Here's A Sketch Of Rafal In TOTSMOV41, In Response To Tedros.

Here's a sketch of Rafal in TOTSMOV41, in response to Tedros.

No, he doesn't catch a break after all that he's been through. Tedros socks him in the face on sight. Admittedly, it's kind of deserved. And, according to Rafal's internal monologue, it's something like, "Must I do everything myself? No one else can do anything right. Great. Another thing to set right. My own nose."

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Cover reveal for TOTSMOV41. ✨ 🔮 ✒️ 🩸 📖

reblog if you like your blorbo covered in blood

The Stymphs' Symbolism and the Storian's Interference

All right, here's our equivalence:

The Stymphs = Fate

Ok, so, with the girls in book one:

Agatha and Sophie are carried off by a Stymph, and they are thrown into their respective schools. No choice. No say in the matter. They've lost their agency, completely.

They are mastered by a Stymph, by fate. Conquered.

Then, the shift happens. They become the masters of their own fate, in riding the Stymph, in steering on top of the Stymph, into the School Master's Tower.

By TLEA, again, their relationship to the Stymphs changes. They're a little beholden to them and fate, in becoming who they are. Fate and the particular Stymph's original actions, its involvement in their kidnapping, I mean, shaped them both, ultimately. The girls are also beholden to the Stymphs for helping them, by not obeying "Rafal" when they help the archer students and Merlin during the second Great War.

⸻

Then, for the prequels:

Who is master of the Stymphs? Rafal, of course.

Yet, Rhian is the "author of own misfortune," or fate.

Rafal is the original master of the Stymphs. In a way, Rafal was destined to become Fate, to become the Balance, had he managed to live long enough to be the One.

Because, he was about to be named the One True School Master, and through the Schools, he would have been master of the Woods' fate, been able to willfully control (or indirectly influence, through the curriculum, the students' educations, and how prepared they would have been, should their fairy tales begin) the fate of all the Woods, all its possible futurities, in theory, to an extent.

But, really, it's the Pen that is Fate, not Rafal himself, when it really comes down to the truth.

However, Rhian disrupted "fate," or the Storian's plans, by being the cause of his brother's death.

And, when he was left with the Stymphs he "inherited," he probably couldn't quite automatically rein them in. I think he had to tame them, or find a literal spell to mollify them with, to get them under his control. Probably symbolically because he was never meant to be Fate or the One in the first place.

And so, of course, Fate's attendants (the Stymphs) wouldn't have followed him willingly, at least, not right away because the ending simply wasn't meant to be, but just so happened to happen nonetheless. (I know the Stymphs' behavior actually must originate from the fact that Stymphs supposedly only like Evers, but I'm looking at this from an angle that's outside of the narrative, and I don't need to rely on the in-universe reasoning at the moment.)

Was there a line after the climax of Fall about this at all? About the Stymphs being disobedient toward Rhian or outright loud and unmanageable, or am I misremembering?

Anyway, Rhian became master of Fate, of the Woods, in becoming the sole School Master. But that only happened when there was no one else left to assume the role. He was the only option, sort of a second-choice. Or, possibly even third, when we consider Pan as the hypothetical third candidate to be the One. Rhian was the default, sadly enough, the lone, surviving one. He wasn't even meant to be School Master, the rightful One, yet he had to be chosen. The Storian was compelled to because there was no one else.

Thus, the "ownership" of the Stymphs and of Fate was transferred over to Rhian.

And remember, once, Rhian was Fate's personal punching bag. He suffered a lot, for his naivete, and from some external causes, like Hook and Vulcan, sort of, even if he was wrongly influenced by the end of it all. And yes, while many events were partly his fault, they also may not have been. The plot could have been the result of very poor happenstance and intersections of the times the brothers lived in, as, we can observe all the turbulence in Rise, during that one particular school year.

⸻

Oh! And I wonder if the Stymphs forevermore missed Rafal, their original master? Did they show any signs of missing him? I'm not sure.

But, I am sure that they knew Rhian replaced Rafal because they can read souls, tell them apart, they way they seemed to instinctually read Agatha's, Sophie's, and Aladdin's souls, to know which Schools they belonged to.

I don't think there's any direct evidence of the Stymphs' mourning though. Did they ever screech, or cry out, as if in pain, like deprived animals? I suppose I could imagine that plausibly happening, with how they were left behind...

Masters of None

A Role Reversal AU

This fic is also available on Wattpad, if you would prefer to read it there.

Summary:

What if Rhian and Rafal were young, kidnapped, Reader students and Sophie and Agatha were School Masters?

For centuries, just as it’s gone every four years on the eleventh night of the eleventh month, Sophie kidnapped two Readers, one Good, one Evil, to maintain the balance with her sister Agatha. Except this time, complications arise. The Readers in question are twin brothers, Rhian and Rafal, forcibly uprooted from their home in Gavaldon, and once at the Schools, they prove to be… rather exceptional students.

Enamored with his School placement, Rhian longs for top marks at Good. Unfortunately, his meddling brother gets in the way, plotting against their kidnappers with an aim beyond ascending to the status of Class Captain. No, Rafal connives to depose the twin School Masters and install Rhian and himself before they so much as graduate with absolutely no regard for the Pen.

Worse still, the School Masters themselves contend with their own quarrel as the Evil School Master attempts to flirt with her new Reader, uses the boy for espionage, and invites the Nevers to the Evers’ Snow Ball, all while her sister disapproves of her ploys.

Note:

This fic is not 100% chronological, but there’s a reason for that, you’ll see. Considering that I’m juggling two pairs of twins this time, nonlinear storytelling seems to work better, but you can be the judge of that.

Also, this fic is set in an AU and has a role reversal premise, so don’t expect everything to comply with canon. To align with the brothers’ original characterizations in Rise, I’ve decided to keep Rhian Good and Rafal Evil. Being Good simply fits Rhian’s initial True Love goal better.

⸻

The petty spat between Good and Evil begins.

Two sisters.

One Good.

One Evil.

Twin School Masters, Sophie and Agatha, appointed centuries ago.

Together they watch over the Endless Woods.

Together they choose the students for the School for Good and Evil.

Together they train them, teach them, prepare them for their fate.

Then, something happens.

Something unexpected.

Something powerful.

They are met with two exceptional students, twin Reader brothers, Rhian and Rafal, who hail from beyond the Woods.

Two, whose prophesied arrival in their world promises to overturn everything they know and bring about their downfall.

Yes, they’ll need to keep a close eye on them. A very close eye indeed.

That is, if the brothers aren’t already watching them, waiting to strike.

Little do they know, the twin Reader brothers they kidnapped plot to overthrow them.

Or, one in particular does.

Who will survive?

Who will rule the School?

⸻

The School Masters’ Tower, Post-Kidnapping:

A shadow flitted through the balcony balustrades of the School Masters’ tower and congealed into a blonde girl’s slight, cloaked form. She sidled up next to her twin and unclipped her cloak, letting it drop to the floor, and the two School Masters watched their incoming students rain down from the sky.

“Agatha! I had that Stymph landing pad constructed for a reason!” Sophie mewled.

Agatha continued to scrawl on sheaves of paper as she leant on the railing over the balustrades, poring over her speech. “It’s funnier when they drop into the moat,” she grouched. “Anyway, your students don’t care for cleanliness as much as you do. No one does.”

Sophie shook her head with distaste as she watched a white-haired boy get dumped into the sludgy moat. “What a shame, he looked better dry without all the dirt and grime.”

She couldn’t see his brother across the bay, but she knew they made quite the pair. “Oh, aren't they a-dor-able, Aggie?” she cooed.

Agatha shrugged without looking up. “Don’t care. They look like trouble to me. A set of Good and Evil twins is never good news. They always turn out murderous.”

“Oh, pish posh! It was one time two centuries ago. And you ruined my fur coat.”

Agatha just stared at her twin.

“Sorry. I really didn’t mean it. And you lived!” Sophie appealed.

“You didn’t mean murder,” said Agatha doubtfully.

Sophie forged ahead, avoiding the subject, “But they are rather handsome, aren't they…”

Agatha raised a brow. “They’re students.”

“So? When has that ever stopped one of my conquests?”

Agatha groaned. “Sure, go ahead. I can’t stop you. When has your love life ever gone wrong?”

“Well, I suppose the one with the vampiric accent was rather too burlesque, even for me. Not to mention that he was appallingly disgusting by the end of it,” Sophie crooned.

Agatha shook her head. When would Sophie ever learn?

“I’m glad I murdered that one though, aren’t you? He could never get my name right, the absolute creep! Always called me Sofelia or Sophonisba or Sforza. Or just lapochka when he couldn’t even be bothered to try remembering my name! I almost suspected that he preferred men with his total disinterest until, well, you know. And the red wine stench! That whole affair was catastrophic!”

“Well, I’d just appreciate it if you could drag you and the Schools out of the smoldering ruins of your romances unscathed and in one piece. That would be enough for me. And maybe, never date again, for good measure,” Agatha spoke.

“Oh, balderdash! You and your ‘Good,’” Sophie dismissed.

“I am Good,” Agatha said firmly.

“Which is code for boring,” Sophie wisped.

Agatha let the insult slide off her back like water to a duck. Sophie could be a handful oftentimes.

“Besides, that tragicomedy was ages ago. I'm over it,” Sophie maintained.

She most certainly was not.

“And yet you still hold a grudge,” Agatha pointed out.

“Well, I am Evil, aren’t I, Aggie?”

“Jury’s still out on that one.”

“What's a spot of homicide here and there? The man deserved it,” Sophie blithered on blithely.

“Sometimes, I think you still act like a venomous teenager.”

“We are teenagers. We have been for centuries. My skin is ageless. Can’t say the same about yours. You really do need to look into a proper skincare routine for that ashen complexion of yours, darling. Perhaps, I could find you a cream to remedy it.”

Agatha rolled her eyes.

“Say, what was his name?” Sophie inquired.

“Does it matter?”

“What was his name?” Sophie daintily tapped a long, taloned, bloodred nail on her delicate, dish plate-fine chin. “Ah, Vulcan!” she proclaimed triumphantly.

“That's the one,” Agatha assented. “The cad.”

“Impossible, that man! To think I ever liked him! What could I ever have seen in such a roué?”

“I don’t know. Ask the girl who built the impractical glass castle back then.”

“Natural white lighting is key to Beautification, and you’d know that if I didn’t have to teach your classes.”

Losing patience, Agatha didn’t respond and only half-listened to her twin.

Sophie prattled on, “I entered the white-haired boy’s dream the other night. His brother, the blond one, hosted a stunning masque.”

“Entered?” Agatha scoffed. “More like you invaded his dream.”

“He wore a silver mask. I danced with him in a great hall at that ball. At first, he refused to dance, and stood in the corner. I swear, he’s allergic to fun, Aggie. Nevertheless, I approached him, and convinced him to dance. He finally gave in, and I think he liked me. He kept tugging at his collar nervously.”

“How could he like you? You kidnapped him!”

“Pshaw, as if that ever stopped the best of romances!” Sophie trilled.

“For the last time, the Storian tends to exaggerate in tales!” Agatha rebuked. “And you’re delusional,” she muttered under her breath.

“Well, the Saders seem to say otherwise. And so too does The Rot.” Sophie lorded the prophecy over Agatha every chance she got.

“And you believe that insanity? That crackpot rubbish? Great. Guess I’m the only sane one left.” Agatha slunk off into another chamber, to her personal study, grumbling as she stormed off.

“It’s the free press, Agatha!” Sophie called after her. “Silver is an awfully neutral color. Maybe we could wear masks like the ones in the boy’s dream one day, if the need ever arose,” Sophie mused.

“Not another one of your hare-brained ideas…” Agatha excoriated from afar.

“Albeit, his mask was rather austere. I could have mine done up like a Fabergé egg, like it’s Carnival! Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“Prophecy or no, I refuse! No disguises, and no duplicity,” Agatha objected crossly.

⸻

Gavaldon, Kidnapping Night:

Rafal perched on the edge of his writing desk, swinging his legs as his brother preened in their wall mirror, fixing his hair. “How childish you are, Rhian. You can’t seriously believe in that storybook drivel?”

Rhian threw a balled-up handkerchief at Rafal which lightly thwapped Rafal in the head before it floated to the ground like a parachute. “Liars go to Hell, brother. And, I know you read them too.”

“Sure. Evil’s tales. Not the soppy ones you like.”

In truth, Rafal would never admit that the storybooks appealed to him too. Imagine the fame and glory, the absolute power he’d gain. He’d be rid of this loathsome town. If only it were true.

If he had magic in his blood, he’d train to be the greatest sorcerer of them all, of all time. If he had magic coursing through his veins, real magic, what he could do. Just imagine what he could do. Be feared. And be respected for once. Wouldn’t that be a cause for celebration?

Tyranny would suit him well. No matter if he ended up in a shallow grave by the end of it. He’d last through at least several revolts before that ever happened. Finally he’d get a chance to enjoy himself without sniveling Rhians in his way. What was the point of living if not the pursuit of power?

Rhian turned away from the mirror to confront Rafal directly. “What about Rapunzel? You seem to like her,” he posed the question abruptly. “You might have a type: fair-haired girls who inhabit towers. I’ve seen you stare at her illustrations in our storybooks.”

“I like the tower. Great architectural landmark. Would make an exceptional living space. Spartan, clean, bare. None of your fussiness. Optimal lighting for reading, if there were multiple windows. Quiet. No enemies, no threats of being burned at the stake. High security. Complete safety. Self-sufficiency. I’d trust no one. No one would ever disturb me. Don’t know why she ever wanted to leave.”

Rhian sighed. “Trust you to turn a tale of chivalric romance into another rant about why you detest all human life.”

“Not you. Yet,” Rafal clipped.

Resigned, Rhian sighed again, and said, “That’s rather reassuring. Thank you, brother. I’m honored to be in your good graces.”

Rafal looked away.

“Your marked disdain for human life, it gets sickening to live with after a while, you know,” Rhian complained. “Why, what a marvel. I’ve awoken the great Rafal’s disdain for human life. Yet again. As if it ever laid dormant. Yes, he knows he’s better than that. That’s he’s made for immortality, like all the great sorcerers. Have I guessed right?”

“You know me too well. It’s unsettling,” Rafal conceded.

Rhian stared wistfully out the window, into the starless, clouded night and the treeline beyond the edge of the village. “I just know I’m meant for a greater life. I can’t rot here any longer. My soul hungers for True Love. I was made for another world, one in which everyone finds a True Love. We’re nearly eighteen and I’ve never been kissed!”

“Not this foolish nonsense again. Magic schools of all things? Sounds like a nursery rhyme,” Rafal mocked. “I highly doubt you’ll find what you’re looking for in a fairy tale. And, if you think you will, you’re more of a simpleton than I thought. All those princes you moon over already have girls. Who’d want you?”

Rhian inhaled, hurt, trying to compose himself.

Rafal turned his back to Rhian and spoke again, this time more sincerely, quietly, “And, isn’t my love enough for you?”

Rhian did not hear him. “Just forget it,” he carped and waved a hand at Rafal dismissively. “Don’t bother. To try and understand,” he said in a raw voice, like he was about to cry. “You’ll never understand what it’s like to want more, to crave love with your very soul, in your heart of hearts. You’ll always be alone. So what does it matter?”

“Glad I’m not a weakling like you then. Spares me the pain. You’re always reliant on others, waiting for some mysterious figure to swoop in to your rescue and spirit you away,” Rafal derided Rhian expressionlessly.

In reality, Rafal’s chest pained him. His own heart and Rhian’s words bore down on him like Rhian had carved up his guts and left him, had hung him out to dry.

Maybe the Elders would have him hanged, drawn and quartered if Rhian disappeared into the Woods with no plausible explanation, gone, kidnapped. That would be the end of it. All the mawkish displays and rampant emotionalism. All the doltish crushes and puerile daydreams. Good riddance. Yet did he want his brother gone? Whisked off to Good alone, to Woods rife with death traps? Apart from Rhian’s ridiculous feelings, he was fond of him.

Rafal tried to dismiss the cutting remarks. But they persisted, echoing and echoing in his mind.

You’ll always be alone.

Rafal wished he could pluck his heart out of his body while he were still living and be done with it. No heart would be good. If he were dead, at least he’d get the chance to rest. No heart while he was still alive would be better.

Rhian broke him out of his trance. “When we wake up tomorrow morning in our own beds, in this miserable, pedestrian town, just, please don’t gloat about how you’re right like you always do, Rafal,” he managed to choke out. “It’s more than I can bear,” he admitted softly.

“I promise. It’d be my honor,” Rafal vowed

Rhian smiled at him with watery eyes and got into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

A magical school wouldn’t be that torturous, Rafal supposed. He amended the mental image in his thoughts. It was better than being burned at the stake as a heretic before he had the chance to turn forty, or with this place’s superstitions and small minds, a demon sent straight up from the deepest, most foul depths of Hell to terrorize the townspeople.

⸻

The School for Good and Evil, Overhead at Daybreak:

Rhian dangled loosely from the skeletal bird’s talons as he lost his favorite slippers to the wooded terrain below. “I knew it, Rafal! I was right!” he crowed jubilantly, dressing gown streaming behind him.

“Yes, you’re right, but at what cost?” Rafal lashed back as the wind battered his black tunic and pajama bottoms.

The Stymph swooped downward, risking the brothers’ life and limb.

Rhian screamed as he fell into the mist.

Rafal did not.

⸻

The School Masters’ Tower, Post-Kidnapping:

Sophie glided over to her dresser and slung on a heavy, layered necklace of saltwater pearls which dipped from her collarbone to her sternum. She studied herself in the mirror as she fastened the back of the necklace, examining how it draped. “This attire needs more panache. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Quiet, Sophie. I’ve got to finish my Welcoming address,” Agatha scolded.

“Even you should update your Welcoming attire. That midnight blue cloak and riding jacket are becoming a bit passé. Look at how your coattails are fraying.”

“I just bought it a mere three decades ago!”

“Exactly. It’s tired and positively worn out. What about a nicely embroidered, paneled vest? It’d enhance your figure,” Sophie prompted with a lilt.

“Enough. I’m trying to work.”

Sophie smoothed the front of her structured, black gown, and clasped a garnet choker around her pale neck that matched her garnet-drop earrings, glinting like drops of blood to complete the look. “Would the Evil brother like this look? Does it say, come hither, prithee?”

“You’ve got to stop reading those sensationalist bodice-rippers, Sophie. They’re rotting your brain.”

“I’m not a child, Aggie.” Sophie slipped on a slight headpiece, set with faceted, jet stones. It was crowned with a single black ostrich plume that waved archly.

“You act like one at times.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that every old man wants to ravish me from my tower and ravage me. But, I think I’d stand a chance with the young man. Now, what do you think?” She struck a pose.

Agatha suppressed a sigh at Sophie’s dramatics, but she wasn’t entirely wrong. She remembered “the incident” like it was yesterday.

From what Sophie had tearfully recounted, as ever the superior raconteur despite her trauma, Vulcan had forcibly attempted to kiss Sophie and she had ended him with one, lethal, hot pink bolt to the heart.

These days, Agatha was vigilant watching over her sister, and usually acted as an escort to and fro the Schools, from one shopping destination to another, or as chaperone if it came to it and Sophie had an actual date. It was exhausting, but she was always treated as Sophie’s eternal plus-one as a return favor whenever Sophie acquired expensive restaurant reservations that promised sumptuous food. The creamy pasta dishes contented her well enough to put up with her twin’s frivolity.

“Sure, it’s very… comely,” Agatha said flatly. “But, you can’t know what’s really in his heart.”

“Nonsense! He’s Evil and princely, what more do I need to know? And Agatha?”

“Yes?” Agatha groused.

“Be a dear and fetch me a few bobby pins and my black, pearl-inlaid, swan brooch. And don’t forget to pin yours to your lapel.”

Agatha groaned this time and lackadaisically flicked a wrist to float the hair pins and brooch over to Sophie with her sorcery.

“Thank you, darling.” Sophie expertly pinned up her hair halfway and let the rest cascade down her back. Then, she sauntered over to her closet about to grab a hanger and hesitated.

“I promise I won’t spill anything on your new, fur coat this time,” Agatha reassured her.

“You'd better not.”

“Or else what? You’d have me executed?”

“I could have that arranged. It’s a designer label, Madame Zarashin, first class, white ermine. But, it’s too balmy for it today anyway.”

Agatha laughed to herself out of Sophie’s sightline.

“Oh, and do remove that tarred, screaming mandrake root you’ve stuffed beneath my mattress. It is not conducive to proper beauty sleep.” She went on primping, applying a bloodred lipstick.

“How do you know your mattress isn’t just lumpy?” Agatha retorted.

“Because, luxury brand, swan down mattresses do not screech blue murder in the small hours of the night! You could've killed me!”

“As if you haven’t tried to kill me!”

Sophie smiled thinly. “But I’m the witch! You’re not supposed to. You’re not your mother. Just toss it.”

“It was a prank! We’re immortal! I knew the worst it’d cause you is a splitting headache” Agatha griped.

“And I don’t suppose you expect me to thank you for it? Mark my words: you don’t get to disturb my sleep and vex me without getting your own comeuppance.”

“And it’d do you good to remember: no salvation for sinners,” Agatha smirked. She clomped over to Sophie’s bed, stuck a hand under the mattress, and fished out the drippy, vinegary mandrake root.

Without looking, she flung it out the window without any fuss. So much for a practical joke. Then, Agatha hurried to the sink to run her hands under the water before the chemical burn set in.

The mandrake root landed in Evil’s murky moat with a plop and its last distorted scream, splashing the white-haired boy in the eyes before it sank into the depths of the muck.

The current swept the boy under again, submerging him for another minute or two. When he broke the surface, he raged and cursed.

“What’s that?” Agatha commented, grinning. “It sounds like your students are rioting.”

“Oh, botheration! My leadership is impeccable, I’ll have you know,” Sophie huffed. “And, you’ve already forgiven me for my peccadillos. Quit hounding me and I’ll refrain from turning your life into a living Hell.”

“Too late for empty promises,” Agatha quipped. “You’d better not approach that poor boy. He’s your kidnapping victim and for all we know, he thinks the School is holding him hostage.”

Sophie blotted her lipstick. “O, la-di-da, I’ll do whatever I want.” Her teeth gleamed in the mirror.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

⸻

Evil’s Moat:

Rafal treaded the moat’s roiling waters furiously, trying to stay afloat and keep his head above it, but something nearly smacked him in the face.

He thrust the tangly, knotty thing off, and it sank with a garbled, human-like scream. It seemed to have flown out a window, deposited directly into Evil’s moat, splashing cloudy, grey water and flecks of acrid tar into his eyes.

He roared in agony and cursed the Woods, blinded by the muck that stung his eyes. His shirt adhered to his torso as he was sucked under.

Again and again, he came up, yet the turgid waters kept towing him under, by some invisible, churning current that seemed to want to swallow him whole.

Somehow, the mandrake root had risen to the surface. There it floated, washed bare, bobbing up and down as if it were taunting him.

Finally, he found his footing amidst the shallows, near the moat’s bank, and kneeled for a moment to catch his breath.

A doughy lug of a boy got ahold of his neck from behind and held him underwater.

Rafal tried to not expel all the air in his lungs in that instant as he struggled against the other boy’s grip, but it was no use. He punched blindly, knocking the boy in the teeth, casting him backwards, and gasped for breath as he surfaced.

He sloshed through the stygian waters, out onto dry shore. Heart still pounding, he collapsed in a heap of pale limbs and black clothes, sopping wet and grim.

⸻

The Theater of Tales, The Welcoming:

Dripping dingy, grey water, Rafal sat imperiously on a hard, bare bench as if he owned the place, and did not let a flicker of fear cross his features. He stared across the aisle worriedly. The Good pews were empty, save for the girls.

Had Rhian survived the fall?

The great doors flung open.

Rafal’s heart swelled.

It wasn’t Rhian. It was the twin School Masters.

His heart shriveled and sank.

The dark-haired School Master looked to be shuffling note cards of her address as she strode down the aisle with long steps.

The blonde one was peering at herself in a compact mirror as she strutted down the aisle with much aplomb, the train of her black gown skimming the floor behind her.

Rafal ignored them and kept his eyes pinned on the door. He and Rhian would be on the first Stymph out of here. Then, they could travel the Woods. If escape failed, he’d start a coup among the other students and rule the Schools himself.

Just then, Rafal felt as if he were being watched. He turned and met the piercing green eyes of the Evil School Master.

She flashed him a winning smile.

He glared back accusingly as if to say, you did this to me, and turned away brusquely.

She quickly looked away, her face scalding.

He couldn’t drop the tension in his shoulders. Where was Rhian?

The doors banged open a second time, and Rhian waltzed in with other boys, chatting up the future princes at his sides, seemingly flirting. And he was nervous by the look of it, judging by how he wrung his hands and how his face burned uncontrollably.

Rafal exhaled in relief. Rhian was alive. Hopefully, the fall out of the sky hadn’t rendered him even more of a numbskull than he already was.

Euphorically, Rhian waved at Rafal as he seated himself, and beamed beatifically.

Rafal steeled himself and forced out a crooked smile back.

Then, Rhian frowned in return. There were fingerprint-shaped bruises ringing his brother’s neck. Had some brute roughed him up?

⸻

Several Weeks Later in the Clearing, Lunchtime:

Rafal had a plan. When did he not? He just had to warn Rhian, and wring a promise out of him to not interfere, even if it had to be done under duress.

He could probably rely on Rhian to lie for him, to cover for him, if anything went wrong.

“What have you observed?” Rafal began. “We need intel on them, so we can determine their weaknesses. My plan to usurp them may not work otherwise."

“I thought you said you could be the subject of my homework,” Rhian whinged.

“Rhian. Just tell me.”

“My School Master doesn’t seem to care for appearances. At all. She doesn’t put any stock into how she looks herself. She’s very unlike her students, but oddly, it’s refreshing, I must say. It’s Good Deeds that she favors the most. She told us to Help someone in need for our homework in practicing the Rules.”

“Right then, we can kill two birds with one stone. You Help me, I benefit, and you get your blasted homework done.”

“I don’t think being an accessory to Evil counts for this assignment,” Rhian jabbed sarcastically. “Something about your warped logic isn’t holding up.”

“Come now, is Helping your own brother really so treacherous?”

“It is when he’s planning a coup,” Rhian hissed loudly.

Rafal disregarded his brother. “I think the Evil School Master seems listless, and if not listless, restless. She’s confined in her tower all day whenever she’s not teaching. Yesterday, she had floor-to-ceiling mirrors installed in every hall and complained about the ‘pestilence.’”

Rhian shuddered.

“Really, it ruins the dark, dusty atmosphere. I think she means to sterilize everything with boiling water if she can’t burn it all to the ground,” he ridiculed. “I mean, it’s not exactly what I imagined actual Evil to be like. But it’s tolerable, I guess. So, if I end up a bloated, boiled corpse, floating out in a moat dyed hot pink, you know who to blame and how to avenge me. And, disfigure her face while you’re at it.”

Rhian gaped at Rafal in abject horror.

“That was a joke,” Rafal clarified. “Or it halfway was…”

“Oh. Can’t always tell with you,” said Rhian numbly.

“Apologies, brother mine.”

Rhian sighed. “Between you and the Snow Ball, I’m at a total loss.”

“Apparently, the Nevers were invited too. New edict. I have to say I don’t know why. Yet, I’ll tell you off the record.”

Rhian restrained a laugh. “What? Imagine that. You, dancing at a ball? With a girl?”

“Yes, but the School Master gave me a task on behalf of Evil and needed an excuse when she enlisted me as a spy. She wants me to infiltrate the ball and keep tabs on her sister’s best students before the Circus.”

“You can’t be serious!”

Rafal set his jaw. “Unfortunately, I am. From her monologues, I got the gist that she does want to unify the Schools, according to the Good School Master’s plans for reducing the death rate on School grounds and lessening student-on-student hostilities. But, in doing so and appeasing her sister, she seeks to grant Evil an advantage. And, she promised to save me a dance,” he muttered.

“Isn’t that cheating?” fretted Rhian.

“Not if I don’t do my job,” Rafal said slyly.

“You’re going to defy a School Master? Rafal! Are you insane? A decision like that could cost you your life. You’ll get yourself killed!”

“Not if I kill those School Masters first. I was thinking: how would you feel if I installed us as the next School Masters?” Rafal mused pridefully.

“B-b-but, what about the Pen?” Rhian jittered. “Nonononono. You’re insane. This School is turning you insane.”

“What about the Pen? It can’t possibly be that powerful. It's a sliver of metal. And how am I any different from before? I haven’t changed,” he said simply. “You have.”

Rhian gaped, speechless for a moment. “No! I forbid you,” he flared.

“You can’t forbid me from doing anything,” Rafal seared back as he stalked off to his barren side of the Clearing, leaving Rhian bristling with unease and anger of his own.

Rhian feared he was too late to dissuade Rafal. Once his brother made up his mind, it was set and nothing could ever sway him.

He couldn’t let Rafal’s Evil ambitions carry him off to his death. There was no chance that Rafal could succeed in replacing the two most powerful beings in these Woods. But what more could he have said?

⸻

The Outskirts of the Blue Forest:

Ordinarily, Surviving Fairy Tales wouldn’t have been the worst challenge of the year, but the brothers had now failed the class for a second time. Three times and they’d suffer a fate worse than death.

Every time they had the class, Rafal had thrust himself directly in harm’s way to save Rhian, each and every time. So, naturally, he’d ended up sustaining the brunt of the Stymph scratches and procured the nineteenth spot amongst the rankings for himself.

Fervently, Rhian had insisted he could handle himself, yet Rafal had denied him the right to Defend himself because he was allegedly “incapable” and would get in the way more than he could Help by stumbling into mortal peril. Or, that’s what Rafal believed, that his brother bungled up everything he so much as touched. Thereby meaning the only solution in his mind was to not let Rhian do anything, earning his brother the twentieth rank by Rhian’s inaction, which landed Rhian in last place.

Thus, Rafal stunted Rhian’s performance and ability to cope with danger himself, and while Rhian continually ended up doing nothing, Rafal kept getting injured in the line of fire, when usually, he wouldn’t, effectively stunting his own performance at Evil as well.

Therefore, it was no surprise whatsoever to the Good School Master that she’d find them arguing on the forest floor, covered in dust, and in uniforms viciously torn to shreds, much like she and her sister did when they were young. She clearly had a lot on her hands and had to intervene before their quarrels escalated any further.

Rafal attempted to get off the ground, but found he couldn’t. His side pulsed and swole immensely due to the Stymph’s last blow. Had the impact cracked his ribs? No punctured lungs, luckily.

Meanwhile, Rhian lay across from him and gasped in pain, straining to form words.

“These accursed Schools!” Rafal spat, blood trickling down his neck.

Rhian wheezed weakly. “It’s really not that bad!” he spluttered.

“Not that bad. Not that bad! You think being attacked by a Stymph is not that bad!” Rafal flamed.

“Well, it’s typical fairy tale fare, that I could’ve handled, isn’t it?”

Rafal sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” he reproached Rhian. “Sometimes, I think I should murder you myself, so no one else can get to you.”

Rhian frowned.

A shadow loomed over them. The Good School Master.

“My office, tomorrow, one o’clock sharp. Understood?”

Obediently, the brothers nodded.

⸻

Outside the Good School Master’s Door, A Quarter to One in the Afternoon:

Anxiety constricted Rafal’s throat as he waited for Rhian.

His brother was always punctual, claimed punctuality was an integral keystone to etiquette and that arriving early signified respect for the person you were meeting with. The irony did not escape Rafal, and it struck him that Rhian may have been spurting hot air like all the rest of the Evers. And, here he was, trying to play by Rules that weren’t even relevant to his side in the least, all so he could spare them both an egregious punishment. Then again, how likely was it that the Good School Master would punish them?

It was unlike Rhian to not arrive early for their appointment. In fact, Rafal was surprised that he’d arrived first, and he’d had to slog over from Evil, and endure a lengthy conversation, in truth, more of an overblown monologue, with the Evil School Master just to secure her permission to cross Halfway Bridge. It’d taken ages to convince her to unseal the barrier.

Had something befallen Rhian on the way? Rafal narrowed his eyes at the crystal grandfather clock, which now read 12:50. Five minutes late at being early. What was the state of the Woods coming to?

Then, a blur of white swan feathers, wild, golden locks and heavy cologne bounded up to Rafal, squashing him in a hug, assaulting his senses. “Rafal!” Rhian sang joyously without letting go. “You’re here! At Good!” Rhian looked to be all mended, as good as new, Rafal thought tartly.

Rafal patted Rhian’s back stiffly, feeling exposed as he squinted at the light streaming down from the ceiling, which was entirely a skylight. The vise-like pressure on his recovering ribs was not doing them any favors. “Yes, so I am.”

Undeterred, Rhian took his brother’s lackluster response in stride. “My tailor friend sewed this doublet for me after I did him a favor! Isn’t it just spiffing? Like something a real prince would wear!”

“Sure,” Rafal crabbed. He looked all about whilst in Rhian’s grasp, fearing for his well-earned reputation. Fortunately, the halls outside the School Master’s door were vacant.

“If we have the chance, why don’t you visit the dorms with me? You could meet my Good roommates! Also, maybe you could scare Pavel of Pifflepaff Hills into giving me back my scabbard. I lent it to him weeks ago.”

“No,” Rafal said shortly, seeming exhausted. “I’ve had enough people and chatter and pomp and circumstance for one day. Or this decade. Regardless, I’d take fire and brimstone over another conversation at this point.”

“Oh… that’s fine,” Rhian said in a small voice.

Rhian seemed to have wilted at Rafal’s refusal to visit. Perhaps, he’d been too harsh.

Then, Rhian gasped and pulled back. “You’ve lost weight! I can feel your ribs! What have you been subsisting on?”

“The blood and vital organs of small children and the elderly,” Rafal rebuffed snidely.

“We’re circling back to this issue later,” Rhian pronounced firmly, taking Rafal’s cold hand in his. “No, wait, I’ll take seconds whenever I can, to bring you, and I’ll give you half of all my meals whenever I can’t.”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to feed me, Rhian,” Rafal snapped. “I can provide for myself and I’m capable of doing everything alone. Just look at how I’m topping the rankings. Though, I wouldn’t put it past my School Master to poison my food if she were merely upset with me, or slip in a love potion if she actually is dead set on winning me over, not that she ever will. I’ve had to lie low since yesterday, so I wouldn’t incur her wrath when I asked to be allowed to cross the bridge, so I could get to Good on time to see your School Master. And that’s much less than what my classmates want to do to me—they resent me for my rankings as I’m on track to becoming Class Captain, so there’s no point in trusting them either. Indeed, it may be more accurate to say they resent me for the simple fact that I’m still breathing. You of all people should know by now that, as always, it’s easier to live paranoid than anything else because anything else could bring on death. Actually, as a whole, there’s no point in depending on my damn, Storian-forsaken School at all. If I don’t end up with the run of the place, the second I graduate, I’m washing my hands of this institution.”

Rhian stilled. “Rafal! Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner? This is no laughing matter—”

“Ha,” Rafal deadpanned brazenly.

Rhian’s brother was ever the contrarian. That was one constant that would never change. Hence, he resorted to shouting. “Have you no shame? Just look at you. You’re a dead man walking. You’re half-starved. Your face is gaunt. When did you last sleep? Between taking care of me, which you don’t have to do, and nursing your School takeover plan, it’s a wonder you’re not dead! You will accept my Help when you need it.”

“Fine,” said Rafal sharply just to shut Rhian down. He had no intention of accepting Rhian’s Help. Then he caught sight of a fresh, white chrysanthemum pinned to the breast of Rhian’s immaculate, white doublet.

His own flaccid, black, Nevers’ uniform was sorely lacking and the dark shadows beneath his eyes made him look all the more funereal. “Is that a token I spy?”

Rhian nodded. “No luck though. It was a girl that gave it to me. I’ve no prospective Snow Ball dates. Not one.”

“Not even your tailor?”

“No,” Rhian moped. “He’s not that sort of fellow. Thought he was like me and got humiliated by the other boys when I asked him out. We’re still friends though.”

“You might have to take a girl then, for practicality’s sake. But don’t worry, we’ll graduate soon enough, and then you’ll have a whole Woods full of boys to chase after,” Rafal paused, “If the School Master we’re about to see doesn’t turn us into trees or rodents. And assuming that we don’t die imminently.”

“How optimistic.”

Rafal leered. “Yes, it really is my forte, isn’t it?”

Rhian grinned and shook his head. “We’re disasters.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Rhian released Rafal’s hand and took in a quavering breath.

Rafal had to get his plot back on track as soon as he could after this colossal waste of time. He turned from Rhian, who looked a bit too soppy to be all right, but they had things to do and needed to move on, so Rafal swallowed his guilt before raising a fist to knock at the School Master’s door.

BONG, the grandfather clock echoed, frightening Rhian so much as to make him jump behind Rafal.

The coward appears, Rafal thought to himself sourly.

At that exact moment, the School Master’s door swung open.

The Good School Master stood in the doorframe, raimented in golden lighting, looking as if she’d slept in her office the night prior. Her raven hair was mussed up and stuck out unbrushed and she was in the same royal blue and gold gown she’d worn the day before.

⸻

The Good School Master’s Office:

Rhian surveyed the items clustered on the Good School Master’s unfathomably, appallingly untidy desk with great curiosity and mild revulsion.

A crystal ball gleamed on a stand, set beside a high stack of unopened letters embossed with Camelot’s blue-and-gold, waxen seal. There was a golden fountain pen, a matching inkwell, a basket of candied plums, supported by a stack of the selfsame horror novels Rafal was inclined to laugh at, which Rhian never had the guts nor the mettle to read himself, a miniature oil painting of a hideous, bald, Sphinx cat, another silver-framed portrait, with the Evil School Master’s roseleaf likeness, an abundant bouquet of pink hydrangeas wrapped in satiny paper, lain on its side, and a large, glass fishbowl of Wish Fish that swirled like dappled moonlight in the clear water.

The Good School Master clicked the door shut behind the brothers, plopped down on her cushioned chair behind her desk, which was upholstered with midnight blue velvet, and swung her clump-clad feet up on top of her desk.

Rhian tried not to look aghast at this blatant breach of hosting etiquette, but his facial expression was quite telling.

Agatha smiled knowingly, plucked a candied plum out of the basket, and tossed it into her mouth, chomping on it loudly. “Care for a plum?” she asked the brothers, entirely unfazed by her Good student.

Dazed, Rhian picked one up gingerly so as not to offend the Good School Master. But, when he bit into its splendid, succulent flesh, he found that he rather liked it.

At first, Rafal resisted taking one, then he gave into his baser impulses and snatched one from the basket as well. Upon eating it, he had to admit this was the first decent food he’d had in months. And the first time he hadn’t had to worry about lead plates, poison, love potions, acid, splinters, maggots, or mold.

Perhaps, he’d have to revise his plan. It could prove advantageous not to kill this School Master.

He grabbed several more handfuls and shoved the plums into his spacious tunic pockets.

Rhian’s eyes widened and opened his mouth, about to reprimand his brother, but he decided to keep quiet, remembering their talk from earlier.

Let Rafal do what he needed to do so he could feel in control, he reminded himself.

And, again, Agatha turned a blind eye, fiddling with a letter opener, and then slicing up one of the hefty, cream-colored, Camelot envelopes with a miniature model cutlass, and at last, tossing the scraps into the wastepaper basket by her desk.

The two Evers played along to spare the young Never’s dignity.

Then, the School Master spoke first. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today.”

Rhian smiled genteelly and nodded, trying his best to appear polite and impress the School Master.

Rafal looked vaguely unimpressed, as if the School Master were wasting his time.

“Of course, School Master Agatha. Is it because we’re awful at Surviving Fairy Tales? I fully trust that you shall deal with us mercifully, and I swear under the open heaven that I will do my utmost to improve myself and my performance in class in an upstanding manner,” Rhian piped up before Rafal could clamp his mouth shut, speaking openly with honor, lowering his head in deference to the authority in the room.

Rafal banged his head on the desk. Idiot. Who in their right mind would admit to their faults or misdeeds while not under threat of death? His own gullible dunce of a brother who was too upright for his own self-preservation, apparently.

Agatha looked surprised for a moment. “Er, well, yes.”

Head throbbing and without any other options for a more confidential discussion, Rafal spun to Rhian irritably to berate him. “Rhian! What did I tell you about obscuring our weaknesses from strangers? Now, it’s too late to put up a united front! Like all things, we were supposed to approach this appointment strategically!”

“Sorry,” Rhian mumbled, blushing. “But surely, we can trust the School Master. I believe she wouldn’t condemn us.”

“Indeed, you can. Good is nothing if not trusting and champion of the truth,” Agatha assuaged Rhian gently. “And, it’s all right. We all make mistakes.” Agatha eyed Rafal at that.

Rhian looked down at his tall, black boots, polished to a mirror-like sheen. “Yes. Thank you, School Master.”

Agatha smiled. She next appraised Rafal for a moment. “So you’re the rational one, yes?”

Wary of a trick, Rafal nodded carefully without a word.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, young Never. I know what it’s like to be in your position,” the Good School Master told Rafal. “My sister, even these days, still damsels herself whenever the mood strikes. Well, when she’s not flown into a murderous rage. So, trust me, I know. Sometimes, you have to let Rhian rely on himself. As hard as this is to hear, you can’t save him from everything.”

Rafal stared at her skeptically.

“In truth, I understand your selfless instinct although it’s rather atypical in a Never. I won’t tell you to break that streak though. That’s not in my power, even if your School beats it out of you. It’s redemptive if nothing else, and even if you choose to hone your Evil and resourcefulness, I hope you’ll retain it as I believe love can serve Evil as well as it does Good, the way it does my sister and I, even if it doesn’t always look that way. Love is a worthy cause to fight for, whatever your means may be.”

Rafal’s gaze softened and he turned his attention to the bowl of Wish Fish.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, lads, I have an interrogation I must to get to, and a sibling I must corner and lecture to about proper conduct and professionalism. And put on probation for the time being.”

The School Master picked up the bouquet of pink, cerebrum-esque hydrangeas from her desk, gathered them into her arms, and made to leave.

She raised the window sash, held her palm out, and murmured an incantation. A warm, golden glow radiated from her hand, lighting the lattice of veins down her forearm, filling the room, enveloping herself in the pure aura.

Then, delicately, she lifted one silver Wish Fish out of the bowl, away from its brothers, and stepped off the window ledge as an enormous, iridescent bubble formed around her as her mode of transport back to her tower.

But before she swept away, midnight blue cloak and all, she nodded at Rafal and glanced back at Rhian as she left, “I hope yours isn't too much trouble, Rafal. Look ahead and don’t look back. Even if you’re not on my side, I expect great deeds from you.”

And, for once Rafal smiled at someone that wasn’t Rhian.

⸻

Note:

So, I haven’t mentioned this before, but I love the trope of role reversals in general, so when I first conceived this idea, I just had to write it down in some form. Though, I didn’t want to commit to another actual longfic, apart from TOTSMOV41 at the same time, so this piece instead turned into a oneshot I banged out from the outline, and I wrote all the scenes I had in mind.

Rafal took on Midas’ role in this AU, haha! A taste of his own medicine. Serves him right. Still love him though.

And, if anyone was at all worried, there wasn’t really a true rivalry between Sophie and Agatha. Rafal just became their source of external conflict.

Thank you for reading! I’d love to get any feedback and hear your thoughts, feelings, reactions, etc., and feel free to ask any questions or tell me your concerns. I’m also willing to answer questions about what’s already written and about the future since I’m aware I exited the story rather abruptly.

Also, I’m curious: what was your favorite line(s), scene, or part?

Lastly, I try to edit with a fine-toothed comb and a sieve, usually, but if you catch any errors, please alert me to their presence!

⸻

Songs I think capture the mood:

“No Love in LA” - Palaye Royale

This song is more for a general vibe, but some lyrics do fit.

“Two Young Hearts” - Sabrina Carpenter

Seriously, this song fits so ridiculously, insanely well for Rhian and Rafal as long as it is NOT taken romantically. Actually, at some points in the lyrics, it arguably fits better with canon than with this fic.