Highland Strength (Book 3)

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Artair leant back against the rough stone of the outer wall of the Keep. Taking a sip from the cup of mead he had taken from the Main Hall, as most still broke their fast. He watched as the thawed ground absorbed the riotous colours of the setting sun, which blazed red and orange over the peaks of the mountains that surrounded them. The warmth had left the land already, a chill seeping into his bones as he watched the warm colours fight with the coming darkness and loosing, gradually but surely. He sighed into the quiet that surrounded him. A part of his soul accepting the cool chill, knowing that wherever Aonghus was at that moment, he was changing everything they had ever believed and wanted.

When his brother returned nothing would be as it was. Inside he was bleeding his hearts blood, but it would not kill him, it would only cause more pain until nothing could block it out. He did not know if it was better or worse that people misunderstood his mood. They believed Aonghus been so far, and unknowing of his full movements, had him on edge. They had never been on separate missions before. Aye, differing guard duties, and such, but never this far apart, for this length of time. They believed he was missing the other part of him. And he was, but not in the way any of them thought. He missed his brother, but only as he would miss any sibling. The other part of his soul was out there somewhere. And he was sure, even at that very moment, his brother was claiming it as his own.

His breath hitched in his throat, and he took a deep draught of his mead to try and swallow the pain that tried to choke him further. He loved his brother with all his heart, as he had loved his sister, and his parents. But now Aonghus was doing exactly what his other family members had done. Their sister had forsaken their love of her, and instead hoped for bigger and better things she believed where her due. They could never give her what she wanted, and she proved he was not a worthy brother by committing the acts she had done. And now he did not have the chance to make up for his misgivings with her. He had, by extension of her actions, let down the clan that did not blame him or his brother. But he knew in his heart that they should. They did not see, or rather Aonghus was too busy looking out for him he missed the signs. And he, well Artair was too foolish, thinking only of himself and how people saw him, to really pay too much attention to his sister, and look where he was now. Alone. As he most probably was always meant to be.

Then there were his parents. They had loved him, he knew that. But Aonghus was the eldest. He was the one that would inherit in the end. He was the surplus son, the one most had as insurance against childhood disease, and yet they had no choice over the matter, as he tagged along in the same birthing as his brother. He was the one who always caused trouble, dragging his brother down with him. He could do nothing right. Aonghus had learnt how to wield a sword from their father, and probably did not notice the attention lavished upon him, while Artair had watched, and learnt the majority of his father’s work from the side lines. Most of his practice had been done alone, while Aonghus had trailed their father, and not noticed he was missing, he had taken the wooden practice sword, and tried to perfect the movements that Aonghus was always being praised for. He had never received such from his father, always lagging behind his brother. He loved his brother, truly, but he knew he could never match him in anyway.