Brother Remembered - Black Dagger Brotherhood FanFic - Sumter Colony 2

Chapter 4

1680 Continued

Night pulled the thin blanket higher, covering the scars that Fleur had spied.

"No, do not cover thyself, Night, for I have already witnessed them with my own eyes. Who didst such a thing?" Fleur demanded.

The great male hefted himself up to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, the blanket pooling in his lap. He rubbed a temple with his fingers as he contemplated what to share. In the end, he found he lacked the energy to lie.

"I didst do them to mine own self, Fleur. They yet be part of my penance for allowing the King and Queen to perish at the hands of the lessers."

Fleur's eyes widened. "But, Night, you didst commit no error! All the Brothers, worthy males that they be, fought bravely. You cannot fault yourself for being overrun and distracted by a fight for thine own life."

He sighed. "Aye, but I can yet do such a thing. Due to mine own lack of skill did the King and Queen die." He covered his face. "'Tis my greatest shame, Fleur," he whispered.

"So, you didst what? Flog thine own self to blood, then douse thyself with salt water?"

"Aye. I wouldst bear the scars of my shame always."

"This behavior dost not become you, Night. Thou be a male of worth and thus should carry thine own self accordingly."

"And I dost tell you, I be not." He fell back into the bed. "We couldst but argue said conclusion until e're we are listless from lack of breath. It would perform no useful duty to do so. Leave me to mine own private agony, Fleur." He rolled away once more and fell silent.

Knowing he would respond to her no longer, Fleur scowled as she whirled to fling open the door and stomp out. Night listened to her go, then sighed yet again, his remorse washing over him on a great tide of self-loathing.

Mayhap I should yet seek audience with the Scribe Virgin about my fate, he ruminated as he fell into a fitful slumber.

It seemed mere moments had passed when he rolled over, his shoulder and hip aching against cold marble where there was once soft stuffing. The knowledge of being somewhere other than his bed crept into his consciousness, rousing him from his sleep. With the instincts of a warrior, he remained still, cracking his eyes open first to take in his surroundings.

Seeing the white-on-white setting that could be nowhere but the Sanctuary of the Scribe Virgin and her Chosen, the females who sustained the Brothers both with blood and sex, he opened them wide. He maintained a modicum of dignity by wrapping the still-present blanket around his waist as he stood.

He faced a giggling cluster of three Chosen before him, blushing as they eyed him appreciatively. Had he been in his right mind, he'd have puffed out his chest and made for them, their willingness to be of service evident through pouting lips and hooded eyes. But he was not, and he found himself unaffected.

"Brother Night," a melodious voice called from behind. "Thy dost have a request of me?"

Spinning, his breath caught as he realized he was in the presence of the Scribe Virgin herself. With as much grace as he could find at a moment's notice, he sank to his knees before her and bowed his head.

"Great Mother. I dost yet understand thy meaning." He was careful with his words; one simply did not phrase a question to the race's deity.

"Thou hadst contemplated inquiring about your fate. Thus, I didst fetch you to mine own gardens."