One Quick Slash

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse as well as themes or mentions of suicide or self harm.

Dreu:

“Checkmate.”

Dreu grinned. The blue-ish steel of his blade glinted in the noonday sun. The tip of his rapier pointed at Perrin’s heaving chest. His younger brother’s face was red from exertion, sweat sticking his orange curls to his forehead, and Dreu imagined himself to be in a similar state.

Perrin rolled his eyes, a smile spreading across his face as he sheathed his rapier, “This isn’t chess.”

Dreu sheathed his sword as well, then shrugged, “So what?”

“So you don’t say checkmate when you win?”

Dreu licked his lips, tasting salt, “That is only true if you are a boring individual.”

Perrin raised an eyebrow, “Did you just call me boring?”

“Would you prefer ‘lackluster’?”

Dreu walked towards the fallen tree where he’d left his water.

Perrin followed, “Not really.”

“How about ‘as interesting as sand’?”

Perrin shoved him, “Go eat a salamander.”

Dreu stumbled, nearly running into a tree. Perrin steadied him.

“Way to commit,” Dreu muttered sarcastically.

Perrin stared at him incredulously, “Did you want to break your nose?”

“Maybe I did.”

“Well,” Perrin remarked, “I guess I am too good of a brother to let you break your nose on a camping trip. Especially since your face is already,” he paused, dramatically looking Dreu up and down, “your face.”

Dreu sat down on the log, grateful for the seat, “At least I don’t have your face.”

Perrin sat beside him, “Hey, out of the two of us, my face is obviously the better one. That’s why all the girls are in love with me, and not you.”

That was true, more or less. Perrin was obviously the more popular of the two princes when it came to the ladies of Tosprine. It was probably his height. Though it also might have been the fact that he’d always been the ‘mysterious’ one. Although he bragged about it, Dreu had seen how uncomfortable it made him. The way he withdrew around people. How his smiles dulled slightly.

“That’s simply not true,” he drank deeply from his flask, the warm water sweet in his mouth, then offered it to Perrin.

Perrin took it, “Yes it is.”

“No, it is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Whatever,” Dreu relented.

*****

Perrin:

I win.

Perrin tipped his head back, staring through the leafy canopy of the forest at the blue sky. The sun sat high. Its light seemed to dance with the shadows, filtering through the green leaves.

He closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose. The air smelled slightly of smoke, from the fire he’d made earlier. Perrin smiled. He loved camping with his brother. It was probably the only time he really felt like he could be himself. Unobserved. With no fear of disappointment.

Perrin opened his eyes, this time directing them to the ground. A patch of clover grew near his feet. One particular clover caught his eye. It had three leaves, instead of the usual four. He bent over to inspect it more closely.

The hairs on the back of his neck raised.

Something sliced through the air where he’d just been.

Perrin dove–none too gracefully–from the log to the ground, rolling away before scrambling to his feet. He drew his rapier, facing what he could only consider a threat.

*****

Dreu:

Dreu jumped to his feet, drawing his sword as he turned to face whoever had just drawn a blade on his brother. Standing just behind the log was a man. He was most likely an experienced warrior, as his bald head was covered in tattoos which were reminiscent of the warlike Kindosu’i tribes, though Dreu wasn’t familiar with their specific meanings. In his right hand he held a curved scimitar.

Dreu edged backwards slowly, feeling the ground behind him for anything that might trip him, “Perrin. Run.”

He didn’t have to look back to sense his brother’s hesitation.

“Bu–”

Dreu cut him off, “I’ll be fine, just go.”

His breath felt tight as he waited for Perrin to start running.

We can’t both die.

Dreu knew exactly what would happen if this day ended with both princes of Tosprine dead. Civil war. Maybe not at first. Not with their father still alive, and in his prime, but someone would take advantage of the situation. It was only a matter of time. And of whom.

Relief flooded him as he heard Perrin’s footsteps retreat into the forest.

His brother would live. That was a comfort to him.

Dreu readied himself to fight the man, falling into a familiar position. Knees bent, sword raised, hips aligned. The man had stepped over the log, advancing on him.

On a better day, Dreu might have won. In fact, he almost certainly would have. But today was not a better day. After all, he was tired. And, though he certainly put up a fight, it only took one quick slash.

Dreu was dead before his body hit the forest floor, crushing the clovers. Before his blood soaked into the ground, watering the surrounding vegetation. Before he even had the chance to beg the Eternal Ladies for safe passage to the Unturned Lands.

*****

Perrin:

Perrin ran through the forest. Twigs and branches whipped at his face and arms and legs. He fell several times, tripping over rocks, and roots, and his own feet, scraping his arms against the dirt until they bled. Then, he would get up, and keep running, legs pumping.

He turned to the left, trying to throw off anyone who might be following him.

Perrin told himself that he ran to ensure the security of Tosprine. To prevent civil war. For honor. For duty. He told himself that this was for the best. That fighting beside his brother would have gotten them both killed. Maybe that was true.

But that wasn’t why he ran.

No, Perrin ran because of the terrible feeling that had risen in his throat as he’d faced the tattooed man. Because of the catch in his brother’s voice as he’d told him to run. Because of the way his heart beat. Fast. Too fast.

Perrin ran, because he was scared.

And he hated himself for it.

Perrin hated himself for how quickly his resolve had drained out, almost as if through the soles of his feet, propelling him into a run. For his cowardice. For his fear. For running.

He ran until he could no longer run. Perrin bent over, hands on his knees, and vomited onto the dirt. He sunk to his knees, still retching. Then, he sat, his back against a tree, knees curled up to his chest.

Perrin didn’t move until the sun had already set, and risen the next day.

*****

The day of Dreu’s funeral, it rained. As if the sky mourned, along with the Queen, whose sobs broke into the silence of grief. A crowd gathered to watch as the young heir was laid into the Hall of Kings. Perrin was among the crowd, cloaked in thick, rough fabric. He hadn’t spoken with his family. Hadn’t even returned to grieve with them. He hated himself for that.

Perrin didn’t cry for his brother as he was laid to rest.

He hated himself for that too.

*****

One quick slash.

Perrin held the dagger, hands shaking.

One quick slash. Quick. Easy.

So why was it so hard?

One quick slash.

I’m not running this time.

One quick slash.

He pressed the blade to his wrist. Perrin closed his eyes, knowing he would never open them again. He inhaled, steeling himself.

One quick slash.

*****

Syrin:

Syrin adjusted the strap of his satchel as he reached the base of the bridge. It had been a long time since he’d been to Tosprine. He did his best to avoid it as much as possible, particularly in times such as this. With one prince dead, and the other missing, the stage was set for some major political upheaval. Of course, that didn’t stop him from needing the little green glowing mushrooms that only grew there.

Syrin shook a vial of pink fluid, and it glowed, illuminating the area around him. He walked beneath the bridge, looking for the almost-triangular caps of his target fungi, but found something entirely different.

A pool of blood. And in that blood, a body.

Syrin knelt beside the body, cursing. The blood seemed to be coming from his right wrist. A dagger lay beside his left hand. He checked for a pulse. It was there, but weak. Syrin cursed again.

*****

Perrin:

The entirety of Perrin’s body throbbed with a dull pain. He groaned as he forced his eyes open. This wasn’t right.

A soft, lilting voice greeted him, “How ya feelin’?”

“E-everyth-thing h-hurts,” he mumbled.

“Well, I’d expect so, you pretty near died,” a man crouched beside him. His

Perrin’s voice felt thick and slow as he spoke, “S-so, I’m not d-dead?”

“Yeah, not anymore.”

I should be.

Perrin closed his eyes, wincing at a moment of sharp pain, “D-did you s-s-save me?”

The man shrugged, “Little bit of a touch and go term, but yes.”

Perrin cursed, “W-why in the world w-would you d-do that?”

The man tilted his head, “I’m a healer. It’s my job.”

Perrin cursed again.

The man shook his head, “Look, kid, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you want to die.”

Perrin stared at him grimly. He stared back, questioning.

He swallowed, forcing the words out, “I do.”

The man’s eyebrows raised, “Why?”

Perrin didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure how to.

The man sighed, “Well, until you can figure out a specific reason, you can’t do idiotic things like bleeding out under a bridge.”

“But–”

The man interrupted him, “I don’t care. You are forbidden from being an idiot.”

Perrin said nothing. For a moment, time seemed to stretch as they watched each other. The man fidgeted with a beaded bracelet which he wore around his wrist.

Then, the man spoke, “What’s your name, kid?”

He hesitated, “Perrin.”

Recognition lit in the man’s eyes. Perrin swallowed again. His mouth was dry, and he felt as if there was a knot in his chest.

“So, you’re one of those folks named after the prince?”

Relieved, he nodded.

“You know, I’ve never understood that custom, but maybe that’s a cultural thing. Anyway, I’m Syrin.”

The name was unfamiliar. Probably from some foreign land.

If Dreu were here, he’d–

Syrin stood, “Now, I’ve got work to do. And you should rest.”

Syrin left the room. Perrin watched him go.

All was quiet.

Then, he closed his eyes, and slept. He didn’t dream.