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indigocrumbs · 12 days ago

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Silentium Inposuisset

Summery: Arthur and Constance have always had their complications, yet somehow don't kill each other, except for that one time. Very eldest son and only/youngest daughter type dynamic and wanted to experiment with these two. He's British, she's Irish. He's unstable, she's insane.

Set in somewhere between 1830 - 1840

Constance Allwright hadn't wanted to kill her brother since 1392. Not since she had put a sword through his heart and baptized herself in his blood instead of ripping his organs for a reward.

She had to sail her high end to London with nothing but a silk robe and a fine cotton dress because her own sister-in-law came crying in her arms with no place to stay. Her hair seemed to grow redder with her own self growing rage that balled inside. If she had been more prepared, she would've sent a whole army to kill her bastard of a brother.

To imagine of him doing something utterly cruel was unimaginable, even with Arthur's own low set mind. He should be more clever than this to do something that utterly would ruin his career. And ruin his own wife back and again.

"Where is he?" Constance demanded with a horrible rage on her tongue, ignoring the man at the entrance who tried to slow her down.

"Excuse me?" Asked the startled British male standing at reception, not catching the familiarity with his Great Lord and his own sister.

"Artúr Allwright. Is he in this building?"

The man looked confused, almost bewildered by a woman of her stature with a name he didn't recognize. "I'm sorry?"

"Arthur Clarke." She snapped, her voice loud enough that the man she speaks of could've heard.

The man's voice quivered in a sheer sense of upcoming fear, "Lord Clarke is in his office–"

Constance doesn't take in anymore words when she storms off without hesitation to the room she's been in a thousand times over. As if he were a deer in the headlights, the man grew wide-eyed before trying to rush after her and stop her once more. Yet her speed was unmatched when she began to run in line, her robe and silk-long hair storming against her from behind.

She slamed the door open enough to look like it had been kicked, startling Arthur back from the sheer shock of a raging figure that had given away that it was his sister because of her red hair. He was almost offended by the lack of respect she had for him in this moment.

"You." Her voice echoed with a step foward. "Ye absolute imbecile."

Arthur lowered his brows and stared at her with a wonder of what or who made his sister mad this time with the complete oblivion to himself. He spoke in surprise, as if he hadn't seen her coming. "Constance, how did you–"

"How dare ye ruin your own marriage like that." Constance spat.

His lips thinned. His face lowered but not into guilt. He didn't look surprised or concerned anymore yet his face seemed off-putting. He had this sort of face that she could never describe, but seeing it used made her feel sick. He was a sick fool. An absolute fool.

"How did you find out about that?" He asked her, his tone holding a somewhat shock to what news he didn't want spreading.

"Because your own wife just came to my fucking home in tears!"

Arthur watched her. She never liked to let herself get in such shape, and now she was here in the state that she was, he understood why. His face changed again to something Constance couldn't read, her eyes followed his steps as he closed the door to leave them in privacy.

"She is your wife, Arthur." She says. "The mother of your children, and ye fuck it up with a man? A man you know enough of his history to stay away from!"

"You are right in my knowledge of his history," He told her calmly as if he didn't fuck up his own career. "yet you never got to know him. He is kind, Constance. He is good for me."

"'Good?'" She repeated, her disgust in him peaking. "Everyone is good for you when it goes your way. And what if he ruins your life? What if he does something that doesn't go ye way?"

"That will not happen," Arthur snapped threateningly, as if warning her to stop. "I know Yourick. All you see is something bad in the good, so don't you ever speak in that tone with me."

"Don't say his name." Constance spat roughly. "Don't fucking say any of their names where my ears hear them."

Arthur glared cold at his sister. Constance glared madly at her brother. Her fist balled up in place of which was not in Arthur's sight, tightening deeply until it turned white. She didn't know who her brother was anymore, that as if he had ever been one much. How he'd pull a dutch defense in the sake of his own greed only strengthened her rage for him. She knew how simple as man could change for his selfish need. She grew up with five of them.

"Is amadán tú." She spoke and he knew what she said clearly in her native tongue.

"Don't you ever speak to me as if I don't understand you." He matched her tone with a face unable to stay stern.

"Is amadán tú!" She repeated louder and angrier.

Arthur took two steps over to her and slapped her harshly on the cheek with the impact quickly reddening her face and his palm. Her head turned to it's side along with the slap, her eyes watering automatically by the impact. But also by the pain in her heart. She was quick to snap her head back as her breathing heavied, her eyes wide and mad. Their faces inches away from their noses touching as the both of them completely snapped.

"I hate you."

Constance hit first with a fist that took out one of Arthur's teeth and made him groan and stumble back on his feet. He lunged foward to her and shoved her into a wall of bookshelves with his shoulder making her shriek. Furniture toppled and fell across the room as brother and sister fought, even some of their own hair falling out with the other ripping it out of their scalp and leaving them to bleed openly.

Arthur grabbed his sister by the collar and shoved her into a wall with the force of his arms at her already pressured chest. The look of his face made him look unfamiliar, a once clean and proper gentleman now a raging and insane man with an urge to murder. And with Arthur's rage. He would.

"Stop with the attitude, Constance. You are a lady, not a fucking warrior." Arthur whispers threateningly, his tone so low enough she can only hear it. His eyes only grow wider in his unknown rage.

Constance gave him a dead glare when her eyes drifted and saw something that she hadn't seen there before. His sword, the same sword she struck in his heart, on his wall incaged in glass as if it was a fucking piece of art. Her mid finger rimmed around the piece of glass tucked in her sleeve. Her expression cracked in a blind rage.

"I may not be. But I'll do whatever it takes to take care of my sister."

She raged at him with a scream and dug the piece of glass through his side, hearing hom cry out in pain and loosen his grip over her. She rushed away and punched the frail glass with her own bare fist and grabbed her past weapon and placed it back in the place of where it once belonged. It felt like it had never fallen out of her possession.

It slid too-perfectly into her palms and she wrapped her fingers around the silver handle. It fell too-perfectly. The carving still ringed around in those exact places. This was her sword. The one she carried through war and stabbed many mortal men with. The one she put through Arthur's heart. Sliced William's throat clean. And diced Alistar's head in half.

Constance ran with the weapon in her hand, it all being the exact same scenario so thousand or so years ago. The way the sword dug through Arthur's skin deep enough to pull through onto the other side before he even got time to react. How he stared at her with those same wide eyes as if he had been accused of something horrid.

"... Constance." Arthur hoarsed. He felt the same pain a mortal man did. How the cleaned silver never failed to hurt his chest like it did when his sister did the exact same thing in their long disputed war. This wasn't his first experience with death but only a handful of times had his death been in the hands of his own siblings.

His knees dropped to the floor with eyes still wide. He knew the sword in his heart wasn't just to hurt him. It was his warning. That he should turn back quickly before it was too late. It wasn't his choice anymore if he were to move with or without Yourick.

Arthur's eyes grow lidded before he dropped to the floor, dead and drowned in his own dark blood. He knew he was dead once his spirit flew out of him and left his corpse to regain itself before returning. His eyes were closed yet Constance never forgot that face of shock he gave her almost the exact same as all those centuries ago.

Constance pulled the sword out from her now dead brother's chest, letting the blood pulse out of him and did nothing to stop it. She carried less deaths than him and she didn't worry for being his murder. Because he would come back. But for now. He was dead. She had killed him on his own land and she didn't care.

A stiffed sob left as she shakily held onto the sword, letting it be her walking stick as she collapsed next to him. Her robe was far from clean with the collection of blood being from both his and hers. It splayed across the now deep red carpet almost perfectly. It clumped up around her but never in a tight way.

Constance groaned with her heart battered and pained. She didn't dare look at Arthur because she didn't want to get mad at a too-perfect looking face of someone that was now dead. He looked so at peace with himself that it made her stomach twist in disgust. She wondered if he truly got her warning of what was to come if he kept with his stubborn ways. But deep down she knew her brother, and her brother never took her advice.

"Why... Why are ye never happy with what you already have?

#um hi guys #i thought i could dip a little treat and show off my ocs #like im scared to share my writing but hello #if my moots see this then uhhhh hello #ohhh constance you deserve such a better family and eldest brother most of all #arthur clarke hate train btw #my writing #oc writing #oc #arthur clarke #arthur allwright #constance allwright #tams blorbs

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