Work Text:
"You're already special! You yourself are light! Every child is special so … please-”
“Stop!”
Arthur wakes with a scream, chest heaving as he desperately tries to take in air. His hands tremble as he shoves the suddenly heavy blanket to the side and stumbles on unsteady legs to the large windows covering most of the wall to his right.
It's too hot, too stifling and his skin is burning and he-
The latch opens with a gentle click and though the air feels freezing on his sweaty skin, Arthur greatly prefers it to the fire that had clawed its way through his veins just seconds prior. He moves to rest his forehead against the window frame, forcing his tense muscles to relax by using the breathing techniques one of the many mind healers had taught him for these exact situations.
The nightmare is not unfamiliar to him. Every few weeks without fail he will dream of a strange man, a blinding light and the smell of rotting flesh and blood and it always feels so real.
Arthur takes another deep breath and slowly opens his eyes, taking in the soft lights of the palace garden. Judging by the position of the moon - high up in the sky - he'd say that morning is still hours away, and while he usually wouldn't mind a few missing hours of sleep, tomorrow is an important day.
The burial of a Director and the appointment of his successor.
Ever since this morning, the servants of Shemihaza have been in a frenzy, planning and preparing two separate ceremonies in only one day - as the laws dictate - and even though he was one of the first to be told, Hilkiah's death still seems unbelievable to him.
His gaze wanders along the pathways outside, to the row of windows to his left. The drapes are drawn, of course, to ensure that no curious eyes wander where they don't belong and to secure the family a degree of privacy.
The soft shadow of a figure moving through the hidden room tears him out of his thoughts and Arthur blinks in surprise.
“Jeremiah?"
It must be him. Only the main family has access to the room and, after Hilkiah's death, only he, Jeremiah, Shemihaza and Shiemi remain. He considers the shape for a moment longer and then swiftly turns, closing the window once more behind him. From experience he knows that seeking sleep after that peculiar nightmare is impossible, anyway, so he can at least try and be useful.
The tiles of the hallway are freezing as he steps out of his room and he spends all but a second mourning the loss of his winter robes and cursing the distance between rooms. His steps are light as he makes his way to the gilded doors.
Now, standing before the room, Arthur hesitates for a moment and listens for any sounds from inside before he raises his hand to knock thrice.
“Brother?” He inquires, opening the door just wide enough to fit his head through.
The room is dark - save for the flickering light of a small candle on the bedside table, which illuminates naught but the bed itself and the two figures occupying it. Jeremiah doesn't seem to have heard him, though, as his head stays turned away from the door. His gaze seems to be glued to the body – the corpse – lying on the bed just as they had found him this morning.
“Jeremiah?” he tries again, louder this time, and winces at the creak of the door as he opens it just a bit further to take a step onto the white carpeted floor inside.
This time his brother’s head snaps around. The cold expression on his face is unfamiliar, the lack of his usual kindness so shocking that he flinches back. Arthur should have expected it, of course. Who in their right mind would happily sit at their Uncle's deathbed? And yet it stands in such stark contrast to Jeremiah's usual self that he can't help but be afraid, snippets of the nightmare still haunting his mind.
“Arthur?” It's the whisper of his name that rips him out of his dark thoughts and he looks up with a start.
Jeremiah is looking at him now, really looking at him, and to Arthur's immense relief it seems that the knowledge that it was only him and not a servant has caused his brother to relax once more.
“Is everything alright?” Jeremiah questions him, brows furrowed in concern, “Are you unable to sleep? Is it that horrid nightmare again?”
He beckons him over and Arthur makes sure to close the door and lock it behind himself before he makes his way to the bed. Jeremiah's left hand is still outstretched, the other most likely holding Hilkiah's if he had to guess. He takes it into both of his and accepts the silent invite to take a seat at his brother’s side on the large mattress.
“Yes.” He answers Jeremiah's previous questions and tries for a comforting smile as he continues: “I saw a shadow moving through Uncle's rooms and guessed it was you … I-”, he takes a moment to squeeze the cold hand between his own, a gesture of comfort for the both of them, “- I didn't want you to deal with this alone.”
“Oh.” He watches as a multitude of emotions flicker through Jeremiah's eyes – too quickly to identify any of them – before his brother closes them and leans forward. His head comes to rest on Arthur's shoulder and his voice, usually so calm and collected, breaks on his next words: “Oh, Arthur.”
Arthur doesn't have to think for long: his arms automatically moving to encircle his grieving brother in them. It's what Jeremiah usually does when Arthur comes to him seeking comfort and he hopes that it's having the same effect on him now.
They hadn’t seen each other the entire day – Arthur busy with his studies and training and Jeremiah presumably with ceremony arrangements – and while he knows that Jeremiah would have never collapsed like this in public, he still feels guilty about not seeking him out earlier.
The guilt only doubles when his gaze comes to rest on the other figure in the bed. While Arthur had never personally met Hilkiah while the man was still in his prime, and only knew many of his achievements through Jeremiah’s stories alone, he had nevertheless always held nothing but respect for him. Even while he was battling the sickness that ended up taking his life he never sent Arthur away and always answered his questions to the best of his ability with an unwavering patience only rivalled by Jeremiah’s.
And yet, he thinks with an ounce of shame, he had never really considered him as family, had he? With Hilkiah there had always been a kind of barrier, Arthur remembers, something that had kept him from truly confiding in the man.
"What are you thinking about?“ The quiet whisper near his ear takes him back to situation at hand and he blinks a few times to rid himself of the memories.
"Hm?“ He questions Jeremiah and turns his head to get a better look at him. There’s a small smile playing on his lips and the familiar sight urges something in Arthur to relax.
"Your face,“ Jeremiah clarifies and lets one of his fingers slightly ghost over Arthur’s brow, "You always have this expression on your face when you’re thinking about something unpleasant … similar to Shiemi when you didn’t let her touch Caliburn.“
The mention of that particular incident forces a laugh out of him and even Jeremiah allows himself a small chuckle.
"I don’t think I’ll ever forget her face,“ Arthur tells him and continues at Jeremiah’s hum: "I remember thinking that Hilkiah and Shemihaza were going to have my head for upsetting her.“
"Oh, please.“ He can hear his eye-roll more than he sees it as Jeremiah moves to rest his head back against his shoulder, lazily draping his arms across Arthur’s waist. "It was just one of many temper tantrums – something the Shemihaza line is notorious for, I’ll let you know. We should be happy that she’s gone from El.“
Arthur chooses not to comment on Jeremiah’s last line of thought – his sometimes less than kind opinions on little Shiemi aren’t much of a secret to the rest of the family, but Arthur is sure that he does love her in his own strange way.
"So I heard.“ He says and moves to lean his back against the bedpost. "But it wasn’t anything ‚unpleasant‘ per se, really, it was just …“ Arthur trails off and his gaze flickers back to the unmoving corpse to their right.
A cold hand reaches out to grip his own and he takes a shaky breath before continuing: "I just … feel like I didn’t thank him enough for what he did for me? Accepting me into El was already more than enough, but then he even made me a part of his own family-” his voice breaks off and he tries to blink away the sudden wetness in his eyes.
When Jeremiah moves to brush away the few tears that still escape despite his best attempts Arthur can’t help but lean into the familiar touch. Though he also wants to berate himself. Didn’t he come in here to comfort his brother for once, not the other way around? As if he was reading his mind Jeremiah hushes him with a shake of his head.
"You made him proud, Arthur.“ His voice is gentle, a mere whisper. "Just as you make all of El proud.“ Their gazes meet and Arthur doesn’t know who initiates it first – him or Jeremiah – but soon they’re leaning forward, foreheads touching. Jeremiah’s free hand ghosts along his shoulders, his neck, and finally comes up to cradle the right side of Arthur’s face. "Just as you make me proud.“
"Every single day?“ Arthur’s voice wavers on the question and he almost immediately wants to take it back. He must sound stupid, immature, and yet-
And yet-
"Every single day.“ Jeremiah confirms with a small laugh and Arthur lets his hands move on their own accord, coming up to gently grasp Jeremiah’s thin wrists. He pointedly refuses to think about how frail they seem in his calloused hands - how similar they look to those of the corpse behind Jeremiah’s back. His brother is stronger than he looks, Arthur knows this from experience, and so he pushes down the rising panic in his chest at all the what ifs going through his mind.
His brother won’t die, Arthur tells himself, he will make sure of it.
For the following few minutes the only sound in the dark room is their synchronised breathing. A calm air has settled over them and it seems that Jeremiah is just as loathe to interrupt it as he is, but the quiet chime of the clock in the corner of the room reminds them that maybe they should at least try to get some rest while they still can.
Somewhere that isn’t next to a rotting corpse.
Arthur’s nose scrunches up at the reminder of just where they were and Jeremiah heaves a heavy sigh.
“I guess,” he whispers, “this is our sign to leave.” Arthur agrees with a hum and reluctantly they detangle themselves from each other, slowly righting the little creases in their sleeping robes and dusting imaginary dust off their shoulders.
It’s so much more intimate than anything they have ever done before and Arthur pointedly doesn’t think about the implications. There is a time and place for it and this isn’t the one.
“Well then,” Jeremiah whispers and turns back around to face the other body on the bed, “this is it.”
Arthur watches him lean down to press a gentle kiss against Hilkiah’s forehead and cheeks. His gaze seems to flicker to him for second – though in the aftermath Arthur is sure it was a simple trick of the light – before he moves on and leaves another, lingering one on Hilkiah’s cold, unmoving lips.
He looks away then, heat rushing to his face, and lets his brother say his final, personal farewell to his guardian and mentor.
The following seconds feel like hours before a pale hand moves into his field of vision and Arthur’s head snaps back up – he hadn’t even realised that he’d lowered it. Jeremiah only smiles indulgently, the lone tear making its way down his face the only sign of his sorrow, and Arthur takes him up on the offer and let’s himself get pulled to his feet.
“Let us try and get some rest, yes?” Jeremiah asks.
Arthur nods and together they make their way out of Hilkiah’s rooms – soon to be Jeremiah’s – and back to Arthur’s. He doesn’t comment on the fact that neither of them will get any sleep tonight, but, he thinks and tightens his hold on the other’s hand, as long as they have each other it should be alright.