was kind of the crash-test dummy for the rest of us. From them getting in trouble, we learned a great deal of wisdom: not to eat the whole box of Cheez-Its, not to download shady apps on our phones when we got them, not to leave a glass of milk sitting out all day...
But we love our siblings anyway, right?
Chapter 13: ...The More You Want To Break Free
Notes:
UUGGGHHH I HATE MONDAYS AND AO3 FRICKING UP THEIR FORMATTING THING SO I CAN'T JUST PASTE IT FROM GOOGLE DOCS ANYMORE MADE TODAY WORSE.... >:( >:( >:(
Somehow I found an editor that converts everything, but I'm still super mad. If you need cheering up, like me, enjoy this chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Two days zipped past like two hours. It seemed like Larry blinked, and then it was the morning of his departure, and servants were loading his luggage into the car that would drive him and Iggy into Coalport, the bustling trade city their train would begin its journey from.
The second he’d stepped out of the shower, he was accosted by Roy and bundled into the dressing room.
“Thousands will be there to see you off,” Roy told him, peering into his wardrobe. “You should look good.”
Nothing fancy, Larry had insisted, and yet he’d somehow been convinced into wearing a dark blue blazer with white cuffs, silver buttons, and a matching tie over a white dress shirt. He’d put his foot down when it came to jewelry—the only accessory he was interested in wearing was the bracelet Roy had given him—and hurried out the door before his brother could even think about messing around with his hair.
Larry didn’t stop for even the smallest of breakfasts, but he visited Morton’s kitchen just briefly to say goodbye to his family. Iggy was waiting, in a trim green jacket and a black scarf whose ends hung down his back. Even Junior was there, his little face pinched into the kind of tight scowl that suggested he was trying not to cry.
Larry wrapped the prince in a tight hug, guilt settling at the bottom of his stomach. When he returned, there might only be a handful of days before they marched out under Bowser’s banner.
“They’ll be alright without us,” Iggy said as they made their way outside. Larry leaned against his shoulder, grateful for the company.
Their usual guards were waiting in the front courtyard, accompanied by two dozen more soldiers in the red, gold, and black uniforms of the Royal Guard. They were only a small fraction of the huge retinue on the train, almost a hundred guards and servants. The guards escorted their charges to a sleek, black limousine waiting outside the gates, their ride to Coalport.
Larry heaved a sigh once inside the car, drawing Iggy’s attention. “I still feel bad about leaving them.”
“It’ll be nice to get away from court,” Iggy said gently. “And they’ll be okay.”
Larry ran one hand along the velvet seats. To him, it was one prying, staring crowd in exchange for another. With the threat of Mario, royal visits had been deemed too risky. News of his trip would spread quickly and attract a good deal of attention, for better or for worse.
Out of the whole royal family, Larry and Roy traveled the most, from the largest of cities to the humblest outer villages. They were insistent on at least one public appearance a month.
Larry had been four when he’d made his first visit, where the mansions of the wealthy hid the ramshackle establishments of the poor in their shadows. Where struggling families were thrown into the street and publicly beaten by their landlords simply because they hadn’t scraped together enough rent that month, all while the city guards looked the other way.
Once Larry’s family had been granted titles, their first acts had been efforts to undo the damage left by centuries of negligent rulers, who’d spent their entire lives in their castles, lavishing in comforts only they could afford.
Servants were guarded from abuse, unnecessary taxes eliminated, monopolies crushed, and the rich prevented from ensnaring the poor in debts without special licenses that were granted to very few and revoked at the first sign of trouble. Spearheading the justice system was Wendy; she worked tirelessly to hunt for the slightest proof of innocence, and when she found none, her punishments were legendary.
The drive to Coalport went by in a blur of black asphalt and the many shades of passing cars. The guards accompanied them in two cars, one ahead and one behind. Larry and Iggy were alone in the long, velvet-bedecked passenger cabin of the limousine, and Larry was glad for it. Finally, a little bit of privacy, if only for a short drive.
The road became busier as Bowser’s Castle faded to a dark, sprawling mound on the horizon at their backs. Other cars maintained a careful distance behind them, a few sticking their heads out to gape, well aware that only a handful of people could possibly afford such a vehicle and two escorts.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Larry peered out the window, a smoke-scented wind whipping his face and displacing the strands of his hair he’d loosely shaped that morning. He relished the feeling, as though it were freeing something inside of him.
By the time the silhouette of buildings came into view, Larry’s hair was quite the mess. He rolled down the window and turned to Iggy, who was rapidly sliding around the rows on a cube-shaped puzzle he'd brought. Sensing Larry's gaze, Iggy looked up and made a face like a cross between a smile and a cringe.
“Wow. Okay.” Iggy smothered a laugh under the guise of a cough. “We’d better fix that hair. Hilarious, but I don’t think you want it on the news.”
Larry held still while Iggy smoothed his hair, peering through the window as they passed Coalport’s gates.
They weren’t far enough north yet to see any snow, but the people were still clustered outside shops to absorb the warmth from steamy heater installations. A scattering of streetside vendors had set up small fires in barrels, where they grilled slabs of meat over roaring flames. Paper lanterns were strung from lampposts, their tassels waving in the breeze. City guards in red darted across the road, still hurriedly setting up fences and barriers to keep droves of people on the sidewalks at bay. Excited faces searched for Larry’s and Iggy’s, eyes widening as their limousine passed.
Larry’s gaze raked the streets, sweeping over the crowds. He was looking in the thresholds of alleys, the decrepit corners where the poor and homeless might hide. The weight in his blazer pocket became heavier as he remembered its presence.
He’d kept most of the money he was bringing along in his suitcases, but he’d wanted to keep a small sum on hand if he saw anyone in need. Coins weren’t the only things he’d brought—there were also trinkets and sweets for children who were spending their youngest years in the kind of poverty his family had before Bowser had taken them in.
No sooner had Iggy finished fixing Larry’s hair had their car halted in front of a vast building with doorless archways, maps depicting colorful lines where routes were, and stark forms of smokestacks on the rooftops. Throngs of people were packed end to end on either side of the stairs leading into the train station.
They were cheering, Larry realized as the door was opened by one of their guards. The clamor outside multiplied, some of their words now discernible.
“Lord Larry!” they chanted. “Lord Larry!”
“May the Mother bless you!”
“You honor us with your visit, sir!”
They were cheering for him.
The noise only intensified as Larry stepped out into the open. Four guards instantly went to his left and right, shooting warning glances at anyone who reached over the barred sections of fence the city guards had placed out to block overexcited locals.
Older citizens, set on tradition, went silent and conveyed their gratitude in low bows. Younger people, many of whom had been rescued from the dirty streets and given job opportunities, shouted his name as if it were that of a savior. Cameras flashed, almost blinding.
They’re cheering for me.
The guards parted to allow Iggy through to Larry’s side. An arm snaked around his shoulder.
“Plenty of royals never even came close to earning this,” Iggy murmured into his ear. “This is more than respect. It’s love. Something you can never get through ruling with fear.”
Larry had certainly had his share of times when he’d need to slap a smile on his face if only for appearances. Here, though, he’d already been accepted. And this time, his smile was unfeigned.
As glamorous as Larry’s first appearance had been to the people of Coalport, his departure was even grander. The Blue Rose, their train was called.
Even before Larry saw the inside, in his mind it had already lived up to the luxurious implications of its name. Its outside, sleek like a cat and shaped for speed and comfort for passengers at the same time, was glossy black streaked with gold. Its name was embossed on the side of the cab, alongside an intricate depiction of a rose entwined by a wreath of thorns. It waited in its own platform far apart from the others as if it were royalty among trains.
Out of all the crowds Larry had seen that day, the one waiting by the Blue Rose took the cake. Thousands will be there to see you off, Roy had said. It certainly looked like it. The flashes of cameras blinded Larry, and he resisted the urge to rub his eyes fiercely.
A reporter shoved her way through, a cameraman in tow. Larry motioned for his guards to stand down before they could disarm her. The reporter remembered to bow just before she thrust her microphone under his nose. “A few questions, if Your Lordship would permit us to ask. What brings you northwards?”
Larry’s face suddenly heated, but he schooled his face into a mask of composure. “Iggy and I are bringing soldiers back from the northern fortresses.” Miraculously, his voice came out in the even cadence he’d practiced during the last two days. “His Majesty will officially begin the attack on the Mushroom Kingdom soon after we come back.”
“Has Mario been apprehended yet, sir?”
“Not yet.” In spite of the disappointing statement, Larry allowed himself a sardonic smile. The crowd quieted slightly as they strained to hear his answer. “But that coward can stay in whatever dark hole he’s hiding in while his damn kingdom burns. He can’t hide forever. Soon he’ll be in prison awaiting death by torture, and we’ll have another land under our banner.”
The crowd roared their approval. Larry privately reveled in the sound. A foolish, arrogant part of him wished Mario were here, watching the name of his enemy being chanted by droves of people. As Larry turned to board, he grinned darkly.
He would remember this, and fight with all he had in the war. He would come home with news of victory, or not at all.
The train barely made a sound as it began to slide over the tracks. Larry remained by the door, then recklessly leaned out, anchored only by one hand’s grip on a rail, and waved.
Iggy tugged him back in before long, face burdened by a mask of disapproval, and yet his eyes sparkled. “I can see the news headline,” he said as he steered Larry towards a door at the bottom end of the boarding cabin. “Young Lord Lawrence Koopa, dashed to bits on the track as his train departed.”
“That’s a bit wordy for a headline.” Larry slid the door aside and gave his brother a nudge. He scowled. “And I would personally haunt the writers of that column if they used my full name. Blech.”
Iggy snorted with exasperation as they entered a sort of sitting room. Everything was black and gold and deep blue, the colors of the lap of luxury. “Quiet, you. I am trying to give you a lecture.”
“Luddy does it better. You look too much like you wished you’d done it with me. Roy’s like that, too.”
Larry earned a grin at that remark. In the next car was a hallway, with one door on either side.
Peeking into the left one, Larry paused to admire what he saw. The lavish bedroom was furnished with the exotic in mind. Black was less present, the blue paler. The blankets and silk that draped the bed were not stitched with the designs of roses, but hibiscus flowers. Carpets padded the floors, depicting overlapping monstera leaves. Scented candles flickered atop shelves, filling the room with the aroma of jasmine.
“Do you like it?” There was an undercurrent of nervousness in Iggy’s voice, his unending desire to please his loved ones. “I thought it’d remind you of Sparkling Waters.”
Larry swung around and threw his arms around his brother’s waist. “I love it."
Iggy’s shoulders relaxed, just slightly, at the confirmation. He returned Larry’s embrace. “Good.” He added teasingly, “You’ve got your own shower, too. But know that I’ll come knocking on your door at the crack of dawn if you use all the hot water.”
“I would make your day a complete nightmare if you did that. You sure as hell don’t want to see me with less than eight hours of sleep.”
Iggy snorted a laugh and poked him. “Point taken.” He tugged at his scarf, fanning himself. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I need to change out of this stuff and get something to eat.”
“And a nap after that.”
“You didn’t get any sleep last night, did you?”
“A lot less than eight hours,” Larry muttered.
After shedding the formal clothes, Larry began a short hunt for the dining car. It was only a few cars up and no less ornamented, with a single lacquered table and two velvet-padded chairs.
Iggy arrived barely a minute later and took the seat across from Larry just as the servants entered, arms laden with dishes covered by silver domes. Roasted duck on a bed of greens, golden, buttery bread sliced thinly, assorted cheeses and meats accompanied by crackers, and a pot of orange blossom tea.
Larry cut himself a large helping of the duck and began spreading marmalade on a slice of bread. “Where’s our first stop?” He squinted as Iggy reached for the teapot. “Hey, what’s that on your wrist?”
Iggy paused midway through his task and studied the area Larry had pointed out. The scales there were reddish and scabbed to suggest they’d bled.
“Oh, this. I was filing down on my claws the other day and it slipped.” Iggy quickly withdrew his wrist as though embarrassed. “Anyway, as for your first question, we’ll be in Carmenton the morning after tomorrow. Expect a lot more interviews.”
The name rang a bell. Carmenton was a city as large as Coalport, but its fortune had been made through tourism. Art museums, high-end boutiques, and restaurants offering exotic cuisines lined the streets, their flashy signs drawing customers in like moths to a flame as they vied for vacationers’ money. Other establishments hid in the downtown sectors, for those with more sensual tastes: bars, casinos, and brothels, the latter of which long been outlawed but tolerated by bribed judges and officials.
But no one could hide illegal activity from Wendy for long. In a single month, she’d swept through the slums, ferreting out the brains of operations, making hundreds of arrests, and cementing her reputation as a bringer of justice.
Larry added several cubes of sugar to his tea and drank. “I don’t think they’ve had a royal visit since Wendy came a few years back and found everything they didn’t want her to.” Ever since then, officials representing her came for a yearly check, and they were thorough.
“Oh, she’s a bit of a nightmare for the owners of those bars and gambling dens.” Iggy grinned as he sipped his own tea. “There’s a reason she’s known as the Phoenix.”
Phoenixes. In mythology, they were the force of balance against the kind, merciful dragons, said to descend upon the evil and deliver justice with ruthless efficiency. “It definitely suits her.”
A knowing laugh from Iggy. “I’ll say.”
With each passing day on the Blue Rose, Larry was happier for Iggy’s undemanding, unceasing love.
On the days they weren’t due to arrive anywhere, Larry would tell Iggy stories of his and Roy’s travels throughout the kingdom or play a handheld video game console Iggy had slipped into one of his suitcases. At night, after dinner, they would lie in Larry’s bedroom, calling their siblings or watching the Darklands zip by in a blur outside the window. Each morning, Iggy would wake Larry with gentle nudges and kind words, a far cry from Wendy’s habits of yanking his blankets away and holding Skye hostage.
Some days, it was Iggy who needed comfort and company. Though it had loosened its crushing grip, grief still held him. It was only a matter of how well he concealed it. He and Lemmy were one and the same with the way they handled their pain: keeping it private.
Larry had become attuned to the smallest of signs Iggy revealed, the way his practiced smile became strained, the way his fingers shook. Just a few days ago, he’d broken down entirely behind his bedroom door.
Even the name of this train reminds me of him, Iggy had sobbed as Larry had crept inside. The blue roses wanted to grow in his gardens.
Larry had stayed with him for the better part of an hour, murmuring comfort into his ear.
It was true. Lemmy had been dubbed the Rose as he grew into a handsome, compassionate leader, beloved by all—but those who knew him well knew the nickname was especially fitting. Every courtyard in Lemmy’s estate in Acorn Plains glowed with flowers of every size, shape, and color. Above all flowers, he favored the rose, admired its many varieties.
But there was one he’d yet to breed: the blue rose, a symbol of fortune, love, and rare beauty. They were a myth, claimed to be impossible to cultivate by most gardeners.
Yet Lemmy persisted, endlessly patient, educating himself in the science of flower breeding, certain there was a way no one had tried.
Soon it’ll be more than a myth, he would insist. Iggy did all he could to aid his twin, scouring libraries for the smallest bits of information and being a comforting presence when each experiment didn’t yield the hoped result.
“Rise and shine, Larry.”
There Iggy was now, already awake at this ungodly hour. Larry curled up tighter, burying his face in a pillow. “It had better be a lot later than it feels like.”
“You’d say that if it were noon. Come on. Breakfast’s ready.”
That was enough of an incentive. Morton’s cooking would always be Larry’s favorite, but the chefs on the Blue Rose knew what they were doing. “I hope they made those omelets again.”
“I made sure they did. And those cinnamon rolls you liked last time.”
At that information, Larry practically leaped out of bed. Iggy followed him into the bathroom to help him get ready.
Breakfast was as grand and affair as Iggy had promised. As Larry cut into one of the many omelets he’d selected, Larry glanced over the table and was curious at finding Iggy without the usual map or clipboard he normally brought with him during mornings. The morning meal was usually the setting for discussing matters such as their scheduled stops or what they planned on disclosing to the news reporters.
Iggy noticed Larry’s staring before long and smiled. “No interviews or speeches today. Today we have our last stop before the fortresses.” He reached across the table and laid his hand over Larry’s. “Today’s for you and me only. Not even guards. I’m giving the staff the rest of the day off once we stop.”
“No guards?” Larry echoed. “Really? What did you have to say to get them to agree to that?”
“I never said it was easy,” Iggy conceded with a grimace. He added another sausage to his plate. “But Lemmy and I come to this town every year, and it’s pretty secluded. And the locals know the area enough that they would have found Mario ages ago if he’s anywhere nearby.”
Iggy had mentioned this place before, Larry recalled. He leaned forward eagerly. “What else? What’s it called?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.” Iggy’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he sprinkled pepper onto his scrambled eggs. “It’s a surprise. We’ll be there by noon, at the latest.”
Sitting back, Larry huffed with annoyance and returned to his meal. But it was difficult to hold onto the feeling when Iggy had planned a whole day for just the two of them. No smiling for cameras, no dressing up for public appearances. This break was very much needed.
Larry spent the hours after breakfast on his bed, watching the scenery fly by. Eventually he stood up and tried to catch a peek of the town Iggy had spoken of. Tiny flakes of white fell from the sky—snow, easily mistaken for ash in a land like this.
Here winter was able to sink its claws deeper despite the springtime warmth arriving further south, and Larry was glad he’d listened to Iggy and packed a warm fur coat and boots he’d only ever needed for the few times he’d visited Frosted Glacier. He spied a cluster of shapes packed tightly together, ringed by a crown of short, snow-capped peaks. Smoke rose in delicate trails from chimneys. He pressed so close against the window that his breath left a cloudy blotch behind.
The door flew open behind Larry. He jumped and turned to find Iggy, buttoning his green, quilted jacket lined with ermine fur. A pair of gloves were jammed into the pockets.
“You must be baking in that,” Larry remarked. The train was heated at all hours of the day, keeping the northern cold at bay.
“Believe me, I am.” Iggy snatched up Larry’s coat from the hook it dangled from and tossed it at him. While Larry blundered to catch it, his scarf and gloves landed on top. “Come on. We’ll be stopping in two minutes.”
A small crowd had gathered outside the train station. Passing trains were no anomaly to the people here, Iggy had said; living in such a remote area, trains and airships were their only suppliers of necessities. But never had they seen a train like the Blue Rose, glossy and untainted by graffiti.
The murmuring increased as Larry stepped into view, shielded from the snowfall by an awning, his vibrant hair and spiked shell giant signs revealing his identity to the world. Even people this far from the castle knew royalty when they saw it. Several figures bent over in bows.
Scales prickling with self-consciousness, Larry turned back to the train platform, where Iggy was patiently brushing off the guards’ last attempts to sway him.
“We’re perfectly safe,” Larry heard him saying as he descended onto the platform. “I can take care of Larry.”
Larry’s cheeks heated, shooting Iggy a scowl that went entirely unnoticed. I can take care of myself!
He quashed the indignation as Iggy came to his side, favoring him with a smile. He walked through the arched doorway and began his descent down the steps. The throngs of people parted, seemingly enthused by the sight of him. Iggy waved on his way past, grinning in return.
In front of the station, hung between two streetlamps dusted with snow, hung a banner in bright yellow. It proudly declared Welcome to Hearthwin! in bold letters, a warm greeting to any visitors.
The display of colors didn’t end there. Houses, despite being built solidly of bricks to keep out the cold, had tiled rooftops in vibrant blues, reds, and greens. Snaking down the walls of many were vines bearing a white, five-petaled flower with a lavender center. Strings of multicolored glass bulbs hung between streetlamps, broken up by the occasional wreath of the white flowers. Front yards displayed families of snowmen, clothed in hats and scarves.
Where the neighborhood ended, a spacious marketplace began. Shops and businesses of every type were packed end to end on either side of the cobblestone road. Chalkboard signs stood outside doors, beckoning to potential customers. Windows provided a peek at the wares: steaming loaves of bread, marbled cuts of meat, jewelry, paintings, glass sculptures.
Larry peered through one window, at an incredibly lifelike clay sculpture of a hawk. Every detail was right, down to the claws, the piercing look in its eyes, and the umber hue of its feathers. It reminded Larry of the way Roy sought hawk feathers out specifically to fletch his arrows.
An arrow with one of these always hits its mark, he would say. An old superstition, but Roy liked the stories behind it.
“This place is so… peaceful,” Larry murmured. He looked to the right, where across the street, someone had set up a canvas and was painting the snowy streets.
“It’s technically spring by now, but the thaw comes much later here.” Iggy pointed down the road, where a plaza opened up. “They have a snow sculpture contest every year down there. They keep them up until they melt, which takes a while.”
The plaza was a large circle entirely covered in snow, crunching beneath Larry's boots, hiding the cobblestone beneath. Six streetlamps formed a ring around its perimeter, connected by strings of lights.
Within were at least a dozen sculptures, most as tall as Larry and much wider. Some were even dyed. A polar bear with a nose and eyes of coal, a wolf covered in soot to mimic the texture of fur, a coiled dragon carved with scales, even a shark that appeared to be leaping out of the snowbank, complete with icicles for teeth. A scattering of others were also admiring the art, while children ran about underfoot, pretending to be the creatures around them.
“How do they do that?” Larry breathed, in complete awe. With one finger he reached out to touch the wolf sculpture, but quickly pulled it back for fear of damaging it.
“There’s a lot of engineering involved, not just artistry. How to balance weight, what kind of snow works best, and so on.” Iggy stopped to study the dragon, running one claw along the thin, whiplike branches used for its whiskers. The look he donned was that of a scientist.
“Take this one. The neck, for it to be standing straight up like this, is probably reinforced with sticks. Like a spinal cord, of sorts.”
Barely listening, Larry watched the citizens wander through the plaza, absorbed in the sculptures or their companions, seemingly oblivious to his presence.
No smoking factories, overly-bright billboards, or nosy reporters. No invisible social hierarchy that had second-class citizens hanging back in the shadows, while those with more money held their heads high. Just a tight-knit community.
“It’s really nothing like a city, huh?” Iggy said as if he’d been reading Larry’s mind. His gaze slid over the surrounding buildings as if he’d lived here his whole life. “Here you’ll find an artisan for just about everything. Everyone seems to know everyone. Lemmy and I keep the taxes low and do what we can to make sure no one gets bought out by all the big companies.”
Absently, Larry nodded, thinking of the hawk sculpture. He’d make sure to go back and get it for Roy. “I’ll come with you and Lemmy more often.” He added quickly, “If you’re okay with that.”
The look Iggy gave him was all adoration and love. He bent his neck and nuzzled his little brother. “Of course I am. Lemmy would love that, too. I wish we had the time to come more often. We spend a lot of the day browsing.” Iggy lifted his head, eyes fixed somewhere to Larry’s right. “But there’s one place we always visit. Come on.”
Larry followed Iggy’s gaze to a small shop across the plaza. A cafe, if the cup of coffee depicted on the sign was any indication. Even before they reached the shelter of its saffron awning, Larry picked up the enticing scents of cinnamon, sugar, and coffee inside.
Iggy opened the door for them, their entrance punctuated by the ring of a bell. Warmth rushed in, enough that Larry had to unbutton his coat and shed his gloves. The sweet smells intensified, making his mouth water. Next to him, Iggy cursed under his breath as he removed his glasses and wiped the condensation from their lenses.
The cafe was larger than it had appeared from outside: floors of mahogany planks and walls of caulked bricks to hold in warmth, celadon tablecloths and drapes, light bulbs of yellow glass. Every head looked up from their food or newspapers to gawk at the two lords who had just walked in as casually as ordinary customers. The buzz of light conversations halted.
The young male at the counter paused in the middle of directing someone to a table, seemingly torn between serving the earlier customers and serving royalty.
An older female Koopa stuck her head out from a door labeled Employees Only and took stock of the situation. She had the look of someone who did her job and did it well, her hair tied back to keep it out of her eyes and her apron stained. She brightened at the sight of Iggy and dipped into a bow. “Ah! Good to see you again, my lord. I heard you and your brother were visiting the north.”
Iggy offered a bow in return, the respect paid to a kind host. “Couldn’t stop at Hearthwin without a visit here, Aysha.”
Something splashed in the room behind the female, followed by a string of shouts. She threw a scowl over her shoulder. “Kids!” she barked. “The sink is for washing dishes, not water fights! Master Iggy’s honored us with a visit. Behave like that in front of him, and you’ll be cleaning the bathrooms until summer!”
With an apologetic look cast in Iggy’s direction, Aysha withdrew into the kitchen.
For the sake of politeness, Iggy had managed to smother his laughter, but his shoulders quaked with barely contained amusement. “Aysha and her husband are the owners,” he told Larry once he’d regained his composure. “They’ve got five kids. The older three already work here, like Ren over there at the counter. As you just saw, Aysha knows how to keep them in line.”
“I think Wendy would like her a lot.”
Iggy grinned. One arm around Larry, he made his way over to the line, politely declining the other customers’ offers to allow him to go first.
The wait was short. Larry was pretty sure the male at the desk, Ren, hurried through the others to get to them. He seemed to visibly relax as he showed Iggy and Larry to another room farther back.
The tables were smaller and accompanied by only two chairs, each with a small vase of the white flowers Larry had seen all throughout Hearthwin. It was quieter, and more finely decorated—Larry got the impression that it was a space for couples and a kind of love far different than the brotherly kind he was familiar with.
Larry took his seat and looked out the window that overlooked their table. Another plaza lay outside, even larger than the one with the snow sculptures. This one was square, lined with benches. In the center was a fountain of ivory stone, intricately carved, its spouts still pouring despite the winter’s efforts to freeze the water. Children were gathered around the basin, tossing coins in or weaving crowns of white flowers.
At the sight of the flowers, Larry dragged his gaze back to the vase of them on the table. “How are these flowers even able to grow here?”
Iggy looked up, pulling one blossom free and pausing to sniff it. “The plant is called star clover. They say these were the Stars’ way of helping us remember they existed, since we can’t see them in the sky through all the smoke. It blooms all year. It used to grow all over the Darklands, before the Age of Fire. But it still grows in remote areas, like here.”
The Age of Fire, the unified eruption of hundreds of volcanoes that had turned a land as fertile as Acorn Plains into the Darklands. The destruction had gone on for years. The people who had survived had warred over the few resources that had remained, until Queen Reykia had brought all under her banner. Or so the tale went. Toads argued that Koopas had been doomed to live in what they considered a hellscape since the beginning of time.
Steady footsteps approached, snagging Larry’s attention. His head shot up to see a waitress.
She halted as Larry locked gazes with her, holding his stare for several moments, eyes as wide as moons. As if suddenly remembering his rank, her cheeks bloomed red as she bent into a bow so hastily she nearly stumbled.
Larry took a better look at her as she rose. Her apron was lined with stitches where it had been torn and mended. She shared Aysha’s long chestnut hair and grayish-green eyes, only this waitress averted her gaze in shyness where her mother spoke to royalty without hesitation.
“I’m here to take your orders, Your Lordships,” she said timidly, head still bent towards the notepad in her hands. She edged forward just slightly to place a pair of menus on their table.
Her eyes found Larry’s again, and she looked down, blushing furiously. Larry wondered whether she was ill.
“Chai tea for me, please. And two lemon sugar cookies.” Iggy slipped Larry a subtle wink as the waitress wrote his order down. Larry cocked his head to one side in confusion.
The variety on the menu was astonishing for such a small location. Larry skimmed through and quickly found his favorites. “I’ll have a caramel macchiato and maple-glazed doughnut.”
Taking the menus, the waitress bowed again and hurried away. As soon as she was out of earshot, Iggy whistled and grinned at Larry. “Damn, Larry. Bella’s seen her share of guys around here, but looks like someone’s finally gotten her attention.”
It took a couple seconds for the meaning to sink in. Larry could feel himself flushing exactly as the waitress had. He ducked his head in embarrassment. “Um. No, no, no. She was just shy. Besides, I’m too young for girls.”
“Fifteen is when most start dating. And you’re not too hard on the eyes, in case you haven’t noticed.” Iggy rested his chin on one hand, and added teasingly, “Court ladies aren’t hot enough for you?”
Surely royalty didn’t indulge in dating. He was supposed to marry someone else of high rank, keeping the bloodline pure. Larry was only fifteen, too young to show signs of forming a mating bond even if he were in a relationship. Feeling the pull towards a mate was lifelong, unalterable, irreplaceable, and therefore thought to be predestined by the Mother, so the practice of matchmaking was heavily frowned upon.
When it came to royalty, however, it was more tolerated—getting an heir took first priority. Larry could relax for a few more years, being below the minimum age for marriage, but he was well aware that already had a line of suitors anxiously awaiting the year he turned eighteen.
“You’re lucky, you know,” Iggy remarked, sighing through his nose. “Enjoy the three years you have left. You have no idea how many times I’ve been bugged about finding a mate.”
“She’s probably a lot older than me,” Larry muttered, grasping for anything that would make Iggy back down, grasping for anything that would explain why he couldn’t stop blushing.
“She turned fifteen in autumn.” Iggy arched one eyebrow as if to say, You’ll need a better excuse than that.
Larry didn’t answer. It was his last hope for ending the conversation. Iggy, thankfully, said no more about the subject, but a smile lingered. Trying hard not to meet his gaze, Larry stared out the window, watching the snowball war the children had waged on one another as Bella returned a few minutes later with their orders.
The hot coffee warmed him down to his toes, clearing his head, with just the right amount of cream and caramel to balance the bitterness. His maple donut was still fresh from the oven as he bit into it, melting in his mouth.
Larry finished all too quickly and sat back, watching Iggy sip his tea. “You are so taking me here again.”
A sly smile tugged at Iggy’s lips. He gave Bella’s retreating shell a sidelong glance. “To see her?”
Larry shot him a look that could have withered the flowers between them.
Notes:
Don't worry. I won't bore you with cutesy stuff for much longer. (mischievous laugh)
Chapter 14: Made His Choice
Notes:
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
I'm going to post this while I'm not on a sugar-high from all the candy and still capable rational thought.
Those of you who are still trying to figure out what Iggy's going to do, don't worry. You'll find out this chapter.
Have fun!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hours slid by in a haze. One moment Larry was awake, watching the digital alarm clock lazily blink from 2:13 a.m to 2:14 a.m, and the next he was drowning in the sweet aroma from the woven star clover bracelet he’d placed on his bedside table. If only the flowers’ beauty would last more than a few days.
He curled around Skye, dimly aware that he was purring. Suddenly he was not his silk-laden bed, but outside on streets lit by hanging lights of every color.
Snow falls gently, soft yet cold like fairies born from the clouds.
Iggy is already asleep, wanting to retire early. He and Larry have spent the day perusing shops. Larry remembered to buy the hawk sculpture he saw earlier. It’s even more stunning up close. He knows Roy will love it.
On a whim, Larry slipped back outside when the guards weren’t looking. He’s already glad he did. Hearthwin at night is a show of colored lights, dancing over the sidewalks as the wind blows. The streets are mostly deserted at this hour, but Larry is no stranger to that feeling. He breathes into the collar of his coat to warm his nose and ventures on.
Without thinking, he’s wandered to the plaza with the fountain. Snow crowns the marble rim of the basin. Larry sweeps some aside and sits. He grimaces. On second thought, standing is preferable to freezing his ass off.
“Who’s there?!”
Larry whips around at the demand. Reflexes are all that keep him from taking a snowball to the face. He steps into the pool of light beneath a streetlamp, hands outstretched in a gesture for peace. “Whoa, easy,” he says to the figure still trying to hide behind the fountain. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
A gasp of recognition. “Oh, Stars.” They sound as if they’re about to faint.
Larry considers. This voice sounds familiar, now that he thinks of it. “Let’s see your face.”
The stranger hesitates, but they know better than to disobey a royal command. They slide out of the shadows, head lowered in shame. The light reveals a ponytail of brown hair and a quilted jacket. A name rings in Larry’s memory.
Before he can address her, she sinks to her knees in an abject grovel, a few loose strands of her hair brushing the ground. “I humbly beg Your Lordship’s forgiveness for my reprehensible conduct,” she stammers. “I—I—”
“Don’t do that,” Larry interrupts, embarrassed. He risks a glance around the plaza, hoping no one is around to see. When he finds her still on the ground, he impulsively extends a hand. “Really, it’s fine. Get up.”
She seems utterly thunderstruck by this, staring at his hand like he’s offered her a gold bar instead. When she takes it and rises to her feet, she averts her eyes as protocol demands. Larry is glad—this way she can’t see the blush returning to his cheeks.
“Seriously, I’m not bothered,” he says awkwardly. “That would be my first reaction too, if I thought someone was sneaking around behind me.”
“The fact that you’re a male also complicates things,” she says frankly. Her hands fly to her mouth the moment the words are out, eyes wide.
Larry forestalls her inevitable apology, grinning in spite of the insinuation. “That’s fair. My siblings and I are always trying to make the Darklands a better place, but you can’t stop every creep out there.” When he realizes what this might imply about himself, he blushes. Larry, you idiot. “Not that I’m—I mean—I’ll go, if I’m making you uncomfortable.”
“No,” she says quickly—a little too quickly. Larry cocks his head to one side. She mirrors his blush. “I don’t think you’re going to hurt me. I can tell you’re not that kind of person.”
Then what does she think of him? Larry feels oddly self-conscious, wishing he took the time to smooth his hair before he left. Without thinking, he asks, “It’s Bella, right? That’s what Iggy said your name was.”
Bella looks even more mortified at learning that he knows her name. She bows her head. “Y-yes, Your Lordship. Bella Nikaeda.”
“Forget the bowing. I like to look people in the eye when talking to them.” Before he can stop himself, Larry adds quietly, “And you can call me Larry, by the way.”
Cautiously lifting her head, Bella regards him with a new curiosity. “You’re not how I imagined royalty.”
A bold statement. It demands boldness in return. “Underneath the spiky shell, the reality is I’m a teenager.”
“But… People who grow up with power get used to it quickly. Almost no one stands in your way. But when your brothers visit us, they treat us like equals. They wait in line with everyone else and don’t demand special treatment. You must not fit in at court.”
Now Larry understands what she means. His smile falters. “We didn’t, for a while,” he says, tone flat.
She doesn’t understand. He was raised up from nothing, and it was years before his family’s positions were truly secure, even with Bowser backing them. Larry would never abuse his power, because he knows what it is to be powerless, at the mercy of another, and he will never inflict that pain on anyone who has done nothing to deserve it.
Bella senses she’s struck a nerve. “Sorry,” she murmurs, still holding his gaze. “I didn’t mean to pry.” Not a desperate plea for a lord who can ruin her life, but a sincere apology meant to soothe him. It works.
“It’s fine.” Larry tries again to smile, hoping to move away from the subject. “So, what are you doing out at this hour?”
“Had a coffee to keep me going so I could help my mom finish up tonight.” A puff of mist as she sighs, kicking the snow beneath her boots. “There goes my sleep schedule.”
“I don’t know,” Larry mused, reaching up to brush away the snow that had accumulated on his hair. “That caramel macchiato was wicked good. Worth a bit of sleep deprivation, if you ask me.”
The joke earns him a smile. “Ren always says I put too much caramel in them.”
“No way. That was perfection.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him that next time he complains.” Bella warms her hands in her pockets, looking towards the back of her parents’ cafe to her left. “What are you doing out here?”
“I wanted to take one more look around here before we get going tomorrow morning.”
Her amusement dims. “Tomorrow?” she echoes.
Larry nods, cheeks heating in spite of the cold. Maybe Iggy was onto something earlier. Maybe it’s even mutual. As Bella looks down in silence, he slides his hands in his pockets. His gloved fingers brush something.
“Wait,” he blurts out before he can think better of it. “I want you to have this.”
He holds out the bracelet he bought in a jewelry shop earlier, with cabochon jades of milky green set into silver squares, each connected by two interlocking hooks. It was one of the more expensive things on display, but undeniably beautiful, its colors reminding him of Lemmy.
Bella only stares in shock for several moments. The light from the streetlamp dances on the surfaces of the stones. “I—I can’t accept this. It must have cost a fortune.”
“Money can only make one person so happy. No point in keeping it to myself when there’s a world of other people I can help.” Larry places it in her palm and flashes a smile. “Consider it a very late tip.”
Even as Bella smiles back, she glances at the bracelet. “Surely there’s something I can do to pay you back.”
A sweet scent flutters past Larry’s nose. Winding along the streetlamp they’re standing under is a vine of star clover, flowers bobbing in the cold breeze. “Do you know how to make flower crowns and stuff?”
She tilts her head curiously. “Everyone in Hearthwin does. We have a festival every year where we decorate the entire town with them.”
It sounds exactly like something Lemmy would love. Larry nods towards the flowers. “How about a bracelet for a bracelet?”
All shyness gone, Bella grins. She carefully picks the largest, healthiest blooms and tears off a length of vine. She brushes snow off of a neighboring bench and motions for Larry to sit.
When they’re settled, she instructs him to remove his glove. She winds the vine around one wrist, measuring the exact length needed with the concentration of someone who’s been doing this since she was little. Something in Larry quivers as their scales touch. Her eyes meet his, the same green as the jade on her bracelet, before shooting back down again.
Larry clenches his jaw, heart pounding, overflowing with emotions he doesn’t dare name, even to himself.
“Your family’s done a lot for this place,” she says softly, eyes on the knot she is tying. “Living here used to be crazy expensive. The companies that shipped us supplies could basically name their price.”
Larry fidgets with his signet ring. “I hate bullies. Making money is one thing, but thousands were suffering for it. Someone had to put a stop to them. And there was a lot more to go around once we had the Seven Lands.”
A faint smile touches Bella’s lips. “I remember one day soon after you passed those laws, my mom bought us a big pineapple fresh from Sparkling Waters. It was the first fruit I ever tasted. I thought it was the most delicious thing in the world.” She slips a flower into a hole and weaves it around the vine. “Every year, for my birthday, I always want something with pineapple in it.”
“It’s one of my favorites, too,” Larry says shyly.
A long silence settles between them, each passing second feeling slower than the last.
“Done,” Bella finally says, withdrawing her hands. Her work is flawless. The knots look strong, the flowers placed perfectly, interspersed with their arrowhead-shaped leaves. “Are you sure it’s all I can do in return?”
“Positive.” Larry admires it, the white flowers a stark contrast to the string of black pearls just beneath it.
A long silence stretches on between them, the both of them waiting and wishing for the other to be the brave one and say a few certain words.
Bella is the one to break the silence, so quiet Larry can barely hear her over the splash of the fountain. “I’d better be going. Mom really wouldn’t want me out this late.”
“Okay.” The words are hollow, tinged with disappointment.
Larry’s scales burn with embarrassment underneath his coat. He’d only just met this female. What had he been expecting? She might not even be the mate the Mother had planned for him. He was so bad at this kind of love.
A moment’s hesitation. And then, “I’ll see you again?”
The hope in Bella’s voice lifts Larry’s spirits. He rises and bows to her as a gentleman would. “Of course, Miss Nikaeda. I tend to remember people who chuck snowballs at me.”
Bella laughs, a beautiful sound that makes Larry’s breath catch. “I’m surprised it missed. I’ve got four brothers. I’ve had my share of snowball fights.” She stands and brushes the snow from her coat. She tosses one last grin over her shoulder. “I sure hope my mom’s not still awake, or I’m dead meat.”
Larry has broken bones, bled, and carried the duties of a lord since he was five, all in service of his kingdom—but nothing is harder than turning around and hearing her walk away.
“Larry.” A gentle shake. Larry blinked blearily.
Longing rushed in as he was pulled from the memory. With war on the horizon, there was no telling when—or if—he would be able to see Bella again.
“Larry.”
“Go away, Iggy,” Larry muttered into his pillow. “It’s too early.”
“It is early,” Iggy conceded. Larry lifted his head, which suddenly felt as heavy as a brick. “But there’s something really special I can only show you in the morning.”
Larry weighed the consequences. His curiosity won out—Iggy had yet to disappoint him when it came to surprises. His vision refused to clear as Iggy helped him into a coat, his bedroom nothing but a shadowy blur. With nothing but a flashlight, Iggy led him outside.
The sky was still dark, snow falling in the same slow flurries it had last night. It couldn’t be later than four in the morning. Larry walked unsteadily over snow-dusted rock, almost tripping more than once. Iggy urged him on, promising a moment he wouldn’t forget.
“Iggy?” Larry yawned, still fighting sleepiness. “You okay? You sound kind of funny. Your voice sounds kinda weird.”
A dry cough. “Yeah. I might have caught a little cold or something. I’ll be alright.”
“You… know your way around here, right?” These mountains were a bad place to get lost.
“Of course. We’re almost there.”
Even so, minutes went on, Iggy refusing to offer any explanation. Rivers of lava snaked over the earth, alongside the occasional charred remains of a tree. The dove-gray clouds above their heads grew darker, a sure sign that more snow was on the way.
Larry was about to stop and demand a proper explanation when Iggy finally said, “We’re here.”
Shaking off his lingering fatigue, Larry surveyed his surroundings with confusion.
Below, the ground fell away sharply to form a quarry. Steps carved into the rock formed a staircase down. Mineshaft entrances were scattered around at the bottom, minecart tracks leading inside. Where the cliffs on all sides would have been even, a mound of rock scored with ripples broke formation, oozing into the interior. Larry glimpsed a flash of something sharp and blackened embedded in the rock, jutting up like spikes.
“This place was one of the kingdom’s most lucrative diamond mines,” Iggy said, voice oddly flat. All of his earlier enthusiasm was gone. “It seemed like they’d never run dry. Then, about thirty years ago, they pushed the cliffs a bit too far back. Lava buried an entire mineshaft full of workers alive and anyone else who got trapped in the rockslide.”
Iggy pointed to the sharp objects in the mass of cooled lava. Bones, Larry realized with a rush of horror.
“Their greed blinded them to the consequences. They acted without taking precaution.”
Larry could almost hear the screams of those buried in the mineshaft. Nausea rose in his stomach. “Why’d you take me here?”
No answer. At the end of his patience, Larry looked up, opening his mouth to shout, and just stopped.
Tears were streaming down Iggy’s cheeks, his unsteady breath billowing in a cloud around his nose.
“I’m so sorry, Larry.”
“Iggy, it’s alright, I’m just a little confus—” The words died in Larry’s throat as shadows appeared into view, seemingly materializing out of the dark stone. Black cloaks and hoods. Silver wands.
“Interesting story, your brother told you,” one of them said. Their upright posture and self-satisfied tone was unforgettable. “Don’t you think?”
“You’re a long way from Bowser’s Castle, Verion,” Larry said coldly.
The figure pulled back their hood, revealing a familiar face. Verion was smiling, unperturbed at the fact that he’d been so easily recognized.
“What are you doing here?”
Verion ignored the question. “The incident with the quarry reminds me of your family’s laws concerning my kind. They saw something valuable, something they thought could be taken easily and controlled. So they took it.” A cruel smile. “But they forgot to be careful. Assumed all wrongs would be mended if they simply freed us and pretended to be sorry. They forgot that we are a force of our own, and we are capable of fighting back.”
The words were steeped in deep bitterness from a personal experience. In spite of himself, Larry felt his scales heat with guilt. “What the royal family did was inexcusable. The people who allowed that to happen will have no place in Star Road.”
“Do you think that’s enough?” A harsh laugh. There was utter hatred in Verion’s gaze, and yet he kept smiling. “Your king invited me to his castle out of the same greed. He may not use quite the same methods, but we both know he’s my overlord, and I’m obligated to obey. You still haven’t changed.”
“Bowser invited you because he wants your help to protect the kingdom,” Larry hissed, temper slipping free from its leash. “Would you rather let us lose against the Mushroom Kingdom?”
“He wants my magic. He kept me in meetings all day, figuring out how he could use it even after the war was over.” Verion shook his head, his smile finally morphing into a look of disgust. “You only see your side. For two centuries Magikoopas were bound like slaves. Valuable, but slaves nonetheless. We were gifted by the Mother. We deserve to rule over you.”
Pausing, he spared Iggy a nod, grinning once more. His next words sounded almost conversational.
“I knew you would break eventually. You’ve been so very helpful in delivering Larry to me.”
Larry's heart seized, his very blood turning to ice.
Would you mind if I came with you?
I’d love that.
…was this all a lie?
When he could finally move, Larry rounded on Iggy, not believing his ears. “You—you—”
While Larry was still fumbling for words, Iggy met his gaze. Those eyes were dull, resigned—broken, just as Verion had said. He turned his back.
“Do it,” he said flatly. Not at all the vehement denial Larry had been praying for. “I don’t want to see.”
That was it.
Claws dug into his arm. A nasty chuckle. "You might as well give in."
All of Larry’s pain, his shock, a whirlwind of emotions he could barely discern, all morphed into one: rage.
A true soldier never give in.
Larry rounded on the nearest Magikoopa and slammed his fist into her cheek, sending her head snapping back. He threw himself at his attackers, consumed by bloodlust, by sickening glee at the thought of ripping his enemies to shreds.
But Larry was hopelessly outnumbered. His attacks began bouncing harmlessly off magic shields. A knife grazed Larry’s shoulder. He twisted to release a plume of fire and was rewarded by a scream.
He knew turning was a mistake even before he glimpsed Verion lift his wand. Scarlet magic slammed into him, a wave of sheer agony that forced him to his knees, ripped a shriek past his lips.
Verion sidled up to Iggy, tossing his subordinates an impatient glance over his shoulder. “Finish this already.”
All the while, Iggy stood there, as still as stone, refusing to look, seemingly deaf to Larry’s cries.
“Iggy! What are you doing?!” Larry screamed at him, hating the tears he could feel in the corners of his eyes. “I’m your brother!”
Hands closed around him, threatening to drag him away. Larry twisted until his back groaned and lashed out with his legs, teeth, anything he could still move. Steel flashed. It was the only warning he got before blinding pain tore through his shoulder. Scarlet splattered in the corner of his eye, oozing down his arm. Another scream tore itself from his throat.
The pain gave root to rage once more, even more blinding than before.
“Fuck you!” Larry roared—not at Verion, but at Iggy.
If he was going out like this, Iggy deserved to hear it. He deserved to know how much Larry hated him in his last moments.
“I hope you die!”
Iggy cringed as if struck. Just once, he glanced back. Larry saw his own agony reflected tenfold on that tearstained face.
And yet, his brother stayed rooted to the spot.
He’s made his choice.
A heavy blow smashed into Larry’s skull, and all was dark.
The quiet hours after dinner was Bowser’s favorite part of the day.
It went without saying that he would hear no more from petitioners or councilors until tomorrow morning. Those hours were just for him and his son, no one else.
The whole of the massive bedroom was cast in shadow, save for a lamp on the bedside table. Bowser lay on his bed, Junior sprawled at his side. These days Junior slept with his father, less for his reassurance and more for Bowser’s. Their rooms were already very close, even adjoined by a hidden passage in case of emergencies, but Bowser would take no chances when Mario’s accomplice could be anyone and anywhere.
“The Queen had three days to prepare for the battle,” Bowser read, flipping a page. “Her soldiers were fewer, but they’d been trained by every cruelty and hardship the world had to offer. They had families to protect.”
Junior was no longer satisfied with fairy tales, instead demanding to hear records of famous battles. Bowser had been reluctant at first, but Ludwig had advised him to agree. A prince should know about the history of the kingdom he would inherit—especially the bloody parts, and there were many.
“Queen Reykia fought hardest of all against the House of Tydama, the clan that had killed her siblings,” Bowser went on. One the page was a depiction of two warring sides charging each other, two separate crests flying proudly from banners.
Junior’s head snapped up eagerly. The ending was one of his favorite parts. “She won, and she tortured Lord Tydama for ten whole days. Each of her soldiers got three blows. Then she made daggers out of his bones, and mounted his skull on her throne.”
Bowser flinched a little as he flipped the page. There really didn’t need to be an image of that event attached to an already grisly paragraph.
This was one of Junior’s favorites, the inspiring yet quite graphic tale of how Queen Reykia had risen to power. Bowser leafed through the remaining pages, the part of the story he never read to his son. His frown deepened.
Even after the queen had succeeded, she'd had to fight tooth and claw to keep her throne safe from scheming courtiers and their plots. Had to marry her own children to other kingdoms in order to form badly-needed alliances. Had to watch her husband succumb to a deadly fever the fifth year into her reign.
Every time Bowser read that part to himself, he felt hollow with the knowledge that his beloved son would one day have to fight a similar battle. Some days, these secluded hours were all he had to look forward to after a long day. Some days, he didn’t want to face his court at all. Between Lemmy’s kidnapping and the attempts on Larry’s life and, most recently, Verion’s disappearance a week ago, Bowser felt crushed.
A king was supposed to be powerful, but there were many things beyond his control, and others suffered for it.
Trying to take his mind elsewhere, Bowser looked down, where Junior had brought out his crayons and was drawing something. “What do you have there?”
Junior held up the paper proudly. On it was a messy but recognizable sketch of him and the Koopalings fighting side by side against Mario and Luigi. Bowser wasn’t sure whether to be disturbed or darkly amused by the copious blood trails pouring out of the stick figures in red and green.
“I want to go to war, too,” Junior announced, as if the drawing was proof of his fighting prowess.
This wasn’t the first time he’d stated this. Bowser pulled him close and planted a kiss on his head. “I know. But you’re too young. It’s not safe. I’ll be staying behind with you, you know.”
“Larry was five when he went out to conquer the Seven Lands,” Junior said stubbornly, ducking away from his father’s hands. “And he’s taught me plenty of stuff.”
“Not enough,” Bowser said gently.
His son huffed and began to sulk. Someday he would learn that war was a lot more than victory and glory. There was loss and thousands of casualties.
But Junior was young. More than anything, Bowser wanted him to have a childhood, enjoy these years before he would have to grow up for the sake of the kingdom that would one day rest upon his shoulders.
Junior’s sulking didn’t last. He yawned, curling up like a kitten, his drawing clutched to his chest. Bowser carefully lifted him onto his chest and pulled the blankets over them. Head resting in the crook of his father’s neck, Junior’s eyelids drooped until they closed. A rumbling purr began to pulsate through Bowser’s chest.
A muffled shout pierced the thick door.
Bowser lifted his gaze to it, the purr morphing into a growl. What were his guards doing out there? The shouting increased, and then the door was thrown open, slamming against the wall. Awakened, Junior gasped and threw his arms around his Bowser’s neck, eyes wide with terror.
Bowser clutched his son, fire rising in his throat, ready to scorch the intruder who dared come after his son. Just when he was ready to release it, his regent came pushing his way through the guards. “Ludwig?”
“Your Majesty.” Ludwig stumbled into a bow, breathing hard as though he’d run all the way here. It was a shock to see him, collected no matter the issue, so disheveled. “Forgive my interruption.”
“What is it?” Bowser demanded. He should have relaxed now that he knew he wasn’t under attack, but Ludwig would never even consider barging into his king’s rooms unless they had a real emergency on their hands.
“The sentries found a messenger raven. Larry’s been taken.” Ludwig lifted his head, eyes wide with panic. “By Verion. He signed it himself.”
A hush fell over the room. Ludwig hesitantly approached and placed a rolled-up parchment before his king. Claws of terror gripped Bowser’s heart as he nearly ripped it in his haste to open it.
It’s really quite shocking how truly you believed I was loyal to your family, after what you did to Magikoopas. Royalty seems to assume that when they want something, it’s instantly theirs. Even forgiveness. Your line has grown greedy and reckless. The enslavement of Magikoopas is only one of many horrors the royal family has committed and covered up.
It’s time for a new dynasty. Magikoopas’ power is their own, and it is proof of our superiority. Of course, I don’t expect you to relinquish your throne willingly. The morning after tomorrow you will meet me in the abandoned guard tower south of your castle. If you need convincing, attached to this raven is proof that I have two people I know you would hate to see dead.
Don’t try attacking the tower before our meeting. I won’t be there, but I will know and your pathetically loyal slaves will pay the price.
—Verion
Bowser’s claws dug into the paper. A feral snarl escaped his throat. No. He couldn’t have harbored a damn traitor all these weeks.
“Where’s the raven?” he barked when he could finally form words.
Flinching a little, Ludwig turned to beckon someone forward. The royal guards parted to allow another soldier to enter. In her arms was a cage, which she set down a few paces from Bowser’s bed.
Bowser pushed the covers aside and set Junior down, unable to take his eyes off of the form of a large bird perched inside the cage.
A messenger raven. They hadn’t been used in centuries, discarded in favor of faster Paratroopas and, in cases of classified letters, teleportation spells. Another jab of Verion’s.
The raven didn’t move, didn’t blink as Bowser threw open the door so hard it nearly upended the cage.
Hanging by a string around the bird's neck were two signet rings, one silver and the other gold. Both were centered with the spiked shell signifying Koopa royalty. The gold one was accompanied by twining roses and a dove while the silver bore impressions of two circling dolphins and an anchor.
No. Not them.
Anyone but them.
Bowser tore the rings away and glared daggers at the raven. It stared back through intelligent eyes. Larry and Lemmy were not family by blood, but Bowser had raised them and loved them in his own way, and he hadn’t regretted it once since that fateful stormy day.
What about Iggy? He was with Larry. Surely Verion would want him as another hostage.
Unless he died trying to save his brothers.
At that thought, Bowser’s self-control unraveled. An inferno built in his throat until he could contain it no longer.
He breathed a plume of his hottest fire at the cage, wishing it were Verion himself inside. Ludwig scrambled back, face cast in the flames’ orange glow.
For once, Bowser hardly cared about showing his temper so openly. All he could see was the smirking face of the Magikoopa who had tricked him, dared to threaten Larry and Lemmy.
When Bowser finally stopped, the cage had begun to sag, the iron heated nearly to the point of caving in on itself. Where the raven had been moments ago, there was only a small heap of ash. The guards hurried forward to stamp out the embers still smoldering on the carpet around it.
Ignoring them, Bowser rounded on Ludwig. “Spread the word that Verion is a traitor. He is to be killed on sight if seen for conspiring with Mario. Rally as many soldiers as you can.”
“But—Your Majesty,” Ludwig stammered. “Verion stated clearly that he would hurt Larry and Lemmy if—”
“If we attack early,” Bowser interrupted. “There’s nothing about bringing a concealed force with us when we go. If he wants to play dirty, he’ll find we’re up for it.” He took Ludwig by the shoulders. “Get yourself in order, Ludwig. This isn’t the soldier I made my regent.”
A mask of iron slid back over Ludwig’s face. The look of the leader Bowser knew. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
As Ludwig strode out, Bowser felt a small hand take his. He looked down to find Junior, cheeks shiny with tears. Bowser knelt and wrapped his arms around his son. “It’s okay, Junior. We’re going to rescue them.”
Junior sniffled and wiped his eyes as his father nuzzled him. “I never trusted those bastards. And now they’re going to kill Larry and Lemmy.”
Where Bowser normally would have rebuked Junior for cursing, he found himself snarling, “No. They won’t. We’re going to save them.”
If they didn’t, Bowser would never forgive himself.
Notes:
*Crosses fingers that no one will explode at me for my pitiful attempt at romancing*
Oh yeah, plus the fact that Iggy just straight-up betrayed Larry. :( Tell me in the comments whether you saw that one coming.
And just in case anyone's kind of confused by the beginning of this chapter: yes, that scene with Bella was real. In this story, present tense format and italics means thought, a dream., or memory.
See you next week!
Chapter 15: Magic For The Price Of Blood
Notes:
This chapter has been burning a hole in my pocket ever since I left you all on that super depressing note last time.
Not to say this one's ending is going to be any better. (Iggy I'm so sorry I made you do all this crap)
Let's see what Larry has to say about it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first thing Larry’s addled, throbbing brain detected was the dust. It coated his throat, burrowed in between his scales. The vain part of him wanted nothing more than to jump into a river and let the grime slide off.
Then the pain in Larry’s skull and shoulder set in, pulsating sickeningly. He let out a low moan. Maybe being dirty was the least of his concerns right now. His eyes fluttered open, dry and stinging.
Flickering light from somewhere close allowed him to make out a stone ceiling, fortified by wooden beams. He must be inside the one of the mineshafts he’d seen earlier. The walls and floors were rough but refined enough to suggest that this wasn’t part of the main shaft, but perhaps a small storage room.
Something wet was being dabbed into Larry’s shoulder wound, which had stiffened. Whatever it was, it was cooling the pain. He turned his head, and came face to face with his brother.
All Larry could do was stare for a long second. He would have thought Iggy had come to save him, but he’d made his new allegiance clear enough. Larry sat up and pulled away from Iggy’s ointment-covered fingers. “You,” he snarled. “Get the hell away from me.”
Iggy flinched, nearly knocking over the lantern beside him. He reached over once more “I know you’re mad. Just hear me ou—”
One moment, Iggy was speaking, and the next, his head was snapping to one side, a red blotch in the vague shape of a handprint blooming over his cheek.
Larry stopped to regard his own hand, stinging from the force he’d put behind the blow. I just slapped him. His first instinct was guilt, which he crushed. He would have let me die.
Iggy’s eyes went wide with shock as he felt the area, then, bright with agony. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, linxyo—”
Larry cut him off with a snarl that had his much taller brother cowering. “You’ve lost the right to call me that. And mad doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel towards you right now.”
At least this time Iggy had the sense to back away. He glanced back into a small basket beside him. Herbs in varying sizes and colors were stacked in neat bundles inside. “At least let me finish treating you. You’re hurt.”
“Thanks to you,” Larry spat, reaching out to slap his brother again, only to find his hand could go no farther. He looked down, finding both wrists reined in by shackles bolted to the floor. Strangely, the cuffs were forged from copper rather than iron, filling the spot his spiked bracelets usually were.
“Those are enchanted to bind your fire,” Iggy said quietly, tapping them. “They’re made of copper because they can’t enchant iron. Verion’s slowly been perfecting the spell.”
Wrenching his hands away, Larry inhaled, stoking the embers in his chest. And yet, when he tried to summon them, his throat constricted against his will. A crackle of red magic ran along the chains. Dammit.
Larry spent several heartbeats wheezing smoke, and then shot a glare at Iggy. “Don’t you dare say you told me so.”
Iggy only sighed. “He has Lemmy,” he said dismally.
Larry glanced at the thick wooden door on the other end of the room. “Mario does?”
“No. Verion does. He’s the only one behind everything that’s been happening.” Iggy began wringing his hands, inadvertently rubbing the herbal paste into his own scales. “Mario was never here at all, Larry. Two of Verion’s friends went ahead, took Lemmy, and have kept him here all this time. That illusion magic Kamek mentioned? Verion used it to disguise himself. He was the one who attacked you on that hunt while one of the others cast the magic fog that took you far away from Roy. The whole search for Mario was a waste of time.”
Larry’s mouth fell open in disbelief. He shoved it aside, lip curling in disgust. “How long have you known?”
He already thought he knew, and yet it still hurt when Iggy answered, unable to meet his eyes. “Over a month.”
Larry was seconds away from scoring his claws across Iggy’s cheek when a key slid into a lock from behind the door. The door swung open, its rusty hinges producing a grating noise. And in the doorway…
One look, and Larry was on his feet and lunging for Verion’s smug face. The chains stretched to their limit, and he stumbled, nearly falling on his face. He ground his teeth together as two of Verion’s followers chuckled.
“I’m afraid those aren’t long enough for you to stand straight,” Verion said with amusement he didn’t bother hiding. He studied his claws, smiling slyly. “I suppose you’ll just have to kneel.”
More laughter. Larry snarled and yanked on the chains until his wrists ached, calling on his fire again, only to wind up coughing once more. Damn that enchantment.
“I assume you’ve figured out why I’ve let you live,” Verion mused, watching him hack up smoke.
“You might as well kill me. Bowser will never abdicate for me or for Lemmy.” A lie, and they both knew it.
Verion sauntered inside, carefully staying outside of Larry’s reach. He circled Iggy, who lowered his head in defeat. “I don’t know. Your brother here did things you wouldn’t believe in order to spare Lemmy. At that tedious party Bowser threw, I told Iggy I had his twin. You should have seen how compliant he suddenly was.” False pity crept into Verion’s voice. “In the end, he just didn’t love you enough, Larry.”
The words sparked a blaze in Iggy’s eyes. He stood and rounded on Verion. “You’re wrong,” he screamed. Even Larry backed away at that tone. “You have no idea what you’ve put me through!”
Unfazed, Verion shrugged and changed the subject. “Considering how Larry mentioned Lemmy, I figure you’ve been telling him about our plans. Funny, isn’t it, how all this time, he’s been tricked into chasing someone who was never here?” Again, that nasty smile. “Have you been kind enough to share how you’ve made yourself busy lately?”
Iggy froze, his anger doused. “Please don’t tell him.” His voice was now reduced to a whisper. “Please.”
“Say it,” Larry snapped at him. He added spitefully, “Whatever it is, it can’t make me think any less of you.”
Iggy winced, and reached up to feel the spot where he’d been struck. He drew a shuddering breath. “I lied to you and Roy. There were no wolves. It was only an excuse to get you outside.”
Larry had a strange moment of vertigo, like falling underwater, a cold, unforgiving world.
“You let us go out alone, knowing he was going to kill me?!” Larry’s voice cracked. There was no anger left in him. It had drowned in pain.
“I swear I didn’t!” Iggy was sobbing now. “I only found out later. I couldn’t bear to see you after. I wanted to tell you, but I was being watched at all times, and Lemmy would die if I got caught. And then—” He just stopped and clutched his temples, as if choking on the sentence.
“Then, I gave him orders to poison you himself,” Verion finished for him, clearly savoring every second of this.
If the last confession had been a killing blow, this was the final, cruel twist of the knife. Larry could only gape. He’d called his brother a coward and a traitor out of fury, but now he was speechless. He sank to his knees, wanting the Mother to descend and tell him it wasn’t true. “You… tried to murder me?” he whispered.
“I tried to say no! But—” Iggy buried his face in his hands. “He was going to break Lemmy’s legs unless I did it. I didn’t want to, Larry. I… I had no choice.”
“You had a choice,” Larry said, voice quavering. “And you chose Lemmy over me.” The realization felt like a hatchet splitting his heart in two. “Was all of it fake? Did you even want to go with me? Or was it just an opportunity you couldn’t pass up?”
Iggy knelt and threw his arms around Larry’s neck. Larry didn’t know why he didn’t pull away and curse his brother, but he just didn’t have it in him. He was utterly shattered.
“It wasn’t fake. I love you. I only got orders to do all this a few days after we got on the train. I have an estate up north. I wanted to take you there and tell you everything. I would’ve faked your death. Verion was never supposed to know.” Iggy’s sobs turned to screams that had Larry flinching away. Iggy clutched his skull, eyes wild. “I never wanted any of this!”
Verion watched Iggy rage at himself, a look of faint amusement on his face, as though he were watching a pet perform a trick. “I don’t suppose you remember the thief in the tunnels underneath the castle?” A shake of his head. “Iggy’s lucky I let Lemmy live after what a mess he made of that one.”
That explained a lot. How the thief had been able to enter the tunnels in the first place, how they’d managed to open the treasury door so neatly. And that scrape Larry had seen on Iggy’s wrist—a mark left behind from tripping on the stairs. A memory of Junior being shoved into the wall crashed into Larry’s mind, unbidden.
The prince—a child—could have been seriously hurt, and Iggy had simply kept running without looking back.
“Very fortunate he at least recovered what I wanted. The rest of my plans would mean nothing without this.” From the pocket of his robe, Verion withdrew the necklace Larry had glimpsed before. From a delicate chain of gold hung a diamond-shaped pendant studded with rubies and stamped with the royal seal, a spiked shell.
A pretty ornament Larry could imagine Wendy wearing, and yet it pulsed with an energy that emanated wrongness. He shied away from it, his very blood repulsed by it.
Verion grinned at him knowingly. “So. You don’t recognize it? But you can feel its magic? Interesting.” A purposeful pause. Larry wanted to seize him and wrench whatever information he was withholding.
“Kamek stole this from me fifteen years ago. He took it here and hid it in the magic treasury of Bowser’s Castle, thinking it was the one place I would never set foot in. How distraught he must have been when Bowser invited me.”
The clandestine meeting in the War Chamber, not long before everything had begun to fall apart. Kamek’s refusal to obey Bowser had bordered on insubordination. For what? A necklace? Larry glanced over at Iggy, finding the same confusion on his face. So this was news for both of them.
“This necklace has been enchanted with an old spell that was banned in the Darklands years ago,” Verion said casually, swinging the pendant back and forth with flicks of his claw. “Nearly every record was burned. But Kamek’s brother, Kautrin, had the fortune to stumble upon one. By then the old laws had been repealed, but his anger ran as deep as mine. He gathered me and others who shared our grudge and left the kingdom to work out how to use the spell. Kamek chose to stay behind. He was as soft then as he is now.
“As for the spell, perhaps Kamek has told you that every living creature contains miniscule fragments of magic. Only Magikoopas possess enough to harness it. When something living dies, that magic dissipates almost instantly. A waste, Kautrin believed. This spell allows the user to turn something into a vessel, and when used on something dying, their magic is absorbed. That magic can be stored in vast quantities, and released on the user, giving them more magic than it is possible to be born with.”
Larry was unable to suppress a shudder. That was twisted. Stealing, in essence. And what if…
“Kautrin’s plan was to make himself that powerful and then take the throne. But he wasn’t patient enough to wait for things to die around him. Murder was a way to speed up the process,” Verion went on, claws running over the pendant’s image of the shell, seemingly oblivious to Larry and Iggy’s shared looks of horror and revulsion. “We slaughtered hundreds in preparation. There is, however, one catch: the magic can only be released during a blood moon, when magic is concentrated and becomes more tangible to others. The next one is only a little more than a month away.
“But Kautrin became distracted. He was bitterly hurt by Kamek’s refusal to join him, and was soon bent on taking revenge.” Verion shook his head in disgust. “The day before we arrived, I finally decided to get rid of him. Anyone can release the magic in this pendant. I will continue his goal if only because he was my friend before he was led astray and because someone has to stamp out your vile bloodline.”
“You’re crazy,” Iggy whispered. “You helped him murder innocents for your own gain?”
“Your family enslaved innocents for your gain,” Verion countered. “Even now, much of the wealth in your treasury was made off the backs of Magikoopas. You think you can buy our forgiveness with compensation. But it’s only a matter of time before Bowser’s successor carries on where his ancestors left off.”
“Junior would never,” Larry growled.
“He is a spoiled child. Much could change between now and when he ascends the throne.” Verion turned away, the pendant disappearing into his pocket once more. “I’ve already sent Bowser a message. Your signet rings should be enough proof that I have you. He’ll be there tomorrow morning.” An indulgent smile at Iggy. “Do as you’re told, and you could have a place as my advisor.”
Larry could feel every muscle in Iggy’s shoulders tensing. “I’ve done what you wanted,” he said flatly. “You have Larry. I want nothing more to do with you. Give me Lemmy and let us go.”
“Hmm.” Verion tapped his chin in consideration. “Not yet.”
In a blink, Iggy had pulled away and was towering over Verion, every muscle tensed in preparation for violence. “You swore you would let him go,” he ground out.
“Watch what you say to me, Iggy.” Verion looked faintly amused, as if it were a dog that was making demands. “I realize you’re new to being commanded, so I’ll forgive you this time. You and Lemmy will stay here until my hold on the throne is secure.”
The threat was veiled, but Iggy picked up on it quickly enough. He looked away, his clenched fists the only sign of repressed fury.
They’ll never be free again. They’re in too deep to be released now, Larry thought, looking dejectedly at his shackled wrists. Same for me.
“Perhaps even you, Larry, could be allowed to live if you behave,” Verion added, glancing his way. “We’ll come for you tomorrow morning. Make trouble, and I’ll find a more thorough way to subdue you.”
There was no point in fighting as Verion glided out. Iggy glanced one last time at Larry, eyes dull with resignation, and followed. The door slid shut and was locked once more. Underneath the layers of dust, Larry recognized the wood’s scent as pine. A wood that produced more smoke than most.
Even if Larry were able to burn the door down, he would suffocate before he got even a taste of freedom. Verion had thought this through.
A sudden rush of fury pulsed through Larry. If Verion thought Larry was going to roll over, he would be disappointed. Larry’s chances weren’t looking great, though: his cell was empty, he could barely stand, and who knew when that door would open again.
Opportunity always comes, if you’re patient. One of Roy’s old hunting tips. In the meantime, work out what your plan is when you get one.
Finding Lemmy, obviously, was Larry’s top priority. After Larry escaped, Lemmy would be the only remaining chain binding Iggy to obedience. So, Lemmy first, and then Iggy. That was, if Larry could find his way around—if only he’d been able to get a glimpse of the mine on his way inside.
Larry thought for what felt like hours—unable to pace, he felt the empty spot on his ring finger where his signet ring would have been. His stomach growled and his throat stung, begging for water. Worst of all the discomforts was the slash in his shoulder, the wound threatening to reopen itself.
The pain became so intense it was hard to focus, so Larry ended up rummaging through the basket of herbs Iggy had left. Every soldier was instructed in natural cures. He found the jar of salve Iggy had been using and dabbed a little more into the gash. Thankfully, a roll of bandages was there as well. Afterwards, he laid back on his side, head propped up by one fist, as he chewed on a ginger root he’d found, taking the edge off his hunger.
Just a few minutes later, the door clicked as it was unlocked. A Magikoopa stuck her head in, mouth set with lines that suggested she scowled often and had a poor sense of humor. One look at Larry’s relaxed stance and she was bristling.
“You look awfully satisfied, lizard.”
Larry felt an inexplicable rush of satisfaction at seeing her riled. He yawned and brushed a speck of dust off his shoulder. “Don’t you have anywhere finer than this? I’m royalty, you know.”
The Magikoopa made a disgusted sound and set down a dish of dirty water and a gristly bit of chicken that appeared to be mostly bone. She caught sight of the ginger root in his mouth and glowered. “What’s that you’re chewing? You’d better not be trying to poison yourself.”
It was impossible to keep from laughing at the notion. “Right. Because dying would be super helpful to everyone I care about right now.”
The Magikoopa bent and thrust her face closer as if to yank the root from his mouth. It was a costly mistake she realized too late.
Hello, opportunity.
Larry pounced, seizing her throat to cut off her cry for help. In one swift motion, he smashed the copper shackle against her temple. She went limp in his arms.
A blow that hard should keep her unconscious for a few minutes. Spitting out the ginger, Larry searched her robe pockets for keys to his chains, frustrated to find none. The door was still wide open, and anyone passing would see what he was up to. He needed to figure something out fast, or he would be right back where he started.
You don’t always need a key to open a lock. Larry’s eyes fell upon the piece of chicken. He quickly tore away what little meat there was until he found a bone just the shape he was looking for. He set it against the lock and seconds later he was free.
Just for fun, he clamped the cuffs around the Magikoopa’s ankles on his way out. When she regained consciousness and tried to pursue him, she would get a nasty surprise.
The door was locked by a thick metal bar that slid across it from the outside. An obvious improvisation, but reliable enough. Larry locked it as he left, just to be safe. A narrow tunnel stretched before him, hacked out of the stone, supporting beams giving the impression that he was inside a giant serpent and seeing its skeleton. In his haste, he hadn’t grabbed the lantern, but there were enough of them hanging from the walls to light his way.
So he was out. Step two: find Lemmy.
Larry hesitated as the tunnel intersected another, forming a T-shape. He stooped to grab a pebble and hurled it down the left side.
A pained yelp. “Ow! What was that?”
“It’s a rock, I think. Bet you it’s Sidra, thinking she’s funny. She was going down that way to feed the prisoner. The feisty blue-haired one, I mean. Nothing like that sniveling scrap back there. Go take a look.”
Oh, I’ll show you just how “feisty” I am, Larry thought darkly as footsteps rang down the tunnel, slowly getting closer.
“Sidra?”
Larry had pressed himself into a small cleft, in the shadows, lunging out like a snake as a figure passed. The Magikoopa had barely a second to struggle before Larry had thrust his skull against the wall. Not long after, his companion came to investigate and met a similar fate.
Back there, one of them had said. Lemmy could be close. Larry checked both tunnels for nearby guards, listened for footsteps, and then took the left passage. He hardly dared to breathe, kept his steps light. Down here, every sound seemed to be amplified. He passed several more doors, but he was only interested in one with a locking mechanism like the door to his own cell. If Verion had any sense, there would be guards as well.
Larry came across another intersection. Peering down one way, he found a dead end and a door with a bar slid across it. Hope soared in his chest. Another quick look. No guards. He went for it.
When he’d reached the door, he knocked lightly and whispered, “Lemmy?”
A soft gasp. “Who’s there? Is that you, Mario?”
Mario? Wasn’t he not supposed to be here at all? Even more baffling, this wasn’t Lemmy. The voice was female, and familiar…
Something clicked in Larry’s brain. Princess Peach. He was sure of it. He would know, of all people. Why Verion had her, and why Iggy hadn’t mentioned it was a mystery Larry didn’t have time for. And for all he knew, she was the one who’d ordered Mario and Luigi to crash the airships. Larry’s unforgiving nature won out over compassion. He would escape with Lemmy and Iggy first, and then tell Bowser.
“Mario? Where are you going?”
Shut up, dammit! Larry tossed a glare over his shoulder as he crept back up the tunnel. If Peach was what gave him away, he swore on all the Stars he would leave her down here to rot forever.
It wasn’t long before Larry stumbled upon another door. Verion liked to keep all his prisoners close, it seemed. This one was also unguarded, so Larry hurried down and knocked again.
A bout of coughing, and the rattle of chains. “What do you want?” asked a tremulous voice.
It had been months since Larry had heard that voice. Joy filled every scale, making him shiver. “It’s me, Lemmy. I’m going to get you out.”
“Larry?” Lemmy’s voice was soft, as if he hardly dared to believe it.
Larry slid the bar aside and nearly slammed the door against the wall on his way in. A filthy, haggard mound in the center of the room uncurled, and two wide eyes found Larry’s.
Oh, Lemmy.
Without even pausing, Larry ran to Lemmy, chained to the floor as he’d been earlier. A single flickering lantern lit the space, leaving every other corner in shadow. Larry sank to his knees and hugged his brother so tight his arms ached. Lemmy just sobbed, tears cutting through the dirt on his cheeks, tiny arms wrapped around Larry’s waist.
“Shh. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay now.” In spite of his words, Larry’s breath snagged on sobs of his own. “I’ve got you.”
Lemmy was nearly unrecognizable. He’d become leaner than Iggy, and his scales were tinged with the sickly green beginnings of scale-rot. His eyes were dull and hollow, betraying weeks of solitude and hardship. The rainbow hues of his hair had lost their glossy sheen and brilliant color, the strands tangled in places. Thick copper shackles weighted his wrists, the scales underneath cracked and crusted with dried blood.
Rage and sorrow clashed with Larry’s relief. His claws itched to tear through Verion’s flesh. How dare he treat kind, wonderful Lemmy like this. “I’m going to kill them all,” he snarled. “The people who did this to you.”
Lemmy wiped his eyes, leaving a smear of grime behind. “Who are they? I’ve never seen their faces.” He blinked, reaching to touch his brother’s cheek as if he feared Larry was a figment of his imagination. “How are you alive? They made Iggy poison you.”
“Long story. There’s no time for it right now. We need to find Iggy and get the hell out of here.”
“A bit late for that, I’m afraid,” a new voice drawled. Something metal rattled over the floor.
In the precious seconds Larry had to react, he planted himself in front of Lemmy. A thick copper chain crashed into the side of his head. Pain exploded, stars flying across his vision. As he lay stunned, a new set of shackles were shoved onto his wrists. The spell in them permeated his scales as if they were paper, the tingle of magic winding around his chest, forming a cage around his fire.
“You’re quite resourceful,” Verion commented, gesturing vaguely to the two Magikoopas bent over Larry. The chain attached to his shackles was looped through a hook in the ceiling, and he was hauled up and suspended several inches off the ground. The scales on his wrists split, warm blood trickling down his arms.
Lemmy rose shakily, tugging on his restraints. “Stop,” he said hoarsely.
Verion ignored him. “How many of my friends did you subdue?”
“Three.” In spite of his situation, Larry’s mouth curved into a cocky grin. “A cadet on his first day could have beaten them.”
Verion’s lip curled. Larry inwardly reveled in it and drove the barb deeper. “Not the spoiled, frightened royal you were hoping for, huh?” One of the Magikoopas backhanded him. Barely feeling it, Larry spat at him. “Slap me all you like. I’ll never bow to any of you.”
“We’ll see about that,” Verion hissed. The composed, calculating mask was gone. He shook with overwhelming rage. “We’ve got all night.”
Daggers and wands were drawn. Over a course of an hour, Larry’s body was racked with agony. Lemmy screamed, begging for mercy. The commotion soon attracted Iggy. He fought to reach Larry with frenzied energy, only stopped when knocked unconscious and dragged out by four Magikoopas.
“I’ve often wondered what your life is like,” Verion mused, pulling something round and gleaming from his pocket—one of Larry’s iron wristbands. He turned it over, studying the spikes as he continued. “Royalty, but beneath the true heir to the throne. Not a prince, but a mere lord instead, simply because there is peasant blood in you. One of your parents may not even be a Koopa. Bowser’s little bastards, they used to call you. You must feel cheated.”
Once, the words would have sunk deep. For the many who’d been willing to accept Larry and his family from day one, there had been others who’d scorned them when their king’s back was turned. Even among commoners, being a bastard was a shame one never lived down. Once, Larry had questioned whether he deserved to be at Bowser’s side at all.
But he’d fought, clawed, and bled for his place. No one could tell him he didn’t belong anymore.
“I feel lucky. I could have died as a hatchling,” Larry hissed through his teeth. He bit back a scream as a dagger plunged into the flesh under his arm. “My siblings are happy with our places. We serve Bowser now, and we’ll serve Junior when he’s king. You’ll never understand that kind of loyalty.”
Verion snarled, swung his wand, and tiny needles of red magic hit Larry. Each sent a pulse of agony through him.
Even as Larry was stabbed and burned, mocked and taunted, as Lemmy covered his ears and sobbed, he didn’t cave.
When Verion had finally had enough and remembered Larry was no use to him as a corpse, he had his henchmen chain Larry to the floor alongside Lemmy. Larry was given the barest of treatments, only to ensure he didn’t die. The flow of blood had been staunched, but scarlet bloomed over the cloth bandages like roses.
Larry counted ten gashes, six bruises, and eight burns as a surly Magikoopa had treated him, smearing ointment into his wounds with no particular gentleness and tying the bandages too tightly on purpose. Nothing that would scar, unless a bad infection set in. In these conditions, that was all too possible.
After the Magikoopa had left, Lemmy crept over to his brother, loosening the bandages and dabbing the blood away. While he worked, Larry tugged his claws through Lemmy’s hair, carefully working out the knots.
“How could you stand that?” Lemmy whispered, gingerly feeling a scabrous burn on Larry’s arm. He wrenched his fingers away as Larry winced, looking askance in guilt. “I should have done more. I was so useless.”
“Hey. Don’t say that about yourself.” Larry rolled his shoulders, regretting it when a fresh stream of warmth ran down from a laceration near his neck. “I’d rather it be me than you. And nothing’s broken. I was hurt way worse when Verion attacked me in the forest and shoved me off a cliff.”
Lemmy’s horrified look made him sigh. “Right. I probably owe you an explanation now that it looks like we’re stuck here for another night. How much do you already know?”
“There’s at least three people down here with us. And they have me because they want Iggy to be their spy and do their dirty work.” Lemmy sounded especially miserable saying the latter of those two things. “And now I know they’re Magikoopas, which explains how these chains are able to keep me from breathing fire. How long have I been gone?”
Good question. It took Larry a few seconds to actually figure that out. It had felt like… years. “Two months, I think.”
“Two… months?” Lemmy looked faint. He regarded his shackled wrists. “I was sedated for a while at the start, I think. I woke up twice. The first time I only heard a little of what they were saying about a plan and something they’ve been looking for. The second time they were trying to make Iggy poison you.” A request for an explanation was written in his eyes.
Larry gingerly rubbed a bump on the side of his head, where the chain had struck him. Where would he even start?
First came Verion’s arrival, and his odd conversation with Iggy. Not long after Larry had been attacked by Mario out on the hunt. Then came the attempt to poison him, a certain death Junior had spared Larry from unknowingly. The encounter in the tunnels, the train ride north, Iggy’s way of delivering Larry right into Verion’s hands…
And that was only what had happened in the days before—today, Verion had just given Larry a lot more to think about.
“That thing you heard them saying they were looking for? Kamek stole it from his brother and hid it in the magic treasury. Verion made Iggy get it back because it has a ton of magic stored up inside. Magic he got by killing people.”
Lemmy looked ill. “That’s… possible? No wonder the spell was outlawed.”
“But Verion can only get to it during a blood moon,” Larry added. “And he said the next one isn’t far off. Oh—and he has Peach down here. Seriously. I found her when I was looking for you.”
“Why would Verion want her?” Lemmy murmured as he laid down beside Larry. “She could be used against Bowser. Maybe that’s it.”
“Maybe. But right now I’m focusing on saving our own scales. We’ll figure something out.” Larry tousled Lemmy’s hair playfully. He had to keep going, keep smiling, for Lemmy’s sake.
But Lemmy didn’t smile back. “You shouldn’t have had to be roped into all of this, Larry,” he whispered. “If I hadn’t let myself get kidnapped, you—”
“Shh. No one just lets themself get kidnapped.” Larry sprawled out on his stomach, leaning over to nuzzle Lemmy. “Get some rest.”
Lemmy was asleep before long, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The lantern’s flame went out, leaving Larry in complete darkness.
Notes:
...Note the "I made myself cry at times" tag I have on this. This chapter was one of the reasons.
I'm gonna try not to drag this on too badly, so next chapter you'll see how Verion's plan goes.
Chapter 16: In the Shadows, Where I Deserve To Be
Notes:
I'm gonna try not to drag this out.
Just so everyone can breathe a sigh of relief, Larry, Lemmy, and Iggy are definitely not going to die. (I don't quite have the guts to kill them off, not after the crap I'm going to put them all through.)
But lots of people are definitely screwed!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Larry was wrenched from sleep as the door opened, creaking. Torchlight lanced into the chamber, outlining a cluster of silhouettes. Lemmy stirred and blinked blearily. A growl rising in his throat, Larry placed himself in front of his brother.
“As amused as I am by your stubborn belief that you can protect him, someone is waiting for me.” Verion beckoned to his companions.
Larry was shoved to the floor and pinned by multiple sets of arms. He could hear Lemmy fighting a similar battle behind him. A rag was stuffed in Larry’s mouth as his chains were unlocked, smothering him. A fresh set of copper manacles were clamped on, these ones linked to each other and no doubt enchanted with the same spell. His healing wounds pulled and stung as he flailed, feeling satisfaction as his fist struck a nose, followed by the pleasing crack of bone shattering.
Larry was rewarded with a tremendous blow to his head that sent his senses spiraling out of his grasp.
When Larry regained them, he was being dragged over a rocky floor of the mineshaft. Lemmy was being escorted by two Magikoopas behind him, eyes wide with terror. In front, Iggy walked with Verion with two guards of his own, probably to ensure he didn’t make a run for Lemmy.
Larry was still fighting the ache in his skull when he heard one of the Magikoopa ahead murmuring to Verion, “Should I get the princess?”
Verion considered, then nodded. “I’ll come back and tell you when to bring her. Let’s not show all of our cards just yet. I want the castle under my control first.”
“Bowser will never surrender,” Lemmy said, voice shaky but with a firm undercurrent. One of his guards silenced him with a rough shove.
Larry was hauled into another chamber, one lined with cots. Verion reached under one and brought out a small chest. A key in his pocket unlocked it, and Larry rose to his feet in time to glimpse dozens of little purple, pink, and pale blue stones.
Teleportation stones. Most of them were small, barely big enough to take someone to the border with Acorn Plains, but one or two were the size of small oranges. Verion picked out a little one and linked hands with his followers. As long as they were touching, vast groups of people could be teleported using the same stone no matter its size.
Larry was seized by the arm in a grip no amount of struggle would loosen. A whisper from Verion, and the world was blurring around them, the air thickening.
Ugh, Larry would never get used to the invasive rush of magic that followed, as if it were taking him apart and boxing him up like a puzzle, to be shipped elsewhere. He shook the odd sensation off, wishing more than ever he could scrub himself clean, as his surroundings came into focus once more.
Crumbling stone walls encircled a circular chamber, riddled with gaps through which drafts blew. A glimpse of an ash-choked sky above their heads. The very smell of fresh air made Larry sag with relief.
"Get moving."
Without even waiting for Larry compliance, a Magikoopa grabbed Larry’s chains and began dragging him up a spiraling staircase, wrenching him from his short-lived reverie. Carved into the walls, the stairs had survived the test of time, but not without blemishes and even missing steps.
Larry spotted the Magikoopa’s face for a split second, noted the dent in his snout and the red trails trickling from his nose. The one he’d struck.
A wicked smile split Larry’s face. “Say, what happened to your face? Quite the improvement, I’d say. My fist worked wonders. How about I take another crack and see if it’ll fix those wrinkles?”
Retaliation came, just as Larry had hoped, but not for him. He blinked, and then Lemmy was on the ground, claws turning bloody around his own nose.
Smirking, the Magikoopa raised his fist as if to strike again. Lemmy flinched away with a whimper, nearly falling off the stairs. Larry roared, lunging. Arms wrapped around him, holding him back from revenge.
"Another word out of you, and I'll break the little runt's arm," the Magikoopa purred as he strode past Larry, clearly happy to have taken out his anger and passed off his violent charge to someone else in one blow.
A guttural snarl. Come back here and call him a runt again. See how fast it takes for me to rip out your damn throat and set you on fire. Larry might have lost himself entirely, given himself to bloodlust and gone down fighting right then and there, had he not glimpsed Lemmy's pleading eyes.
Don't waste your effort on me, those eyes said.
Larry glowered. You're not a waste of effort.
But dying here still meant Verion had one hostage. And Larry didn't plan on going unless it meant taking that monster with him. So he let himself be hauled back up the stairs once again without protest, reining in his temper.
Soon, he told his own monster. It growled, but subsided.
“Larry,” Lemmy whispered. Larry peered over his shoulder, and before he was pushed back into place, he caught Lemmy angling his head at the cracks.
Larry peered through them, and what he saw kindled hope within him.
There, out on the expanse of barren rock surrounding the tower, was what was at least half of the thousands-strong force at Bowser’s Castle. They bristled with swords, pikes, rifles, crossbows, more kinds of weapons than Larry cared to count. He was shunted up further before he could see more.
There was no actual top left on the tower, only a small platform where the stairs ended. Larry went from being enclosed in stone walls to exposed in a second. Off to the north, the hulking structure of Bowser’s Castle loomed between two mountains. Even farther off, the peaks of the Black Fangs outlined the horizon.
This was the old guard tower, Larry realized. He’d only ever seen it from a distance, wondered idly if it was haunted, tried and failed to persuade Roy into exploring it with him. Now he figured it was only a matter of time before another earthquake sent it crashing down entirely.
As soon as Verion came into view, the assembled soldiers had begun roaring their fury.
Traitor, most were chanting. Larry took a deep satisfaction in it, until a circle of red uniforms caught his eye.
Within the ring of royal guards, Bowser stood like a mountain, an ermine-trimmed cape of crimson velvet hanging from his broad shoulders, his expression thunderous. But he looked welcoming compared to the murderous looks of the other royals gathered around him. All of Larry’s siblings had come. He picked out Junior and Kamek as well.
Bowser raised one hand, and his army sank into silence, with the occasional ripple of resentful murmuring. When he spoke, his voice was booming and yet cold and measured. “I’ve come, as you wanted. I will hear out whatever excuse you offer for your betrayal.”
“Arrogant bastard,” Verion muttered, just loud enough for those on the tower to hear. His friends chuckled. Blinded by rage, Larry lunged for Verion and was yanked back by several Magikoopas.
“I’ll be perfectly clear,” Verion announced. “Your line is a disgrace to this kingdom. Magikoopas were your slaves for years, including myself and my parents. Our magic is a sign of the Stars’ favor. We will rule, as is our right.”
Angry shouting broke out once more over the crowd. Bowser’s response hushed them. “That was a reprehensible moment in our history. We have compensated you, allowed you to—”
“And you think that’s enough,” Verion seethed, cutting him off. “You’re just like your ancestors were, thinking you can buy our forgiveness. Sooner or later another ruler will want our magic again, and I won’t see that happen.” He beckoned. Larry was pushed forward, and a dagger held at his throat.
The moment he and Lemmy came into view, violent protest erupted. Larry could swear he heard Roy’s distinct roar, a sound that could have upended the mountains. Beside him, trembling Lemmy murmured a prayer under his breath. Iggy dropped his gaze in shame and shuffled a little farther out of sight.
“Swear to relinquish all your power,” Verion said smoothly, his composure sliding back into place. “Or these two Koopalings die. I will take the throne and rule far better than you ever could.”
For the briefest of heartbeats, pure panic was laid bare on Bowser’s face. No, Larry wanted to scream. Never surrender.
“You think Mario will help you?” Ludwig challenged, eyes bright with rare fury. “He wants this kingdom to be weak. You’ll be the death of us all.”
Verion let out a laugh that was more of a cackle. “Mario was never here at all. Not one of you thought of illusion magic? While all of you ran around searching for Mario, I had time to put my plans into action.”
The uproar faltered as they took that in, disbelief spreading over each face like a wave. Verion laughed again. He seized Iggy by the wrist and yanked him forward. Larry’s blood ran as cold as the blade pressed to his throat.
When Iggy was visible for the first time, murmuring broke out beneath what was left of the protesting. He tried to edge away, only to be pushed back. Larry thrashed in his captor’s grip in vain.
“But you were right that there was an accomplice within your court.” Verion waved a hand at Iggy, smiling wide as if he were presenting an undiscovered gemstone. “Iggy supports my claim. He has been a loyal spy. He attempted to poison Larry. He came with him north and let me take him. He did all of this knowing I had his twin as well.”
Responses ranged from gasps to vehement protests. Uneasy looks were shared. Larry gritted his teeth, wishing he could tear off the shackles and set Verion alight like a torch. Asshole. After what he’s put Iggy through, he’ll throw him to the wolves like this.
Iggy may be guilty of every crime Verion had listed, and he may never regain Larry’s trust— but Larry would not have his brother branded a traitor without having his side of the story told.
“He’s lying!”
Larry blinked. He hadn’t even opened his mouth yet. He glanced to his left and gaped as Lemmy plowed on, despite the dark look Verion threw at him.
“Verion kidnapped me and used me as leverage,” Lemmy shouted, even as blood trickled from beneath the dagger held at his throat. “Iggy’s had to make choices no one should ever have to make. He did all those things, but with the belief that I would be released. And I’d bet my shell Verion lied about that, too!”
“This monster will destroy you all,” Larry yelled. “Get up here and kill these traitors, even if they kill us. I’d rather die than see him on the throne!”
“Silence,” Verion spat, making to strike him.
Anger in its most primal form flashed in Iggy’s eyes. It was all Larry glimpsed before Iggy threw himself at Verion, claws outstretched. Blunt as they were, they sank deep enough to draw blood as they raked Verion’s nose and ripped through fabric.
The other Magikoopas reacted quickly enough. But Iggy was too quick leaping away from the hands reaching for him, sending them scattering with a plume of fire.
“If you value your life,” he snarled, “you’ll never touch him ever again.”
“You tell him, Iggy!” a voice crowed from below. Junior had hopped up on his father’s shoulders and was brandishing the wooden practice sword Larry had used to train him with.
Iggy had torn an entire pocket from Verion’s robe. The contents of it lay scattered at his feet: Larry’s and Lemmy’s spiked wristbands, and the golden pendant. Twisting, Iggy hooked the necklace with one finger and dangled it, adding mockingly, “Come and get your little trinket."
If there was any moment to escape, it was then.
Larry pushed off with his feet and rammed his shell into the Magikoopa holding him. He crushed his captor against a crumbling brick wall, hearing the distinctive sound of bones cracking. Magikoopas flocked around him. Larry bent to snatch up a rusted iron rod. His muscles slipped into routine, his limbs smoothly going through each move Roy had taught him, adapting to fit the restraints of his shackles.
A coldness settled over Larry like snowfall, numbing the pain, numbing him to all but the fight. Three Magikoopas went down in as many seconds. On impulse he swept low to scoop up his bracelets, further energized by their smooth feel against his scales.
In the corner of his eye, he watched Lemmy’s guards make the mistake of abandoning their charge to help restrain Larry. Presented with opportunity, Iggy clawed his way to his twin and stood protectively in front of him, inhaling and kindling the fire inside of him.
Verion's leverage had just slipped through his fingers, and it had not gone unnoticed.
Bowser pointed one claw at Verion, eyes aglow with the desire for violence. He roared a single word.
“ATTACK!”
In a matter of heartbeats, battle had erupted.
Roy was instantly leading the charge, the very air rent by the fearsome battle cry he let loose. His siblings fanned out on either side: Morton, a narrower version of a Bullet Blaster balanced on one of his massive shoulders; Wendy, a rapier clutched in one hand while a revolver was belted at her waist; Ludwig, armed with a rifle and fueled by rage.
With one powerful swing of Morton’s arm, the rotting remains of a once durable door cracked like pottery. While soldiers stormed up the stairs, Paratroopas took to the air in formations. The glow of fire danced on the surface of their armor, forged completely of iron that would render spells useless against them. One moment Larry was cornered by the female Magikoopa he’d knocked out yesterday, and the next, she was on the floor, grappling with a Paratroopa.
Larry sent a Magikoopa reeling with one well-placed blow and advanced on his true target. “Looks like you won’t be ruling after all,” he growled at Verion, thrusting the rod forward in challenge. “Not that I’m about to spare you.”
Verion’s face was twisted with hatred. “If this is where I go out, I’ll take a few from your family with me.”
Larry backed away one step and angled the rod to deflect whatever attack he expected to be thrown at him. But he wasn’t the target, and he realized it a second too late.
Verion turned, pointed his wand at Bowser, and hissed a string of words. A little ball of red power curled from the tip of his wand, from which sprang forth a bolt of lightning. It shot towards Koopa King with a deafening crack.
A trio of royal guards threw themselves in front of Bowser. The force of the bolt slamming into them threw Bowser back, arms curled protectively around his son. When the dust cleared, flecks of ash were all that remained of the guards. A tear slipped down Larry’s cheek unbidden, and he murmured a prayer to the Mother to ease their passing.
Verion spat a curse and took aim once more.
But below, Kamek was prepared. Snatching something from his robe, he threw himself against Bowser and spoke something into his palm. Their forms brightened briefly, and then dissipated like mist. A teleportation stone. Larry thanked Kamek’s cleverness. They couldn’t afford to lose both their king and heir.
Behind, Roy emerged from the stairs, a blur of scales and muscle. Fast as lightning, he drew a pistol from a leather holster around his arm. The sound of it cocking as it was aimed at Verion was a signal to the Paratroopas, who sprang away from their battered, moaning opponents and hovered in the sky nearby.
“Game’s up."Roy signaled for the other soldiers to remain on the stairs, only allowing his siblings to join him. The message was clear: this kill was theirs. “I’d shoot your damn worthless hide right now if I didn’t think that quick a death is more than you deserve. But I don’t mind roughing you up a bit if you don’t come quietly.”
From where he was, Larry saw the ghost of a smile crossed Verion’s face. No response. Roy looked heartbeats away from firing when Verion whipped around and sent Iggy sprawling with a gust of wind. A bullet shot from Roy’s pistol, met with another gust that redirected it to a Paratroopa, striking her wing with a spurt of red. She plummeted into the arms of her comrades.
While they were distracted, one of the other Magikoopas seized Lemmy. The others scrambled to their feet and clustered around Verion as if this had been planned as a last resort. Face split by a bitter smile, Verion hurled something down on the ground. The little chest of teleportation stones. He finally fired the bolt he’d been charging up. In the same second, wands were waved, and magic shields sprang up around them. Inside, Lemmy let out a muffled wail.
“Get back!” Ludwig roared. The Paratroopas scattered like crows.
Streaks of blinding white exploded outwards as the box of stones was struck. The feel of magic washed over Larry’s scales like soapsuds, so intense it hurt. The forms of his siblings were swept from his vision. Even when he shut his eyes, the light was still there, shaking him to his bones. The power roared as if it had a mind of its own.
Something glittering flew at him, falling at his feet. Recognition flashed. Larry hunched over it, even as the white storm raged around him.
A solid, immovable wall of black slammed into Larry, and all was silent.
An ocean of shadows was drowning him. Warm and thick like water, yet smothering. He fought to reach the surface, begging for light, for consciousness. His mind reeled.
Roy. Morton. Wendy. Luddy. Iggy. Lemmy. Bowser. Junior. Gotta find them.
Were they down there as well, drowning around him? The thought sickened him.
And then, finally, he burst through the water’s stifling grip. Air, sweet air that smelled of grass and flowers and sunshine. His eyes cracked open, streaming at the light that poured forth.
Wait.
This wasn’t the Darklands. And unless Star Road had songbirds filling the breezes with their melodies, he wasn’t dead, either.
Larry’s vision finally cleared. He beheld a sky as blue as his hair, not the gold of the afterlife. A sun the color of citrines and twice as dazzling beamed down at him, warming his scales in a gentle way fire never could. Clouds were strewn about the sky like lazy brushstrokes.
Something was prickling underneath Larry. He sat up and sank his claws into soft soil, eyes wide. Grass. It lay over the hills around him like a lush green pelt, rippling in the breeze and speckled with buttercups and daisies.
In the distance, perched atop a hill, was an elaborate structure of pink and white that Larry would know anywhere. He’d raided it and kidnapped its owner for years.
He was in the Mushroom Kingdom.
Dammit.
Verion had known he would have lost that battle. That chest of stones, and the flash of white as they'd been destroyed… Their magic had been released. That much magic freed at once in such a close proximity was incredibly unstable. Larry was surprised he’d lived.
In spite of everything, the nature of the spell had held, teleporting him somewhere, but seemingly at random.
Did that mean Larry’s siblings were somewhere, too? Alone like he was?
Assuming they’re even alive.
The notion made Larry feel sick to his stomach. He bit his tongue until it bled, shutting it out of his mind, snarling at himself for even imagining it. He couldn’t think like that. His siblings had endured far worse. They were probably lost, but alive.
At least Bowser, Junior, and Kamek had gotten out earlier. Wherever they were, they were safe. But Verion, on the other hand, had shielded himself as the storm magic had been released—he could still be in the Darklands.
As for his pendant… Larry’s fingers brushed something cold. His eyes fell upon something glittering in the grass.
He vaguely remembered it flying from Iggy's grasp, and himself snatching it up. Every part of the necklace, down to the last sparkling ruby, emanated with the vile energy he’d sensed before. Larry hesitated to pick it up, shuddering at the speculation of how many lives worth of magic could be inside it. He would throw it into a fire the first chance he got.
Larry stared at his hands, filled with the odd sensation of wanting to cry and kill something at the same time. He crushed the emotions, buried them down in the depths of his heart.
He had no time for them. He was on enemy territory, and his kingdom could be in chaos right now.
First things first: get these Stars-blasted chains off.
Larry rose to his feet, muscles aching like they hadn’t been used in centuries. Just a few paces away was a tree, shade pooled beneath it. He moved towards it, keeping low to the ground. The hills around him were deserted, save for a few roads stretching between towns, and he was too far away to be seen by any passing drivers, but he was taking no chances.
Even in spring, the tree’s leaves were a warm shade of brown. They were the special leaves Mario used as power-ups, he realized.
A tree that grew weapons Larry couldn’t use. He growled, tempted to set it on fire.
When Larry reached the shade, he was struck by an idea. He lowered onto his knees and rifled through the grass. His eyes flicked from one stick to another. That one’s too thin. Too thick. Too flexible. He went through dozens before he found the right one: stripped of bark, thin but durable.
It only took a minute or two to whittle it to the perfect point. He inserted his makeshift lockpick into one of the locks of his shackles. After twisting it around a little, the lock opened and the copper cuff on his left wrist came off. Encouraged by the success, he unlocked the other, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the soft click of the lock coming undone.
As they fell to the earth with thumps, Larry’s gaze snagged on the bracelet below the ring of irritated scales left by the cuffs. Each black pearl was as pristine as it had been the day Roy had presented it to him. Entranced, Larry opened the sea turtle locket and stared at the picture of him and brave, smiling Roy.
He bit his tongue, fighting the deluge of tears that threatened to drown him.
He’s alive. And I’ll see him again if I quit feeling sorry for myself and get a move on.
Hands finally free, Larry dug his claws into the knots in the tree’s bark, testing its strength. He hauled himself up the trunk, biting his lip as the injuries Verion had given him flared briefly, and into the foliage.
He crouched on a thick bough and peered out into the distance. Peach’s Castle caught the eye like a diamond. Around it sprawled the mass of buildings that was the capital city. Larry leaned back against the trunk, silently criticizing it: no outer walls to keep out enemies, no security checks, open to the sky, and flammable-looking buildings.
A wind toyed with the leaves, tugging a few free. The sweet scent of flowers drifted along it, accompanied by another underneath…
Smoke? Larry did a double take. He almost missed the scent, having grown so used to it by living in the Darklands. But it was definitely there. Following his nose, he climbed around the trunk and looked down the hill.
And there, a ways from the bottom, was what had once been a town, now a smoking skeleton formed of half-collapsed structures, a labyrinth of charred sidewalks and roads, speckled with fires still picking over the remains.
It’s like the war started without us, Larry thought, transfixed. But that's impossible. I would've known.
Giving into his curiosity and dashing down the slope, Larry stopped on the side of one of the roads and ducked behind a blackened tree, scanning the threshold of the entrance.
There seemed to have been an arch of some sorts, but all that remained were two blackened poles with half-burned wooden beams laying across the space between. Larry waited a minute, then walked in, the smell of smoke and ash wreathing around him like bitter fog. He steered around bits of shattered glass and splintered wood, the asphalt of the road unnaturally warm and even slightly impressionable beneath his feet.
Blackened forms of cars lay strewn about the roads, their windows shattered and tires melted. Every now and then another bit of wood would fall from the mangled remains of a roof with a clatter. Larry skirted a pile of smoking wood, bumping against a car in the process.
When he turned his head, he beheld a scorched husk lay curled inside in the driver’s seat.
Larry stumbled in his haste to back away, retching. Who knew how many more of the charred heaps around him had once been alive.
If we’d really gone to war, plenty of places would’ve looked like this.
A sick feeling settled in the bottom of his stomach. Larry chased it away and banished the stirrings of pity. The strong live and the weak die. Not our fault.
“Hey! You!”
After the disturbing, almost tangible silence, Larry nearly jumped out of his shell. He whipped around, preparing to fight as a trio of figures dashed down the street and surrounded him.
All the hostility drained from him as he made out the faces beneath the helmets. Brainless, wimpy Toads.
They were clad in helmets and armor, wielding little spears, and scowling in an attempt to look intimidating, but Larry was far from impressed. He grinned toothily and secretly reveled in watching them squirm.
“What are you grinning at, Koopaling?” a braver one demanded, daring to take a step forward.
Larry lifted his chin. “You’ve got some nerve, talking to me like that. I’ll tolerate you playing at being warriors, but I can gut you with those little toothpicks you seem to think are weapons. Don’t you know who I am?”
“Larry Koopa.” snapped the solitary red Toad. “Obviously. And all of this is your doing, smoke-breather.” He waved a hand at the destruction around him.
Larry flashed his fangs again. “Careful. You might get away with saying that slur around here, but where I come from, people address me as Lord Larry and treat me with the respect I deserve.”
“Yeah? Make us.”
Oh, this little shit was so asking for it, and Larry was more than happy to oblige.
Within moments he’d reached out, yanked the spear from the Toad’s grip, kicked the other two away, and pounced on his tormentor. Larry pressed the Toad to the ground with one foot, the tiny spear aimed at the Toad’s throat. Wide, terrified eyes met his.
Larry drank in the sour smell of fear as if it were a drug. “That’s right,” he purred, pressing the spearpoint harder until he felt it bite into skin. “Stay on the ground, where you deserve to be.”
“Help!” one of the blue Toads was shouting. Larry had half a mind to throw the spear into that weakling’s throat to shut him up.
Rapid footsteps, and more shouting. Larry’s gaze shot up the street, where yet more armored Toads were running to help their comrades. He counted a dozen, and yet more were spilling out from alleyways. Gunshots split the air. The first few bullets missed narrowly and embedded itself in the brick wall at his left.
Then, a searing pain grazing his shoulder. Larry stumbled away, clutching the area. Wetness spread underneath his palm.
“It’s him! Larry Koopa! He must have the princess!”
“Don’t shoot! We need him alive for questioning.”
A growl filled Larry’s chest. All around him, spears were trained on him, pistols aimed. As he did another quick count, he didn’t like his odds. “Peach is gone?”
He’d asked the question in a desperate attempt to buy him time, but something clicked in the process. The mine. Verion had taken Peach. Maybe she’d even been here, and the fire had been his distraction.
“Don’t play dumb,” a green Toad barked. The circle closed tighter. No escape.
“Did your rotten siblings leave you behind?” jeered a red one.
The heat of fury drowned out the pain in Larry’s shoulder. Cruel, vicious, heartless. Words he’d been called as a hatchling. He clenched his fist over the pendant in his hand. He would die here before he was taken.
“I didn’t do this. Now scram before I make you regret it.”
“Liar,” someone yelled.
“Mario and Luigi will want to see you,” added another. “So come quietly, and maybe Princess Peach will have mercy on you once you tell us where she is.”
Larry spat at their feet.
“Grab him!”
Toads crashed into him like a wave.
Larry roared, thrashing and clawing at his attackers. Their weight forced him to the ground. A Toad brandishing his spear handle loomed over him, preparing to knock him out. The sight fanned Larry’s anger into a wildfire. There was no honor in this fight. Had he not been injured, he would have been able to take these Toads without breaking a sweat.
Fights are rarely fair, Bowser reminded him.
So fight dirty.
Larry twisted until his back screeched in protest, freeing one arm, and made to swing one arm at a Toad. The soldier raised his spear in defense. Larry wrenched the spear away and embedded it in another Toad’s shoulder while kicking the first one away viciously. Only a few left.
Sucking in a breath, Larry welcomed the warmth of his fire that ran up to meet him. He loosed a blast of flames onto the closest pair of arms, not stopping to see who was struck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a yellow Toad fell back with a bloodcurdling shriek, burns washing over his cream-colored skin.
Three others screamed with horror and rushed to their friend. Larry shook off the last one holding him, scoring his claws across their face for good measure. His feet slipped on the ash-covered pavement as he fought to rise. He ran for the closest alley, breath coming in shallow gasps.
Run run run gotta get away before more co—
Armored bodies tackled from behind Larry and forced him to the ground. He saw the shadow rising over him too late. The butt of a rifle descended on his head.
The storm had quieted, the light gone.
The shimmering red film of a shield had guarded Verion and his followers even as the tower had finally come crashing down around them. The dust settled, revealing heaps of rubble and chunks of stone brick. Here and there armor glinted, splattered with blood.
Lemmy sobbed in the arms of a Magikoopa. All those innocent soldiers. They’d had families.
What happened to mine?
None of the shells Lemmy saw were spiked. But that didn’t mean they weren’t buried far below, screaming for help that might not come in time.
Verion lifted a hand, and the shield faded away. His eyes slid over the wreckage around them, calculating. He grinned as he spied the broken bodies of soldiers, some still alive and groaning.
Gasps rose from the ranks of troops around them. The front lines had retreated several paces to avoid being crushed. Fear and dismay shone in their eyes as they beheld the handful of people who’d made it out of the explosion of magic that had destroyed the rest of the tower. Heads turned, searching for the Koopalings. By all appearances, they seemed dead.
Lemmy knew otherwise—or at least hoped otherwise. No doubt it had been a last resort to release such a blast of magic and send his siblings elsewhere, but in the very least, it would buy Verion time.
The Koopa Troop was lost and leaderless, exactly what Verion had wanted.
Well, they had one possible leader left. Lemmy drew his gaze over the sea of horrified faces, many of which were now looking to him, the last remaining royal.
Well, I’m so useless I might as well be gone, too.
Stop thinking like that. I will help them—I’ve been in charge of the castle before when everybody else was gone.
Lemmy involuntarily cringed. That had been a year ago when his siblings had left to accompany Junior on his quest and Bowser had been away as well, and he’d been left behind to manage the castle. But within the first few days, the castle had been attacked, and he’d been taken down in a flash.
I won’t fail again. I’ll do better this time, the second I get a chance to escape.
“That was far messier than I would have liked.” Verion sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Well, they’re gone, and they won’t be back anytime soon. The only complication is that Iggy took the pendant, damn him.”
Lemmy was prodded in the side. “What about this one? Why do we want a contender to the throne alive?”
Verion spared Lemmy a single, dark smile that chilled his blood. “Lemmy hasn’t outlived his usefulness quite yet. Just watch. You’ll see why we need him.”
As if they’d heard Verion’s words, the shock amongst the army began to fade. A few familiar generals shouldered their way to the front, donning expressions Lemmy would run from if he were on the receiving end of them. At their barked commands, the ranks straightened, weapons drawn out once more. Lemmy glimpsed Paratroopas circling above like falcons, ready to swoop and kill at a moment’s notice.
Rifles were aimed and cocked. One general advanced a step, her own revolver aimed at Verion. “Don’t move, traitor.”
General Iskra, Lemmy remembered, an experienced veteran famed for her strictness and sharp tongue. Even so, she’d been supportive of Lemmy and his family since their first day in Bowser’s Castle and had been instrumental in winning over others who doubted their ability to lead.
Verion tipped his head to one side, smiling with false friendliness. “So quick to solve every problem with bloodshed, all of you.”
Iskra ignored him. “King Bowser is gone, but alive.” She spoke every word clearly and coldly. “In the meantime, I suggest surrendering and letting Master Lemmy go.”
Verion smirked—a terrible, twisted version of a smile. “Interesting how you still call Bowser your king after he left you all the first chance he got. I doubt he’ll be back.”
“As if you care about this kingdom’s people.” Iskra’s revolver trembled just the slightest. “You have the deaths of at least a hundred soldiers and Master Lemmy’s siblings on your hands. Do you want a civil war?”
“Not particularly. However…”
Verion gestured. In response, Lemmy was shoved forward into Verion’s grip. His scalp burned as hair was viciously yanked, forcing his chin upwards and baring his throat. A dagger’s edge hovered there, an inch all that lay between life and death.
Lemmy stared up at the sky, praying to any deity watching.
“I do want the throne, and I would have you all submit peacefully. I would happily kill Lemmy here, but I happen to know how much all of you adore him.” Verion voice was silken, his smile sly. Iskra paled and lowered her gun immediately. Exactly the reaction Verion had hoped for. “Swear to obey me as your king, and I will allow Lemmy to live in comfort.”
Lemmy’s heart thumped in his chest so loud it drowned out everything else.
Surely this was where he would die—lots of stories Iggy had read to him had a part like this, where the strong, fearless hero made the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. One death was better than the countless lives Verion could take if he seized control.
But Lemmy wasn’t strong. He was far from fearless. And he was anything but a hero. He was the fool who’d needed to be rescued and would now pay the price for his stupidity.
An internal battle raged in the eyes of every soldier. Even underneath their full battle regalia, Lemmy recognized many of them. People he’d met years ago at the parties Bowser threw for soldiers who were about to be officially sworn into the ranks of the Koopa Troop. They did adore him, the Rose of the Darklands.
Enough that they would meet Verion’s demands if that was what it took to spare his life.
But… Iggy.
What would Iggy want him to do? Lemmy already knew.
He would want me to live.
Iggy loved his twin with all of his heart, but would he see thousands die if it kept Lemmy alive?
Possibly. But right now, this was a choice Lemmy had to make.
And I know I’m not worth what they think I am.
“Very well. The castle is yours.”
General Iskra had given her answer. And no one protested.
“What?!” Lemmy cried. He kicked and fought, wanting to grab the general by her shoulders and scream at her.
No! Don’t do it! You can’t be sure that he’ll let me live anyway!
Verion only tightened his grip and pressed the knife even harder against his throat. One flick of his wrist, and Lemmy would be on his way to Star Road. “Wonderful,” he said cheerfully. He traded smiles with his companions. “Lead the way to the castle.”
“You’ll keep your word and treat His Lordship well,” Iskra growled. It was a demand, not a question. “I’ll know if you lay one finger on him. Unchain him, too. I won’t see him escorted into his own home like a common prisoner.”
Verion waved one hand imperiously. “The chains stay. As far as all of you should be concerned, this pipsqueak is a common prisoner. Consider him stripped of all his titles and holdings. But feel free to continue pampering him if that’s what you want.” He loosened his crushing hold on Lemmy, but kept one hand on his chains and yanked him along.
Lemmy stumbled as he tried to keep up. The soldiers parted for Verion, but glowered and remained upright instead of bowing as they would for their rightful king. Verion either didn’t notice or didn’t care, striding along with the confidence of any born ruler. Lemmy averted his eyes to the many pitying glances cast his way.
He was torn three ways, between terror, shame, and frustration.
What makes them think I’m worth this?
Lemmy was nothing compared to his siblings. He didn’t have Roy’s and Morton’s strength, Iggy’s and Ludwig’s cleverness, Wendy’s or Larry’s unyielding courage.
And Lemmy? He trailed in their shadows, where he deserved to be.
Lemmy shivered and dropped his gaze. The gravity of the situation settled on his shoulders, crushing him. I could be what destroys this kingdom.
Notes:
(Oh, sweet Lemmy, it's only going to get worse from here...)
This is off topic, but has anyone else seen the trailer for the Super Mario Galaxy Movie? No Koopalings, hmph >:(
Plus, does anyone else just HATE Junior's voice??? He sounds like he's fifteen! The kid's like six! No hate to Benny Safdie or anything, but his voice is nothing like the voice we hear from Junior in things like MKDX, Mario Party games, ect... Honestly, I might not even watch it at this point. The voice is a dealbreaker for me, and I'll die on this hill.
Chapter 17: Proud Of You
Notes:
Looking forward to Chapter Seventeen?
This one's a bit long, and it need LOTS of refinement. But hopefully it was worth the wait.
This time we get to see what Mario thinks of all this...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The ground underneath Larry was vibrating incessantly, broken up by the occasional bump that rocked his very bones.
All around him, something was rattling. The scratch where the bullet had grazed him stung like fire.
Yes. Think about the pain. The wound flared when given attention, just like a fire. Larry hissed, but used it as an anchor to fight the dizziness. Where did I get that, anyway?
Oh, yeah. I got shot by a bunch of stupid Toads.
Now I get to make them pay with their lives.
The wood planks beneath Larry bucked like an angry horse. He was lying on his stomach, and sitting up proved to be quite the challenge. Digging his claws into the wood, he raised his head and rubbed the new bruise that was forming. Something was weighing down his neck and face. His arms and legs as well, come to think of it.
Larry opened his eyes, blinked away the fuzziness, and snarled at what he saw.
Shackles encircled his wrists and ankles, the iron as thick as two of his fingers. He could feel a heavy collar clamped around his throat. Locked over his mouth so tightly he couldn’t even open it was a metal contraption reminiscent of a muzzle, leaving his nose was his only means of breathing. Each restraint was linked to a chain that bolted him to the floor. Boards of wood ran halfway up the four walls, the upper part blocked by bars. One wall was entirely wood paneling, with hinges running down one side. A door.
I’m in a cage.
The weight of the chains tried their hardest to keep him lying down, but Larry resisted until he felt his hair brush the low roof. He gripped the bars and squinted against the flood of sunshine that came to meet him.
The buzz of murmurs, high-pitched with fear, turned to gasps and the occasional scream. He blinked rapidly, willing his eyes to adjust faster.
Hundreds of black, terrified eyes found his.
Toads were packed together on streets paved with terracotta tiles the color of ripe apricots. An armored car led the procession, towing the prison trailer down the road like a tiger dragging its prey back to its den. At least two dozen Toad soldiers encircled them on motorbikes, warning any pedestrians who came too close.
But not all were intimidated.
“Smoke-breather!” someone shouted.
A brief hesitation, and then several more took up the cry.
The slur finally registered. Larry snarled as loud as he could and shook the bars hard enough to rock the whole trailer, rewarded by a crescendo of screams and even a few who fainted outright.
How dare they diminish him like this, put him in a muzzle and collar as if he were a dog.
We would have destroyed you in the war, he wanted to roar at them. And we still can. We’ll see how confident you are then.
But even as he thought it, he felt the stirrings of anxiety in his stomach. This muzzle keeps me from breathing fire. And these chains fit me perfectly, like they were measured.
Mario’s been preparing.
“He’s awake,” one of the Toads called over a megaphone, warning the other guards. Guns cocked and were trained on Larry. How honorable that would be, shooting him like an animal while he was chained down.
“Attention, Koopaling.” The Toad was addressing him now, making a good effort to appear stern. Larry shook the bars again, even harder, and saw cracks in the soldier’s facade. “You are a prisoner of war. Mario and Luigi have granted you a trial. We have permission to use force if you hurt any more innocents or refuse to cooperate.”
Trial? Larry snorted. What a joke. We all know they’ll have me shot as soon as they can.
Well, too bad. Larry still didn’t plan on going out before Verion.
He just needed to wait until they opened that door.
The silence in the throne room felt palpable, thick enough to be cut with a knife.
An atmosphere of grief and anxiety smothered everything, in spite of the welcoming shades of pink and white adorning the room. Through the lancet windows, the sky was stained orange and yellow. Ornate chandeliers hung overhead, making up for the light the sun would normally provide.
When Princess Peach was present, her castle was lively and its residents content, her throne room packed with petitioners. No one was denied an audience with her.
Now few dared roam about the halls, as if they believed Bowser would hear their footsteps and descend from the air, blotting out the sky with the mammoth hulls of his airships.
Well, Mario knew for a fact they had no reason to fear airships. He grinned to himself. Not after I crashed every one of them.
Let’s see if that bastard’s pockets are deep enough to fix that. Come to think of it, maybe I’ll come for his treasury next…
Peach’s councilors waited from their seats at the two tables before the dais, parted to form an aisle. Beside the throne itself, Mario stood as still and rigid as a statue, smothering his smile in order to maintain a mask of neutrality over his face. At his left, his brother Luigi betrayed his anxiety in the way fidgeted with his sleeves.
No one denied them the right to appear as if in charge. They’d been two crucial supporting beams since the Mushroom Kingdom’s rightful ruler had been snatched nearly a week ago while visiting a nearby town.
There was certainly plenty to keep him busy and, oftentimes, awake at night, but more than anything, Mario wanted to fight his way to the Darklands, storm Bowser’s Castle, and shove the stupid declaration of war message down its author’s throat.
Retaliation for the loss of his airships was one thing, but the rest was nothing but nonsense: an accusation about kidnapping Lemmy Koopa, a plot to assassinate the whole royal family, promises of swift revenge, swears peppered all about. The kind of thing someone who’d indulged in one too many glasses of wine would write. Given his other unsavory habits, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine Bowser with an alcohol problem.
Mario wouldn’t leave his kingdom in chaos, though. He would hold down the fort, take care of those who’d been hurt and displaced by the vicious attack during which Peach had been kidnapped, and mourn the dead.
Unlike Bowser, Mario would put his responsibilities as a leader first.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to let off a little steam during this trial.
“This reminds me way too much of that Star Festival a few years back.”
An event rarely mentioned, and for good reason. Luigi had spoken in a whisper, and yet the nearest councilors’ heads swung around to stare.
Mario shook his head. “I’m sure a lot of people think that. But Bowser’s obvious. He’s not afraid to show himself. No soldiers were actually spotted. The only evidence we've found is shrapnel.”
“Maybe time bombs. Reports say they blew around more volatile areas, and the fire started pretty fast. Say a few came during the night, planted the bombs, and left.”
“Peach was clearly their target,” Mario growled. “The explosions happened right when she was in the middle of everything. It was timed perfectly. There’s got to be someone on the inside.”
Even that was a longshot. No Toad would turn to the monstrous ruler of the Darklands they’d been told to fear since they were children. This kind of organized, strategic attack was nothing like Bowser anyway, and mulling over that particular factor had been the cause of many sleepless nights.
If he'd come for the capital instead…
A knock on the doors took Mario’s attention. He straightened and forced his features into sternness just as a Toad in the uniform of a herald hurried down the long pink carpet leading up to the throne.
“The accused has been summoned,” he announced, though he buzzed with a nervous aura. Little wonder, when another frightful figure he’d only ever heard stories of was the defendant in question.
After the herald came a squadron of twenty guards, clad in armor and armed with rapiers and pistols, positioning themselves in two formations along both walls. Next came another group hauling in stone blocks, each as tall as a Toad and as wide as two, which were set down on opposite sides of the pink runner. On both blocks a metal hook jutted out from one of their six sides, facing inwards.
Mario allowed himself the smallest of smiles.
Inclined towards mercy, Peach’s punishments were usually light. The council had voted to allow Mario to deliver this sentence in Peach’s absence, and he would ensure that there would be no pleasant verdict for this prisoner.
Long, utter silence.
A muffled and yet fearsome unintelligible roar, making nearly everyone jump. The only decipherable thing was the sheer fury poured into the sound. The assembled councilors quaked in their seats, trying and failing to remain composed.
Then the prisoner was dragged in, yanked and prodded down the hall by ten soldiers. Three more guards trailed behind, guns already aimed at him.
He was a blur of thrashing, snarling scales. His hair sprouted from the top of his head in the shape of a flame, the same striking sky blue as his eyes and spiked shell. Smoke poured from his nose, wreathing around his face, half of which was covered by an iron muzzle. More chains bound his feet close together, too short to allow for running. Shackles weighed both wrists, attached to long, thick chains the Toads used to tug him along.
The prisoner was finally stopped between the two stone blocks. The two Toads holding his leashes quickly hooked them to the metal bits embedded in the stone. Snarling, the prisoner yanked until the scales around his wrists bled, but the stone didn’t budge. He eventually stopped and bent over, exhausted and panting.
“Lord Lawrence Koopa of the Darklands,” the herald began, voice small and shaky, “stands before the court, charged with kidnapping, grand larceny, aggravated assault…”
The list of offenses went on. The Koopaling stared ahead in silence, the portrait of shameless defiance.
“Are you willing to behave now, Larry?” Mario asked smoothly.
Larry’s striking blue eyes locked onto his, now aglow with pure, undiluted hatred, fueling something wilder underneath.
He's a monster by nature. All of them are.
Whatever had separated him from the rest of the Koopa Troop had been hard on him, Mario figured, eyes scanning the bloodstained bandages bound over numerous parts of Larry. A few of the wounds had reopened, fresh, bright scarlet blooming over the linen.
“We’ll take the muzzle off so you can talk.” Mario returned Larry’s glare. “If I see so much as one ember, you’ll be spending the rest of your life in that cell we’ve prepared for you.”
A thin puff of smoke through his nose was Larry’s only answer.
Not comforting, but Mario nodded his permission to a pair of Toads anyway. They cautiously approached Larry as they would a slumbering lion. Larry regarded them coldly as one inserted a key into a lock on the muzzle while the other leveled his spear at Larry’s chest.
Even before the gag had fallen to the ground, Larry thrust his head out, sinking his fangs into the Toad’s hand.
The Toad shrieked and scrambled back into the arms of his comrades, nursing his hand, blood sluicing down from a crescent of lacerations.
Face twisted in disgust, Larry spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, ugly and stark against the white, gray-streaked marble. “Even their blood tastes like weakness,” he sneered.
Mario moved without thinking. He stormed down the dais, Toads scattering to make way. He backhanded Larry, hard, leaving a red impression of his hand.
Larry just swung his head around again, eyes narrowed. “You never said anything about biting. Having fire doesn’t make these any less sharp.” He flashed his teeth in a nasty smile. His two prominent fangs were stained crimson.
“Shut up,” Mario snarled, and hit him again.
It silenced a moment and no longer. “So this is how the brave, honorable Mario fights. He chains his enemies down and slaps th—”
Another blow silenced Larry. Mario grabbed his throat and dragged him close. “Don’t you lecture me on honor,” he hissed into Larry’s face. “Do you know how many died in that attack?”
“I hope it’s as many as those who died when you crashed my airship,” Larry growled. Desire for violence glittered in those eyes. “Bet you’re real disappointed to find I’m still alive.”
“You fight dirty all the time. Just look back at the Star Festival. It’s about time we played the same game, and we can beat you at it.”
A growl rumbled in Larry’s throat, the sound enough to make most of the Toad councilors flinch. “This is an act of war. Release me, or my siblings will be here for me within the week.”
“We actually have every right to detain you,” Luigi said from behind. He stepped down to join his brother in a rare show of courage. “As Bowser’s already sent an official declaration, that makes you a prisoner of war. We’re allowed to hold you for interrogation or as a hostage.”
“Give back Peach, and maybe we’ll give you back to Bowser,” Mario added. But then again… “Or maybe we’ll just keep you here. You said your siblings will come for you, and they have plenty of crimes to answer for themselves.”
How much would Bowser cede? Half his treasury? The Seven Lands? Excitement shivered through Mario as more and more prospects opened up before him.
Bloodlust flickered in the depths of Larry’s eyes. “They will burn your entire kingdom to the ground for this.” He spat each word out, quivering with fury. Mario met his gaze evenly, unintimidated, until Larry employed a different tactic. “Bowser’s not behind the attack. He hasn’t even sent soldiers here yet. Something… happened.”
Mario stared at him in disbelief. “Is everyone in your kingdom going insane? Bowser says we kidnapped Lemmy, promises to kill us all, bombs us, and you say he has nothing to do with it.”
“It’s… complicated.” Larry assessed him, now calculating. “But I know where Peach is. I’ll tell you if you let me go.”
“Or how about this.” Mario circled, then suddenly yanked Larry closer by his collar. “You tell us right now, or Bowser never finds out you’re even here and we let you starve in that cell.”
Larry wrenched himself away, fixing Mario with a disgusted look. “You’ve been preparing all of this for years now, haven’t you? There’s a whole lower section of the dungeon with only nine cells. You’ve wanted my siblings captured for a while now, Bowser and Junior, too.”
When Mario made no effort to deny this, Larry smiled slyly. “Wonder if Peach agrees, hm? I pegged her as the more merciful type. Maybe you haven’t even told her about what you did to me and my airship.”
Somehow this Koopa always knew exactly where to strike, whether that was physically or verbally.
Mario’s fingers twitched, itching to slap that smug look off of Larry’s face. “She knows,” he ground out. Two words that were both an answer and not.
Their argument had lasted a quarter of an hour.
I won’t stoop to their level, she’d said.
They’ll keep walking all over us, he’d snapped back. It’s not enough for me and Luigi to just beat them. We need to teach them a lesson.
Peach hadn’t even really agreed when Mario had first had those cells constructed, another dungeon level dug out below the main one.
But she didn’t understand. She was in danger of being snatched again every moment of her life. And Mario hated it with every fiber of his body.
He hated this lying, deceitful bastard who was trying to drive a wedge between him and Peach.
“Enough of this. I sentence you to life imprisonment,” Mario said coldly, not bothering to ask whether Larry pleaded innocent or guilty. “Peach will review your sentence when she is back.” He nodded curtly at the guards and turned his back. “Take him away.”
Larry’s chains were unhooked, and several guards aimed their pistols as another tried to clamp his muzzle back on. Mario paused, waiting for Larry to fight back, waiting for his excuse to throw one last punch.
“Wait!”
Mario would have ignored Larry’s call, had he not detected the note of pleading in it. He froze.
Hesitation, and then Larry finally cracked. “Bowser’s gone. He’s not even in power anymore.”
Silence. The guards halted in their tasks. Mario finally looked back, privately shocked that Larry was willing to disclose this without threats. Luigi’s hand settled on his shoulder, a warning in his blue eyes.
Now that he could see he had Mario’s attention once more, Larry huffed, lifting his chin and regaining some of his arrogance. “Look, I’m only going to tell you this to prove Bowser’s not behind this. But I know who is.”
“Even if you prove you weren’t involved, you have a lot more crimes to answer for,” Luigi said, looking skeptical of Larry’s ability to do the first of those things.
“Do you want to know or not? This guy also has Peach, plus he tried to kill me three times and framed you for it.”
Mario’s pride grated at the thought of giving Larry another moment of his time, but if it meant finding where Peach…
She comes first.
At Mario’s nod, Larry launched into the explanation.
A group of strange Magikoopas had recently come to Bowser’s Castle at invitation. Larry had been naturally suspicious, making him a threat. So one of the Magikoopas, Verion, had used illusion magic to appear as Mario while he tried to kill Larry, knowing that if Larry survived Mario would take all the blame. While everyone ran around searching for Mario, Verion stole a magic artifact and kidnapped Larry, his final plan being to seize the throne with Larry his hostage.
Mario had listened the whole time without interruption, doubt slowly mounting. “And we’re just supposed to believe this isn’t all a lie?”
Larry tossed a scowl over his shoulder at the guards. “I grabbed the pendant just before I was teleported. They confiscated it.”
Mario glanced at them. The one in the uniform of a captain confirmed Larry’s statement with a nod and drew and object from his pocket, passing it to Mario. A beautiful ornament of gold, its charm studded with rubies and engraved with the image of a spiked shell.
Larry shuddered violently as Mario held it up to the light. Mario frowned. “What?”
“You can’t feel it?” As Mario shook his head in confusion, Larry drew away one step, eyes averted. If he was faking his nervousness, he was an even better actor than Mario had thought. “It just feels… wrong. It makes me sick to my stomach. And not just because I know what kind of spell is on it.”
Only Magikoopas could sense magic, Mario had always assumed. Maybe it was a trait that ran in all Koopas. But even he felt sick thinking that hundreds of lives had been sacrificed, each for another scrap of power. “How is this our concern?”
“Because the Magikoopa who cast that spell began killing before my siblings and I took the Seven Lands,” Larry said reasonably. “I’d be shocked if he didn’t go after Toads as well. Not to mention, the Darklands is just one kingdom, and Verion won’t be happy with it for long. He has Peach, and whatever his reason is for taking her, she’s connected to you and can be used against you.”
All very good points. Not that Mario was going to admit that. Only one person got to know.
He drew Luigi aside and murmured, “I really hate to say this, but Larry might be right.”
“But if we get rid of this Verion guy, Bowser will come back and keep being a problem for us.”
Mario cast a furtive glance at Larry, who glowered back. “I’m pretty sure I’d prefer him long-term. And once he’s back, I doubt war will be the first thing on Bowser’s mind.”
“Verion might be dead already. The Koopa Troop could have just killed him.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling that isn’t the case,” Larry interrupted, overhearing them. “Verion’s too smart for that. What he did was a last resort, but he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t had a plan for what he would do without hostages to keep everyone in line.”
This still wasn’t quite adding up. Mario regarded Larry with suspicion. “Why are you so willing to admit your kingdom is weak right now?”
Larry made a dismissive gesture, managing to look haughty even in chains. You never would have let me go otherwise.”
“Who says we’re going to let you go?” Luigi cut in.
A growl from Larry, and when neither Mario or Luigi budged, he dropped his gaze to the floor in what was arguably a show of submission. “Take me with you. I want to kill Verion for this, but I need to find my siblings.”
“You’re in no place to make demands,” Luigi interrupted, voice tinged with disdain. “You said it yourself. We’re all in danger. We don’t have time to waste tracking down a few more of Bowser’s lackeys.”
Nothing could have predicted Larry’s reaction.
Not a glare, not a snarl, no indication at all—just action.
His wrist flew out of its shackle and with a swing of his arm he sent the nearest guards reeling. In the blink of an eye his claws seized Luigi’s throat, dragging him into his grip, a feral snarl escaping his lips.
Even Mario found himself backing away. There was nothing human on that face.
Gasps from the councilors. The guards stared in horror but didn’t dare shoot with Luigi in Larry’s claws.
“Let’s get one damn thing straight.” Larry’s voice was a furious hiss in Luigi’s ear. Luigi’s eyes had become bulging oceans of terror. “I’m nobody’s lackey, and the same goes for my siblings. Finding them is not a waste of time.” His claws sank deeper. Luigi winced. “Got that?”
Luigi opened his mouth to speak, but only a squeak came out.
Another snarl. Larry shook Luigi like a limp pelt, his tail lashing. “Got that?!”
A frenetic nod. Lip curled in a sneer, Larry shoved Luigi away. The same heartbeat, six Toads slammed into him and forced him to the floor.
All Mario could do was watch as Larry roared and lunged at the guards, even as Luigi hit the ground. When Mario finally helped his brother up, he realized his hands were shaking ever so slightly. He forced them to still.
Quit being a coward.
“He picked the lock with this, sir,” the captain announced, prising a pin emblazoned with Peach’s sigil of a crown from Larry’s fingers. “He must have stolen it from one of our own while we were bringing him.” He threw a scowl at Larry, who only spat a curse in response.
And he’s been working on the lock this whole time, while provoking us to keep us distracted. Typical Larry. Even more infuriating was the fact that Mario had fallen into the trap. Luigi could have been killed, then and there.
“Good luck convincing us to release you now.” Luigi threw a reproachful look at Larry as he stood, dusting himself off.
Larry barked a humorless laugh. “So you get to insult my siblings, and when I fight back, suddenly I’m a despicable monster?” He smiled nastily at Luigi, both fangs catching the light. “Did this evil, ruthless little Koopa scare you? Why don’t you just go and hide behind your brother again?”
Officially out of patience, Mario opened his mouth to order the guards to throw Larry back in the dungeon. Larry noticed and backpedaled quickly.
“How would you feel if you were miles away from Luigi in an unfamiliar place where everyone hates you?” Larry asked, voice imploring once more. “I value family the same way you do.” When Mario hesitated, Larry poured all his desperation into one word.
“Please.”
This is a trick.
Mario repeated the thought over and over, and yet, he wondered why he had to convince himself at all.
Beside him, Luigi was shaking his head furiously. It was clear enough what he thought.
Mario assessed Larry, searching for any cracks, any signs that he was lying. Then again, Larry’s facades were as smooth as glass. It was easier to assume he was always lying.
And yet, seeing proud, defiant Larry turn to pleading…
“Swear it. Swear you won’t hurt us or those we care about, abandon us, or betray us at any point during the journey.”
More gasps. Luigi gave Mario a look of disbelief.
“Kneel and swear it like you mean it,” Mario repeated.
Larry hesitated only for the briefest moment. He sank to his knees and bowed his head, holding one hand to his heart. His eyes were hard with determination. “I swear on my honor that I won’t hurt you or those you care about, abandon you, or betray you at any point during the journey.”
“On your honor? You don’t have any,” Luigi muttered under his breath.
Lifting his head, Larry fixed Luigi with a murderous look that made him squirm. His eyes slid to Mario. “This oath only lasts until Verion is dead. After that, the truce is over.”
Fair enough. Mario nodded curtly, and had one last mental battle before he spoke next. “You can come,” he said at last. “Only because it’s in our best interests, and because Peach’s life is at stake. You can look for your siblings on the way, but we won’t stay long.”
Larry appeared a bit disgruntled, but he acknowledged that it was the best he could hope for with a muttered, “Fine.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Luigi hissed into his brother’s ear.
Mario didn’t answer. Even now, he was beginning to doubt his decision. Even now, he felt guilty for disagreeing with his twin brother, who he trusted more than himself.
When Mario gave no reply, Luigi sighed, then fixed Larry with a stern look. “Don’t forget—we’ve got our eyes on you.”
Larry seemed utterly unfazed, perhaps even a little amused. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow,” Mario said decisively. When Larry opened his mouth to argue, he forestalled him. “It’s going to be dark soon, and we need to pack anyway.” A warning sideways glance. “And you are still our prisoner. You’ll stay in the dungeon tonight. Don’t try to escape, or we’ll leave you behind tomorrow.”
“What about when you see that Verion really did kidnap Peach?” Larry demanded. “Will you let me go then?”
“We’ll discuss that when we reach the castle,” Mario replied steadily.
A fierce scowl. “That’s not an answer, you know.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Mario signaled to the Toads again.
This time Larry didn’t struggle, even as his muzzle was set back in place, but he threw Mario one last glare before the doors closed.
I’m probably going to regret this, aren’t I?
Larry spent the night silently fuming and snarling at the guards until they quit gawking at him as if he were an exotic animal in a zoo.
He’d glimpsed the other cells on his way down here. It had been a shock to see that Peach had a dungeon at all, so Larry wasn’t too surprised to see a bunch of security-related oversights and cushy features. Windows. Actual beds. Not nearly enough guards. When someone was thrown into Bowser’s dungeon, it was no light thing, and little mercy was shown to the prisoners. Here, a determined Toad could escape if they had half a braincell.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t see any prisoners. They all escaped and these dizzy idiots just didn’t realize it.
Mario, however, had designed the second floor of this dungeon in a manner more reminiscent of Bowser’s.
The lights were few and dim, and there was a single, narrow passage. Five cells lined the right side, four on the left, their doors thick slabs of wood fortified with iron. The constant drip of moisture leaking from the ceiling and the scurry of spiders and mice in the darkness formed a symphony of loneliness.
Larry was in near complete darkness, only allowed a scrap of the already scarce light through a tiny, barred window in the door. He was forced to stand upright, ankles chained to the floor, wrists and collar chained to the wall behind him. The stupid muzzle was back, the only thing keeping from setting everything on fire in a rage.
Mario wants all of us down here.
The thought of his family in these conditions started a growl in Larry’s throat. I’ll die before that happens.
Larry drew his claws along the wall, feeling trapped inside his own scales. He needed to find his siblings, and then Bowser. Kamek was smart—wherever the king and prince were, they would last until Larry had gathered his family.
Would Bowser have been proud of me today? Larry wondered wistfully.
I told our enemies we were weak, but to save my siblings. Is that still disloyalty?
Stupid Mario and Luigi. It’s all their fault.
Larry snarled to himself, feeling his claws scrape against stone. What a pair of stuck-up Magmaarghs, having him put on display in a show trial, threatening to use him as bait to catch his siblings.
But at least Larry had managed to leave out the more personal parts of the story, including Lemmy’s kidnapping and Iggy’s betrayal. For all Mario knew, the twins had never been involved at all.
He never would have understood anyway.
Footsteps broke into his thoughts. A key slid into the lock on his door, turning.
The door slid open, a pair of guards silhouetted against the poor lighting. A third Toad followed them in, wearing a doctor’s white coat and carrying a bag.
“We’re going to take off your muzzle so she can heal you,” one of the guards said sharply, moving to his side. “Mario wants you to know that if you lay so much as one finger on her, you’ll be left behind tomorrow.”
Huh. So Mario was actually bothering to make sure Larry was fit for the journey. As much as Larry’s pride wanted him to refuse, his wounds had reopened today and were throbbing fiercely. The scant treatment he’d received in the mine with Verion wouldn’t keep infection at bay for long.
The doctor began sifting through the contents of her bag. An excuse to not have to look at him, Larry figured. The catch in the muzzle came undone and was lifted from his face. Glancing up, the doctor caught sight of his fangs and gulped visibly. The Toad soldiers cast suspicious looks at him as they positioned themselves by the door, hands not far from the pistols belted at their waists.
“Hold still, please,” the doctor said quietly, finally daring to approach. When Larry didn’t move, she bit her lip and began unwinding a bandage on his arm.
Larry watched her, eyes narrowed. She had an aura of meekness about her, and not the kind of jittery anxiety all Toads seemed to have. She even flinched as she saw the gash underneath the bandage.
He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why are you a doctor if seeing wounds scares you?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice, and the guard withdrew their pistols. A shake of her head and the guns were lowered again, though reluctantly. “It’s one of the better paying jobs for females. And I graduated at the top of my class, so I got into the training institution at a discount.”
“Jobs for females?” Even as Larry repeated it, he remembered. His lips twitched downwards in disgust. “Oh, that’s right. Your society puts you below your males.”
“Not below,” she protested, though a flicker of an old pain showed in her eyes. She turned back to her bag. “I’m going to stitch this up. It’ll hurt, but you’ll be able to pull out the thread once it heals.”
“I know what getting stitches feels like,” Larry said acidly. Even so, he ground his teeth together as her needle slid into his flesh. “Males can take whatever jobs they like. How many options do you have?”
The Toad lowered her head for a moment, unrolling a fresh length of bandage. “There are teachers, maids, seamstresses, cooks, doctors…” At Larry’s pitying look, she added a bit defensively, “It’s important work.”
Were all female Toads like this? Trapped in a cage their males had tricked them into thinking wasn’t there? Larry spat on the floor. “Work that your males don’t bother to do themselves. You can’t even be soldiers?”
The guards at the door flashed him scandalized looks, as if Larry were poisoning the mind of one of their females. “That’s improper,” one of them said accusingly.
Larry could only imagine what Wendy would do if she were here. It would probably involve her fists. He barked a laugh. “Say what you like about Koopas, but where I come from, we don’t make stupid problems over gender. Anyone who wants to fight has the chance to serve in the army.”
“Really?” the doctor blurted out, regarding him with a new interest.
While the guards spluttered over the atrocity of allowing females to fight, Larry spared her a glance. “Really. If anything, females make better warriors. Their instinct to protect their family is even stronger than a male’s, and it shows when they fight.” He snorted. “I don’t believe this stupid kingdom. I don’t know how it works for you, but our females spend months without leaving their eggs and would instinctively kill to protect them. They raise new generations. How can any society treat them like they’re less?”
Dropping her gaze and turning back to her task, the doctor said fell silent for a long time. And then, quietly, “I wanted to be part of Princess Peach’s royal guard when I was little.”
And you weren’t able to, because of something you can’t control.
Larry bit back the words. He thought he’d never find a Toad he even remotely felt sorry for after what he’d been through, but this one had been kept from her dream by her society’s idiotic rules. Maybe that’s why Peach is only a princess. She can’t become a queen until she marries.
The doctor soon left, glancing back at Larry a few times. He growled but managed not to lash out while his muzzle was put back one, and its invasive metal touch pressed against his face. The guards held their heads a bit higher on their way out, and Larry was painfully aware that for all his snarling, he was the prisoner, and they were free.
Damn them all.
Fire began to travel up his throat, begging for release. With it came a stream of unwelcome memories. When dark, trash-filled alleys and old storage crates had been homes for a few weeks, until he and his siblings were found and thrown out, as if they were unworthy of living even in garbage.
I wonder if any of them even remember us. Smoke curled from Larry’s nose. Because I’ll never forget what they did to us.
On his side, Roy bore three long, faded slashes, a testament to the time he’d taken a blow from a Toad farmer’s pitchfork to save Ludwig and Larry. Infection had hindered the healing process, enough that they'd left permanent scars, three terrible marks Roy would bear for the rest of his life.
I’d kill that Toad if I could. Or maybe I’d settle for maiming him so he could remember me for the rest of his miserable life.
And when it seemed like the Mother was finally about to reclaim them, She’d shown favor, and sent them into Bowser’s arms. Larry looked up to Bowser, respected him as his king, but his desire to please Bowser was fueled by something more. Sometimes Larry would receive a sign that his love was returned—a smile, an extra word of praise, even a fatherly protectiveness.
Ten years ago, Bowser had shown Larry a newspaper from the Mushroom Kingdom brought by their spies. The Koopalings, Toads called them. Once a common affectionate term used for any young Koopa, now a title to fear and respect.
Small but mighty, Bowser had told him, eyes shining with pride.
Just a week after that had been the ceremony during which Larry had been pronounced a lord at five years old. Bowser had drawn Larry aside the next morning and spoken words that had never left his heart.
You honor this kingdom with your independence and courage. You have earned your title many times over with the service you and your siblings have done. No one doubts your right to rule now. You have worked to get their respect and loyalty. I know you will achieve much more.
Then a look, through bottomless crimson eyes. I am proud of you.
From then on, Larry had craved hearing more of those words.
I’ll make you proud again, Larry silently vowed, resolve pouring into every corner of him, from nose to tail. I’ll kill Verion. I’ll save my siblings. I’ll get your throne back if it’s the last thing I do.
Or I’ll die trying.
Notes:
...Look, I'm kinda tired of Mario getting idolized all the time. If I were him, I'd be so done with Bowser already. So, he's not quiet as messed up as Verion, but there's definitely some angst there.
Larry I'm sorry you have to go through this :(
Chapter 18: Living A Lie
Notes:
We're going to have some kind of heavy angst for a bit here.
So, Larry made it out okay(ish)... but did Lemmy?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bowser’s dungeon was a mystery to all of his court, a prison so secure no guards were necessary, an underground hell where the kingdom’s worst criminals awaited trial, interrogation, or execution.
There were rumors, of course. Rumors started by a crafty monarch who understood that a few whispers and a touch of speculation here and there could paint a more horrifying picture than any definite description.
Only one or two members of the royal family knew what the prison really looked like, and it lived up to the rumors: winding passages of tight, airless cells carpeted with bones and the decaying remains of forgotten prisoners. If a few days in such conditions weren’t enough to loosen stubborn tongues, torture was supposedly much worse—trained Magikoopas could make one hallucinate their greatest fears or raise the temperature of their blood to boiling.
Lemmy had only been here one night, and every scale of him already hated it.
Really, he had no right to complain. There had been an uproar when Verion had wanted Lemmy held in the dungeon. Verion hadn’t budged, but he’d agreed to let a handful of servants furnish Lemmy’s cell to ensure he was as comfortable as possible.
It had taken less than a day for them to carefully cloak the cell in so much luxury it now resembled a high-end hotel room.
Elaborately embroidered rugs lay over the austere flagstones, as soft as clouds to the touch. Silk drapes of green and gold cloaked the walls, concealing bloodstains. Shelves along all four walls were stacked with Lemmy’s favorite books taken from Iggy’s massive collection. Easels and piles of sketchbooks competed for the space in the corners, which had been cleared of cobwebs and rat droppings. A velvet sofa and a pair of armchairs formed a semicircle in the center of the room, heaped with throw pillows and luxurious blankets. Scented candles hid the reek of mold and rot under the aromas of lavender and lemon.
This morning when Lemmy woke up on the sofa, cast in the welcoming yellow glow of lamps, he almost believed everything had all been a dream—that he’d just fallen asleep in the middle of a night of drawing, that Verion had never existed—until he saw the rusted iron bars blocking his exit and felt the cold bite of the solid gold shackle around his ankle.
Verion’s way of mocking him, Lemmy thought bitterly as he beheld the long gold chain that bound his foot to the floor, only long enough to let him walk to the edges of his cell and no farther.
A glaring reminder of the pampered life he’d led, and that while he may be allowed to continue living so glamorously, he was still a prisoner. A pawn to be controlled.
Outside, a pair of burly Sledge Brothers stood guard, cold and stern by appearance but attentive to Lemmy’s every need. The dungeon corridor beyond was wider than the dark, claustrophobic passage Lemmy had initially imagined. Torches flickered within prisons of their own, tiny barred alcoves, forming pools of orange light on the floor.
The thud of feet over stone. Probably his breakfast coming, not that Lemmy had much appetite for it. He didn’t turn away from the canvas set up on the easel in front of him.
He’d begun to dabble in painting and had finished a preliminary sketch of a garden in full bloom before he’d been kidnapped. Withdrawing his brush, he found the sunny sky he’d pictured now blotted out by the ominous forms of stormclouds. The bright colors he’d first envisioned had somehow become muted, the gazebo rusted and weathered.
Disheartened, Lemmy rubbed his eyes, accidentally smearing a bit of maroon paint on his cheek.
“Master Lemmy.”
Finally Lemmy turned, wiping the paint away. A stream of servants were descending from a landing, each one bearing a different platter. It must have taken hours for them to prepare it all.
The enticing smells brought a bit of hunger back to Lemmy’s stomach. He heaved himself off the stool and made his way over to the couch, golden chain dragging over a patch of stone with a scrape.
Verion, knowing well Lemmy couldn't escape while chained to the floor, had entrusted the guards with a key. As the servants filed in, wordlessly setting each dish, the open doorway seemed to taunt Lemmy, a taste of freedom like a ripe apple hanging just out of reach.
Lemmy ate in silence, the first bite turning to ash in his mouth. The silverware shook in his fingers.
“Thank you,” he said numbly remembering his manners, even as he thought, Why would they all do this for me?
His defenses wavered, allowing the dark thoughts to slither in, strangling and poisonous like snakes. What a waste. You don’t deserve their love. It’s your fault they’re not fighting back.
Without thinking, Lemmy fingered a crisscross of faint, nearly invisible marks on the inner side of his left arm, rough beneath his touch.
Feeling left his core, and a rush of lightheadedness poured into him. The fork slipped from his fingers, landing with a clink on the flagstones.
“Sir?” one of the guards asked, voice edged with concern. “Are you alright?”
Lemmy barely managed to nod back, just before a memory came crashing through his head like an unleashed Chain Chomp.
It’s his and Iggy’s fifteenth birthday.
Bowser threw them a massive party in their honor that lasted until after midnight. The court wore their finest, brought gifts that were amassed into a pile that was stacked taller than Bowser standing at full height. Morton spent all day making a centerpiece cake and helping prepare a feast.
Lemmy should be happy.
But all he can think about is how much he hates himself.
Lemmy somehow manages to hold himself together until he and Iggy are back in their bedroom. Within seconds, Iggy is asleep. Mind whirling, Lemmy climbs out of bed and rushes out into the hall so fast he nearly trips over the fine carpets.
Moments from the party tumble through his head, bright and painful, like shards of broken glass.
A cavernous ballroom, swathed in green and gold and purple in honor of the royal twins. Music and laughter. Tables crammed with rare cuts of meat, seasoned rice, slices of sweet and savory breads, aged cheeses and wines, and cakes and tartlets topped with cream.
A space was set aside for Lemmy and Iggy, heaped with cushions and shaded by a canopy. Servants fanned them, kept their wineglasses full. All through the party Lemmy watched the heaps of presents grow with mounting agitation, fingers winding through his necklace of jade. One thought chased itself around in his head. I don’t deserve this. Any of this.
Lemmy slows as he reaches the living room, cloaked in shadows. A few coals continue to smolder in the fireplace, casting their faint glow over silk bows and shiny wrapping.
Both he and Iggy are social enough that the court knew exactly what to get them. Presents compete for space on every available surface, be it table or floor: jewelry, art supplies, sculptures and paintings he uses as references.
It’s not hard to tell which ones are from Lemmy’s siblings, though, and there are many. He blushes, both embarrassed and touched as he spies plush kittens to add to his collection, bags of those salted caramel candies he craves incessantly, and limited edition copies of mangas written by authors in Sarasaland and picked up by Ludwig’s spies. Things only his family would know.
I don’t deserve them—I don’t deserve any of this.
The thought seems to ring through Lemmy’s entire body. His eyes sting with tears.
He stops before the hearth, bending over to breathe a plume of fire onto the logs. Fresh flames spring to life, their orange tongues hungrily licking at the wood. Lemmy turns to the coffee table behind him, where more gifts were heaped, to be organized tomorrow.
An ornate box catches his eye. Compared to such beauty, the sticky note pasted on the lid seems ironic. Lemmy lifts the lid to see his name written in Larry's messy scrawl, complete with a winking smiley face scribbled in the corner. A smile touches his lips, faltering as he sees what sits inside the box.
A set of knives rest on a green velvet bed. Each blade is silver and already sharpened, with hilts carved from wolf bone, sparkling with emeralds and silver filigree. They’re small and slender, clearly meant for throwing, which Lemmy has always shown promise in despite lacking the size and bravery to fight close-quarters.
Lemmy picks a knife up with shaking fingers, a sob rising in his throat. Why would he think I deserve this?
Self-loathing burns through Lemmy, riding on anger. He squeezes his eyes shut over tears as voices in his own mind rage at him. Worthless. Pathetic.
I let them waste their love on me.
When he opens them again, the blade is embedded in his arm. Hot, sticky blood oozes around the silver, dripping down his arm.
Lemmy can only stare in shock. I just stabbed myself. The numb sensation soon fades, and pain registers. He bites back a cry.
Underneath, the dark thoughts are roaring their approval. I deserve it, the pain.
Yanking the knife free with a gasp, Lemmy grits his teeth and slashes it over the previous mark. Blood spurts, a few drops striking his face. He flinches as they make contact, warm as embers and dark as rubies.
Again, the dark thoughts demand.
Again. And again.
He welcomes the pain. A dark puddle is forming on the carpet underneath him. He is dimly aware that he is sobbing, tears cutting clean streaks through the splatters of his own blood on his cheeks.
“Lemmy?!”
The dark thoughts scatter like discovered roaches, and Lemmy whirls around with a squeak. His heart drops like a stone into his stomach. Wrapped in a bathrobe, Iggy is standing in the hall’s threshold, staring in horror.
“What are you doing to yourself?” Iggy screams, eyes riveted on the bloody tangle of slashes on Lemmy’s arm.
The agony finally surfaces, but it’s not what brings fresh tears to Lemmy’s eyes. The knife slips from his fingers, landing with a clatter. He sinks to his knees just as Iggy reaches him, throwing his arms around Lemmy, breathing hard as if he’s just run a marathon.
“I’m so sorry,” Lemmy sobs into Iggy’s ribs. He can feel the blood pulsating from his arm, staining the emerald green sleeve of Iggy’s bathrobe to a red so deep it’s almost black.
“Shh, don’t apologize.” Iggy nuzzles him, but his grip borders on painful. He is crying too, Lemmy realizes. More tears pour forth. How could I make him feel like this? I’m a monster.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.
Lemmy clutched his skull, breathing hard, fighting tooth and claw to shove the memory away. It had been a long time since he’d thought of that night three years ago.
With every hour that passed, he could feel dark thoughts gaining ground, threatening to consume him.
I really should be taking my meds…
But in some sick, twisted way, the dark thoughts were comforting. You can’t escape us, they said, so why not get used to us? You might be trash—but at least you know your place. Listen to us and you’ll always know your place.
After that night, it had been two months before Iggy allowed his twin to practice with any sort of blade in the training courts. Lemmy had tried to conceal the real cause of the wounds on his arm, but his siblings had seen right through the lie he’d crafted.
They’d never spoken of it again, but even today, whenever Lemmy reached for the scissors to cut a drawing from his sketchbook or a knife to slice an apple, Iggy would tense up and insist on performing the task himself.
And Lemmy would let him, because he shared Iggy’s fear. What if I’d done worse/ What if I’d… killed myself?
Even worse was a realization. I considered it.
And that certainly wouldn't be the first or last time.
Such thinking ruined his appetite altogether. Lemmy forced down a few more bites, but soon dismissed the servants. He received several more concerned looks before they withdrew, and the door was closed once more. As their footsteps receded, he leaned back against the armrest, wishing he could fall asleep and never wake up.
Barely a minute had passed when more footsteps came marching down the stairs.
Lemmy looked up, torn between exasperation and gratitude. Those servants must have brought their concerns to the healers after seeing him eat so little. For all his frustration, he was touched by their care.
“Let go of me!”
Lemmy jumped so hard he knocked a throw pillow to the floor, landing with a thump over the golden chain. The Sledge Brothers snapped to attention, hands flying to the hammers propped against the wall, each head probably heavier than Lemmy, reminding him of the hammer Morton liked to use.
I think I know that voice, Lemmy thought, peering into the gloom. Female, and rather angry-sounding.
“Come now, princess. I’ve arranged for you to have company down here.”
Low growls from the Sledge Brothers. Lemmy recoiled, wishing for once he could be even smaller, too small to see. I definitely know that voice. What does Verion want now?
A tall figure swathed in black strode into view, his form nearly melting into the shadows. Behind him were two more Magikoopas in the same dark colors, making the woman in pink in between them all the more noticeable.
“Peach?” Lemmy blurted out before he could stop himself.
The princess swung her head around to fix him with a wide-eyed stare. Verion tossed a smile Lemmy’s way. “Ah, Lemmy. I hope you’ve slept well.”
Lemmy could practically feel the waves of hatred rolling off of the Sledge Brothers. All he could muster was terror, shrinking away from Verion’s gaze, acutely aware of how pathetic he must look.
Larry told me she was kidnapped too, he remembered, risking another glance at Peach. How long was she in the mine?
The Magikoopas restraining Peach took advantage of her moment of distraction and shoved her into the cell across from Lemmy. The door slammed shut behind her. Verion turned his back on Lemmy to regard his newest prisoner.
“I don’t know who you are, you bastard, but Mario will come for you,” Peach spat at him.
Far from troubled, Verion smiled. “I certainly hope so.”
Her eyes tracked Verion to the stairs, and as his footsteps receded, her attention went to Lemmy. “What are you even doing down here?”
“Show some respect to Master Lemmy,” one of Lemmy’s guards said gruffly, though carefully. Though well guarded, Peach had always been kept in lavish guest rooms rather than the dungeon on Bowser’s orders, and she was to be treated with the respect owed to the Koopa’s King’s soon-to-be wife. Even with Bowser gone, old habits died hard.
Lemmy could only stare at her, searching for responses and drawing blanks each time. She knew him as a scatterbrained idiot, but he couldn’t act that way without confusing his guards. He needed them out of the way, if only for a few minutes.
Lemmy beckoned to the closest Sledge Brother and murmured, “Go take a break. Have others take your posts for a bit. You’ve been here since early this morning, I bet.”
The guards exchanged uneasy glances, but bowed their heads in acceptance. As Lemmy watched their retreating shells, he donned the mask that was his second identity: juvenile, erratic, loopy, generally ridiculous.
Behind his lopsided smile, his brain was already working out what to say. Peach gave a derisive snort, already falling for the facade.
This would be a cinch. People were careless with information when they thought they were talking to fools.
“Let me guess,” Peach said sourly, leaning against the wall of her cell. Her hair and dress were streaked with grime and disheveled, but she’d yet to lose her attitude. “You pissed off Bowser, and he threw you in here for a few days.” She studied his cell, the expensive decor and furnishings, with obvious disdain. “Not that royalty should be forced to wallow in such dreadful conditions.”
How dare she think Bowser would do something so capricious as imprisoning his courtiers on a whim? Lemmy quashed his rising indignation, mentally reciting his mantra: Let her see the smile. Let her see the smile, and nothing else.
“Bowser’s away, actually,” he said with false cheerfulness. Years of practice had made this act convincing enough to fool anyone but his siblings. Even so, he allowed himself just the smallest of smirks. “You’ll like it down here. The rats won’t bite, if you’re nice.”
Satisfaction coursed through him as she shuddered. She recovered quickly, shooting him a dirty look. “Well, whoever those old creeps are, they do their job better than you and your siblings. I don’t think anyone saw them take me.” Suddenly she was the one smirking. “Now that I think of it, I bet Bowser fired you all.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t do that. I think he likes me just as much as you.” Lemmy sprawled out on the sofa, purposely running his claws along the rich velvet. “Maybe more,” he added with smugness that was not entirely fake.
Peach looked far from impressed. “You said Bowser was away. Doing… what exactly?”
A childish, high-pitched giggle. “You actually think I’ll tell you? And everyone thinks I’m the silly one!”
She rolled her eyes. “Out of those seven, I had to end up with the damn clown,” she muttered under her breath.
Lemmy thought quickly about how to approach next. He’d taken care of Peach’s initial suspicion, allowing her to believe her own assumption was true. She would be even more careless with her words now.
Make your opponents underestimate you, Bowser had told him once. Overconfident enemies are easy ones. Maintain the illusion until an attack will be the last thing they expect, and then strike.
Iggy, however, had never agreed with Bowser’s way of training Lemmy, and supposedly he’d once even said so to Bowser’s face. Even now, Lemmy could see his twin’s disapproving scowl. You don’t have to act like someone you’re not. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to us. You’re living a lie.
But my feelings are mine. And they’re troublesome enough without everyone knowing. The scars on Lemmy’s arm were a testament of that. Proof that his own mind was sometimes his worst enemy.
Sometimes living a lie is better for everyone.
After all, when Lemmy pretended he was okay, it made others happy, and then he could almost believe he was happy as well.
Almost.
The sound of slow footsteps bounced off the bleak stone walls, snapping Lemmy from his trance. He had a sick feeling he knew who it was before they stepped into the torchlight.
“I thought I’d overhear a thing or two if I lingered a bit,” Verion said casually, his eyes settling on Lemmy, ignoring Peach’s glare entirely.
Lemmy didn’t answer, pretending to be absorbed in the flickering flame of a candle. But his hands shook, and Verion spotted it like a wolf searching its prey for weaknesses.
“Is Lemmy here a little shy?” Verion shook his head. “My apologies, princess. I might be able to answer your questions.”
Lemmy couldn’t help it. Shedding all pretenses, he fled to the back of his cell, tripping over his own feet in his haste, cursing himself for sending his guards away.
Verion produced his wand from his robe, and murmured a spell. Lemmy’s chain suddenly snaked towards Verion as if given a mind of its own, dragging Lemmy along for the ride. Lemmy scrabbled feebly at the rugs to anchor himself, but the chain only pulled harder, determined to drag him before the bars.
Verion reached through and seized him by the arm, yanking him upright. “We kidnapped Lemmy here a while ago, after Bowser contacted us with plans to form an alliance with us.” Verion’s lips twisted into a smirk. “He was even more of a valuable hostage than we’d thought. Why don’t you tell Princess Peach what kind of things Iggy did to save you, Lemmy?”
Terror blocked Lemmy’s response. He was unable to tear his eyes from the glowing red stone embedded in the tip of Verion’s wand. The same wand that had made Larry scream with agony.
All while I stood there, completely useless.
Verion shook his head again, as though disapproving of a child’s poor manners. “A few threats, and Iggy was suddenly our loyal servant,” he went on, “willing to murder his brother and help us seize the throne. Now all of Lemmy’s siblings are far away, and I rule the Darklands.”
Finally Verion let Lemmy drop to the floor, letting him cower before leaning close and delivering his parting words in a soft, gleeful whisper.
“There’s nothing they can do to save you now.”
In a sweep of his robes, the Magikoopa was gone, vanishing back into the shadows.
Lemmy scrambled back to the center of his cell, watching his chain follow with growing fear. Could Verion make it do other things? Strangle Lemmy in his sleep? He regretted picturing that right away and sagged into an armchair, covering his eyes.
“So your brother is the reason you’re in this mess?” Peach asked flatly. She sounded like she already knew the answer, and it didn’t surprise her in the least.
In spite of everything that had happened, Lemmy would never renounce the loving, brilliant brother who was there when he was scared, did his hair every morning without fail, called him “sweet rose” when he felt like he was worth less than dirt.
“Iggy isn’t a traitor,” Lemmy snarled with a ferocity that startled him even as he said it. “He did what he did for my sake. Neither Larry or Bowser blames him for it. That monster who calls himself a king didn’t mention that the Koopa Troop only obeys him because they don’t want me to die.”
His breathing grew ragged, and he sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands, fighting the tears that threatened to consume him.
No. I’m the reason for all of this.
When he looked up again, Peach was staring at him, openmouthed.
Lemmy returned it blankly until realization struck. His anger returned, this time directed at himself. Idiot. You blew it. You could have recovered from Verion, but there’s no going back now.
Clutching the bars of her cell, Peach leaned forward and studied him intently. “You’re a lot smarter than you look, aren’t you?”
Scrambling for a defense, Lemmy settled for anger in the hopes that she might stop prying. “What’s it to you, anyway? You’ve probably already pegged me as a monster.”
“You say that like you’ve done nothing to earn that reputation.”
Well, she had a point there. Lemmy berated himself as soon as he thought it. I’m following orders. That’s what good soldiers do.
“Feel free to hate me. The feeling’s mutual. But you’d think I was a monster even if you’d never met me before.”
“And how do you know that?”
Lemmy extended one hand, letting his claws show. “Because everyone in the Mushroom Kingdom knows all Koopas born monsters.”
“Again, you’ve earned that. You stole the Seven Lands,” Peach said sharply. “Thousands of Toads lost their homes. Some didn’t make it out alive—all because of your greed.”
“Greed? Is that what you think?” Lemmy barked a humorless laugh. Typical princess, parroting the half-truths her kingdom had fed her. “Your kingdom is huge and has everything you need. In case you’ve forgotten, ours is so full of active volcanoes and lava fields that it’s almost impossible to farm. If it had gone on much longer, we all would have gone back to fighting over everything. Seeing as you weren’t looking to share, we went and took what we needed.”
That got Peach to shut up. Lemmy went on before she could throw another half-baked excuse at him. “See what I mean? No one likes to look at our side of the story, because it’s easier to go on hating us.”
“It is easy. You serve a king who puts his own selfish obsession with me above his subjects. You can’t see past your own kingdom either. You don’t care about how many suffered. If you even have a story worth hearing, then let’s hear it.”
My story. Lemmy’s heart instinctively formed a barricade around itself, refusing to open to another. People who carelessly asked that question didn’t realize how many painful memories it dredged up.
He didn’t owe this sheltered princess any answer. The truth was not a pleasant one, and he was in no mood to hear her denials.
It doesn’t matter. She’s already decided how she wants to look at me.
Footsteps thudded down the stairs. The same two Sledge Brothers from before, plus another pair. They crowded around the bars to Lemmy’s cell like anxious relatives, features creased in deep concern as they dipped into bows.
“Your Lordship,” one of them rose and exhaled with relief. “We saw Verion coming in and tried to stop him, but he threatened to hurt you if we followed him.”
“Are you alright, sir?” another demanded, knuckles white over the handle of his huge hammer.
Lemmy had never been so happy to see them, an excuse to end his conversation with Peach. He nodded and turned carefully, concealing the bruises Verion’s grip had made on his arm. The last thing he wanted was for these four to confront Verion in a rage and get themselves killed.
One from the pair that had been on guard that morning traded looks with his friends. “Master Lemmy should not be left unguarded from now on,” he growled. “Not for one second. And there should be four on watch instead of two. I’ll ask General Iskra to send guards at specified times so no one has to leave.”
Nods in response. The Sledge Brother glanced back at Lemmy. “You should rest, sir. You look exhausted. We’ll keep you safe.”
Lemmy barely had the energy to nod back. He met Peach’s hateful eyes once more, and looked away. “Could you drop the curtains? I’d like some privacy.”
“Of course, sir.” Bobbing his head, a guard reached out and tugged a delicately braided cord free. Heavy velvet drapes swooped down.
Allowing himself a small sigh of relief, Lemmy turned towards the coffee table. The servants who’d brought his breakfast had left a steaming pot of tea there. He got up to pour himself a cup and collect the fox-fur blanket he’d slept in, then returned to his seat. The tea was still hot, tasting of lemon and thyme, soothing his frayed nerves.
He leaned back with another sigh, running his hands along the blanket.
It was the same luxury Lemmy had grown up in, a cruel illusion of his life before his kidnapping. Only now, the velvet and silk hid bars. And outside that cage, his people were suffering a dictator’s rule.
As always, he was living a lie.
Notes:
Hmm, yeah, no, he did not make it out okay at all.
Just for future reference, the Lemmy chapters are going to be really heavy angst. You have no idea what I'm going to put this cutie through.
Chapter 19: The Monster In My Blood
Notes:
~Who's ready for more angst!~
After our little break with Lemmy, we're headed back to Larry for this one.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The trembling Toad servant bearing a tray of food was murmuring something under his breath. A prayer to the Stars, Larry realized with a grin.
“Save me from this demon, and I’ll be faithful for the rest of my days…”
Larry’s brief amusement fizzled out. Demon. Ha. The Stars favor me to a faithless creature like you.
He locked eyes with the Toad and purposely drew his tongue over one fang, as if enticed by the idea of a fresh kill.
The Toad’s eyes bulged with terror. Above the reek of mold, the sharp tang of urine suddenly surfaced. Larry grinned wickedly.
One of the guards eventually took the tray himself, allowing the servant to flee, and cautiously held it up to Larry as though delivering an offering to an unforgiving deity. Larry assessed the fare with disdain. A few slices of bread that were mostly crust and fruit. Was this what they called a meal?
Oh, that’s right. Most Toads are vegetarians. Larry rolled his eyes. Apparently they don’t eat much at all, either. No wonder they’re so puny.
Nevertheless, Larry couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and he would take even these scanty offerings over nothing at all.
Humiliating as it was to have a Toad lift it into his mouth since his hands were chained to the wall, Larry suffered it without complaint. Hopefully the food would give him much-needed energy. He already felt drained from his lack of sleep. Being chafed by his shackles and muzzle in a chilly cell all night long had given him only a couple hours of shallow rest.
His bruised pride didn’t even want to think about how disheveled he must look.
“We’re going to unchain you now,” a guard interrupted, holding his head high in an attempt to look authoritative. “Don’t try anything.”
With the bullet wound on his shoulder still stinging, Larry didn’t particularly feel like getting shot by another trigger-happy Toad, so he swallowed his indignation and held still. Just as soon as his hands were free, another pair of handcuffs went on.
Larry growled softly as their weight dragged his hands down to his waist. At least his ankles were left unbound, and there was no sign of the collar.
But the worst humiliation of all was on its way, in the arms of an approaching guard.
One glimpse of that muzzle had Larry’s hackles rising. “Hell no,” he growled, his tone enough to make the Toad freeze in his tracks. “I’m not wearing that thing again.”
“Mario’s orders,” was the answer, though the words came out squeaky with fear.
“Screw his orders,” Larry hissed. He caught their exchanged glances and realized too much force would only prove their point. Instead he switched to bargaining, underlined by a threat.
“Leave it off, and I promise not to hurt anyone. Try to put it on, and I promise to set all of you fire.”
Another trade of uneasy glances. In one last gambit, Larry exhaled a thin trail of smoke, laden with glowing embers.
That did the trick—the guard tossed the muzzle aside, the metal hitting stone with an echoing clang.
Larry relaxed, then scowled as he realized it was time to stick to his end of the deal. He let himself be escorted out, up a rough set of stairs and through the upper level of the dungeon. A few guards had gathered by the doorway, buzzing with the mixed anxiety and eagerness that came with expecting to meet a monster.
Both annoyed and bored, Larry snarled at them. He received the exact reaction he had hoped for—the guards scattered like mice, a few dropping their spears in their haste to run.
Larry watched their escape with disdain. Hardly guards at all.
A deluge of light awaited his ascent to the main halls. It was allowed to run amok, provided entrance through tall windows. Larry shielded his eyes, cursing the glare on the marble floors—even the sun was determined to humiliate him, reminding him of the shadowed land he came from.
The guards didn’t wait for Larry’s vision to adjust, seizing his moment of weakness to shove him along. It was several moments before he could make out any sort of detail—even then, he had few compliments to offer.
Excessive amounts of pink. Nowhere near enough guards. Far too much sunshine.
But perhaps the minimal security was a blessing. A few soldiers even crept away from their posts, preferring to answer to their superiors than face the vicious Koopa. The few servants unfortunate enough to poke their heads out from adjoining passages earned themselves baleful looks, which had them quickly withdrawing.
Larry scoffed to himself as he sent a maid scrambling away. Did he really look that terrifying? A younger him had hoped so, mourning his lack of battle scars, eternally aggravated when his siblings would ruffle his hair and claim he was as adorable as ever.
Ironic, Larry supposed—now, he would give anything for their fussing and pampering he’d once resented.
I’ll never complain again when I get them back, Larry silently promised the Mother, hoping She could hear his apology. I’ll let them call me cute and spoil me all they want—
Without warning, a shape darted out from behind a corner to block his path, shrieking incoherently.
On instinct, Larry rose to his full height and made to swipe at his attacker, only to find her even shorter than most Toads. A child, waving a toy wooden sword, clearly doing her best to appear ferocious.
“Monster! Go back to the hell you climbed out from, smoke-breather!” she squeaked. “Or I’ll kill you!”
Wow. Larry let his hand drop back to his side, nothing short of disgusted. Even their toddlers already know how to insult us.
“Natalie!”
The anguished wail came from an adult female in a servant’s apron. Without hesitation, she ran to embrace the child, exposing her back to Larry.
It was that act that had his usual snarl drying up on his tongue.
At least their mothers would give themselves up to a monster to protect their kids.
It was that act that had him deciding on mercy. Larry shook off the stunned guards and shouldered past.
The trembling mother lifted her head cautiously, eyes bulging with the shock at being spared from the claws that could have ripped into her.
Larry spared her a single, hard look. “Knock some sense into her soon,” he growled, angling his head towards her daughter, “before she comes across a real monster.”
“Where’s your muzzle?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Larry said flatly, without so much as a glance in Mario’s direction. “I slept wonderfully, thanks for asking.”
“Where is it?” Mario ground out.
“They decided they’d be safer not trying to put it on.” Larry gestured dismissively to the circle of guards around him. He showed his teeth in what was less of a smile and more of a snarl. “Turns out they aren’t so stupid after all.”
With one last dirty look, Mario turned away towards the towering set of mahogany doors before them, clearly in no mood to square off like they had yesterday.
I guess he’s smarter than he looks too.
Today was just full of surprises.
Two guards broke away from Larry to push the doors open. Sunshine lanced in, blindingly bright.
Larry shaded his eyes, and when he could finally look, his eyes were instantly drawn to the courtyard below the stairs. The first car was a limousine of pristine white, making the armored one beside it look drab in its olive brown coloration, like comparing a pedigree race horse to a lowly mule.
Attached to the latter of the two was the prison trailer from yesterday, the one Larry had clawed and thrashed inside, bombarded by a litany of insults.
“You’re still a danger to the Toads,” Luigi said from behind, tracking Larry’s gaze. He marched past and began descending the stairs. “We have to take some precautions.”
“I’m not gonna be dragged through the streets in a damn cage,” Larry snarled. Did they really think of him as some kind of animal?
“You’ll do whatever we tell you to,” Mario said sharply. “You’re our prisoner, whether or not you like it. That doesn’t change just because we’re taking you with us.” He gestured to the guards.
Larry received a jab from a rapier, a warning to get moving. That was the last straw. He rounded on its wielder, rearing up to make a strike of his own.
A hand whipped over Larry’s cheek. He staggered back from the guards, teetering like a drunk person on the edge of the stairs. When he finally regained his balance, Mario was there, poised to attack again.
“So much as look at another Toad the wrong way and I’ll make you pay. Now get moving.”
A push that almost had Larry falling down the stairs. His fire forced its way up his throat, and it took every shred of his self-control not to turn around and let it free. How dare they treat him like this?
My siblings will kill you both when I find them.
As Larry stumbled down the stairs, unbalanced by Mario’s prodding, he stared at the scene that unfolded before him.
Houses, streets, crowds, all clustered around the towering structure of Peach’s Castle. Roofs with colorful tiles, gardens with climbing tendrils of ivy, plazas and marketplaces. Bowser’s Castle was huge, but this unending sprawl… Larry couldn’t help but feel intimidated by it all. Had Queen Reykia’s great city once looked like this?
Once he’d reached the bottom, Larry was quickly shepherded towards the prison trailer by a small army of soldiers. He threw one final glare over his shoulder at Mario’s and Luigi’s backs before hopping up into the tiny enclosure.
Inside, the planks were scored in dozens of places, reminders of yesterday’s desperate struggle to escape. The chains Larry had worn lay discarded on the floor. As the armored car shuddered to life, Larry’s eyes landed on the chain attached to a collar, scowling.
If Roy were here, he would have smashed his way out of here, killed Mario and Luigi and anyone else that stood in his way, claimed Peach’s Castle in Bowser’s name, given the most lavish room in the castle to Larry, and terrorized the servants into attending to their every whim.
The idea was very briefly amusing, until the pain of Roy’s absence crept in, so crushing it took Larry’s breath away.
Larry fed the agony to his insatiable temper, fanning his anger to an unstoppable blaze. Eyes stinging with tears of rage, he dug his claws into the door, oblivious to the splinters digging into his palms, and scored three words in jagged capital letters.
FUCK YOU ALL
His message to Verion. His message to Mario. His message to the world that had dealt him these rotten cards he’d done nothing to deserve.
Once done, Larry clenched his fists, driving the splinters deeper. A familiar, coppery scent crept into the air, bringing nausea to his stomach, but he only squeezed harder, letting his blood seal an oath, his third in two days.
He would find his family, even if it meant being a prisoner.
On such a beautiful day, the streets of the capital city were even more crowded than normal.
Other cars were scarce, the roads too clogged with throngs of citizens. Motorcycles seemed to be preferred, and some didn’t bother with vehicles at all, choosing the labyrinthine network of warp pipes instead that wove through walls and underground.
Only a few minutes in, Larry had retreated to a corner of the trailer and sat down, privately daunted by the sheer amount of smells, noises, and people. Even Carmenton hadn’t quite been like this.
There, he knew what to expect, what to see: the smell of smoke, the rumble of passing cars, streetside vendors roasting meat—and most importantly, other Koopas.
Larry’s spiked shell had always set him apart from other Koopas, but here he wasn’t an honored guest. Here, he was a feared outsider, the kind of monster that mothers scared their children into obedience with.
As much as Larry wanted to feign indifference, being so far from home, in a place with so different a culture… He swallowed his self-pity.
Don’t hide, Roy’s voice growled in his head. Stand tall, because you’re better than them. You have nothing to be scared or ashamed of.
The words renewed Larry’s confidence. He rose and glared through the bars. The moment he slipped into view, responses ranged from apprehensive murmurs to outright screams. A few curious residents peered out of their doors or windows, quickly slamming them shut again as they realized only one person could be behind those bars.
Larry thrust his face closer, letting his fangs catch the sunlight. “That’s right,” he shouted at the spectators. “Go and hide. I hope you all have bomb shelters. Because once Bowser finds out I’m here and what you’ve done to me, he’ll come and finish what he started during that Star Festival.”
Gasps and shrieks of horror answered his threats, fuel for his dark delight.
Larry smirked, readying another round of threats, only to be knocked to the floor as the car screeched to a sudden halt. Just up ahead, a car door was slammed shut.
A pair of shadows passed by the bars, Larry’s only warning before the trailer door was wrenched open.
Mario jumped in and grabbed Larry’s chains, dragging him into the road.
“Let go of me,” Larry snarled, digging his heels into the wood. He might have been able to resist Mario alone, but Luigi sent him toppling with a shove. Mario continued to drag Larry along until he was entirely exposed to the crowd.
“Shut the hell up,” Mario hissed in Larry’s ear. “Don’t you know these Toads are terrified of you?”
“Shocker.” Larry’s wrists scraped painfully against metal as he tried to wrench them away from Mario’s grasp. “What else are they scared of? Butterflies?”
Mario gave him a rough shake. “They live in constant fear of you and your damn family. You’re lucky we’re even bringing you. We’d be better off with you all out of the picture.” He finally let go, where Larry landed hard on his stomach.
“You have nothing to be afraid of,” Mario announced to the hundreds of Toads. “If Larry is really as valuable as he says, Bowser won’t risk hurting us while we have him.”
You Mushroom-eating… Larry growled and sprang upright.
The heartbeat he’d turned to face Mario, a gloved fist met his cheek. It sent him reeling, jaw practically quivering from the force of the blow. Another hit his nose squarely before he was ready, and he hit the ground once more, blood pouring from his nostrils and staining the pavement beneath him.
“He’s no match for us,” Luigi added, his shoe coming to rest on the line of stitches on Larry’s arm.
As he applied pressure, Larry bit back a scream of agony. His claws scraped against the cobblestone.
Through the black fog of pain, the cheers and applause of Toads registered.
Cheering. For these bastards.
Bloodlust had a color—an all-encompassing shade of scarlet, sweeping over his vision as his monster smashed through its cage, howling for revenge.
There was perhaps some truth to what Toads thought; many Koopas seemed to have an "monster” in their blood, primal instincts that sometimes never showed, let alone take complete control.
But Larry’s had been fed on cruelty and hatred in the earliest months of his life. Larry’s would never roll over and submit to Toads’ abuse ever again.
I don’t know how far they’re taking this, but I’m not dying here. You want to fight dirty? Have it your way.
Larry made a dramatic show of inhaling, pretending he was about to unleash his fire. Luigi fell for it and recoiled, shielding his face. Larry seized that moment to rise, like a cobra preparing that fatal bite, oblivious to the Mario shouting and the guards’ guns.
All he saw was Luigi, and he wanted to see him fall to the ground and never get up.
You should have killed him when you had the chance yesterday. There was Roy again, his voice spurring Larry on. Kill him now, and run. You don’t need them. You can save us yourself.
Blinded by fury, Larry slashed at Luigi’s throat.
His opponent ducked away from the swing at the last second, taking the blow a few inches up, Larry's claws ripping through the soft skin of his cheek.
Not the lethal attack Larry had hoped for, but all the same, Luigi’s shriek was intensely satisfying.
A chorus of other cries accompanied Luigi’s, shrill with horror. Toads pushed and shoved free of the press of others, fearing they were next.
Larry basked in the chaos he’d created, the terror he’d inspired.
You wanted to see a monster? I gave you all—
A familiar scent slammed into Larry’s nostrils, cutting his pleasure short. His monster screeched to a halt, repulsed by it.
Luigi was cowering, scarlet dripping from four long scratches that stretched diagonally over his cheek.
Larry willed his limbs to move, to do something, but all could think of was the blood, still streaming from his own nose and splattering his claws, oozing from Luigi’s cheek. Blood, the fruit of his own violence, too bitter for him to handle.
Bile rose in Larry’s throat, burning his throat, threatening to erupt like lava.
A moment of weakness was all Mario needed.
He was there in an instant, landing several more punches before Larry was thrown back into the trailer.
Warmth oozing down Larry’s arm and left side told him he’d torn the stitches there. He remained in the corner, scales burning with humiliation and rage.
Roy would not have been proud if he’d seen that.
A raspy sigh. Larry couldn’t lie to himself about that. If Roy were here, he would have cleaned me up and had Morton and Luddy take care of me while he went out to murder that asshole. He rubbed his eyes, drying the tears there before they could escape. You were wrong, Roy. My fear cost me this time.
Even as he thought it, Larry fingered his spiked bracelets, akin to the many Bowser wore. Traditional ornaments that marked him as more than just a soldier.
The title of warrior had lost significance centuries ago, the harsh and perhaps even cruel training practices having fallen out of favor, but it was one Bowser had bestowed the same night Larry had officially become a lord.
Larry studied his hands and felt the calluses there, squeezed his elbow and sensed a firm block of muscle resist—both formed through the long hours of training Roy had put him through.
“Hit where it hurts like hell. Eyes, crotch, tail—take your pick.”
Roy gives Larry’s own tail a prod with his staff. A signal that the next match has begun.
Larry is sweating and growing weary after an hour of sparring. It’s a test of his endurance. Roy holds nothing back as shoves Larry’s clumsy blows aside and easily unbalances him with a quick strike at the legs.
Cushioned by the sand on the training court’s floor, Larry’s fall barely hurts—all that’s bruised is his pride as his older brother towers over him. Larry’s fingers clench over his staff as tears well in the corners of his eyes.
I’m supposed to be a better fighter with this. I can’t train with swords or anything.
But I’m even worse off this way.
As Larry stares at his lap, tears cutting through the dust on his cheeks, Roy throws his weapon aside. Already triple Larry’s size and muscular despite only being ten, he easily scoops Larry up in his arms, carrying him over to a bench. A black duffel bag sits there. Roy tugs the zipper aside to reveal its contents: rubbing alcohol and band-aids for minor cuts, bottles of water, various snacks.
Still sniffling, Larry is set down on the bench as Roy digs out the purple hairbrush he brings along every training session, a tangle of blue strands woven in its bristles.
After an hour or so of this kind of workout, Larry's hair is always matted and dusty. Brushing it all out himself takes another twenty minutes and hurts like hell, but somehow Roy only takes a few moments, his brushstrokes painless even as the most persistent snarls are worked loose.
“Why aren’t I good enough?” Larry asks halfway through, wiping his eyes dry. And then, a question he’s never dared to ask. “Am I even meant to be a soldier—”
The brush pauses in its task to poke him in the neck, sudden enough that Larry breaks off mid-sentence. “Of course you are. And you are good enough. You’re too hard on yourself. You’re only four.”
Larry shoots his brother a scowl. “I’m a few weeks away from turning five, and I can barely last ten seconds against you!”
“You used to go down even quicker than that.” Roy passes him a bottle of water. Larry downs half of it in one gulp, the water blissfully cold after being refrigerated overnight. “Think, Larry. When I came at you, you instinctively put your staff in a defensive position to guard your neck and face. You just forgot to watch your legs. You reacted the right way.”
Larry blinks, and realizes that it was true. But it’s still not enough. “If I wasn’t such a coward, I could fight with blades like everyone else.”
A sigh from Roy. He turns Larry around and takes a long drink from his own water bottle before removing his sunglasses and placing them in Larry’s hands.
Confused, Larry traces their hot pink frames, their thick, dark lenses. Roy was wearing them in some of Larry’s earliest memories, since the start of their first year at Bowser’s Castle.
“Remember the day Kamek said I had to wear those all the time?” Roy inquires. Larry nods slowly, still struggling to understand this tangent. “Even with them on, my eyes still hurt if I’m in really bright light for a while. At the start, I didn’t like having to adjust to something that felt so random and stupid, either. What’ll I do during a war, when I’ll be out fighting in the sun all day?”
“You would still destroy the entire enemy army,” Larry says loyally.
Roy cracks a smile, tousling Larry’s hair. “Maybe.” He takes his sunglasses back and puts them on, where they gleam in the light of the fluorescent panels on the ceiling. “But the point is that I’ve adapted—I keep these on wherever I go, and when my eyes hurt and I get a headache, I take breaks. There’s nothing wrong with knowing your limits, Larry. Adapting’s not easy, but you’ll come out a stronger person.”
Those burly arms wrap Larry in a hug. Even as he leans into Roy’s embrace, his eyes are rooted on the two staffs that lay abandoned on the sand in the middle of the court, awaiting warriors to wield them.
“One more round?” he offers.
Larry found himself hugging his own knees in the place of his brother’s bulk—it was nowhere near the same, leaving him drowned in raw grief all over again. He fought it until it crawled back into the dark, treacherous pit it had crawled out of.
Roy would want him to push on—to adapt, and come out stronger.
Bowser hadn’t named him a warrior for nothing.
Grasping for a silver lining, Larry dared to peer outside, finding they were still on their original course and not heading back to Peach’s Castle. That seemed like a good sign. After the stunt he’d just pulled, nearly killing Mario’s brother and all that, he’d expected to be shoved behind bars once again, but maybe those two were in forgiving moods.
The trailer still as shaky as ever beneath the cobblestone, Larry watched the neighborhood ease into a bustling marketplace. Businesses ranged from tower brick-and-mortar buildings to humble streetside stalls.
Without thinking, his eyes flicked to food vendors. Not a single bit of meat to be found. His stomach growled. Stars, what was wrong with this kingdom?
When the procession halted again, it was in front of a sprawling complex walled off by tall panels of wire fencing. A line of cars was being checked and guided through a single entrance, a thick metal bar rising and falling as each one was let through.
A bit intrigued to find a Toad-made structure with some semblance of defense measures, Larry crept closer to the bars and assessed the area.
Lines of paved runways stretched around the complex, and in its center was an enormous, many-floored building. Blue and white paint shone in the sun. Up on the roof was a big billboard, dominated by a golden star different from Super Stars but similar all the same, with three prominent points on its top that resembled a crown.
Larry squinted to read the words accompanying the unfamiliar star: Sunshine Airport.
So it seemed the rumors about Toads using aircrafts as public transport were true—in the Darklands, airships were reserved for the royalty and the military, trains being easier to construct and more affordable.
I guess that’s one way to get up to Meringue Clouds.
A jostle as the trailer paused at the checkpoint. Footsteps. Larry looked down to see a Toad in a navy blue uniform, walking past without so much as a glance. A badge on his jacket read Security.
“Name and occupation?” the guard asked boredly, not looking away from his clipboard, as if he’d mistaken Larry’s prison for another car in the line behind them.
Larry grinned in spite of himself, making sure his bloodstained claws were fully visible. “Larry Koopa. Soldier.”
The Toad froze. It was several moments before his head slowly turned. His eyes practically bugged out of his head.
“K-k-k-k…” he stuttered, the clipboard slipping from his fingers.
“Koopaling. Yes, I’ve been called that as well,” Larry said pleasantly, lazily waving a hand. “No autographs today, I’m afraid.”
“Sound the alarm!” the guard screamed, now hysterical.
“Hey, easy. Don’t worry.” As usual, Mario came to the rescue, placing a steadying hand on the Toad’s shoulder. “He’s a prisoner of war. No one will be hurt on our watch. He’s coming with us on important business that concerns Princess Peach’s life.”
Fearful looks were exchanged amongst the guards. Finally another uniformed Toad mustered the courage to speak. “Where are you going with him?”
“Meringue Clouds.” When the guards gaped at Mario like he’d lost his mind, he shook his head. “It’s confidential. He, Luigi, and I will be going by helicopter. No one else will be put at risk.”
The Toads considered the explanation and spoke to each other in hushed tones before giving their final answer.
“He’s still a security hazard,” said the one who seemed to be the manager, with a sidelong look at Larry. “We can take you to one of the private lounges, but we’ll need to warn the staff and prepare the helicopter. Give us twenty minutes.” The Toad glanced at Luigi and winced. “And, sir… I suggest you get those stitched up. We have an on-site medic who can help you.”
To his credit, Mario didn’t react to Larry’s snickering. He nodded in agreement and guided his brother back into their car.
Luigi threw Larry a dirty look on his way by, but Larry ignored it, too amused at how he had been referred to as a “security hazard.” He gave a jaunty wave as his trailer was dragged past the checkpoint.
Larry caught sight of a few aircrafts as they drove on: what odd contraptions. Long and narrow with two long wings, they reminded him of the fighter jets Iggy had designed. Nothing like the spacious airships back home—perhaps faster, but probably uncomfortable during long or overnight flights.
The private lounge the security official had mentioned was conveniently accessible from the outside, by a door in the back of a small patio fringed by flowerbeds. If it was as secluded as they claimed, it was the ideal place to smuggle an infamous Koopa into a busy airport without causing a panic.
This time Larry decided to play nice and let himself be escorted inside without complaint, in the hopes that the medic would be more willing to replace his broken stitches. But he was pleasantly surprised by the fancy room that waited beyond the doors
“Now, this is more like it.”
Most of the lights were off, large windows supplying beams of brilliant sunshine. Sofas and armchairs were arranged in semicircles and heaped with embroidered pillows, encouraging light conversation. A handful of billiards tables had taken up the space beneath a skylight. There was even a bar near the back, and behind the counter, a trim young Toad was polishing wineglasses.
“Keep an eye on him,” Mario murmured to the five guards accompanying Larry. They saluted in response.
As soon as Mario and Luigi had turned away, Larry was crossing the room.
“Where are you going?” one of the guards spluttered, scrambling to catch up.
Larry thought his intent was perfectly obvious and didn’t answer. He plopped himself down on one of the barstool and began scanning the menu displayed on screens several feet above the counter.
So immersed in her task, it was almost a whole minute before the bartender realized she had a customer. When he finally glanced up, she did a double take. Larry tilted his head to one side and offered a lazy grin.
Wrong response, it seemed. The Toad nearly dropped the glass she held and backed away, snatching up a flash of silver.
Larry blinked, and then there was a gleaming chef’s knife at his throat.
It was hard not to be impressed, since female Toads weren’t supposed to know how to use weapons.
He gently directed the blade away with one claw. “Easy there. I’m just looking for a drink.” He looked down at his hands, still splattered with blood, and hoped the bartender couldn’t tell how ill he felt. “And something to wipe these clean.”
The Toad stared back warily, but slowly withdrew her knife and disappeared into a door in the back. Whether she was obeying his request or going to hide, Larry could only guess.
Larry went back to studying the menu, more interested in the alcoholic options. He usually wasn’t much of a drinker, but getting intoxicated sounded like something that would get on Mario’s nerves.
“Hm. I could go for a margarita,” Larry mused aloud, drumming his claws over the granite countertop. His chains rattled softly with each movement.
“You can read that thing up there?” one of the guards asked, face scrunched in bewilderment.
He and his comrades all shrank away as Larry snarled at them. Yes, I can read, you puny piece of trash. I’m a Koopa, not a barbarian.
Great fire spirits, did they actually believe Koopas were illiterate? Larry couldn’t imagine a life without reading, whether that meant printed orders or the storybooks he’d been reared on. Even Morton, a dyslexic, had toiled endlessly with his siblings to help him through the snarls found within the pages of books.
The bartender returned with a damp paper towel and took Larry’s order while he cleaned the blood from his fingers. While he watched her gather ingredients, Larry allowed himself a controlled smile as he listened to Luigi yelp with pain every time the doctor’s needle pierced his cheek.
Larry grunted his thanks as the bartender passed him his cocktail. Out of habit, he took a suspicious sniff for the odor of poisons and found nothing but the aromas of lime and tequila. While he sipped his drink, he watched the Toad with increasing interest.
“You’re pretty good with a knife,” he admitted grudgingly. It was true; her grip had been nearly perfect, and the blade had been sharp enough to suggest it was whetted daily.
The bartender spared him a strange look. “Thanks…?”
“I heard females aren’t supposed to learn how to fight,” Larry added quietly, mindful of his guards’ company.
“My dad’s a soldier. He taught me.” She swept the squeezed halves of limes into the trash. “He thought I should know in case any creeps come by. Sometimes it’s just me here at night, with the people whose flights are late.”
Larry stared at her incredulously. “They’re allowed to leave you alone for hours? At night?” Thanks to Wendy, that was all different kinds of illegal back home. Employers were obligated to provide their workers with proper means of defending themselves and ensure there were a certain number of others present if they worked later shifts.
Another curious glance. “This place is pretty secure, but it’s public. Luckily I’ve only had one person try something dumb, and I fought him off.” Her lips curved into a dark smile. “Turned out he was on probation, and now he’s back in prison for life. And I got one hell of a raise after my parents threatened to sue my employers for being stingy with security measures.”
Larry grinned back, sipping his drink. Wendy would like this Toad. “You know, I like the way you do things.” He raised his glass. “And you know how to make a good drink.”
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Larry didn’t turn, instead downing the rest of the margarita and savored it, closing his eyes. What did it look like he was doing?
He opened one eye as Mario stomped over, exasperation written everywhere on his face. “You shouldn’t be complaining. I’ve been told I’m more agreeable when drunk.”
The bartender turned away, but not before Larry caught her smiling.
A stern look at the guards had them murmuring their apologies like scolded children. Mario shook his head and snatched Larry’s glass away, scowl deepening as he realized it was empty. “And how do you plan to pay for this?”
This was turning out even better than Larry had thought. “Oh, silly me. Must have forgotten my wallet.” Feigning dismay, he patted himself down like he expected to find coins hidden in his scales, then gave Mario a sly grin. “I guess you’ll just have to pay for me instead.”
Mario’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he drew a few coins from his pocket and dropped them on the counter. Larry could barely contain his wicked amusement.
Maybe this trip wasn’t going to be too bad after all.
“Get over here,” Mario hissed in his ear, practically dragging him away. It figured that he would stick his nose in when Larry finally found a Toad he somewhat liked. “We need to talk about what you did to Luigi.”
“Is it going to scar? Take it from me. Scars make you look like you have guts, something your brother is sorely lacking.”
Mario was in no mood for jokes, it seemed. He thrust Larry against a wall. “You technically violated your oath by attacking Luigi. You swore not to hurt us.”
“You want to talk about honor?” Anger gave Larry strength. He kicked Mario hard and wriggled free. “I was outnumbered. I didn’t know if you were going to kill me then and there.”
Larry hated the way his voice shook, just the slightest. Inwardly berating himself, he forced steel into his tone. “It was survival. Do you seriously expect me to roll over and let you beat me up? Watch how hard you push, because I can push back.”
Unrepentant, Mario glowered back a second longer, then turned on his heel and stormed away, pausing only to add, “The helicopter’s ready for us.”
Outside the lounge, the pathetic security force was there, and a few bolted outright at the sight of Larry. At the terminal, there was a lengthy debate about how they could plan for the threat of him breathing fire, and Larry settled it by snarling that he’d set all of them on fire if they didn’t shut up and let him go already.
At that, one or two more security Toads fled. Mario and Luigi shot Larry reproachful looks, but said nothing else, perhaps just as tired of the argument as he’d been.
Larry glanced at the electronic sign above the doorway as he was escorted outside. On it was the flight schedule, with rows of numerous times and locations. Most were popular cities or resorts in the Mushroom Kingdom, though there were a few more exotic locations like Yoshi’s Island and Sarasaland, the kingdom ruled by Princess Daisy.
Not once did the Seven Lands appear on the list, not that Larry was surprised at all.
We stripped their pretty little resorts and banks down to the last coin. We sacked their farms to feed our soldiers.
Larry felt a smile on his lips as he recalled himself signing the document sent to Princess Peach. An official warning, signed by every member of the royal family. Even now, years later, Larry remembered a few lines perfectly.
No Toads or any other allies of the Mushroom Kingdom are permitted to live or cross over the territories known as the Seven Lands. Parties of over fifty will be seen and treated as an invasion and grounds for a declaration of war. Trespassers will be punished however the royal family sees fit.
Uniformed Toads guided Mario and Luigi up a flight of stairs that proved a challenge for Larry, now that the alcohol was finally kicking in. More than once he nearly tripped on the steps, the lights flashing brighter and melding together before his eyes.
Fresh air helped bring his senses back into control. A wind laden with the scents of springtime blooms sent his hair flying to one side like a banner. The rooftop was apparently also paved, and lined with platforms each marked with the same huge white letter Larry was sure he would have recognized had he been sober.
Maybe the drink wasn’t such a great idea after all.
One platform was occupied by a helicopter, and the few attendants present scurried away at Larry’s approach. He stumbled in and sank into one of the two seats at the back of the tiny cabin. A thick window allowed passengers to see the pilot, who was openly gawking at the drunken, battered Koopa who’d traipsed in.
Mario let Luigi take the seat next to the pilot and sat down at Larry’s left, probably out of the belief that if his brother and Larry were together, only one would climb out of the helicopter alive.
The floor beneath Larry began vibrating. Through the window, he glimpsed the blades losing form as they spun endlessly. A wave of nausea rolled through him, so intense he clapped a hand to his mouth in case the contents of his stomach were inclined towards escape.
Yeah, he was really regretting that margarita.
Trying to pull his mind elsewhere as the aircraft rose into the air, Larry tried to remember what little he could of Meringue Clouds. His most recent visit to Ludwig’s estate had been eight years ago.
Even under the loose control of Toads, it had been almost completely deserted, the only residents they’d had to subdue had been a few intrepid researchers and explorers camped on the mountain peaks that reached that high and pierced the cloud layer. The abnormal properties of the clouds was a popular topic of ongoing studies—stiff enough to walk on, but still too soft and easily shifted by the winds to build anything atop them.
Bowser had almost dismissed it entirely, claiming there were no resources to be gained. Most of his advisors had been inclined to agree, but Ludwig had argued that it was the first line of defense against the Mushroom Kingdom, yet remote enough that it was the ideal location to run their network of spies.
The investment of building his castle had proved as valuable as he’d said. Between that and the outposts he’d constructed, Ludwig had effectively spun a web of loyal agents that kept him so informed he knew everything from the history of every soldier and servant at his command to dangerous operations commenced without his consent.
Our castles… Wait.
Larry straightened up, the haze of intoxication withdrawing. Verion might have taken the largest and most obvious piece in the game of political power, but Larry could very quickly tip the scales in his favor if he rallied his siblings’ legions.
All those soldiers couldn’t possibly know about Bowser being overthrown, or that their supposed Magikoopa allies had been the perpetrators.
At this stage in Verion’s plans, there would be no more feigning loyalty, no more lies. He would use brute force to bring down anyone who dared stand in his way.
We need to be quick. I have to warn them all. Larry felt his claws clenching into fists in his anxiety. If I have to choose between finding my siblings and getting to the soldiers in time…
He instantly shut down that thinking. Who says it has to be me who finds them? Even if I have to move on before I do, I can tell the soldiers to search for them. I can’t afford to be selfish right now.
It was a heartening thought that Larry wasn’t completely without allies. Only, he had a nagging feeling it wasn’t that simple… It taunted him from the tip of his tongue.
The helicopter rocked as it hit a patch of turbulence. A muttered curse from the front seat.
Larry tore his eyes from the window to behold the two wrenches in his plan, one sitting at his right, and the other gingerly rubbing their stitched cheek.
A soft growl broke through his throat. Of course. Freaking Mario and Luigi.
As if there was any way they would come within ten miles of enemy castles. However badly they needed allies, the brothers would rather have the odds impossibly stacked against them than risk capture.
Larry buried his face in his hands, suddenly overcome with the same numb, broken feeling he’d been filled with yesterday, when he’d realized just how dire his situation was.
In a matter of days, his life had become too freaking complicated.
As a young, ambitious soldier-in-training, he’d dreamed of a time like this, when Bowser was counting on him. When he would swoop in like a hero and vanquish his king’s enemies.
Larry was no hero, no matter how much he wanted to be. He’d made too many mistakes, failed when it mattered most.
Notes:
Honestly, my favorite parts to write are Larry and Roy moments! That pairing needs way more attention!
This is random, but dropping that little snippet reference to Sunshine Airport makes me so happy. It was the first course I beat my older brother on. So much nostalgia.
Come back next week!
Chapter 20: I Failed Them All
Notes:
Yay new chapter!
We're picking up right where we left off with Larry.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Meringue Clouds was serene, mystical and awe-inspiring in a way no spoken account or paragraph in a book could come close to capturing. Almost heavenly, thousands of feet off the ground, exposed to a brilliant sky where the sun ruled from its perch high above.
When the helicopter landed with a series of jarrings, the spell broke, and Mario pulled back and realized he’d pressed so close to the window that his breath had left a cloud of condensation behind.
It seemed to defy all laws of science. Some religious devouts claimed it was touched by the Stars. Mario could almost believe that himself, having actually set foot on the clouds that felt like feather pillows underneath his shoes. Where they neared the Mushroom Kingdom, the clouds weren’t even white, but inexplicably pastel shades of orange and indigo, the colors of twilight.
Such a beautiful place should have no ruler, in Mario’s opinion.
And yet, even from here, he could catch the tops of gray towers and battlements, arranged in the shape of a crown and built upon the peak of a mountain. The grand castle where Ludwig von Koopa held a small court of his own.
Only one of the seven that had sprung up over the smoking remnants of Toads’ homes.
“Last one,” Luigi called to his brother, grunting with exertion as he tossed the third backpack over.
Mario deftly caught it and carried it over to the other two Luigi had unloaded from the helicopter. Three bags of provisions, one for each of them, full to bursting and much heavier than they looked. As the weight of the third made his arms ache, Mario swung his head around to find the Koopa responsible for carrying it sprawled out on the clouds, still processing the alcohol he’d gotten his claws on.
Typical lazy, spoiled royal. I bet he’s never had to pull his own weight once in his life.
Irked, Mario hurled one of the bags over, hoping it flattened Larry. It fell short by a few inches, much to his disappointment.
As it landed with a heavy thump, Larry opened one eye, seeming to guess what Mario’s intent had been right away. He sat up with a languid stretch and propped one elbow up on his knee, cracking that cocky grin of his as he revealed his middle finger.
However juvenile it was, Mario couldn’t keep himself from returning the gesture.
This retaliation seemed to go entirely unnoticed. Larry had made himself busy rifling through the contents of his backpack. A massive grin split his face as he fished out a small bundle of brown paper. He pressed his nose to it, inhaling deeply. His chains did little to hinder him as he tore away the paper to reveal salted strips of meat.
Disregarding all, Larry tore into the meat with the zeal of a starving animal, ripping, chewing loudly, growling with delight at each swallow—
Luigi watched as though transfixed, looking faintly ill.
Fighting disgust of his own, Mario turned his back on the spectacle and signaled to the pilot still waiting in the helicopter. A fierce wind slapped him straight in the face as the blades began spinning, and he grabbed his cap before it could blow away, blinded by the gusts and deafened by the roar of the engine.
When it finally receded, the helicopter was already a speck in the distance, zipping back to the blanket of grassy hills far below like an obedient bee returning to its hive.
A hive whose queen was missing. Mario held himself straighter, filled with purpose at the reminder of why he was here, putting up with this insufferable Koopa.
Just hold on, Peach. We’re coming.
“If you eat all of that before we’re there, don’t expect us to share.”
Larry ignored Luigi’s pointed remark entirely, frowning as he sifted through his backpack. “Even for a Toad, this wouldn’t be enough for the trip we’re making. What’s your plan for when we run out?”
“I’m sure those soldiers at your castles wouldn’t notice a bit of food missing,” Mario said smoothly, suppressing a smile.
“Like hell I’m letting you steal from them,” Larry hissed.
“Would you prefer starving?”
Larry fell silent at that, much to Mario’s satisfaction, which was cut short when A snarl ripped itself from Larry’s throat. Before Mario could even turn to look, movement flickered, and then Larry was before him, eyes blazing, a gold necklace dangling from his shaking hand.
“Why are we bringing this?” he spat. “Why couldn’t you just leave it back there?”
“If Verion wants it badly enough, he could come looking for it in the Mushroom Kingdom while we’re gone,” Mario said sharply. “I won’t take that risk.”
Growling, Larry held it up to the sunlight, where it glittered innocently. Catching the foul odor of sulfur, Mario scrambled back, knowing from experience what was coming.
Fire erupted from Larry’s jaws. Even from a few feet away, its heat leeched the moisture from Mario’s face, forcing his eyelids closed.
When Larry finally stopped, another snarl escaped his lips. Only then did Mario dare open his eyes.
In his hand, the pendant was unscathed, its rubies twinkling cheerfully despite the heat that should have turned them to liquid.
Larry swore. “I should have known. Of course he would put protection spells on it.” His gaze snapped to Mario, brimming with hatred. “For all we know, there’s a tracking spell on it too. You’ve painted a big, fat target on our backs. I hope you’re happy.”
Without waiting for Mario to answer, Larry stormed off. Mario felt Luigi come to his side, and together they watched Larry’s retreat with shared grimaces.
“What’s he pissed about now?” Luigi finally asked.
All Mario offered was a shrug. As much as he hated admitting it, even to himself, Larry’s argument was a valid one. Even without him and Luigi, the Mushroom Kingdom’s army might have been able to withstand Verion until their return.
But the three of them? They were easy targets, marching across the continent with the treasure Verion so desperately desired.
“So, how far to Rock-Candy Mines?”
Last night Mario had consulted a map to get a rough estimate of just that, but it was heavily dependent on good conditions. When one was atop the clouds, storms were twice as perilous, a roiling sea that could rip apart at any moment.
This far into spring, the weather should be mild, but Ludwig had eyes everywhere within his land. Keeping to the northern edge of the clouds would mean risking rougher weather, but keep them away from most of the soldiers.
Pick your poison, Mario thought, unsure which risk would be safer.
“Roughly two days if we’re fast.” Larry called, apparently not as out of earshot just yet.
Mario quashed his irritation. “How do you know?”
Finally stopping, Larry shot Mario a haughty look over his shoulder. “I know a whole lot more than you, I bet. The first problem we need to consider is the cold. The sun will keep us warm right now, but at night, we could freeze if we aren’t careful.”
More good points. Mario’s pride felt very much bruised and he hoped it didn’t show. “And you couldn’t have told us this before we left?”
“No need.” There was that infuriating smile again, edged with the false charm that suggested he was about to strike a deal. “Fortunately for you, I don’t feel like freezing tonight. I know a place we could go.”
Mario didn’t even need to look to know where Larry was pointing. Neither did Luigi.
Their refusals came in unison. “Forget it.”
Larry made a dismissive gesture, already making to walk away as if their responses hadn’t mattered either way. “You have to admit, we need all the allies we can get right now.”
“Not badly enough to walk right into a trap,” Mario snapped, both shocked and insulted by the amount of nerve Larry had, thinking he would fall for this so easily. “Did you actually expect us to agree to this?”
A scowl. “Honestly, no. But you’re welcome to go on and freeze.” Larry turned his back once again. “If you need me, I’ll be nice and warm inside.”
And sending out soldiers to capture us.
That wasn’t going to happen.
Mario caught up and barred Larry’s path. “No, you won’t,” he said coldly, grabbing Larry by one wrist and showing the shackle there. “You’re our prisoner, don’t forget. We make the choices here, and you’ll respect them, or you shouldn’t have come.”
Those blue eyes ignited with rage, revealing a trace of that monster. Tearing his wrist away, Larry squared his shoulders, twin trails of smoke pouring from his nose.
Mario stood his ground, almost excited at the prospect of combat. Just give me an excuse to fight you.
Unfortunately, Larry was smarter than he looked. His eyes flicked to Luigi as he joined Mario. Two against one. The fire dimmed as his poor odds sank in.
It seemed he had some control over that innate violence after all.
But Mario knew better than to relax. He knew the monster in those eyes was leashed, but wide awake, waiting for its opportunity.
Sticky juice gushed from the orange in Larry’s palm as he sank his claws into it, sliding down the black pearl bracelet around his wrist.
He let out a long hiss of frustration. This was one of the many oranges Mario had packed for him, and he was certain it was because Mario knew how impossible it would be to peel it while handcuffed.
Larry couldn’t afford to waste food, though, so he kept at it and chucked a bit of peel at Luigi, who was making no effort to hide his amusement.
By the time he was finally done, his claws were stained as orange as the sky above them. With its descent, the sun had brought hints of vibrant pink, red, and yellow to the horizon. And far above, just the faintest bit of indigo followed the sun, a pretty cloak of dark velvet sewn with the tiny diamonds that were the stars.
Night was beckoning, and the warmth of the day was already fading.
Of course, Luddy’s castle would be nice and warm.
Larry experimentally dug his claws into the lavender clouds underneath him. It was soft and yet solid, like snow but not cold. He clawed away several more handfuls until a shallow dip had been carved out. A far cry from a real bed, but at least it was soft.
To be completely fair, Larry might have exaggerated just a little bit about the cold. He would be uncomfortable, but if he kept snacking, it would keep his internal fire stoked and keep him from getting hypothermia.
Mario and Luigi, on the other hand… Tough luck, Larry thought bitterly. They could die out here, for all he cared. They’d made their choice.
Mario and Luigi made the decision to stop in the lee of a cloud hill—without consulting Larry, of course. They’d covered a fair amount of ground, and by this time tomorrow, Ludwig’s castle would be out of sight.
What a wasted opportunity. Soldiers could die at Verion’s hands because of Mario’s refusal to let Larry warn them.
Maybe I’m worrying over nothing. Verion could be dead.
No matter how often Larry considered the likelihood of the possibility, rather comforting him, uneasiness stirred deep in his stomach. He had to get home as soon as possible.
Minutes slid by. Larry watched the sun sink beneath the clouds. More than once he blew into his hands and rubbed them, his breath morphing into billowing clouds against the chill pressing in.
Quiet footsteps, muffled further by the clouds. But more than anything, Mario gave his presence away through smell.
Stars, did all humans sweat so atrociously? If so, Larry couldn’t imagine how Bowser had ever fallen for Princess Peach.
“What do you want?” Larry growled.
“We can’t trust that you won’t escape while we’re asleep and have us captured,” Mario grunted, sounding just as displeased as Larry. “So I’m guarding you. Luigi will take the next turn, and I’ll know if you hurt him.” Mario’s head swung around and scowled as Larry drew a small loaf of bread from his backpack. “Are you seriously eating again?”
“Food will keep my fire going, which will help me not freeze tonight.” Larry tore a chunk off and nibbled on it. “And generally, Koopas eat a lot more than your puny Toad friends.”
“Maybe you’re all just gluttons.”
Larry didn’t have the energy to argue again. He polished off the bread and curled up in the small scoop he’d dug out. “Just shut up and let me get some sleep.”
Not that Larry felt like he could sleep anyway, between the trio of discomforts that were the cold, the shackles chafing his wrists, and Mario’s intrusive presence. By now the moon had taken up its perch high in the sky, shining down on the clouds.
Roy’s absence crashed into him all over again, dragging a tide of other miseries with it. Here he had no privacy, no respect for his needs or culture, no one to make him feel wanted.
A single tear slid down Larry’s cheek, carving a glistening streak in its wake like a comet.
Even as it did, he felt a surge of disgust towards himself. I really am pathetic.
“Do you hear that?”
Larry jumped at Mario’s abrupt question, then donned his usual scowl, propping himself up on his elbows. “All I hear is your brother snoring his head off over ther—”
Mario hissed for silence. Larry was tempted to claw him when he picked up the muted beat of wings high above.
“I think I see something up there.” Mario craned his neck to behold the sky, brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s too dark. Maybe a hawk?”
Larry, too, spied a silhouette outlined starkly as they darted over the form of an almost full moon. “There’s more than one. There’s—”
And then, dozens of orange flares sparked to life in the sky.
Mario needed no warning. He snatched up his backpack and held it over his torso, a makeshift shield. A heartbeat later, a flaming arrow slammed into it. He stopped to stare in horror only for a second, and then jumped to his feet, running for Luigi.
Leaving me exposed to whoever these people are. Thanks a bunch.
The inky shapes dove, steel flashing in the moonlight.
Larry reached for his own backpack and shielded himself as Mario had. He jammed one hand into the bag and searched until something cold brushed his fingers. He yanked the pendant out.
If this was Verion, Larry would die before he let all that magic be used for destruction.
All around him, figures were landing with barely a sound, cloaked and hooded, armed with swords. The archers remained airborne, releasing another volley of flaming arrows that missed Mario by mere inches.
But before Mario reached his brother, another swordsman swooped down and brought his blade to Luigi’s throat.
“Stop right there, or he dies,” the voice behind the hood barked.
Mario stopped dead, eyes flicking to the others rapidly closing in. His pause gave the archers the perfect opportunity to take aim, fire flickering from the tips of their arrows. One move from either brother, and both would be bleeding out on the clouds in a heartbeat.
Curiously enough, Larry had yet to be confronted. Still watching Mario, he dared to rise.
“Chain them and bring them here,” someone ordered from above.
Instinct took over. As a winged shadow crept into Larry’s peripheral vision, he pivoted, snatching up the arrow still embedded in Mario’s bag. He thrust the still flaming tip out at where he assumed a throat would be.
His opponent dodged just in time, but rather than retaliating, she showed both of her hands in surrender.
“Relax, sir. I’m not your enemy.”
Larry continued glaring, until the respectful addressing finally registered. His gaze slid to the uniform showing beneath her fur-lined cloak.
Over her heart, a familiar silver crest was pinned, displaying the sinuous form of a dragon coiled around the royal spiked shell, overlooked by a crescent moon. The ribbon of deep blue and silver hanging from the pin signified a rank higher than any of her fellow soldiers.
“You’re my brother’s lieutenant,” Larry blurted out, and hastily tossed the arrow away. He had a vague recollection of meeting Ludwig’s second-in-command, who he’d selected to temper his own cautious nature with her passion and fire. “Sorry about that.”
She pulled back her hood and dropped into a low bow. “No apology necessary, my lord.”
As he motioned for her to rise, Larry studied her face. Her gray eyes were as resolute as he remembered, one of which was cloudy and marred by a long scar that ran from her right temple to the bridge of her nose. The black hair framing her face was broken up by a few streaks of silver that betrayed her age, tied back for the sake of practicality.
“How did you know I was here?” Larry asked, though he’d guessed the answer before it came.
The lieutenant’s eyes became as cold as chips of flint as she watched her regiment close in on Mario and Luigi, wrapping them in shackles. “Nothing gets past us, sir. Our scouts spotted the helicopter before it landed.” When she looked back, her gaze settled on Larry’s stitches and bandages. “Great Mother, Master Larry. Did they do this to you?”
Larry rubbed a bruise, one of the many Mario had given him earlier in front of hundreds of Toads. “Not all of it. It’s… complicated. I’ll tell you once we’re safe in the castle. Help me with these?” He lifted his chained wrists. As the lieutenant picked the locks open with the blade of a dagger sheathed at her waist, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Mira, my lor—”
“You liar!” Mario roared suddenly, trying to tear away from the hands restraining him. His eyes met Larry’s, boiling oceans of hatred. “You smoke-breathing liar!”
Larry instinctively bristled, but Mira spoke before he could. “Silence!” she snarled, waving to her soldiers. “I’d start begging for your worthless lives, if I were you.”
Mario and Luigi were hauled forward and deposited before Larry. When Mario attempted to stand, Mira slammed the hilt of her knife into his jaw, sending him crashing to the ground, where a revolver’s muzzle was pressed to the side of his head. Luigi’s only struggle was already over, a sword hovering a hairsbreadth from his heart.
Mira glanced back at Larry, dipping her head.
Awaiting the kill order, Larry realized, feeling faint at the idea.
Going that far had never occurred to him. You couldn’t interrogate or bargain with a corpse, as Roy had always said.
And yet, here Mario and Luigi, at his mercy. In a snap of his claws, he would accomplish what he and his siblings had spent their lives so far training for.
I’d be a hero. With them gone, there would be nothing left to stand in our way of taking the Mushroom Kingdom.
They killed a hundred innocents when they crashed my airship. And they act like they don’t care.
Fulfillment. Revenge. Fame. In one stroke, it would all be Larry’s.
So why did the thought make him feel sick?
Larry reached up to feel the bruise on his jaw, where Mario had punched him earlier.
Toads had cheered as he’d been beaten senseless and insulted, for the mere crime of being a defenseless outsider. All the while, Larry had seethed at how unjust it was.
This would be worse. This is murder.
And I did promise them…
Roy would’ve done it anyway, and spat on whatever promise he’d recklessly made. But Larry couldn’t bring himself to give the order Bowser would have wanted.
Dammit, Larry, Roy’s voice sighed.
“Let them go.”
Mira blinked several times, and then stared at him, openmouthed. The rest of the soldiers swapped disbelieving glances.
“Let them go,” Larry repeated, firmer. “We’re not going to kill them.”
Only the more disciplined of the soldiers made the effort to conceal their doubt, but all had the sense not to disobey a direct order. Allowed to move again, the two brothers sat up and gaped at Larry as if the Mother Herself had descended behind him.
Each individual pair of eyes felt like they were burning holes in Larry’s scales. So you spared them. Now say something before they think you’re crazy.
“We made an agreement that you would help me,” he said in response to Mario’s and Luigi’s thunderstruck faces, his tone far steadier than his nerves. “Bowser needs all the help he can get, so you’re worth keeping around for now. I’ll be taking you to Luddy’s castle tonight. Make any trouble, and I might change my mind.”
Mario and Luigi looked no less mystified at this. A prod and a growl from one of the soldiers had them nodding timidly. They were in no place to disagree, or call Larry out for telling only half the truth. While they had agreed to stop Verion, it was only to rescue Peach and protect their own kingdom.
They all probably think I’m crazy anyway. And they’re right.
Larry led the party back to the castle. Murmuring rose in his wake: What’s Master Larry doing out here at all? Is something wrong back at His Majesty’s castle? He picked them apart, relieved to hear no voiced doubts about his decision.
That could have gone very badly.
What the hell am I even thinking?
Mira drew pace with him, and he mentally braced himself for her disapproval. But she merely unpinned her fur cloak and threw it over Larry’s shivering shoulders, the act such a blatant breach in protocol it had him hesitating.
“Really, I’m fine.”
“I may be half-blind, but I know when someone’s cold, sir.”
Mira’s words were blunt, though her fingers were gentle as she shut the clasp, her palms rough and scarred—yet another painful reminder of Roy.
“Thanks,” Larry said awkwardly.
Even without looking, he was well aware of the many stares that had shifted to him. A glare from Mira had her soldiers hastily finding other objects of interest. It wasn’t long before the murmurs broke out once more.
Mira only shook her head, as though acknowledging that gossip was inevitable and well beyond her control. “You meant it when you said all of this was complicated.”
Ludwig’s castle was an elegant, palatial complex of halls, courtyards, and galleries. Larry would have lost his way in a matter of minutes had Mira not been leading the way.
Armored guards, the vast majority of them Paratroopas, patrolled spacious halls of deep gray marble. Stained glass windows depicted dragons with flowing manes and kind eyes, their brilliant colors allowed by shine with the aid of moonlight. Mosaics of silver and precious stones adorned many of the vaulted ceilings, exquisite portrayals of the tales behind constellations.
Unlike Bowser’s Castle, it was impossible to tell where the lower-ranked resided. Every hall was as grand as the next. Even servants were dressed in fine uniforms, and the ease with which they walked suggested they had no reason to fear harsh punishment.
Larry had drawn more than a few stares on his entry, but it was nothing compared to the looks Mario and Luigi had received. They’d been deposited in one of the guest suites Larry and his family had used to stay in on their visits. Satisfying as it would have been to have them locked up in Ludwig’s dungeon, Larry would rather be as hospitable a host he could.
Liar. The word chased itself around in Larry’s head, refusing to allow him any peace. Mario had struck deeper than he probably knew.
I’m not a liar, Larry told himself. I don’t make promises like the one I did lightly.
But he also hadn’t expected to have the opportunity he had tonight. He’d sworn that oath out of desperation, willing to pay any price if it meant saving his siblings.
That doesn’t mean to have to keep it, Roy growled, joining the flock of nagging thoughts.
Not you too, Roy.
“Is Master Ludwig alright?”
It took a second for Mira’s question to register. At Larry’s pause, she stopped in her tracks, her eyes concerned.
A flash of a memory, one of Ludwig patiently guiding two-year-old Larry through a tricky math equation Kamek had given him.
The halls blurred into a mess of blue and silver as tears sprang to Larry’s eyes. “I really don’t know.”
Mira dropped her gaze, knowing better than to probe further.
The rest of the way was a blur of blue drapes, gray marble, and black tiles. Larry only looked up when Mira’s footsteps came to a halt. Just ahead was a pair of doors, flanked by marble columns. Emblazoned in silver on the doors’ gleaming black surfaces was the same crest all the soldiers in the castle wore with pride.
“We should be able to talk in private here,” Mira said quietly, reaching for the silver doorknob.
The door swung open soundlessly, revealing a richly furnished antechamber. At the far end, a hall’s threshold lay in shadow.
Larry crept into the pool of moonlight. Even the pads on his feet, chilled by the marble floor, did little to muffle his footsteps in the oppressive silence.
The room was both deserted and crowded—Ludwig was missing and yet everywhere, his presence contained within every object, from the careful arrangement of furniture to the vases overflowing with his favorite lilacs.
Fresh loss slammed into Larry, so hard he almost broke down then and there.
Pain was becoming his right-hand companion lately, and at his left, guilt. The pair haunted him, breathing down his neck, whispering a familiar refrain in his ear.
You failed them all.
Stepping into the hall, Larry found the door to the first room on the left was swinging open. It appeared to be Ludwig’s personal study, judging by the lacquered desk at the far end and the maps, books, and documents fighting for surface space all throughout.
Making his way to an armchair, Larry motioned for Mira to sit across from him. He squirmed under the weight of her apprehensive gaze as he began haltingly.
“The start of the whole thing was the day after me and my siblings had returned home a couple months ago. You know, after Bowser’s last invasion, when all our airships were busted. Mario and Luigi tried to kill me to show they were serious, and Bowser wanted to retaliate with a full-scale war. So gathered us all together to discuss it…”
The explanation took at least a half hour. Unlike the story he’d given to the Mushroom Kingdom, Larry hadn’t left out any details, even Lemmy’s kidnapping and Iggy’s forced involvement with Verion’s plans, as much as those parts hurt to tell. The weight of the situation settled on Larry’s once more, threatening to crush him.
“That bastard Magikoopa,” Mira growled, both fists clenching over the rich velvet of the armchair. “His petty grudge could’ve killed all of you. There would have been a civil war.”
Larry rubbed his eyes. Stars, he was so tired. “ You have to admit, it was only a matter of time before Magikoopas wanted payback for what we did to them.”
“It doesn’t justify murdering for a little more magic,” she said fiercely, eyeing the gold pendant Larry had placed on the coffee table with revulsion.
He fervently agreed with her on that point, but then again, neither of them had spent years as glorified slaves, forced to use their gifts whenever ordered to.
Where does all the revenge end? If I kill him, will his friends want to kill me next?
“What matters is that I get back quickly. I don’t know what the situation is back there, but I’ve got a bad feeling.” Larry contemplated, one finger fiddling with the tassel of a throw pillow. “We’d be too obvious with an army behind us. What we should keep doing is playing keepaway with the pendant. Once we get there, hopefully I’ll have my siblings, and the Koopa Troop would never choose Verion over us.”
“We, sir?” A faint edge lay in Mira’s voice.
The sour taste of guilt burned his throat. Larry swallowed the feeling. He had to push his lie even further, as much as it disgusted him to hide the truth from such a loyal soldier.
“I’m not saying I enjoy their company, and I’d like nothing more than to hand them over to Bowser, but Mario and Luigi are worth keeping around. If anyone can help stop Verion, it’s them. We need as much help as we can get.”
Mira nodded reluctantly. “If it saves our kingdom.” She tore her gaze from Larry’s. “I’ve heard nothing from our scouts other than your arrival, Master Larry. We would have known by now if one of your siblings was here.”
Really, he should have expected the answer, and yet it solidified into a stone of disappointment that sank right to the bottom of his stomach. He forced a smile. “That’s alright. Keep your eyes out. I’ll find them.”
The lieutenant rose and bowed, perhaps sensing Larry needed some space. “We will, sir. When you need help reclaiming the castle, let us know. Everyone here would be honored to stand and fight.”
“Thank you.” The words came out in a sigh as Larry sagged against the armchair. “Spread the word to the whole castle. Make sure they’re prepared in case Verion comes here. I’ll be heading out tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Mira froze on her way to the door and whipped around.
“I’m in a hurry,” Larry said with a shrug, though her fierce eyes had him looking away.
“Late tomorrow morning,” she replied, her tone that of an army leader who allowed for no argument. “And, Your Lordship, I insist that two personal guards of my choosing accompany you as far as the mountains.”
Her reason for such security was left unspoken, but no less obvious. Those two reasons were probably already asleep in a guest suite not far away, perhaps still reeling over the fact that they were still alive.
Larry couldn’t help smiling. Her bluntness was a refreshing switch from the obsequious manner he was used to being addressed with. “Fine. But make it very clear to them not to attack Mario or Luigi unless I give the order or I’m attacked first. And let me know if they make any trouble tonight.”
Glowering, Mira cracked her knuckles suggestively. “It would be my pleasure to handle any antics of theirs, sir.”
Larry had to laugh at her use of the word antics, as if their guests were naughty children. “Don’t beat them up too much. See you tomorrow.”
He waited until he heard the door in the antechamber slide shut until he released a long sigh. Exhausted as he was, falling asleep gave him little relief, knowing this was only the first day.
One tiny step in a long journey.
Everyone starts from somewhere, Ludwig had used to tell him, during Larry’s disastrous first attempts at tennis, resulting in a sprained wrist.
Where is he now?
Larry heaved himself up to switch off the light, then craned his neck up at the ceiling, discovering the entirety of it was covered in an intricate mosaic of a map of the Seven Lands. Even their castles had been made with stunning silver tiles and bits of glass.
Is he safe in one of our castles? Or as tired and lost as me?
Larry put his hands to his temples. Thinking like that wouldn’t help his case. On his way back to his seat, he pulled a folded fur blanket that had been lying over the back of the chair and wrapped it around himself. He pressed his nose into one corner and breathed deep, detecting the faintest hint of fresh lilacs, Ludwig’s favored scent.
How easy it was to imagine Ludwig here in this study, working tirelessly at his desk, surrounded by cups of coffee he’d downed in his need to pull an all-nighter—only to end up dozing off anyway, to be discovered by inquisitive servants the next morning.
As Larry curled up, his spiked iron bracelets pressed against his wrists, reminding him of the ceremony a decade ago during which he’d been given them.
From here on, you will be known and respected as a lord of my court, above all but myself and my heir. The territory of Sparkling Waters will be your rightful estate, yours to pass to whoever you choose.
But where the wristbands were usually a comfort, their weight sent a flock of worried, nagging thoughts that circled inside Larry’s tired brain like starlings—loud, noisy, and unceasing, until sleep came to silence them.
Notes:
Ooh, plot twist!
I don't know if you've seen, but I recently posted a new work. I randomly had the idea for a Ludwig/reader fic. It's under a pseud of mine, since it has completely different headcannons for the Koopalings. It's going to be slower to update, unfortunately. Take a look if you'd like.
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