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OH MY GOD TGIS IS BEAUTIFUL

Fallen Tree

↳ Lawrence and Nathaniel had a favorite childhood tree. Xanthus returns to the spot 400 years later. ↳ 3k words / also available on ao3! ↳ Inspired by Fallen Tree, a painting by Alexandre Calame

“Please, do be careful.” His voice lifted just above the rushing water, carrying its way to the little boy right above it.

He giggled. “I am!”

Lawrence gave a haphazard sigh, crouching down into the grass. His sight didn’t leave his brother, who had begged to go here.

The clearing was a peculiar place - not far from Claiborne land but not owned by the family, nor anyone for that matter. All but abandoned, the plot had become a favorite of Nathaniel’s. He loved to run and let the weeds, some even taller than himself, graze his fingertips (which Lawrence found adorable). He had proclaimed his ‘discovery’ of this place as a step towards becoming a true adventurer.

And now he’s graduated from running between weeds. Now, it’s tree climbing. Lawrence found this significantly less cute.

His brother’s tiny frame pushed from branch to branch, smiling all the way. Every time he grabbed a divot in the bark he pointed it out. Lawrence watched on in silent agony. He tensed every time Nathaniel’s frail hands seemed to loosen. He had half a mind to ban him from doing this altogether, but seeing him smile, holes from missing teeth and crooked, made Lawrence shove it all down. How could he take this away from him?

There was one barrier he put onto the whole ordeal: He was only allowed to climb this beech tree, which stood in the middle of the clearing. Its branches were thick enough to hold his weight, wasn’t too big for any real danger, and its trunk was tall enough so Nathaniel couldn’t climb without Lawrence’s assistance. Granted, the thing was situated right next to a running stream, but Lawrence saw it as a blessing more than anything. Sometimes, when Nathaniel got winded from climbing, they drank its water because he didn’t want to wait to get home.

Looking up at him, shadows danced across Lawrence’s frame from the shifting leaves. The winds, however calm, seemed to eddy around the clearing. Lawrence took a breath, the sugary smell of honeysuckles wafting into his nose, and felt his unease steady. The kid had never fallen. He was here to watch him. His brother was alright.

He took a moment to look around him. It truly was a beautiful day. Blue skies peppered with clouds, flowers waxing towards the sun. Bird songs echoed from treetops, some even diving down to sit on bushes, collecting twigs and scrap for a nest. Tranquility bloomed in every crevice. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Look! Look,” a breathy voice hailed from the beech tree. Lawrence did as it commanded.

Nathaniel sat on a towering branch, feet dangling in the open air.

“Wow,” Lawrence half-shouted. “You’re quite high up.”

“I am!” He threw his arms open wide. “I feel like the king!”

For as adorable as it was, Lawrence felt a bubbling fear in his chest. “Be careful.”

“I know…” Nathaniel began to stand, one arm pushed into the bark to stabilize himself. Lawrence felt his fingernails dig into his palm.

A breeze pushed up at him, hair tickling his ears. “Maybe you should come down now… we can always come back another day.”

“But I want to keep going!” His brother leaned slightly over the edge to look down at him. His arm was still on the tree, but the other swung at his side.

“We’ll come back,” he repeated. The wind carried the scent of honeysuckles and streamwater back to him.

“Come on… just a few branches higher!”

“No. Come down.”

“But-”

“Nathaniel, I said come down!”

A sudden gust of wind picked up, creating the static noise of rustling leaves. Lawrence watched as his brother opened his mouth to argue more, but lost his footing as the wood began to shake. The boy made a motion to grab the tree but it was too late: He had slipped off.

Florals and fear mixed as Lawrence ran forward.

Without thinking he dove into the riverbank, his brother plummeting towards it.

He held his hands out, and by some miracle of God, he caught him.

A deep sigh of relief hitched in his throat, almost sounding like a sob as he accidentally collapsed into the water. It rushed into his nose. He may as well have blacked out for a moment before the squirming boy brought him back to reality.

His clothes were soaked, caked with a layer of grime the water carried. As he waded out, Lawrence was careful to not let a single drop of it touch Nathaniel.

When they were both safely away from water, Lawrence set him down and promptly rolled into the grass, deep breaths permeating the space between words. “You aren’t climbing again.”

“...huh? What?” Nathan’s look of adrenaline faded into shock. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh yes, I can.”

“But…” Nathaniel started. Then he bit his tongue.

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, you could’ve died!”

“But I didn’t.” A pleading look danced on his face.

Lawrence steeled. “The answer is no.” He got up and grabbed Nathan’s arm.

The kid didn’t put up a fight, just allowing himself to be dragged along back to the house. But Lawrence could feel the hostility radiate off the boy. He understood the rage; Not towards his brother, but towards himself. He allowed the climbing, he enabled the fall.

The water still on his face mixed with his sweat, and maybe even a tear.

As they approached the beginning of the forest, the only known path back to their manor, Lawrence abruptly stopped.

He took a delicate, curling white flower from a bush and handed it to Nathan. The boy looked on in confusion, then delight.

He took the end of it - two green leaves from the bush - and pried them off, revealing filament with a singular drop of sweetness. He licked it off.

He grabbed a few more as they passed and handed one to Lawrence, a silent apology.

He took it but left it in his pocket. He didn’t have the stomach to eat it. Not when the stench still rang in his nose.

—

Xanthus stepped over a thick root, careful not to trip into the bramble. Underbrush and weeds had invaded the path, spattering the edges of the dirt with thorns that threatened to cut someone deep. He grumbled to himself something about wearing the wrong attire for a woodland outing.

He had long gone off the main road. Over the years he’d been gone, these dirt pathways had become rare as most were paved over with concrete and fences, cars moving in place of carriages. Industrialization throttled every part of London the same. Even this deep into the countryside, the sounds of it never left his ears. They buzzed like gnats, unwanted pests that flew around him like he was rot long left out.

Though Xanthus supposed, he was rot. Undead rot in a casing of slacks and a sweater, but rot all the same.

He suddenly became very aware of the fangs in his mouth. He adjusted his jaw.

Xanthus kept walking, following a vague desire path that seemed ten years overgrown. It had not been set by him - but he knew it well anyway. Farther in he went, the forest swelled. The light dimmed as the trees became thicker, trunks growing greater in circumference than his height. As he passed particularly large ones, he wondered who was older: Him or it.

In the distance, a rabbit landed. He heard its thump, saw the scurry of leaves around it, and could even feel the pumping blood in its veins. A quick object of focus before swiftly turning his attention to something else. He was used to this darting attention: The abundance of life blended together, less stimulating than the city yet still humming in his ear. He just tuned it out, focused on fleeting memories to trail him back to the clearing.

It had been so long. Was there even hope in remembering the way?

He kept going.

From the ambiance of wildlife emerged the unique purr of human voices. They started small: Indistinguishable from the trotting of deer and whiz of bugs, but slowly rose to stand out among the vibrations. At first, Xanthus neglected this realization, too lost in his mind to pay attention. But they became sharp, pushing their way to the front of the symphony until they were at the forefront of his mind - and though unwittingly and agitated, Xanthus looked up.

The voices echoed from just beyond the pathway if slightly to the left, beckoning him forward. Déjà vu struck him. They - were there two? The vocals were so similar it was hard to tell - spoke and giggled and yelled. Those were the sounds of children playing in the field. He paused.

It was a sign to turn back. To never see this place again. One final push to save himself the heartache. But Xanthus followed the voices, one step at a time. Just one. Then another, and eventually another. Until he dragged himself the rest of the hike, and the voices boomed in his ears, and he wanted to leave and never return here or any parts of London or England because what was there even to stay for–

“What if it breaks?”

The question struck the front of his mind, a thought so clear and strong that for a split second, he thought it was his own. But the voice wasn’t.

Xanthus honed in on the clearing. This was it. Most of it was the same. Weeds and flower bushes, saplings and stones. But there was no stream anymore, seemingly turned into a pond and then a puddle: Unmoving and dirty. The surrounding forest was noticeably thinner as well, with shadows lighter and allowing full sun.

Amidst it all, where a breech once grew, was a stump. And next to it was a felled log that cast above the still creek, gutted of branches.

For a second, Xanthus forgot all else, entranced with memories of an otherwise forgotten time.

“It won’t! Climb, come on,” buzzed a similar voice. Xanthus flinched, sharply turning his gaze from the stump to the log. On it sat a boy, dangling his feet above the still water.

“You don’t know that…” Xanthus glanced down. This one stood in the grass, staring up at his companion.

Xanthus felt himself lean forward, pushing out of the foliage to get closer.

The boys continued bickering about whether or not the grounded one should mount the log. From their voices, Xanthus guessed they were 12, maybe 13 - certainly from around here, as the accents seemed local.

The one previously in the grass hesitantly stepped onto a trunk, and Xanthus felt roil in his chest. He took a breath and felt the breeze scrap his teeth. They felt hollow.

Xanthus watched as he leaped from the stump to the log, trying desperately not to lose balance. His arms shot out, and the giggle of his companion echoed: “You’re fine, you’re a meter off the ground. A fall isn’t going to kill you.”

“It’s still dangerous…” He muttered below his breath, quiet enough for the other to not hear. With every step the hesitancy was clear. Eventually, he shot out his arms in some vain attempt to balance and, however tentatively, he finished the climb and met the other. Almost.

With one misplaced step, the boy slipped. His foot went straight through some rotten wood, shattering under his weight and taking his leg through the log. Xanthus rushed forward.

He hadn’t realized he had moved until he was halfway through the clearing, jolted out of his thoughts through stinging sunlight. He stumbled to a stop. His friend had caught his arm, pulling them close, free arms clinging to the other. Their heartbeats echoed together.

The once-still pool now rippled from the impact of moldered bark, the splash only registering after it happened. A distinctive hole was shot through the log.

Xanthus pulled himself up from his half-lunge, placing a steadying hand on his chest. Memories boiled up to the front of his mind, distracting him from the painful taper of sunlight on skin, however much more cruel they may be. Something wet grazed his waterline. The warm air felt boiling as he took in two long breaths.

When he looked up, the boys were less tangled, only their hands still gripping the other's arm. Silently, they watched the pool, breaths and heartbeats calming in tune with the water. The nearly-fallen one slowly turned his head to his mate, a look of incredulous horror painting him.

The other shrugged, almost slinking away from the gaze: “Well, I got up here just fine…” Skeptical humor dripped from his voice as if he were testing the waters to see if the situation was considered funny or not. It was a tone Xanthus remembered surprisingly well.

“This is why I didn’t want to do this.” Xanthus squinted, finally registering just what he was looking at.

“I was just trying to have some fun, I’m sorry; I wouldn’t have gone up here if I knew it was dangerous.” That’s why this was so familiar.

“Yes, you would’ve!” They were brothers.

Of course. Wasn’t it obvious? Only siblings could squabble like this while still hooked to one another as if their lives depended on it. That was the very nature of them. Sardonically, Xanthus wondered what it was about this valley that drew in brothers.

Moreover, they were identical. How Xanthus hadn’t noticed before, he didn’t know - but next to each other, he saw the blatant similarity. Same stature, same shape. Hickory brown swept around their heads in waves, slightly unruly in its twists. Not even clothing was an indicator of who was who. They wore the same schoolboy uniform.

That’s why the voices were so similar. A huff of laughter left him.

It took a moment to realize that fast-paced noise was no longer voices, but pumping blood: Did something else happen? Xanthus refocused on the boys, only to be met with their eyes doing the same to him.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the one hardened his grip on the other.

Xanthus raised his hands. “I don’t mean any harm.” It sounded more sarcastic than he’d like. “I heard the snapping and came running.” Not technically a lie.

They were not convinced.

“Then why were you laughing…” One of them muttered. He pretended not to hear.

“Are you two alright?” He made a show of scaling the fallen log, casting purposeful scorn onto the hole through it. “Do you need help down from there?”

“We’re fine,” and “Please,” echoed from uniform voices at the same time. They traded a quick look of confusion with each other.

“What are you doing?” Once again they said it at the same time.

“We need help down.”

“No, we don’t. This guy’s a creep.” Xanthus resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Would you stop being so stubborn? I’m not doing that again. Sir? Yes, could you help me please?”

A smile of gritted teeth bled onto Xanthus’ face. He truly didn’t care about them. He just wanted them gone, and if hoisting them off the timber would do it, well, he was waiting with open arms. Literally.

He walked up as close as he could to the log, stepping to the side that they climbed up from, reaching out his hand for the boy to take. The cooperative one started shimmying along the wooden minefield, letting go of his brother's hand in the process.

When they were close enough to touch, Xanthus grabbed his arm and glided him off the beam, catching him and carefully setting him to the ground.

“Thank you,” he said through a wavering smile.

Just behind Xanthus, a thud hit the ground in tandem with a bit of murky water splashing up and onto his shoes. He didn’t even need to turn: The boy stomped around him and stood next to the other, arms crossed.

A ghostly twitch flickered in Xanthus’ under eyelid. “Where are your parents?”

“Why do you care?”

Xanthus took a moment to convince himself not to compel the brat into shutting up and leaving.

“We’ll be going now, so sorry to disturb you.”

“What? We were already here, we don’t need to leave.”

“I think it’s best if we do.” He grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

“I’m not leaving, some guy showed up and took it upon himself to ‘help’ us. This isn’t weird to you? Andrew, please admit this is weird.” Xanthus didn’t even need his enhanced hearing for this, they were just talking right in front of him.

“You’re berating me for him helping me down? I could’ve – you could’ve – gotten seriously hurt!” Andrew snapped at his brother. His voice was shockingly distraught.

Those words rang in Xanthus’ ears, ripples of the past resurfacing. He had said that. A long time ago.

He looked on at the boy and saw a wraith of Nathaniel inlaid in the shocked eyes, the agape mouth. One aching part of him hoped he would argue back, just as Nathaniel hadn’t.

But he wouldn’t either.

The boy just looked down at the grass, cheeks getting redder as he thought about what to do.

When he did reopen his mouth, Xanthus raised a hand.

“It’s alright. Everyone’s fine, just… you two run along.”

They nodded politely. “Thank you again, sir.” They turned to leave.

When far enough away, their attempts at whispers flocked to Xanthus’ ears. “I told you none of this was a good idea!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know–”

“That it was rotten and I’d slip? Well, I didn’t either and I still had the forethought to not climb it.”

Xanthus stared unblinking at the boles, frayed and damaged, withering into the dirt. Trees felled to logs. Wood into mulch. Bones in the ground.

He reached into his pocket and thumbed a honeysuckle he plucked on the way here.

Don’t be cruel, Andrew, Lawrence thought. He didn’t know. It’s alright. He didn’t know.

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