[ P ] Hard to Carry

He stared blankly at himself in a pool of unbroken water. The bowl had been brought to an annex of their chambers seasons ago at Xandria's request. Where Tiamats were wary against vanity, it had been important for her—and Nassar—to track the progress of her vision. Now that her scar had started to reduce in inflammation, the pool of water saw little use. Yet, out of habit, the servants refilled it from time to time.

Belfast had taken to losing himself in it whenever he was roused from sleep. Roused being the gentle term—more often than not, he was jolted awake by a sharp kick to the ribs, buffeted in the chest, or headbutted. There were bruises beneath his fur, arguably more than when he had briefly served due to the draft.

Their room had become a war zone.

Every time, Belfast struggled to fall back asleep. He loved his wife, dearly, desperately, but the primal part of him was waiting for the next blow to land. It was made all the worse by Ahkoris' most recent passing and her argument with Sethos. If there had been any peace to lose, Belfast might have been more worried. Instead, there were no eggshells to walk on anymore. They'd all been ground down to dust.

What was left was just trying to clear it away and start anew: an impossible task. At least, it felt that way to him.

But he felt it: the pressure of fear. He had been raised in a broken family, brought up by a drug-addled mother whose temper was a hair's breadth away from her brief passions of love. He had lost the only aunt that had ever tried to give him stability and the only man, a stranger really, that had tried to help them survive. And he'd lost the only other wolf who knew exactly what it had been like.

He could only presume her dead in the Jacobian wars, yet he had not been able to hold a funeral for her.

Hells, he hadn't even told Xandria about her.

...

A tremor in the water disrupted his reflection and he looked up, blearily blinking sleep from his eyes and consciousness back in. When he turned, he was not surprised to see Xandria there. At least for now, Mios had grown tired of sneaking into their room. He imagined that Miread had relented enough to let him sneak into hers.

"Go back to bed, it's late," he murmured through a weak smile.

The nightmares had grown worse ever since Ahki’s death. It wasn't just her mother that died again every night. Belfast died again and again. Miri died. Mios died. She was waiting for the reaper in her dreams to kill the rest of her family whenever she closed her eyes. Xandria didn't know if she could take it for much longer. The exhaustion, the stress and grief that mauled her heart like a pack of savage beasts. She had tried to keep her burdens to herself away from her husband and her children, but her trauma disturbed them every night until she succeeded in driving her children out of their room. How long would it be before it all became too much for Belfast too?

Her paws reached for him in the darkness and when she found his side of their bed empty her heart sank. Scanning the room she saw the dark shape of his back in the shadows and she sighed in relief. He hadn't left yet.

Blinking sleepy, swollen eyes she approached him, hovering anxiously with an apology itching her tongue.

Go back to bed, it's late.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, her voice hoarse from all the silent tears she had shed when she was laying awake, unable to sleep.

Belfast had tried various teas and herbal mixtures to help her sleep peacefully and for a time it had worked. Then Ahki died and they had gotten worse. It wasn't fair to him or their children and it made her feel like a terrible mother and wife.

“I can have another bed made up.. so I won't disturb you as much,” she suggested, sounding defeated and resigned. She didn't know what to do for the best. It would hurt her deeply to not have him by her side while they slept, but she wasn't selfish enough to to keep him there.

It felt like she was at risk of losing him if she didn't do something. She didn't want them to end up like her mother and father.

code: elyon | art: curiotea

The roughness in her voice broke his heart and he silently moved to her side, brushing his nose against her cheek and folding her into a hug if she allowed it. His eyes felt dry and he blinked them from time to time in an effort to clear the exhaustion that weighed upon him. On them both. For, if either of them was being dragged down to the bottom of a lake, it was Xandria.

He just wished that he knew how to help her.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he murmured quietly, listening to the steady beat of her heart and finding comfort in it. At least when they were awake, there was no danger in being close. They could heal all wounds so long as they found the time to talk. Which, being parents of two and with Xandria watching Cairo's every move for a falter in how the family was led, was difficult. And there was her post in the military as well. Would she keep it? He wasn't sure. Nassar's legacy would demand such a thing and if they ceased to serve they could eventually lose the manse.

Then again, did the family really need it? It had become such a dark and terrible place.

"No, no, there's no need for that," he said, shaking his head at the thought of being far from her. It'd hardly help his sleep even if the risk of nighttime attacks became smaller. "We'll just keep trying different things. Different teas... maybe... therapy?" He tilted his head slightly, searching her face. It often felt like there wasn't time for the latter but it'd served him well.

Only, when he'd gone to ask after his old therapist back in Melrose, he had been bereft to learn that she had died. With her wife, at least... did that make it better? Not wanting to add even more death to Xandria's life, he hadn't told her about the inquiry... or its result.

Xandria saw in his gentle ocean gaze that he held no resentment towards her for her constant disturbances during the night. Her weary golden eyes flickered with warmth and she leaned towards him, settling into his embrace and butting her head against his chin lovingly like an affectionate cat. They fit together so perfectly that Xandria knew that there would be no one else for her if there was no Belfast. It made her feel guilty for the fire she was kindling in her heart for vengeance that risked putting her in danger again so soon after the war. He had feared for her then and she knew that he would be hurt once she told him what she wanted to do.

Teas and therapy. Her ears drew back and she sighed. They were reasonable options, one that a gentler wolf like Belfast would seek first rather than blood. “I don't know if I could… be vulnerable like that with someone else,” she admitted. She had been raised in a world that prioritised strength and shunned weakness. Sharing her feelings with Belfast had taken time and there were still ways that they needed to improve on communication.

“I want to go after him,” she told him gently, golden eyes full of sincere concern for him and shining with raw grief. “But I don't want to hurt you… I just… It hurts so much and I don't know how to make it stop,” Xandria gasped as the tears came full force and she trembled against him. For him she could let down all of the walls and stop pretending.

code: elyon | art: curiotea

He met her touch fondly, relaxing into it despite the exhaustion in his bones and the darkness of sleep deprevation beneath his eyes. They'd both become quite the frumpy pair: fur out of place, a tad unkempt, ill fed. But at least they were like that together. The thought of not being with her, here in this hell, was a one that twisted his stomach. If they were to have burdens then they were going to shoulder them together. It was proof time and time again to Belfast that he hadn't been a fool to indulge in Xandria's feelings and accept her heart. Had he been weak enough to break it, he would have never forgiven himself. In this shared suffering, at least he knew he was putting in the effort that she deserved. More than anything.

Yet the thought of more teas and therapy didn't seem to sit well with her. "I know," he murmured, glancing down at her. "But that's the beauty of it. You don't think it'll help but it does. It's an outside perspective, that's all." And it was the reason he'd finally been able to work through enough of his trauma to see Xandria as more than just a princess in a tower, far too good for him to even touch. Without Nephele, Xandria wouldn't have become a person to him. She would have just stayed an ideal. Mios and Miread would never have existed and she would have been here, haunted by the ghosts of her family, whilst all alone.

"You should try it." But he wouldn't push her, it wasn't his way.

...

Then, at last, she confessed what he'd most feared. And, unbidden, his tensed. He didn't jerk away from her—he could never—but he was too tired to be able to hide his alarm and dismay. Either due to the pain, exhaustion, or his very reaction, tears welled within her eyes. She crumpled into him, broken by the pain that devastated her.

He blinked away tears from his own eyes. It always broke him to see her this way. "It doesn't help, Xan," Belfast whispered, gently rasping his tongue over her ears. "It didn't help before," a pause, knowing he need not say Kohl's name for her to understand. "And it won't help now. It just bloodies you more." He didn't take the time to explain his fears or his desperation for her to stay safe, to stay home. In this moment, it wasn't about him. Nor did he think that she'd truly go through with it.

"It stops when you stop trying to change it," Belfast whispered. "And you focus on the life you lead now that it's happened. There'll always be pain... and loss... but like wounds they just get older. Scar over, go numb." When he spoke, his voice sounded a tad distant and his eyes stared at nothing in particular. Inside, he was sifting through his own loss; his own mother, his own sister, his own aunt, his own Kohl.

Everyone except for her.

He was so gentle and calming, like those refreshing mint teas that he brewed her when she was stressed. A surge of fondness for him rose up inside of her and without prompting she snuggled her head into his chest, listening to the steady and constant beat of his heart. No death, no coldness, only life and warmth. She listened to his voice vibrating through his chest as he softly encouraged her to try therapy. She wasn't entirely against it, but she didn't know if she could trust someone enough to let her guard down like that. Still she didn't immediately reject the idea, only shelved it for now because she knew she couldn't dump all of her trauma on Belfast when he was struggling with his own pain. “I’ll think about it,” she promised and she did intend to.

Xandria felt him stiffen when she mentioned revenge. Her fierce independence and pride demanded she go ahead with it even if he disapproved, but her softer side, the one that throbbed with guilt knowing how much it had pained him to let her go to war and here she was saying that she wanted to leave him again. Pained golden eyes looked up at his teary blues and she could see how much he was holding back for her benefit. “You should be more selfish, Bel,” she sniffed, looking at him gently. “I always have been,” she said although she knew that he didn't need a reminder of who his wife was. “This… This hate feels better than the hurt that's why I’m chasing it. I know that, but I feel so guilty,” her voice broke again when she admitted the feeling that she was really ignoring. “I feel like it's my fault. If I hadn't argued with Cairo… then that Jacobite wouldn't have gone after her and Mom would still be alive. None of this would have happened if I’d only stayed home like you wanted,” she confessed to the sins that she felt burdened with and the drive behind her desire to hunt the man who had broken their family.

code: elyon | art: curiotea

He knew that she wouldn't lie to him but, equally, he knew that her walls were hard to let down. Xandria was so private, so much so that it was difficult for even her family to get glimpses into her life. There were layers to her, as if she was a maze that on occassion walled off every path. But that was a requirement of this household, of the life of a soldier. You had to guard everything—your weaknesses, your heart, your mind. Belfast had been Xandria's secret for years, unknowingly becoming a little diary of her life, of her every private thought. It hadn't occured to him until he'd officially moved in that he might have been a bit of a crutch, two parts a blessing for being there and a reason she never had to open up to anyone else.

Wasn't that... lonely? No, he didn't even need to ask. It was. As someone that opened up to virtually no one, not even Xandria, he knew that much. He'd just grown used to that silence.

Resting his head on hers, he hummed a soft note. "Thank you."

He cracked a weak smile as she told him to be selfish. There was a part of him that was, violently so, but it'd gotten too used to going unheard. It was just a broken record in his skull at this point, skipping over notes, screeching over scars.

"I understand," Belfast said, adjusting his paws to squeeze her a little tighter. "How long do you want to go back?" His voice lightened somewhat, became more thoughtful. "If the Jacobites hadn't launched their revolution, there would have been no battle. If your mother had never gone into the military, the risk to her life would have been almost nonexistent—so where does the blame start and end?" It was a rhetorical question really, one that he had pondered whenever Anaca had raged against their lot in life.

Looking down at her, he nudged her cheek. "Would you gladly give your life for Mios and Miread?" He paused long enough for her to say yes or nod. "And would you feel proud to have saved them with everything you could give?" Another pause. "And would you want them to take that precious life of theirs and waste it hunting your killer? Risking their own lives again to achieve those ends, but now you're not there anymore to protect them?" Another pause, his voice growing sadder.

"I didn't know your mom well, but if she raised someone as strong and loyal as you, she had to feel the exact same. She had to have been happy to protect you both and this country. Let her have that, Xandria."

His own father was still out there hunting the killer of his mother. Gone, banished from his life in the search of revenge, leaving his two pups without a soul to rely on save for eachother. Baol had lost everything that Sinead had ever given him and all in the pursuit of... selfishly trying to banish that pain and hate.

It was almost as if Anubis himself had set out his golden scales before her, reached within her chest and took out her damaged heart and set it upon them for judgement. The choice she made today would be the one that could destroy all that her mother had fought so hard to protect or put her on the path to rebuild what they had left. It wasn’t just her own life that she was throwing into the fray if she marched off like a soldier on the warpath. Miread would follow in those bloody paw prints of hers and continue the legacy of pain that had been passed down from mother to daughter. “I would give every drop of blood in my body to keep them safe,” she replied solemnly, an unspoken vow she had made the day that they were born. “And I would not have any regrets,” her voice shook as she spoke, thinking of how Nassar must have felt running to their aid and shielding them with the very body that she had used to give life to them. “N-No.. I’d want them to live on and cherish my memory instead of taking revenge for me,” her voice grew quieter as she knew that it was a very real possibility that if her life was sacrificed to avenge her mother that it was her children that would inherit the debt of blood.

Let her have that, Xandria, Two warring forces clashed within her. The pain of a daughter who had seen her mother murdered in front of her and the guilt of a mother who wanted better for her children. A shuddering breath trembled through shoulders that had carried the weight of so much pain and anguish and her wet golden eyes looked into Belfast’s. “I’ll let it go..” the words were breathed out with a heavy sigh as it took all of her willpower to relinquish the obsessive drive to hunt down the man that had broken their family. She still hated him. She still wished that he would burn alive like the flames that had consumed her mother’s corpse. But she would let it go for her mother, for Belfast and their children.

art + code: clae

Belfast's ears flicked back as he gently pressed his cheek against hers. It was hard to imagine her making the same sacrifice as Nassar even if he knew she would do it without a doubt. He would do the same. It was this sense of conviction that was new to him, foreign in the face of everything that he had endured so passively. The mere thought of Miread or Mios coming to harm was as gut wrenching as any physical attack. He, too, would allow any limb to be wrenched from his body if only it'd keep his pups safe forever. Their shared certainty in that commitment bonded them together all the more which, in some ways, made him question how his own parents had felt. What had been missing for them to not have felt the very same?

As she shuddered, Belfast rasped his tongue over her brow. "Thank you," he said softly, folding her in more tightly against him. "Thank you." Relief washed over him and he sagged slightly as some of the stress and tension fled his body. He hadn't really expected her to come to this conclusion, to promise him the abandonment of her revenge. Yet she had. Belfast didn't know how deeply that might have hurt but he could guess.

"Is there anything I can do for you to help?" His voice was gentle as he cocked his head, eyes taking her in with the warmth and care of a man fully committed to his wife.

There was no relief for Xandria when she dropped her sword. She felt restless, like a balloon about to burst, full of hatred and grief with nowhere to release it. She let out another shaky sigh, wet golden eyes reflecting her torment. Belfast was right there, with his warmth and beating heart. It wasn't enough right now, but it would have to be because if she gave into her wrath she could lose everything and it wasn't worth the cost. His words of appreciation pricked her heart with guilt. She knew that he must have been stressed about potentially losing her to her vengeance and she felt some satisfaction that at least she had eased his worries with her promise. “You're always taking care of me,” she said, smiling fondly. It was a brittle smile, but it was there. “Let me take care of you too,” Xandria softly insisted. “Tell me about your worries and concerns. I want to be there for you as much as you are for me. That's how you can help me,” she assured him. Loving her children was easy, but she still wasn't sure if she was doing the best that she could as a wife and life partner to Belfast. He wasn't the type to open up easily and she knew her problems tended to dominate their conversations. He was the type to put others before himself and Xandria was naturally selfish so she didn't realise how skewed things were until she thought about it.

code: elyon | art: curiotea