Difference between revisions of "Logs:Filial"

The grip winter had on the north hadn't lessened its hold since turnover, but brutal, snowy winds had whipped the Tillek countryside, leaving some roads icy and others blocked by large snowdrifts. That left dragons and their accommodating riders the duty of delivery, transport, and message running between areas. High Reaches' oldest class of weyrlings were suited to the simpler tasks, on top of shadowing, and that was how V'ros found himself in familiar territory. His delivery route took him nearby his old stomping grounds - his father's minor Hold along the northern outskirts of Tillek. He had resisted the temptation but until that point, heeding his brother's warning to stay away; the familiar desire pulled at his heartstrings.

Zmeyth latched onto the feeling, burrowing deep within the old worry. « We can go anywhere. They will open their doors to us. » He was confident, assured, not in the least worried like his rider was. His course immediately veered from their southerly track, bringing them overtop the box-shaped fortress of Winter Ridge.

Zmeyth, I don't know.

« Trust me, » he whispered in the recessed corners where V'ros hid his dark, swirling fears of inadequacy and failure.

Clouds whipped past as they descended, aiming for the overgrown courtyard where V'ros had played with his brothers as a child. Weeds had broken through the antiquated masonry, poking up through the fresh layer of snow. Bleats from the Hold's livestock echoed in the background, drawing the brown's attention from his rider's chaotic, ungraceful descent to the stones, where his boots struck with a hollow thud. No one came out to greet them; if it wasn't for a drudge scuttling through the nearby overhang, it would appear no one was in residence.

Wind whistled through the unkempt archway to his left, but V'ros' gaze went up.. and up.. to the second story windows showing only darkness beyond their borders. He would try to mentally steel himself as best he could. Conversations with Sterne were never easy, and usually, he'd leave with some kind of injury - physical and psychological. They waged war, one brother against the other, while Rix and Han stood by in mute appreciation.

His stride wasn't as purposeful as it usually would be, his fingers fidgeting with the buttons on his jacket as he stepped into the main hall. It was warm from the fire flickering weakly in the hearth along the wall. Shadows played all of the walls from the bulky furniture here and there. Again, no one came out to greet him. He thought, briefly, that he was dreaming.

"Roz," said a familiar voice on the opposite side of the hall.

V'ros' gaze flew to his brother's face. Valrix stood there looking hale and hearty, but wearing a disconcerted expression that looked so similar to his brownriding brother's. It could have been the shape of the jaw or the pale lips, perhaps the frown itself.

"You should go home." His words, while spoken softly, carried the edge of a warning.

"Where.. where is everyone?"

A one-shouldered shrug answered his question. "Most able hands are airing out the rooms. They're hosting an event for Sterne's betrothed.." His words petered off and his made a pained grimace, as if he had spoken too much; they both knew he had. Two sets of brown eyes met - one shocked, one worried.

"I want to speak to him."

"You know that is a terrible fucking idea and I don't need to tell you why."

"I need to, Rix, just.." V'ros splayed his hands in a beseeching gesture. Help. He needed help.

"I am not going to stop him if he goes off."

"You never have," V'ros mumbled, dropping his eyes.

"He is in his rooms, but Roz--"

V'ros had already taken steps towards the stairway. "Yeah?" His hand rested on the banister as he glanced back at Valrix.

"Don't get yourself killed." One last warning, an attempt at a smile, and he turned on his heel, disappearing from the hallway he had come from. He was smart to stay well away.

Warning bells kept going off in his head. It wasn't Zmeyth's doing this time. This was going to end badly, V'ros already knew, but he had to get it out. He had to confront his brother. Perhaps.. he could mend the broken fences, this time. Perhaps.. he could gain his respect once and for all.

He started up the steps, taking them two at a time, until he got to the landing. A hallway branched off in two directions in front of him, but murky sunlight filtered in through the thrown-wide windows, illuminating the interior. Just four doors down, Sterne's study door was ajar, letting the voices within filter out.

V'ros couldn't make out exactly what they were talking about, but he caught bits and words.

"... now.."

"... fix... fucking idiot.."

"..don't care.. if you... pull.."

His brow furrowed as he stepped closer to the door. He was in the process of reaching out to open it further when the voices abruptly stopped and the door was flung wide. Sterne stood in the opening, his face a mask of fury.

"It is about time you found your way back. You always did, like the pathetic beggar you are."

Sterne blocked the whole opening, and V'ros couldn't see who was inside. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. His brother was tall and slim, wearing clothing that befit his station in life, and at such contrast to the brownrider that he felt, suddenly, as if he really did look the beggar part - sweaty, grimy from deliveries all over the area, dressed in basic brown leathers that had seen better days.

"Sterne. Good to.. see you. I was just.."

"Stop stuttering and fucking speak," Sterne sneered.

"I wanted to talk to you." V'ros tried to hold his brother's gaze steadily, but his eyes fell. His confidence lacking.

"The dull-witted bastard wants to speak to me?" Stern laughed, not lifting his eyes from his younger brother. "I don't have time to spare on you."

"I don't need long." He shifted uncomfortably.

Sterne continued to stare at his brother's bent head. He turned to motion for someone to leave the room, someone V'ros didn't see except the polished leather boots as he hurried away. "Come in."

V'ros looked up, startled, but without waiting, shuffled into the immaculate study.

Blue and gold patterned chairs were positioned around a large square coffee table; books and gilded trays occupied the top, along with a map of the Hold's surrounding lands with points marked with pins. More books filled the shelves that lined three of the four walls, and the fourth was taken up by a massive set of windows. An oversized desk in front of the windows broke up the circle of chairs, loaded with hides and other knick-knacks. Sterne situated himself against the front of the desk, one leg crossed over the other, his dark eyes staring to his brother's face. "So talk."

"I wanted to see if we could.." He paused, settling a hand on the top of one of the chairs. "..come to terms. Become friends.." - family.

Sterne laughed.. and laughed.. and laughed.

V'ros blinked, frowning. What was so funny?

"Who the fuck do you think I am? How long have you known me? I have hated you ever since they showed me your face, wrapped up in that blanket, wailing your head off. I knew you weren't one of us. You could never be one of us." Sterne crossed his arms over his chest, smirking.

"We are brothers. How am I different?"

"Oh, we are most certainly not brothers. You think I could share any blood with you?" Sterne's voice increased in volume until he was screaming. His voice echoing down the hallway. "Look at you!" He ended with another laugh, this one dark and mirthless.

"What.. what do you mean? We are brothers, Sterne, you can't erase that," V'ros said quietly, cowed beneath his brother's outburst.

Sterne quieted down enough to give the weyrling a long, hard look; his thoughts unfathomable. When he chose to speak again, it was a hard undertone. "You are not my brother. You doubtless have other siblings out there, but they do not live here." He relished the distraught expression on V'ros' face, his smirk growing in proportion. "You are a bastard, Roz, but you are not our bastard."

V'ros threw his hands up to cover his ears, his thoughts in a panic. This wasn't right. All of it was wrong. What did he even mean? He was lying. Sterne just wanted him to suffer. There was no way. Valdor was his father and that made Stern, Rix, and Han his brothers. Who else could his father be? His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Zmeyth chose to stay silent, but fed into the chaos as a static buzz, his smoke held at bay.

"You're.. you're lying," V'ros accused, hysterically, letting his hands fall from his ears to grip the chair back hard, until his knuckles were white. "You're lying," he said through clenched teeth, drops of perspiration popping out on his forehead.

Tension pulsated through the room between the two men.

"You." Sterne pushed away from the desk, stalking towards the brownrider, his face twisted with anger and some blacker emotion. "Are not." His voice was rising again, strained against the urge to scream full force. "My brother!" He stopped inches away from V'ros, letting go of all his restraint to shriek the last word at the top of his lungs. His breath was coming in ragged and quick, his hands shaking with the force of his own rage.

V'ros' hands were shaking too, but from another emotion. "I don't.. believe you." He was stuck to the spot, unable to move, pinioned by his own fear. All Sterne had to do was swing his fist and V'ros would be within range to hit. He would be too crippled by his own panic to react.

"My father's whore of a sister," Stern snarled, "took to bed with a nameless trader." V'ros shook his head, his eyes widening with upward surging panic; it threatened to drown him and black out his world. He didn't even worry about passing out in front of his brother - his cousin? "You are her bastard. No blood of mine that I claim." He took another step closer, balling up a fist in the younger man's jacket and jerking him forward so their noses nearly touched. Close enough that when he spoke, spittle flew into V'ros' face form the sheer force of the words. "You are nothing. You are no one."

V'ros was consumed by Sterne's words, his world falling away until he was clutching at the chair to stay upright, and didn't make a single move to disengage from the holder. This stranger who had him by the front of his leathers. Blackness was rising up to meet him, a blissful coldness that would take him under.

« Don't, » Zmeyth breathed in his mind, tugging him back, becoming his anchor. « I took responsibility for you. You're mine. » His smoke was a comforting relief. « You're going to let him tell you what to do? » A snort, of disgust. « Show him what we're made of. You and I. »

One minute he was being sucked into oblivion and the chasm of panic, and the next, he could breathe again, felt the lifting of the weight from his chest. His eyes shifted and locked with Sterne's, seeing the burning hate there. "No."

Sterne gave him a solid shake, just before V'ros' hands came up to grip into his, prying them away from his jacket. His grip as stronger, bolstered by the exercises from weyrlinghood, while the holder's were soft and white, unused to anything but leisurely purposes. They fell away as V'ros took in a breath, took a step back.

"What do you mean no?" Sterne growled, starting to move forward threateningly again.

"No means no," V'ros said quietly, starting to fill his lungs with deep, calming breaths, alleviating the anxiety one exhale at a time. Everything became clearer. Stronger.

"What did you say to me?" Another shout, ripped right from Sterne's throat as he stared menacingly.

"This is the third time, Sterne. No." V'ros met the stare with less trepidation, holding his ground with his hands fisted at his sides. "I'm not no body. I'm not nothing." His shoulders straightened as he clipped out his answer. "I'm V'ros now. I'm a dragonrider. I'm Zmeyth's. I'm one of High Reaches' own. I may have been.." He faltered for a second, but sucked in a breath and persevered. "..just a bastard before, just a useless person, but this is how it is now. Try to remember that."

Disbelief flashed over Sterne's face. It cleared quickly, replaced by his ever-present hate, his face forcing itself up close to V'ros' again. "You suddenly have fucking balls because you got a dragon? You think you are high and mighty now?" He laughed, again. "You are and will always be nothing. What is a dragonrider to the world? You live and die, on standby for something that doesn't exist anymore. No one will remember you. You will just be another on of them," he spit out, giving the weyrling's shoulder a shove. "Remember that. Now, get the fuck out, and if you come back I will make this known to your Weyrleader myself."

V'ros ground his teeth, but remained silent. His only response to the threat was to turn and leave.

He left behind his brother. He left behind the lies and taunts. He left behind the futility engrained in the very walls of the Hold.

When he finally got to Zmeyth, he pulled himself up into the straps without a word, neither internal nor external. He buckled everything by rote, sliding on his helmet and goggles without thinking about it.

Go.

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Home.