Blurry Memories: Siv and Lukus

Chapter 2

Siv opened his eyes to a servant calling his name. He groaned and rolled over, pushing his face into the back of the couch he’d been sleeping peacefully on. He was already annoyed that his brother had woken him up. Now a fuss had once again gained his consciousness. “Prince Siv.” The servant again decreed, “You must get up, your father is looking for you.” He heard the words that time, quickly sitting up.

He stared at the servant for just a moment, before scrambling to his feet and running to his rooms. His golden hair flew into his face as he skidded to a stop in front of his bedroom door. A guard standing outside opened it before he even said a word, and he rushed to get dressed. If the king was looking for him at this time, it must be important.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he had no idea what time of day it was. Taking a quick look out of the window that looked onto the city below from his room, he couldn’t see the sun, but shadows revealed it was above him. It was at least midday.

He at last fixed the cuff of his white button up shirt, throwing on the baby blue coat he always wore, and rushed out of his room. He took a left this time, opposite the way to his brother's room, and walked down a much shorter corridor.

It took him only a minute to find the beautiful chandelier that marked the entrance to the common room of the castle. The doors were open, as they usually were when his parents were inside. He could easily see in. His father was in the beautifully ornate chair to the right, and his mother was seated on the couch dedicated to her and her cats.

He walked to stand near the doorway, waiting for permission to enter.

“Siv, you're up,” said his father, with a smile on his face.

“Yes, I am sorry to keep you waiting, majesty” Siv replied, bowing his head slightly.

“No formalities now, the court is not here.” Often, the princes called their parents ‘majesty’ and ‘highness’ when the courts, or other royals were around. It made them seem more formal than they really were.

Siv walked to the chair that sat around the small glass table facing his parents. As he sat, he noticed a serious look creep onto his father's face, “How are you doing, son?” he questioned. “With your brother away, I am sure it will be harder for you.” With the concerned look, Siv could really make out his fathers age. The bits of grey and white showing in his midnight black hair, and the wrinkles growing on his forehead. Siv looked away from his fathers gaze.

“I am well, at the moment,” he blushed slightly at his parent's concern.

“I heard you went to see Lukus last night,” His mom chimed in, likely hearing the information from Huro, the captain of the guard, who was positioned to patrol the halls near the boy's rooms from dusk until dawn. Siv nodded slightly, cringing at the formal name of his brother. He would always be Luke to him, never Lukus.

“I did,” he said simply. He would not lie to his parents so blatantly, but he knew that his connection with his brother scared them. Luke was too much of an influence on the king-to-be. “I wanted to spend time before his departure.” Siv fidgeted with the silver worn ring on his finger, averting his gaze from his parents eyes.

“Well, he is likely a quarter of the way to the Lake Camp by now, I hope you said goodbye,” his father kept good track of Luke’s whereabouts, mainly because it was his army that Luke oversaw.

Siv stood, “I did, father.” He told his parents, “I should go now, I have not eaten, and I am famished.” He called over a servant, a skinny, young boy, and asked him to see that food to be brought to his rooms. He stalked back out the doors from the common room and walked back down the hall to his bedroom.

He thought about it a lot, the nightmares. Not only did they plague his dreams, but it was all he could think of during the day. Unless he was training or reading. He made it back to his room, a guard opening the door, and sat on the fine couch on the opposite wall as his bed. The table in front of it was covered in books; some he’d read, others he’d hadn't.

He braced his arms on his legs, his head down on his hands. He brushed his fingers through his beautiful golden hair, sun catching strands, making it shine. Tears began to well in his big blue eyes. Blurring color into the whites. He hated not telling his parents about the dreams. He felt the regret bubble from his stomach, burning his throat.

He wiped his eyes and stood. A king would not sulk. So, he left his rooms, walked down the hall, and went through the doors to the garden. Plenty of people were out there–with midsommar coming up he’d expect people to be getting ready for the celebration–it made him feel safe. Even if he talked to no one, he knew he wasn’t alone.

He walked the paths through the gardens that he’d walked hundreds of times; his hand idly reached out to brush up the flowers that had bloomed this spring. His mind wandered, and his thoughts treaded to a weary place. A place that felt so far away, and yet close enough to touch. A place that only existed before. Before what had happened. And this place in his mind was safe. It was peaceful. It was his home.

A young boy is smiling brightly. He lays, laughing, as an older boy with dark hair jumps, again, from the bed to the floor. The older boy falls to the floor with his brother, body shaking from the laugh he, too, emitted.

A woman, then, opened the door, and both boys rushed into the bed. “If you two are going to beg to sleep in the same room, then you must actually sleep!” She stormed towards them and tucked both boys back into the large bed they shared. Leaning over to kiss their foreheads, her long golden hair fell towards the floor, stark against the deep wood. “Sleep well, my boys,” she said, blowing out the candle on her way out.

They knew they had lessons in the mornings, but neither truly cared for. As they sat up, lighting a single candle, and ran to the wall opposite the large bed. They pulled out a story book, one with plenty of pictures–Neither boy knew how to really read yet– and Luke made up a story for his little brother, making sure to match the beautifully painted designs between the pages.

That's when Siv knew he’d always love his brother. More than anyone in the world. Because his brother would do anything for him, even defy his mother's wishes. Even sleep through a two-hour lesson that awaited them in the morning. His brother would be the one to keep him safe and keep him happy. Siv knew.

Siv looked up, the memory lingering. He’d nearly gotten lost in his thoughts. He wished he could go back. To a time like that. When all he’d had to worry about was sneaking to stay up late with Luke.

But responsibility demands. Siv had never thought he’d be king someday. It was Luke who would gain the weight of the crown. Bear that on his shoulders. Yet, the brother gave that up, leaving it to him. For what? The girls in his bed? This angered Siv. That Luke had not thought how this would affect his little brother. Luke was meant to be king. He even had the stature of his father. Siv was soft, like his mother, and that would not do for a ruler.

The memory faded, as he continued to walk down the garden paths, putting a smile on his face. He saw many women there, in the garden. They were beautiful, and yet he didn’t understand why none appealed to him. Something had to be wrong with his mind. Something wrong with him. Because of what happened. But even before, he knew, he hadn’t wanted a woman to love him. Hadn’t wanted that kind of attention.

And as they flounced around him now, walking passed, arms tucked into whichever man would give them the most fame, he truly was disgusted in himself. For never wanting that. For never wanting the life his own father possessed.

“Prince,” a voice knocked him out of his thoughts. He recognized the soft, kind, sound before he recognized the hair bound into a bun of tight curls. Before he recognized the deep chocolate eyes, and crooked smile. “You seemed to be dazed, förlåt,” the servant girl apologized. It was often considered rude, to interrupt the thought of a royal, but Siv had never minded. He had taken a liking to many of the servants and guards through the years.

And he’d known Ebba Lyre well, for she was probably around Luke more than Siv was. So, he hadn't minded the interruption, especially from what was going on in his mind. Ebba’s blue handmade dress shifted slightly as she took a step towards the crown prince, bowing slightly. She placed down the bundle of pink roses she was holding, likely for his mother, on a bench, sitting next to them.

She patted an empty spot next to her, “come, sit, Siv.” Siv smiled, walking to the bench, his shoes scuffing the rocks and dirt below. Ebba had always been so motherly. It made him pity that she was not allowed to have children while she served the king.

He sat, bracing his forearm on the arm of the bench. “I pray you are doing well, now that Luke has gone” she questioned him. A soft smile settled itself onto his lips.

“I am fine” he blandly stated, a crooked frown on his face. Ebba raised a brow, smirking. She knew both boys too well, enough so that she knew he was lying. In this time of his life, she knew he felt alone. His brother had left him, in a time of vulnerability. “Are those for mother?” He nodded towards the roses on the bench, obviously trying to change the subject.

“Yes,” Ebba said with a smirk.

“What?” he questioned.

Placing a hand on his forearm, laughing out loud, Ebba leaned in and whispered to him, “you are a terrible liar, Prince.” Siv scoffed, rolling his eyes. Yet, he realized, maybe he would truly be okay.