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morihaus · 3 years

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Apotheosis

Winds howl outside of the Imperial Palace. Belharza, son of the Emperor Alessia, sits alone in his chair in the chamber of the council. The weather has not been the only thing weighing on the city of Rumarium; for days now the Emperor has been poor of health, the toll of all her life's toil and struggle finally arriving to meet her on her deathbed, the somber hand of Arkay, the bitter kiss of Kyne.

Twelve hours hence, she has been dead. Her son survives her as only child and heir to her throne. The city mourns her, and as word spreads, all of Cyrod mourns its mother, its liberator and caretaker, its Emperor for 23 years- just 23, such a pittance when stacked up to the tyranny of the Ayleid hegemony, which to men seemed to stretched beyond the farthest point of remembrance, so many lives ago that the time before exists only in myth. The First-crowned Queen-ut-Cyrod deserved better than this. Belharza's mother deserved better.

He feels a breeze blow in from behind him, a wind coursing through the marble halls of the palace, blowing his long dark hair over his shoulders. It is only wind, and then, footfalls on the floor, slow and heavy, in stark contrast to the flight of the wind. Belharza lifts his head and glances over his shoulder. A massive minotaur fills the doorway to the council chamber, long hair waving and curling down his shoulders like a sky of black clouds. His horns are tall and proud, wrapped with rings of gold and ebony, strung with strings of hawk's feathers. Two large wings are folded on his back. The cold wind blows behind him.

He regards his son with deep blue eyes, clouded and gray, belying his true age. The old bull looks weary. "Belharza." His voice is deep, carried and reverberated by the chambers even as he addresses him gently. He steps forward, his armor of fur and iron the only noise apart from his footsteps, and the gentle wind that surrounds him.

Belharza stands up from his seat. He meets the eye of Morihaus- he can see now why his mother has often remarked their resemblance with a melancholy smile, although his own hair does not roll like the clouds do, his own eyes do not hold the dangerous glimmer of lightning, nor does his form hold the foreboding rumble of thunder. He did, however, sprout a small pair of wings from an early age- too small to be useful, but just enough to be there. It is among the only things his father has ever given him.

"Father." Belharza speaks flatly, his mood dark, unfit for this meeting he had always dreamed of. He never knew Morihaus growing up, he'd taken flight from the Imperial City before he was born, something his mother had never been bitter over, and for the most part, he'd followed her line of thinking. He had often wondered, though, speaking with the clan of Morihaus- for he was a great uncle to many war chiefs and soothsayers- and hearing tales of his greatness, his good humor and passion for song, and he wondered too while speaking to the Paravanics who had fought alongside him and his mother, who spoke of him as a great general, savior of men, one who could clear a treeline with his voice- he wondered what it would be to meet his father, this mythical figure of his boyhood who so many grownups seemed to know.

He wondered, but he had never pictured the meeting like this.

Morihaus walked so that there was only a small distance between the father and son, and then bowed his head- in sympathy, in apology, in reverence, Belharza could not say.

But he says this: "She is gone." And when his father does not move, he continues. "She has left us. Gone to join you, I suppose." His words are without venom, he states them as a fact he wishes to grow used to. His father raises back up to meet him. His features are set in a worried frown. "I am sorry, Belharza." He breathes into the room as a whisper. "For my loss?" He asks plainly. "Or, do you wish to amend your own absence from my life?" His face does not change. "I should like to apologize on both accounts, dear Bel."

"Did you come to see her?" Belharza asks, neutral once again.

Morihaus nods. "I felt her time approach and made haste." The face of a minotaur is not extraordinarily emotive to a man, but to a man-bull, like Belharza, he can interpret the subtleties, the shame painted on his face, the guilt in his eyes. "In service to my Mother Kyne, I have carried many souls of great warriors on wing to her realm, or to the realm of Shor... it was understood between us, your mother was a great warrior, an ardent follower of her ways, and she would have her place there. But when I arrived..." He becomes quiet, his full and melodious voice withdrawing back down his throat, filling his lungs up heavy with bitter words.

Belharza makes no motion to speak. He only looks at his father, expectantly. He continues, eventually.

"What I witnessed is... difficult to explain. You were present- did you see? As she passed?" Morihaus asks. Belharza nods. "I was there." He pauses. "...I may have seen, something. I see many things that others do not. Mother always said you were to thank for that, your divine blood." The old bull nods at him. "Aye, that is the truth. The mortal and the divine, they see things differently. On that balcony, at her side... he arrived before me."

"The Crusader." He says, half-questioningly. "Pelinal."

A huff of hair blows out from Morihaus's snout. "It looked that way. But Pelinal is dead. He was torn asunder in this tower, he spoke to me as his spirit passed into a place I could not follow. And this... apparition, in it, I did not sense his spirit. Did you hear?" Belharza nods quietly, Morihaus continues. "What he spoke of, the et'ada, the beginning place, the movements of the heavens... in life, he never did say much of the gods. He served them, and I knew him as kin, but he has always held a distaste for spiritual matters, spoken in mortal tongues. I cannot fathom why he came to Paravania, nor what he meant to say."

"He took her," Belharza says, glancing to the floor. "I saw- I thought I saw. It looked as though he carried her up, up into the heavens."

"He steals mine own honor." Morihaus snorts, almost laughs. Then, again, he grows serious. "My uncle was never one to covet in life. He hungered, he wanted, but he did not covet that which was another's. He would have nothing to do with Perrif's soul, nothing before my mother and I."

His son looks back up to him. "Where... where did he take her? To the halls of Shor?"

Morihaus shakes his head. "I have been myself- Pelinal's spirit does not reside there. It cannot reside there. I would have carried him myself if he could." He hangs his head some, recalling the passing of his uncle, and finding himself on complicated ground betwixt mundane and immortal once again. "I have thought on it in these past years. At times, I blew through the great fields and forests, delved into the deep oceans, soared to the highest points in the clouds, hunting his spirit, without luck. I am wise enough to confess my stubborn nature, for divine I may be, I am still a bull, and I hunted for long on my own before thinking to ask my mother."

Belharza tries to conceive of what his father says- the shape of a bull with the wings of a hawk, darting throughout all of creation to find a departed soul. He suspects it may be more complicated than that, some divine metaphor twisting around it, but then again, he recalls fondly-remembered stories his mother would share of Morihaus, his willfulness and the strange places it could take him- times he would cross over the Jerrals, travel half the continent while meant to be petitioning in Skyrim, to return to Cyrod and meet with her at night.

The image of his father, flighty and wild, turning over logs and stones searching for the lost Pelinal, it's almost enough to lighten his expression. But this is just his own mind wandering. Perhaps they are more alike than he knows.

"Understanding my mother is no mean feat," He says, regarding his son. "Strange as I must seem to you, know that to me, my divine parent is just as alien. I am her, but as am I my mortal mother, my mortal people, my mortal self, and some of her perceptions are all but lost on me. She told me little, she told that Pelinal had done what was needed of him, and to die with the revolution's victory was a good end... but as to his whereabouts, she said he was not her soul to keep." "Then whose?" Belharza asks. He is met with silence, frustrating silence. He asks more forcefully. "Whose? Where is my mother's soul? What did he do to her?" "He pulled her up- made her from mortal to spirit, so she might lay among the heavens forever. Queen-ut-Cyrod, brighter than the stars-" "I don't care for your poetry-" Belharza loudly asserts, his own voice now booming in the hall. "I don't care for your god-talk- dammit!" He turns to one side with a huff, boots clattering against the tiles of the chamber. He paces away from his father in no particular direction, approaching a column and glaring into it.

Morihaus looks on, forlorn. He sighs, and the breeze almost wraps itself around Belharza's shoulders as it tussles his hanging braids, like some form of comfort. "I'm sorry. This... is what I hope for, Bel, but whether it is the truth, I cannot say."

"What do I care?" Belharza shakes his head, clenching his fists at his sides. "Whether her spirit is in one place or another- she's gone, that's what has happened today, and that is the grief I will carry for the rest of my life. What is the point in wondering where she is? The realm of Kyne, of Shor, of Akatosh, it makes no difference, she is gone to me any way." His voice grows ragged as he chokes with tears, his eyes stinging with bitter sorrows. Though a grown man, he feels helpless like a child in the face of such a loss- his mother had been his world, and now the shadow of death had ripped her away from him, and she was gone, forever.

His father approaches him, but leaves a fair distance, just slight enough for his whispering voice to carry to him. "Do you remember what she told you, Bel, about me? When I was gone to you?" Belharza does not reply, only taking a breath as he remains fixed on the pillar in front of him. "...I am a spirit, Bel. I am more than my body, more than a man-bull. I am the skies and storms, the thunder; I am movement, I am the movements in the hearts of men, I am their battlecry; I am the wind in the rolling hills, blowing the grasses and flowers; I am the breeze in the canopy of the forest, swaying the branches; I am the gale upon the sea, the scent of it in your lungs, I am the very breath that you take." Belharza finally turns to face his father again, without expression, with tears on his face. Morihaus is not shaken from his words. "When a mortal dies, their spirit is released into a vast cosmos. They are gone from their lives, from their loved ones, but from there, there are many roads, countless paths that a soul can take... do you understand?"

He only receives an expectant look. Belharza's face lightens somewhat. There is hope in the winding words of Morihaus.

"Though I was forced to leave you, and could no longer walk this world as I had, I found my ways to you- to both of you. It has been, and will be forever, a great pain that I could not stay... but there are some ways in which my presence could be felt, some ways in which I was there all along." Morihaus steps forward, slowly raising his hand to brush Belharza's hair from his face, as gently as the breeze, as his own mother's hand. "Your mother will be gone as I was. You will feel her. She will still be with you."

---

Belharza was anointed Emperor before the Elder Council and the citizens of the Imperial City, including his divine father, who could not stay for long, but was pleased to see and know his son as a man, and content to answer the questions of the citizenry to the best of his ability, or at least his want.

The new emperor spends the first weeks of his reign still in mourning, but more hopeful for having spoken with his father and his other relatives, who gave him heart to imagine his mother at peace. He spends much of his days outdoors, honoring her memory in the gardens and outside the city walls, even beyond the shores of the Rumare and into the jungles. On one occasion, which would be a moment only for him to know and remember, he stumbles upon a field of flowers below a small hill. He finds it a good place to say his piece, and there he would speak to his mother, expressing his deepest affections and tearful goodbyes. All of the sudden, he feels drops of water landing on his bowed head, and he looks up to see a spring running from the rock, a spring which had most definitely not been there before. As though the land of Cyrod itself were weeping for him.

At this, Belharza only smiles knowingly.

#tesfest21 #mori writing #belharza #morihaus #cw for death and grief

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ethospathoslogan · 4 years

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there will come a poet: chapter eight, the youngest son (a vampire sanders sides fanfiction)

A/N: goD i've been so excited for this chapter but if you’ve seen my posts, you've probably picked up on the fact that writing this was A Lot!! bc i had to write it in like less than three days. bc i wrote 80% of a different chapter, thinking it was going to be This chapter, and then had the realization that virgil's flashback chapter has to be now!!! so i had to flip the order of two chapters and Oh Boy i really didn't think i was gonna get this done

summary: Once upon a time, a fourth son was born, and that was only the beginning.

ships: N/A for this chapter (but overall moxiety and side logince)

WC: 4,116

TWs: anxiety/panic attacks, angst with a side of angst, this chapter could’ve been titled “a series of unfortunate coincidences”

read on ao3

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taglist: @iwillsithereandtrytocontribute , @glitchybina , @ab-artist , @daring-elm , @crazydemigod666

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Once upon a time, a new life came into the world at the cost of a grave sacrifice, and the sky opened up to cry for the life it had lost. The earth mourned for the gentle footsteps of a pure soul, and thus the ground was uprooted. Castle walls longed for the quiet song that would trail through their halls in the morning, and thus the windows darkened.

And, most of all, this youngest son was looked at with adoring fear, for how could a life so precious come at such a high price?

How could a blessed capital city be cursed with such a bad omen?

So it was foretold and so it remained, destruction came with Prince Virgil Anguine, fourth son to King Livius and the late Queen Aurelia Anguine, and thus it would end with him.

But to keep a bad omen contained, especially one as guarded and revered as a prince, one must approach each situation with caution, attuned to every spike of anxiety and bad feeling that crossed the little prince’s mind, and be ready to act accordingly.

Once upon a time, a fourth son was born, and that was only the beginning.

Virgil was five, and it was raining very hard. So hard that, when he placed his hand to his window, the glass was chilled to the touch. So hard that, even when he squinted, all the shapes down below were blurry.

So hard that, when it thundered and the entire castle shook, it felt like the world was ending, and Virgil couldn’t help but let out a yelp as he fell back onto his hands, his rug soft to the touch but not enough to still the shaking that coursed through his body.

Once upon a time, Virgil came into the world at the cost of a grave sacrifice, and the sky opened up to cry for the life it had lost.

And, as the sky cried right before his very eyes, sobbing from the heavens, Virgil wondered who would be lost next.

And then he winced at the twisting in his stomach.

As he clenched and unclenched his fists, staring down at the rug, he tried to remember where everyone else was, even tried to imagine them and what they were doing. He had to imagine good things. If he imagined good things, then the rain would go away and good things could happen.

He couldn’t imagine bad things. It would only rain even harder, and Virgil didn’t want the sky to cry any more. He didn’t want more people to be hurt.

So, he thought about his dad, and how he was in a meeting. It was probably boring, Janus never seemed to think they were any fun when he was allowed to go to them, but his dad was doing good things. His dad was keeping the kingdom safe, because that was his job. He kept the bad things from happening so that the people of their home would only think of good things.

And he thought about Remus and Roman. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the two of them laughing down the hall. They were probably playing with their wooden swords, or maybe they were playing pretend. When Roman and Remus played pretend, there was always a happy ending. The good people always won.

And he thought about Janus.

Janus, who was outside. Janus, who told Virgil that he would go to the library for him because he knew Virgil really wanted a new book but was too scared that it was going to rain (and it did). Janus, who was still outside, even though the library wasn’t far. Even Virgil was allowed to walk to the library when he went outside. But Janus was still gone, and Janus went outside for Virgil, and it was raining outside and no one knew what could be happening to Janus because no word has been sent back and Janus could be in trouble or hurt or-

Virgil screamed as a clap of thunder boomed through the room, as sheets of rain threw themselves into his window. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes burning, almost tripping as he sprinted out of his bedroom and skidded into the hallway.

Another flash of lightning struck and, for just a moment, Virgil couldn’t see anything but the blinding light.

And, when his eyes finally cleared, he was crouched on the ground—his knees burning with rug burn from where he fell—and his hands were shoved over his ears and gripping into his hair.

Another flash and, for just a moment, it felt like the castle was collapsing.

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut tight and waited.

And screamed when hands suddenly gripped his arms.

“No! Stop!” He clamored back on his hands, slipping onto his elbows and, when he looked up, Remus and Roman, wearing the same scared looks, stared down at him.

Roman, who had his hands outstretched, watched as Remus crouched in front of him.

“Vi?” Remus asked quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Virgil shook his head, scrubbing at the tears on his face. His bottom lip trembling, he whispered, “I- I- I need Janus.”

Roman knelt down next to Remus. “He’s at the liber- the library .”

And he kept shaking his head, his face twisting. “N-No! He needs- he needs to be here!”

“Why?” Remus asked, crawling a little closer to him. “Are you okay?”

Virgil sucked in a shaking breath that hurt his chest, and reached out to him.

When Remus pulled him into a tight hug, Roman crawled closer, too. “You’re okay, Virgil,” he whispered. “Janus will be home soon! And then we can all play.”

Virgil let out a sob into Remus’s chest and shook his head. “I’m scared,” he managed. “I feel bad.”

“Why are you scared?” Remus asked.

“Is it the rain?” Roman added.

He tensed, hugging Remus tighter. “What if Janus is- is in trouble?”

Remus leaned away from him, frowning. “If Janus is in-”

When another crack of thunder sounded through the castle, Virgil was already on his feet, stumbling over himself to get down the stairs. If he could just look out the window, if he could just try to see Janus-

“Virgil, wait!” Remus called after him, his fast falling footsteps only made louder by Roman’s.

Virgil, his heart in his throat, couldn’t find his words.

“What’s wrong with Janus?” Roman was saying, and Virgil couldn’t tell if it was just a question or a confirmation.

He didn’t want to know, and he didn’t want anything to be wrong with Janus, but he needed to know. He felt wrong, he felt bad, and maybe that meant that-

When he finally skidded into the parlor, he clamored to the windows. Climbing up on the benches, his hands were shaking as he pressed them to the window, as he tried to see through the unceasing storm.

“Virgil!” Roman whispered. “Dad’s in a meeting! We can’t play down here!”

“I’m not playing” He knew that he was being too loud, that he was supposed to be very quiet, but- “I want to find him!”

“Janus is okay!” Remus assured, holding his hands out to Virgil. “I promise! We can-”

“No!” Virgil shouted, sharply turning back to the window. “Don’t lie! We- we have to find him! We-”

Virgil was cut off as a large door was shoved open from down the hall, and he watched as Remus and Roman turned identical wide-eyed looks towards the sounds of footsteps stomping their way towards them.

Virgil, already trembling from the fear of what was happening outside , clenched his fists tightly and tugged them to his chest.

Royal Mage Advisor Cyrus was the one to poke his head around the corner, and his eyes widened on the three brothers.

“What are you three doing?” He asked, tone firm, as he crossed his arms. “Your father is in a very important meeting right now, and he cannot afford to be-”

“Where’s Janus?” Virgil shouted.

Cyrus gaped at Virgil, shocked by his sudden outburst. “He- Prince Janus has gone to the city’s library with one of the servants. For a book you requested, yes?”

When Virgil’s bottom lip trembled, Cyrus looked even more taken back, and Remus quickly jumped in with, “Virgil’s scared!”

“Scared?” Cyrus questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why- why are you scared?”

Virgil tugged at the sleeves of his shirt, balling and releasing them in his hands over and over again. He took a deep breath but winced as it got caught in his throat.

“Well?” Cyrus pressed, now shooting a panicked look back down the hall. “Come now, Prince Virgil, out with it! Why are you-”

And then, Royal Mage Advisor Cyrus cut himself off as, from out behind him, their father stepped into the parlor.

“King Livius-” Cyrus turned to their father with a forced smile “-Ah, apologies for the interruption! It seems your sons are just- just-”

“Boys,” their father said, looking between the three of them, “Is something the matter?”

“Virgil’s scared!” Roman rushed out.

“And can’t find Janus!” Remus added.

When his father’s eyes finally looked to Virgil, Virgil bit his bottom lip and stared up at him. “I- I feel bad.”

His father’s eyebrows furrowed. “Bad?”

Virgil nodded, twisting his hands.

Their father and Cyrus shared a look before, turning back to him, his father continued with, “Is it something bad with Janus?”

Virgil’s eyes blurred with sudden tears and his breathing hitched as he nodded.

“Okay,” their father simply said. Nodding, he quickly turned to Cryus, whispering something to him. Virgil nervously watched as Cyrus nodded and then retreated back down the hall.

He clamped his hands in front of his mouth, his breath shaking in his lungs, and Remus rushed to his side, quickly followed by Roman.

Remus reached his hands up to Virgil. “It’s okay, Virgil,” he said softly as he helped Virgil down from the bench. “We’re gonna find him!”

Virgil clutched his brother’s hands, his eyes darting between both twins. “But- But-!”

“Virgil.”

Virgil snapped his mouth shut and looked up, finding his father’s dark eyes staring back down at him. His expression, calmly blank despite the chaos around him, remained that way as he kneeled down in front of Virgil and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for warning us.”

And then, a small smile.

Virgil, unable to hold himself back, dove into his father’s arms. Wrapping his arms tightly around his father’s neck, he released a shaking breath and, after a hesitation, his father wrapped an arm around him.

“I- I don’t want anything bad to happen to- to-”

All heads then whipped to the front double-doors as they blew open and, with the rain, Janus came running in, followed closely by one of the castle’s workers. Both soaked to the bone with their cloaks pulled high up over their heads, they looked up only to find shocked looks on everyone’s faces.

And then, without hesitation, Virgil threw himself into Janus, squeezing tightly around his waist.

“You’re home!” Virgil cried, looking up at Janus as, behind them, the worker profusely apologized to their father. “I- I’m sorry, Jan! I- and you- I was-”

Janus, staring down at Virgil with brown eyes full of confusion, hesitantly hugged him back. “I’m… home?” he said slowly, and then looked up from Virgil to the twins. “What’s… going on?”

“You were gone for a really long time!” Roman exclaimed, running up to Janus’s side.

Remus, running to the other, added, “And- And Virgil was scared that something happened!”

Janus frowned and accepted the dry cloak handed to him, exchanging it for the wet. “Oh.”

“But-” And all the brothers turned to look at their father as he stepped up to his sons “-I am glad to see that you’re alright, Janus. We were about to send out a search party.” Then, for just a moment, his eyes flicked to Virgil. “Better to be safe than sorry, yes?”

“Oh,” Janus repeated, still seemingly in shock by the sudden attention. He then cleared his throat, nodding. “But- uh, yes, I think.” He cautiously looked between the rest of his family. “Thank you… for the concern.”

When the adrenalin of the situation began to fade, their father returned to his meeting, and the twins ran back upstairs, already laughing again about the game they were playing.

Virgil, staying right next to Janus, tightly held his hand as he tried to calm his breathing.

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly, walking forward and taking Virgil with him. “I’m okay.”

“I- I was so scared!” He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

“I know, I know.” Janus nodded and pulled Virgil closer to him. “But it was just a little rain. We tried to wait out the storm but… I guess I knew you would worry.”

Virgil frowned, looking down. “I was scared,” he repeated, his voice barely over a whisper. “I felt bad.”

“I know,” Janus said again and, stopping before the staircase, he turned to Virgil and kneeled down before him. “But… don’t believe what people say about you, okay? All that-” His eyes then quickly darted around and, with a smirk, he whispered, “Crap about you being-... scared.”

Virgil giggled at the curse word but, still, his smile fell. “But- but everyone says-”

“I know what everyone says,” Janus interrupted. “But… Vi, you’re not bad or scary or- or anything! You’re my brother, and I love you, okay? You’re very good.”

Virgil pouted and looked down, scuffing his foot against the floor.

“Hey-” And Virgil looked back up at Janus to find him holding out his pinkie, a small smile on his face “-Would I lie to you?”

Virgil, smiling, shook his head and locked pinkies with Janus.

“There you go! And, here-” Janus, grinning, then reached into his bag and took out a small book, handing it to Virgil “-The last copy they had. Sorry it’s a little wet.”

Virgil beamed and took the book, hugging it to his chest. “Thank you, Jan!”

“Don’t mention it.” Janus ruffled Virgil’s hair and Virgil, giggling, smacked his hand away. “Come on, do you want to go play? We can see what the twins are doing.”

And Virgil, grinning, ran up the stairs after Janus.

And, in three days, when Janus would wake up delirious with a fever and heavy cough, barely strong enough to move from his bed, Virgil would wonder why he lied.

Virgil was fourteen, and he wished the thunder didn’t scare him as much as it did.

Or maybe, if he really thought about it, it wasn’t the thunder. It was the gnawing tension in his chest, the flutter in his stomach. It was the way his hands shook, even when he pressed them together or balled them into fists. It was the way his breathing shuddered painfully in his lungs, the way his eyes never stopped burning, the way he felt like he was dying.

And, most of all, it was the way he felt like he was just waiting for something bad to happen. For the sky to start falling, for the world to come down, for something to get into the castle.

It was the waiting, the painful waiting, that hurt the most.

Virgil, with his back pressed up against his door, curled himself tighter as another crack of thunder rattled his room. He pressed his forehead to his knees, hoping that the pressure would silence the ringing in his ears and, when it persisted, he hugged his legs tighter to his chest.

And couldn't help but let out a whimper at the quiet knocking on the door behind him. When he stayed silent, unable to find the words in his throat, he heard a voice whisper from the other side, "Virgil?"

Virgil froze. He waited to hear if Remus would say anything else and, when he didn't, Virgil clumsily scrambled away from his door and, with a shaking hand, pulled it open.

Remus, first looking straight ahead, looked down at Virgil, kneeling on the ground with a trembling lip, and frowned. Not saying anything, he stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him.

Then, kneeling down in front of Virgil, he held out his hands.

Virgil, without hesitation, took them and held on tightly.

"You're scared." Remus's voice held no question. It was matter of fact, a statement. Common knowledge, even: Virgil's anxiety was at its peak when it rained.

So, he nodded and ducked his head against his chest as the tears finally began to flow.

"I am right here," Remus continued, and Virgil held on tighter. "Roman is sleeping. So is Janus, and dad. We're all here, and we're all okay."

Virgil shook his head, sucking in a sharp breath.

"I'm telling you, V," Remus assured. "We're okay."

"We don't know that," Virgil choked out. "Any- anything can happen!"

"But we're here now. In your room," Remus said. "Everything is safe here."

Virgil pulled his hands back, rubbing at his eyes. "You don't understand."

"Maybe." Remus shrugged. "But I know what it feels like to be treated like you're bad. Dangerous. A curse."

Virgil winced.

After all, everyone knew what they said about twins.

"Some people think I'm meant to hurt Roman," Remus continued. "That I'm going to. I… I don't want to."

Virgil stared at Remus, and so badly wanted to believe him.

But it would be impossible to ignore the shifting dynamics between the twins.

Maybe Remus saw that doubt in Virgil's eyes, because he sighed and said, "We fight but… we're brothers. Family. We will always have each other's back."

"Why are you telling me this?" Virgil whispered.

In the darkness, Remus gave a small smile. "Because we're your brothers. Your family. None of us believe you're a- a bad omen."

Virgil frowned. "Not believing doesn't mean untrue."

" I don't think you're bad."

Virgil's mouth suddenly twisted and he bit out, "Is that supposed to make me feel better? We've been dealt the shittiest cards, so I'm just supposed to take your word?"

Remus frowned and Virgil, feeling his heart plummet to greater depths, couldn't help but choke out a sob as he ducked his head back down.

"I- I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, Virgil," Remus reassured. "I can take it."

"I just-" Virgil shook his head "-I don't want to hurt any of you!"

"And you're not!" Virgil looked up at Remus to find an intense look in his eyes. "Virgil, you're our family . We all love you! We know you're not gonna hurt us."

Virgil's bottom lip quivered as he clenched his fists.

"And family sticks together," Remus continued, smiling. "And you're not harmful or- or a bad omen.” When Virgil sighed and looked down again, Remus poked his knee. “Take it from me, you're not the bad guy the legends say you are."

And then, within the week, when Remus would make Roman cry, Virgil would wonder how much he really meant what he said.

Virgil was twenty-three, and he wasn’t sleeping.

He hadn’t slept in a long time, or maybe that was just the exhaustion talking.

Or the bad, twisting, nauseating feeling in his gut.

That feeling never left, though. It was a constant; it was ever-churning.

It was ever-foreboding. Ever warning. Forever, and ever, and ever.

Virgil couldn’t remember the last time he knew peace.

He chalked it up to the exhaustion.

After all, he barely slept anymore. At least, not for the past couple nights. Especially not the past couple nights. He couldn’t help but feel… off. Terribly off. More off than usual. And, when he felt off (felt anxious, felt on-edge, felt bad), he couldn’t sleep.

He chalked it up to the fact that, early this morning, their father and Janus left in a carriage for the Hartt Kingdom.

He had been awake when they had left, able to watch their carriage grow smaller and smaller from his window, and he was still awake when they returned.

Both their departure and return had been met with little ceremony, even with Janus’s coronation being the next evening.

Virgil wasn’t surprised. Janus hadn’t been in a celebrating mood for a long while now. Thinking back, it was hard to remember when Janus wasn’t toeing the line between tearing his hair out and alarming indifference.

And Roman was preoccupied. He always was, now. Always looking for something better. Or something that would make him feel better, but Virgil was always too anxious to mention it. Roman wasn’t… Roman when he was angry.

And Remus… Virgil liked to think that Remus was still in his corner. But ever since the blow-out… Remus has been different, and has been for years. He wasn’t around as much and, when he was, it was like all he wanted to do was dig himself deeper and deeper under people’s skin.

Virgil’s skin crawled.

He chalked it up to the exhaustion.

A door opened and slammed and, from the direction, Virgil could tell that it was Roman’s. Quick footsteps hurried away.

A couple moments passed. Another door opened and slammed. More footsteps shuffling away.

He heard Roman’s voice, his words muffled. Just barely, he could hear Janus calling up to him.

And then he could hear Roman and Janus arguing. And, eventually, Roman’s door opened and slammed shut once again.

Virgil, after another couple moments, finally pushed himself up from where he had been laying in his bed.

The clock chimed that it was two o’clock in the afternoon.

He dragged his feet on the way to the door, his body seemingly growing heavier and heavier with each step.

He poked his head out.

Nothing.

He carefully, quietly, stepped out and, rounding the corner towards the staircase, he caught Janus on his way up.

“Janus.”

Janus jumped and whipped his head towards Virgil.

“Oh, Virgil,” Janus said, relaxing his posture as best he could. “Hello.”

“You and Roman were fighting.”

Janus deflated. “Is it ever any different?”

“No.”

The two were silent.

Virgil wondered when things became so off-balance.

“I have a bad feeling about today.”

Janus sighed, shaking his head. “Virgil, I… I can’t right now.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Virgil pressed. “I have a bad feeling about today.”

Janus’s eye twitched, almost as if Virgil had struck a nerve.

His stomach twisted.

“Virgil, it’ll be fine,” Janus finally said, his words short and tone clipped. “We know what we’re doing.”

Virgil nodded.

He didn’t believe Janus, but the look in his eyes warned Virgil to stay away.

So, instead, he waited.

And, that night, the world truly did burn.

Virgil had become so used to a heart that pounded quick and fast against his ribcage, that to have one that didn’t beat at all was almost more unsettling.

But everything was unsettling now.

That happened when you were dead. Undead. The living dead.

Virgil, every time he passed by a mirror, thought he looked like a corpse.

Really though, he didn’t know what to think anymore.

Perhaps that happened when you had a hopeless eternity in front of you.

Whatever hope Virgil had in Remus helping him keep normalcy (whatever normalcy even was, anymore) was thrown out the window when he waltzed back into the castle, his jagged teeth bloodied in a savage grin. It made Virgil want to vomit, or cry, or bang his fists against Remus’s chest and beg for his brother back.

He couldn’t, so he just looked away.

Roman hasn’t come out of his room for three days now. Said that he couldn’t be seen anymore, not like that.

If it wasn’t for the occasional shuffling behind Roman’s door, Virgil would’ve forgotten he was in there.

And Janus… Janus put a patch over his injured eye, gloved his hands, and steeled himself. Locked himself up like the lock he put on the throne room doors. Walled himself off just like their fallen kingdom.

Virgil felt like he watched the rise and fall of a king that never got his crown.

In the dining room, the clock ticked.

It was the only reminder that time was passing, and would continue to.

And, as Virgil looked out the window at the wall of thorn and vine that had grown around the kingdom, he knew that no one would ever pass through it. Would never be able to pass through it.

It was just the four of them.

Forever.

At another time, Virgil would have had a bad feeling about this.

But, as he just stared out the window, he let himself settle into a numbness that he had never known before.

And he watched as it began to rain.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #moxiety #ts virgil #stuff i write #vampire au 2.0

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