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nosgothpillarofdeath · 5 years

Text

Confession

((This is a re-write of a short scene from my RP with @timedeceiver called The Crossing [Pt one] [Pt two]. I wrote this scene back when Lysander was a fairly new character. This post is my attempt to expand and improve that little scene. It also takes place prior to Moving Forward and this time I’ve included some background to make things easier to understand.

Background: This takes place early in Nosgoth’s history. Moebius has assembled a small army to fight the vampire guardians and they’re currently headed through the mountains toward a town called Helmsburg, where they’re planning to winter before pushing for Willendorf. Months ago Mortanius entered into an ill fated relationship with the current human Mind Guardian, Tove [timedeceiver]. During this time he’s struggled with his sexuality and developed feelings for his close friend, Lysander [my character] a cleric with a troubled past. With Lysander’s help he’s come to terms with his homosexuality and decided to break things off with Tove as soon as they reach the safety of Helmsburg. In this scene he confronts Lysander with his true feelings.))

A shadow cloaked man scurried through the dark camp, invisible boots softly crunching on the snow as he crept toward a particular tent. Puffs of smoky air wafted from his open mouth. This spell allowed Mortanius to travel practically undetected under cover of darkness, However winter exposed a few fatal flaws. Standing outside the entry to Lysander’s tent, he stalled.

They met in late summer, in the apothecary where Lysander worked and lived, stocking inventory and sleeping on a straw mat in the backroom, at a time when Moebius’ small army was desperately in need of healers. The surly cleric joined their cause reluctantly. When he caught up with them on the road, sweating and breathing whiskey fumes, he straightened his back and declared he came for ‘death or redemption.’

Two men could hardly seem more different. Lysander, dogged and cold tempered. Mortanius, faltering and overly sensitive. Yet they found commonalities, namely a mutual compulsion to run head first into danger to protect and lift up the wounded and weak. On somber nights they would sit together under a cloud of unrealized dreams, comfortably sheltered from the rain in each other’s company, even in silence. Lysander understood him on a level he never thought possible.

Even Tove, despite her incredible psychic powers, never understood him. She feared the haunted corridors of other people’s minds. Though only mortal, Lysander did not shrink from knowing him.

But Lysander could also be fickle. He treated most people like opponents in a high stakes game, lying when it suited him, keeping his true intentions close to his chest. Somewhat like Moebius, whom Mortanius felt close to in a brotherly way. There were times - Mortanius felt certain there were times when he saw Lysander’s soul bare before him.

Mortanius entered through the flap in the tent. The shadows retreated from his person, revealing a pale, lanky man midway through his twenties with long dark hair and a well trimmed beard. A grey speck of mage light manifested in his open palm. Just enough light to see inside the dark tent.

He saw Lysander fast asleep in his cot. His dirty blond hair looked like a bird’s nest. Guiltily, Mortanius crouched next to him and whispered, “Lysander, wake up.”

Lysander’s brows pinched as he squirmed. Recognizing Mortanius through squinted eyes, he lifted his head. His breath smelled of the army’s watered down booze. “My Pillar, what’s wrong?”

Shortly after joining the army, Lysander became Mortanius’ disciple when he bore witness to the Death Guardian’s power to ease the tortured souls of the dead. Since then he addressed him as ‘my Pillar’ in public. Over time their private interactions became more familiar, although he still used his personal honorific from time to time.

Even bedraggled and groggy Lysander caused his heart to flutter. “I’m sorry for waking you. It’s all quiet outside, I only need to talk.”

He blinked hazily. “Can it wait until morning?”

“I’m afraid not, if I have to wait another day I think I might burst. It’s important.”

Lysander propped himself up and scratched at his beard as he eyed Mortanius with a knowing, weary look. “Give me a minute… ah, I was having a nice dream. What’s the matter?”

Mortanius clutched the edges of his fur cloak together over his pounding heart and took a deep, chilly breath. He fought the urge to stammer or look away. Sometimes he succeeded. As he ventured forth his anxiety turned to excitement and a timid smile spread across his face.

“Lysander, you… are constantly on my mind. You… are always by my side with encouragement and support. You listen to me - even when I’m being a burden - you understand me and give me courage. You remind me of the noble merits of my Pillar yet never forget that I am human, too. You help me feel human! I… I want to be with you, in Helmsburg after everything is settled. I haven’t forgotten my commitment. Only… I need to know how you feel. That much can’t wait.”

Sitting up wide awake, Lysander listened and stared. The dim light caused his skin to appear ashen. He looked away, strangely sullen. Dread closed around Mortanius’ throat. His voice cracked.

“Please, say something. I need an answer. If you’re going to hurt me, just do it.”

“Stop,” Lysander said curtly, not cruelly. “Just stop and think about what you’re asking.”

Mortanius searched his face. “I have thought about it. How could I come here if I hadn’t thought about it?”

“You know it would be different if you only wanted to sleep with me. You’re asking to love me. That’s not realistic.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Once you’ve been around like I have, you’ll learn. Men don’t want love. They just want to feel special with whoever happens to be there.”

Much of Lysander’s past remained a mystery. He knew that he struggled against the vile Nature Guardian Malanthe in Willendorf, the gruesome slaughter of his comrades hurling him down a pit of drink and self-destruction, then burned ten years on the road to escape his perceived sins. Lysander looked back on those years bitterly. Was this why?

Mortanius blinked and swallowed. No, he would not cry, this was not over yet. He offered, “You’re not like that.”

Lysander sneered. “You are. I may be on your side but I still saw what you did, what you’re doing right now.”

He recoiled, holding the faint mage light close to his chest. The darkness rose around them. Mortanius pleaded, “You’re right, I have made mistakes - I kissed you when I shouldn’t have and I’ve snuck out to see you behind Tove’s back. I should have ended this months ago but I was too afraid. I’m clumsy and naive but I’m trying to do better.”

On that front he did not appear to be off to a good start. He possessed no ill intentions in coming here, he only wanted to express the feelings that had been swelling inside him and learn if they had merit. Regardless, he betrayed Tove’s trust again.

In spite of the indomitable forces Mortanius wielded in battle he remained a coward in private. Of the three human Pillars his resolve was the weakest. He submitted too easily to the authority of others, cringing in the face of his own inexperience. Ordinarily this is where he would have given up. He felt remorseful and pathetic for creeping out in the middle of a cold night to lay his heart at the feet of a cynical tramp.

Mortanius closed his fist around the clasp of his cloak and peered up at Lysander from under his crumpled brow. “I told the truth about my feelings. The day after we kissed you said that had we met sooner you would have gladly stayed the night and more, that you wished to follow me until the end of your days regardless. Is that still how you feel?”

For a moment Lysander simply pressed his lips together, looking vaguely defiant. “I say a lot when I’m shit-faced.”

Mortanius waited. That was not a real answer, it was a misdirection. Lysander could tell flattering lies when he wanted someone to like him, he could lie flawlessly even drunk, but he heard him tell the truth enough to know the difference. Slowly, cracks appeared in Lysander’s armor.

“You still don’t know what you want. The world will have its eyes on you, Mortanius. We could never be together in public, not like you and Tove, I would taint your image.”

“I don’t care about my image, for Nosgoth’s sake! My aspect’s power over life and death is almost as twisted as the vampires themselves.”

“That’s not true!” he blurted. “Your service to the dead is the only real comfort us mortals have.”

Mortanius opened his mouth and smiled, leaning forward with his hand on the side of the cot. “I can always count on you. What more do I need?”

He leaned back and lifted his right arm over his lap dejectedly, away from Mortanius. “It’s not that simple. The people are still skeptical of human Pillars. If you want to establish this order Moebius talks about, you need more than my support.”

That was a valid point. Already their ability to secure funding and men for this army was predicated on reputation.

“I’ll trust my brother to guide Nosgoth’s leaders to our cause, as I always have. If you were such a danger to his plans he would not have allowed you here. You have nothing to fear. Tell me if you want me to leave but I won’t run away for you.”

Rising, Mortanius turned and seated himself on the edge of the cot near Lysander. Lysander’s eyes flickered. He seemed to be out of words now, to his own dismay. Mortanius gently reached out to him. As he closed in Lysander let out a quiet hiss and tried to swat him aside. Mortanius flinched reflexively. However, he failed to commit to the swing and caught the hand instead, holding it by the tips of his fingers as if full contact with Mortanius’ skin would overwhelm him. His fingers trembled.

Lysander shut his eyes, his face lined with dark trenches. He looked older than his thirty years. Although Mortanius remained ignorant of many things in the wider world beyond the vampire’s claustrophobic citadel, he understood loneliness. Out here, on the road, Mortanius saw freedom. Lysander had walked this way before and he saw bleakness. Neither man lived easily. Mortanius tilted his hand and softly caressed his open palm, cooing, “It’s okay, this is what I want.”

His fingers slid into the grooves of Mortanius’ hand. Their palms pressed together and their thumbs stroked one another heavily. Suddenly Lysander arched forward and planted him with a kiss.

Mortanius’ heart thrashed inside its cage. Overwhelmed, he tried to give himself an inch. True to his word Lysander followed his every move, stuck to him like tar. Mortanius’ jittery laughter filled the tiny space between. For once, he was right.

A short time later, Lysander relented from the kiss. His head slumped against Mortanius’ chest. “Forgive me, my dear Pillar. I trust you with my life, with my soul but…”

Mortanius stroked the back of his hand. “Of course I forgive you. Are you all right?”

“I don’t know. You… do things to me. How many days is it again? To Helmsburg, obviously.”

He blinked. “Uh, two days, assuming fair weather. You still haven’t given me a straightforward answer.”

Lysander met his eyes. “Would you stay with me tonight?”

Caught off guard, Mortanius flushed and reluctantly shook his head. “Then I’d be just like those other men, wouldn’t I? I need to settle things with Tove first.”

He looked disappointed. “After all those things you said, if you wanted to, I’d let you use me. Tove would smash my head like a melon over it, I know. At least I’d die happy. That’s the type of man I am.”

Mortanius took back his hand with a sigh. He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck to distract himself from his lustful thoughts. The mage light glowed a little brighter.

Not too long ago he would have taken Lysander up on that. There was a chance Tove might remain oblivious, given her reluctance to know the minds of others, although he would have suffered the guilt regardless. He harbored a lot of regrets. So did Lysander. Since they met he watched Lysander face his vices and fears in pursuit of personal redemption many times, more often than not saw him succeed, at least in a small way. It made him uncomfortable, too complacent in his own self-doubt.

“No, I think we’re both better than that,” said Mortanius. “When I’m ready, I’ll call on you in Helmsburg. All right?”

Although he tried to hide it at first, a lopsided smile graced Lysander’s scruffy face. “You’re a good man. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

“I p-promise I won’t make you wait too long, if I can help it,” Mortanius stammered. A tremendous feeling swelled in his chest. He leaned over impulsively, hesitated, then hastily pecked Lysander on the lips a last time.

Outside, too exuberant to return to his tent, Mortanius paced around the camp pretending to inspect the night guards. He could barely keep a straight face. As he feigned his rounds through the bracing cold he paused to gaze up at the clear starry sky. Two days.

#v:early life #lysander #closed

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