Work Text:
Benedict looked around, taking in the unfamiliar walls of the tent. It was the key that had brought him here, the stupid key that he had wrestled away from Poppy just before she could escape through the doorway. As soon as he had taken hold of the key, another version of himself had appeared, reminding him of all of his failures and telling him how he didn’t deserve to serve King Quentin, or any of the Children of Earth, because he would only fail them too. And that he was right to think of ending it all, because what did he have to offer in this world? Nothing. Only failure after failure, no matter how hard he tried, or what he did. So Benedict had listened to his other self, and thrown himself over the edge of the Muntjac into the dragon’s waiting jaws. And now he found himself here, sitting in this tent in a field in the Underworld. The key was still in his hand, but here, it had no power. The other him had disappeared, and now Benedict realized that he had failed his king yet again, because he thought he had heard King Quentin trying to tell him not to listen to his other self, not to throw himself over the edge, but he had done it anyway. Shame rose up inside him then, and he knew he needed to get rid of the key. His kings and queens needed it for their quest, but how could they get it back from here, anyway? So he buried it in a place where nobody would think to look, so he could still dig it up if any of them did manage to find him, but he wouldn’t have to see it and be constantly reminded of his many, many failures.
But burying the key didn’t make his shame go away, or his anger and disappointment with himself. So Benedict decided to let those feelings out the only way he knew how: he made a map. A map of the parts of the Underworld he had seen, including where he had buried the key. If King Quentin was the one to eventually find him, Benedict thought, he would love a treasure map for his quest, and maybe that could be a way for him to partially atone for his previous failures.
As he began to draw on the parchment, Benedict let his thoughts wander so his emotions could finally flow freely…
It had almost been King Quentin who ended up here instead of him. He had seen King Quentin staring blankly over the railing of the Muntjac into the murky depths of the water below. He knew that look, knew what was about to happen if nobody stepped in and did something. So he did something. He had begged King Quentin not to do it, pleaded with him to just step back from the railing. He had even told King Quentin about his own feelings, a cardinal sin in his family. Emotions were to be hidden away and never talked about. You found other ways to let them out. For him, it was maps. But he had told King Quentin that he understood, and that he himself had been to that dark place. It felt like the right thing to do in the moment, maybe the only way to get King Quentin to listen and take him seriously. Most people didn’t take him very seriously. But King Quentin had looked right at him, and SEEN him, and understood what he was trying to tell him. They had formed a connection in that moment, the bond of shared experience. And King Quentin had, thankfully, stepped away from the railing. And when he had mentioned the old stories of sailors being tied to the mast for their own safety, King Quentin had jumped at the solution. Maybe he should have let King Quentin down when he had asked…maybe then King Quentin would have taken the key from Poppy instead of him, and he would still be on the Muntjac, sailing and serving his king the best he could. Because it was when he got the key, and his other self appeared and told him he was a failure and that he didn’t deserve to serve King Quentin, that he couldn’t convince himself otherwise, and it had propelled him over the edge of the ship, and…WAIT…
Benedict’s hand froze, and he looked up from his map, startled. Wait…had King Quentin also held the key at some point? Was that why he had been standing at the railing with that terribly familiar blank stare? OH…
This revelation sent a whole new wave of emotions through Benedict, so he quickly leaned down and started drawing his map again.
Of course, King Quentin must have had the key before Poppy took it. How else would he have known that she was trying to use it to escape? But that meant…
It meant that King Quentin had also been seeing and hearing another version of himself, telling him all kinds of awful things about the worst parts of himself. How long had King Quentin been fighting that? Certainly longer than he himself had lasted. What a failure, indeed. He had taken hold of the key and almost immediately been overcome by the bombardment from his other self. And King Quentin had somehow managed not to give in to it, for DAYS. How? King Quentin must be incredibly strong, and very brave. He really wasn’t worthy of serving such a heroic king. It was a good thing he had buried the key. This way, even if King Quentin did come find him here, he could keep the key away from him, pretend he didn’t know what happened to it, so King Quentin wouldn’t have to deal with it again.
Benedict abruptly stopped drawing. He looked down at his map for a minute, considering. Then he crumpled up the parchment. King Quentin would have loved a treasure map for his quest, but Benedict couldn’t let him hold the key again. This was how he could finally serve King Quentin well and truly, as he deserved. Benedict sighed, then trudged out to where he had buried the key, dug another hole, and buried his half-finished map right next to it. He wouldn’t fail King Quentin this time.