Greater Hexpectations/greater than now

“Do you think you’ll be okay at Ever After High?”

“I’ll be fine! Gabriel’s there, isn’t he?”

A nod. His cousin seemed to like that place, and always spoke well of the people he knew. Said that the princesses were beyond charming and fellow diplomats were delightful company. And how well-spoken the villains were! It felt like a dreamland.

He was glad that Gabriel liked it. It meant that Pythia would probably like it too. And he wanted Pythia to go to school in a place she liked.

Even if it meant they couldn't meet up as often. Even if it meant that with highschool rolling around, the two would be in busy preparations for their futures.

The future seemed so far away, though. The future was something that could be dealt with later. There were more things to care about - the pile of reading material he had slashed, a dozen more chess games to get through with Pythia. Highschool seemed infinitesimal compared to these immediate goals.

~*~

He loved the Serpent Queen and her consort. Thought of her as a better parent than his own, sometimes. They were friendly, they always had conversation that wasn’t directly related to the management of their kingdom and they treated him without distinction.

“Thank you! Kindly and dearly,” he gave a little bow of appreciation. “I’d love to accompany.”

They smiled, said that he was practically family at this point, talked of how he was Pythia’s best friend.

It would be a shame if he missed out sending his friend off.

(Though, he realised a few years later, that Pythia never did send him off.)

When the carriage car drove off away from Ever After High - with himself in it and Pythia on the steps outside, Bas felt a pang in his heart.

~*~

A fairytale was his family’s legacy, and a fairytale was the legacy of his best and only friend.

He lived in this world of fairytales, but was not one himself. He lacked the clarity, the obvious journey and direction in which his life was supposed to lead.

Surely, those at his own boarding school would understand him.

But close association with fairytales seemed enough to merit you a fairytale itself, at least in the eyes of those without. Isolated from Pythia and Gabriel - whose posts in their shared group chat were always, without fail, memes specific to ever After High, and isolated from his peers - with whom, for some indiscernible reason, he could never practically interact with.

(And Adelaide, well, he never learnt to get along with his sister.)

So he found company in his words again.

Bastion regarded his choice in fairytale authors as basic. Still, his copies of D’Aulnoy and Grimm’s Complete Collection were thoroughly battered by the end of the semester, notes in the margins and highlights frequent.

~*~

It must be so easy to have a destiny, to have a role given to you, Bastion had once thought, when he was fifteen and meant to decide on the plans for the rest of his life.

How simple it would have been, he had thought, until his parents gave him one at that age anyway.

~*~

“What if I don’t… want to go into politics?”

“Bastion dear, we all go into politics. The whole family does,” his mother looked resigned. “What else could you go into?”

“History, maybe. For preservation and legacy.”

“We want you to be independent, son. Not a starving historian.”

“Do you think this lack of choice could be rightfully called independence?”

~*~

For a while, Bastion grinned and beared political science.

He hated the subject. Detested it, wanted to burn out. Thought of politicians as no more than pretty faces with fake words. His peers too - nothing short of saccharine.

But he learnt it, to see if he would like it then. Learned how to speak, how to lie, how to play the part. Politicians tricked others into thinking they were competent. Perhaps he could trick himself into thinking he were a perfect politician.

~*~

Hadn’t he been great, once? Hadn’t he been a better writer than he was now, hadn’t he read more than he did now? Hadn’t learning and discovering about the world been something fascinating, something fantastical, instead of a requirement for a two digit number and letter grades?

~*~

“What if this is my prime, Pythia? What if I’m never going to do anything better than what I’m doing right now? What if I’m going to be my best at fourteen?”

“Well, Bas, you shouldn’t worry! Because you’re great. We’re great! And we’re both going to continue staying great.”

Bastion smiled. He wished Pythia could see him do so, but cursed be the limitations of phone communication.

~*~

“Ever After High was amazing! Everything was great! Everyone is great!” Pythia said, when she met up with Bastion over the summer. “I’m in Royal Student Council! I have a spot on the debate team! All the people there… one of the best people I have ever met.”

“That’s great,” he said.

“You know, my destiny is going to take seven years to complete, but I can dedicate most of that time to ruling!” she kept on rambling. “Do you think I could take you on as an advisor?”

Bastion smiled and said that he was honoured.

He felt sick inside.

~*~

“I don’t want to go into politics.”

He stormed into the counselor’s room with an uneasy but not graceless gait.

“I won’t be happy in politics. I don’t like the people in politics. Furthermore, I don’t want people’s lives in my hands… while I’m doing politics.”

“... parents?” the counselor asked, gesturing for him to take a seat. “A common situation.”

Bastion gave his nod. He sat down, accordingly. Formally, practised, perfect.

“First day back at school,” the counselor continued, “and you’re here. Certainly some strong feelings at work. Care to talk?”

So he did. He gave the monologue of a villain, lengthy and perhaps pushing into dramatic territory, and inevitably, leading to his one love.

“She… she gave fairytales power. She named them so. Preserving folklore is one of the most beautiful pursuits, and without her, we wouldn’t have tales to call our own.”

“You must like Madame D’Aulnoy a lot, don’t you?” the counselor asked. “Family ties?”

“No, I just value her.”

“Hmm.”

“She’s worthy of respect, you know? Admiration, worth. As a fairytale author, she’s so undermined. She gives personality to the fae. She teaches princesses self-defense and resourcefulness. She is, without a doubt, the quintessential feminist fairytale author.”

“You do praise her highly.”

“To the high heavens.”

“I see.” The counselor frowned. “Have you considered making a trip across France, hitting up all the iconic spots regarding her tales? A Grand Tale, if you would.”

He said he would consider it.

“There are places for people like you. You just need the keen eye to seek them out.”

~*~

“Ever After High has faetastic networking opportunities,” Gabriel announced one day, during Winter Break. Christmas was nearing, family dinners were becoming more hexpected - and therefore, more frequent, and he would always be bothered about school and his life. “I don’t kid. You’re surrounded by future world leaders and other people of influence. You should make the best use of that as you can.”

“Hmph,” Bastion said, stabbing a nondescript item of food with a butterknife.

“I think you would like it there, Bastion. There’s an incredible amount of people of interest. So much history surrounding it, too. I envision that you might even camp out in the Lifairy, weeks on end.”

“I don’t know if there’s a place for me among fairytales like you, cousin.”

“Nonsense. You get along with Pythia. And we’re friends. You fit with fairytales just fine.”

“Hard to imagine myself as one.”

“Don’t deride yourself like that.”

~*~

“Networking opportunities. You said networking opportunities,” Bastion approached Gabriel a few days after that.

“So I did.”

“Gabriel, I don’t know what the hex I’m doing with my life. If anyone makes me go into government, I’ll... I’ll- I don’t know. Run off to Switzerland, probably.”

“Please, you don’t have the guts. And you’re seventeen.”

“You make a good point,” he looked resigned. “Anyway, I did some thinking. You are right - I might fit with fairytales well.”

“It’s obvious, with the way you talk about fairytales themselves.”

Bastion ignored Gabriel’s comment. Instead, he handed Gabriel a stack of study small cards, with neatly printed black ink, newly run off a press. “Business cards.” He then handed Gabriel another stack - letter sized. “And my resume.”

“Am I supposed to hand these out to randoms?”

“Not everyone. Employers. People of influence. The parents of people of influence. Distribute these, somehow.”

Gabriel looked at the two stacks sceptically.

“I don’t know how to reach out to people,” Bastion said, with finality. “I hope they reach out to me.”

~*~

He got calls - eventually, anyway. Private number, dubious details. He picked them up, answered their questions best he could without risking himself, and knew the right words to say.

There were never any formal interviews, of course. If an entire group knew all, saw all, then naught be the point.

An indistinguishable time would pass, and some sprite would shake his hand. “Welcome abroad,” she gave a smile with no crinkle in her eyes. “You’ll bring honour to the French.”

~*~

The Fairytale Authorities like very few people. They trust very few people, and they never trust the people who are capable enough for them to fear.

Bastion Fanfarinet may have been capable, yes.

But at the same time, malleable.

~*~

He wrote speeches and letters, sent them out and any past morals of his to the grave. Once, Pythia Adalinda would have talked to him about preserving the good of civilisation, doing things for people’s sakes. Now, people had been pushed aside by preservation.

Bastion Fanfarinet had lived for history, and in his fury to fulfill a future with it, had forgotten his past with the subject. Forgot the people, the inherent interest he once had in humanity.

It was scary, really, how much he had rejected the predictability of a life in politics, yet fell in this little predictable, vicious cycle. Scary, how almost too comfortable he was in wielding the power that came with the roles, and how easily he could remove his own name from any harm done.

~*~

Villains are always the best at seeking out the truth, Bastion began to realise. It was clever, really. Villains, the ones most likely to get off that sickening feeling of control and puppetry. Villains, the ones that proper society deems too untrustworthy to fall for their denouncement of the smoke and mirrors behind the workings of the fairytale world. Villains, the ones most easy to manipulate into actually following through with their plans.

You gave me a horrid destiny, one might be inclined to think. I went through this, I grew; learn as I did.

It was almost unsurprising then, when Gabriel Fanfarinet, fresh from his destiny, turned up alive at his workplace.

“Bastion,” he had said, once he had been received in. “You work amongst them?”

“Good-day Gabriel.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” He frowned. “Look, Bastion, all I need is information from these guys. Did not at all expect that you were the one I’m getting that information from.”

Bastion ignored him, and gestured to the seat opposite him. “Do you want anything? Revenge? Coffee?”

“Both. Served cold,” Gabriel answered as he sat.

Bastion pushed an iced coffee towards him. “Would you like to talk?”

A frown. “We talk a lot already.”

“Don’t give me that attitude, cousin.”

The man who played out the role of Fanfarinet leant back, too stunned to be aghast.

“I think,” Bastion said, words calculated, “it’s a sacrifice for the greater good. You did good, Gabriel, living out your life as a villain.”

“You too, cousin.”