♕ RULES OF THE NATURE ARE FAIR AND CRUEL. —

[kaleb]

The state of the battlefield was worse than he imagined.

In a way, he was paying for his own incompetence.

Perhaps he failed on his leadership, or something more. Kaleb was currently kneeling on the ground, overpowered by the being he was supposed to be stronger — infinitely better than, or at least it was what he was taught.

Ah, angels were such disgusting beings. He could see the other male, azure eyes that mirrored nothing but insanity. The few information he was able to gather about Asgard told an interesting tale - on how the mad leader of the angels ruled the whole world with cruelty that far surpassed his, on how people blindly followed - adored a being that they saw as a god.

- “…”



As for him, it felt as if he was fighting against the ghost of his long deceased father. Tière Aaldenberg was one of the many things his father died and just left for Kaleb to deal with - a war that wasn’t his, a kingdom that he never wanted, responsibilities that should have been thrown to his older brother. If things worked as intended, would it be Svein kneeling on the ground instead of him, or would that trash for a person be somewhere else?

It was these kind of thoughts that made him avoid looking at the situation at hand, although the other tyrant’s voice brought him back.

He was mocking Kaleb. For several minutes now, even. A hand grabbing his hair and forcing him to look up and stare, waiting for any signs of fight inside the crimson king.

“I expected more from you, you know. Being the son of that man.”

But there was only silence. He failed, and now he quietly was waiting death. That is what it means to die on the battlefield - that is what you get for making mistakes.

It seems that this fact only angered the other male more, as he felt Tière’s grip on his hair tighten and force his head to an uncomfortable-almost impossible-position. Words that seemed more like poison invaded his ears despite the constant attempts to block them out.

“Oh, I forgot. You don’t like to be compared, no? I wonder, what was like living on the shadow of the person who hated you all along? You’re nothing but trash, Kaleb Blackwood. You have this position because no one else wants to. You are there even though he never, ever liked you.

“Jörn Blackwood’s son”, how does it feel to be compared to your father all the time?”

And then he could hear laughter. He was laughing at him - as he always was - diminishing Kaleb and rubbing at his face how worthless and incompetent he was.

How he was the son of that whore of a woman - one that his father only kept at his side to produce his heirs and then forget all about his existence - how he was foolish to cling on to his mother as they were both completely dejected as his father kept giving attention to his brother, how he cried when his mother died in front of him, how he was the one to bear this burden and how he FAILED MISERABLY AND HE WAS MAKING SURE KALEB WAS AWARE OF IT by suddenly forcing his head down and stare at his own blood on the floor - armor mangled and laughter echoing around him.

He would never stop.

They would never stop.

The world would never stop pointing at his failure and how his father would never do something like this.

“So I am going to give you a gift! It would be boring to end you now and miss the chance of stepping on your shattered pride later… so I am going to make you even more similar to the person you hate. How about that?

I am sure that this is something you are dying for, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

It was a spy. They probably had a spy somewhere inside his kingdom for all these years(despite Kaleb’s efforts on keeping an eye out for them, eliminating every single threat and anyone that seemed suspicious). It was how he had so much information about him, and the demon was left in the dark about his enemies abilities that weren’t included in old reports.

That was why Kaleb was in this situation right now.

He left no room for the albino to react, still holding his hair and forcing his head still, now upwards again. For the demon to always look up at him, for he to…

… look? He was at a loss. His hands - his fingers were dangerously close to Kaleb’s right eye, nails touching his skin gently… for a single second.

What was happening made a scream escape his lips. He could feel fingers invading his body - almost as if they wanted to reach his skull and crush him and they kept reaching out and curling around what it may be his eye and—

- “N…no, wha… what are you doing. Stop.

No. I don’t want this. Stop…. I TOLD YOU TO STOP,

I—”

— pulling it out. He was going to die, he was definitely going to die because he did not want to be alive right now this was far too humiliating this was far too cruel he did not he did not want this he did

there was blood everywhere he could feel his mind going blank he could feel despair he could feel himself being completely overwhelmed;

And then the other was yelling, completely ignoring his plea.

“YES, SCREAM FOR ME. THAT IS WHAT I WANT TO HEAR OF YOU. SCREAM AS YOU REALIZE HOW PATHETIC YOU ARE.

SCREAM FOR YOUR DEAD MOTHER, SCREAM FOR ALL THE DREAMS THAT THEY SHATTERED, SCREAM LIKE THEY NEVER ALLOWED YOU TO.

YOU ARE JUST FUCKING PATHETIC, KALEB BLACKWOOD.

YOU ARE A DISAPPOINTMENT, JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER TOLD YOU SEVERAL TIMES.

IT IS A MIRACLE YOU ARE STILL ALIVE NOW, TRASH."

No response. His own face was covered in blood, brain screaming that something went terribly, terribly wrong as his empty eye socket seemed to throb as to warn him for the obvious lack of eye - and his vision went dizzy for a second.

He wanted to black out and simply stop responding, but the man forced himself to stay conscious just because he wasn’t allowed to do something like ‘lose consciousness’. What kind of a king, what kind of a person would he be?? Such words kept resounding on his head all the time.

… Ah.

“Retreat, all troops retreat!! We are not wasting time with this any longer.

I hope you are happy with this, Kaleb Blackwood.”

Ah no.

His mind ignored, but his body finally reacted to the situation.

- “Ur—rr——”

There was now vomit next to his knees and boots, mixing with blood and leaving a fairly unpleasant noise in the air. Even if there wasn’t anything he could do about it… and even if the situation was about to get worse, face wet with tears, sweat and blood.

“We found him!! Call Cantorix over, it’s an order!”

No, no he could not see him in this state, no.

He could not see Kaleb because he failed he failed failed failed failed failed he will get angry but then again it is all his fault it was all all all of it was his fault he was incompetent he was prepared for the punishment but even so even so he was scared he was shaking in pure fear even if he was screaming in pain again he barely reacted but now he was trembling violently be it by blood loss or fear or both or

… his hand kept covering the right part of his face, desperately trying to cover the lack of his eye and not trying to show how bad his injuries really were; he would have to apologize he was already apologizing as Alistair gradatively came close to him please don’t come near me I am sorry I promise I will do better next time I won’t fail you I am not a failure I am not I am not I am sorry I am not

am

I———

- “Aa…aah…. I’m sorry… Alistair…”

Comments

[ryner]

For the enemy to inflict this much damage… there were no circumstances under which they should have been so overpowered. Alistair himself had struggled for his life more than once today. It was more than suspicious; it was something that should have been impossible without significant knowledge of their plans and resources, meaning that there was more work to be done when they returned from the battlefield. Rooting out whomever had been giving intelligence to Asgard would not recoup their losses, but it would be a start.

A lost battle was not a lost war, no matter how crushing the defeat seemed. As long as Tartarus had a strong king, they would manage.

He was already making his way back to the last place he’d seen Kaleb, silently deliberating on the most efficient method for searching out the spy, when a messenger waylaid him. “An order”… there were very few reasons for Alistair to be called to Kaleb’s side so urgently. None was promising, in this context.

His predictions were confirmed he reached the king.

Alistair knelt down silently in the mess of blood and filth on the ground before Kaleb. It soaked through his clothing, but he hardly noticed. His attention was devoted almost wholly to the man in front of him.

The way Kaleb clutched so desperately at the blood-soaked half of face, the way the other half was streaked with tears, was enough to give Alistair an idea of the state he was in.

Something was knotting up tight and hot in his chest. This was a disaster. A disastrous failure on his own part, one he should have been here to avert. Losing a battle was one thing; suffering a crushing defeat and having their leader brought to his knees so thoroughly by the end of it was another matter entirely. There were a dozen ways he could have prevented it, or lessened the damage, at least, beginning with being at Kaleb’s side to defend him.

That was his duty, and he had not fulfilled it. The only way he could fail more utterly than this was if he allowed his king to die.

Some detached part of himself realized that no longer seemed like such an impossibility.



He grasped Kaleb’s hand and tried to pry his fingers up. Blood was already staining his own hands. There was far too much of it. The bleeding had to be stanched, then, as quickly as possible. Kaleb was trembling — shock, most likely, given how much blood and fluid he’d lost — and still babbling unnecessary apologies.

Only one person here needed to apologize, and it was not Kaleb.

If he truly pushed the issue, Alistair may have been able to force Kaleb’s hand away, but he couldn’t risk aggravating the injury before he had a chance to gauge the severity of it. He curled his hand firmly around Kaleb’s wrist, instead.

“Show me, Kaleb.”

[kaleb]

- “…Don’t look at me,”



Don’t look at me because I am filthy don’t look at me because you are going to get angry you know how this all will end so why are you here I have failed you so won’t it be better if you left me to die —


But even then. Wouldn’t this worsen their situation? Ah, no… if Kaleb died, there’d be others. He was crafted well, but he was disposable. Alistair was angry, wasn’t he? Kaleb was sure he would receive his punishment after this was done, he failed and he shouldn’t have.

The words Aaldenberg said to him were finally wearing him down, finally getting to his skull and crushing him completely. If he was such a disgrace…

… perhaps he really wanted to die here. He could feel his strength - will to live, even - being squeezed out of him by the shadow of someone who was already long gone.

Ah, he was feeling faint…

… and with that came words that just made clear how fearful he was.

- “Leave me here… there is no reason for you to be by my side, Alistair.

I have failed you.

I apologized, so why…?”

He apologized, so then he was waiting for his time to finally run out. For the first time in his life, he was seeking death. The very image of his teacher was blurring considerably, and so his own grip on his face was lessening - but still there, refusing to let go.

Kaleb barely had any pride now, but he would cling to whatever was left. He didn’t want to show weakness - it was something terrible to do, he did not want to show Alistair how pathetic he was feeling right now and how pathetic his situation was in.

- “I disappointed you, but you can always get someone else.”

I always disappointed you, didn’t I?

I was never good enough.

- “I will be alright.”

Let me die.

- “I am sorry.”

Let me die.

[ryner]

“…there is no reason for you to be by my side, Alistair.”

Foolish. Alistair had no reason to discard Kaleb now. He had no interest in doing so, for that matter. Besides, he would be an idiot himself to punish another for his own failings.

Kaleb was still speaking — talking nonsense, in Alistair’s eyes — so he waited for him to tire out, to calm down, to weaken his grip enough for Alistair to examine whatever injury he was hiding. Finally, he pulled Kaleb’s hand back, and… his expression twisted for a moment.

The eye wasn’t injured. The eye wasn’t there at all, just the bare socket, raw and bloody and gaping. His focus narrowed sharply, down to the strands of torn muscle and the blood oozing from broken veins, away from the quiet smolder of rage that threatened to flare to a blaze inside him. That anger was directed almost entirely at himself, and it would Kaleb no good for him to show it now.

Kaleb would not die. This and his other injuries could be treated quickly enough, although the eye itself… probably could not be saved, given that it had been removed entirely.

His eye… of course Kaleb would work himself into such a state over this. The former king had been a short-sighted idiot, concerned only with the war against Asgard, sparing no attention for the well-being of Tartarus itself. Alistair regarded him with silent disdain for that; Kaleb hated him for reasons entirely more personal.

Alistair viewed those reasons with disdain, too, but he was familiar with them. Familiar enough to know that the same injury as his father’s, inflicted by the same person — it was Asgard’s king, it had to have been, there was no one else who would take these particular actions, and Alistair could only imagine what else had gone on between them here today — would strike him even more deeply mentally than it had physically.

This should not have happened.

His hand trembled minutely as he rested two fingers at the rim of Kaleb’s eye socket. Cool energy flowed from his fingertips to the injuries inside. Alistair had already used up most of his reserves of energy in battle, but it was simple enough to speed the clotting process along quickly enough to halt the bleeding from Kaleb’s eye. A blanket healing spell burnt any trace of infection away from the rest of his injuries, and stopped any internal bleeding. He couldn’t close all of Kaleb’s wounds on the spot, not now, not as drained as he was, but this would ensure that he wouldn’t bleed out on the battlefield.

He needed significantly more treatment than this, though.

“You would have to think me a fool to believe I would leave your side now. Calm yourself.

Are you able to tell me if you are injured severely anywhere else, or will I need to check myself?”

[kaleb]

His voice refused to die down. His shattered pride kept on screaming, as if that could change anything on this deplorable situation. His body kept shaking almost violently, and he was sure it wasn’t because of blood loss. The crushing weight of the humiliation he had gone through was finally sinking in, he was finally letting these words reach him and watch them rot his whole being faster than he predicted they would.

His mind would eventually go blank and then focus again, having trouble thinking straight - or even keeping himself conscious right now. Kaleb wanted to scream - not only because the pain of all his wounds was sufficient to make him pass out (and he couldn’t, then again he was not allowed to lose consciousness. The only time he could do so is when he died - and you can be sure he wished for death more than anything right now), but because…

… he kept talking even when his mentor’s eyes were on him (sufficient to make his whole body uncomfortable - as if he needed to cover his face once more - his shame - away from Alistair. It was filthy, and he did not need to see it. Alistair did not need to see such a disgrace, such a failure of a student such a failure of a human being such a worthless pathetic man)



- “I am… myself. I am not him.

I will never be like him. I will.

I am.

I…”

Asking Kaleb questions at this point was pointless, it seemed to be. As much as he wanted to keep focused on reality, his thoughts (or whatever there were of them, he was feeling so tired and he could simply close his eyes and let everything go for real) quickly racing to what was said to him.

He was always following the steps of his father - a disgusting mirror image of the man he always hated.

- “I thought I was better than him, always. Because I had you, because I knew what to do. But…

… but now I… what am I fighting for? Tell me, Alistair…”

“Do I really deserve such a thing?”, he wanted to ask. But he ended up just letting his voice die on his throat, his body finally losing strength and just learning forwards - which made him just lean against the other male, face wet with both blood and tears.

If there were other wounds on his body, he could not remember it.

- “I am fine… just tired.”

It was such an obvious lie that kept piling up on top of the other ones, head almost resting on the other’s shoulders.

- “After all this, I thought I’d be… a better person. Better than him.

Was I… fooling myself after all this time?”

… He knew very well how disappointed his mother would be. It was a question he already knew the answer for. Kaleb felt vulnerable and pathetic right now, but lacked strength to do anything about it.

- “… Who is there to be proud of me?”

[ryner]

Kaleb was a warm, shaking weight against his shoulder. Alistair wrapped his arms around the king almost automatically to steady him, and considered his options.

He could allow Kaleb to keep this up, to keep talking and crying and wearing himself down, and stay silent himself. Surely the younger man would pass out soon. Kaleb had been through too much today to keep his grip on consciousness for long. Alistair could simply wait for this fit to run its course.

…No. There wasn’t time to wait. Alistair was capable of infinite patience, but he still didn’t know the extent of Kaleb’s injuries, and the way Kaleb trembled in his arms did not bode well. Better to calm him now than to waste precious time on silence.

But there was little he could think to say in return. He had answers to none of the questions Kaleb asked, though he would acknowledge that to no one but himself. What Kaleb was fighting for… it seemed a preposterous thing to ask, but as absurd as it was, Alistair still couldn’t find a response.

It didn’t matter now. He would consider those answers later, if it became necessary. For now, allowing himself to be shaken in any way would only be counterproductive.



“…I am here.”

Whether it was a response to Kaleb’s last question or a statement of reassuring fact would have been hard for an outside observer to determine. Alistair had meant it as both. He spoke calmly, close to Kaleb’s ear, and pressed him closer with deliberate, measured gentleness.

“I am here, and I will not leave you. You fought well today, Kaleb. Rest.”

He felt Kaleb go limp against him. Good. Shifting his grip, Alistair maneuvered Kaleb until he was holding him properly, with one hand still supporting his back, and hooked an arm under his knees to pull them both up from the ground. The mangled armor dug uncomfortably into Alistair’s skin through his clothing as he carried Kaleb. He ignored it.

The trip to the Blackwood castle seemed almost unsettlingly uneventful compared to the last few hours. Alistair spent most of it monitoring Kaleb and turning away every offer of help — this was his responsibility, and he would handle it on his own. And even as exhausted he was, he was the one best equipped to care for Kaleb.

Alistair wasn’t certain of how much time had passed between their departure from the battlefield and now. It had to have been hours. Kaleb lay on his own bed where Alistair had placed him, stripped of his ruined armor and uniform and most of the blood and grime cleaned from his skin and hair. Most of his smaller injuries had already closed, and the deepest ones were bandaged thoroughly and healing as rapidly as possible under Alistair’s care. Excepting his eye, Kaleb would be physically fine.

Alistair still felt cold when he looked at that bandaged eye.

Despite his own weariness, he stayed at Kaleb’s side. It wasn’t significant. He could push himself farther than this if he had to, and watching over his king was what was important now.

He was watching closely enough to see the first signs of Kaleb stirring back to wakefulness, and he waited until Kaleb finally opened his eyes before he spoke quietly.



“Kaleb. How do you feel?”

[kaleb]

It was an ominous dream.
He couldn't do anything but watch as scenes quickly passed through him - things that he wanted to see again, and things that he wanted to forget. The imagery of the battlefield was still vivid (and he honestly didn't know if this was a dream or reality, after some time they started to blend together, Alistair's response fading and coming back quickly.

If he was there...
If Alistair arrived earlier, could he protect his teacher? Would he be able to save Alistair's life, or give his own to protect that man? There was no doubt in his heart that he'd do whatever it takes to ensure his teacher's safety.

- "..."

Although he was sure his mentor say otherwise, Alistair's life was so much more valuable than his. He could get another king, manipulate and force him to be exactly the way that he wanted. In a sense, Kaleb was no better and no more valuable than a tool. He feared being tossed aside, sure... but when met with such great failure, wouldn't the proper procedure be dispose of him? He was always a failure of king - imperfect in many, many ways.

Kaleb opened his eyes. His surroundings were familiar, but he wasn't on the battlefield anymore. Whatever happened to them...?
He was way too tired to think properly, but forced himself to fully wake up nonetheless. The first thing that he saw and heard was Alistair (so he was still safe - a part of him just sighed in relief), one weak arm grabbing the other's black coat, as if scared that Alistair would just disappear into thin air.
As if he'd turn his back on him because he failed.
Because he didn't win.



- "How did I... what happened out there?"

There was no room for Kaleb to worry about himself and his own situation right now. He never worried about what could happen to him, fulfilling his duty as a King until the end. If he broke or just died...

...

... he was an extremely replaceable tool. That's all.

- "... You are safe, but what happened?"

He was selfish, he knew it very well. Most of his worries revolved around Alistair - if he was fine, if he was still alive.
That is why he refused to let go of him, his grip on the male's clothes almost desperate.

[ryner]

It was an odd relief to see Kaleb conscious again.

"Do not concern yourself with me," he said, placing a hand over the one Kaleb used to cling to him, as if he meant to pull it away. "You are still recovering. Do not move more than necessary."

Perhaps it was best that Kaleb seemed to remember so little. The humiliation of it... Aaldenberg had surely done as much to Kaleb's psyche as he had to his body, to leave Kaleb so wholly shaken. And Alistair should have prevented it.

As much as he acted as an adviser for Kaleb, Alistair's true role was as the king's guardian, as a tool to defend Tartarus's most vital inhabitant. If either of them were to be so wounded, it should have been Alistair. He would rather have suffered this a dozen times over than allow himself to fail so completely in his duty to Kaleb.

Regret was pointless -- considering which incorrect actions had been taken and making corrections so that such failures would not occur again was vital, yes, but emotional distress over a wrong action was useless. Counterproductive, even. Alistair was not someone who wasted time on trivialities of emotion. But Kaleb had very nearly died. Alistair had failed in his duty, and his king had almost died because of it.

The tightness in his chest hadn't yet unknotted itself.



"There was a traitor in our ranks. Our movements and strategies were clearly known by the enemy well before the battle began, and our forces could not turn the tide of the battle. We were defeated. Earlier, I had traveled to a far point on the battlefield to hold off another wave of enemy forces, so I was not at your side... Aaldenberg attacked you directly. You were severely injured.

...I believe Aaldenberg took your eye.

I am the only one who knows of your actual condition. I removed you from the battlefield and returned you to your estate to treat your wounds. You have been sleeping for the last several hours, although I could not tell you exactly how long."

He studied Kaleb's expression carefully, although nothing showed in his own.

"How much of this do you remember?"

[kaleb]

He didn't really reply, flashbacks of the recent events unfolding inside his head. Ah, maybe he was just too tired to remember... or his body was blocking it out in order for Kaleb not to break down again. But that would not erase the crushing defeat they suffered, and that would not make his wounds any less real. The king refused to let go of the other male, his grip weakening just to firmly hold Alistair's hand.

- "...I'm not making any unnecessary movements. This isn't unnecessary. But..."



His free hand was raised to where his eye was, softly touching the bandages. It was an extremely weird feeling, knowing that there was nothing behind it... although he sensed that he could still feel it sometimes. The weight of the loss seemed to lessen with Alistair by his side.
It was such a selfish thing to do and such a selfish thing to think, wasn't it?

- "I remember most of it now. It is still hazy, as if my own body refuses to remember. But it is pointless for me to ignore this situation.
... You should probably rest. Knowing you, you refused to sleep to look over me and take care of my wounds. You did not sleep since then."

... He was clearly worried about him. There was absolutely no reason to hide that now, his hand still holding Alistair's as if he could still remember what he said before initially passing out. There was a chance he said that completely out of obligation, there was a chance he did this just because it is his job. But he appreciated it the same way... it was a comforting scenario in the midst of the despair that seemed to want to bring him down again.

The more he thought about it, the clearer Tière's speech seemed to be.
His words, what was said to him... started to become real.
But when he was holding his teacher's hand like that... the thoughts seemed to hold back a bit.
He was grateful for that.

[ryner]

He did not return Kaleb’s grip, but he didn’t pull away, either. Alistair remained still, seated beside the bed, and made no move to leave.

Kaleb was calm now, at least. Alistair had been concerned that the panic from the battlefield would set in again, once he remembered what had happened, but it seemed that worry had been unnecessary. That was good; Kaleb’s recovery would go more smoothly if he did not overexert himself. His memory loss seemed to have been due to tiredness and confusion rather than genuine amnesia, as well, making trauma somewhat less likely.

Alistair wondered, silently, how much of whatever Aaldenberg had said to Kaleb was remembered.



"I am fine. I would be remiss in my duty if I were to leave now.”

Truly, he was fine. No weariness showed in his face or voice to tell otherwise. He had taken no serious injuries during the battle, other than those to his pride. Even if he had been injured, there was no reason for Kaleb to waste limited energy on concern for him, and no reason for Alistair to attend to himself when Kaleb was still in the early stages of recuperation.

"...as I have already been. I am sorry. I owe you greater service than I gave today. I should have been at your side.”

Of course, it wasn't unlikely that Kaleb would claim the opposite. But that changed nothing about the truth of the situation.

[kaleb]

It would not do him well to lose control here. He was holding back, holding back on the memories of the incident and whatever was out there to get him. If he broke down here, not only would he make his adviser more concerned but would also bring the same familiar speech back up. The same judging gaze, one that said how weak he was for breaking down, for allowing himself to have feelings and to be completely broken by the enemy.

Ah, how pathetic could he be...? Once again, he tried to distract himself by dealing with the situation closer to him.



- "You have not failed me. You have never failed me, Alistair... and I am fairly sure you know that. What happened today was my fault, and my fault only. I should have known this battle was going strangely from the start, and suspected of a spy near us.
What you did was nothing more than fulfilling your role, and I presented you with horrible results.
... You should not apologize."

If he took the blame upon himself, it would be easier. He could not deal with Alistair feeling this way about him - these black feelings that seemed to happily settle deep down his brain.
He still refused to break down while his teacher was still looking at him.

- "I am glad that you are still alive, so do not apologize to me. You have nothing to feel sorry for.
... As I said, if anyone is wrong here, it is me. It is not how a King should behave, and no ruler should suffer such a disgusting defeat... much less let you watch it.
Please rest. I will be alright."

... Maybe because probably he needed Alistair to be far away. Not because he was uncomfortable near him, but for the sole reason that he could not let his feelings out while under that cold gaze.
Alistair's eyes seemed to be filled with something else now. Kaleb could only wonder if it was something near pity, or if his teacher did not even notice how his frozen face started showing signs of concern towards him. The more Kaleb himself realized that, the more he thought he was not worth it, these feelings of self hatred boiling inside him with a disgustingly high intensity.

- "... Please. It will do you no good to take care of me if you don't take care of yourself first."

[ryner]

It was laughable. Of course Alistair was responsible. Kaleb's insistence otherwise could have been endearing, to another person, but it was nothing more than irritating... no, perhaps frustrating to Alistair. He had taught Kaleb to take full responsibility for the king's own failings, just as he himself had been taught. That in no way meant that Kaleb was meant to take responsibility for the mistakes of others. For Alistair's failures.

...that was not entirely true. A king was accountable for his subordinates' actions. Whether it be a failure in battle or in policy, a leader was responsible for ensuring that he trusted only those worthy, and his judgement was at fault when those he trusted failed. A commander was responsible for obtaining accurate information about the enemy, and ultimately for his his army's victory or defeat.

In any other situation, Alistair would expected Kaleb to adhere to these ideas, and accepted Kaleb's words as a correct response. But he still believed strongly that in this, Kaleb was wrong.

The contradiction in his reasoning was not lost on him.



It was clear from his expression that he disagreed with Kaleb, but he didn't reply aloud. Instead, he extricated himself from Kaleb's grasp and stood, gazing down at him with the same chilly eyes.

"I will rest, but expect my return shortly."

There were rooms in this wing of the castle that he would be able to stay in for now, preferably those closest to Kaleb's own quarters. Alistair had no intention of returning to his own estate simply to sleep.

He was nearly at the door when he paused and turned back to look at Kaleb.

"...do not let your misplaced concern for me take priority over your own health. Call for me if you need me."

[kaleb]

- "Ah..."

It was a strange sensation. As if he was losing something... as if he could not understand what kind of expressions his teacher was making. The fact that he knew Alistair so well, and never once the feeling between them reached this point.
Never once Alistair seemed to react so negatively over what he had said several times. It was Kaleb's responsibility, this much he had been taught. But the other male seemed to disregard his own teachings for a reason the king could not exactly know why.
It made his chest hurt.
He had been able to keep these feelings locked away, suppressed for so many years. Kaleb knew this was a pointless battle, one that he had lost before he even started. At some point, he simply accepted his position as a pawn, as a toy to be manipulated. As long as he could be with Alistair, that'd be enough. He had no need for anything else.
Kaleb could play and dance to his teacher's tunes as long as the company was offered to him. He was fine being whatever Alistair wanted him to be, knowing that he had no future otherwise. As someone who was just supposed to be left to rot alone, having no one to cling to... his warped admiration for Alistair turned into something else. Something...

- "...Please, wait."

Attempts to make his feelings clear to this man had been made. Several times, even. With each followed a greater deception, a bigger gap forming between them. Would there be a time where... Alistair would simply find no more use to Kaleb?
Thoughts like that insisted on reappearing, based on his odd behavior.
It would be just a repetition of feelings that were already clear.
If he wanted to dispose him, having failed as a King... that'd be fine.
That'd be just fine.

- "I have... something I'd like you to hear."

Something foolish. Something Alistair had no reason to care about, no reason to... but it was threatening to strangle him, that weird feeling of something wrapping up on his throat and clouding his judgement. If he died back then, perhaps it'd have been better.



- "I am... a foolish student."

How could he word it? He'd always remember when he first said this to him,only to be punished in order for such feelings to disappear immediately.

- "After all this time... I was scared. Not because I would die.
Not because I could die there, not because of the humiliation that I went through.

I was scared that you'd meet me in such a state and reject me. If such a thing happened, I...
... I would not know what to do. If, on that moment..."

He seemed to stop what he wanted to say, closing his eyes before looking down at his bed. The scenes of the battle were much more vivid on his mind now, along with the strong feeling of failure that seemed to pull him down even more.
It was a harsh defeat.
No, more than that... he had lost something he could never replace.

- "I'm horrified with the idea of losing you. I wanted you to find me, to know that you were alive... but I was shaking with fear with the idea of you looking down on me.
I was afraid of failing you like I did. That was my greatest fear. I was afraid of the punishment, I was scared just by daring to think of your reactions...

... but you comforted me."

He wanted to cry. Kaleb knew that Alistair did that to shut up, but he could not exactly forget what had been said to him.

- "I... to be honest, I don't know what I want to do anymore. I am not scared of dying."

It was something he longed for since a long time ago.

- "...But I am scared of losing something that I love. Do you understand?
I tried many, many times to not let you become my weakness. To not let these feelings get the best out of me, as you have said more than once. But I...
... It's not something I think I can do. I have felt like this for a long, long time.
I am not suited to be your King."

... He swallowed before speaking, feeling his throat tighten again.

- "... Because I love you. Because I have such strong feelings for you - because I always had such strong feelings for you, I have always allowed you to do as you pleased with me.
I was satisfied with that.
I would gladly give up my own life, I would gladly give up on everything if that meant making you happy, Alistair.
But this is... not something I believe I can give up on.

These pathetic feelings of mine towards you. I wanted to make them clear once more. Because I believe that... had you not appeared back then, had you not stayed by my side...."

He opened his mouth again, as if trying to finish this sentence. '...I'd rather have died', that is.
... But he already said too much.

- "...No. I'm sorry. You should go.
I'm sorry. Forget what I said. It's... not that important."

[ryner]

"...But I am scared of losing something that I love. Do you understand?”

He did not. There were no circumstances under which Alistair would accept losing Kaleb, but it had nothing to do with love. Kaleb was his king. It was natural -- it was necessary -- for the king’s second to put the king’s safety and the kingdom’s well-being above his own life. It was his duty.

Kaleb, though... this kind of confession from him was nothing new. It was a confusion of his respect for Alistair as a teacher with romantic feelings, and was something Alistair had always very strongly discouraged. A king could not be attached to anyone. He must be perfect in his isolation, without weak points that could be taken advantage of. And as much as Alistair had worked against that himself over the years, cultivating what positive regard Kaleb had for him in order to manipulate him further, he was beginning to understand that he had never realized the extent of Kaleb’s feelings.

Those feelings for him could have led to Kaleb’s death.



Emotions were not part of Alistair’s life. He felt nothing for others and did not care what others felt for him, unless it posed a threat or obstacle. The Cantorixes did not succumb to anything as petty as what Kaleb was describing now. Alistair did not succumb to anything like this.

He could not remember the last time he felt something other than fear, dissatisfaction, or anger. Even the first was confined almost entirely to the early years of his childhood, when he hadn't yet learned to maintain the eternally cold state that he existed in now. But now, he...

...no, it was nothing more than a moment of confusion, colored by the day’s events. A moment of surprise. He had thought Kaleb beyond this, by now. Kaleb's confession was nothing noteworthy. It was merely a disappointment, and that disappointment was overlapping with his concern for Kaleb’s safety.

There was no reason for Alistair to lose his composure over this.

But he had, to some small extent. He wanted to push that sensation aside, to not acknowledge it, as irrational an idea as that was, but it wasn't simple disappointment. He was the slightest bit unnerved, now. Kaleb would die for him, something that Alistair would never allow. Kaleb loved him. He had willingly allowed Alistair to manipulate him. He was not suited to be Alistair's king... they were all foolish things to say, but the last one was the most absurd of all.



"...You are confused," he said, after a few moments of silence. "You were wounded severely today. I will not hold a delirious or concussed episode against you under these circumstances."

Alistair knew that Kaleb was fine, physically. He had made sure of that. Kaleb had no concussion and was not feverish, and he didn’t seem to be otherwise infirm, besides the injuries he was still recovering from.

He was not ill. He was being honest.

Kaleb was... being very foolish, as he had said.

[kaleb]

- "...Yes, perhaps I am."

He knew he was not. But nothing would come from that, and to be honest he had no idea why he even tried. It was a futile idea, it never brought anything good and never would.
These feelings were not meant to be, it was proven time and time again.

These feelings, the stupid idea that he would someday understand. That he...



- "Perhaps I'm still too disturbed by what happened, and I am not saying anything that makes sense."

He wanted to scream. But just decided to avoid looking at Alistair and looking at his own hands tightly grasping the bed sheets, knowing he was saying absurd lies in order to force yourself to admit Alistair's words as the truth.
It was difficult.

Getting rid of those feelings was always a difficult, impossible task. He could feel himself tearing up, the stress from the battle still present and the panic from the humiliation that refused to settle down. Opening his mouth, his lips quivering before he tried to speak again.

There was nothing.

- "........"

There was nothing as he cried in silence, head slowly hanging down as if ashamed of himself for showing such a stupid display of emotions to Alistair so many times.
Maybe he was right.

Perhaps he was right.
Right.
Right right right. Right...

... That his words were just the product of today's wounds.

????

It'd be better if he just died.

- "...Go rest."

His voice came by weak, almost trembling. It'd be best if he avoided trying to speak.
It'd be best if he avoided trying to speak. It'd be best if he avoided trying to think.

It'd be better if he...

[ryner]

...There was no pressing reason to reach out to Kaleb. He wasn't panicking and on the verge of death, like he'd been before, when Alistair had held him on the battlefield. Alistair was not someone to provide emotional support when it wasn't absolutely vital.

There was no emotion in his voice when he spoke.



"...Rest as well, Your Majesty."

Alistair turned to the door. This time, he didn't pause there, instead closing it silently behind him; he lingered outside with his hand still on the knob for only a moment before letting go.

He did not want to comfort Kaleb. The concept of "comfort" was foreign to Alistair to begin with. No, he didn't desire anything as meaningless as stopping Kaleb's tears. But something cold and leaden had settled in the pit of his stomach, and every moment he spent with the image of Kaleb's face in his mind -- trembling, wet with tears -- it seemed to grow heavier.

Ridiculous. He could not linger on this. It would do him no good. It would do his King no good. Indulging Kaleb's weakness would only lead him to believe that it was acceptable, and he would grow weaker, less capable of ruling Tartarus. There was no point in even considering it.

Had Alistair ever spent so much time ordering his thoughts like this? This day had been strange, yes, but not strange enough to warrant so much time spent simply sorting one thought from another, or reminding himself of what he was meant to be feeling. He told himself, again, that he was only disappointed in Kaleb. That it was nothing more. (He should not have to remind himself of these things, and this, too, was something he knew well.)

Alistair was not used to second-guessing himself like this under any circumstance. When he made a decision, it was final, and he did not doubt himself, ever-confident in his own judgement and skill. He was a Cantorix, after all. He was above doubt.

He made his way to an empty room along the hallway, and did not look back at Kaleb's door.

[kaleb]

It was only when the room was fully silent again that he started to feel weary. He had seen the door closing, Alistair leaving his room with an unsettling lack of words, the only ones that left his mouth settling with bitterness on his brain.
He was alone again. He was forced to swallow his own words, his own confession, his own feelings. Well, it wasn't the first time. But now that left him extremely tired.

- ".........."

Perhaps it was just the events of the day catching up to him. Whatever rest he had was followed by disturbing dreams, so that... didn't classify as rest at all, right? Hopefully that was the same reason why he was feeling increasingly irritated, black feelings inside of him furiously getting to a boiling point.
Would he be able to keep his screams bottled in this time, or was the way his hands were still shaking, how he could feel his whole body hot with pure rage telling otherwise?

No. Calm down. Nothing good will come if you get irritated, today was a long day, and you lost. You lost important things, and you are just irritated because---

 "You are confused." 

The sound of a nearby vase violently hitting the door where Alistair just exited from was heard, cringing his teeth as tightly as he could. The small pieces hitting the ground, water spilling from its broken container and Kaleb could only watch it in complete silence. These feelings swirling inside his mind seemed to finally take control over him, the violent outburst being the clear result of his destructive thoughts now.
He seemed to talk - yell - at someone who wasn't there are all.



- "Do you really think I am confused" -Kaleb wasn't sure on how he could raise his voice so much, it seemed that the simple act of talking was wearing him down... or was this all product of a decade of lying to himself about how he felt about a single person? Wouldn't it be better if he died there, then- "are you honest when you say that this is... that you..."

His voice once again seemed to die down. It was, however, substituted with desperate laughter. He laughed. For what it seemed to be a full minute, before it turned to the scream he was holding in. This one lasted longer, still refusing to lie down. Kaleb seemed to force himself out of bed while still under that wave of hysteria, the scream that refused to die on his throat now accompanied by the sound of more objects crashing and breaking on the floor.
He couldn't bear to see his own face in the mirror, such a sight only making he feel even more desolate... and desperate. He did not pay any mind to the fact that his wounds could be reopening, or that he was severely injured - the strength that he mustered to get out of bed and the one applied to completely destroy his room were fruit of feelings that were constantly being piled up. An extra reserve, kind of. One that he was absolutely sure it'd never see the light of the day.

But now here he was, mostly breathless but screaming immediately after he had the chance to inhale, shards hurting his naked feet, bleeding all over the floor. He did not care for that either.
Finally, the scream was substituted with a plea for death. 'Let me die' or 'Kill me' were all he could say, knowing that his grasp on his own sanity was lost a long time ago.

If he could stop breathing right now, it'd be fine.
It'd be best if he really could stop breathing right now.
... His face was so wet, but he did not recall crying. He couldn't recall the last time he ever truly felt anything that wasn't shrouded by this veil of self-hatred and rage.

--

Kaleb had no recollection of what happened after that, finding himself back on his bed (maybe he collapsed on the floor?) and did not give his room a second glance. No, he did not even open his eyes. He could feel a familiar presence, a presence that he honestly wish it wasn't there, and that was why he did not say anything. Nor he bothered actually showing that he was awake.
There wasn't anything he could do anyway, confined to this bed.

On that note, he was never allowed to do anything at all.

[ryner]

The first crash came as Alistair stepped into his room. The yelling came after he closed the door. He'd chosen this room because it was close enough to Kaleb's that he would be able to hear Kaleb's voice if he was called for; now he knew it was the correct choice. He could hear Kaleb yelling clearly. No, he could hear Kaleb yelling at him clearly.

There was no reason to return to the room to attempt to calm him. Kaleb would wear himself out, just as he had done on the battlefield. His tantrums had been going on for years, ever since he had come to Alistair as a boy, and the outbursts remained as childish as they always had. They ran their course after a time. That was all that this was.

Alistair remained standing in the doorway, staring at the far wall in silence.

Laughter was bubbling up from the other room, followed by a scream. Alistair still didn't move. He would have to check on Kaleb soon; his king had injured himself in fits of emotion in the past, and throwing glassware would not help Kaleb's wounds. But it would not be wise to stop him in the middle of this. He'd done it in the past, when Kaleb had injured himself more... aggressively. He had been forced to, then. He did not intend to do so now.

He waited for the noise to cease, and returned to Kaleb's room.



Glass crunched under his heels when he stepped inside. Kaleb must have thrown something at the door, as well, for the glass to land just inside it. Alistair moved aside from the glass and surveyed the room.

Kaleb was unconscious on the floor. His feet were bloody from the shards surrounding him -- glass, porcelain, and what looked like fragments of mirror, everything breakable within reach -- and his face was more heavily tear-streaked than before. The young king looked tired, even in his sleep. If this could be called sleep.

For the second time that day, Alistair washed Kaleb's skin clean of blood, treated his wounds, wiped sweat and tears from his face, and laid him in his bed. The shards took longer to clean up. He sat in the same chair he'd stayed in while he waited for Kaleb to regain consciousness after the battle, and waited again in silence for Kaleb to awaken.

It gave him more time to think than he would have liked. And, lost in thought, it took him longer than it should have to realize that the rhythm of Kaleb's breathing had changed subtly. He was awake, but not interested in showing it. That was fine. Kaleb did not need to open his eyes for Alistair to speak to him.

"That was quite a foolish display," he said, calmly. "If you intend to injure yourself again during your recovery, I will be forced to do something more than simply sleeping down the hall."

Kaleb didn't respond. Even after he slipped back into sleep, Alistair sat beside him in silence for the rest of the night.

------

It had been five days since the battle, and Alistair was losing patience. Kaleb's body had needed the rest desperately, so Alistair had been willing to allow his stubborn refusal to speak so long as Kaleb stayed in bed. But there was only so much Alistair could do to check Kaleb's condition without asking the king himself. Not only that, but... he had not spoken with Kaleb since his fit days earlier. Alistair was not worried, but he was well aware that Kaleb could work himself into a mental frenzy over such things, and it would not do to have his recovery delayed because of it.

He stood at Kaleb's bedside, gazing down at his still figure, almost certain that he was awake again.

"You have slept quite enough, Kaleb."

No reaction.

"Your Majesty," Alistair said, "Do not disgrace yourself and your crown by acting like a child."

Again, there was no response. The faint hitch in Kaleb's breath told Alistair that he was indeed awake, and merely ignoring his adviser once again.

"Continue this infantile behavior, then." An uncharacteristically sharp tone crept into his voice as he reached for the first subject that came to mind, one he knew Kaleb would always react to. "I suppose your father would be proud that you've chosen to follow in his irresponsible footsteps."

[kaleb]

He could feel himself drifting away, then slowly coming back... Kaleb lost track of time. Hours and minutes seemed to merge with days, both his stubbornness and tired body agreeing that ignoring Alistair's existence was the best for now.
He'd sometimes wake up and stare at his empty room, making no effort to get up and simply let his body feel like it's sinking into the bed. It was a waste to make any attempts of leaving this place, or... trying to talk with him.

It was difficult. He could always feel when Alistair entered the room and he was still pretending to be asleep, he could always sense him sitting right by his side and leaving when it was late enough for him to rest.

It was difficult for him to ignore Alistair that way, but a stubborn part of him could not accept what happened days ago. To dismiss his feelings, dismiss how worried and desperate he was that way... for way too long Kaleb kept telling himself that there was still a part of Alistair that cared.
He found out that this was incredibly hard to believe in now.

This was leaving the young king with too much free time. Usually he'd just distract himself with paperwork or training, or whatever was available to him that moment. Working makes you take your mind off what is haunting you, and being confined to that bed was anything but pleasant. He had too much time to think, and too much time to dream... even if his own dreams would find a way to turn themselves into nightmares, waking him up at odd hours shaking and sweating. Still... he had no motivation to scream.

He had no motivation to make a single sound.
If he could rot away on that place, it'd be just fine. If he could sleep forever, it'd be just fine.
To not open his eyes ever again. To not face reality ever again.

All of those. They were just fine. But he was still alive, to protect and to fight for a country he never loved or ever truly cared for. He was still alive, he still had his role as a king... and that only meant that he'd have to stand up and fight once again. That only meant that he was not allowed to die.
... That only meant that Alistair did not allow him to kill himself.

The sound of the door clicking open made Kaleb halt his thoughts, closing his eyes and pretending he was asleep. Pretending, just like a kid who refused to go somewhere that he did not like.

Like the previous days, Alistair attempted to talk. And like the previus days, all that he received was silence. Kaleb was fully aware of how childish this act was, and how it'd only hurt himself in the end. This was only delaying his treatment, this was only making things worse. He knew that very well.

... Still, he could not stop feeling like someone was repeatedly stomping on whatever was left of his heart and soul whenever Alistair was close to him.


It was only when his father was mentioned that he opened his eyes, rage swirling inside his body and threatening to spill out like venom.
This was not only a blow to his dignity, but something he never thought Alistair would be capable of.
Of all people, he honestly believed Alistair would be the one who would always act in a respectful manner about this issue. To insult him that way was...
... was...

...

... Kaleb found himself not being able to restrain his own words as they left his lips.



- "... Perhaps my father would be proud that I am just like him now. Perhaps my father would not call me his pathetic son if he had the opportunity to look at me now, resembling him not only physically but in every action I take."

He did not make any move to sit down, but Kaleb insisted on maintaining eye contact with his guardian.

- "...Or perhaps he would be satisfied with himself? That he ditched you all to begin with. So he wouldn't end like this.
So he wouldn't end like his pathetic son, who was never meant to be anything. His pathetic son, who could not do anything without relying on someone else for support.
... I guess it doesn't mind for you anymore, you simply did what was asked of you. And perhaps a bit more, perhaps you indulged yourself a bit?"

Pause.

- "...I am not proud of myself, however.
I have never been.
I am not him. I dedicated my entire life trying not to be like him.


...
But sometimes I think I cannot escape from the fact that everyone thinks I am.
...
Alistair."

... How many times did he want to cry? And was he crying now? He honestly felt so numb...

- "... I am so tired of this. I don't think I can hold on much longer."