"Son. Son? Wake up? There you are."
Belllavarn woke up in his father's arms. It was incredibly disorienting. His face being held in his father's cold hands.
"What? Who? Where am I?"
"You didn't lose your memory again, did you? Bellavarn?"
Bellavarn looked around groggily. He felt. He felt something. Something. Missing? What was he missing? Memory? He... he was Bellavarn Sallow. Wasn't he?
It came back with an intake of air that floored him. He held his head as the memories overlapped. Bellavarn. Bellavarn Sallow.
A small toy train. Playing with the Duchess's ice blond curls. Working a nine-five job. Playing catch with the Duke. Attending his first ball. Falling in love for the first time. His parents' funeral. Learning to cast his first spell. Going to High School. Tutors working with him individually. Being cheated on. His father's insisted questions. Dangling from a ceiling fan.
Melody.
Bellavarn coughed up a lung. He clawed at his throat, but there was no rope—nothing to untie.
"Bellavarn! What happened? Why are you suddenly choking."
Tears were running down face again.
"Father... Father. I- it. I can't. I thought I was- I shouldn't be..."
His father sighed and wiped his son's tears with a handkerchief. Deciding this is one of the moments to be a father and not a Duke. He held his son as he cried into his shoulder. Wailing away like a child, babbling and sniffling.
"It's alright. You're alright, Bellavarn. You are a strong man. You are my son."
=
It was over. It was a few days later. Bellavarn had collapsed and knocked himself unconscious. Whether it was cause or effect couldn't be known. Right now, Bellavarn stared at his reflection in his washroom. Water ran down his face. Normal mundane water. It clung to his face. Bellavarn reached for a towel, wiping it all off.
He stared at his reflection in the glass. The mirror was smooth and shaped, with no bubbles or irregularities. Like back home? Or...
Bellavarn resisted the urge to pick at a cut across his temple near his hairline. He cut himself when he fell. It would leave a small scar above his left eyebrow.
How manly...
He rubbed his head as he felt a headache coming on. The memories from both lives merged and fought, battling for control. The memory of dying. Who was he? Was he Bellavarn or the duke's son? Both? Neither? The pain increased.
Kicking the door to his bathroom transferred the pain to his toes.
Did it really matter? He had both memories: heartbreak and a noose tied around his neck.
He rubbed a hand over his throat. No bruising or scars. No indication he died. Did he die? Ack, the pain!
He rolled over onto the bed. His head was splitting. His heat felt like competing to see who would tear itself asunder first. Bellavarn held a hand to his chest and another to his head. Trying to staunch the metaphysical wounds. Then he started laughing. Remembering a silly childhood game. Rub your stomach, pat your head? Hah! Hahaha... hah.
=
The laughter ceased. Tears threatened to replace it. Was he always such a crier?
His father's words haunted him—the Duke's words.
Melody was gone.
When Bellavarn collapsed, the arguing had ceased. Each parent took one of them and departed only to resume arguing in private. Apparently, his mother was a fierce woman when she wanted to be. She had convinced Braster to give compensation and severance pay to Melody. He was extremely against this as it would spread rumors, leading people to believe I really did harm Melody. His mother was stubborn, though, saying that even if I didn't do it, they needed to repay her for everything that happened. Father couldn't get past the stubborn woman and relent with incredible reluctance.
Mother didn't believe I was innocent.
Not that it was easy for father. Anyone seeing Melody like that. After knowing where she spent most of her time that week...
The conclusion would be obvious for most. Yet his father believed him. He owed him his life for that. His mother?
He remembered his mother now. A beautiful woman. Fierce, yes. But also loving. She loved him. Bellavarn truly believed that with all his heart. But being confronted with such a situation...
"Aaaaah!"
He threw a pillow. It impacted softly with his dresser. Which in turn knocked his journal to the ground.
Damn plot devices.
Cursing under his breath, he got up and picked the journal up. He flipped through it, understanding the words entirely. He remembered writing them. Drawing. He flipped to the later pages. A sketch of his own face in the mirror, drawn with jagged, unconfident lines he never would have used before. Scribbling letters. Repeated. Over and Over.
The last page.
"Fuck."
He guessed it. He already knew. It tore at him all the same.
On the last page was a portrait in magical blue ink, created with a certain magical tool. It depicted a 3/4 view of Melody as she poured tea. Her face bright and naturally smiling. Hair flowing freely down her back. A black and white lace choker around her neck. Monochrome garments with frills. The image almost glowed in the light.
Bellavarn hid the drawing from her, not wanting her to see it. He was an incredibly self-conscious artist. Believing his work worthy of being viewed by others.
Did she ever see this? When he wasn't looking?
"Ah! Damn it all to hell."
It was all or nothing.
"Oslo!"
The doors to his room opened a few moments later. A portly older butler entered. Bellavarn remembered the older man. Long time employee, no one that father or his previous self trusted more.
"Sir?"
"Oslo. I need a favor, but you aren't going to like it."
"Chasing after the young miss, sir?"
Bellavarn blinked.
"Very good, sir. This way. Your father prepared an escort."
A knowing smile played on Oslo's lips. Bellavarn couldn't help but smirk as well.
=
"Sir, we don't know where she has gone exactly but we can inquire nearby if necessary."
"That is fine Oslo. I don't have high hopes. Still, I have to try."
Oslo's mustache curled as he smiled.
"Well said, sir."
Both of them rode in a carriage with two of the Duke's most trusted guards, Henry and Kerv. The carriage passed by snowed-in storefronts and houses. The architecture was familiar but Bellavarn had no idea where they were going, trusting in Oslo and the rest.
"I assume she is special young master?"
That was Kerv. Henry elbowed him, eliciting a metal clank and a wince.
"Of course she is; we wouldn't be here otherwise."
"I was just-
"You know what you were doing."
"It's fine, Henry. Kerv is probably just curious. Do you know all know that I had amnesia?"
Nods all around.
"Well. I was lost. Afraid of what to do next. I woke up to a maid entering my room with a knock. Hahaha, I had no idea."
He recounted the short story of how he fell in love. The others were silent for the most part. When it was over, Kerv spoke again.
"Did you regain all your memories, young master?"
Bellavarn looked out the window at farmland, taking a moment to reflect.
"Yes. I did. But it was more than I wanted."
"What does-oof!"
"Shut it."
Bellavarn chuckled lightly as Kerv rubbed at his side. He didn't respond, simply sinking into thought. The world passing by around him
What would he say? How could he approach Melody? She probably didn't even want to see him after what she went through. Who could have harmed her? Bruises? Had she been hiding them the entire time, suffering all alone? And yet, she still smiled.
A woman who was being abused under his nose still managed to smile, teach him, serve him tea, blush and kiss him. Bellavarn could imagine no stronger woman than Melody.
It crushed him that he had been oblivious to it all. Not noticing even with partial memory. Was he an idiot?
"Sir."
How does all that happen under his nose? Why didn't she come to him? Did she not trust him? Too afraid of the attacker? How could-
"Sir!"
"Hm. What?"
"Sir, where she lives."
"Already? That was fast."
"Young Master, it's been hours."
Bellavarn started; he examined the sky. An orange glow fading into purple. Night was arriving. Had he been lost in thought the entire time?
"She is here?"
"There are signs someone is living here. And people nearby said there was someone matching her description at this address."
Bellavarn looked around. Vast barren winter farmland off to his left. Sparse buildings leading into a more busy nearby town to the right. Snow littered the roads. The distance we must have traveled. He would have to make sure to repay everyone for this.
"Alright. I will go knock."
"Young Master, would you like us to accompany you?"
"No, Kerv. You and Henry can stand guard outside. If she is here and we get to talk, you are not to enter. No eavesdropping. Understood?"
"Sir."
They saluted him. Oslo patted him on the shoulder.
"Good luck, young master."
"Thanks, Oslo. You're the best."
"As you say, young master."
Bellavarn chuckled as the butler bowed his head. He was lucky to be surrounded by such good people.
With a deep breath, then two, he approached the door and knocked.