The wind caught him from beneath and pushed him upwards. He loved flying. He loved Avenholme and the way the sunset threw fire off of the windows and the polished marble. He loved Lord Hightalon’s stories, the first good conversation he’d had in recent memories. He loved the man’s generosity, he loved the food. He loved watching Lelucas and Emily together, he loved listening to Zachary’s stories about his patrol -- how the boy could make something as mundane as seeing a whale breach seem romantic. He loved simply being an audience to the stories for once. He loved watching them cook together, even if Lelucas did get distracted halfway through, opting instead to loudly serenade his wife of twenty years as if he were still trying to win her hand. He loved the feeling of being welcome, as if he had belonged there all his life.

He especially loved the copious wine.

Roy landed on the pathway, stumbled, then walked across to the next side to start again. His wing was aching, but he looked forward to settling into bed. Rune was already asleep on top of his cloak in the satchel that hung at his side. Tomorrow started his stint in the Library, and if Lelucas could be believed, it would be mercifully short. As the sun dipped further below the horizon, he went to land -- and realized all too late that someone was in his way.

He slammed bodily into the other pedestrian, the two rolling and tumbling. Firm hands caught him by the shoulders, holding him steady. Even though they had stopped moving, the world continued to spin, and he grabbed onto his savior to try and ease the vertigo. “Thank you, kind - uh- sir! You are truly my hero,” he said, with only a slight slur.

“By Imodai, are you drunk?”

Roy’s vision snapped back quickly, and he pulled out of Jacob’s grip with a snarl. Stumbled a few paces back, then wobbled and tried to straighten. He struck the most sober pose he could think of, watching Jacob pull himself back up to his feet. The boy was in a Skyguard uniform, but it was covered with specks of bird feces and white feathers. Jacob’s lip curled slightly as he looked Roy up and down.

“I’m not drunk, I’m relaxed,” Roy argued tensely.

“You don’t look relaxed.”

“That’s because you’re ruining the ambiance, Jacob.” He snapped, fists clenched at his sides.

The two stared at each other, Roy smouldering, Jacob tired but slowly growing frustrated. The Peacock was wobbling slightly, and one wing seemed to have trouble finding a comfortable position. It opened, folded. Reopened. Shook out. Folded again in a different position. Jacob felt a pang of guilt, then annoyance.

“Look, I wanted to talk to you about what happened,” he started.

“Oh? Wanted to apologize for not finishing the job? That’s likely a conversation you should be directing at my father.”

“What in the void is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come off it! We all know why you did it. You want my father all to yourself. A patriarch and his precious do-no-wrong nephew. It’s like a bloody storybook, isn’t it?” Roy snarled, stalking forward to shorten the gap between them.

“You think that’s what’s happened?? You think it was intentional because I wanted more of Uncle’s attention?”

Roy’s finger jabbed Jacob in the chest. “You wanted me out of the picture, admit it. So you could just be the perfect son that Elias always wanted,”

“You need to back away. Right now,” Jacob growled in warning, holding his ground. “It was an accident.”

“You hit me in the head with your sword!” Roy yelled, his face inches from Jacob’s. The Eagle planted a hand on the boy’s chest and pushed him away. “You hit me in the fecking head and threw me off the Spoke! Because you wanted me out of the way.”

“No one wants you out of the way and I didn’t push you. You stumbled and I--”

“Do you see this eye, Jacob?! Do you see the scar?” Not waiting for a reply, he reached up and started slapping at the scar with his fingers to better illustrate its existence.

“Yes I-- yes, stop that! I see it! You’re really drunk.”

“No I’m not!”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, it got out of hand! I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to be gone!”

Jacob growled. “What did I ever do to you? You’re so damn spoiled! Everything has to be about you!”

Roy stumbled back a step, growling in rage, his hands clawing at his hair, pulling at the blond locks. “No! No it’s not! Do you know how hard I have to work to get my father to even notice me? And you just waltz in with your stupid perfect brown wings and your stupid perfect physique and your stupid perfect -- face! And you undo all the work I’ve ever done just by existing!”

“That’s not true -”

“Yes it is! It’s not fair!”

“Stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself! Everyone adores you! You can do no wrong -- you and your stupid stories.”

“It’s all fake, you idiot! All of it!” The Peacock was pacing in short steps, stopping only to yell or continue pulling at his hair. “No one cares, and the one person who should -- you know what he asked me, Jacob? He asked me what I did. Like it was my fault.” The blue eyes locked on Jacob’s brown with a sort of wild desperation that sent an uncomfortable pang deep into his core.

Jacob ignored it.

“You weren’t completely innocent you know.”

To Jacob’s surprise, Roy backed up a step as if struck. His eyes went from desperate to wounded. “No. Fine. No, you’re right. I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

Jacob regarded him with sudden suspicion but said nothing.

The drunk boy let out a high, crazy laugh, “I’ve been going about this all wrong. You see, all this time I thought I was the hero of this story. I thought that if I just work hard enough, try hard enough, everything would come around. I thought -- Imodai am I stupid -- I thought I could actually win. That everything would end up my way. That my father would get his head out of his arse and pretend to love me. That my mother would come back. That I could do what I wanted with my life instead of struggling to fit into a mold not meant for me.” His shoulders slumped and his wings sagged.

Jacob frowned, taking a cautious step forward. “Roy?”

“But that’s not how it is at all. I’m not the hero.”

“Roy… Let me take you home.”

“And if I’m not the hero…” The Peacock’s brow furrowed, and slowly his eyes rose, locking with an unnerving keenness on Jacob’s. “Then I must be the villain.”

Jacob felt an electric tingling run up his spine, a sense of horrible foreboding like that of an oncoming storm. There was a feeling that he needed to move, to prevent something, but what? He lunged, determined to stop Roy, though from what he didn’t know, but in the instant it took him to move, the Peacock’s wings were up and spread fully, splayed like a fan behind his head. The sparse eyefeathers trembled and the colors were so beautiful that he found himself transfixed, unable to move. Not wanting to move. They were so pretty… All other thoughts left his mind but the beauty of those wings -- and the intensity of the blue eyes boring into him. He smiled, relaxing into a simple, serene joy.

“Good…” Roy said calmly, holding Jacob’s gaze with an intensity that was almost painful. “Are you listening to me?”

Jacob smiled with a peaceful vacancy and nodded.

“Good. Now I’m going to show you what it feels like to be useless. To be helpless.” He stepped forward gingerly. Jacob simply smiled. “I’m going to do to you what you did to me. But there won’t be anyone to fish you up,”

Roy’s voice came in a growl, now barely inches from Jacob’s glazed face. “Turn around,” he commanded. The Eagle obeyed happily, snapping a crisp about-face.

The Peacock’s wings trembled again, the eyefeathers rattling softly. “Go to the ledge,” And as his cousin obeyed, “Hop onto it.”

Jacob leapt carelessly up onto the ledge, staring straight forward, letting out the occasional relaxed sigh.

“Look down,” Roy commanded. “Do you see that water? Do you see the cold, chopping waves? Doesn’t it look like a beautiful night for a dive?”

Jacob nodded dumbly, leaning almost too far over to look down at the water below.

“You don’t need to use your wings. You can dive like the humans do. Won’t that just be so fun?” The memory of rushing air made the Peacock boy pause, shaking his head. His forehead suddenly ached, fear welling up in his chest. He clenched his teeth and bit down on his own tongue, forcing himself to stay grounded. Stay here. Stay here.

“You want to dive in. How cool and refreshing that water is --” He was drowning, breathing in briny water, choking and unable to surface. Something was wrong with his wing -- Stay here -- waterlogged and sinking -- No! Focus! Stay here! -- drowning! There was no sign of land -- NO! Finish this!

He staggered back a few steps, clutching his head, grasping at his hair. “You want to! You want to --” Jump. Jump. Jump. The word sat on his tongue, but refused to move. “You -- You want to --” Jump. JUMP! His jaw wouldn’t work, the sound stuck in his throat, sat in a stubborn lump. Jump! The pain in his head, the smell of saltwater and blood. The burn of water in his sinuses, the panic of lungs being flooded. The sheer vastness of the sea all around him and how desperately far Avenholme was above.

“Just -- Just -- Do it, just j--” His voice choked again, dissolving into a snarl that spiked into a furious shriek of rage. Meanwhile, Jacob stood calmly on the ledge, awaiting further instructions.

Roy sank into a crouch, his arms wrapped around his head, both wings still up, eyefeathers still trembling. “I can’t do it… I can’t do it…” His fingernails dug into his scalp, grazing long frustrated lines in his skin as he slowly uncoiled his arms.

“I can’t do it… I just want this to end. I just want to take this idiotic rivalry to its final stupidity… I can’t do it…” Slowly he rose. “You win. Again. Step back down towards me. Carefully.”

The Eagle turned around carefully and stepped down, moving closer to Roy, now on the safety of the platform proper. “I want you to remember this… I could have done it tonight. I could have killed you. And I decided not to. I decided not to let you fall into the water. Maybe you would have snapped out of it in time. Maybe not. But I decided not to stoop to your level. Remember that.”

Jacob nodded calmly, his eyes glassy. Roy wrinkled his nose in disgust, folding his wings behind him again. “...Now um. Dance or something until the charm breaks. I’m done with you.”

The Eagle, still enchanted, started to awkwardly bob and dance in place to unheard music. Roy didn’t wait to see how long it took for him to come back to his senses, but he suspected he only had moments.

He stalked towards his home apartments, forcing himself not to break into a run. Why couldn’t he do it? Why couldn’t he just kill him and be done with it? He was no hero. He wasn’t the focus of the stories he made up. But he was no villain either. He couldn’t do it. So if he wasn’t a hero and he wasn’t a villain, that made him…

“Nothing. That makes me nothing,” he said quietly to himself. He heard an angry yell from the platform and hastened his pace. By the time he reached the Engelbrecht apartment, the adrenaline had worn off and every muscle ached. His wings trembled against his back, barely able to hold themselves up. His head throbbed dully and he wanted desperately to sleep. Rune meowed softly in the satchel, as if asking if the trouble were over.

Groggily, he patted the bag, “Remind Daddy never to do that again… It’s a bit… completely and utterly draining.” His key slid into the lock and let himself into the apartment, closing the door and slumping against it. As he rested, a slow creeping dread crawled over his skin.

Something was wrong.

The apartment was too quiet. This soon after sunset, the servants should still be on duty. But instead, the hallway was sinking into an eerie darkness. No candles were lit, but he could see a glow down the hall from the open door of his father’s office. The hair along his arms and the down of his wings stood on end. Roy leaned down to let Rune out of the bag and she bolted to his room with her belly on the ground. He had wandered into a minefield, one he had traversed many times before.

One he had yet to find a safe way through.

Taking a low, slow breath, he tried to calm himself. It would do no good to panic now. Not when it was time to perform. One more slow breath, and he straightened, putting on his best smile, tossing his hair over his shoulder and carefully folding his wings behind him.

As he marched proudly to his father’s room, the tension struck him like the first gales of a hurricane. A fire crackled in the hearth, but there was nothing welcoming about the glow. Elias sat in his high-backed chair, his form silhouetted against the flames. The light bounced off of his eyes, staring fixedly ahead at the portrait on the wall. The ice in his glass rattled softly as he brought it to his lips, unblinking.

Showtime. Roy beamed as he walked in, keeping his voice light and bright. “Father! You’re going to ruin your eyes you know, shall I get a candle for you?”

There was no answer. He pushed on, undeterred. “Did you send Maribel and Gunther home?” He asked pleasantly. Roy could hear a creak of leather as Elias’ grip tightened on the glass. His spirits began to flag.

“Where were you.” Came the cool snarl, barely louder than a whisper. Roy felt his wings tense, his legs braced to run.

“Oh, I had some business with Lord Hightalon and --”

“For six hours?” Another tightening creak, the high note of cracking glass. He has misstepped.

“Bah,” he scoffed, sounding annoyed himself. “You know how he is. Once he starts talking, you can’t escape! It would have been rude to --”

“Next time be rude.”

“Yes, sir.” In the silence, he heard the grip loosen, if only slightly. Elias did not continue, simply staring forward. Roy waited for what felt like an eternity, determined to to keep his demeanor bright when his father finally spoke again.

“Did you have a good time?”

The question felt loaded. Another misstep. Counter with a barking, incredulous laugh. “Good time? Ugh, Father, it was a nightmare trying to escape. It’s a miracle my ears aren’t bleeding. Though they may be, I’m not sure. I am rather tired.”

Elias said nothing, taking a long drink from his glass. The silence was deafening and dangerous. He didn’t dare leave, but to stay could prove doom just as easily.

“You know, he had an interesting artifact -- a replica mind you -- of the Exile Stone. Have you ever heard the story?” He didn’t wait for affirmation, trudging on. Anything to fill the silence. “According to legend, it’s used by some of the elf clans, I’m not sure which ones. Anyhow, they worship the Sun -- well, sort of a primitive version of Solarus I suppose if you want to be technical. When one of their ilk commits a serious crime, instead of execution, they can exile them from the sun. One day everything is fine, the sun sets that night like it always does… and never rises again.”

No response. That was a good sign. “You might be thinking, what’s so special about the Sun? Sure it’s light and warm, but big deal. Many creatures adjust to the dark. But soon the Moon winks out as well, and then the planets. In the eternal darkness, you need a torch to see your way, even in the height of noon. Eventually the world around you cools, and you could freeze even in a desert. Soon the plants start to waste away, and the animals that eat the plants, but only to you. Only to --”

In a single swift motion, Elias threw his near empty glass at the wall beneath the portrait. The crystal shattered into a thousand shards with a spectacular crash. Roy tensed, bracing, his eyes shut tight. But no other motion came. His heart beat a tattoo against his ribs and he focused on keeping his breathing calm and his voice steady. As if nothing had happened. Inside he was withering.

“But I thought this would be a great project to start in the Library -- alongside the Love’s Ruin project of course. I’ll make you proud, Father.”

“There is nothing you can do to make me more proud,” Elias said grimly.

Roy scoffed slightly, staring at his father’s immobile form questioningly. “Clearly that isn’t true. I’m not living up to the family name, I’m not a hero or Captain of the Guard or a great Scholar or-”

“You misunderstand me, boy. There is nothing that you can do that will make me proud of you.”

The ground beneath him no longer felt completely solid. Roy swayed on his feet, his head spinning for a moment. His hand went to the doorframe for support. Elias didn’t move.

“I will be a Scholar…”

“You will fail. Just like you failed at the Skyguard. Just like you failed at a dozen things before that. I give up trying to be proud of you. I give up on you.”

I am not a hero. I am not a villain. I am nothing. “You’re wrong.” His own words startled him, and he wasn’t sure if they were directed to his father or to himself. But it got his father’s attention.

Elias shifted in the chair, his eyes piercing. “Am I?” His tone was incredulous, as if the boy had just declared that the fire could freeze. Roy didn’t flinch, but his breath came in tight gasps that caught in his throat.

“You are. And the next time you see me, I will be a hero. Or I will die trying.”

Elias scoffed and turned back around. “If you are, I will eat my gavel,” he said calmly.

Roy stared at his father in silence. A strange, distant part of his mind felt certain he should be feeling something. Pain. Sadness. Fear. But he just felt… empty. He turned silently on his heel and stalked out. Elias didn’t react at the sound of the boy’s bedroom door shutting quietly, though part of him registered surprise at the lack of dramatic slam.

Nearly an hour later, the front door opened, equally quiet, and shut with a resounding finality.