Willendorf
@timedeceiver
When Moebius went before the council of Helmsburg to demand men and aid for the army, Mortanius stood beside him. He intended to keep the promise made on the night Moebius returned. The promise to stop doubting. Lysander hung in the background. The night before Mortanius confessed he froze up when he and Tove tried to ask the council’s assistance in their search for Moebius, so Lysander came for support. He made a valuable prop too, representing the aid the army offered during the pneumonia crisis.
Moebius gave his brother a turn to speak. Lysander watched his back, quietly holding his breath. Mortanius met the eyes of the council and clear words of conviction poured from his mouth like milk from a pitcher.
It would have been poetic to say that Mortanius convinced the council. Of course, it was Moebius’ rhetoric that won the day. But it did seem Mortanius won something. Outside the council house the Death Guardian looked like he escaped a near brush with Himself.
“Well, I was completely pointless in that,” Lysander laughed. “You did good.”
Mortanius shook his head. He was sweating. “I’m glad you were there. I feel confident when I know you’re with me.”
“Why? You could have done that without me.”
Mortanius stared blankly for a moment and then shrugged. He simply did.
The curtains closed on winter in Helmsburg. All down the mountain path spring pushed through the slush and melt with small, green fists that opened to the sun. Vampires receded, unable to withstand the healing water. Like a seed entombed in the earth, Mortanius emerged from the ice changed.
For a time some still gossiped and sneered at the pair of them behind their backs, though they wisely kept their opinions far away from Mortanius’ ears. While Mortanius rarely stood up for himself, when he heard cruel words directed at Lysander he suddenly rose to his full height and the air around him radiated with innate power. On one night he needed to be pulled off of a group of three men he overheard plotting to jump Lysander while the cleric was alone. Those pitiful excuses for men were gone within the hour. Had they actually laid a hand on Lysander, he would not have restrained from killing them.
They did not know about the long years he spent taking beatings for Moebius and Tove in the vampires’ citadel; but they did learn about the man he became because of it. Moebius and Tove no longer needed his protection. He had found someone else. Lysander awakened an inner strength Mortanius forgot he possessed.
To Lysander it looked like a magic trick. During the day the frustratingly timid, stuttering man he knew faded behind a guardian who walked tall wherever he went, who spoke cleanly and inspired confidence in his men. At night Mortanius nestled tensely in his arms, exhausted by the performance. As the weeks passed Mortanius blossomed even in the sun’s absence. Lysander felt like a witness, a gawker. He could not imagine he played any role in the changing of the seasons. Still, it was a pleasure.
Lysander drank. He drank a lot. Moebius’ tightened control over the alcohol rations tortured him, leaving him lying awake at night for hours. Mortanius had tried to help by buying a couple bottles of wine just for him before they left Helmsberg but Lysander drained them as greedily as a vampire in under two weeks.
Mortanius’ companionship helped, at least for a time. As the army neared Willendorf, Lysander’s home, his insomnia spiked. For three nights in a row he watched the sun rise from inside Mortanius’ tent. To his credit he did not allow himself to fall behind, though he looked more deathly than Mortanius. Sometimes he managed to doze for a little while when the army paused to rest. He missed a lot of meals this way. Each time Mortanius made sure to save something for him. On the fourth night, having retired early, he finally succumbed to exhaustion and passed into a deep sleep in the dark hours of the morning.
By sunrise Lysander was still snoring. Mortanius dressed quietly, leaving him to rest. They would arrive at the gates of Willendof before noon and Mortanius knew he would need his strength. He would save him breakfast.
Mortanius scratched at his thick beard as he left the tent. He had started growing it when they arrived in the mountains at the start of winter, after Lysander suggested trimming would be easier than shaving during the cold weather, but now he was looking forward to being rid of it. A warm bath would be nice, too.
