Goodbye, Brother

[__Stal27 2126]

 

 

Spoiler

Art is not my own and thank you to @Navigator for being my co-writer ‼️

 

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Spoiler

 

 

The sky, once bathed in the golden warmth of day, now dulled into the soft hues of dusk, streaks of amber bled into the deepening blue, various avifauna took to flight in the darkening skies of the Balianese countryside. The wind carried a deep seated scent of the earth - dampened soil, waving grass, and the distant fragrance of olive groves alongside many of the present flora swayed upon the valley floor.

 

For the first time since it all began, there was momentary peace. 

 

The two riders approached the crest of a lonely hill, never settled, never occupied, it was left alone in this corner of the world, swaying as the winds of the continent came, unknowing of all that was happening, it was spared from war. They came separately, yet they’re destination was the very same.. They wore garments of two opposing sides, banners of two peoples who were at war. 

 

Yet they came face to face.

 

Not out of hostility or caution. 

 

It was understanding.

 

Lothar was the first to slow his steed. The warhorse from the grass ladened Balianese-plains, weary from the journey, exhaling heavily, faint wisps from its breath formed in the cooling air. Miguel, astride and upon his own steed, mirroring the sentiment and the motion - a silent agreement between the two to halt upon the top of the hill, where the world stretched out before them, endlessly.

 

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It took mere instants for Miguel to recognise who the other rider was. The detailed armor, golden-and-purple, lined with intricate ornaments and sashes that indicated the man’s station. Miguel clutched the reins of his horse, his right stump tied firmly to the other set in order to better control the rowdy animal. There was peace. There was understanding. Beneath it all, a gut-wrenching feeling that threatened to slowly take over.

 

Miguel was the first to speak, too.

“Fate works in a funny way, doesn’t it, my brother?”

 

He felt as if his words could barely leave his throat. It felt hoarse, the words felt heavy, his heart slowly sinking into his chest as the pressure of realisation began to cloud his senses. It was a war. He was in front of the enemy. Those thoughts were quickly brushed aside. No war could extinguish a friendship. No conflict of faith could wipe out brotherhood found in bonds and trust. And yet…

 

Miguel reined in the horse, untying it from his right stump. He got off it, his hand raised up to his head, sliding out the black-and-purple feathered helmet, setting it on the horse. A glove was taken off, and then the wristguards. He walked to the crest of the hill, and with a grunt of exhaustion, he sat down, leaning back on his hands, staring off into the horizon.

 

He hoped that the other knight - his friend, his brother - would do the same.

 

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The words carried over the hilltop like the wind. It was gentle, weighted, with the sort of peace that they could not discern, something they found void since the beginning of the war. Lothar heard such words, he allowed them to settle, but he did not retort or reply, he let the moment pass before he made any reply.

 

He murmured however, voice even, yet it was not without feeling or emotion.

“A cruel way, you mean.”

 

His visage flickered soon upon the sight of Miguel - not to his armour, not to the etchings or sigils as denoted him as an ally of Ravenmire, that denoted him as the enemy, but rather to his friend, to the man beneath the machinations of the worldly-politics around them. The same man who had stood before him mere weeks before anything transpired, before anything happened.

 

Lothar exhaled heavily, despite his breath steady, something within him was not. Not yet.

 

He swung from his steed, his boots meeting the sodden earth beneath them with a Thud. The leather straps of his armoured gloves creaked as his grip was loosened, fingers flexing as he reached up to unfasten the clasp at his throat. His cloak - embroidered with the colours and sigils of Balian and Monterosa’s colours, were now dust - ladened from the ride was shrugged off. Not cast away, but rather placed aside, with care upon his riding saddle.

 

There was no banner between them now.

There were no enemies.

 

There was no war.

 

Just two men, standing where brothers once stood.

 

Lothar stepped forwards where Miguel had been settled, towards the crest of the hill where the breeze blew gently, rustling leaves and grass were their ambience instead of the clashes and cries of men who charged. He watched the horizon with a distant, yet familiar look, as though he wasn’t truly there, in that moment, as though he was dreaming.

 

He sat down beside him. For a while there was nothing said, just the ambience of the world around them and the steady breathings. His eyes wandered to the lands before them, the ones they had rode upon without care, as boys, unburdened by cause or the machinations of men, the very same lands that blood would surely be spilt over.

 

It lingered, it was amusing, that this is what fate had decried for two who were so close.

 

Then after a long pause, his voice broke their silence.

“Tell me Miguel.” - “When did we become men who must kill each other? Is this what fate has destined for us?”

 

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Miguel joined his ‘hands’ in front of his knees, left hand holding onto the right stump, wrapped around them, hugging himself. His eyes stared out into the slow sunset, the gentle and unassuming sound of his fingers drumming against the armor plate of his knee. A gentle chuckle erupted from Miguel as Lothar spoke, a chuckle not of happiness, but of despair. Disbelief. Nervousness and anxiety. 

 

“Do you remember the fair, when we first met? In Hyspia?” He diverted the subject away from the matter that drove a wedge between them. Miguel had always been a boy who took solace in his memories. “I thought you were so curt, even rude. . . . If you told me then that you’d become one of my closest and best friends, Lothar, I’d slap you across the face and call you insane.”

 

Another chuckle left him, the boy placing his head between his knees. A chuckle turned to a sniffle. A sniffle turned into a slow, quiet sob. Miguel rose his head once more, resting his forehead against his palm, those silent tears streaming down his face. He didn’t sob. He didn’t make a sound apart from the light sniffs that came here and then. After a few moments, he composed himself decently enough. Enough to finally garner courage to bring his gaze up, and drag it towards the Princeling. 

 

“The world is ******* crazy, Lothar. We can’t get lost in it. I can’t lose you, I can’t lose Isidora, I can’t lose Alysanna. I can’t lose anyone.” This time, he sobbed, and once more, his head hung between his legs. The boy didn’t cry when he had to burn his own father to save his siblings. The boy didn’t cry when he berated his own brother for using their orphaned situation to his gain. The boy didn’t cry when his hand was bitten off by a demon. 

 

But now he cried. 

 

He sobbed.

 

He wailed.

 

And after some time, the sound slowly fizzled out. Much like reason in the world, Miguel’s crying would steadily die out, and after some fleeting moments, he was silent once more. Not composed. It seemed impossible to be composed. He sniffed again, running the back of his hand over his eyes.

 

“You changed my life.” He murmured, dark green eyes peering over towards his brother. “So don’t you dare lose yours.”

 

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The silence between the pair had stretched for long after the duo had spoken, long after Miguel’s messy sobbing had faded and Lothar’s own eyes glossed and threatened to fall. The sky which one bathed a lush glow upon them had finally surrendered to the creeping night. In the absence of the sunlight, the first of the stars began to blink into existence - distant, cold, watching.

 

Without a word uttered, Lothar stood first. He did not move hastily, as though the thought of leaving this behind might’ve made this feel real. He gathered his cloak, dusting away any and all grass and dirt that might’ve stuck, though the weight on his shoulders from this moment was far heavier then any fabric or armour could ever hope to be.

 

Miguel had been seated for a moment longer. His breath uneven and his fingers curling itself his gambeson as if in an attempt to awake him from this dream. Yet, he pushed himself up with a breath that had bordered on composure.

 

The pair soon faced each other - not as enemies, not as warriors, but as brothers.

 

Lothar stepped forth. Miguel followed.

 

And without hesitation, they embraced.

 

It was not the embrace of two men who were about to ride into battle, as though it was destined for them to do so. It was an embrace of boys who once lived and now dreamed of simpler days, of two friends who became brothers not through blood but through experience, of two who once shared laughter instead of sorrows. It was brief, yet unshakable - it was a moment stolen from a world that no longer had room for it.

 

Then wordlessly they let go.

 

They turned, walked and mounted their horses, the wind whispered through the grass and trees as the space between them grew wider.

 

Neither stopped, nor looked back. The night began to swallow them both.

 

Then, as if it could not be left unsaid, they each whispered, they spoke under their breaths.

 

“Goodbye, Brother.”

[Navigator 4260]

Miguel stared out the walls of Ravenmire, his hand slipped into his pocket, the stump on his right resting on the stone. He thought back to so many things that had passed, and though about so many more that could come.

 

"The world moves on and on. . ." He uttered, and climbed down the walls. There was much to be done.

[TaraJess 2848]

Johanna sat in the Vuiller hold, four children sat in front of her, not five. She watched as they mourned, and they in turn, watched her as well. Such battles have barely started, and so many have already been torn apart.

 

 

Spoiler

MORE WRITING MORE WRITING 

 

[comatoseprincess 507]

Alysanna Rostova stepped forth, the girl now standing beside Miguel as they both stared at the walls of the city they call home. Silently, she lifted a hand, placing it ever so gently on his shoulder. Perhaps to comfort him, perhaps it was to comfort her. Either way, she wanted to ensure he knew he was not alone for as long as she was alive. - @Navigator

[EmiliainWonderland 2309]

Isabel Rostova knew the friendships she'd left behind in this war. That lives would be lost, that blood would stain the fields of what was once such a glorious continent that would soon be torn to bits by warfare. Yet she donned her armor and clutched her sword tight to her side. "I'm sorry for what I must do, DIOS forgive me for the path we walk now. All those we leave in the past. May my children still prosper when all is said and done. It is them I fight for, them I would gladly die for, even if they may not understand it yet. My people and my family."

[Yeetboy0206 1574]

Estevot thought of his children as he rocked his baby boy. No child should have to deal with the horrors of war, especially not having to worry about killing each other on the battlefield. He silently prayed for those children, that they never have to fight their dear friends to the death at the whims of a corrupt Church that has chosen to follow the will of an agent of Iblees over the will of the Lord.

[Cheese 8883]

Spoiler

Where’s my credit for making your borders 🤨

 

That night, Amadea crept through the halls of the Palace. Her bare feet padded gently across the stone until she reached her own brother’s room. Lothar’s room.

 

She didn’t knock, but when she cracked the door open and slipped in, she made her way quietly to the Prince of Monterosa’s side.

 

”…I can’t sleep,” She murmured to her weary brother. Despite her usual stubbornness and sass, she looked quite worried.

 

Lothar lost his brother in Miguel so soon into the war. Amadea feared the exact same in losing her brothers, as irritating as she found them to be.

 

”Will you braid my hair?”