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Baelor had fallen.
Maekar ducked around the backside of the large elm tree, a wild smirk across his face as he watched his brother tumble backwards over one of the bare roots. It wasn't often he could best his brother in their rounds of scuffling and training, but when he did, Gods, what a rush. The future king hit the ground with a stiff thud, a soft wheeze of air escaping past chapped lips. With Maekar out of sight, he quickly gathered himself, rolling further away from the tree to create space. Baelor rose swiftly, reaching once more for his sturdy stick, the most righteous of blades.
"It is unwise to hide when your enemy is down." Baelor twirled the stick in hand, squinting at the backside of the tree.
"Perhaps," Maekar replied, "but it is also unwise to lose track of your opponent!"
Before Baelor could get eyes on his crazed little brother, he dropped from a branch above, sending them both tumbling back to the ground in a haze of laughter and curses. The wind was truly knocked out of Baelor this time, wheezing and gasping as Maekar pinned him to the ground. Fire grew in the young boy's eyes as he straddled his eldest brother, listening to him struggle beneath him. His satisfaction only grew when he saw the tears welling, but just as quickly as it came, it simmered. Baelor still struggled for air with his brother atop him.
"I'm sorry!" Maekar's voice cracked, lifting himself up and away from Baelor so that he might catch his breath. It wasn’t often they truly hurt one another, but boys learned through bruises as much as triumphs. They had drawn blood only a handful of times, never in cruelty, only in the earnest clumsiness of growth. Where Baelor would parry and yield a step, Maekar pressed forward. Each clash bound them closer, their movements growing more certain, more in tune with the other. A delicate dance of steel and skill that only they could master.
"I'm sorry…" Maekar knelt next to his brother, resting a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the uneasy rhythm begin to even out.
"I am fine," Baelor grumbled, placing his hand over Maekar's. "It is a lesson learned."
"I do not like hurting you."
Baelor stared up at his brother, coughing twice as he squeezed the smaller hand in his. "Nor do I, but this is how we learn."
"Fucked up lesson."
"Maekar."
Maekar rolled his eyes, "I can curse all I want."
"And I can whack you upside the head all I want."
And Baelor did just that, free hand connecting lightly with the side of his brother's head. Laughter filled the space between them. Maekar gently shoved his chest before lying in the grass next to him. The day had grown quiet as evening began taking hold, the sun lowering to the peaks of the mountains beyond. Soon they would turn in for supper, get an earful about being dirty and wandering off, and drift to sleep. But in this moment, it was just two boys lying under an elm tree, eyes bright as they watched the leaves sway in the breeze. A songbird bouncing along the branches, seeking its final resting spot for the night. The scent of grass and earth passing over, bringing with it the scents of the castle beyond. And the last touches of warmth as the sun bid its farewell for the day.
Maekar squeezed Baelor's hand, smiling as he watched the songbird settle, its head tilting to the side as if to watch the boys below.
"I will always be by your side, brother."
"I would not have it any other way."
When he woke, Maekar did not open his eyes immediately. He did not want to break the illusion he felt. A presence beside him in bed, steady and warm, sitting there as he had time and time before. The comfort of a brother he had known to be beside him his entire life, there for one last moment. Maekar held his breath, as if he might hear Baelor’s, as if he could will him back into existence by stillness alone. It was foolish, he knew, and yet he leaned into the delusion willfully, almost convinced he could feel the indentation behind him, weight shifting to draw him into an embrace.
“Baelor,” Maekar whispered, lips trembling as he dared break the silence. Tears began to wet the pillow beneath his head, a stifled sob rattling through his core. There would be no answer back, no steadying hand to ground him, no warmth after the cold reality of the day.
“Baelor.”
“Baelor.”
“My brother.”
His pleas fell on the silent stone walls, pooling onto the old floorboards with desperation. Maekar’s knuckles strained as he gripped the silk sheets draped over him. Another sob, unrestrained and raw, tore free, his body shaking as grief broke through the dam he had tried so desperately to hold.
“I am sorry.”