Blurry Memories: Siv and Lukus

“Why?” That was all he could muster from his sore throat. The question rang in his head, over and over again. He was curled in a ball in the corner of what looked like his room, but also didn’t. The details were blurry, and fog wrapped around the floor. Why. Why me? Why! He cried. If he had any strength left, he was sure the word would be screamed aloud. He couldn’t understand. He refused to let himself process what he had been through. What he kept seeing in his mind. His eyes were wide, his face pale. A tear slipped down his cheek, even when he willed it not to. He was sweaty and afraid. And the only thing he could ask himself was Why. He internally screamed it. A sound caught his attention. Siv lifted his head, his hair flowing over his blue eyes from having it down against his knees. A woman slowly walked through the bedroom door in front of him. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew who she was. He cried, scrambling to his feet, trying to run away, but he couldn’t move. She slithered towards him, grabbed his wrists, and pushed him against the wall. He shut his eyes, trying to block it out. “No, no, please! Not again. Please,” he begged. He cried. He screamed. She whispered in his ear, “Quiet, little Bunny. This will not hurt.” Before he could process what she said, he opened his eyes. He was balled up in the corner of his room, alone in the dark. This time, the details in his room were clear. The cold stone walls to his right and behind him. His large framed bed to the left, and the window and wall beyond that. In front of him lay the door, his table full of books to the left of that. It had been weeks, and yet he could tell no one. He was tortured, scared, that’s what his parents believed. He’d never tell anyone what happened. He’d look like a fool. If he were to be king, he could not be a failure. Could not be weak. He needed to be strong, like his father. I am Siv Hansen. Heir to the Brynholt Castle. I am not weak. I am no coward. He stood, wiping the dust from his pants, and walked to the door of his bedroom. The wood floor was chilly on his bare feet, the summer night colder than it should be. The intricately built castle was hundreds of years old, built before the wars between the North and South continents. It had halls that snaked around as if alive, and towers that watched over the entire kingdom. The many rooms, all with the coat of arms crested in the center of the doors, It had been his home since birth, and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. He admired his home as he walked through the large corridor, guards nodding at him as he took the path to his brother’s room. Lukus had always been there for him. He stepped quietly through every archway in the hall, running his hand along the peaks and valleys of the wainscoting on the walls. He stopped occasionally to look out the clear, floor-to-ceiling windows at the night sky. The stars and moon the only things lighting the paths and gardens and corridors. When he got to Luke’s room, he lightly knocked on the door, and it opened immediately. Sometimes Siv forgot his brother was a warrior, constantly prepared to protect. Or fight. The harsh look on his brother’s face melted as soon as he beheld Siv. Luke was taller and more built than Siv, causing the brothers to constantly be compared. Well, it caused Siv to constantly be compared to his brother. Gain some weight. Eat more. Workout with the guards. Siv learned to block it out. “Siv, are you okej?” Luke’s brows furrowed, a frown tugging his lips, rare for the soldiers of Brynholt, who were trained to never show an emotion other than pride. He grabbed Siv’s arm, pulling him into his room. Siv took notice of the girl in his brother’s bed, likely pulled from the street. He tried hiding his embarrassment and prayed that the dim light hid the flush on his face. The girl must know he was crown prince, and how pathetic it would be for him to seek asylum from his nightmares. Luke must have been awake before Siv had knocked. “I am fine, brother. Although I’d like to stay here tonight. My room is making me ill.” “Hej, oro ger små saker en stor skugga, brother,” Luke replied to Siv in their native language, surprising him. He bet that the girl in his bed did not speak Swedish, too poor to afford schooling. If she did wake, at least she wouldn’t hear of Siv’s problems and go telling the kingdom. “Yes, yes, Luke. I know the saying, bror, you mustn’t repeat it.” Siv had heard his brother say this a million times, to him, to his friends, his guards, everyone he knew he must tell, worry often gives a small thing a big shadow. It was Luke’s pride and joy to know the famous line. “Come, Siv, you can stay tonight. Although I am leaving for the lake tomorrow morning, I will likely be gone when you wake.” Luke had been home for weeks, ever since what happened, and he likely had those weeks’ worth of work to catch up on at the station site. Still, Siv didn’t expect his brother to leave so soon. He hid the furrow in his brows and frown that tried to claim his face. He knew if he didn’t his brother would demand to stay longer. He watched as Lukus whispered something into the ear of the girl on his bed. She rolled her eyes, not bothering to cover herself as she stood. Siv didn’t understand how his brother could enjoy such things. Women were never on Siv’s mind. Well, not before what happened. Now, they were only on his mind in his nightmares. The girl stood, grabbing a pile of clothes from the floor and sauntered tiredly into the large washroom connected to Luke’s bed chamber. She meandered back into the room and left out the door, a pout on her lips. Luke popped his head out, likely telling a guard to escort her home, before coming to sit with Siv on the couch in the corner. “Are you having nightmares again?” “Tonight was…” He grimaced, “different.” Luke knew not to push, to wait until his bror was ready to tell him what happened. He couldn’t help but wish he’d just say it, though. He still remembered when they found him, walking back towards the castle on an empty road. Clothes torn and dirty, redness around his wrists, on his face. Like he was hit, shackled. A prince, tortured. It was treason. And yet they hadn’t found a perpetrator. Siv refused to tell them what he remembered. And Luke knew his brother was lying when he said he remembered nothing, especially because of the nightmares. Handing the brother a pillow and sheet, he said, “Lay down, Siv. Sleep. You need your rest.” Siv was so young, and Luke felt like he had failed his brother. He was supposed to be his protector. Siv was to be the next king, and he was to protect his little brother. Why did he fail every task he was given? The question rang in Lukus’s head as he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He heard Siv’s breathing fall into a rhythm. Knew he was asleep. And knew he should be too. Luke hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he woke up. It was early morning, the light from the window cast a dim shadow on the room, and his ears caught bits of songbirds singing. He slowly sat up, rubbing his golden eyes, an uneasy frustration simmering back into his body. Standing, quietly so he didn’t wake his sleeping bror, he padded to the washroom. He closed the creaking door, trying to make as little noise as possible. Siv was a light sleeper. Walking over to the sink and mirror, he stood, staring at himself. With his arms braced against the edge of the beautiful white porcelain, his midnight hair cast over his aureate eyes. A tear fell. Just one, that was all he allowed. A singular tear, for the hundreds his brother had shed. He turned and saw the sun in the high window above the bath, realizing just how long he’d sat staring in the mirror. He quickly rinsed his face with the cool water and went back into his bedroom. The squeak of the bathroom door echoed the groan from Siv as he rolled over on the couch, lifting the sheet over his head. Lukus laughed and Siv sat up, his messy hair flowing over his eyes. With another groan he grabbed the pillow and threw it hard at his brother. Luke caught it, tossing it right back at the half asleep bror. Siv laughed as well, and lay back down, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I am leaving, Siv,” Lukus said as he put on his clothes and finished tying his boots. He wore a long sleeved tunic and pants to keep his body clean on the ride, despite the summer heat. Siv sat up, furrowing his brows and frowning slightly. Lukus walked over to his brother, ruffling his hand in the messy blonde hair, and hugging Siv. Siv laid back down, and by the time Lukus was ready to walk out the door, he heard the rhythmic breathing of sleep take over. He left his room and entered the long corridor of the castle. He marked which guards were stationed, the ones he told to be there at dawn, and gave a nod to the captain who was patrolling the hallways as he did every morning. He turned to the right of his room, walking towards the large glass double doors that led to the gardens of the castle. The heat from the summer sun put sweat down his back before he even walked outside. A guard opened the beautiful doors, letting the duke into the outdoors. The smell of flowers zealously hit his nose. He lifted his head, seeing the smiles of many beautiful women walking the gardens. The girl from his bed the previous night was not among them. Plenty of courtiers stayed in the castle, and plenty more visited daily, looking for someone with nobility to marry. Or doing the dirty work of the royals. Women loved the garden, as it was often open to the public to see. The queen prided in it, and wanted all to know what beauty she owned. Running his hand along flowers as he went, he stayed steadily on the path to the stables, where his things were waiting for him, readied by servants hours ago. He plucked a pink rose that snagged his attention, standing out against the white ones nearby. His mother’s favorite. He looked around, a bout of brown curly bun catching his attention behind a hedge. “Ebba,” he called, knowing the familiar hair from anywhere. He handed her the rose as she approached, her simple blue dress swishing around her. The servant smiled politely, winking at Lukus. “For your mother?” she asked, even as she already knew the answer. “Yes, Ebba, if you do not mind.” He knew the girl well and trusted her most with the task of giving it to his mor. Luke was young when Ebba started serving the king, as her mother had, and he’d grown along with her. She washed his clothes, cleaned his room, and brought tonics for the girls he’d snuck in late at night. Always keeping his boyish secrets. He’d trust her with almost anything. He turned as Ebba stalked away, placing his hands in his pockets as he made the walk to the stabled. Passing many courtiers and courtesans, smiling and nodding as he did so, he was exhausted from pretending by the time he got to the stables. He had to pass all the way through the garden and out the castle gates, leaving plenty of time for so many eyes to watch him. Keeping up the princely look was tiring. By the time he got there guards and servants were ready with riding gear and packs of supplies. It was a 2-day horse ride to the lake, and it was the fastest way to travel. Luke also refused to be seen in a carriage, no matter how much his mother fussed. To hell with the commoners thinking him too stuck up to ride like his warriors. With a sword strapped at his belt, and the supply bags strapped to his beautiful stallion, Luke mounted Kash, and took a deep breath, and a last look at his home, before stalking off into the city.