"Merriweather you're not listening to me!" He shouted.
He threw his brother off, keeping his grip on the sword he now had in his bloody hand. It had sliced his skin, but that was the least of his worries.
"No Mornstein! You're not listening to me!" His brother yelled.
"What has gotten into you Merriweather!?" Mornstein roared.
Merriweather tightly clasped the handle of the blade. His face was flushed red with anger.
"Answer me Merriweather! Or I swear under the kingdom's name I will not regret my decisions!" Mornstein said.
"He loves you more than anybody! You were always his favorite! He couldn't care less about Meadowlark and I! You always got his attention! Always!" Merriweather shrieked, the pitch of his voice continuing to rise.
With what tone he had, his voice could've woke the dead. Their servants were helplessly watching the king and his brother. They could do nothing more than observe. Now, before we get anything wrong, Mornstein loved his brother, as he loved all of his family equally. But his brother was different. Merriweather felt that he didn't have a stable relationship with their father, the former king of Meridia, before he left to aid a neighboring kingdom. But, something kept tugging at him. Feeding him these words, saying that his father didn't have the capacity in his heart to allow another person in. It fueled his aggravated spirit.
His hand felt numb, the tighter he clenched the blade. He wasn't going to give up this easily. It was in his nature, as he had the irrational propensity for doing these things. He despised his brother's reputation, being the eldest of the three of the royal siblings. It gave him the title of heir to the throne. But Merriweather couldn't understand it at that time when his brother was crowned. The coronation. The dancing. The conversations. All of it flooded back to him. And he charged, sword held high and eyes burning.
Mornstein made no hesitation of holding his own up to deflect what was coming. His brother's blade collided with his own.
"Is that what this is about Merriweather? Because you have a jealousy towards me? He loved us equally! You know it, I know it, Meadowlark knows it! All of Meridia knows it!" Mornstein said. "But yet you act oblivious to it. You and you're obstinate attitude towards everything! This is not how I wanted this to be settled, but you leave me no choice..."
And with that he went to an offense. His brother couldn't match his movements. He struggled with swordsmanship. But Mornstein, could put an expert to shame. The king knew well enough, that as a prince, he could have wasted no time with his practices or lessons. His father taught him how to wield a blade. His uncle did too. So did his grandfather. He had gotten to the point where, at the still maturing age of fourteen, he not only unarmed his father, but had slit his hand with the sword.
Now he was putting it back into use.
His brother got an upper hand suddenly, and swung at him, cutting the flesh on his cheek open. His crown hit the dry dirt as Mornstein staggered and put a hand over his cheek, the fresh, stinging sensation of oxygen flooding into the vulnerable cut. But he made no plans on it distracting him.
"You've been learning...but it does you no good..." Mornstein murmured.
Merriweather, blinded by his agitated mindset, did not take heed to those words, but instead ran at his brother again. Mornstein grabbed the blade, not concerned with the now burning, gushing gash on his other hand. Merriweather's eyes widened, and Mornstein took the chance to unarm his brother and kick him back. He took in his breaths heavily and glared down at his brother, his stare now intimidating. Merriweather shrunk back, not a single scratch scathed his delicate flesh and fur. Mornstein dropped both blades. And then, his with suddenly stumbling but not easily noticeable gait, stepped towards his brother, and held out a bloody yet gentle hand.
"Give me your hand Merriweather," he said calmly. "Now."
Merriweather swallowed hard, and hesitantly did as his brother commanded. He was still angered, but it was put at ease for the time being. Mornstein pulled him up, not paying mind to the pain he was putting his hand through. He did wince a bit though, as it took a while before it finally got to him. Merriweather made sure to be careful with his brother's tender hand. He let go, with Mornstein's blood now on his glove. He was ready for whatever belted yelling and lecturing conversation he was expecting to get. But it never came. Mornstein put a warm hand on Merriweather's shoulder, causing him to look up at his brother's relaxed eyes.
"I don't want this to happen between us again, alright? This is not how we were raised Merriweather," Mornstein uttered gently.
Merriweather bent his head down and rubbed his heel in the dirt, now suddenly feeling a flooding sense of shamefulness running over his troubled mind. Mornstein pulled him in, and held him lovingly. Merriweather was taken back by the soft gesture. But he accepted it and in a strained voice, gave his apologies. Mornstein hushed him.
"There, there Merriweather...everything is alright," Mornstein said softly.
Merriweather bit his bottom lip, and then went to nestle his face into Mornstein's shoulder.
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." he murmured repeatedly.
"It's okay, it's okay," said Mornstein.
He then felt dizzy, and leaned against his brother, his eyes dull.
"I need Archimedes," he said slowly.
Merriweather nodded, and made his way for the castle. And then, once inside, went for the library.