Charles

~~~

After what happened yesterday, I no longer want to go outside. I fear that I might run into whoever was the figure in the doorway, and I don't want to confront these changes to my life. To be fair, I don't want to face them at all.

It's been ten days since I killed my father committed the sin. It seems to me as if my life has been divided into two parts: before the fire and after it. I'm not sure if I like the second part of my life so far. It's as peaceful as ever, but I also feel like I've lost all my purpose... but, as my experience with the white house showed, I'm too scared to make a change in this pointless routine that might give me a target, a goal to reach for.

Oh, and the hours of the day stretch on...

Sitting here in the summer-house alone, I can't help but think back to the life at the mansion.

I wonder how Mark is doing?

During the first few sleepless nights of my self-made exile, I had some suspicions towards him, but after his second visit all of them were cleared. There was no point for him to fake his worries for my safety and comfort if he knew of what I've done. And even if there was - I've never seen him cry before. I really doubt that he has any ulterior moves.

Oh, the famous last words of a dead man. "I really doubt..."

I make myself laugh.

And yet, I miss Mark. We were extremely different, but we were still brothers, and we cared for each other. He was always so kind, so selfless. Always there for me. I was the little brother he always wanted to protect.

The smart, handsome and pure-blooded Mark. No wonder every girl in the town wanted him at one point or another. Wanted him, and not his shorter, airheaded bastard brother.

But he never wanted them, did he? He'd spend so much of his time cooped up in the astronomy tower, either reading his precious books or staring at the stars, that at some point my father started to get worried that he was a dummy, and that the throne wouldn't have a proper heir, - I, of course, was never even an option.

I knew about his worries because I was keen on climbing the mansion's roofs and I'd often catch myself listening in on conversations that could be heard through the open windows, often discovering those conversations completely by accident.

That night, after my maid blew out the lights and left my sleeping chambers, I opened my window and snuck out, shuffling by the wall on a stone ledge that was just under my window. Although multiple years have passed since then, I still remember it like it was last night.

It was early spring, and although the days were getting warmer, the nights were still quite cool. I shivered once, and almost slipped off the ledge. With my heart in my throat, I continued down the ledge in small and controlled steps.

Funnily enough, one of the characteristics that me and my older brother shared was the endless fascination with stars. Now that I think of it, it's a sad thing, really. So many bonding opportunities were lost... But I hid my love for stars from everyone, including Mark. Instead, I would spend countless sleepless nights walking the rooftops, staring up. Sometimes I'd even go up to the observatory, but Mark was spending the nights there, and I didn't want him to catch me sneaking around. I wasn't scared that he'd be mad, - not at all. I just wanted these nightly ventures to be my special little thing.

That night, I decided to star gaze from the roof of the tower in which the Lord and Lady happened to reside. The balcony door was open, and light from inside their chambers could be seen.

My father's shadow paced back and forward in the room, time to time blocking the light. Nervous and angry voices could be heard from the inside, and upon noticing it I had half the mind to turn around and leave... until I heard my father say Mark's name. Taken over by curiosity, I lay down on my stomach and crawled to the edge of the roof to hear him better.

He was talking about Mark, for sure. Lady Pendragon must've been somewhere in that room, too, but she was silent. Everyone goes silent when my father rages... or used to, at least, while he lived.

He talked angrily, but quietly. He talked about how Mark was always reading, rarely ever interacting with anyone else. He said he was starting to think that "the boy might actually be feeble-minded", and how if he doesn't collect himself soon, Mark would lose his claim to the title of a Lord, and how the realm would be damned because of it.

That was when Lady Pendragon first opened her mouth, asking "Well what about the other one? The bastard?" I could hear doubt in her voice, and I knew she hated the idea of me taking the place her real son should've. But, although she may have been a bad person, she was not a bad ruler. Her primary concern was for the land, and she was willing to sacrifice her son's place on the throne for the realm she was the Lady of.

But my father dismissed her words with a wave of hand, which I saw in the shadows, and a scoff. What followed was what started my deep hatred for him, which later was the cause of his death. He said something along the lines of: "The boy is an airhead and a reckless idiot, I'd never pass the throne to anyone like him. He'd only cause chaos and would probably start a war, dooming us all. I regret ever bringing him in, if I'm honest."

And although I agreed with some part of it, - I wouldn't allow someone like me to rule the land either, - everything else hurt me deeper than anything could've. He was my father - the only true parent I ever knew, the man who I trusted, loved and respected with my entire being. To say the least, I felt betrayed.

Although then I was enraged, recalling the events now only makes me sad. If I look at it from a different perspective, it seems really tragic.

That night I, for the first time, decided that I will one day - hopefully soon, - murder my father.

From that day on, every time I saw him I'd notice a new flaw. He was a cruel man, who's only concern was the throne. He never cared about either of his children, even more so than his wife. From what I knew, I only existed because of a one-night accident, when he was far from home, and lonelier than ever. I was a bastard, and the older I got, the less he was worried about hiding his distaste for me. In his eyes, I was worthless from the very start.

But my anger didn't stem from just that. Back then I didn't realize this, but now I do.

I was furious about his clearly expressed thoughts on Mark. This part of my rage grew over time, as I realized the influence it had on my brother.

Even though I was keen on hiding my nightly activities, this was something that I felt I couldn't keep from Mark. It was his right to know, or so I thought.

So I told him everything about the conversation that I heard.

As I talked, I remember his face falling, and his eyes glazing over with a sadness I've never seen before within him. After I finished, I made sure to ask if he was alright. He assured me he was fine, and thanked me for telling him. Then he turned around and left without a word.

That night, as I lay sleepless again, for the first time a whisper of doubt snuck into my heart. I thought that maybe I shouldn't have told him. He looked so upset...

Throughout the next few months, and then - years, I found out that I was right. What I told Mark forced him to change. He no longer spent his days in the observatory, - instead, he'd join his father on hunts, and learned the way of the longsword. He started to actively interact with the ladies in court, - even though he had often confessed to me that hated doing so. But, from the looks of it, his efforts didn't go in vain: our father's face would light up with pride every time he saw Mark engage in any of those activities listed.

Mark got our father's respect, but what he had to do to achieve it completely crushed him.

It's a rotten shame, really. I feel like I have so many good memories - most of them with Mark, - but throughout all of them stretches the dark shadow of my father.