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“Court is in session, overseen by his Majesty, King Frederic,” Nigel announces with a clap, bringing the room’s attention to the King. “Varian has been recaptured and is in Coronan custody. His past charges include kidnapping, assault, attempted regicide, vandalism, theft, treason, among others. He was proven guilty at his trial a year prior.”
“But,” Rapunzel jumps in, raising a hand, “he’s shown reform! He’s the only reason we managed to drive out the Saporians and save Corona!”
“That‘s why we‘re here again to revisit this case,” Nigel continues, nodding. “His previous sentence was life in prison with the possibility of probation subsequent to a mandatory reformation program. The question we must ask ourselves now is: does this act of redemption warrant a change in sentencing?”
“Varian,” the King addresses, and Varian lifts his head. “Now that you are...” he thinks back to the previous case, filled with bared teeth and seething, dangerous promises, “much calmer than the previous trial, can you explain to us the motives behind your initial attack?”
“I said it back then,” Varian says, voice breathy, “I wanted to free my father.”
“From the amber?”
Varian nods. “From the amber.”
“And why,” King Frederic waves a hand in a vague gesture, “did you think attacking Corona would aid you in that?”
Varian bites his lip, eyes darting from the King to the Princess. She motions in a circle, quietly urging him to continue. “I... I’m not sure. Ra... the Princess had already failed me once,” he says to the floor, shoulders slumping with shame, “so I figured asking again would only end in failure. I was... so tired of rejection.”
“Hence you took it out on the kingdom?”
“I... I guess so, yeah.”
“And what do you make of your past actions now?”
“I think they were stupid,” Varian responds immediately, practically spitting the words; the guards’ hands, one around each of his arms, tighten. “I think I should’ve been smarter.”
The King’s eyebrows narrow. “Smart enough to defeat us?”
“No!” Varian exclaims, head shooting up. “No, no. I meant smart enough to know treason wouldn’t get me anywhere.”
The King is quiet for a moment, tapping a finger against his thigh. “Are you willing to do whatever it takes to atone for your past crimes?”
“Yes,” Varian breathes, nodding quickly. “Yes. Of course.”
“Even if that entails further punishment for you?”
“Yes,” he says. “Yes. I think... I think I thought that the person responsible for... I thought they deserved to be punished.” He huffs a laugh, ducking and shaking his head. “I guess I was too angry to accept that it was my fault all along.”
“Hm.” King Frederic glances at Eugene, standing behind Rapunzel with a hand on her back, and Lance, a few feet behind them. “I suppose this Kingdom is no stranger to reformed criminals. However, since you have many more charges, as well as more serious ones, I will sentence you to—“
“An official pardon.”
The throne room falls silent; all eyes shoot to the Queen. She sits tall in her seat, looking at the King, who stares back at her, bewildered.
“What?”
“An official pardon,” she repeats. “That’s my suggestion.”
The King’s eyes are blown wide. “Why?”
The Queen stares back with a hardened gaze. “Because... we almost did the same thing. Don’t you remember?” She gestures to Rapunzel, who stands in the middle of the floor, hands weakly clasped together as if she were about to plead before the Queen spoke. “When our daughter was ripped away from us... if I had the resources, the brilliance... I would’ve done the same thing.”
“Your Majesty,” Nigel murmurs in shock.
“I cannot in good conscience,” she continues, moving her hand to point to Varian instead of the Princess, “condemn a child for the same crimes I was willing to commit. The same action I would’ve, and planned to, take. If we had found that tower...” she shakes her head, “there is no guarantee that I would not have fallen down the same road.”
“His charges are far too pressing,” King Frederic insists, but he’s clearly shaken. “We cannot...”
She turns back towards him, her voice softer and sadder. “Allow the boy to free his father. Allow Rapunzel to help him. If his motivations lie in releasing his father, there will be no need for him to take vengeance against us again. If you had found that tower and were forbidden from saving all you had left, would you have stood by and listened?”
The King opens and closes his mouth, his hands furling and unfurling. Queen Arianna’s eyes narrow. “If you sit here and tell me you would’ve stayed, you’re a liar.”
His eyes drift to the floor. The King sighs wearily, and with resignation because she’s right, he decrees, “I hereby pardon Varian from all charges.”
Gasps ring out in the room, and the swarms of guards turn amongst each other (despite Rapunzel’s insistence, nobody had trusted the boy with less than the finest security they could provide). The hands around Varian’s arms loosen, and he falls to his knees, staring up at the King and Queen in a daze. Not one person, not even the Princess herself, had expected Varian to walk out of the throne room with nothing.
“Rapunzel,” the King says, and her eyes turn to him, hands still clasped feebly together, “you and Varian may depart for Old Corona tomorrow morning. For now,” he looks at the guards on either side of Varian, “show him to a room. It’s been a long day. I suggest we all retire.”
“Yes, your majesty.” The guards salute, looking down at the boy curled up into a ball, forehead pressed to the floor. As soon as the King’s dismissal is spoken, Rapunzel is at Varian’s side, hands on his shoulders, bringing his head into her lap.
“Are you sure,” the King whispers to Queen Arianna, leaning over the throne’s armrests, “this is the right decision? That boy is dangerous.”
“I agree.” She watches Rapunzel wind her arms around his back, his hands shakily reaching for her as if he’s afraid to accept her compassion, afraid the amnesty will shatter if he moves. She can see the betrayal in his movements, the years of lies, the disbelief. It reminds her far too much of cradling Rapunzel to her chest on that balcony, threading her hands in her hair and holding her as tightly as possible. It reminds her of the static in her mind, broken only by prayers that she wasn’t dreaming, that she wasn’t imagining the warmth in her arms. It reminds her of reaching out for her daughter’s cheek, tasting her heartbeat in her throat when she didn’t melt away.
“It’s not a matter of whether he is a threat or not,” she says, turning back to the King, speaking in a low tone. “The question is whether it’s better to have him on our side or against us, and I think he’s proven which we should vie for.”
(The King has the final say, has a myriad of advisors; he hears the people’s voices, but Queen Arianna’s is the loudest. It was always her who was stonier, who was harder. The King, despite the persona he donned, was a bit too compassionate, a bit too forgiving. She was analytical, pragmatic. She forgave only if it suited her.
Yet, it was always her who bent to sympathy).
Varian is eventually pried from Rapunzel’s grasp and led to the guest hallway. The throne room is cleared out after the guards are stationed either outside the King and Queen’s chambers, the Princess’s, or Varian’s. Eugene directs Rapunzel away from visiting Varian, insisting they need rest after the day’s events, and Rapunzel goes with little resistance, too drained to fight.
The Queen, however, has no such reservations, and she persists past the guards, entering the guest room. Varian is huddled on the window alcove, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around them. His cheek is smushed against his knees, staring out the window.
She shuts the door quietly behind her. “I don’t forgive you.”
“Good,” Varian says quietly. “I don’t forgive me either.”
She crosses the room, taking a seat beside him on the cushion. He continues looking out the window despite little being visible in the nighttime. “What will you do if you free your father?”
He shrugs, a tiny action. “There’s nothing left for me whether I free him or not.”
She leans against the glass. “What do you mean by that?”
His eyes shift over to her, rimmed with red. “He hardly excused my failed experiments. I think accepting me after nearly killing you is off the table.” He sighs defeatedly, looking back out the window; his fingers play with the ends of his pants. “Still, he deserves to be free. I... I don’t. Why did you do that?”
“I said it back then,” she parrots his earlier words, and he peeks back at her, “I would’ve done the same.” She stares at him, not harshly but not kindly either. “Do you think I’m a terrible person for that?”
“No.” He uncurls slightly. “You’re the Queen.”
She hums, tilting her head. “Does my status somehow put me above such crimes?”
Varian rolls the fabric of his pants between his fingers. “You would have more people to stop you. You would... you would’ve been smarter.”
She doesn’t respond, doesn’t try to change his mind. The silence stretches between them, broken only by the subtle sound of fabric against fingers. Varian fiddles with his clothing, eyes cast downwards, head hung. Finally, Queen Arianna breathes into the quiet, “Did Rapunzel ever tell you what happened to Mother Gothel?”
“No.” He lifts up his head. “I... I don’t really think anyone knows.”
She looks into his eyes, watching with a reservation that doesn’t match what she’s heard about him, whether it was before or after the amber. Her tone is cold. “She pushed her out the window.”
Slowly, Varian’s eyes widen. His fingers still. “Fell to death,” The Queen continues. “Killed.”
“That doesn’t,” Varian mutters, breathless, “sound like Rapunzel at all.”
“When I first heard of your deeds,” she says; she taps a finger against the pillow, and his eyes follow it instinctively, dull, weary. She speaks in hushed words, barely audible, “I didn’t think it sounded like you at all, either.”
“That’s why I should be locked up,” Varian insists. “Because... because I don’t know that part of me. I don’t know if it’s still there.”
“Anger is a finicky emotion.” She sighs, facing the windowpanes. “I think everyone has it inside them.”
Varian shakes his head rapidly, hair falling over his eyes. “No. No, good people don’t.”
“Did you not listen to me?” she says, though not rudely. “I just told you of Rapunzel’s story. I saw myself in your actions. Everyone has the capacity for evil. Everyone.”
“So then...” Varian bundles his hands into fists, holding the cloth of his trousers between clenched fingers, “is everyone a terrible person? Is everyone bad? I thought...” bitterness fills his voice, “that was something that past-me had gotten wrong.”
“Do you regret your actions?” she asks, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. His hands slacken at that, and he whips up to face her.
“Of course. Of course.”
“That’s the thing. Most monsters don’t.”
His shoulders loosen. His eyes go wide. She looks back out the window. “It’s what makes them terrible: not the deeds they’ve done, the crimes they’ve committed, but the lack of remorse. The difference between a devil and a sinner is that one looks on their actions with shame, and one looks on their actions with a smile.”
She slides off the pillow, and Varian’s eyes track the movement, still dumbfounded, hands hovering by his ankles. “Is that why you pardoned me? Because you... you saw something in me? Remorse?”
“I said it back then,” she repeats, and for the first time, a small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “I would’ve done the same thing. A simple reason.”
“A true one?”
She nods. “A true one.”
A grin rises on his face, and the light that she hadn’t realized was gone gradually pours back through his eyes, and it looks like starting over, looks like hope. “A good one?”
She mirrors his smile. “A good one.”
(Was the light ever gone or just dimmed, buried under rage and bitterness and guilt and regret? Did she feel shame when remembering her past thoughts, her past desires to hunt Mother Gothel down?
She feels no remorse for actions that hadn’t been committed. He feels nothing but remorse for the actions he had committed. Are they the same? Are they both evil?
Does it matter?
Perhaps another day, when comfort isn’t what the boy desperately needs, that’s a question she can pose).