The Untold Tale

Six

Now it is my knees that are trembling. Pip pushes me back against the wall, using the stone to keep me upright.

"You're dead pale," she said. "Forsyth, don't faint on me. Not here."

"I... I am fi-fi-fine," I lie. "A mo-mo-moment, p-p-please. Just-just a-a-a mo-moment."

"Breathe deep, through your nose," she commands, and, helpless against the rush of fear that has filled my gut, I obey. "Out through your mouth. Yes. Again. Again, keep going. Good boy."

Good boy. Just as Mother Mouth calls me. I make a high, distressed whining sound that I am unable to muffle before it escapes, strange and scary even in my own ears. Pip runs her hands over my shoulders the way I had been doing not moments before to soothe her, saying my name softly, shushing me like a high-spirited dog.

"Shhh, Forsyth, shhh. Just breathe. Breathe. That's it."

"M-my who-who-whole world ex-exists f-f-for my bro-brother?" I manage to get out, and it sounds both petulant and wounded, everything I am.

It's not fair.

It's not fair!

Kintyre gets everything, everything, and now this, too? Pip has read his stories for most of her life, she adores the books, she adores him, and it's so staggeringly unfair that I nearly do faint.

The whole world was created for my brother. To serve him. To exalt and glorify him.

"Oh, Forsyth, listen, please... he's just the protagonist. There's so much, so much that fills this world that is not in the books. Neris and Velshi, you and little Lewko, you're all so much more, so much more real and passionate and filled with pain and love and depth. The books may follow Kintyre, but this world is not for him. I've been here months, and this is something I've realized, Forsyth Turn: you are all so much more than just background players in your brother's tales. You are more, and... " She makes a wry sort of snuffling sound. "And you are better. You are kinder, you are gentler, you are intelligent and trustworthy and so, so deserving of wonderful things, Forsyth. And I am horrifically disappointed by my childhood hero, I can tell you that much. Elgar Reed must be a bigger misogynistic moron than I thought, if a jackass like Kintyre is his idea of the flawless hero."

I cannot help it; the tears come now, and I press my face against Pip's shoulder, my nose at the nape of her neck, and sob.

"I mean it! Kintyre Turn is not a desirable human being, and he's a frankly poorly written character."

Her words stun me, as much as a blow to the head might.

"Ooooh, fuck. I cannot believe I just said that. Forsyth, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says. She squeezes tighter, pressing every warm, delicious inch of her body against mine, from kneecaps to nose. "He's your brother. I shouldn't badmouth him in front of you."

"Th-th-thank you," I manage to stutter out. "Thank you!"

"Thank you?" she echoes, confused.

"Kintyre is a ja-ja-jackass, isn't he!" I crow.

Pip is startled into laughter, and my sobs morph into something closer to the noises she is making than the ones I was before. It's not quite a laugh, but it is nearly there, and it feels good. Oh, it feels so good.

Because the woman I admire does not admire my brother. And she thinks I am a better man than he. She thinks I am brilliant! I wrap my arms around her again, then, wanting to express my gratitude. She yelps and squirms in my grip. I have forgotten her injuries. I release her instantly and jerk back to press my arms against the wall, out of the way.