Chapter 129:
Mental Break
Inside the dimly-lit forest, Silas held his head in his hands. His breathing had yet to calm, and his cheeks and eyes were burning hot, his lips ajar as he attempted to hold back the approaching sobs raking down his throat. The wind blew the lush foliage, hiding his thin frame under the cover of the shadows. Silas fell still, allowing his breathing to calm as he soothed his raging thoughts.
It's okay. Everything will be okay. Silas muttered in his mind, his raging thoughts slowly slowing. Meredith was injured, that's all. He'll be okay, once his mana recovers.
Standing under the light of the moon, Silas felt as powerless as the day he lost Emmeline. Like that fateful day, it was so sudden, he had no time to think of what could be, and he shielded himself from the inevitable, digging his head into the sand like a fool. He was far more worried about Meredith's condition than Clarence. He had no patience for that child and his lack of awareness.
Clarence had not experienced such a close loss. Otherwise, he would have understood.
Raking his hands through his hair, Silas let out another shaky sigh, the tips of his fingers trembling as he attempted to rein in his growing anxiety. Going back to Meredith's side now would do nothing. Eva and Yulia were still working to treat Meredith, and because Meredith had more elven blood running through his veins, it was more likely his mana would respond faster than his own body's healing process, allowing his body to slowly heal from the inside out.
But the thought of his body's mana failing, and the thought of waking up tomorrow in his bed, stepping out of the room to greet his unconscious uncle only to find a white sheet over his cold corpse, having fallen stiff earlier that night, terrified Silas to a rigid stillness.
I need a drink. It had been a long time since Silas had last drank any alcohol. The worry of being found within the Yursear Kingdom would keep him too sober to enjoy a buzz, and the thought of being drunk brought back memories of a better time, a time when he did not have to worry about the life and death of his comrades, without the thought of just having to fight to survive.
He thought once he had enough to drink, maybe then he would be able to apologize for his appalling behavior earlier. Though some words were needed to be said, the rest was cruel, and it made him feel demented, evil, just as the human's had initially framed the elves as. He did not want to be like their human oppressors, but the more he hated the humans, the more he found himself becoming just like them.
With his head in his hands, Silas felt Eva was right about him to a certain extent. He was immature, prone to being emotional under duress, and it made him a poor soldier, a poor teammate. It was not just Clarence that was acting like a child, he was acting like one too. He had to be better, do better for himself, for Meredith, and for their goal to overthrow the Yursear Kingdom.
Slowly, Silas finally stood up, his legs feeling stiff as the spring air fell cool around him. Shivering, he rubbed his arms and used his mana to heat his body, circulating it around his body like water. He let out a small sigh, still holding his arms across his chest, his palms warming his arms as he continued forward, hoping to continue his walk around the small, hidden courtyard to the side of Camille's main palace.
As he had left the palace, Silas scanned the area, sensing no other presence before he sat outside, enjoying the cool air as he cleared his head. Even now, he was the only one standing in the area.
Silas often enjoyed some alone time, as it allowed him to process his thoughts, but the more time he spent alone, the more lonely he felt, feeling as though the loneliness would once take his life if he were not careful. But now, after ten long years, he finally found his family again, and while he was unsure how to think of Countess Camille and her people, he appreciated her generous hospitality. Even in such a tense environment, he no longer felt alone.
Being in enemy territory like this, Clarence must feel alone too. Silas stared at his palm for a moment, remembering the warmth of the prince's hand as he held his own. Is that why he is so clingy? Has he grown reliant on me? A shiver trailed down Silas's spine, but he could not fight his own, possibly accurate, thoughts.
After pushing away those debaucherous thoughts, he was ready to return to his room, now prepared to face Clarence with some decency, he felt a hot gaze devouring him from inside the palace, burning his very existence with its weight. Puzzled, Silas quickly moved his eyes up, his eyes narrowed as he stared up, attempting to look into the window overlooking the small courtyard. His eyes fell on something, but before he could make out what it was, it was gone, like the shadow of a curtain pushed by the wind.
Dammit. I must be seeing things. Silas shook his head, muttering under his breath as the exhaustion and the feeling of defeat flowed through him, causing him to drag his feet as he moved towards the main doors to the palace, his arms returning to his side as the figure in the window continued to peek out, their gaze retracted only when Silas entered the palace again..
…
Outside their shared room, Clarence stood facing the door to their room, his fist raised half-way in a steadfast manner. His gaze was highlighted by his aggrieved expression, his eyes a dim red as he stood tall, wishing he could stare through the door, pushing it open to speak to Silas, to clarify those hurtful words that were said.
Did he really feel that way? He wanted to ask, feeling a dull, prickling pain tear at his heart. Clarence could only stand outside the room, his courage fading at the thought of turning that doorknob and entering the room. He could not face Silas now, not like this. But still, he had to collect his things and prepare to move rooms if Silas wanted him to.
He knew Silas wanted space, and Clarence felt it was only right to give him such. Clarence could not stand to face Silas right now anyway. He was not worthy to stand beside Silas.
He had to better himself, and to make himself worthy of standing beside Silas, even if it meant spending time apart to do so.
Clarence shook his head, letting out all the pent up air in his lungs as he did so, and then he opened the door. His gaze was heavy, facing forward with a resolute expression, as if he were expecting a difficult response from Silas. Instead, he was greeted by complete quiet, not even the disordered sound of breathing could be heard, only Clarence's baited breath and gradually hastening heart as he wandered around the sitting room before he entered the room further, stopping at the door to the bedroom with his head down, his shame heavy.
"Silas, are you in there?" Clarence spoke in a trepid tone, his voice small. Though, the knocks carried some weight, and it would be easy to hear them, even if asleep.
Knowing Silas was too angry to be asleep at this time, Clarence carefully lifted his hand and wiggled the knob to the door with his hand, as if warning the other of his entry, before he opened the unlocked door and stepped into the bedroom.
Unexpectedly, the upset Silas he expected to encounter was not there. Rather, Silas was nowhere to be found, and the entire room was quiet, eerily so. Clarence spun on his heels, searching even under the bed like a child attempting to find its lost, precious stuffed toy. But, each step was fruitless, and not even a hair of Silas's head could be found.
Did something happen to him in the bath? Realizing he had not searched the bathroom, an irrational fear struck him as he quickly ran into the bathroom, afraid something had happened to Silas. Sliding across the floor, Clarence hurried and pushed open the partially-closed door, panting as he squinted inside the room, his pupils tightening momentarily before his expression relaxed again. I need to stop scaring myself like this. Obviously Silas isn't here. Clarence thought to himself, feeling silly for wandering around the room like a fool.
With defeat, the prince walked to the window and prepared to close the curtains, preparing for bed before Silas returned, even if he would return to their bedroom that night. Before Clarence could close the curtains to the room, he was struck by an odd feeling, and with a curious gaze, he stared downwards and straight into the garden towards the figure he had seen moving below.
Breathtaking. The scene before him had truly taken his breath away, making him fall breathless as he stared down towards the figure he had quickly grown to miss after their sour departure.
He was safe, standing outside with a thoughtful expression, the redness in his pale cheeks blooming like peonies, glowing in the light of the dim spring night. Even his glittery green eyes were like fireflies, capturing his attention, captivating his mind again and again.
In the many days he had been away from the palace, Clarence felt the urge to paint again, to draw the figure he had seen with his very eyes that night and keep it deep within his memory, allowing only himself to savor the angelic person that had taken his heart. Lifting his heavy hand, Clarence's damp palm fell against the glass, covering Silas's thin figure with his fingers, leaving only his head visible.
What can I do to help you? Clarence thought listlessly, staring out at the figure. No. What can we do to reach a common goal, Silas? He did not just want to help Silas, he wanted to stand by his side as an equal, and in a way, he felt Silas wanted to help him too. Though Silas had said those hurtful words, there was another feeling wallowing in his words, and Clarence could only wander, wanting to reach out and grasp that ever so faint feeling.
Lost in thought with his palm against the glass, he stared down at Silas with a pensive look before he felt the elven man's gaze sharply lift upwards, facing the window he was hiding behind. It made the prince feel as though his soul had been stared through, peering through his figure like a piece of glass. While the gaze was sharp, it was not cold, and sent an electrifying wave down to the base of the prince's spine, causing the tips of his calloused fingers to tremble.
Before Silas could stare further, Clarence quickly moved behind the cover of the curtain, his face flushed and his eyes moist, his body hot like a burning ember. After a quiet moment, the prince turned his head and gently stared out the window again, this time, only revealing half of his face as he watched Silas shake his head, muttering quietly to himself as he walked towards the palace, as if fighting the tormenting thoughts of his own.
It would be better if we talked tomorrow. I don't know if I can face him now. Clarence sighed, rubbing the palm of his right hand with his left thumb, feeling awkward. With some haste in his step, he prepared to change into his pajamas and lie in the bed before Silas came back, intending to pretend to sleep to keep the peace for one more day.
He was too stubborn to leave the room now.
…
Having reached the Yursinean palace in record time, Holland was brought into the palace dungeon like a political prisoner, but Captain Laurent took great care to escort the man, not allowing any of the soldiers to mistreat him. He was a proper soldier and an adversary worthy of the captain's respect. There was no reason to treat him poorly when he held such important information about the rebellion and Eva.
With Beau leading him by the arm, chained at his wrists and ankles, Holland was led deeper into the Yursinean dungeon. The odd smile on his face never faded throughout the ride, even when he ate at the simple pieces of rations he was provided. Captain Laurent's men were ecstatic to have found the vicious Charon, having captured him so easily, but one of Charon's comrades escaped, bringing them back down as they traveled, preparing to secure Holland as other groups were sent out to continue their search for his comrade.
Captain Laurent's wounds had not finished healing by the time they arrived at the palace, but he was swiftly treated before he pushed the doctor aside, wishing to check on Holland Joey as soon as possible. With two of his knights at his side, Captain Laurent hurried down to the dungeon, the bandages under his clothes still soaked in the smell of medicine. Rolling his nose at the smell, the captain continued forward, following the scent of Charon, now mingled with the deafening scent of the bloody dungeon.
"Captain Laurent, the prisoner has been treated and is ready to be questioned." As Beau approached, the two dungeon knights guarding the door to Holland's cell bowed their heads, the knight to the left speaking first.
Beau, staring through the small, barred window, pursed his lips, "Did he cause any problems?"
"None, Captain Laurent." The knight shook his head, his expression stiff. "He has remained quiet since his arrival."
With a wave, the door was swiftly opened of the captain, and the two accompanying knights waited to the side of the door as it was hurriedly closed again, extinguishing the light outside the cell as Beau stared down at Holland's chained, muscular figure, appearing far more unsound than before.
The bruises around Holland's arms and face had mostly healed, but there were dark splotches on his dark skin, marred with red cuts and random swollen bumps. His lips were split, ashy and colorless, while his under eyes were a deep pinkish-purple hue, bringing with it a sense of exhaustion only days without sleep could bring. Holland's often neatly hair, a styled undercut with carefully maintained braids tied behind his head, was now frizzy, matted at the ends, and dirty. While Holland looked unaware of the state of his delicate hair, Captain Laurent was well aware Holland's hair was very important to him.
I haven't seen him sleep since we arrived. How long will his body hold on for? Though Beau was a Yursinean knight, he was fair with his prisoners, treating them until they were banished or executed once the information they shared was proven worth pursuing.
"How are you feeling, Charon?" Beau used a plaid tone to speak, but his words were provoking, particularly using the nickname Holland had steadily grown to hate. Watching the chained man with his head down, Beau began to ask simple questions, attempting to arouse any response from Holland, who looked asleep.
Waiting for only a moment, the captain finally said, "Don't make this difficult, Holland Joey." Beau stated firmly, staring towards Holland with a frown on his face, his brows flat without expression, keeping his appearance still and calm. "Why were you in the Yursear Kingdom?"
Holland stared at Beau with a blank stare, finally lifting his head to face the captain with a placid, awkward smile on his face, appearing out of place on his dirtied face. Though he stared up, he said nothing, keeping his eyes low in some form of protest.
"We already know what you were trafficking, Holland. A particularly important shipment for Eva." The captain took a step forward, entering Holland's personal space, but not close enough for Holland to grab him. "Why sacrifice yourself for that evil woman? She will never save you from this palace. You're now a liability to her."
Captain Laurent's obvious dislike of Eva was known by the entire Yursinean knights and the rebels, leading to careful planning of Eva's trips and music tours, keeping her faux identity out of the captain's watchful, ever-moving gaze and bloodhound-ish nose. She had no time to save him, and Beau was well aware what happened to the past rebels that were captured by the kingdom.
Holland stared up, his dark eyes burning with amusement. "You're supposed to be interrogating me, Beau, not asking questions like a suitor." Hearing his own words, Holland laughed aloud. "Of course, you could never keep a woman at your side. Is that why you despise Eva so much?"
The more Holland spoke, the more information he gave, useful or otherwise. Beau persisted, asking, "What goods were you trafficking? Your accomplice is being tracked as we speak. If you refuse to tell us, we can always get the information from your companion."
"What goods do you think, Beau Laurent?" Holland hummed quietly, staring at the captain for what seemed like an eternity before he said with the same smile, "Rather than that, how can you be tracking my companion if I'm here?" Trails of blood slowly trickled out of Holland's mouth, existing wounds finally rearing their heads as he continued to speak, splashing flicks of blood towards Beau's shoes.
Staring at Holland Joey's bloody mouth, Beau felt a sense of disgust well over him. "Answer the questions, Holland." The captain's voice lowered an octave. "There are other ways to make you cooperate."
"Ahaha," Holland laughed, spreading more blood, staining his teeth red, like rubies. "I'm curious to see them."
Beaten, bruised, or even starved, Holland would never rat out his boss or his companions. They could only continue to confine him, question him, and torture him if necessary to defeat the rebels before their plans could be implemented.
Having already lost his patience, and feeling exhausted, the captain stepped back once, staring at Holland as he turned sideways to face the door, never turning his back completely to the prisoner. "Let's end the interrogation for today. Tomorrow, we'll have a much longer discussion." Waving his hand with a dark expression, Beau motioned for the heavy prison door to be shut as he stepped through the doorway. However, before the door could be shut, only a sliver cracked open, Holland shouted out into the light of the doorway, as if chasing the other man with his words.
"Captain Laurent, wait!" Raising a brow, Beau's expression stiffened as he turned to face the small crack in the door, barely able to make out Holland's face as he waited for a response from him. Shortly after, Holland responded with a maniacal laugh, "Hounds like you belong where you are, under the thumb of their masters." His eyes narrowed as the color brightened in his gaze, challenging Beau with a smile full of ridicule. "You can't pry information from a master-less mutt."
Staring at Holland's challenging figure, it was obvious the real interrogation would soon begin.
…
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Thank you for your patience, all! Here's the chapter... I actually took off work sick today after a pretty grueling Saturday/Sunday painting my store and cleaning :( I had to remove some 15 year old painters tape and it cut up the pads of my fingers/ under my fingernails pretty badly, so typing hurts, but it's not too bad. Thankfully I finished all the cleaning, and now all that's left is having my contractor come in! (I added some scent additive to the paint, and my GOD the fumes! Glad I used half a packet...)
Silas, you're falling, slowly, while Clare-bear, you've fallen hard my dude. I like their romance vibe. It's very back and forth, but it gives an innocent, giggly vibe that makes me fangirl inside. Feels like everyone sees it blooming but the two of them. Just need to wait for Silas to fall in love completely >y< hehe
This is unedited, because poor Hunny was hard at work today too. I was sick yesterday and today, so that slowed us both down.... Sorry! Hoping to get one last chapter in before another time jump, and then the start of the war/ major romance moving forward. Minor spoiler, Clare and Silas are soon having a heart to heart, and it involves alcohol >u> hehe see you all next week!