Mornstein picked Zander up off his lap, and went out of his study. Zander was now curious about what happened between his dad and uncle. Mornstein had tried to explain to the kid simply, but Zander would not take it for an answer.

"Father? What happened? Why do you have that cut on your face?" Zander repeated.

Mornstein drew in a breath and sighed. He knew the boy would continue to be persistent, as he always was. Zander watched his dad curiously, and put a hand to his cheek. Mornstein looked down at the boy, and smiled a bit.

"We'll talk about it later, alright?" He said.

Zander nodded and smiled back. Mornstein set him down and stood back up.

"Why don't you go look for your brothers. And Ciel," Mornstein said.

Zander ran off to do so. Mornstein proceeded to walk to his brother's room, as he wanted to cease Merriweather's sobbing. He sighed softly, and rubbed his cheek, the stinging receding, but still present. He murmured under his breath, and put his hand back down. But his hand did not go back to his side. It went to his chest. He stopped for a moment, and just stood in the hallway, taken back by his own gesture. He knew what he was touching, and pulled his hand away to avoid any troubling thoughts. He set his mind strictly back onto Merriweather, knowing that if he kept his hand across his chest it would make him think and think and think. About things he did not want to trouble himself with.

He started walking again, his gait back to a normal stride. His hands still hurt, as he just noticed. He rubbed them, and felt as if the lacerations were still there. He started to feel stupid for grabbing the sword like that. But he had no other choices, or so he had thought at the time. Merriweather's actions were not the cause of it. Only Mornstein's cheek. That was it. Mornstein did not blame his brother for what had happened. And he didn't blame himself. It was just...he didn't know. Typical? No, brother's don't slash swords at each other on a daily basis. This was the first time Merriweather ever swung a sword at his beloved brother. Mornstein could hear his brother now. He sighed again, slowly progressed to the door, and knocked.

"Go away..." Merriweather muttered in a strained voice.

"Merriweather," Mornstein said calmly.

Merriweather stayed silent, though his tears were not suppressed, and he soon burst again.

"God, bullet hell!" He yelled.

Mornstein sighed, as he knew his brother was mad with himself. Bullet hell never came from Merriweather's mouth, unless he was ticked, and then he would say it like it was saying 'hello' to someone. Mornstein assumed the door was probably locked, or at least, barricaded by a shelf or something. Knowing his brother, he'd do just that. Mornstein pushed the door, and it opened. He was taken back by this, but thought none of it. He slowly walked in, his brother sitting in his bed, knees to his chest, pillow in arms. Merriweather's face was a brighter than day red, his eyes puffy and burning. Mornstein let out another sigh, and proceeded to his side. He sat down by him, Merriweather having his face buried in his pillow. He muttered bullet hell again, and shifted.

"It's not your fault Merriweather," Mornstein said in a soft voice.

Merriweather looked up slightly at his brother, with a distraught look on his face. He was still irritated with himself. Mornstein shook his head and looked down.

"You did nothing wrong Merriweather," Mornstein said, still calm.

Merriweather hiccupped, and clenched his pillow, hiccupping again. Merriweather could not believe how his brother was so calm, and not upset with him about what happened and he did. He raised and uproar about something so damn stupid! And his brother, the king, didn't care? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. It was making his head ache and throb. Merriweather sighed, annoyed, if he was to be honest with himself. Mornstein could sense it and his face grew stern.

"Obstinacy never helped anyone Merriweather," Mornstein said.

Merriweather, eyes burning again, began to avoid eye contact as he was before. He was trying so forcefully to contain himself. But it wasn't working. They started to slide down his face again. He burst back into complete tears and was suddenly under Mornstein's arm with his face in his chest. Mornstein was taken back. But, he shoved all else aside, and went to cease his brother's aching wailing.

"Hey, it's alright," Mornstein sighed.

Merriweather wouldn't take it, and buried his face in Mornstein's shoulder now. His face burned, so bad Mornstein thought he could feel it. Mornstein's shoulder was starting to dampen, but between cleanliness and comfort, he opted more for comfort. He could care less about his fur. He stroked Merriweather's quills, talking softly and calmly, trying to pacify his brother. Merriweather continued to wail and shake, as if he was just born and taking his first breath. He ached badly, but not in any psychical pain. It was a brotherly pain. Mornstein went to his desperate measures, and started to purr. Merriweather grasped him tightly and hiccupped. Mornstein continued to purr, until Merriweather was mollified.

"Are you okay now?" Mornstein asked.

Merriweather nodded, and hiccupped again, rubbing his eyes. Mornstein rubbed his back and then his face. Merriweather looked at his cheek and his ears bent. Mornstein's ears raised.

"Don't worry about it," Mornstein said.

Merriweather looked down, and nuzzled into his brother's chest, nudging the necklace around Mornstein's neck. Mornstein's eyes widened slightly, but he pushed it aside. The symbol is was, meant so much to the brothers and their sister. But Mornstein had the symbol. The necklace. Because he was the oldest.

And Merriweather looked at it.