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rainbowfic2016-08-14 11:09 pm
shadowsong26) wrote in rainbowfic2016-08-14 11:09 pm
Plant Party #25, Fluorite #20, Crimson #14
Name: shadowsong26
Story: Flight
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Plant Party #25. Buddha’s Hand, Fluorite #20. Touched/Stoic, Crimson #14. They cannot come back Weps, and you know the repercussions if we're wrong, goddamnit.
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (Shooting, Boxing, and Fencing), reimaging (section #2 of The Other Side), eraser (Mellir AU), acrylic, fabric, yarn, glitter, glue ("You might be feeling quite hopeful one moment and somewhat doubtful the next. A rational Capricorn Moon is pitted against an irrational Venus-Neptune opposition today, making for a volatile mix of calculated ambition and unavoidable hypersensitivity.")
Word Count: 1205
Rating: R
Characters: Andrell, Mellir
Warnings: References to war and genocide, violence.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
"Where are you going?" Mellir was a crooked shadow in the stable doorway, leaning against the wall. How long he'd been there, Andrell had no idea.
His first thought, on seeing and hearing his brother, was, oh, gods, I've been caught, it's all over, I've destroyed myself for nothing. How can I explain this?
"I..." Nothing came to mind. There really was no good reason for him to be out here, in the middle of the night, dressed in shadow-dark clothing, armed, and saddling his horse by himself.
Mellir held up his hands. "Do you see me calling the guards?" He pushed off of the doorway and sauntered in--just a few steps, not quite enough to heighten the tension, but enough that the light Andrell had brought with him now illuminated his face.
He smiled slightly. "Where are you going?" he asked again.
Andrell couldn't say it. Not out loud. Not to his brother. He turned away to focus on his saddle. It was easier than seeing the lack of condemnation in his brother's face, hearing it in his voice.
I know what I'm doing. I know why I'm doing it. I know how important this is. I know what I'm gaining. But why did he have to find me here? Why did I have to--I know what I'm doing. I just...right now, I don't want to see what I'm losing.
Mellir, his voice still even and free of blame, said, "You're going to join the other army, aren't you."
There was no denying it. Andrell took a deep breath. "Yes," he said, without turning around. One hand inched away from the saddle girth to his knife. Mellir's politics were unclear, and there was certainly no love lost between him and Kellom, but... Can I do this? I know I can do this in the abstract, but he's--he's my brother.
But all Mellir said was, "Why?"
"I just can't..." He knew his reasons. They were all so clear in his head. Kellom is slaughtering our people--and they are people, Mellir, as much as you or I--and I have to stop him. But the words were so hard to say. Even to Mellir--maybe especially to Mellir.
"You know how bad it is," he finished instead, aware of how weak it sounded.
"And it'll get worse," Mellir agreed softly.
...what?
Of all the reactions Andrell had expected--whether to defend the Purge, or even agree as an excuse to lash out verbally at their brother--that type of calm, measured response hadn't even crossed his mind. Mellir was, even at his best, short-sighted. Kind, generous, deeply affectionate, loyal to those he loved, clever to a point, but not...not like this. Not thinking several steps ahead into the future. Not seeing the long-term consequences of a decision.
Or so Andrell had always thought.
Clearly, Mellir had learned and grown more than Andrell had realized, in the years since the accident.
"But is handing the city over to our enemies going to be any better in the long run?" he continued.
That question, at least, he could answer. Andrell had certainly asked it of himself dozens of times in the past few weeks, while making the decision to leave.
Andrell took a deep breath, then turned and looked his brother right in the eye. "Anything has to be better than what Kellom's doing." And he knew that, whatever Mellir's personal politics might be, however much he reocognized the Purge as something terrible, there was a very good chance this moment would end with one or the other of them--
He's my brother, I love him, how can I possibly...?
He forced himself to hold his ground. He knew what he was doing was right. He would do what he must.
Mellir held his gaze for a long moment. The air between them felt electrified, and Andrell's hand, on the hilt of his dagger, started to sweat.
But, at length, his brother sighed and stepped aside. "You're a grown man. I'm not going to stop you."
And now, for the first time since he was old enough to see his brother's flaws, Andrell realized that his brother might actually understand. More than even Deva would, because for Deva, the politics and the War and what they had to do were simple.
Mellir, somehow, had grown into someone who would recognize that this choice wasn't simple, certainly wasn't easy. And even if he disagreed with it...
Andrell bowed his head, overcome by a strange mixture of respect and squirming shame, for having misjudged his brother so terribly for so long.
"...are you going to call the guards?" he asked, after the silence had stretched between them for almost a full minute. He would fight his way out of the palace if he had to, but it might make...it would make it all so much less hard, both now and when the War ended--if it ever ended--if he didn't have to hurt anyone.
"I suppose I should." Mellir tilted his head, considering, then took a deep breath. "...you'd better make it look good."
Yet again, Andrell's brother had surprised him. "What?" Because that could only mean--no, Mellir couldn't possibly mean that.
You're my brother, and we just--I just--don't be ridiculous.
"If you're going outside the wall, you'd better get used to the idea," Mellir said, with brutal honesty. "If not me, then Kellom, or one of our nephews. Maybe one of my boys."
Andrell flinched, but Mellir wasn't wrong. He'd known that, at least in the abstract, before he'd even come down here. And he'd thought he was prepared, but facing the reality of it was...
He's doing this to help you, he reminded himself. Because, whatever he thinks of you and what you're doing--whatever he thinks of Kellom and what Kellom's doing--he doesn't want you to get hurt.
He wished knowing that made any of this any easier.
"Thank you," he whispered, and hoped it was enough to convey everything his brother meant to him, and how much more he now knew he was losing by this choice.
Mellir, characteristically, ignored the gravity of the moment and gave him a crooked smile. "Just...draw some blood before you knock me out. I don't want to lose what little dignity I have."
Andrell nodded silently. He unsheathed his dagger and aimed carefully, praying to all the gods he knew that he failed to puncture anything vital.
The blade, kept as sharp as he could make it, slid into his brother smoothly, and hopefully with little pain. He yanked it out and shifted his grip, knocking his brother senseless with the hilt.
Mellir's blood spread dark on the ground between them. Andrell swallowed bile, and took a deep shaky breath before wiping his dagger clean and putting it away.
"Thank you," he said again. "I'll try..."
He couldn't find the words.
He turned back to his horse, made the last few adjustments Mellir had interrupted, then mounted and got moving, guiding the horse around his wounded brother as carefully as he could.
I'm sorry, he thought, as he pounded his way down the dark and restless streets. I'm so, so sorry.
Story: Flight
'Verse: Feredar
Colors: Plant Party #25. Buddha’s Hand, Fluorite #20. Touched/Stoic, Crimson #14. They cannot come back Weps, and you know the repercussions if we're wrong, goddamnit.
Supplies and Materials: graffiti (Shooting, Boxing, and Fencing), reimaging (section #2 of The Other Side), eraser (Mellir AU), acrylic, fabric, yarn, glitter, glue ("You might be feeling quite hopeful one moment and somewhat doubtful the next. A rational Capricorn Moon is pitted against an irrational Venus-Neptune opposition today, making for a volatile mix of calculated ambition and unavoidable hypersensitivity.")
Word Count: 1205
Rating: R
Characters: Andrell, Mellir
Warnings: References to war and genocide, violence.
Notes: Constructive criticism welcome, as always.
"Where are you going?" Mellir was a crooked shadow in the stable doorway, leaning against the wall. How long he'd been there, Andrell had no idea.
His first thought, on seeing and hearing his brother, was, oh, gods, I've been caught, it's all over, I've destroyed myself for nothing. How can I explain this?
"I..." Nothing came to mind. There really was no good reason for him to be out here, in the middle of the night, dressed in shadow-dark clothing, armed, and saddling his horse by himself.
Mellir held up his hands. "Do you see me calling the guards?" He pushed off of the doorway and sauntered in--just a few steps, not quite enough to heighten the tension, but enough that the light Andrell had brought with him now illuminated his face.
He smiled slightly. "Where are you going?" he asked again.
Andrell couldn't say it. Not out loud. Not to his brother. He turned away to focus on his saddle. It was easier than seeing the lack of condemnation in his brother's face, hearing it in his voice.
I know what I'm doing. I know why I'm doing it. I know how important this is. I know what I'm gaining. But why did he have to find me here? Why did I have to--I know what I'm doing. I just...right now, I don't want to see what I'm losing.
Mellir, his voice still even and free of blame, said, "You're going to join the other army, aren't you."
There was no denying it. Andrell took a deep breath. "Yes," he said, without turning around. One hand inched away from the saddle girth to his knife. Mellir's politics were unclear, and there was certainly no love lost between him and Kellom, but... Can I do this? I know I can do this in the abstract, but he's--he's my brother.
But all Mellir said was, "Why?"
"I just can't..." He knew his reasons. They were all so clear in his head. Kellom is slaughtering our people--and they are people, Mellir, as much as you or I--and I have to stop him. But the words were so hard to say. Even to Mellir--maybe especially to Mellir.
"You know how bad it is," he finished instead, aware of how weak it sounded.
"And it'll get worse," Mellir agreed softly.
...what?
Of all the reactions Andrell had expected--whether to defend the Purge, or even agree as an excuse to lash out verbally at their brother--that type of calm, measured response hadn't even crossed his mind. Mellir was, even at his best, short-sighted. Kind, generous, deeply affectionate, loyal to those he loved, clever to a point, but not...not like this. Not thinking several steps ahead into the future. Not seeing the long-term consequences of a decision.
Or so Andrell had always thought.
Clearly, Mellir had learned and grown more than Andrell had realized, in the years since the accident.
"But is handing the city over to our enemies going to be any better in the long run?" he continued.
That question, at least, he could answer. Andrell had certainly asked it of himself dozens of times in the past few weeks, while making the decision to leave.
Andrell took a deep breath, then turned and looked his brother right in the eye. "Anything has to be better than what Kellom's doing." And he knew that, whatever Mellir's personal politics might be, however much he reocognized the Purge as something terrible, there was a very good chance this moment would end with one or the other of them--
He's my brother, I love him, how can I possibly...?
He forced himself to hold his ground. He knew what he was doing was right. He would do what he must.
Mellir held his gaze for a long moment. The air between them felt electrified, and Andrell's hand, on the hilt of his dagger, started to sweat.
But, at length, his brother sighed and stepped aside. "You're a grown man. I'm not going to stop you."
And now, for the first time since he was old enough to see his brother's flaws, Andrell realized that his brother might actually understand. More than even Deva would, because for Deva, the politics and the War and what they had to do were simple.
Mellir, somehow, had grown into someone who would recognize that this choice wasn't simple, certainly wasn't easy. And even if he disagreed with it...
Andrell bowed his head, overcome by a strange mixture of respect and squirming shame, for having misjudged his brother so terribly for so long.
"...are you going to call the guards?" he asked, after the silence had stretched between them for almost a full minute. He would fight his way out of the palace if he had to, but it might make...it would make it all so much less hard, both now and when the War ended--if it ever ended--if he didn't have to hurt anyone.
"I suppose I should." Mellir tilted his head, considering, then took a deep breath. "...you'd better make it look good."
Yet again, Andrell's brother had surprised him. "What?" Because that could only mean--no, Mellir couldn't possibly mean that.
You're my brother, and we just--I just--don't be ridiculous.
"If you're going outside the wall, you'd better get used to the idea," Mellir said, with brutal honesty. "If not me, then Kellom, or one of our nephews. Maybe one of my boys."
Andrell flinched, but Mellir wasn't wrong. He'd known that, at least in the abstract, before he'd even come down here. And he'd thought he was prepared, but facing the reality of it was...
He's doing this to help you, he reminded himself. Because, whatever he thinks of you and what you're doing--whatever he thinks of Kellom and what Kellom's doing--he doesn't want you to get hurt.
He wished knowing that made any of this any easier.
"Thank you," he whispered, and hoped it was enough to convey everything his brother meant to him, and how much more he now knew he was losing by this choice.
Mellir, characteristically, ignored the gravity of the moment and gave him a crooked smile. "Just...draw some blood before you knock me out. I don't want to lose what little dignity I have."
Andrell nodded silently. He unsheathed his dagger and aimed carefully, praying to all the gods he knew that he failed to puncture anything vital.
The blade, kept as sharp as he could make it, slid into his brother smoothly, and hopefully with little pain. He yanked it out and shifted his grip, knocking his brother senseless with the hilt.
Mellir's blood spread dark on the ground between them. Andrell swallowed bile, and took a deep shaky breath before wiping his dagger clean and putting it away.
"Thank you," he said again. "I'll try..."
He couldn't find the words.
He turned back to his horse, made the last few adjustments Mellir had interrupted, then mounted and got moving, guiding the horse around his wounded brother as carefully as he could.
I'm sorry, he thought, as he pounded his way down the dark and restless streets. I'm so, so sorry.
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no subject
I actually don't know? But probably. The last thing I've written in this AU, chronologically, is the last section of The Other Side, which is news of Kellom's death hitting Mellir and his wife and sisters. Presumably he and Andrell negotiate after that, but IDK exactly what happens.