Sleep; My Tarnished Silver

Ravus: pancakes.

You didn’t have to think about that at all, huh?

Ravus: Nope.

T H E   B E G I N N I N G   A N D   T H E   E N D

A quick glance in the mirror at his own reflection, checking that his hair was in order, and he froze at the sound of the crashing of furniture. While the funeral had been days ago, he had missed it, as much as he missed her own death. Totally unaware. A sinking feeling pushing into the pit of his stomach. Princess Lunafreya seemed perhaps happy to see him again, but the Prince…?

He’s unsurprised to hear he’s in his mother’s room. It would probably still smell like her, and be full of memories of her. Carefully he steps in, holding a small gift in his arm, unsure if Ravus will take it. 

Tearful silver eyes turned on the door, and the boy felt his face heat with shame. Leo. Was he going to admonish him for his fit, for breaking things for no better reason than he missed his mother?

He clenched his jaw, tightening his grimace so his lip wouldn’t quiver. Sullen and lost was the look he bore. Who cares anyway? He wasn’t the important one anyway, Lunafreya was. What did it matter if he was a delinquent behind closed doors? A brat or unruly or...

He snatched up a piece of splintered wood and hurled it at the wall beside the door. It gouged the paint of the wall and knocked a painting from its hook.

He’d been in an empty, prettily decorated sitting room, how he got there he wasn’t sure. He had been in a fog, and then some stray scent caught his attention. He had reminded him of his mother...

He missed her—the vase holding a fake bouquet shattered on the far wall. He needed her back—the table flipped, the top cracked. And nothing—a chair splintered under his fists—would ever—the love seat flung against the stone hearth, stuffing springing out from tears—matter again.

Noctis didn’t want to pity him. He wanted to convey that he felt genuine sorrow for the loss of the other prince’s mother. She had been so kind and caring and Noct was truly saddened by her loss. Luna was mourning in her own way, pushing herself to become the best Oracle she could be to honor the mother she lost. And Ravus seemed to be bottling it up too much.

When the older boy slid to the floor Noct slowly rolled closer. Even if he acted like he’d rather be alone, the younger wanted to give him comfort. Or at least try. So he hesitantly reaches out and wrapped his arms around Ravus’ shoulders.

Ravus flinched from the touch at first, turning his head away in shame at his tears. He hated himself that the boy’s actions were soothing but also tore at his emotional wounds.

More tears fell, and he shook with the effort to control his sobs. The flood had begun, but how could he stop it? Would it ever stop? How can this kind of emotional hurt ever hope to heal?

It wasn’t only that he’d survived because she sacrificed herself. It was that he watched her do it, Ravus wasn’t strong enough to have protected her, and she’d died in the midst of a burning battlefield, and he had watched her breathe her last breath. The smell of smoke and blood still lingered in his memory, haunting him in his dreams.

He’d been in an empty, prettily decorated sitting room, how he got there he wasn’t sure. He had been in a fog, and then some stray scent caught his attention. He had reminded him of his mother...

He missed her—the vase holding a fake bouquet shattered on the far wall. He needed her back—the table flipped, the top cracked. And nothing—a chair splintered under his fists—would ever—the love seat flung against the stone hearth, stuffing springing out from tears—matter again.

As the prince wheeled himself along he heard the sound of things breaking behind one of the doors. It scared him a little but he wanted to know if it was an intruder so he knew whether to call a guard or not. But upon opening the door and seeing Ravus standing among the wreckage he felt a pang of sadness. Noctis knew why he did this and it made his heart hurt.

Ravus’s normally pale face reddened with his rage. The words were stuck inside though. The sliver haired boy was shaking as he bared his teeth at Noctis. The wreckage of the chair he broke was by his hand, the splintered chair leg would be an ideal weapon if he—

Despite trying to appear brave the child flinched as the item knocked a painting to the floor, cracking the ornate frame around it. His father wasn’t going to be happy to see all the damage done to the room. Clarus would have garula.

The words never passed his lips but his foot collided with the overturned table, further breaking it. And the boy’s words crashed over him like icy ocean waves, tryouts no to douse his rage with pitying words. Pity.

Ravus kicked the table again with a shout, his chest tight and his face burning with shame, vision blurred with tears. Why wasn’t he, prince of Tenebrae, worthy of such protection? Why? Why did his mother have to die?

The next shout wasn’t so much rage, but the cry of a wounded thing. He tried to hold to the fire, kicking out at anything in his path, but his legs shook as his grief finally threatened to overtake all. He wanted to flee, didn’t want to be seen, but that infernal boy was between him and escape.

He’d been in an empty, prettily decorated sitting room, how he got there he wasn’t sure. He had been in a fog, and then some stray scent caught his attention. He had reminded him of his mother...

He missed her—the vase holding a fake bouquet shattered on the far wall. He needed her back—the table flipped, the top cracked. And nothing—a chair splintered under his fists—would ever—the love seat flung against the stone hearth, stuffing springing out from tears—matter again.

As the prince wheeled himself along he heard the sound of things breaking behind one of the doors. It scared him a little but he wanted to know if it was an intruder so he knew whether to call a guard or not. But upon opening the door and seeing Ravus standing among the wreckage he felt a pang of sadness. Noctis knew why he did this and it made his heart hurt.

Ravus’s normally pale face reddened with his rage. The words were stuck inside though. The sliver haired boy was shaking as he bared his teeth at Noctis. The wreckage of the chair he broke was by his hand, the splintered chair leg would be an ideal weapon if he—