forum "I would burn the world for you" (OxO Closed)

Started December 01, 2022 by @ElderGod-yellowqueen

tune

(asfklajsd oof I felt that)

"I'd rather not speak of pitites," Miran says gently, but there's a firm undertone in his voice. He's bore first witness to the suffering of his fellow men, forced to watch silently as his comrade is sentenced to the gallows with locked lips. Nobody in his ranks had dared to blame Miran. He's their ally, number on asset stuck deeply undercover beneath the iron fist of his own father. He couldn't speak up when someone was caught and captured. He couldn't do anything but watch with calculated remorse. After all, the second the king knows of the silent uprising is the second Miran loses his head. Or worse, his father would slaughter one of his friends, one of his siblings and force Miran to watch. Torture. He's been living it for years.

"I don't know about telling Bel." Miran studies the weapons layed before him, wondering which he should choose to test. His hands feel anxious, grasping around nothing but empty air and the tension rising in his gut. "The less people know of the resistance, the better. Loose lips destroy ships, I'm sure you know." He only spares Nico a knowing glance before returning his focus to the racks and racks that line the wall. "He's already been through enough in the past through months, has he not? He's… well, far more open-minded than my sisters, but even his understanding has its limits, especially in such trying times." The thought of somehow explaining his magic to his sisters nearly sends a shiver down his spine. Miran suspects Val already knows. It's impossible to hide anything from her for long. Treya, on the other hand, has been left entirely in the dark. At only seventeen she's become Araniel's most genius scientist, one that brews potions and vile concoctions that massacre mages by the thousands. "He'll know eventually, when the time is right."

Finally deciding on another sword, Miran swings it experimentally through the air, scrunching his nose at how it arcs unnaturally in his arm. He immediately trades it for another blade. "As soon as my friends arrive, I'd like to speak with a council of your most powerful warriors–both magical and mundane." Much more satisfied with his second pick, Miran slashes it forward and back, nodding approvingly before he racks it. "But I'll have you know," his voice grows somber with the next sentence. "There are only five magical soldiers left in my army. One of which is myself." On their way, traveling on horseback or a mule in one of their cases, come Mirans quartet: Jensen the powerful ground shaker, Ingrid the crackling witch, her younger brother Lars who seems to hold the very powers of luck in his palm, and finally–the strongest of them all–Isla and her very culpability to manipulate the energy of the world around her. All four of them are mighty, powerful in their own fashions. They're all incredibly capable, which is the reason they have not been caught by Ceveniere yet.

Miran doesn't look back at Nico at the mention of his younger brother. Bel is alone, yes, but he… he can handle himself. After all, Bel spent two decades isolated and alone in the massive palace, finding plenty of hobbies to keep himself occupied. Occasionally, Bel would seek the company of his favorite maid, Mathilde, but that was seemingly a last resort. Miran rarely spent time in the castle, for after his first crusade and twelve and first silent rebellion at thirteen, he tried his damdest to be away from his father's scruntinous sight for as long as possible. It never helped that he conditioned his littlest sister to react to magic, to have her nose bleed and throat swell–an allergic reaction of sorts. "Bel will be fine," Miran says carefully, counting his syllables. "There will be a maid up to check on him in an hour to retrieve him for the festivities." Marcel never skimps when it comes to a festival. There's an entire roster of acts ready to perform, and if there's anything Miran's sure of, it's Bel's love for the arts. "You can see him tonight. Trust me when I say that he does not want you out of his life, he just needs to figure out how he needs you."

(I died, sadly, but I LIVED)

Nicandros did not entirely agree with Miran on the matter. Bel had been kept in the dark all of his life. His brother was a mage, his mother was a mage. His father was cruel and had caused so much damage to all the siblings. He had killed their mother. And yet Miran wanted to keep him in the dark. There was so much that Bel deserved to know. But it was not his place to tell. Not now and not before, when he was still his lover. This was a conversation that needed to happen between siblings. And while he could encourage them to speak, to be honest with one another, he would not betray either of them by telling Bel all that he knew. He simply nodded his head, "The truth always comes out when the time calls for it. I only hope that you are prepared for it if he does not take well to being kept in the dark for so long."

Nico watched quietly as Miran grabbed the hilt of another sword, swinging it before trading it for another. He clasped his hands behind his back, standing in a relaxed position. He ached to have his own sword clasped at his side, to feel the weight in his hand. But that was back in his- well Bel's room. He would have to send for all of his things later. Hopefully at a time where Bel was not present in the room. He did not want to hurt him more by watching servants take out all of Nico's things. His gaze fluttered to the ground for a moment as the prince entered his mind. He needed to stop thinking about him. And the only way to get Bel off of his mind was to push his body until he could not thin of anything anymore. He would find his men later and train with them. Train until he could barely move. Maybe then he would be spared from the torment that he felt.

He nodded his head once. "Yes, we will meet. I am looking forward to meeting these men of yours. It is surprising that you have been able to hide your abilities for so long. " Magic was apart of him, apart of them both. It begged to be used, building and building until it could not be contained any longer. It would not, could not be suppressed. The consequences should one try were deadly at best. And Miran was very clearly alive in front of him, sound of mind. How he used his magic without notice, he was curious to know. But that could be explained at another time. A time where his mind was not so clouded.

Nico did not want to see Bel tonight. He did not think his heart could handle it. Seeing him so close and yet just out of reach. Bel was not his, not anymore. He couldn't hold him, kiss him, tell him he loved him. But he was not a fool to turn down an invitation from the royals that were housing him and his people. He would not insult them when they had done him a favor. When they were offing aid in a war they were not apart of. He was grateful for them and he didn't know if he could ever show them his gratitude. "Then trust me when I say, I don't know how to be his friend. Not right now while everything is so…fresh. If he needs time I will give that to him but I need time also."

"It's been far from easy," Miran grumbles as he flips the sword, catching it cleanly by the hilt. In the smooth action, he can nearly see the dozens of faces that have given their lives to Miran's cause, to ensuring not all hope has been lost within Araniel. "I've lost good men to my father's iron fist because I was unable to speak. My cover and proximity to my father and his plans has always been our greatest advantage." And gods, he loathes it, but every day they grow closer and closer to overthrowing his cruel tyranny. "My friends, the four of them, will be arriving sometime tonight or tomorrow. They can answer any questions you may have regarding our abilities and mission, but be warned they are…" He trails off with an uncertain expression. "A colorful bunch. Don't be put off by the twins' flirtations. It's just in their nature."

Switching topics, Miran purses his lips and tilts his head as he turns to meet Nico's eyes. "I trust that you'll choose what is right," Miran says carefully. checking the gleam of the blade in the lighting of the room before bringing the tip to rest just below Nico's chin. He levels the blond with a grave stare. "If you entirely break Bel, I will have you know that I have killed for far less." He checks the sword back into the rack. "I assume Marcel will have a formal invite to you and your people by the end of the night. There's supposed to be quite the feast through the whole kingdom celebrating your arrival. At least honor their hospitality and show your face." Miran knows far too well that the last person Nico needs to see in such a fragile state is Bel, and part of him could argue the vice versa, but the entire affair they're dealing with is more than messy feelings. Kingdoms are at risk, soldiers and civilians about to be put on the line for the greatest coup in the history of the world.

Somewhere above them, a crowd begins to form, joyous chattering drowning the peace of the training room. Miran checks the position of the sun, sighs, and reaches for the rings he discarded before their spar. As he slips them on, he looks to Nico. "It's been quite a day. I'm going to get ready for the festivities and check in on Bel. He'll be out at some point during the night." He sighs, a protective instinct surging in his chest. "You don't have to speak to him, but do not hide from him. And please accept any gift Sella may give you. She's annoyingly persistent and it's easiest to take what's given the first time." With his pieces of advice given, Miran checks his appearance in the mirror before nodding at Nico and heading up the stairs. He weaves into the crowd and gets lost, a phenomenon especially given his larger-than-life presence.

–

Standing at the railing of his tall balcony, Bel watches the crowds accumulate below. There's a kitten pushing his head against Bel's ankle, mewling occasionally even know Bel had already called for milk and a small plate of fish to feed him. He hasn't yet had a chance to name the kitten, but he appreciates the gentle company. For a room so big within such a lively kingdom, Bel can't help but note how lonely he's become. He aches for a hand around his own, a solid presence at his side, but he isn't sure if that's the genuine part of him speaking or the one that longs for nostalgia. He supposes he'll figure it all out eventually and today is surely not the day.

Knowing his cousins, Bel will have to make an appearance at some point, so he finds himself in front of the enormous vanity rinsing the redness from his face. He's especially paying attention to his eyes, the bags beneath them a telltale sign of his heavy emotion. He changes his clothes to more traditional Blakkian garments, still in his signature royal blue and gold. He fixes his hair and wipes once more at his eyes before grabbing the kitten (complete with a pretty blue bow tied loosely around his neck) and exiting the room. A smile naturally falls into place beside his princely exterior. He tries not to think about how fake it feels. How it makes him want to vomit.