Hurting
He buried his face into his pillow in frustration, not even knitting helped. Rain pounded hard outside. The day was particularly difficult. He had a headache all day due to the fact that Anissina kept up all night. Yuri was being troublesome as usual until Conrad whispered something and the kid did more than half the paperwork. He went back to the room when he got the chance. Now it rained… just like it did on this day, long ago…
The day his father died.
"May I come in?" he heard. He looked to find his brother at the door, peering in cautiously. Gwendal turned over to make space and hid his tears. He only allowed Conrart to see this side of him because he knew Conrart had his share of suffering from killing… and from losing a father.
Conrad said nothing as he walked over to the bed.
"We need to brush your hair…" he said quietly. He walked to Gwendal's desk, picked up a brush, moved to Gwendal's side, untied the string that held Gwendal's hair and started brushing without another word. There was never any need to explain. How long Conrad had been doing this neither men really knew… It was some kind of annoying radar that younger brothers have. Wolfram was not there. Even if their blond brother had his share of guilt, he did not have to see him like this. It was unfair to them, true; but they need to be strong enough for him.
The long brush strokes felt good, as if they were brushing away the weariness and the hurt. Being the Maoh's advisor was not easy. Yuri was a good kid and everything, but it was too much on days like these, particularly if it's the anniversary of your father's death. Gwendal had to watch as his father die, protecting him.
"Gwendal, don't look!" was his father's final words before enemies decapitated him. Gwendal watched in horror as his father's head rolled on the ground his eyes wide open in defiance–
"Easy," Conrad's voice cut through the horrific memory. Gwendal realised he had been hyperventilating. And crying.
"Thank you…" the elder brother murmured, hastily brushing away his tears. Conrart said nothing but continued to brush his hair.
He remembered when Conrad was about four years old and just learning how to walk.
"Ga-ga sad?" a small voice called.
Gwendal looked up and saw him. Conrart was walking on his own!
"Hey," he called in a soft voice through his tears, "you're walking…"
"Ga-ga…" the little toddler called again as he toddled towards Gwendal's inviting arms, "Ga-ga!"
Gwendal brought him close and just hugged the boy, trying very hard not to cry but failed miserably. "Don't cwy, Ga-ga," Lil' Conrart soothed, nearly in tears himself, "don't cwy… Ga-ga sad, Onn-onn sad…"
A small snore woke him from his musings. He rolled over to find Conrad asleep beside him the brush still in his hand. Gwendal felt worse. Why did Conrad come if he was exhausted?
"Hey," a quiet voice called. Gwendal looked to find Wolfram crouching before him and Conrad.
"Wolfram…?" he croaked. He did not even hear Wolfram enter. The blond had a pillow in one arm and in the other arm, he had three rolls of blankets in the other arm. It was his face that made Gwendal feel worse. It was his look, not Wolfram's. He was the one who has to comfort his little brothers, not the other way around!
"Don't move…" he told his older brother, laying one blanket on him and another on sleeping Conrad, "Yuri asked me to check on you two." He returned to Gwendal's side, taking out a lengthy string and gathered Gwendal's long hair.
"Sorry," Gwendal murmured quietly as Wolfram tied his hair loosely. Wolfram sighed and quietly pulled a chair, placed the pillow brought in and sat in the chair before putting a blanket around him before looking straight at his eldest brother. He knew Gwendal did not like being treated as if he needed comfort. Only Conrart was allowed to brush his hair.
Wolfram knew Gwendal did not want him to worry and just sat there, watching. "We're brothers," he murmured finally, "we watch out for each other."
Gwendal did not know what to think… he could not cry… "Please stay," he croaked.
"Neither of us are going to leave you…" the blond murmured, "You protect us… leaving you alone would be a poor way of thanking you…" Hearing those words, Gwendal allowed himself to relax. He allowed himself to sleep. His father may no longer be there… but his brothers were. And they need him as much as he needed.
He protected them; in return they wipe his tears away. In a certain way, they themselves were his tears… his tears of happiness… therefore there was little need to cry. He was safe with his brothers.