Chapter Text
“What did you just say?”
Bregolas looked up at his older brothers standing over him with their arms folded. Their stances were identical. They were not though they had shared their mother’s womb. Curulas was taller with paler hair and sharper cheekbones, Eldurlas broader across the shoulders. Their eyes, the same deep indigo, were fixed on Bregolas where he slouched into his favourite armchair. “Nothing,” he mumbled.
“No,” Curulas said calmly. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing!”
“Right, let us be very clear about something,” Eldurlas interjected. “We already know what you said. Having you repeat it is not for our benefit but for yours, so that you can hear the damning echo of your own words and realise, firstly, exactly what you have got yourself into, and secondly, just how foolish you have been.”
“So,” Curulas continued, effortlessly picking up the speech, “you can either tell the truth or you can lie to us knowing very well that we know that you are lying. The outcome for you – well, more specifically, the part upon which you will not be sitting comfortably – will be the same either way. But it might be marginally better if you make the right choice now.”
Bregolas swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back and forth between his brothers. If any of the triplets were likely to indulge him it was his sweet sister Nimeirien who liked to stroke his hair and call him her darling. But she was not there. Even had she been, he thought that she would not interfere in this; it was both a military thing and a brother thing. “I…I said that I will do my guard duty but I hate it and I won’t do it well.”
“You hate it and you won’t do it well,” Curulas repeated. For a moment he only considered Bregolas attempting to melt into the armchair, but then he stepped forward and raised his chin with a finger. “We cannot make you enjoy guard duty, baby brother,” he said, as their eyes met. “You are not expected to enjoy it, and the attitude that you employ towards it is a shift in thinking that only you can control. But we can teach you a lesson that ensures you will do it well.”
“Impeccably well,” Eldurlas added.
Bregolas couldn’t help the slight whine that escaped him. “No-ooo.”
“Ye-es,” Curulas gently mocked him. “Go to your room. We shall be up soon.”
After they had finished talking about him behind his back and deciding his fate, Bregolas thought with a flash of temper. Since he was already in trouble, he didn’t see much point in not making a dramatic exit. He jumped to his feet and stormed from the room, tossing his hair over his shoulder as he stomped to the stairs. Halfway up the stairs, Bregolas paused to make sure that his brothers were watching. They were, leaning against opposite sides of the doorway to the living room, their arms folded. They raised their eyebrows in unison as he looked at them.
“Keep going,” Curulas said evenly.
With a scowl fixed firmly on his face, Bregolas stomped the rest of the way to his room. He managed not to slam the door. But once the door was shut, the scowl slipped from his face and he bit his lip. He adored his brothers – not much right then, but in general – and they loved him and were good brothers. They, and their sister Nimeirien, had been parenting Bregolas since the death of their parents some winters ago. They took their roles seriously, especially Curulas, and were far stricter than they had ever been when he had only needed them to be his big brothers because he’d had a father to ensure his good behaviour. They seemed to think that they would be letting their father down if they didn’t.
Privately, Bregolas didn’t think that he would mind all that much if they let their father down just a bit.
His bottom wouldn’t, anyway, he thought miserably, flinging himself onto his bed to await his fate.