Author: We Stole Vodka From The Optic PM
Why, brother? When every grasp, every kiss can slip away as easily as flowers upon the feet of a lamented ruler.Rated: Fiction T - English - Family/Tragedy - Logan & unknown 3 - Words: 1,806 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 19 - Published: 11-01-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6444569
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
When every grasp, every kiss can slip as easily away as flowers upon the feet of a lamented ruler. Where tyranny becomes power, control over all your subjects. Their grasp slips from my fingers and I look upon you brother, I look and I do not see the Prince Logan our mother has groomed. I see a tyrant. I see a corrupt official and I… I hate you, brother.
I remember a bright-eyed prince. An innocent and intelligent ruler. Not this cruel oppressor, this persecutor. And the choice I have made… the choice you made me make… it is the wrong one. They, your guards, your corrupt despots, take the citizens away and kill them. When did this happen, brother? When did you become the tormentor that the Hero Queen did not want you to be?
Revolution, brother, revolution and revenge.
They call you tyrant. They spread rumors of your deeds, your evils and I am gullible enough to turn my head. I ignored those rumors. But now, now I see. I am no longer blind. And that dirty the word, the word the rebels spread to the farthest corners of Albion, that word becomes me. Revolution is needed, brother, revolution and revenge for the choice you made me make.
A Hero is needed, brother. This is not the time for autocrats and dictators. A revolution is needed, and I will be its leader. I will be at the head, and I will show the world, I will show Walter and all those gathering at my behest that the kingdom of Albion is not lost.
How could you have let these people starve? How could you have made our family, Albion's lifeline, a family to be hated? The Dwellers gather to my call, and feast upon food as ravenously as Balverines upon an unfortunate trader. How could you? Do you crave gold so much as to let our cities starve to death?
Remember the lessons our mother taught us? Do you remember her cautionary tales? Tales of the man known as Lucien, tales of our half-siblings, the family our mother had lost to that bastard? Do you remember? Do you remember her pleas to never become oppressors, to be fair and just rulers? I remember, just as I remember Walter's tales of Heroes and people known as Garth and Hammer and Reaver. I remember it all. Do you?
Mourn, brother, mourn my lost naiveté.
Where were your soldiers when these mercenaries tormented the people in the Dweller Camp? Did you sit on the throne, collecting dust? Did you simply sit there and count the gold coins in your treasury, fully aware of the torment and the people's brewing mental tempest? Yes, brother, yes you did and I know that's what you did! Did you call for the traitors' executions, watching it as if it were a circus when you got bored counting your coins?
It has begun, brother.
The Dwellers now stand behind me, and I am one step closer to committing High Treason, brother. I wonder, brother, do you realize that I lead the rebels? Do you see that your kin, your blood, has betrayed you once again? Would you kill me, brother? Would you let your guards put a bullet through my skull like you let those guards put a bullet through those citizens' skull?
Even your soldiers are against you, brother.
They no longer recognize me, brother. I am not the fresh-faced princess they remember. It takes Swift quite a long time to recognize me, and I wonder, would you recognize me? Could you? Or are you so blinded by your tribulations that you would not recognize your own sister? They still call you tyrant, and they still spread rumors. This time, I agree with them. This time, I side with them against you and I will call you a despot, a tyrant. Even I, am against you. I always will be against you.
Worthless fighting, brother, why all this worthless fighting?
You set your soldiers up against impossible odds, against things that are and are not alive. They could be elsewhere, brother. They could be fighting mercenaries, could be changing things and yet, they are here. They fight hollow men, natural monsters, when there are more pressing matters to attend to. Why, brother? Why all this fighting?
This… brother, this is horrid.
I walk into Bowerstone Industrial and I see the people you were sworn to protect. I see the poor and the broken, the beggars and the orphaned and how, brother? How could you have let this happen? What is wrong with you? Are you really so full of mammon as to abandon these people in need? Walter murmurs something, something about not knowing what life outside the castle was like and I nod… I nod because I have no words, nothing to describe the void that fills my heart.
Why! Brother, dear Avo, why!
And I stand there and I watch, as the man you hired to head the industries shoots his workers and does so with such a satire grace that it makes me sick to my stomach. The blood pools around the worker, a deep red, like roses, brother and Walter explains who the man is. I remember Reaver, from Walter's stories of our mother, and he is even more selfish than Walter had let on. You hear those stories of yore, you knew them just as well as I did and yet… you…
Page does not trust me. She does not trust a princess. She does not trust the sister of a corrupt and tyrannical King and I, brother, I do not blame her. The past week I had been privy to your actions, and the consequences of such actions. Brother… Brother, I am ashamed to be your sister.
Help, brother, help is what these people need.
I will help these people, I will do what Page has asked of me not only to prove my loyalty, but to give the people what you could not give them. I am not you, brother, I will never be you.
We are not traitors, brother!
Swift crumples to the ground and the thud echoes throughout the crowd like a bell tower across the city of Bowerstone. And I freeze, I freeze and I look up at you with so much horror in my face. You look across the crowd and you spout nonsense about traitors and those who have committed treasonous acts. We are not traitors, brother, it is you who is the traitor. You betrayed these people first and we…we hate you for it.
To Aurora, brother.
During my time on that ship, I contemplate things. I contemplate my past, my present and my future, and the thoughts of Theresa, that Seer of the Spire pop up. I contemplate you, brother, and I hiss and scream and punch the walls in anger at your traitorous actions. Why, brother, why? Why would you do all this?
The darkness, brother.
These… these creatures, they whisper in my ear, sing songs of you and how I've hurt people, whisper abhorrent things and I take pleasure in every wave of my axe and every shot of my rifle and every whip of my Will. The darkness, brother, the darkness took away Walter's sight and I refuse to abandon him like you abandoned me. I refuse.
You betrayed the Aurorans, brother!
I… I am not surprised. I cannot possibly be surprised by you anymore. You leave the Aurorans here without protection, after they saved your life and you… you call that thanks! How… How could… Your tyranny knows no bounds, brother, and you…
I am the ruler, brother.
The crown is placed upon my head and I stand there gracefully, facing my subjects, the people I've saved from your rule. This is it, brother. This is the end for both of us. Tomorrow you will face judgment, and I will watch you burn for what you did, brother. I will sit and listen to what you have to say, and I will decide if you are worthy of something you did not give those people.
I see, brother.
Why, brother, why did you not explain this? Why did you continue the image of a tyrant, and why, pray tell, why did you not tell me? They, the citizens, they look to me to deliver justice. I will give them what they want. I look you dead in the eyes, look into your eyes, eyes which looked cold and unfeeling when you gave that order many months ago and I say that you will die. And you hang your head and away the guards take you, away to death. I am not sorry.
Brother… dear brother…
I need to save them. I need to save the citizens of Albion, but the only way to do so would be to… No. I will not be a tyrant, I can't… I can't… I have to, brother. I must be cruel and ruthless because that would be the only way to save them. Brother… brother, now I understand.
They hate me, brother.
They call me all sorts of names. They call me tyrant, oppressor, persecutor and despot. They call me promise-breaker and liar. They call me witch and villain and I watch the treasury build up with uneasy scrutiny. Walter is disappointed in me, I can tell. Today, I stand at your grave and I place lilies there. They were your favorite, weren't they brother? I remember.
I saved them, brother.
I saved them all, today, brother. And they still call me those names. They still hate me. They still loathe me. There are whispers, once more, on the horizon. They whisper a dirty word, one known as revolution and my son, you never met him, he's such a sweet little boy, my son is against me. My son speaks that dirty word, but he wouldn't understand. My son knows nothing of Theresa or the choices I have had to make. My son, Alistair, he's a Hero, brother. Just like me.
I'm sorry, brother.
I'm sorry for everything, Logan. I'm sorry for not knowing everything. I'm sorry for saying I hated you. I'm sorry for killing you. I'm sorry for not changing things. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I put flowers on your grave again today.
They were lilies, your favorites, remember?
Alistair shot me.
I'm sorry for bleeding on your grave.
I'm sorry for dying on your grave.
I'm sorry, brother.
I'm really sorry.
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