Paternal Impostures

[auspex_caelo]

“My dear Felix,

“I write this letter in the same haste with which I travel to meet you. Forgive its brevity, but there is much to be arranged if I am to arrive in time, and I hope that our swift reunion will make up for a short communication. I was delighted, of course, to learn from your brother of your betrothal, though I am sorry that I have heard nothing from you concerning the young man in question. I must confess I am sadly confused that Stratos mentioned no details at all beyond the act of his existence, and at the very end of his letter!”

“I can presume that you will be returning to Bruma for the ceremony, and though your brother said little I infer that this will take place soon. Thus I have obtained an immediate leave of absence from my post; I will hope to meet you and, of course, your husband-to-be, in our home before Evening Star.

“My warmest regards to you, my son, and to your betrothed,
 

Father.”

Felix folds the letter, where he’s slouched sideways in one of the few decent chairs in camp. He looks across the commander’s tent to Stratos, standing in front of the map-laden table that takes up most of the space. The firelight from the braziers reflects red from the cloth walls and tints the shadows, but Stratos can see his expectant expression before he asks, “Well?” he asks.

Stratos knows his expression is… less than cheerful. He’s known that their father would have to return home for the wedding, like every other relative they can bring home in time. He should welcome that - he does welcome it, the rare opportunity to bring them all together for a glad celebration. Still, there is a reason he insisted Felix send the news, why he’s hardly spoken of their father at all in the past months. If he’s noticed, perhaps Felix has put the blame on his own necromantic exploits still tainting their interactions, limiting what Stratos will and will not say to him.

He doesn’t know how his elder brother’s throat tightens when he thinks of Nereus Caelus, the lead weight in his chest. He doesn’t know what Stratos saw in the Nightmare a year past that still haunts him, or why he’s afraid of whether he’ll be able to look his father in the eye.

It was only a nightmare. It was only an illusion, he tells himself. But he knows illusions play on truth, and Stratos is afraid of what truth he might find in that vision of his father. In Nereus Caelus speaking as a torturer, urging him to take up the tools for the greater good.

Felix certainly divined that Stratos wasn’t going to be happy: he’d shown up bearing cake and offering to make some tea for his brother, and that was enough to prompt the tribune to drop what he was doing and muffle the tent. Both cake and tea sat untouched on the other side of the table, forgotten the moment Felix uttered the words ‘Father’s on his way.’ Stratos knew the man better than his brother, but he understood the trepidation. Nereus Caelus was a distant presence in both their childhoods, kind in person but fearsome in reputation. A man they both feared disappointing. A man whose fond approval, they both suspected, had much to do with how little he knew of his sons’ day-to-day proclivities.

It’s a childish view of a man who is, after all, just a man, high-ranking Imperial wizard or not. But it’s hard to grow out of that image when they’ve so rarely met him as men themselves.

“So we have less time than we planned,” he says. Neither of them has spoken about the wedding as happening any time before the new year; he hasn’t prepared himself to face his father yet. Nor worked out a solution to the many secrets that the wedding risks exposing. Jim is a second brother to him already, but Stratos gets headaches just thinking about Felix’s insistence on finding his husband in another plane of existence… He glowers at the floor. “I’ll have to make my own arrangements - you, of course, had better start ‘traveling’ home… there’s a limit to how swiftly we can organize a wedding in any case, but I need to begin gathering our relatives. Gods only know where Lartia is, I’ll have to ask Marcella, and as for what we say to her…”

“You seem to be taking this surprisingly well.”

“Felix, I have no idea what aspect of my demeanor seems pleased to you. I’m always thankful to see Father, of course, but the amount of work we must see to-”

“Well, yes, but aside from that- aren’t you worried about how he found out? You haven’t so much as asked me who else I’ve told, nor demanded to know who else found their way in.” Felix gave him a closer look. “Did you tell him, after all? You were so insistent I should do it…”

“No. I did not.”

“But it was in your letter. Unless the letter was forged-”

“I sent it.”

“But then- you know who altered it, don’t you?” Felix read his brother’s silence with faint incredulity. “What am I missing, then? Someone has tampered with your letters - and we both know how dangerous that is. It can’t have been Celann or Yolande or one of your well-meaning knights. They know more about illusions than they pretend, but they’re far too honorable. So who-”

“Felix. I know you tend not to view me as such, but I am an experienced tribune of the Legion. I don’t lose my head when crises occur, much less a problem I can quite easily deal with alone. Don’t concern yourself with it.”

“Don’t-? I’m the one who just got ratted out to Father! He’s going to Bruma, and neither of us are supposed to be there - Jim won’t be there, and Uncle probably doesn’t know anything yet… what in Oblivion are we going to tell him, Stratos?”

“I don’t know, Felix. Perhaps you should bend your attention to that question instead. You do have a wedding to prepare for - in our world as well as the other. I should go to it.”

Felix knows when he’s being dismissed - and thankfully, for once he takes the hint. Folding the letter and swinging his feet to the ground, he tucks the paper away and pulled out his PINpoint as he stands. There’s a look in his eye that spells out his displeasure at once more being left out of his brother’s schemes. But instead of saying so he says, “I at least thought you’d panic more about planning the wedding.”

“Oh no, little brother. That’s your job.”

He has the tiny satisfaction of seeing Felix look startled - and alarmed. He manages a scowl before he’s gone, off to Yorktown to find his fiance and break the urgent news.

Stratos sighs heavily, alone with his maps and the slow buffet of the mountain winds against the tent’s heavy cloth. He lifts his voice only a little, but the tone says everything.

”Nekomata.”