* * *
Gerald
* * *
Sleep hurts. I suppose it's strange to say that, and maybe I'll have trouble explaining it. You know when you go to sleep angry or hurt, and when you wake up you know the ache never died off? You can tell because it feels like a half-healed bruise. Better, but still bitter. I feel like that.
I know I dreamed of Kathe. 'Sy, too. Father. I can feel them like shadows still lingering behind me. As melancholy as that might sound, it makes taking a shower pretty awkward.
I can't get them out of my head, though. I almost try to dry them out of my hair while I rub it down with the towel. I try to brush them out as I grunt through all of the tangles yet another incarceration has left in my mane. They're still in my head. This feels bad, you know. I still want her.
And I think Father has her, and that's something that just kicks up the bile in my throat.
Dwelling on this makes me rather preoccupied, so I don't notice the fist before it collides with my head and then grabs me by the hair and shakes me a little. From the laugh, and the vague idea of the person's height, I can tell that either it's Lute, or Daddy's feeling pretty strange this morning. "Hey! I missed havin' someone to pick on. Come on, I'm makin' coffee." I snort. That narrows it right down, then. I follow Lute into the kitchen, hoping that coffee will clear my head of its muddle and its hauntings. "You work on breakfast and I'll brew up the coffee, 'kay? I try to take care of these things when Dad's got a big Trial day ahead of him."
I nod. Routine is nice. It helps wash away what lingers. "How many am I cooking for?" The sibling count doesn't often vary that much, but we kinda move in and out at random, depending on who's in training or out on a mission. At least Lute stays around home enough to have a more or less accurate headcount.
He smiles up from the coffee pot. "Well, let's see. Lyric's finally back, and then there's me, a'course, and then you, and then Dad, and Katherine was here tonight, and...hm. Make some extra just in case I missed one, 'kay? Jhe h'Logos saw himself in last night to make sure that Lyric slept off the shock." He looks away while he says that bit. I frown. "...When's the last time you really got a chance to talk to Lyric, Gerald? Do you know what's wrong with him?"
That's enough to break me out of thinking about Katherine and Father for a bit. I've got my own problems, but for Lyric...he must feel like the world's crashing down around his ears. "I haven't really been able to talk with him in a long time. ...Heck. I don't know if I really talked with him while I was out on mission. It was pretty crazy out there."
Lute snorts. "But nothing to write home about, you friggin' Poet? Okay, okay, fair's fair - you were on spy duty, so s'not like you could tie a postcard onto a pigeon. Make up for lost time and tell me while breakfast is cookin'. Those two take forever and a day to peel each other out of bed, so you should have plenty of lead time for the juicy stuff."
I try not to dwell on that last part and just think about what a muddle my mission was. How do I explain all of that before breakfast is done? It's all so complicated! ...Heck, he's my brother - he's used to this shit. "Alright. But it gets kind of scary."
"Oh? Really?" Lute leans back against the counter and grins at me. Funny, if I weren't his brother, and didn't grow up with that grin, I might be on edge right now. He certainly can look threatening to the idle passerby. Maybe it's the fangs that just barely peek out over his bottom lip.
"Yeah. Just wait till I tell you about my wife."
* * *
Lyric
* * *
There's a hand on my forehead. It's a pretty big hand with fine fingers, and it's nice and cool. I'm aware of it for a very long time before I'm aware of the fact that I'm asleep. Once I figure that out, of course, I wake up. I open my eyes while mentally relishing how rested I feel. It's like I've slept for days.
I hear a chuckle. "You could say that, Jhe Lyric."
I blink away the fuzzies in my eyes. There's a man sitting in a chair right by my bed. Hey, my old bed. In my old room. Yeah, that's my old desk chair, alright. Has it been ten years since I last saw all this stuff? Hasn't changed much! Hey, wait...
My eyes widen. Is that the Poet King? I almost stammer some sort of apology out. I'm not really sure what for. Before I can manage it, though, a wave of peace ripples over me and I slump back into bed.
"Oh dear. I think I overdid that one." He sounds a bit sheepish. "Dear boy, don't be afraid of me just because I'm wearing a crown on my head." Jhe h'Logos says that crown part with a kind of relish in the fact that he has one. That one word drips with condescension in such an effortless way that I'm immediately reminded of the fact that the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale is his brother. He does bear some resemblance to Ebrellin-i as well - his nose and eyebrows have similar curves, and the mouth could definitely make some of the Peacock king's most pretentious expressions. He's built much smaller, though...well, okay, comparing anyone to the Peacock King when it comes to height is a bit unfair. Even Father is shorter than the towering monarch. Jhe h'Logos is just a bit shorter than Father, though. His strangely-colored, bulkily layered robes do build him up a bit more to make up for it, but he looks a bit frail, as if he's been ill lately. His inky black hair falls to his shoulders under a gold and silver crown that is styled after the nib of a quill. He leans in, his deep blue eyes full of concern. "Really, are you feeling okay now, Jhe Lyric?" He slides his hand away, allowing me to sit up and see for myself.
I cast my eyes down at the blanket, dwelling on my thoughts. I feel so much better that it's almost strange. There are still things that upset me, but it's like I've put them to rest for awhile. I'm certainly not tired. This is the most well-rested I've felt in my life. "Yes. Did I..." My eyes widen. The Trial! "Did I really sleep for days?"
The Jhe h'Logos sits up straight, rolling his shoulders as I hear his back pop twice. He winces, twists a little to the left, and then there's a third, louder pop. "Well, in a way, you did. But as far as the time goes, only the night has passed for you. You just...slept for quite a very long time." He sees the confused look on my face and laughs. "Time is in the mind, Jhe Lyric, and a Time Lord need not think too hard to give a few days rest to someone that needs it very badly. You are feeling well, yes?"
I nod. "I'm...I'm sorry for the trouble."
"Oh, pay it no mind." He waves it away. "It's nothing to me, really. I am the Poet King, after all."
I'm almost knocked out of my bed from the condescension. It's just like Ebrellin-i's, except nicer, like it's made of feather pillows. So I guess in that way it's sort of pleasant. "I...I have to go to the bathroom." ...Ouch. I really have to go. What the hell?
"Oh, about that. It was three days' worth of sleep after all..."
My eyes widen. The Poet King darts from his chair to give me proper clearance as I run to the bathroom with all the speed my well-rested legs can give me. The relief I experience in that bathroom is so profound that I think it might be life-changing.
* * *
'Sy
* * *
I can't help the thought that rolls through my head as I sit down at the kitchen table. Of course Lyric would choose to come home at the most inconvenient time for me to enjoy the fact that he's come home. In the seat next to me, Katherine glowers at the world at large with her morning face. Gerald sits across from her in what must simply be an attempt to look as uncomfortable as possible. I swear, what is wrong with that boy these days? He's got a burr up his butt about something and it can't be his mission, I know that. Getting arrested is too commonplace for him. He's been trained for worse, and he took to that training. I'd know.
Lute, at least, is acting normal. I have that moment of despair that I always feel when I remember that Lute is the most normal member of this household. He slides a plate over to me, then to Katherine, and then to Gerald. He sets one out for himself and his twin, and then there's one more. He pauses with yet another plate, and I'm wondering who the two unidentified guests are that Lute has made plates for.
He recognizes that expression on me, apparently, because after looking at me he smirks and says, "Jhe Elete is still in the house, Father." He stifles a chortle after seeing me scowl. "You didn't know he was here?"
"Your Uncle was supposed to see that he sent a Poet to help your brother sleep." I start to pick at my eggs in emphatic chops. I've forgotten yet again that my fork is not an axe.
"Oh. Well, I guess he kinda decided to handle things directly like he always does."
I snort. "Who is the other plate for?"
He grins. "I figure it's one of those mornings where the unexpected comes in pairs." I narrow my eyes at him. What's he know that I don't? Or...what's he calculating for that I'm not?
Before I can come to a conclusion, the Poet King comes walking in himself, heavily layered robes swaying with his movements. His black shoulder-length hair is, of course, immaculately styled under his crown. It seems to be the Palace's long-running joke that Elete wears his crown more often than the Emperor of Radia does. It would be funny if it weren't true. He pauses in his stride as he sees my expression. Damn it all, he bows.
I hate it when he does that. It means he's about to make me feel bad about the fact that he's apologizing to me.
"Jhe h'Akribastes. I beg your forgiveness for the intrusion into your home, but I wanted to make sure the matter had my personal attention, considering the direness of the circumstances." He watches me as I narrow my eyes at him, then finally has the presence of mind to look sheepish.
"Jhe Elete. I would tell you just how foolish you are to overextend yourself, but I am hungry and I have a long morning ahead of me and at this moment I want nothing more than for you to sit down and eat so that I may consume my bacon."
"I'm really feeling quite fine." He glides over to a seat at the table. Lute actually pulls out the chair for him and then sketches his own smart little bow to the King. Cheeky little ingrate.
I chew and swallow my bacon, and before I can get something else in my mouth to garble the words I decide to reply. "Really? You look paler than even a member of your well-bred family ought to. I should send you back to your Hall on a stretcher." He only makes one of his little sighs and goes to nibbling at his eggs. Damnit, he doesn't even eat enough. I narrow my eyes. "Elete. Your clothing doesn't even match."
Elete's fork pauses halfway to his open mouth, his expression that of shocked perplexion. He looks down at himself and frowns. "I don't understand what you're talking about," he says, as if I were speaking some language that he, in a freakishly improbable turn of events, did not understand.
Katherine clears her throat. "Your...cloak, sire." I don't miss the bitterness in her tone. He's been straining her patience even more than is usual as of late.
Elete spares a glance back at the cloak that drapes over the heavy layers of his well-coordinated robes. He can't hide his surprise as his eyes widen. "I...err." He blinks. His cloak is an eye-searing array of vertical strips of patterned fabric, each more garish than the last. "...The students were practicing again. They often practice on me, you know. It's the custom."
"Yes," I say, raising an eyebrow, "and you've never before lacked the focus it takes to guide them into something coordinated. You're slipping during your lessons, and you can't even properly block your own students from sabotaging your wardrobe." Harsh words, I know, but what will it take to get it into his head that he needs to slow down and ask for help when he's obviously ill?
The Poet King draws himself up, robes shifting around him. His eyes narrow at me with something that borders on scorn. Just as he's about to reply with what I am sure is a well-worded and arrogant retort, my entryway door slams open. The wards ripple, telling me just who has intruded even as I hear the stomping footsteps and then see her burst into the kitchen entryway, a flurry of red curls surrounding two angry golden eyes.
Stevane. I hear Lute mutter an "Oh shi-" as he ducks back a bit, grinning like he's about to watch the world end in the most hilarious way possible.
She strides over to Elete's chair, then looks down at the Poet King, anger so deeply etched into her that she's vibrating with it.
"Jhe h'Lete!" ...Is she still using that childhood nickname for him? She's sixteen now, I thought she had grown out of that after about...six or seven or so! "What are you doing out of your bed?!"
The entire room goes so quiet that you'd think someone had been murdered. ...Perhaps that's more prophetic than observational.
"I...I'm sorry, was someone looking for me...?" His voice is so soft that I almost don't hear it, and he's ducking down in his seat like he's expecting to get hit. Which I know Stevane would...probably...never do.
"...You!" She stamps her foot, balling her fists up by her sides, cheeks puffed out in held-back rage. Finally she expels the breath. "I'm your duty-Poet for this half of the week and you KNEW THAT. Don't try and tell me the schedule was miswritten, I've done my Poet training and I know it wasn't!"
He smiles brightly up at her. "There's always more training to be had, if you'd like. Here, why don't you sit and eat? Someone was nice enough to make one extra." That gives her pause.
Then, her eyes narrow in an eerily spot-on imitation of me. "...And I suppose you're going to make me believe that you didn't plant that idea in someone's head in anticipation of the fact that I'd come running here after your sneaky derriere?"
He grins. I feel a surge of teacher's pride from him. "You're learning! Have a seat, Stevane. I thought it would be nice if you could have breakfast at home today, especially with how hard you've been working this past week. It was very dutiful of you to volunteer for extra work, you know. Ah, you thought I hadn't noticed that little detail? Now, who's overworking themselves?"
I make a quiet little sigh into my plate, giving Katherine that face which she, by now, is intensely familiar with. I make it any time I realize, yet again, just what it is that my children are learning by example when they get instructed by the Poet King.
Lyric, of course, chooses that moment to walk into the kitchen. He looks at me first, that timid expression at least tempered by a good long rest. If Jhe h'Logos has overextended himself in his work, I will have to concede that he performed said work flawlessly. He makes a short little bow to the Poet King, then walks to the table with his shoulders up so high from tension that they're practically level with his ears. He doesn't make it to the table, though.
Stevane interrupts his procession. Lyric's eyes widen. Oh dear. I don't think he recognized his sister. Well, she has grown quite a bit since he left, hasn't she? I can see him taking in the changes. I will admit, she...did sort of grow up all at once. More than I would prefer. There is a lot to take in. ...I think he's going into shock again, damnit.
Stevie just stares at Lyric's face as she holds him by the shoulders, looking him in the eye. "...Lyric?" It's like she's seeing a ghost. Well, in a way she is, isn't she? I didn't think about how this would affect her. Lyric was her favorite person. He barely nudged out my brother in that respect.
Everyone stays quiet as the two look into each other's eyes.
"...Stevane? You...you grew up!" Lyric almost sounds a little sad. Maybe it's getting to him, just how much he's missed while he was away, how much he's been missed. Then Stevie slaps him across the cheek with no warning whatsoever.
"I OUGHT TO SET YOU ON FIRE! ...If this weren't Daddy's kitchen I would! Where have you been?"
Lyric replies with enough stammering that I wonder if he's going into shock again. A special kind of shock that only Stevane can trigger. Thankfully Elete's there to tug her away from her brother just as Lute pulls Lyric back.
"Stevane? That's not the proper way to greet someone, no matter how long a vacation they've taken. Do I need to put you through Etiquette again?" She sulks as he leads her back to her seat, but that doesn't keep her from drilling Lyric on just where he's been and what he thought he was doing, leaving her all alone in Radia. I suppress an eyeroll. Really, I don't know if I'll ever be able to be properly angry at Lyric for leaving home like he did. Stevane went ahead and did it in my stead.
It certainly breaks the pallor over the room that I expected before a Trial. Katherine's so busy watching the spectacle and trying not to laugh that I think what's ahead is, if not completely off her mind, at least not directly at the forefront.
Really, it's a shame breakfast ever had to be over.
