Reap the Earth at Which you Stand [boyxboy]

Prologue

"Another page turns on the calendar, April now, not March... I am spinning the silk threads of my story, weaving the fabric of my world... I spun out of control. Eating was hard. Breathing was hard. Living was hardest. I wanted to swallow the bitter seeds of forgetfulness... Somehow, I dragged myself out of the dark and asked for help. I spin and weave and knit my worse and visions until a life starts to take shape. There is no magic cure, no making it all go away forever. There are only small steps upward; an easier day, an unexpected laugh, a mirror that doesn't matter anymore. I am thawing." ~ Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls.

~Thursday 20th December 2001~

Receiving an audience with a King is a difficult feat. Or would be for most anyway. Vasile, however, had met with his royal on more than a thousand occasions, in a much less emotional setting. He wished for his King to continue seeing him in that way, as a warrior, a survivor, a man capable of commanding the armies at his fingertips. Sadly, he knew that was no longer the case. Vasile would break that day, in front of his King, in front of his associates, in front of everyone. He would shatter, the mask he wore would crumble away to reveal the broken boy consumed by the loss of one he held so close.

Vasile wished for another way. He had hoped for privacy with his King, yet, he knew that was not the case. No matter how close they were, no matter the connection between the two, the laws of their kind had to be obeyed. Vasile would not be alone in that room, there would be others there, watching, listening to his agony, observing his reactions. On a regular day, Vasile would have been able to control himself, chain away the empathy, hide beneath the mask of the man he tried to be. However, that wouldn't be so simple that day, he would leave that room with a heavy heart and stained cheeks. Broken physically, just as he felt emotionally.

"General?" Vasile lifted his head at the sound of his title, blinking away the tears that had already formed within his eyes as he met with one of the many staff his King employed, "His majesty will see you now, sir," the boy smiled sympathetically, his silent offering of time for Vasile to compose himself. Thankfully, no tears had fallen just yet, so Vasile needed no more than a second to collect his thoughts.

"Thank you," Vasile cleared his throat after his speech, hearing how hoarse his voice sounded, wishing to project strength, rather than weakness when he met with his King. He rose from his seat, adjusting the lacing on his shirt ever so slightly, not wanting to look at all dishevelled in front of his King. Although his emotional state would be unravelled within a matter of seconds, Vasile didn't want to look as though he might care any less for his physical appearance. He would be in the presence of a royal, he had to look his best.

Vasile followed on the heel of the boy, who moved almost silently through the hallways. Vasile, on the other hand, was unable to make less of a racket. He stood at just over seven feet tall, with thick-set muscles coating every inch of his form that had taken centuries to perfect. His heavy boots made his footfalls echo through the barren hallways, making a subtle symphony with the gentle clinking of the metal buckles that held the furs and leather of his attire. Vasile had met with his King enough to know that it was unacceptable to wear anything other than that of the uniform of a warrior. No matter the state of the clothing, he had to adorn it any time he entered his King's mansion with professional intent.

"You may take a moment, sir," the boy simpered under Vasile's gaze, shifting his own elsewhere when a flush darkened his skin. He was nowhere near the same stature as Vasile, in fact, he likely was even more than a foot shorter than the man, which was rather bizarre within their kind. However, there were always exceptions, be it rare or not.

Vasile stared at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall level with his own eyeline. Thankfully, the tears had completely disappeared from his dark eyes, leaving only the vibrant red slit with thin black pupils, blazing out with the anger of a grieving beast. He lifted a hand to adjust the thin plait to the left of his ebony hair, pushing it back over his shoulder along with the rest of the rippling locks. It almost looked dishevelled, but it had been styled perfectly, Vasile had acquired help with that early in the morning.