Chapter Text
“You, Sunstone, and you, Moonstone, will go to the Princess Renais, and end her.” Lyon says in his father’s place, Emperor Vigarde’s gaze unfocused and to the side, as though his generals are but far away flies, still on the wall and not worth noticing. “Her threat to the empire is too great to ignore.” And he says other things, but Glen does not listen, not really, staring as he is at Vigarde and willing the Emperor to speak for himself.
To end this nightmare, and speak up.
The Emperor does not, and the Sunstone is dismissed, and the Moonstone drawn closer to speak with Prince Lyon without his assigned partner.
They fly at dawn, Valter offhand mentioning rendezvousing with a holy man, and that is the last that is seen of Sunstone for some time.
Cormag sees Fenarin, sees the Moonstone and his vicious mount returning, and goes to greet his brother. Glen is not there, and Valter spins an easy tale of deceit, and treachery, and the guiles of a woman who knows no mercy. It smells like a lie, every inch of it, because Glen is not stupid, why would he trust an enemy enough to let her close so she might kill him? But it must be true, because Glen is gone.
The Sunstone is dead, and the body could not even be recovered. A shame, how terrible. And Valter laughed, though he tried to make it sound sympathetic. Gallows humor, maybe, a surviving general to a surviving brother. Poorly timed, to Cormag’s reeling heart. Cruelly delivered, to his despairing shock.
He flies for vengeance, he flies for justice (he knows this is not justice). Cormag and Genarog rest by a river, near where Valter had described the ambush. Fenarin followed behind, a defeated shell of a dragon that blinked too slowly and refused food. A family of mourners, setting out for closure, for vengeance.
They close on the site, and they see someone, in the grass. Standing there, swaying with the wind. They land. Fenarin shows liveliness for the first time in ages. Making a hybrid rumble and chirp that Cormag recognizes as meaning Glen, a questioning noise. Dismounting, he moves closer, and when the person turns, Cormag chokes back a sob.
It’s Glen, Glen with his vacant eyes, and blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. He’s hurt, he might be ill, the Sunstone barely recognizes his brother. “Cormag….” Is the croaked words that Glen utters, shuffling forward like he can barely move. (Behind him, Fenarin roars with a deep emotion that even Cormag can’t understand as the wind turns, Glen’s jerky movements towards Cormag aided by a brisk wind. Genarog takes to the air after Fenarin, obviously startled, and then it’s just them in the field. Just these two boys.)
“Glen?” Cormag answers, swiping at the treacherous tears on his face. Glen’s alive? Oh, Latona bless it. He runs forward, tackling Glen with a hug the likes of which neither had received in years, since Cormag grew up enough to join the draco knights. “Glen,” he says, tears openly falling.
“Cormag…”
That’s all Glen says, though Cormag stays attached to his brother for hours, knocking elbows and touching knees together, just to reassure himself that Glen is here, Glen is real. (Glen is cold. Glen looks through Cormag, not at him, something missing from that familiar gaze, and something in Cormag’s soul shivers.)
Fenarin doesn’t land again, that Cormag sees. It bothers him, that Fenarin hasn’t come back for Glen. (It bothers him, that Fenarin followed Valter home, instead of staying with Glen.) Genarog does though, far away from where Cormag is hovering around Glen’s unmoving shoulders. Crouches there, in the growing shadows, digging trenches into the dirt with his claws. Something is wrong, it is upsetting the wyvern, but Glen is cold.
Glen is cold, and when Cormag tries to light a fire, as night falls, Glen flinches away. Noiseless words of distress bubble darkly past lips that haven’t moved in hours, and they don’t subside or cease until the fire is out and Glen is yards away from any of the residual heat from the glowing (dimming) logs.
They’re together though, is what Cormag tells himself, as he huddles around the ice block that Glen is, once night falls properly. It’s strange, because as a child Glen had always run hot. Perhaps he is ill, is what Cormag tells himself. “You’re freezing,” Cormag complains, though he doesn’t try to light another fire. (The second one had produced a similar reaction, and Glen had shuffled away with urgency at the third. Cormag hadn’t tried for a fourth.)
Genarog sleeps in the field, away from the two men, the trenches he’d dug out of distress radiating out away from him.
The sun rises, and Fenarin is under Genarog’s wing, still far away from where the knights had camped out. Glen is standing away from the makeshift camp, watching the sun rise the way he had been when Cormag found him. Stiff from the cold, Cormag sniffs to clear his nose and shuffles over, still tired and off-put by some odd nightmares that had plagued him in the night.
“Glen? Glen?” He calls, over and over. Gently, in case he might startle Glen. The Sunstone does not turn, but Cormag catches what might be his name, over the whisper of the trees at the far end of their field as the wind kicks up. The sun is shining strongly, the wind is strengthening, and Glen is reacting again. A good sign, probably. Cormag shivers, still cold, and leave Glen to his thoughts.
The camp needs packing up, and Genarog needs checking on. Fenarin too, now that he’s thinking on it. It’s not right, that the two of them are acting so skittish. He’ll have stern words for them, after he puts together a warm breakfast. Now, he just needs....a fire. (A quick check to make sure Glen hasn’t wandered off, and he sets the fire and starts something easy and filling and tasteless. A draco knight field staple, because for all that it tastes like wood chips, even a spoiled noble could learn to cook it with ease.)
Scooping breakfast into one bowl, he only has his own (he hadn’t expected to have the miracle of Glen still being alive happen after all), he kills the fire again and announces breakfast as he returns to Glen’s side. Breakfast first, then breaking camp and chastising their wyverns.
After an awkward minute, holding cooling food in one hand and an unsettling feeling in the other, Cormag nudges Glen (still cold, sunlight clearly hasn’t warmed him up yet). “Hey, c’mon, Glen. It’s breakfast.” Nothing, though Glen stops staring at the clouds to turn an unfocused gaze on Cormag. “You always complained about me eating it all, back when we were kids. Remember?” Cormag cajoles.
Perhaps if he reminds Glen how much he stands to lose, by passing up breakfast, he will stop staring at Cormag with those empty, empty eyes. It does nothing, though Glen tilts his head and says, “...Cormag.” It’s empty, no judgement, but it should have been a rebuke, and Cormag reads it as such. (It’s not Glen’s fault he’s unwell.)
The bowl radiates warmth in his hand, a neutral smell coming from the food inside, and Cormag takes the time to coax Glen into holding it. Glen resists him, making wordless distress noises and trying to pull his hands away. There’s no strength in it, and Cormag desperately, desperately closes Glen’s fingers around the bowl. It’s stupid, he should stop, but he has to do this. Glen needs to hold this bowl.
Holding Glends hands around the bowl, even as Glen weakly jerks backward, away from the warmth of the food, Cormag’s eyes tear up. “Glen, please.” He tries, but Glen doesn’t calm. Feeling helpless, he lets Glen go, and the bowl hits the ground, the food inside sloshing over Cormag’s boots. Glen retreats, complexion grey in the morning light, and Cormag lets him go.
Lets him go, and picks up the dishware feeling cold inside. He stands there, watching Glen sway with the wind, yards away, and lifts his shirt hem to scrub over his eyes. It’s okay, it’s fine. Glen is just ill. Glen is ill, and he’ll get better. The important thing is that they’re together now. They’re together, and Cormag will protect Glen while he’s healing. Things will be okay, because they’re back together.
He looks to the sky, where Genarog and Fenarin were circling above them scales standing out against the clear, cloudless blue, and then back to Glen, and he stiffens his resolve. They’ll find Princess Eirika, and he’ll make her help fix what she did to him. But first...clean up breakfast. Then break and clean up camp. Then they’ll head out.
(He dries his face, and thinks, stubbornly, Damn rain .)