#Amras the bloodstained scholar

[miquellathekindone]

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory

[whenbonestellhistory]

It was unexpected when Trina had visited him outside of the dream for the second time.

There they were, opening the door of his room without knocking much like they did when he was gutting a deer.

He’s clean this time, dressed for the spring in light colored clothes with simple patterns that depicted geometric shapes and flowers, sitting on his own bed without a worry as he acknowledged their presence.

“I didn’t expect you to barge in again today, would you like to do something?” He asked, a small smile gracing his lips, also realizing he grew accustomed to their presence rather quickly.

He never really understood why they seek him out specifically, but he’s not complaining; if anything, he adored the attention either Trina or Miquella provided him with as neither of them intended to use him for anything.

Encounters with Trina were rarer, though. And so he intended to treasure whatever time Trina spares for him for the day.

@thesleepdeity

[whenbonestellhistory]

Amras happily entered the world of slumber, eager to meet his friend once more. In his hands he carried flowers from Jarburg just as he promised he would, gentle pinks and pastels in his grasp as he once again found himself in the field.

Strange, it is still night time, and there is no Miquella to be seen. Had he gone out perhaps? No, that wouldn’t be possible, he thought, as the Empyrean would be the very person he would first see every time he visited.

He stood and wondered what could have changed, then he took notice of the faint chiming of the lilies, and the person who he assumed to be a corpse just a few steps ahead of him.

Oh dear.

“Oh… hello. I did not expect you to be alive.” He gave a small wave and a smile, hopefully they would not remember him having poked their cheek— on the second thought, perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut instead.

Warmth.

That was what the deity felt, slowly awakening their muscles from the lethargy into which they had fallen some time ago. Their chest heaved with the first breath, filling their lungs with the scent of the lilies that surrounded them. It was like a newborn opening their eyes to the world, watching the first person who would take care of them for years to come.

However, Saint Trina only saw the stars in the sky. Those that Miquella the Kind had hand-stitched for the travelers. Slowly, each of their fingers also began to respond.

"...Mhm?"

The stars shone with a special strength. The deity raised a hand in an attempt to reach them, though lying in the patch of lilies next to the Lord's Keep, it was difficult to do so. It was strange. It was strange to go back to... breathing.

Then, they realized.

Their fingers were entwined around lilies that had not been there the last time they closed their eyes, the color of the stems and petals shimmering in the moonlight and making them seem ethereal and ghostly. A small murmur left their lips and the petals shimmered once more before emitting a chime-like sound, responding to the touch and the words.

@whenbonestellhistory

[whenbonestellhistory]

“Tomes, travel notes, trinkets, an ancient scroll….”

Amras mumbled as he listed off things he hopefully could bring to the dream palace with him. All of these were things he’s made himself, from the book to the trinkets.

“I think that’s good enough.” He nodded, firm and final then looked at himself in front of a mirror and checked for any bloodstains— thankfully there were none. He was not dressed in white this time, choosing natural tones with some embroidered patterns that were similar to the ones displayed in his white dress.

Oh how he loved clothes.

Once he deemed himself decent looking enough, he laid down and closed his eyes, and willed himself to the dream palace with the items he’s listed in tow.

The familiar scent of lilies hit his nose and so he smiled and opened his eyes, even making a noise of joy as he saw that his items had been brought here safely with him.

“I told you I’d be back.” He snickered. “And I come bearing the things I swore I would bring with me. Will you lend me an ear for the meantime? There’s a lot I want to tell you.”

@miquellathekindone

[miquellathekindone]

TW: self-inflicted harm, visions, the worst coping mechanisms ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain.

There was something slowly burning a hole in Miquella's mind, the ringing in his ears getting louder and louder as time passed. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

The stars had disappeared from the sky of the dream palace, hidden, and the night had never before looked so dark from the valley, a mirage of the Abyss that the young Empyrean's sanity was approaching. However, when he tried to get up from the patch of grass under the tree, his legs did not respond. Weak, frail, a voice spat above the ringing. He couldn't contain the sound inside, a humiliating gasp of pain coming from his tightly pressed lips in the dark night.

A shadow covered Miquella's body. The vision grew bigger.

"Leave me alone..." he said, hiding his face even more in his knees. The blood from his nose continued to stain the white dress he wore, the purity disappearing little by little. "Lord Brother, leave me alone for tonight, please."

The young Empyrean could not stand the visions at that moment.

He touched his forearm.

His skin was so smooth. He thought he was going to have those scars forever, that which marked him as the progenitor of the Haligtree. The blood of an Empyrean had been enough to make it grow, but it had not prevented its fall. He missed it. He missed going back home.

Miquella scratched, scratched, scratched.

The thin lines that were beginning to redden, at least, could replace them even if they disappeared in a short time. The young Empyrean visualized the Moon falling from the sky of the dream palace slowly, rolling down the hill, and it happened.

The light that had been born in the dream palace disappeared completely, leaving only the lamps of the Lord's Keep gate to illuminate the false world.

The non-existent crown weighed too heavily on Miquella's hair. The ring on his hand burned.

Maybe, one day, it would all be better.

@whenbonestellhistory

[whenbonestellhistory]

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[whenbonestellhistory]

It has been a while since he’s at peace.

Peeling the bloodied clothes off of himself, he steps into the waters of his bath and sighs, before letting himself sink deeper until his head made it under the water.

He feels the icy waters prick at his skin before it faded to a dull sensation— not quite as cold as the waters in the tundra he was born into, though.

Amras thinks of home as his head rises out of the water.

Sadly, it is something he cannot have. His mother is gone, the only memory he had left of her being little sketches, and his own face that he’s inherited from her. But even then it’s not the exact same copy— there’s differences between them, in the bridge of his nose, to the way he stared at things and even the placement of their moles.

“Smart, beautiful boy.” His mother would say.

Amras looks at his face again in the distorted water and thinks he misses his mother— no, he does miss his mother. He’s sure she would have loved to see him now wherever she went.

Again, he sighs. He should finish cleaning himself instead of dilly dallying, there is much to do, and people to remember and people to draw.

[whenbonestellhistory]

He laid there unmoving for a few moments as the scent of lilies registers through his nose— strange, he could have sworn he was surrounded by pine, not flowers.

They did well to cover the familiar tang of iron staining his face and his clothes, though.

He stirred, appearing as if he was in pain for a moment as in his state of being half awake he thinks of how much work he had to put on the man he had just hung on a stake like an ill looking decor.

The first thing that greeted his sight is blonde hair; he squinted as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light and made out a face.

“Oh.” He said, face neutral but head slightly tilted in curiosity.

A young boy, he mentally remarked, but what was he doing here?

He took a look at the surroundings and nodded before he looks at the boy again, ignoring the jellyfish.

Children are rare in the Lands Between— and someone who looked like he could walk even more so. Most of them either dead, or crippled.

“Were you the one that brought me here?” He asked, green eyes slightly widening as he scooted a bit closer, his blood stained bow discarded and forgotten as he remained at enough of a distance from the boy to be respectful— and also because he just didn’t want to ruin the boy’s dress.

He remembered spotting a pond in the distance and thinks he should perhaps wash his hands there after he gets the boy to answer him.

He just hoped he won’t scream and run away for looking a bit like that man by the name of Varre.

“Stop that. You are not making any sense."

Although Miquella the Kind's tone tried to be polite to the creature that kept stirring in his fingers, it was difficult when all he needed to finalize the last details was for it to hold still for a few moments. The spectral creature did not wish to be manhandled any more than it already had been, even after being bribed with a nap on the young Empyrean's lap, a privilege not many managed to obtain.

"I do not wish to put a seal on you," Miquella tried to bargain again, pausing his hands to stare at the incomplete creature. "That could render you just as powerless to agony as an illness. Please."

Reasoning with the spirit of a jellyfish was not easy. The young Empyrean should have learned his lesson with the first three, which floated near them waiting for their new sister. However, the little creature looked even more stubborn than before. A sound, like that of a breeze coming through two wooden planks, came from the half-formed spirit, something Miquella interpreted as a sound of frustration.

Miquella understood it. He, too, was frustrated.

Finally, his hands let the spirit float in the air. It was much smaller than the rest of the jellyfish, and its form wasn't quite perfect, but Miquella knew better than to manipulate his energy into things that didn't want it. With a sigh, the young Empyrean stretched his legs out on the grass, his white robe tangled among the lily leaves.

Interpreting real things in his dream palace never got easier.

Then, before he could notice the disturbance in the air, Miquella heard the spectral sound of someone appearing right next to him, startling him out of his little bubble. Someone he did not know.

@whenbonestellhistory

[whenbonestellhistory]

He had awoken with a gasp, tears streaming down his face as he was reeling from the all too vivid vision to be just a mere dream.

He felt like he was going to throw up from how fast his heart was beating and how cold his hands had gotten. He swallowed, and sat there for a few moments in his own bed, knees disturbingly positioned similarly to how it was like in the dream as he let himself release shaky little whimpers and cried.

It felt so real. The dream feeding into a former memory all too familiar with him— wait. He thought, as a creeping realization made dread settle into his stomach.

The boy in his dream, the poor boy who had begged in his dream, was none other than Miquella.

He heaved over a sink, brows furrowed as he thought of an explanation as to why he would dream of such a thing. It’s too vivid to be just a dream, but how does he know that exactly? He’s… confused.

It was almost as if it was a plea— to give him a reason, or perhaps it was just born out of the unpleasant feelings he had regarding a conversation with Trina about it the day before. It was strange though, it was Miquella in that dream, not her so it wouldn’t make any sense unless….

It was a cry for help.

He knew he can’t jump into assumptions, but he remembered Trina’s expression— they looked afraid, ready to flee like they’ve seen or heard something horrifying and it was coming for them and Miquella in that dream, whose feelings of sorrow and terror still lingered in his heart.

Amras remembered a ring and grew sick to his stomach again.

He groaned as he slumped his shoulders before grinding his teeth as he thought of it again. Consort…. A promise— a vow. Then the gift.. Torrent… the ring..

He frowned as he felt the telltale anger simmering in his veins as he remembered feeling a similar helplessness, a similar situation.

If what he’s thinking is true, then he’ll have to make some arrangements with some people soon.

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory

[whenbonestellhistory]

It was unnerving when he had woken up to darkness.

The scrolls in his arms slipped from his grasp as he looked around, not a single sight of a star or light, not a single lily to be found.

He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but heard Miquella’s quiet cries.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He trudged through the dark as he followed the faint glow of the boy’s golden hair, and his instincts were proven true at the smell and sight of blood on his arms and his dress.

His eyes narrowed, pupils turning into slits. Something was watching them.

He’s been in this place long enough to know it’s not Miquella’s doing but something else. Something malevolent. It did not come here bearing gifts.

Gently, he approached Miquella and knelt beside him. Firmly but gently prying the hand that scratched at his own arm away and held it, then gazed out into the abyss.

“Leave this place.” He called out to the dark without an ounce of fear, holding Miquella close to him. “You are not welcome here, leave before I make you.” He threatened, the green of his reptilian eyes almost glowing in the dark.

He made it so that the empyrean cannot see how veins bulged on his temple in anger, made it so that he cannot see what kind of expression he was making against the unknown.

“You are safe, Miquella.” He whispered to his friend after a moment, his voice quiet, carrying a sense of care in an attempt to comfort him. “I will not let it touch you.”

TW: self-inflicted harm, visions, the worst coping mechanisms ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain.

There was something slowly burning a hole in Miquella's mind, the ringing in his ears getting louder and louder as time passed. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

The stars had disappeared from the sky of the dream palace, hidden, and the night had never before looked so dark from the valley, a mirage of the Abyss that the young Empyrean's sanity was approaching. However, when he tried to get up from the patch of grass under the tree, his legs did not respond. Weak, frail, a voice spat above the ringing. He couldn't contain the sound inside, a humiliating gasp of pain coming from his tightly pressed lips in the dark night.

A shadow covered Miquella's body. The vision grew bigger.

"Leave me alone..." he said, hiding his face even more in his knees. The blood from his nose continued to stain the white dress he wore, the purity disappearing little by little. "Lord Brother, leave me alone for tonight, please."

The young Empyrean could not stand the visions at that moment.

He touched his forearm.

His skin was so smooth. He thought he was going to have those scars forever, that which marked him as the progenitor of the Haligtree. The blood of an Empyrean had been enough to make it grow, but it had not prevented its fall. He missed it. He missed going back home.

Miquella scratched, scratched, scratched.

The thin lines that were beginning to redden, at least, could replace them even if they disappeared in a short time. The young Empyrean visualized the Moon falling from the sky of the dream palace slowly, rolling down the hill, and it happened.

The light that had been born in the dream palace disappeared completely, leaving only the lamps of the Lord's Keep gate to illuminate the false world.

The non-existent crown weighed too heavily on Miquella's hair. The ring on his hand burned.

Maybe, one day, it would all be better.

@whenbonestellhistory

[thesleepdeity]

The headache had gotten worse as time went on.

No matter how much Saint Trina tried to ignore it to make it go away, the pain continued to haunt him even though it was not his own. No. Lord Miquella's emotions pierced the too thin barrier between the two consciousnesses, no matter if the deity reinforced that barrier as much as possible. One soul, two bodies. Lord Miquella could not escape her just as she could not escape him, always connected by a thin thread that would never disappear.

From that, she knew that the conversation between Lord Miquella and Amras had not gone well.

It could not have gone well. Saint Trina didn't need the pain to understand it, because she knew Lord Miquella too well and knew how the conversation was going to end. In a misnamed tantrum, perhaps, or simply in a breakdown from which they would both end up suffering the consequences. Amras had no way of winning that argument no matter how hard he tried.

As soon as Amras woke up, returning from the dream palace, Saint Trina appeared beside him.

"...I am sorry."

At times, all they could do was apologize for Lord Miquella's behavior, which they doubted would change any time soon.

"Please, do not take his meanings in consideration," they said, placing a gentle hand on Amras' shoulder in a comforting gesture. "He is hurt, and hurt people make big mistakes, sometimes. He is grateful that you spared him the same fate of a marriage without love."

Perhaps Lord Miquella did not understand at the time, but sooner or later he would see that Amras had saved him.

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

The scent was what gave it away.

Saint Trina could locate the scent of their lilies anywhere in the Lands Between, and in the veil that separated the dream palace from reality. There was no point at which it could hide from their energy, the same energy that slowly but surely drew them to his target. Amras couldn't hide from them, no matter how hard he tried.

Amras didn't seem to be hiding, though.

The deity's chest was assaulted by a feeling of warmth at the sight of him again, raising a hand to arrange their colored hair in an attempt to look presentable enough. But something caught their eyes.

"Your clothes..."

Saint Trina tilted their face slightly, studying the flower patterns on the fabric Amras was wearing. They had not answered the boy's question, but their attention was on those interesting figures, very different from the last time they saw each other.

They frowned, although it was not a gesture of anger, but an expression of some confusion.

Perhaps Amras was celebrating something.

Saint Trina reached out with their fingers, wanting to touch the embroidery.

It was unexpected when Trina had visited him outside of the dream for the second time.

There they were, opening the door of his room without knocking much like they did when he was gutting a deer.

He’s clean this time, dressed for the spring in light colored clothes with simple patterns that depicted geometric shapes and flowers, sitting on his own bed without a worry as he acknowledged their presence.

“I didn’t expect you to barge in again today, would you like to do something?” He asked, a small smile gracing his lips, also realizing he grew accustomed to their presence rather quickly.

He never really understood why they seek him out specifically, but he’s not complaining; if anything, he adored the attention either Trina or Miquella provided him with as neither of them intended to use him for anything.

Encounters with Trina were rarer, though. And so he intended to treasure whatever time Trina spares for him for the day.

@thesleepdeity

[miquellathekindone]

It was difficult to differentiate the passage of time in the dream palace.

Of course, Miquella could always allow the moon and the sun to move to the rhythm of his hands, slowly or faster, simulating the passing of the days. However, it was impossible to know how much time had passed outside. It could have been days, weeks, months, that there would be no big change at the dream palace. It was something Miquella urgently needed to fix, but his energy?

His energy had almost completely stagnated.

That had the young Empyrean on edge. His frustration had affected much of the dream palace, the place reacting with his emotions and bringing a weather that was not the usual.

The sun had darkened, too, leaving the night sky with stars floating around as if suspended by threads from the clouds.

Miquella's hands continued their task, carefully bending each stem to form a wreath of lilies once again. It was the only pastime that kept him distracted, and with luck, the cold weather would disappear from the dream palace. And, then, almost as if he had fallen from the sky, he felt the presence of someone arriving before Amras appeared beside him.

The young Empyrean laid the wreath of lilies in his lap, looking at Amras with a small smile.

"Of course," he replied, certainly curious as to what Amras had brought to distract him. Miquella looked up for only a few seconds at the still dark sky before turning his attention to the newcomer again. "Do tell me."

“Tomes, travel notes, trinkets, an ancient scroll….”

Amras mumbled as he listed off things he hopefully could bring to the dream palace with him. All of these were things he’s made himself, from the book to the trinkets.

“I think that’s good enough.” He nodded, firm and final then looked at himself in front of a mirror and checked for any bloodstains— thankfully there were none. He was not dressed in white this time, choosing natural tones with some embroidered patterns that were similar to the ones displayed in his white dress.

Oh how he loved clothes.

Once he deemed himself decent looking enough, he laid down and closed his eyes, and willed himself to the dream palace with the items he’s listed in tow.

The familiar scent of lilies hit his nose and so he smiled and opened his eyes, even making a noise of joy as he saw that his items had been brought here safely with him.

“I told you I’d be back.” He snickered. “And I come bearing the things I swore I would bring with me. Will you lend me an ear for the meantime? There’s a lot I want to tell you.”

@miquellathekindone

[thesleepdeity]

The memory repeated itself in a constant loop in Saint Trina's mind.

Inescapable, tireless. Every time she felt Radahn's dark gaze on her she couldn't help but start to tremble, even though it came from deep within her consciousness. Radahn was not in the dream palace, and was a long way from reaching it. However, the survival reactions in the deity's body were...

They were almost instinctive. Learned from long ago.

Saint Trina observed the sleeping body of Lord Miquella on the bed of the master bedroom in the Lord's Keep, and traced with one of her fingers the frown he wore. Her lips struggled to speak. I am sorry you keep being chased in your dreams by a shadow that will never stop until it finds you. I am sorry you do not get a single moment of calm. I am sorry I cannot do anything to help you.

Then, the ringing in Saint Trina's ears increased.

It was time.

The festival was about to begin.

Leaving a soft caress in Miquella's hair, Saint Trina disappeared into the air like smoke.

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory

[thesleepdeity]

Don't be afraid.

Saint Trina closed her eyes at those words, burying her face in Amras' chest as if she could truly disappear from the sight of anyone who wished to perceive her. Being alone frightened her, but she was not alone. Amras was beside her.

His warm body enveloped her with exceptional care, something she had never felt before. It was not worship. The adoration came with so many other perceptions— lustful love, glittering eyes watching her as if she were a prize they had earned after a lifetime of suffering. Saint Trina was not a prize for her entourage, and Amras understood that because he was not part of it.

The deity felt more comfortable with Amras in just a few moments than she had in her entire life.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the boy's scent mixed with the grass around her. Liurna had a very different smell from the rest of the Lands Between, more natural, and the pools of water were always good for getting their feet wet. Perhaps they could stay there for a while.

"...May your dreams be filled with promises," Saint Trina said in a whisper, pressing a soft kiss against Amras' robe. He probably wouldn't notice, but her words were the same ones she used with those who had trouble sleeping. She only hoped to be of some help. "Promises of a good future, and health. You will become Elden Lord, Amras. ‘Tis not a hopeful wish, but an oath. You will be the new Elden Lord, and will begin a new age."

Lord Miquella's Age of Compassion was no more.

Soon, it would be replaced by a completely new one. Saint Trina felt it in how the wind moved around them.

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory

[whenbonestellhistory]

Unsafe… he frowned.

He turned to his side so he could face her, green eyes half lidded as he looked at Trina with concern. He wanted to hug her again, his fingers twitching at the hesitation of that gesture as he struggled to form words to let her know he would not allow anything to bring harm to her here.

Not while he’s around.

Instead, he tucked a stray lock of silvery hair behind her ear and smiled. “Nothing bad can touch you here,” he doesn’t want her to worry, while idle, he had always been far too aware of his surroundings when he laid himself out in the open. “I’ll keep them off of you, so don’t be afraid.”

He didn’t really know what pushed the uncertainties out of his head as he carefully positioned himself so that they would be eye level to his neck, then hesitantly, wrapped his arm around them, pulling them close to him but not enough that they’d suffocate.

Maybe it was because she looked afraid, as if something was coming out there to get her— something that wasn’t Radahn. Trina looked as if someone was seeking her, following her wherever she went that they’d dislike being in an open space alone.

He understood that sentiment.

And so he’s there, arm around her and positioned as if he wanted to protect them from the world— and he /would/.

“You can count on me to keep you away from anything creepy, I can scare them off, I’m sure.” He patted her back gently as he said those words; they weren’t lies, if he could kill Radahn then he was sure he could scare off much of anything else.

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory