Work Text:
“Do you have family?”
Cutlery clattered onto the table.
Then, silence. Immediate, heavy, as ten pairs of eyes stared at the one who had asked the question as well as the one who had received it.
The man looked around the room, confusion clear in his expression. He was a new recruit, sent to Bazzoxan from some other Dynasty town far away from its capital of Rosohna. That was the only reason he would be unaware enough of everything that had happened to ask such a question.
Verin sighed.
Apparently, his brother’s misdeeds had not spread all over the country. Otherwise, the man in front of him would have known.
You did not speak of Essek Thelyss.
Eldest son of the Umavi – the perfect, faultless, immortal leader of Den Thelyss – a prodigy of magic and the youngest person to ever receive the honor of the title ‘Shadowhand’. Gods, had he lived up to the title. Verin had known no one as cunning and well versed in the arts of lying, spycraft and subterfuge than Essek.
There had been no better liar.
Verin bit his tongue.
“I used to”, he forced a smile onto his face: “Now it is just me and my mother”
The soldier’s expression darkened: “I am sorry to hear that”
A nod of acknowledgement was all the response he could muster, still lost in thoughts.
More recently, Essek’s titles had changed: Monster, disgrace, war criminal…
…Traitor.
The day Verin had been called back to Rosohna was burned into his mind. Aurora Watch soldiers had greeted him, escorted him to his home where his mother had been waiting, seething. He could still see her expression, her gritted teeth and furrowed brows, the fury burning in her eyes as he’d been told that his brother was under suspicion of having stolen the Dynasty’s most sacred relic, having handed it over to the Empire and started the war that had wrecked both sides significantly.
For a moment, Verin had thought they were joking. But he was certain his mother didn’t even know the meaning of the word.
And the evidence he’d been presented with was pretty convincing.
It had been far, far from enough to make any proper case against him, but certainly enough to investigate.
Deep in his heart, Verin had known and still knew the accusations were right. Essek was smart, perhaps the smartest person in the Queen’s court aside from Her Majesty herself, there was no way the Dynasty would find more than the barest hints of his involvement in any untoward activities.
By the gods, the man had been the country’s spymaster for a reason!
But Verin had grown up with him, had smeared jam in his precious spellbooks and raced him to the roof of their home – the fucker had teleported because Verin hadn’t specified that magic was off-limits – when they were children.
So even though Essek had been far from a perfect, or even good, brother, even though they hadn’t spoken much in years, Verin just knew.
Friends of his had died in the war. Verin himself had woken in fear of being sent to the front every single day.
Essek had started it.
The realization still hurt as much now as it had back then. Though the anger that had drowned it out at first had subsided over time, leaving just pain.
Because Essek was dead. His death confirmed by assassins of the Dynasty that had been sent to capture and kill him. You didn’t need someone alive to get a confession out of them, magic could do that for you. And he’d fled the country so even if he was innocent, he’d still committed treason, which was punishable by death.
The moment he’d received the message that he was gone had felt like someone had punched him in the gut, hard, taking most of the anger away with the air in his lungs.
Verin believed in the Luxon, the Dynasty’s most important god. Always had, probably always would. He followed its tenets as well as the Dynasty’s comparatively strict laws. He loved his home.
And at first, he had been tempted to look for Essek himself, kill Essek himself.
But now he was actually gone.
He was gone and Verin found that he suddenly didn’t give a fuck about what he had done, about him being a war criminal anymore. He just wanted his older brother back.
Those thoughts alone were enough to convict him of treason.
All things considered, the man had been a shit brother. He shouldn’t miss him. The guy was a traitor, a war criminal, indirectly at fault for Verin losing friends to the war. They hadn’t talked in ages for the gods’ sakes!
And yet…
The others around the table had started talking again and Verin excused himself, standing up and leaving the Barracks, making his way to the training grounds a little outside of the walls of Bazzoxan.
Essek had contacted him, months before he had seemingly vanished from the face of the world. He’d told him that he was going to go to a Dynasty outpost in Eiselcross. Verin had asked what the everloving hell he wanted in the frozen wasteland that was Eiselcross, he had answered something about magic relics that were buried there. He’d been confused, because his brother had never left the comforts of Rosohna and also was about as cold resistant as a matchstick. For gods’ sake, the man wore cloaks that would smother any sane person in the middle of summer and complained about a slight breeze. But he hadn’t questioned it any further, because magic was a valid reason for any of Essek’s endeavours.
Now he knew he’d gone there to hide.
Perhaps Verin was one of the last people to ever talk to him, aside from the people in said outpost.
He’d cared enough to say goodbye. In his own stupid, cryptic way.
If that was supposed to bring him comfort, it certainly didn’t. Instead, it just hurt more.
Verin had always thought he was going to die first. After all, he was the soldier, stationed in a city that was attacked every few days.
Now his brother, who had spent most of his time cooped up in his towers doing magic stuff Verin never understood the appeal of, was gone.
Not only that, but Verin had a sneaking suspicion that at least some of the assassins who had been sent to kill Essek had been sent by their mother.
Deirta Thelyss had loved him, probably, even if her empathy and compassion and motherly skills had died very early on in their childhood, if not before they were even born. But there was nothing that woman cared about more than reputation.
Had Essek still been in Rosohna, Verin was sure she would have personally cleaved his head off his shoulders. She would have summoned every important person in the city and dragged Essek before them. She would have tortured her own son into confessing his sins and then killed him to keep her status, to erase the stain Essek had left on their family name.
Sending assassins after him was the second best thing.
Verin wondered if she’d managed to clear their name, and what she had done to do so.
Being on the outskirts of the Dynasty’s reaches certainly had its perks, namely that he didn’t get dragged into political bullshit. Sure, he was in a position of power here, but his soldiers loved him because of his actions, not because of his name. None of them gave a shit about the squabbles of the different Dens.
Though, if Verin had to guess, his mother would now claim he was her only son. That his brother had never existed in the first place.
He shook the thought from his mind.
Now what?
The question had been bugging him since all of the chaos had started unraveling. Was he supposed to pretend Essek had never existed too? Or worse, was he supposed to pretend to be glad about his death? He couldn’t do that. People were clearly afraid to ask him anything about the situation, about his brother. He hated that too.
Essek was dead, and yet he was more present in his life than he’d been since their childhood.
For a while, he’d debated talking to his friends, figure out how they were dealing with all of this, or alternatively just have someone to talk to.
…Then he had remembered that Essek had had no friends.
The man had been the definition of secluded. He had trusted people about as far as he could throw them, and Essek really, really couldn’t throw far. Verin had seen him nearly dislocate a shoulder from skipping a stone over a river.
The memory brought a momentary smile to his face.
As he returned to his trail of thought, however, it quickly faded again. If it wasn’t for work reasons, Essek had not talked to anyone. His life had consisted of work and studying magic, and he had seemed to be contend with that. The few political gatherings he’d been forced to attend, he’d busied himself with pleasentries and, more importantly, getting out as soon as he could without being deemed rude. Verin had found it hilarious at the time.
Now, it just made him sad. Not only for Essek, but also for himself. Because he was alone in his grief.
Because he was probably the only person grieving him in the first place.
Their last meaningful conversation was probably a decade ago. Yet he was the only one who missed him.
Essek would never get a funeral. Not just because he was a traitor and war criminal, but because there was no one who missed him, no one who cared enough about him. No one aside from Verin.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced the thought from his mind before he could continue getting hung up on it.
Instead, he devoted his attention to the Luxon. His god. The god of the Dynasty. The one Essek had betrayed.
I know I don’t pray nearly often enough, he started, not speaking any of the words aloud, and I apologize for that. And I know this isn’t the first time I’ve prayed for my brother either. But… His thoughts trailed off and he sighed before refocusing.
He didn’t believe in you. Well, he didn’t deny your existence, but he wasn’t exactly a devoted follower of yours – or a follower at all. And he certainly didn’t want me to pray for him. But he’s dead. I don’t know if he’s sorry for what he did. Knowing him, he probably isn’t. I ask that you forgive him anyway. If not for his sake, then for mine. He was a selfish asshole. But he was still my brother, and he is important to me. He was the only person who stood up to mother, and the only one who tried to keep me sheltered from both her influence and the corruption of politics at least in childhood. He even sparred with me, once. Or tried to anyway. But he did teach me some strategies to deal with mages efficiently…He stared up into the cloudy, grey sky.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this. None of it makes up for what he did. But you’re a god. You’re basically immortal. And Essek is dead. I just want him to rest easy. Please. Death is not really your domain, but you’re the deity he harmed. So, if you can find it in yourself, please let him cross into a peaceful, painless afterlife. Whatever that might look like. Please let him be alright, at least in death.
Verin shook his head, bringing his hand up to wipe the tears that were stinging in his eyes away. He had cried for him already. Any more would bring bad luck.
There were a certain number of times you could cry for someone. Three times, for most people. Any more was said to wake their spirits from their slumber, make them haunt you. Or potentially even waking their body to return as an undead.
Essek had called it one of many stupid superstitions. And while Verin didn’t really believe in it either, he decided it was best not to risk it.
Besides, he was tired of crying. He’d shed so many tears over the past year and a half already. For friends that had been sent to war to never return, for friends he’d lost here in Bazzoxan, for civilians that had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he’d cried because a woman he’d perhaps fancied just a little had left the city, though he would vehemently deny that for the rest of his life. And, most recently, for Essek.
Gritting his teeth, Verin stared in the direction of where he knew the sun to be at this time of day, hidden behind the thick cloud cover.
“You were such a fucking idiot. You didn’t even tell anyone what to do with all of your shit. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a library full of magic books, huh Essek?! Did you think of that before you committed treason?! Because I’m not going to read that bullshit. Maybe I’ll give them to Den Mirimm. You would hate that. Or Den Duendalos, you know, the people that were born in the Empire? Just out of spite. Or Den Daev’yana. Did you know that one of the daughters fancied you? I never got to tell you that…I was so excited to see the horror on your face. You wouldn’t have been a good couple anyway. I don’t even know if you were into women. Gods, I don’t know if you were into anyone aside from that one guy as a teenager, and that barely even counted. It was incredibly embarrassing though. And you can’t even comment on my actually horribly embarrassing relationships because you’re dead”, he paused: “Guess your one true love was magic. Nerd. Ugh, gods be damned, Essek. Why did you have to be so stupid?!”
His mouth snapped shut.
He was speaking to the nothingness of the wastelands around Bazzoxan, or worse, to the sun. Yet he was calling Essek stupid.
All of this was stupid.
Cracking jokes was useless, there was no one but him to hear them. And the topic of Essek’s books was a waste of breath and thoughts, because Verin was sure any that Essek hadn’t taken with him when he’d fled the country had been confiscated.
In truth, he just missed talking to him.
Well, he would never get to speak to him again, so he better get over it fast.
The thought was much harsher and more sudden than he had anticipated, and for a moment, the aching in his heart returned full force.
Grief was bullshit.
Verin grit his teeth, grabbing the hilt of his sword and marching to the training grounds. He needed a distraction.
Once there, he drew the weapon sheathed at his side, then started demolishing the dummies.
Did he need the training? No. But it was enough to take his mind off things, at least until he heard the horns of alarm blaring from Bazzoxan and he turned on his heels, taking off running.
For the moment, his brother was forgotten.