It had never been easy for them to get along. As children they fought in the way all siblings fight: minor squabbles at first, but the arguments grew more serious and more drawn-out as they aged. They managed to be civil in public for form's sake, of course, until she came along.
She was beautiful, intelligent, and kind. Men wanted her, and women wanted to be her. She was grace personified, but there was only one of her. She livened up the court that bitter winter and was a favorite of the queen. Prince Liam had written her an embarrassingly flowery love poem that his sister Lianne mercilessly read out loud at a Midwinter party.
Originally, he detested everything about her. He hated that she had the ability to turn even the most sensible of his friends into an empty-headed, poetry-writing, foppish fool. Even more, he hated the effect she had on him. He wasn't like his brother, never ever ever! But her? She made him want to, gods forbid, write a sonnet. When she smiled at him, his heart turned over and his mind turned to mush…just like the hero in a bad romance.
But she didn't want him; she disliked his cynicism, his lack of emotion. His brother, on the other hand, what a wonderful man. Handsome, witty, musical, fashionable, heartfelt, earnest, and so loving.
The twit, he thought bitterly. I hope he boils in his romantic fantasy, his philosophical nonsense. His brother was a fool, an empty-headed fool who cared for nothing but clothing and "intellectualism." He and his silly university friends had founded some ridiculous club that had been nicknamed the Philosopher's Society. They gathered weekly to discuss art, music, literature, philosophy, and of course magic and its proper usage. They were a group that called for social reform, for better treatment of the poor and down trod. He thought they were a bunch of spoiled aristocrats with no real purpose, not doing anything. They talked and talked and talked, but took no action.
She, of course, adored them. She even attended some of their meetings, and fawned over their intellectual greatness, their compassion for the lesser mortals of the world. Her brown eyes shone with admiration, especially when his brother would start prattling on.
He had ceased speaking to his brother. Rumors flew, and someone even suggested that one had challenged the other to a duel. Thinking of this latest speculation, Alan of Pirate's Swoop snorted. As if he would waste energy on that spoiled, woolly-headed specimen he was forced to call brother. He stared out his window and watched a few snowflakes dancing through the air. The sun was rising. Time to start the dance all over again.
His time would come.
Disclaimer: Alan, Thom, Lianne, Liam, and all the characters mentioned in this collection of short stories and vignettes are intellectual property of Tammy. Pas moi.