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Though he knew by broken heart the way to Janus's abode in the better part of town, Virgil still dragged his feet as he walked. He almost convinced himself to turn back multiple times, to avoid having to go to his ex for help but he had no-where else to turn.
To his credit when Janus opened the door to a a familiar but nervous man draped in a purple and black cloak, hands stuffed into pockets to prevent himself from wringing them together, the snake-faced sourcerer simply swung the door wide and gestured that Virgil could enter.
Furniture had been moved about since Virgil was last here and there was a new bookcase in the hallway stacked with books and papers and jars of ingredients, but it smelled the same. Dried herbs and spices, and the scent of the infused oil Janus used to condition his ropes hung in the air and enveloped Virgil in a wave of bitter-sweet memories.
The sun lounge remained mostly unchanged and was where Janus led his guest.
Plants and herbs of all sorts lined wide windows, with part of the roof also being lined in glass. Racks of herbs in the process of being dried out were stacked neatly to one side, and in the centre an array of cushions.
Janus took up upon the largest cushion and turned to Virgil, not yet speaking, waiting for him to explain his reappearance into his life after such a dramatic exit.
As he sat down across from Janus, Virgil took a deep breath to steady himself. When his words still failed to form, he rubbed his sweaty palms down his trouser legs.
“I need your help.” he said at last.
At first Janus did not respond. He just sat and watched Virgil, as if he was basking in Virgil's discomfort. Virgil grit his teeth, he should have known better than to think the sorcerer could ever forgive him.
Then he caught sight of Janus's face. No sneer or smirk twisted his mouth, but his mismatched eyes stared at him under furrowed brow in what he might have sworn was concern.
He must have been imagining things. Janus did not care. Not for anything other than his power and his magicks and himself.
Virgil looked back, wondering if a person could have changed so much. It had been number of years, and Janus seemed sincere in his expression.
Then again, he had a talent for deception. It was surely more likely he had just perfected his imitation of compassion.
Janus gave a slow sigh, “I gathered as much, else you would not have come to me.” his voice was soft. He opened his palms and gave a little bow of service.
“What do you need?”
Virgil was taken aback. Janus never offered aid without agreeing on a price beforehand, and he never ever agreed to help without demanding something in return.
“I have coin!” he said, reaching for his satchel and trying to pull it out to show Janus he had come prepared. Silver pieces spilled from the old leather pouch he had gathered them in, dotted with copper. He gasped as the metal scattered over the floor, and shrank back into the folds of his cloak, his cheeks aflame with embarrassment.
A titter gentle but cut short as Janus regarded the pouch which was worn through in places and tied with a fraying cord, and Virgil's cloak, patched up over and over till hardly any of the original remained.
He shook his head.
“Keep your coin. You are due a favour, and I would like to try and make amends for... before...”
It was Virgil's turn to laugh at that, such a Janus-esk way to refer to the most heart-breaking moment of his life when he had finally decided to leave Janus for good. Words had been shouted, with such hatred that he had thought them loaded with curses. Not that he had not responded in kind, as well as a declaration that he never wanted to see Janus again.
That had been years ago and yet here he was, sat in Janus's sun lounge and asking for a favour.
More surprising than this turn of events was that Janus seemed willing to listen and help.
Virgil laughed again, this time dryly and at himself, “You haven't heard what I want yet.”
“If it is in my power to grant you can have it.”
“I have to fight a dragon.”
If Janus had been practising expressions in a looking glass, he had gotten scarily good because his expression of shock and surprise was very believable.
There was a long moment where he could see Janus trying to figure out if he had misheard, or if Virgil was lying (oh the irony!).
“You want to fight a dragon?!”
“I have to.”
Janus then straightened, and clasped his gloved hands together in front of him.
“I rescind my offer of help.”
Virgil felt a familiar sting of betrayal, that Janus's honeyed words never matched up to his actions. “You liar! You said you'd grant any favour!”
“I will not support you in feeding yourself to a damned dragon!” There was no honey in Janus's tone then, and his hands clenched tight against each other.
Such an outcome had crossed Virgil's mind as well as being set ablaze, or pulled apart by claws, or crushed underfoot, or lifted high into the sky and then dropped. His nights had been full of all the terrible things a dragon could do to any idiot who got too close.
Still, he remembered the reason for him coming to Janus for aid.
Prince Roman, heir to the kingdom, had taken it into his head to rescue his half-brother Duke Remus.
The Duke had frankly been asking for disaster, Virgil thought (but never voiced). Remus had decided to seek out the local dragon.
Not much was known of dragons, since any foolish enough to get close did not get opportunity to share their findings. Mostly it was held that dragons were long lived, liked gold and treasure and could breath fire.
The local elderly dragon had dwelt there as long as anyone could remember. It might have been a terror in the past, but any books detailing its misdeeds must have been burned up because now it mostly slept or stuck it's head out to sniff at the air then go back into the caverns it called home.
Other kingdoms were not so lucky and had to deal with dragons of rage and fire and devastation. Their beast seemed satisfied to stay in its lair as long as the occasional cow was delivered to it.
Those who donated their livestock to the dragon were reimbursed appropriately, and the general consensus was that as long as it stayed away from humans, it would be left in peace.
As such Princesses and Princes alike had been left unsacrificed for an age, and all seemed in agreement that to keep the fragile peace between kingdom and fire-breathing creature those stupid enough to pester it would not be avenged.
That did not stop thieves and the like intent of stealing from its hoard from venturing forth, but they were never seen again and though their families and friends might have mourned the lost of life, all agreed that really folks ought to know better and that it was not worth angering the dragon for sake of a few petty crooks.
Most thought the same of the Duke, that he would not be missed in the grand scheme of things.
Prince Roman thought differently, and as much as Virgil might have liked to leave Remus to his fate, he could not let his best friend try to take on a dragon alone.
Virgil had tried, repeatedly and unsuccessfully, to sway Roman from his decision, but the prince had a noble heart. Stupid and stubborn too, but that was besides the point.
Virgil could have said all this to Janus, could have detailed his reasons and rational.
Instead he said, “Please.”
Janus's snake eye remained unblinking as he looked at Virgil, incredulous.
Virgil never really trusted that slitted eye, but as he shifted under its gaze he started to wonder what it saw....
Slowly, Janus unclasped his hands from one another, as if reluctant.
“All right.”
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Virgil knew that he needed the magic as soon as possible, and he was familiar with Janus's style of magic and his preference for knot-work. Knot-work against skin was where Janus's skill was strongest, so it did not surprise Virgil that this was the magic he chose to utilise. Still it felt very strange to be without clothes in Janus's personal quarters as Janus fussed over which ropes to use. Meanwhile Janus had only removed his gloves.
A harness, he had said, worn under clothes would serve best. Virgil would have preferred not to be naked before his ex, but Janus was handling the task with a professional detachment that made the situation tolerable.
The sorcerer scanned up and down the wall of hanging ropes, picking one up and feeling the cords before changing his mind and trying another.
There were many to chose from; natural woven hemp, nettle, silk, cotton, kelp. Some were dyed, some woven through with thin wires of iron. Some would be smooth against skin, some unbearably itchy. Some would be vibrant but fragile, others dull but tough despite the oil conditioning.
All held that smell Virgil remembered so well.
Virgil had long tried to figure out what the scent reminded him of; it was a little like vanilla, a little like warm hay, underpinned with an aromatic wood like sandalwood or cedar. Janus had kept the exact source of the oil secret, no matter how many times Virgil had asked about it.
He stood, the setting familiar enough to fend off the nervousness that being naked might normally conjure.
Virgil had been bound here, over and over and over as Janus practised his spells and magicks. Neither of them had known how powerful Janus would become, but as the years went by and the knots grew tighter, Virgil had started to doubt in Janus's true heart.
Janus was skilled at adapting to what his clients wanted. Virgil had watched as Janus played the nervous but lucky novice, or the excessively well-read expert, or the low-born born with a knack, or the mystic journeying from afar with foreign knowledge.
He took on so many roles, so many impersonations it made Virgil worry that the face Janus showed to him might be false.
The tighter the knots got, the more he fretted that he was being manipulated like all the others Janus dealt with.
This continued for long months till he finally frayed, literally, his distrust manifesting in the destruction of Janus's ropes.
To say that Janus was upset about the state of his ropes would be an understatement. It had been a delicate spell, and the backlash from the broken magicks had struck him across the room, breaking ribs and ruining weeks of work and preparation. He blamed Virgil for not trusting him, and Virgil blamed him for not being trust-worthy.
What followed had been.... loud.
In amongst all the accusations, no apology was uttered.
Virgil had walked out then, taking what he could carry and fully intending to never return.
He probably would have not thought to come back if he was not in desperate need.
He was brought back to the moment by Janus tisking in irritation and letting go of the rope he was currently appraising.
“Get your clothes back on.”
Just as Virgil was about to angrily ask why Janus had changed his mind (as he was wont to do), Janus continued, “None of these ropes are suitable. I shall need to weave new rope if it will have any hope of offering enough protection.”
He gestured to a large cupboard where he stored the threads he used to craft his rope. “Go, chose which colours speak to you for your task. I shall set up the creel and jig.”
“But-! How long will that take?!” Roman had promised to wait for him, but the prince was already impatient and Virgil feared he would head off alone.
“It will take as long as it takes.” Janus then softened, “But I shall spin as fast as I am able.”
Virgil pulled his tunic over his head and went to the cupboard. The wooden doors were heavy and inlaid with golden wards and symbols of power. He knew exactly which ones were functional, and which were just for show.
His hand drifted over the threads, every colour and hue available to him. First he picked a thin strand of red silk that felt soft and warm between his fingers, and then decided that purple that should be added to give the rope strength. The purple came away in a long thick spool, which he took for a sign of how much the magic would need to bind properly. He wondered if he ought to add green to represent the Duke but decided against it; he wasn't doing this for Remus.
He startled when Janus came up behind him, his gaze directed down at what Virgil had chosen. He gave a nod that the chosen threads would suffice, and then opened a door hidden at the back. From this he drew out a length of thin flax. There seemed nothing particularly special about it till it came into the light and glistened. It was spun through with gold.
“Janus....”
That rope was worth more than Virgil would ever be able to repay.
“What? You don't have fae blood in you do you?”
“You know I don't.”
Janus shrugged, “Maybe I did not know you as well as I thought I did...”
He started down the stairs before Virgil could come up with a scathing retort which was probably for the best. Virgil followed as Janus set up the rope making contraption.
“If you recall the steps, you can help me spin.”
Virgil was surprised how easily the task came back to him, even though it had been years.
Silently they set up the creel with the thread and mounted it upon the jig. Janus then started to turn the handle, twisting the threads and weaving them together into rope. He guided the rope as it coiled at his side, his fingertips making sure every strand was where it should be and preventing knots and tangles.
“So,” he started once they had found a steady rhythm. “care to tell me why you feel the need to go about messing with a dragon?”
Virgil sighed, “Have you heard the news that Duke Remus has gone missing?”
Janus did not reply but tilted his head with curiosity.
“Remus was last seen descending into a dragon lair.”
“An idiot then.”
“I do not disagree.”
Janus chuckled at that, then paused to allow Virgil to continue.
“Prince Roman seeks to rescue his step brother,”
“Another idiot.”
Virgil did not like Janus speaking about the prince in such a way, but could not exactly refute the accusation. He grit his teeth,“and I intend to help.”
The regular clack of wooden wheels and cogs working together filled the silence that stretched between them. Much had changed, and the number of questions that Janus clearly wanted to ask only served to show how ignorant he was to Virgil's current alignments and allegiances.
Eventually Janus spoke again, “He must mean a lot to you, for you to risk your life.”
Virgil nodded, smiling at the memory of how he and Roman had at first argued at every opportunity, till eventually their rivalry had transformed into friendship.
The spinning wheels slowed then, just for a moment. Virgil was about to query what was wrong, but Janus had already resumed turning the handle.
He did asked no further questions, and Virgil did not volunteer more information.
It was hard work, and by the time the rope was completed Janus's collar was stained with sweat and his ungloved hands red. He gathered the rope in his hands and turned to go back up the stairs.
“It's not conditioned yet, so give me a minute to imbue it with oil.” he showed his own palms, scratched raw from the fibres. “Otherwise it will be abrasive to skin.”
Janus reached for a large pot of unscented oil and Virgil found himself disappointed.
“Could you... could you use your scented oil?”
Surprise flashed across Janus's face, followed by a pleased smile. He took a smaller bottle and started to massage it across the strands. A fresh layer of scent joined the lingering perfumes, slightly more grassy in its profile.
It did not take longer for practised hands to apply the oil, and as the end was reached Virgil removed his tunic once more, ready.
The air in the room shifted as Janus started to handle the rope, pulling on his powers and channelling it into the twisted cord of gold and purple and red.
Janus had been skilled when Virgil had left. Now he commanded an expertise that was honestly a little frightening.
At the first touch of rope against his skin, Virgil flinched for no more reason that his nerves were pulled taut. He steadied himself, and tried to let Janus work his magic.
Deft fingers draped and fastened the rope under his arms, then back and forth across his chest, securing knots under his pectorals. Loops were wound round his shoulders, left lax so that he could move freely under them.
As Janus worked, Virgil kept catching glimpses of gold. He could not put from his mind how much Janus was granting him, both in terms of his time and skill, but also the valuable ingredients. Rope could be reused (after a sage cleansing of course), but this had been crafted for such a specific purpose Virgil, was not sure of how much repeated custom Janus would be able to extract from it in future.
That was assuming that Virgil made it back from the dragon's lair.
He swallowed down his fear. He did not want his doubts to unravel Janus's work. Not again.
In typical Janus fashion, the harness taking form was asymmetrical, a cluster of knots over his upper right side, over his heart. He could feel his heart beating against the pressure, but rather than feeling constricted it felt comforting.
He swayed slightly, and Janus laid a heated hand on his shoulder, steadying him. It was the most contact he had made directly with him other than the fleeting brush of fingertips as he wound the rope into place.
“Do you need to stop?” Janus asked, his voice quiet.
“Keep going.”
The next piece of rope was draped down his back, and Virgil could feel Janus working the length from one side to the other, fixed in place by knots and twists. He could not see, but he knew from the way Janus was breathing that the knotwork was holding a great deal of magic. Power thrummed up and down and round him, encompassing him in spells of a unknown nature.
He licked his lips, reluctant to disturb Janus's focus but suddenly worried about what Janus would consider 'helpful'. For all he knew that ropes were making him extra delicious to a dragon.
“What exactly are you doing?” he asked.
“Magic.”
“No shit Janus. But what sort of magic?”
Janus clicked his teeth, “The sort of magic I need to concentrate on!” His tone was terse.
Virgil decided he would be best asking once Janus was finished, and did not think he would have to wait long. The length of available rope was rapidly being depleted as he was bound.
Where the rope touched his skin it felt warm, either from the friction or the magic. He shifted from one foot to the other, as his body adapted to the way the ropes hugged him tight.
His mouth felt dry. He'd experienced Janus's knot-work and magic before, but he could not remember it ever feeling like this.
Knots exerted pressure, collecting and gathering power over points of significance on his skin. The leylines of blood flow were mapped out and mirrored in the cord coiled round him.
The hairs on his arms and back of his neck stood up as if lightening was about to strike.
Whatever Janus had crafted, it had turned him into a conduit for something incredible.
Nearing the end of the rope, Janus carefully ran it from the front between his legs and to the side so that it was an unintrusive as possible.
Thankfully, Virgil's mind was too occupied by thoughts of death by dragon and as such his dick hung soft.
“Nearly done.” Janus said, “are you ready?”
Virgil did not trust his voice not to waver as he processed the sensations about him.
He bobbed his head.
The last knot between his shoulder blades brought him from slouching to upright, and as Janus released the rope the spell settled into the woven knots. The air felt charged, like the last vibrations of a symphony, and heated (but that might have just been Janus's presence beside him).
Janus took a silver knife and severed the end of the rope, letting the ends fray. Golden flecks escaped and drifted down to the ground. There was about an arm's length leftover – Janus had judged the amount needed well.
“It is done.” Janus gestured towards the door, his expression strangely flat. Virgil would have expected him to be smug, or brimming with pride at how much magic he could command.
Instead Janus had cupped his hands in front of his face and was blowing on his hands, reddened from rope burns and the transference of magic from hand to strand.
He'd seen as much before, magic always had a price, but the scarlet marks seemed more stark than he remembered. Perhaps a consequence of channelling more power, or not having enough time to properly condition the ropes.
He tried not to dwell on the state of Janus's hands.
Flexing Virgil rolled his shoulders to check his freedom of movement. Janus had granted him full range, but that made sense. It seemed counter-productive to be restricted when facing off against a dragon.
Moreover Virgil felt powerful, stronger. He felt brave.
He turned to Janus, aware that Janus was fully clothed whilst he only wore what ropes Janus had furnished him with. Yet, standing face to face Janus's posture was tired and worn, whilst Virgil stood tall.
The power dynamic between them finally felt balanced.
He reached for his clothes and started to dress, aware that already too much time had passed. As he pulled on his trousers Virgil to looked to Janus who had sat in one of the many ornate chairs about the place (clients were often overwhelmed by knotwork, and to keep his customers content Janus had set out the place for their comfort).
He finished lacing his boots, the knots seeming painfully simple when he felt the nodes nudging his skin. He straightened up and adjusted his tunic back into place. “OK. Now what did you do?”
Janus pulled his gloves back over his hands, hiding the burns left by both the rope and the magic. “You are safe from harm. As much as I am able to grant.”
“But what does that mean?”
“That if you are set on fighting a dragon, I have done the best I can to make sure you survive.”
Janus was secretive by nature, and Virgil should have known better than to expect a straight answer. He sighed, and tried to console himself with the knowledge that whatever Janus had done, he had done it to the best of his abilities.
“Go. Protect your Prince and try not to die.”
A reminder that Roman would be waiting, and that he did not want to risk him trying to tackle the dragon alone.
He turned and looked Janus in his mismatched eyes. He found he did not need to duck his head or lower his gaze.
“Janus. Thank you.”
Janus waved him off, and Virgil strode out of the door.
He tried not to concern himself with the way Janus's hand had caught half-way through the gesture, as if too painful to continue.
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Roman had horses and equipment ready, and thankfully did not ask questions about what Virgil had needed to do that was so important (it was well known that the prince had deep distrust for witches and magic).
They rode, swords and armour clattering in saddle bags.
Conversation could not be had easily on the road, but that suited Virgil. He appreciated the time to get used to the way the ropes flexed and held against him, and the power he felt pulse along the length.
It eased his worries that he (and Roman) were riding to their deaths, and he took comfort in the magic coiled under his clothes.
It did not stop a sinking feeling in his stomach as they neared the cave.
There was no mistaking the lair, hewn from rock by powerful claws and the winding tunnel downwards made wide enough for a massive beast to comfortably fit. The earth was packed down solid as if by years of heavy footsteps upon it, and the sparse vegetation was charred.
Panic gripped round Virgil's heart, tighter than any rope, and he pulled his horse to urgent halt.
Roman likewise had swung off from his steed and was strapping himself into his armour. The polished metal clanged as he donned his own protection.
“Roman!” Virgil hissed, gesturing that Roman should at least try to be less obvious. Roman stilled and they both listened to see if a dragon was now charging towards them.
In the quiet, they heard an unmistakeable voice echoing from within the cave.
“Fine! I don't even care about getting me some dragon dick anymore! Leave me alone you dumb fuck!”
Roman was about to rush into the cave, half-armoured to save his half brother when Virgil caught his arm.
“Pump the brakes there Princey! He's alive, and if he's well enough to shout then he's not in any immediate danger. Finish getting your armour on, and I'll do the same and we'll try to get him out of there.”
Roman nodded at the sense of Virgil's words, and finished wrapping his arms and legs in plate.
Virgil's armour was boiled leather (he did not have Roman's strength to manage the weight of metal) but he did have a sword. He also had a brace of throwing daggers, much preferring distance when blades were needed.
Sword's sword and shield were not only ornate but functional. It crossed Virgil's mind that maybe they could exchange the shiny tokens for Remus if the dragon could be reasoned with. Roman would be loathe to part with his weapons, but it would surely be a better use for them than actually fighting.
Roman stood ready, and Virgil tried to keep the shake from his knees as he crept closer to the cave mouth.
He nervously wiped his palms down his front, and strummed against the knotwork under his clothes. Suddenly he knew he was not as vulnerable as he felt, and that at least granted him the courage to follow Roman down the tunnel.
It was dark, lit by pale green lichens creeping along the walls. The air had a greasy stale quality, but the ground underfoot was stable.
If Roman was at all uncertain about their chances, he did not show it. His head was held high, brave enough for the both of them.
As they got closer, Remus's voice got louder, issuing various pleas and threats against the dragon. He was not being answered which boded poorly for Virgil's hopes in being able to talk this out.
They turned a corner to find the lair. A pile of treasure against the far wall, and bones strewn across the floor. Most of the bones had been crushed into shards, but from what Virgil could tell of the larger pieces they were mostly bovine; the food source supplied to the dragon.
The dragon itself was turned away from the entrance, facing a wall and scraping at a crack in the rock. From the dark came a nasal voice.
“Piss off, or I'll turn you into a dragon hide throng!!”
The dragon snapped angrily and continued to try and dig out the rock, chips of stone coming away under its massive paws.
Virgil had been preparing mentally for the worst, but he had not anticipated just how big the beast would be. Sagging greying scales covered a body at least ten foot tall, and three times as much long. Tattered wings flapped behind it, and its maw was long and lined with teeth. Each claw was as big as Virgil's hand and its tail lashed from side to side.
Their mission was doomed, and could only end in disaster. Their only hope of survivalm was for Virgil to somehow convince Roman to turn back and rally re-enforcements, and he turned to say as much to his friend before the dragon saw them.
However, Roman had already stepped forwards, sword drawn and pointing at the dragon.
“Foul beast, leave him be!!”
The dragon turned, and it's eyes held no glint of intelligence. It gave a hiss, and drew back its head, something crackling within its belly.
Before he had properly processed what he was doing, Virgil threw himself at Roman, knocking them heavily to the side as a gout of flame lit up the cave.
Virgil felt the heat wash over him as he tried to protect both he and Roman's faces with his arms, and then he felt the ropes wound round him flare. They felt hot and tight, then... nothing. Virgil checked himself over that he had not perished, then scrambled to his feet, dragging Roman up with him.
“Go!” he shouted as he ran the other way, aiming for the treasure pile.
As he thought it might, the dragon chased after him.
While not much of a fan of fighting, flight was something Virgil held skill in. He nimbly skipped over more coin than he'd ever seen, the occasional blast of fire bursting out behind him. The knots of rope seemed to offset any harm, just as Janus had promised. He looped back and forth, keeping the dragon's attention as Roman helped Remus out from the crack in the cave.
“Where are your trousers?!”
“Took them off and threw them out trying to distract the dragon. Didn't work.”
Virgil tried not to scream as he heard the step brothers bickering, and had to turn sharply to avoid getting cornered.
Luckily, the years weighted upon the dragon, and it was showing signs of slowing. The flames it managed to issue were weak flickers, and its hissing had ebbed to a disgruntled grumble.
Virgil opened his hands to show that he held no treasure. The dragon paused, and stilled.
The thought of trying to push his luck and steal some of the coin had crossed his mind, but was quickly dismissed as a fool-hardy notion when they were so close to succeeding with no-one eaten or set ablaze.
The dragon snapped its jaws, once twice, but since it was no longer actively attacking Virgil felt it might let him leave.
“Retreat!” he shouted, before Roman could take it into his head to do something brave and stupid.
Virgil backed away, slowly, his hands full of tremors. His legs were likewise shaking, but the call of the cave exit keeping from from buckling.
The dragon seemed loath to move from its treasure pile, and it circled round and set itself down, much like a dog finding a spot to sleep. It clawed its treasure to it and watched as Virgil retreated.
It was only as he stepped out into daylight that he felt able to breathe again, and he slumped against the side of the cave in relief.
Roman and Remus were already out, and Remus thankfully clothed in Roman's spare trousers. They had not had to move softly to ensure the dragon did not change its mind, and so had the horses ready to go.
Roman was about to speak when Virgil just pointed to the horses and said, “Let's get out of here!”
The journey back was uneventful. Virgil was informed that his usual dark eye-shadow was even darker with soot, but thankfully being covered ash seemed to be all that he'd suffered.
Roman proclaimed that he would make Virgil a knight for such bravery and Virgil told him plainly that if he did, Virgil would never speak to him again.
He did not think his heart could take further heroics.
As an alternative option, Remus said that he would lavish Virgil with coin instead. Virgil had said there was no need (he felt uncomfortable about the duke 'lavishing' anything in his direction!), but then remembered that with some actual finances he might be able to repay Janus.
Remus then dug into a coin pouch and declared this the first of many as he handed over more coin than Virgil had ever had to his name.
It felt strange to imagine that coin would not be a worry for him for many, many years (he'd still find things to fret about however, he had no doubt!)
he decided that first he would go and return Janus's ropes and offer to pay for their creation, and thank him again for his help.
As he dismounted his horse and headed off he heard Roman complaining that that had been hiscoin pouch Remus had so generously given away.
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Janus eventually answered the door in a long black cloak Virgil recognised. It was the one he used when he wanted to present himself as dark and mysterious. He chuckled at the sight of Janus still playing whatever part his customers expected.
“Virgil!” he seemed surprised, and did not move to invite Virgil inside.
“I came to thank you. As you can see, we managed to survive!”
Janus gave a nod, “I am glad, though I hope you do not take this as excuse to go getting involved in future stupid schemes!”
Virgil laughed, “I plan to occupy myself with entirely dull and safe schemes from here on!”
Janus did not join in with the mirth and seemed to be holding the door tight, as if worried Virgil might try to force his way in.
On the doorstep, Virgil shifted nervously.
“I uh... you never like how I wind rope, so maybe I thought you'd like to take your ropes back yourself.”
“Keep them.”
Virgil frowned at that. He had no further need of protection, and Janus could surely find some use for the valuable gold imbued within the rope.
It was then Virgil saw that Janus wasn't just wearing the cloak for show, he was hunched within the fabric as if using it to hide something.
“Janus?”
“If that is all, I'll let you get back to your Prince.” he started to shut the door, then added, “It was good to see you again Virgil. Fare well.”
“No no, something's up.” he stepped forwards, “Something's wrong.”
Janus tutted, “You always think something amiss.”
“This time I'm right.”
He grabbed at the edge of the cloak and flicked it open. Janus was wearing trousers beneath it, and a black and gold rope harness against his chest, and under the strands his skin was covered in dark burns and blisters. In the middle of the knotwork was the last of the rope they had made for Virgil, tied tightly and woven into the harness.
Worried at what Janus had done to himself, he reached to undo the nearest knot. Janus drew back from Virgil and the door with a pained hiss.
With speed leftover from running from a dragon Virgil entered and shut the door behind him. He stared at Janus for explanation.
Janus did not say anything. Virgil crossed his arms at the snake-faced sorcerer's insistence on secrecy.
Janus sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat when it became clear that Virgil would not leave without answers.
“You were set on fighting a damnable dragon! Not only did I have to protect you from tooth and claw, but fire.” Janus's voice was harsh, like he'd inhaled too much smoke, “There is no rope in this world that would suffice, so I bound you in gold to conduct the harm elsewhere.”
He opened the cloak, and gestured to himself, “These ropes were woven to transmit your injuries onto me instead. You could not have survived against a dragon.... but I could, with my magic and charms and protections....”
“.... Janus...” Virgil's voice was a whisper.
Part of him did not want to believe. That he was not responsible for Janus's suffering. That this was some trick or ploy to pull sympathy.
However, one look at Janus's wounds, and he knew they were caused by dragon fire.
“Why?!”
“Because you asked. Because I could not bare to think of you hurting when I could have done something about it.” Janus took a breath that shuddered under his wounds, “Because I loved you once.”
Janus had never spoken of love, expect to mock those to claimed to know it and how gullible it made them. Even if Janus had declared his feelings, all those years ago Virgil would not have believed him.
Words from Janus were slippery things, spun and twisted till true no more.
His actions however.... Virgil put a hand against his chest, and felt the tight weave of knots over his heart. They felt safe and strong, and they felt... warm.
He remembered how he had helped Janus practice, hours and hours of Janus's intense focus upon the ropes. For the first time in years Virgil thought that maybe the magic was not the sole reason Janus had tied him.
Virgil had no skill for knotwork or magical ropes, but he'd watched Janus for hours, and been bound in more spells than he could count. He divested himself of his tunic and tugged at the end of his harness.
Janus watched with a curiosity.
When Virgil had untied a length long enough, he moved to loop it over Janus. The magic imbued within would transfer some of the harm back and ease Janus's suffering.
Janus jumped back as if Virgil held a poisonous snake instead of a woven rope.
“Idiot! I shall be fine in a day or two.” he continued to back away, and his voice turned bitter, “You ought to be spending your time with your new lover.”
“New lover?”
“The Prince.”
“Princey!?” Virgil laughed, the very idea of him and his best friend becoming Romantically entangled as ludicrousness as taking on a dragon. He gathered that Janus had assumed them more due to the risk, so he offered clarification, “The prince and I are friends. Just friends.”
Janus's mouth grew tight. He did not like to admit when he had made a mistake.
Virgil stepped closer, and Janus had run out of space to escape to. He held up a gloved hand to halt Virgil's advance.
“Stop! You bind us together and you'll be stuck on your end of the rope till the harm has been healed or risk magical backlash.”
Before he could convince himself to turn back, Virgil swung the rope round Janus's chest and fastened a clumsy knot. He tightened it so that it would hold, and looked to see the burns start to fade from Janus's skin while a spider web of red marks grew across his own as the harm was shared between them.
It hurt, but Virgil could take it. If he could survive heartbreak, this was easy.
Janus took a deep breath, and Virgil was pleased to see that it came easier to him.
“Good. I think we could do with time to talk.”