Continued from here on the 11th trial of Ymiden during the 718th arc...
"Can we not... subdue them?"
Silence settled between the two of them as Ziemko stared back at Doran, his face unreadable. When he finally spoke, his low, rolling voice was questioning but not challenging. "Have we been attacked since that night?"
Blinking, Doran slowly shook his head.
"Had I let them live, they would've escaped. They would've gathered more, and they would've returned." There was nothing particularly soft about Ziemko's words, but the manner in which he spoke felt more as though he were patiently explaining to someone something he was certain they understood but merely didn't realise yet. "I don't have to kill people, Doran. I choose to kill them." The intensity of his stare increased as a slight flare of something wild and angry writhed about in his hazel eyes. "Because when they're dead? They can't do the same to us."
The logic was sound. The reasons behind why he did what he did and how he lived with his choices afterward were entirely reasonable. Yet, Doran found himself stunned into silence. He tried to speak but found his words lost for a trill or two, though Ziemko merely waited, eyes fixed upon him. Eventually, he found his tongue. "Even so-" He stopped, more so because his mind still lagged behind. "Does that excuse us from- from murder?" Self-defense or no, that was what Ziemko had committed - and Doran was just as guilty in not stopping him.
"'Excuse' us?" Ziemko's brows rose just slightly. "We live and we die, brother." He paused, lips pressed tightly together in consideration - or perhaps recollection. When he spoke again, it was clear they were not his own words but those borrowed of another:
He'd never put such thoughts in so many words, but he found himself agreeing with Byrite. Lily was gone; he held her memory, and he knew he'd see her once he joined the ever growing host of the deceased. But so too did he understand she was not returning - even if her soul did, she would not be the same. She would not be Lily.
"I've sworn to protect you, and I'll do whatever it takes."
Again, silence settled. Doran mulled over his own thoughts while Ziemko allowed him his time. He didn't want to die. He didn't want Ziemko to die. Neither did he want strangers to die so that he could continue living; but he was beginning, finally, to understand that he was running out of the luxury to make a choice between the two. He had no doubt the two men, given a second chance, would have killed him - they had almost succeeded on their first. Yet, even knowing all that, it didn't remove the weight upon his heart nor could it untangle the knot in his stomach. "Even so, I... don't know that I can do the same."
"You're not me." Ziemko spoke slowly. "I don't expect you to do what I do."
"But I can't just- I shouldn't let you do everything for me." Though neither did he want either of them to be responsible for more bodies.
"It's your choice, brother."
"Is it? I bear responsibility for your- for our actions. Whether I hold the blade or not, I feel- I am guilty all the same."
Ziemko's stare was steady. "Then absolve yourself."
Doran could only stare right back in astonished surprise. "But I-"
"Who else can? The Seven? The Immortals?" He shook his head. "I would, if could. It's a choice you make, a burden you place on yourself." His voice grew quieter, almost gentle. "I've sworn to protect you, and I will, but there are some things only you can protect yourself from." Slowly, he rose to his feet. "I should go; let you think."
Drawing a breath in through his nose, Doran nodded. "Yes I- well. Thank you for humoring me, Ziemko."
As his brother moved to and opened the door, he paused, not turning to face him as he spoke. "If you can't abide killing, I won't do it anymore. Just-" He sighed. "Think about what we've discussed. Tell me your decision before we leave." He didn't wait for a reply, though there was none given, and he stepped out and closed the door behind him with a soft click of the latch.
He hadn't realised how much he'd missed wearing trousers. Inès had patched up the leather, well enough, and though he was only able to manage a hobble, it was a sturdy one. Though it was uncomfortable, the wound in his leg had healed nicely. It was tender and didn't like being overly jostled, but to be able to walk without wincing was more welcome a gift than he'd ever thought to imagine.
The sun had just broken through the grey pale of early morning by the time he and his brother were ready to depart. Through an exchange of coin, his treatment had been paid for and several herbs had been added to Ziemko's pack - in case they should need them. There was an air of silence about Ziemko - even more than usual - and Doran was well aware the cause of it. He'd yet to bring up his choice, but there, with Inès beckoning him over, a grin on her aged face, Doran supposed it was not the proper time.
"Beau sure seems moody this morning." She chuckled.
"He's- ah. Well. Waiting on a... a decision of mine."
The little white tower of braids bobbled back and forth as she nodded, knowingly. "I was young once, you know. I remember what it was like to have differing opinions on this and that." She cupped his elbow and pulled him a little closer, her voice growing softer. "But I'll tell you this: that boy cares for you a great deal. Whatever you might think, you're the one with the hold over him. Just..." She smiled, sadly, her clear eyes just faintly fogged with a wistful pallor. "Keep that mind. He'll do whatever you ask of him, I guarantee you, but try not to ask for more than he can give."
The advice, though given for all the wrong reasons, as far as Doran could tell, found purchase in his own worried, mulling thoughts. He set a hand on the woman's shoulder, a warm and grateful smile on his face. "Thank you, truly, for all of your help - and your advice."
A wrinkled hand was raised to pat him gently on the cheek, a chuckle following after. "If I let a bright thing like you fade away, I wouldn't be much a healer." With a shove, she turned him round and pushed him towards the horses where Ziemko waited, stare as intense as ever. "Now, get out and don't come back."
Doran shook his head and turned to wave, but the woman had already turned to shuffle back into cottage. Gathering himself, he approached his brother, trying to think of the words he was going to say, how he was going to say it... what his decision actually was. Instead, Ziemko hoisted him up into his saddle without a sound before he mounted his own. Though Doran had never ridden sidesaddle, he quickly found that it was less comfortable than the typical position - if that were even possible.
Without words, they started. The horses moved at a steady pace, and while the bounce of the trot didn't help him forget the dull throb of pain in his leg, it wasn't unbearable. They rode for a time, the trees passing by slowly, the air gradually warming as morning broke into midday. It wasn't until they'd stopped to water the horses that Doran finally chose to speak - finally knew what it was he was going to say.
"If I forbade you from killing, I thought I might die with a clear conscious." Ziemko remained silent, eyes staring and face unmoving. "But... I would be - effectively - executing the both us." He ran his hand through the wavy locks of his hair, letting it settle for a moment on the back of his neck before it slid down to hang at his side. "You have chosen me as your burden; I have chosen the bear the deaths of those who would end us. You've lost enough, Ziemko."
For a moment, Doran thought his brother might turn and simply ride off, but then there was just the faintest twinge of something in his eyes - something heavy an mournful. He swallowed, once, before he took a step forward. "I-" But his lips closed, whatever he was going to say held back or lost. Instead, stood awkwardly, eyes almost wet, and Doran took a step to join him, his own expression warm as he placed a hand on the other man's chest.
" I won't keep you from protecting what you have you left, brother." There was a brief flicker of something genuinely warm in Ziemko's eyes, and Doran thought for a trill he might embrace him. Instead, the other man simply nodded.
"We should get going."
Echoing the nod, Doran let his hand fall to his side. He was well aware of the gravity of the vow he'd just made, and if he were being honest with himself, he wasn't certain how much he could bear before he might break. Yet, there was no one on Idalos who had done for him what Ziemko had, nor any other who might do so purely because they shared the same blood. He was, in his own way, a beautiful - if not terrible - creature, and Doran, for one, was loathe to be the reason for his end. So he would fight, in his own way, to protect the brother who sought to protect him. Perhaps, along the way, they might find another path, a chance at peace. For the present, Doran steeled himself for what was ahead, a slow steady breath in through his nose and out through his lips.
"Yes, I suppose we should."
"Can we not... subdue them?"
Silence settled between the two of them as Ziemko stared back at Doran, his face unreadable. When he finally spoke, his low, rolling voice was questioning but not challenging. "Have we been attacked since that night?"
Blinking, Doran slowly shook his head.
"Had I let them live, they would've escaped. They would've gathered more, and they would've returned." There was nothing particularly soft about Ziemko's words, but the manner in which he spoke felt more as though he were patiently explaining to someone something he was certain they understood but merely didn't realise yet. "I don't have to kill people, Doran. I choose to kill them." The intensity of his stare increased as a slight flare of something wild and angry writhed about in his hazel eyes. "Because when they're dead? They can't do the same to us."
The logic was sound. The reasons behind why he did what he did and how he lived with his choices afterward were entirely reasonable. Yet, Doran found himself stunned into silence. He tried to speak but found his words lost for a trill or two, though Ziemko merely waited, eyes fixed upon him. Eventually, he found his tongue. "Even so-" He stopped, more so because his mind still lagged behind. "Does that excuse us from- from murder?" Self-defense or no, that was what Ziemko had committed - and Doran was just as guilty in not stopping him.
"'Excuse' us?" Ziemko's brows rose just slightly. "We live and we die, brother." He paused, lips pressed tightly together in consideration - or perhaps recollection. When he spoke again, it was clear they were not his own words but those borrowed of another:
"A body is naught but a garment for the soul.
It wears and tears and ages.
Life is the measure of a body's persistence,
And death the moment it fades.
And we, and you, and I, who claim the souls to be,
Are hats and shoes and jewellery.
For when life meets death, and the soul is released?
We desist, we end, we cease."
Though his voice did little to accentuate the poem's rhythm, the words themselves resonated with his point. "Gram Byrite's Self. Our souls might return, but we never will." It wears and tears and ages.
Life is the measure of a body's persistence,
And death the moment it fades.
And we, and you, and I, who claim the souls to be,
Are hats and shoes and jewellery.
For when life meets death, and the soul is released?
We desist, we end, we cease."
He'd never put such thoughts in so many words, but he found himself agreeing with Byrite. Lily was gone; he held her memory, and he knew he'd see her once he joined the ever growing host of the deceased. But so too did he understand she was not returning - even if her soul did, she would not be the same. She would not be Lily.
"I've sworn to protect you, and I'll do whatever it takes."
Again, silence settled. Doran mulled over his own thoughts while Ziemko allowed him his time. He didn't want to die. He didn't want Ziemko to die. Neither did he want strangers to die so that he could continue living; but he was beginning, finally, to understand that he was running out of the luxury to make a choice between the two. He had no doubt the two men, given a second chance, would have killed him - they had almost succeeded on their first. Yet, even knowing all that, it didn't remove the weight upon his heart nor could it untangle the knot in his stomach. "Even so, I... don't know that I can do the same."
"You're not me." Ziemko spoke slowly. "I don't expect you to do what I do."
"But I can't just- I shouldn't let you do everything for me." Though neither did he want either of them to be responsible for more bodies.
"It's your choice, brother."
"Is it? I bear responsibility for your- for our actions. Whether I hold the blade or not, I feel- I am guilty all the same."
Ziemko's stare was steady. "Then absolve yourself."
Doran could only stare right back in astonished surprise. "But I-"
"Who else can? The Seven? The Immortals?" He shook his head. "I would, if could. It's a choice you make, a burden you place on yourself." His voice grew quieter, almost gentle. "I've sworn to protect you, and I will, but there are some things only you can protect yourself from." Slowly, he rose to his feet. "I should go; let you think."
Drawing a breath in through his nose, Doran nodded. "Yes I- well. Thank you for humoring me, Ziemko."
As his brother moved to and opened the door, he paused, not turning to face him as he spoke. "If you can't abide killing, I won't do it anymore. Just-" He sighed. "Think about what we've discussed. Tell me your decision before we leave." He didn't wait for a reply, though there was none given, and he stepped out and closed the door behind him with a soft click of the latch.
. . .
On the 14th day of Ymiden during the 718th arc...He hadn't realised how much he'd missed wearing trousers. Inès had patched up the leather, well enough, and though he was only able to manage a hobble, it was a sturdy one. Though it was uncomfortable, the wound in his leg had healed nicely. It was tender and didn't like being overly jostled, but to be able to walk without wincing was more welcome a gift than he'd ever thought to imagine.
The sun had just broken through the grey pale of early morning by the time he and his brother were ready to depart. Through an exchange of coin, his treatment had been paid for and several herbs had been added to Ziemko's pack - in case they should need them. There was an air of silence about Ziemko - even more than usual - and Doran was well aware the cause of it. He'd yet to bring up his choice, but there, with Inès beckoning him over, a grin on her aged face, Doran supposed it was not the proper time.
"Beau sure seems moody this morning." She chuckled.
"He's- ah. Well. Waiting on a... a decision of mine."
The little white tower of braids bobbled back and forth as she nodded, knowingly. "I was young once, you know. I remember what it was like to have differing opinions on this and that." She cupped his elbow and pulled him a little closer, her voice growing softer. "But I'll tell you this: that boy cares for you a great deal. Whatever you might think, you're the one with the hold over him. Just..." She smiled, sadly, her clear eyes just faintly fogged with a wistful pallor. "Keep that mind. He'll do whatever you ask of him, I guarantee you, but try not to ask for more than he can give."
The advice, though given for all the wrong reasons, as far as Doran could tell, found purchase in his own worried, mulling thoughts. He set a hand on the woman's shoulder, a warm and grateful smile on his face. "Thank you, truly, for all of your help - and your advice."
A wrinkled hand was raised to pat him gently on the cheek, a chuckle following after. "If I let a bright thing like you fade away, I wouldn't be much a healer." With a shove, she turned him round and pushed him towards the horses where Ziemko waited, stare as intense as ever. "Now, get out and don't come back."
Doran shook his head and turned to wave, but the woman had already turned to shuffle back into cottage. Gathering himself, he approached his brother, trying to think of the words he was going to say, how he was going to say it... what his decision actually was. Instead, Ziemko hoisted him up into his saddle without a sound before he mounted his own. Though Doran had never ridden sidesaddle, he quickly found that it was less comfortable than the typical position - if that were even possible.
Without words, they started. The horses moved at a steady pace, and while the bounce of the trot didn't help him forget the dull throb of pain in his leg, it wasn't unbearable. They rode for a time, the trees passing by slowly, the air gradually warming as morning broke into midday. It wasn't until they'd stopped to water the horses that Doran finally chose to speak - finally knew what it was he was going to say.
"If I forbade you from killing, I thought I might die with a clear conscious." Ziemko remained silent, eyes staring and face unmoving. "But... I would be - effectively - executing the both us." He ran his hand through the wavy locks of his hair, letting it settle for a moment on the back of his neck before it slid down to hang at his side. "You have chosen me as your burden; I have chosen the bear the deaths of those who would end us. You've lost enough, Ziemko."
For a moment, Doran thought his brother might turn and simply ride off, but then there was just the faintest twinge of something in his eyes - something heavy an mournful. He swallowed, once, before he took a step forward. "I-" But his lips closed, whatever he was going to say held back or lost. Instead, stood awkwardly, eyes almost wet, and Doran took a step to join him, his own expression warm as he placed a hand on the other man's chest.
" I won't keep you from protecting what you have you left, brother." There was a brief flicker of something genuinely warm in Ziemko's eyes, and Doran thought for a trill he might embrace him. Instead, the other man simply nodded.
"We should get going."
Echoing the nod, Doran let his hand fall to his side. He was well aware of the gravity of the vow he'd just made, and if he were being honest with himself, he wasn't certain how much he could bear before he might break. Yet, there was no one on Idalos who had done for him what Ziemko had, nor any other who might do so purely because they shared the same blood. He was, in his own way, a beautiful - if not terrible - creature, and Doran, for one, was loathe to be the reason for his end. So he would fight, in his own way, to protect the brother who sought to protect him. Perhaps, along the way, they might find another path, a chance at peace. For the present, Doran steeled himself for what was ahead, a slow steady breath in through his nose and out through his lips.
"Yes, I suppose we should."
