HAPPY BIRTHDAY @rotisseries!!!!!!!! my beloved insane mutual who i adore and always makes me laugh and has brilliant ideas <333 you mean the absolute world to me and i hope you have a wonderful day my love xx i've queued this to post at midnight your time so i probably won't be awake for another couple hours yet SORRY but guess what. you won this year. happy narines.
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One, apathyĀ I am that I am, and I am nothingĀ
~Ā
Herines Harasaeon was born into a chasmic silence. There was blood. A muted panic. A motherās sobbingĀ begĀ for him toĀ cry,Ā please, why wonāt he cry?Ā An apology already waiting in her mouth, and finally, a life and death and moment later, Herines wailed into living, though even that came by fits and starts, as if even as aĀ baby, it was the silence of an unborn death he knew best, rather than theĀ vivid scream of life.Ā Ā
āA boy?ā QueenĀ LugaliaĀ asked, eyebrow raised, lips pursed in consideration.Ā
Kiva struggled to push herself up. āLet me hold him-.āĀ
āHe will be king,āĀ LugaliaĀ decided, four words upon a tombstone. āYour heir. Your son. Herines?āĀ
āHerines,ā Kiva whispered, sweaty palms open towards her wriggling baby held in a midwifeās uncertain arms. āBring him to me.āĀ
And he was placedĀ against her chestĀ like an offering before a deity, skin baby-soft and unblemished, eyes screwed shut, and tiny handsĀ seeking, already, the warmth of his motherās touch, unable to find it as he squirmed.Ā
āHeās so beautiful,ā Kiva breathed, tracing the pads of her fingers over his cheeks, his nose, his lips, too scared to touch himĀ with any amount of firmness. A tear fell from her eye and she began toĀ smile, beforeĀ he was taken from her byĀ certainĀ hands.Ā LugaliaĀ held him stiffly, analytically.Ā
āYou will do right by him, Kiva,ā sheĀ warned, brown eyes cutting as they flicked down to glare at her daughter, who still had a handĀ outstretchedĀ to her baby. āAfter the mess you made, he is a miracle. Do not forget that. He is your first. He is your only. Do you understand?āĀ
Kiva's hand flinched back, eyes widening in horror, before she recoiled into herself entirely, turning her face away. InĀ LugaliaāsĀ cold arms, Herines began to cry.Ā Ā
~Ā
As a baby,Ā NathairanĀ was placed in a drawer amongst the shirts and blankets, bundled amongst it all like his mother intended to hide him away fromĀ the coldness of the world to keep him only in this pocket of warmth. His sister stood on her tiptoes beside the chest ofĀ drawers,Ā fingers wrapped over the wood to peer wondrously inside at her new brother.Ā Ā
āWhat do youĀ supposeĀ his magic is?ā she asked,Ā cocking her head to the side as the baby twisted in his sleep.Ā
āItās impossible to tell yet, love,ā her mother said with a soft, albeit tired smile, brushing herĀ knuckleĀ overĀ NathairanāsĀ hand. Tiny fingers instinctively wrapped around one of her own, holding onto her, and her smile brightened.Ā
āHe might not even be a wiser,ā she continued. āYour fatherĀ isnāt, and my magicĀ isnātĀ that strong.āĀ
āBut thatās so dull!ā his sister huffed, scrunching her nose, before leaning further over the drawer, sharing a secret between just her and her little brother. āI thinkĀ youāreĀ gonnaĀ be a wiser,Ā Nathairan.Ā You'reĀ gonnaĀ be the most powerful wiser in the whole kingdom!āĀ
āDo not wish that for him,ā her mother warned. āIt is enough that he is here, and he is ours.Ā YouāllĀ keep him safe, wonāt you?āĀ
His sister gasped and straightened, blue eyes widening at a task she saw as immeasurably severe.Ā
āIāllĀ keep him safe, Ma!ā she promised. āIĀ wonātĀ let anything happen to him! Not ever!āĀ
Her mother smiled and ruffled her curls, earning a giggle from the little girl.Ā
~Ā
Two, disruptionĀ There goes a great shudder through the muscleĀ A shimmering of bells through the mistĀ
~Ā
The news ofĀ LugaliaāsĀ death spread like rivers weaving through a kingdom, flowing into any open crevice, a roar on unrelenting waves, noĀ soilĀ unreached.Ā Perhaps lessĀ a river, but aĀ bloodflood. Each corner of theĀ map stainedĀ red. Herines bore it quietly. His mother was coronated. He inched closer to that desolate fate he had heard whispered in libraries and nightmares.Ā He considered crowning, how the Harasaeon cycleĀ requiredĀ both death and life,Ā fireĀ and water,Ā in order toĀ constantly keep moving. For one queen to rise to power, another must die. A babyās headĀ emergingĀ from blood and not knowing yet theĀ ring of thornsĀ he will soon find placedĀ upon him. Crowning.Ā Birth.Ā Coronation. Death.Ā Ā
King, king, king.Ā
They rang the bells all through the night and all through the day, though for which queen, Herines could not tell. In the north, clouds grew thick and restless. His study was filled with feverish writings on measurements and density of a poison no one else had dared to touch.Ā
Crowning. Birth. Coronation. Death.Ā
King.Ā
The cycle turned once more. On its next pass, it would be his time.Ā
~Ā
NathairanĀ knewĀ onlyĀ fire. Smoke clogged his throat as he spluttered and choked, stumbling through a home he no longer recognised, wooden walls charred black, his belongings swallowed up in thatĀ infernalĀ red blaze, and theĀ heatĀ ā it was a living thing, agony tearing teeth downĀ his arms and back as he pushed throughĀ to the kitchen. HeĀ didnātĀ know what he saw first. The bowl, or her.Ā
He wished heĀ hadnātĀ looked. He wishedĀ heādĀ never come home or thatĀ heādĀ never left to begin with. He will spend the rest of his life forever with a question in the back of his mind, wondering if it would have been better to have burned with them that day. His sister was unrecognisable, a collection of twisted limbs and skin that seemed to melt into the floor like candlewax, blue eyes pale and beginning to boil in her skull.Ā NathairanĀ sobbed what little breath he had left as he ran to her side, dragging her arm over his shoulder and beginning to pull her to the door.Ā
āYouāre okay,ā he cried. āJust a little longer.Ā You'reĀ okay,Ā youāreĀ okay.āĀ
As he walked, his skin warped and twisted like aĀ shapeshifter, cycling constantly through burning and healing. One moment, unblemished. The next, oozing blood andĀ pusĀ down his arms past the screaming cracks of his flesh.Ā
He managed to stumble out of the back door, hiding from the villagers who had gathered out on the front to watch his family die, and dropped his sister into the grass so he could fall to his knees, throwing upĀ blackenedĀ blood on hacking coughs. His entire body trembled with it, disorientated as his lungsĀ immediatelyĀ smoothed themselves over again. Within moments, it was likeĀ nothing had ever burned.Ā
And beside him, his sister remained motionless.Ā
HeĀ didnātĀ know how many times he took the knife to his flesh. It dug into him again,Ā andĀ again,Ā and again, each pull of the blade another well of seeping red until he was covered.Ā He'dĀ cut all over his arms, his face, his neck, his thighs,Ā again and again and again,Ā and there were only stains to show for it.Ā NathairanĀ was unharmed. His sister was dead.Ā
He ran from that cursed place, a death site forever burning on every map, and remembered the kitchen. Everything had beenĀ completely destroyed, but on the counter, scorched in place but still holding shape, was a bowl of leek and potato soup, set aside by his mother, for a boyĀ who wouldĀ never come home again.Ā
~Ā
Three, curiosityĀ One quick moment to crane the neckĀ I have alwaysĀ possessedĀ the insatiable need to see what happens inside the roomĀ
~Ā
They first met in the throne room. Nate wasĀ pushedĀ to his knees, sunlight fighting vehemently to pierce through the burlap sack that had been thrown over his head the moment they enteredĀ Kusig, and even blind, he felt the disparity he existed in. Nate was exhausted, his magic strained, his appearance filthy, and he was about to meet a HarasaeonĀ in the heart of the manās dominion.Ā Hatred salivated behind his teeth like poison as the bag was ripped from his head, and, squinting against the sudden onslaught of colour andĀ goldenĀ light, Nate craned his neck back to look upĀ the dais,Ā at the throne where a king sat to judge him.Ā
Herines Harasaeon.Ā Blood of serpents.Ā Crown bearer.Ā Godschild.Ā
He was beautiful, and violent, and looked down at Nate with a cruel contempt in dark eyes, fingers twitching ever so slightly on the throneās arm.Ā
āSoĀ we finally capture a member of the elusive Brotherhood after you torment the kingdom for years,ā Herines said, tone mocking, raising a sharp eyebrow, though his gaze remained cool, a familiar intensity to him that NateĀ couldnātĀ place.Ā āThis is a momentous day for the crown.Ā Tell me, what is your name?āĀ
It was not a question. It was an order from aĀ Harasaeon, and Nate was helpless, kneeling before this man in hisĀ throne room, surrounded by his guards in a city Nate did not know, with every odd stacked against him in a pile of rubble threatening to collapse and bury him. There was nowhere for him toĀ goĀ and nothing left for him to do, not unless he was given time to think, to rest. That was all Nate needed. If they could just take him to a nice little cell,Ā even just for a night,Ā thenĀ he couldĀ figure out a way out of here, but as it was, he wasĀ trapped.Ā Ā
Unless... Unless he created a distraction, forced Herines to remove him from the situation, if only for a moment.Ā
Nate grinned crookedly up at the prince. A mirror not yet clear of smoke.Ā
āMy name,ā he said, relaxed, smiling wider like this was all part of a grand plan, āisĀ NathairanĀ of Kroi.āĀ
Silence for a tik, two, and then theĀ throne roomĀ fell into chaos.Ā In the sudden uproar, Nate saw soft lips parting on a hissed inhale, and knew suddenly that as much as he hated this man, as much as he wanted his hands on him toĀ deliver the most excruciating of deaths, that the ill-feeling, all intense, all consuming, was directed right back at him from Herines.Ā
They were destined to kill one another, in as many ways as they knew.Ā
~Ā
Four, assimilationĀ Lo, wellspring of knowledge, of feeling, of sensationĀ Beauty, overwhelmingĀ I will dislocate my jaw to fit it all inĀ
~Ā
A collision of sweat-soaked skin andĀ bloody teeth. Mocking lips against his knuckles. A laceration across his stomach from a blade forged perfect for royal hands, andĀ crooked, searching fingers dipping into the softness of torn flesh. Nate gasped, back arching at the spill ofĀ blood and agonyĀ and exposure, pulling at long hair in fists. They had done this so many times now.Ā He did not really understand the purpose of it. Neither did Herines. AllĀ either knewĀ was that they needed toĀ possessĀ the other. Nate needed bruises on Herinesā skin as Herines needed to wrap his hands around Nateās insides.Ā They made burial sites of one another. Hauntings. A violence so vile and thrust so deep that it left ghosts in each cataclysm of touch. Nate knew exactly how Herines tasted, how heĀ gasped and whinedĀ and writhed,Ā knew how he looked with wet eyes looking up at him and his fingers in his mouth, but that was all he knew, and all he would ever know. It was something beyond hatred, something beyond brutality. With each bite, Nate wrote a legacy.Ā You will die beneath me a hundred times, and I will leave my mark on each grave. Not even your death will be your own. You have killed and hunted and ruined in each breath, and now, I will eradicate you.Ā Herines Harasaeon isĀ NathairanĀ of Kroi is Herines Harasaeon. He imagined if they dug their hands deep enough into each other, then the difference would becomeĀ non-existent. He could absorb Herines entirely. Swallow him down. Erase him from the land.Ā
Only one could win this strange battle of theirs, and Nate thought Herines stopped fighting back a long time ago.Ā
~Ā
Five, aggrandizationĀ The pull, yes, the pullĀ Send down your cordage of suffocation and let me inĀ
~Ā
The wiser was deathless,Ā markless, godless. He existed as something unnatural and wrong, repulsive, and Herines wanted to rip everyĀ infinitesimal shredĀ of him apart, to dig into the cavity of his chest until he found somethingĀ real there, a heart he could hold in his hands andĀ eat.Ā He imagined absorbing his magic that way, his vitality, and for the first time in his life considered what it was to be poisoned.Ā
Held down, tied up,Ā NathairanĀ was tolerable. A pretty, mouthy thing, and all he could do was bleed. His only talent. Herines could lose himself in the heat of that wine dark red, pulled everĀ closer and closerĀ to his own death in each gasped moan of pain from the wiser. But what was pain to someone who did not know injury? What was feeling? What was life?Ā NathairanĀ was not real to Herines, could not be, and was at once the only thing he knew for certain.Ā His lips traced godhood beneath the curve of his ribcage. The deification ofĀ NathairanĀ had also been a murder, and who else could understand that but Herines? Who else? He wanted, needed the other man to understand that. Needed to warp and torture his mind with it. When one of them died, as he knew this dance inevitablyĀ concluded, the other would be completely alone again, and Herines already knew his fate.Ā
He intended to hauntĀ Nathairan, intended to wrapĀ and coil himself around him like a snake,Ā and keep his fingers splayed over that intolerable pulse. There would be no reflections in mirrors, no understanding to be had, no words to express that which terrifiedĀ NathairanĀ to speak and that Herines already knew in noĀ more than silence.Ā
Herines could be poison. He tipped his neck forĀ NathairanĀ to drink.Ā
~Ā
Six, delineationĀ I want to know what God knows, and I will be with HimĀ Sent over the edge, I sighĀ Flush against the veil, I singĀ
~Ā
Of prophecy. Of snakes. Of circles. Time in push and pull, in lo and behold, inĀ dust, in dust, in dust.Ā AĀ priestess holds two candles in her palms and watches the flames burnĀ down to kiss skin and she bears the scars into an endless silence.Ā Godhood in a broken antler, in a golden chain.Ā TheĀ GoddessāsĀ voice mouldsĀ lawĀ and he who hears it best will die to it, while he who never knowsĀ her will live.Ā
One toĀ swallowĀ the sins of the family and bear them. One to spit it all out.Ā Theophagan. Sin-eater.Ā
There is a road between them both calledĀ motherless. They meetĀ inĀ theĀ middleĀ as equals and slit the throat of divinity.Ā
~Ā
Seven, perversionĀ It is no good, bearing false witnessĀ The sinner's errandĀ I am what I am, but we are not the sameĀ It is no good, speaking of fairnessĀ The fool'sĀ errandĀ
~Ā
There was something to be said of watching HerinesĀ HarasaeonĀ burn. Nate knew how a body looked when consumed by flames, knew the smell of burning hair,Ā howĀ skin looked as itĀ bubbled and melted, and knew the knowledge of grief. A family member lost not just in death, but in body. It was the southern tradition to cremate the dead, he knew, but it still seemed unnatural and morbid to him.Ā
The funeral of a king would normally be a grand affair, an entire nation come together to mourn and celebrate his life, but Herinesā pyre was surrounded only by those closest to him. It wasĀ almost somethingĀ shameful.Ā Perhaps,Ā NateĀ thought,Ā somewhat spitefully,Ā that wasĀ whyĀ they wereĀ crematingĀ him, so that not a single part of the butcher king could remain, so that they could start again with noĀ body to haunt them.Ā
He would be so lucky. Drako stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back, chin up, militaristic in his rigidness. He would not cry here, Nate knew, but later, when they retired to their overly grand chambers in the Palace ofĀ Kusig, Drako would find a way to excuse himself, and he would grieve somewhere he thought Nate could not see him. After everythingĀ theyādĀ been through, all the truthsĀ theyādĀ torn from one another, it unsettled something in Nate to know Drako would not share this with him, would not talk to him about it, but he had never shared Herines with Drako either, had he? The oldest Harasaeon brother was a secret between them, entirely inexplicable. There were no words to explain what Herines had meant to Drako, and no curses for what he meant to Nate.Ā
SoĀ he stood silently, and watched the flames climb higher, glowing from every inch of skinĀ like something holy was being exorcised.Ā
~Ā
Eight, resentmentĀ Are these laurels to be proud of?Ā Let me tell you how muchĀ I'veĀ come to hate you since I began to liveĀ Hate, hateĀ
~Ā
Nate moved with the ragged, snapping brutality of someoneĀ operatingĀ through nothing but devastated fury. Usual graceful movements became rushed, planned attacks became nothing but a roar of instinct, and still, against the clumsy technique of Herines, he was bound to win. He lashed out at the other manĀ with a dagger in each hand and teeth bared in a wild snarl, oblivious to the rest of the battlefield around them, and while he must have known how outmatched he was, Herines watched Nate with narrowed, calculating eyes, sword in hand and none of his brotherās familiarity.Ā
Nate wanted him here, down in the mud and blood that their soldiers fought and died on, stained and sweaty with a real fight.Ā FaucisĀ was dead. There was nothing that could take that truth back, to swallow it behind the teeth again and leave it forever unspoken.Ā FaucisĀ was dead. Herines had killed him. If these were the last two truths Nate ever knew, then he wouldĀ breathe them into the very blood he could feel thrumming around him until everything was reduced to the grip of his fist, andĀ heādĀ let it allĀ snap.Ā
He hated him. HeĀ hatedĀ him. He wanted him dead, needed to see him bleed. Nate chucked one of his daggers to the side and darted into Herinesā space, relishing in the slight widening of his eyes, and threw a fist into his jaw with enough force to send him sprawling to the side.Ā The connection of knuckle to bone was cataclysmic. A natural disaster. Nate felt contaminated with it. Revolting. Ruined. He wanted to peel back Herinesā skin to see the vile, writhing animal of him, wanted to watch him scream inĀ an agony so extreme it was unknowable, wanted to break every bone, knock out every tooth, gouge out both eyes, rip off every nail, until there was no more than blood and truth to Herines Harasaeon, and not a lick of honour.Ā
But he could not kill him, and that devastated Nate further. He reached into the other manās veins andĀ tugged.Ā
~Ā
Nine, separationĀ I was an angel, though plummetingĀ The stars are as beams shining through the wheelĀ I am sure that hell must be coldĀ
~Ā
Never for him to be a brother. Never for him to be a son. Only this. Only king. Perfect. Ruler. Saviour. He would do it gladly for them. He would transact himself as a currency to change the ink of a curse long dried, but it did not stop the fear.Ā The... aloneness.Ā
Stood at the top of a dynasty, treated as above all that is human, Rin found himself with no one else. A Harasaeon alone.Ā What is it to kneel at the foot of a god and beg for salvation? What is it to clutch at a motherās skirts and beg to be loved? Rin knew all. They both spoke to him. Kiva would kill herself to have him home, butĀ DreeaāsĀ words were sure.Ā This was exactly where he ought to be.Ā
And besides, he was home. Here in this grand old palace that had never felt so large, friendless and frightened.
In the library, wind would sometimes rush through with the distinct whistle of something falling. If he snapped a book closed tooĀ swiftly, it sounded like a body hitting the floor.Ā
He hated heights.Ā
~Ā
Ten, degradationĀ Nature chews on meĀ
~Ā
Never for him to be a brother. Never for him to be a son. Only this. Only king. Perfect. Ruler. Saviour. TheĀ wisersĀ needed a monster and Nate had been all too happy to become that for them. He contorted the nature of his ability, something so pure, so gentle, into a fatalĀ abomination. Such an intimate death, to delve inside, to feel theĀ thrum of fear and desperation, to squeeze the life away.Ā
There had been a boy inĀ TaugaĀ whoĀ was kind, but he burned a long time ago.Ā There was only blood now. OnlyĀ Nathairan.Ā If he struck a chord in a temple, there would be no echo.Ā
~Ā
Eleven, annihilationĀ This agonyĀ Such is the consequence of audienceĀ I will claw my way back to the great dark, and we will not speak of this place againĀ
~Ā
Nate wakes from a nightmare, like he often does these days.
It seems impossible to discern when exactly a war ends, but he thinks this might be it. The fighting has stopped. Lilla has been coronated.Ā KusigĀ is beginning to wash the blood from its cobbles. Things are far from perfect, with theĀ SkelfornesĀ andĀ someĀ Lower House noblesĀ not yetĀ pledging their loyalty to the Wiser Queen, and Lilla has so much work to do, but this is the closest thing to peace Nate has known for a long time. It makes sense then, he thinks, that his body rejects it. He barely eats. HeĀ doesnātĀ sleep. He gasps awakeĀ to a terror he cannotĀ containĀ with memories of a rage he let consume everything. It was all he had for so long. Peace, love, Drako ā theseĀ arenātĀ things a man like Nate can reconcile with so easily. To wake up from a nightmare andĀ immediatelyĀ have warm, undaunted hands wrapping around his middle, pulling him close. The familiar smell of lavender and oils. Words of comfort murmured into the darkness.Ā We'reĀ okay.Ā It'sĀ over.Ā
NateĀ doesn'tĀ know if Drako himself even believes those things,Ā doesn'tĀ know how to explain this to him properly when those pretty brown eyes implore him to just let him in,Ā doesnātĀ know how to say that, in his worst dreams, he sees Herines lying beside him.Ā
Doesn'tĀ know how to say that the reason he wakes up terrified is because, in those dreams, before hatred, and violence, and fear,Ā the first thing he feels, always, every night,Ā isĀ relief.Ā
~Ā
Twelve, desolationĀ Therein lies sacred geometry of onanismĀ Of ouroboros, of punishmentĀ I am that I was as I no longer am, for I am nothingĀ AmenĀ













