The Last Supper

((Wrote a wee thing from Andrew's POV, hope y'all like it! Writing while listening to \/\/))

Apart from the two unspoken souls that sat across one another inside the spacious dining hall of the northern castle in tensful silence, the empty plates that still hosted leftovers of a delicious beef steak rested in front of nobody else. I felt the motionless eyes of my ancestors staring down at me from their eternal paintings that hung from the endlessly high wall on my right. Their undyingly youthful orbs were drawn in a precise manner so that they would never lose sight of who was sitting against the long table made of finest spruce wood. I felt the warmth from the blazing fire as it resided inside the stone built fireplace, even though it was fairly distant from where I sat in silence. Alas, I seemed to care little for the discomforting eyes of my predecessors or the vexing heat that appeared to be surrounding me. No, I was more distressed over the pair of lifeless grey eyes that pierced my soul from the other side of the table. The old, wrinkly orbs shot across the table into mine like a deadly arrow and his expression, as old and elderly as his eyes, yet undeniably energetic and determined, would appear emotionlessly cold as the next stone in the castle wall. It was highly unsettling.

“So. Your decision is final?” His mercilessly sharp voice asked without really raising its tone. He didn’t appear angry or disappointed even, my father, the man across the table, but I knew he was.

“Yes, father. What you are doing is madness.. You’re going to march a hundred men, yourself and Lancelot into a pointless death. I still believe we should wait, take a slow approach and….” I stopped, my voice, while it tried to remain composed and firm throughout my response, was silenced by the brief frown of disgusted surprise appearing over the old man’s face. Edward Rothshield was once a proud, steadfast and uncompromising man. Now, only the latter remained, and his fatherly harshness was only bolstered after the ing of his wife, my mother.

“You are a grown man, Andrew. You can make your own decisions, but you will also be held responsible for its consequences.” Father said while standing up straight and pushing the stool on which he sat back a bit. His body was opposed to his age, in a surprisingly healthy shape as he stood there clad in metal plates of a silvery armour. I remained silent and gave him a submissive look from under my strained forehead.

“If you will not come with us, that’s fine. Stay here and cower behind the castle walls while I go deliver justice to the one who took my beloved away from me. She was my wife and that.. That vile whore took her away from me.. She meant everything to me, you understand Andrew?” I nodded, carefully and with a lot of thought as a worried expression crept over my face. My father spoke of justice, yes, but what I saw in those spear-like cold eyes that were mercilessly pinning me down was not lust for justice. It was not revenge either. It was madness. An insanity, and obsession that I have sensed coming from his core from the day we buried mother. I only had a rough guess, but now I knew for sure.

“She was also my mother..” I whispered in return, quietly under my breath, my words, while genuine and sad were not meant for Edward to hear. But unfortunately, he did.

“What did you say?” His sharp voice now hissed demandingly across the table as he slammed his armoured hands against the brown wood, creating a single, thunderous echo throughout the hall. I winced and wanted to sink into a hole as I felt his cold eyes starting to tremble in anger.

“It is not justice that you are after, father.. It is-”

“ENOUGH.” God, was I scared when I heard his tone rise up out of the sudden and yell at me. Father rarely rose his voice and when he did, one immediately felt the urge to fall on their knees and beg forgiveness, even if father’s dissatisfied words were not directed to them. I even peed a little, I think, granted I was still a bit more than a child back then, but 17 of age.

“You will not speak to me like this. What do you know of justice? Huh?! You think it is nothing more than a sorry excuse to claim revenge, that it? It may be so, but I will not have my honour judged by someone who’d rather hide behind walls while a murderous witch runs loose! Not by someone who, not only thinks, but believes he’s more wise than his father! Not by you, no.” I felt a terrible headache at hearing those scolding words. Honour..? I never said anything about honour.. I still wonder in what twisted, paranoid world my father was trapped in.

“Stay here and be damned like the coward you are, Andrew.” I wanted to cry, I felt tears building up behind my shaky blue orbs as the old man marched towards the hall door without throwing another glance at me.

“We will speak more of this when we return, but as far as I’m concerned..” He stopped  momentarily, one of his gloved hands already resting against the wooden door as he paused momentarily. I like to think that he hesitated saying those words, that a small part of him did not want to express the things that he did, that, in some remote corner of his stone heart he still found love for his second child. Or perhaps he just wanted to make me suffer a second longer before pulling the trigger.

“..You are no son of mine.”

And with that, Edward left the dining hall and I never got to see him again, in person that is. I did not go after him, I did not feel the urge to say goodbye to my brother either. I just stayed where I was, sitting against the table, dressed in my usual grey-coloured fabric shirt with an empty feel inside my stomach. It was as if I didn’t eat at all.

People tend to ask me, when I tell them this story, whether I shed a tear after my family forever left me. No, my eyes did not drop a single tear that day, or the day after. Not even after a week and a month, when it was more than clear that my brother and beloved father would not return from their quest for justice. No, my eyes remained vigilant as ever as I took the helm of our house and steered it out of destruction. But my heart..? My heart still weeps for years to come.

((Superclicheendingissupercliche:)))