Messenger

Chapter Twelve: Infection

Ambrus didn't want to listen to him when he said he was done talking about everything that had happened between the three of them. At least once a day, he would bring it up in some respect, demanding more answers or trying to explain his own actions. Neither of which Areti wanted to deal with.

They were mere hours away from Pethra now. He could see the castle on the hills on the horizon, stone silent and waiting for them. Ambrus had let out a near hysterical laugh at the sight of it, muttering to himself about what he was going to do when he saw Petros. The moment Areti had looked at him, he'd gone silent, when it was the last thing he'd wanted.

He might be angry with them both, but that didn't mean he wasn't happy that they were about to see each other again. He doubted that saying as much would go over well. In the end, it was better to walk in silence and ignore whatever questions Ambrus asked of him.

"Areti, you don't understand," Ambrus had said into the darkness one night.

"I don't want to," Areti had replied and had forced himself to fall asleep before Ambrus could get another word in. It had not been an easy thing to do.

The day before, the sun high in the sky and beating down upon them, Ambrus had broken down. It had been sudden. One moment, he'd been walking at Areti's side in sullen silence, the next he was on his knees in the dirt, shuddering and sobbing. It wasn't the first time Areti had seen it in the last few days. He wasn't the only one who suffered from nightmares after all, but there had been something different about seeing it during the day.

It didn't matter how angry or heartbroken he was, Areti wasn't going to leave him there to calm down by himself, especially not after he'd helped with his now constant nightmares. He'd crouched down at his side and wrapped his arms around him, allowing Ambrus to sag against his chest in a way that usually would have made him slightly uncomfortable.

Twice before he had done this, in the dead of night where they could pretend that there was nothing wrong between them. Where it seemed like there was an actual cause for the sobs and shaking. Not that Areti could ever blame him for getting lost in his own mind, he had done that more often than not before the war.

He'd done all he could, which meant holding Ambrus and making sure he took deep breaths. He was muttering under his breath so quietly that Areti couldn't understand anything he was saying. But as he'd calmed, he'd gotten louder and Areti didn't have to strain himself to hear any of it.

Mutterings about the war, about Petros, about being a killer and the blood on his hands. It made Areti sick to his stomach, but it was all so similar to what he'd been thinking throughout the course of the week. Then came a sentence that made him freeze.

"Why won't you let me explain myself?"

It had taken a moment for him to realise that Ambrus wasn't actually asking him, simply muttering to himself in his panic. Areti closed his eyes and ran his hands down Ambrus's back in small circles, struggling to find the right words to say. He had an answer to the question, but it was one he would never share, especially not when Ambrus was suffering in such a way.

He didn't want to hear any excuses for Ambrus and Petros's behaviour, didn't want to know what it was about him that led them to believe he could be used in such a way. Didn't want to know why they made the decisions they did. None of the answers would be good. They'd all make him feel so much worse than he already did. It was better to not know, despite how much he speculated.

So he'd held him until he calmed down, hating how worried he was, hating how much he cared. They'd sat together for a while longer, neither of them speaking, until Ambrus stood and started trudging down the road again. They hadn't spoken of the panic attack since, not even when Areti awoke in a cold sweat from another nightmare that very night.