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Conversations with dead people.
Nov. 2nd, 2016 08:51 amSinric fell asleep on the sand after the party. The night was chilled but the inlet never got properly cold. Not the way everywhere else did. And the small fire where he and the tree man spoke still crackled warmly.
A blanket wrapped around him, Sinric drifted off, feeling safe and content.
He grumbled as a body slide in between the blankets behind to him. But the warmth and the familiar scent of the man at his back eased him back to sleep.
Sure, gentle hands undid the tight bun of his hair, carding out his mane and kissing the slope of his neck. “My beautiful Aureus. My golden one.”
“Pater?” Sinric whispered, half turning in the circle of his arms. He doesn’t open his eyes for fear this is a dream, clinging to the hope and the memories.
Constantine. His beloved Constantine.
He felt tears prick his closed eyes, hands balling in the rich cloth of Constantine’s shirt.
“I’m here, my golden bird.” Constantine kissed away the tears, stroking his hair. “It’s alright. You’ve done well, my sweet one. Travelled so far.”
“But,” Sinric choked, face buried in Constantine’s neck, breathing in the spiced oil scent of his master’s hair. “Castor and Probus. They died because of me.”
“They died because my son was a cruel and foolish man, not fit for my throne.”
Sinric started to protest but Constantine presses a finger to Sinric’s lips.
“They’re safe, my love. They’re with me now.”
“Bur Probus,” His eyes fly open then, looking into the almost black warmth of Constantine’s eyes. “He took his own life. It’s a mortal sin.”
Constantine kissed him, silencing his protest again. “The princes of the church were wrong. About a great many things. Your brother is a peace and loved. And he has never blamed you.” He frowns, cupping Sinric’s cheek. “You must stop blaming yourself.”
He stroked a finger down Sinric’s brow and nose. A gesture he had used often to help Sinric sleep as a child. “Close your eyes, my little love. I have you. And I’ll stay with you till the dawn.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” It was a childish protest and Sinric knew it, his eyes heavy as Constantine stroked his nose. “I want to be with you.”
“You will be, my Aureus. My brave Sirnic. But not soon. You have many years and many leagues to travel yet. But we will be waiting for you. Waiting to take you home. We will be together again.” He kisses the tip of Sinric’s nose. “Now sleep.”
Curled in Constantine’s arms and feeling safer and more loved than he had in many years, Sinric slept.
A blanket wrapped around him, Sinric drifted off, feeling safe and content.
He grumbled as a body slide in between the blankets behind to him. But the warmth and the familiar scent of the man at his back eased him back to sleep.
Sure, gentle hands undid the tight bun of his hair, carding out his mane and kissing the slope of his neck. “My beautiful Aureus. My golden one.”
“Pater?” Sinric whispered, half turning in the circle of his arms. He doesn’t open his eyes for fear this is a dream, clinging to the hope and the memories.
Constantine. His beloved Constantine.
He felt tears prick his closed eyes, hands balling in the rich cloth of Constantine’s shirt.
“I’m here, my golden bird.” Constantine kissed away the tears, stroking his hair. “It’s alright. You’ve done well, my sweet one. Travelled so far.”
“But,” Sinric choked, face buried in Constantine’s neck, breathing in the spiced oil scent of his master’s hair. “Castor and Probus. They died because of me.”
“They died because my son was a cruel and foolish man, not fit for my throne.”
Sinric started to protest but Constantine presses a finger to Sinric’s lips.
“They’re safe, my love. They’re with me now.”
“Bur Probus,” His eyes fly open then, looking into the almost black warmth of Constantine’s eyes. “He took his own life. It’s a mortal sin.”
Constantine kissed him, silencing his protest again. “The princes of the church were wrong. About a great many things. Your brother is a peace and loved. And he has never blamed you.” He frowns, cupping Sinric’s cheek. “You must stop blaming yourself.”
He stroked a finger down Sinric’s brow and nose. A gesture he had used often to help Sinric sleep as a child. “Close your eyes, my little love. I have you. And I’ll stay with you till the dawn.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” It was a childish protest and Sinric knew it, his eyes heavy as Constantine stroked his nose. “I want to be with you.”
“You will be, my Aureus. My brave Sirnic. But not soon. You have many years and many leagues to travel yet. But we will be waiting for you. Waiting to take you home. We will be together again.” He kisses the tip of Sinric’s nose. “Now sleep.”
Curled in Constantine’s arms and feeling safer and more loved than he had in many years, Sinric slept.
