[closed/complete] Characters: Horus (falconhead) and Osiris (lordofsilence) Date/Time: Post-Osiris/Charon Location: Ludus Rating: Low Warnings: Here ends the Horus angst trilogy... Summary: Father and son, not quite seeing eye to eye.
It hadn't been easy watching his father's fight. Osiris was never supposed to be in reach of danger; Horus knew his role would always be to make sure of that. So staying calm, sitting in the audience instead of being the man in the arena, had been against his every instinct. Every muscle tight with agitation, he'd endured the hours, relaxing only when Osiris had been declared the winner.
He might have felt guilty for wishing Charon ill, but Horus was ever unapologetic for his biases.
Knowing a victory celebration would be held in the ludus, he made his way the night of. However, Horus had a strong feeling Osiris would not be at the center of the festivities as he asked a guard to escort him to the victor. But then again, remembering their stint in Disneyworld, Horus figured he might be wrong. Either way, Osiris lived, survived as he had not been able to the first time. That was enough for Horus to be thankful for, though the memory of Anubis haunted his every waking moment.
Osiris had chosen to leave Horus alone to brood that first night after his unwilling slaying of Anubis, knew it was much too soon and he wasn't likely welcome, and with his own battle against Charon looming over he hadn't been in much of the mood to be supportive either. Though not even sure it would make much of a difference, he put the offer out there anyway in case his son wanted to talk. But it had gone unanswered, which Osiris didn't allow himself to dwell on. Horus was a grown man and certainly didn't need his advice.
Even amidst the celebration of his making it out of the arena alive, but not feeling quite triumphant as he found a quiet corner to escape for awhile, Osiris was more exhausted than anything. While in good health and decent shape prior to Rome, he was only a florist and even as a god never had the spirit of a warrior. Death he didn't mind, knew intimately and didn't so much blink as he ended his opponent's life, but nothing about this situation was natural or right. And he wasn't any freer now than he was before.
Having been left by the guard to that silent corner, Horus approached, but not without a margin of uncharacteristic hesitation. What were the words to say? The usual sentiments for victory seemed so awful, so out of place. Still, Horus found there was nothing else to say but:
"Congratulations, dad." And then a heavy sigh. It was not an occasion for blindingly jubilant sentiment, contrary to the drunken choruses proceeding nearby. "You okay?"
With a touch of unconcealed surprise at the familiar and unexpected voice of his son, who'd been understandably out of touch as he recovered outside of the ludus, Osiris pushed away from the wall he'd been using to support his weight to properly greet Horus. And despite the grimness of the situation and his still fresh and burning injuries, he smiled with relief.
"Alive," but not quite well, tiredness quite apparent in his tone. "But better than you, I imagine," he frowned, not tiptoeing around the subject. There was no point in pretending nothing happened, that everything was fine. That'd only be an insult to Anubis' memory.
"M'used to doing what I have to do." Typically, Horus took to his duties with every iota of dedication in his body and completely without bitterness. But this - driving a sword through his elder brother's body... He knew it was a burden that could only fall to him: Horus was life, Anubis death. That much was fixed, unchanging, yet Horus had never hated it as much as he did now.
Not having seen Osiris's filter to him, Horus uttered, his voice breaking halfway through: "I'm sorry, Dad. I am so sorry."
The apology caught Osiris off guard, and the change in Horus' voice moreso. He was used to his younger son so confident, so overly proud even when faced with tough adversary. But then he supposed he never really knew his son that well, the realms of life and death forever separating them until now. Reaching for Horus' shoulder, carefully because he didn't know if Horus was as jumpy as he was after all the fighting, he gave it a squeeze without really knowing what message he was trying to convey. He couldn't claim to understand what Horus was feeling, never in the same position, and never dealing with the grieving- only the grieved.
"Don't," Osiris didn't command it, but his tone was firm and his gaze steady. In the moments he was alone to ponder how absurd it was to try fathering a man older and more experienced in this life than himself, it was always less awkward than he'd imagine in practice. Less forced when he didn't try to overthink what he had to say. "What you did wasn't easy, and it wasn't right. But the one to blame is not yourself."
Horus was not jumpy, not after all those days of stillness, as if his soul had left his body to drift. But he was tense after days of fixation, of reliving the moment in slow motion: how easily his blade had gone through Anubis, how quickly his brother's life had been snuffed out like the wavering light of a candle.
"Who else to blame?" he said dryly. "I saw those two knights, brothers. Threw down their fucking swords and faced death like men." Of course, there had been Bastet and Hathor, Luca, to think about. What if these deaths were permanent? Who would pick up the pieces if not one of them? But it would have been easier for both of them to die. Irresponsible, but easier.
But in some ways, not really. Even though Horus had died time and time again, the dark abyss terrified him like nothing else. He was meant for life, had been born to perpetuate in life what Osiris could not in death. Just the thought upset his stomach, had his hands balling into fists.
Eyes narrowing, Osiris tightened his grip on Horus' shoulder and pulled him closer. If it was possible to stare down a taller man, he was doing so. "So what, you're going to feel sorry for yourself?" Osiris questioned lowly, aware he was lacking sensitivity on the subject, but knowing it was a self-destructive path he didn't want his son going down. "What's that going to solve?" It felt like an insult to Anubis' memory, everything that Anubis had tried to prevent by sacrificing his pride for by asking for mercy. "What done was done. Be sad, be angry, but don't pretend that this could or should have ended any other way."
Had it been anyone but his father, Horus would have countered with rage. Of course, it could not have ended any other way, didn't anyone fucking see that that was the problem? That there was never any other way for Horus - that he had to win? It was selfish to think that way, and Horus would be the first to admit that, yes, he was being selfish and self-pitying. But Anubis... Anubis had done everything that he could, everything that an elder brother could be expected to do. No one had handled this better than Anubis, and, filled with shame, Horus realized that, no matter how much he bemoaned the burdens that had been placed on his shoulders, Anubis had taken on an even greater burden than his own, quietly and without hesitation.
For once, he had no idea what to say, defeated and humbled by Osiris's castigation. So he responded with the age-old mantra of dutiful sons:
"Yes, Father."
Had it been anyone but Horus, he would have left him to dealing in grief in whatever manner he chose- healthy or otherwise. While he had his own very close relationship with death, it was a personal thing and not really any of his business, and everyone had their own process of coming to terms with it. Or not, as it seemed in this case. As somebody who easily accepted things with little fuss, it was harder to relate to his far more emotional son, to know what he wanted or needed to hear. "The most important battles aren't the ones we fight with our swords or spill blood for," Osiris began with a sigh, softening his expression. He didn't want to be too harsh after such a traumatic event, didn't want Horus to only listen to him because he felt obligated.
Osiris couldn't offer a lot to Horus, but at least wanted to provide some perspective from the other side of things. He couldn't necessarily speak for Anubis with any level of authority, or have any claims on how the other felt, but he knew how it felt in the same position. "They're in our minds. Anubis didn't lose in the way you measure it, you didn't destroy him by taking his life," and Osiris decided to leave out any analogies of what happened between him and Set because he doubted his son would take the comparison the intended way. "He may not be as strong on the battlefield as you, he may never be able to wield a sword as skillfully, and you know well enough that I couldn't either." Osiris admitted the last bit with a shrug, always the first to admit his own weaknesses. He and Anubis were never the warriors of the family, but they weren't meant to be. "Anubis' strength may not be physical, but you saw what he did for you. He didn't ask for mercy out of any fear of dying, and that's why it ended the only way it could have. Not because you're stronger, but because he was."
There was not much Horus could say to that either. He took his father's words with all the weight of the world, for once hearing them through Osiris himself instead of through Isis. But his emotions did not settle into a calmness as simply as that. Only one other in the family would understand, perhaps, what it was to be volatile, to have so much brimming just under the boundaries of skin.
But, following Osiris's logic (and considering who the one other was), it was weak to be that way. It was weak to be the one to hold the blade, to work through the only coping mechanisms he'd ever known. And to be anything less than capable in his father's eyes was an indignity Horus could not suffer - not when all he'd ever wanted was to live up to Osiris's expectations. It was not enough to be viewed as solely a physical force, and if Horus allowed himself to examine his emotions closely, he would find he was offended by the notion that there had been no other strength than the physical behind having to put on a show to spare his brother's life, only to take it. (That there was no other strength than the physical behind taking his only brother's life, as if Horus's mind functioned so simply and mechanically as to reduce the act to lifting the blade then lowering it.)
But Horus did not bother looking into himself - he'd done enough of that lately, and to begin with, self-examination was not natural for him. Consequently, he was left with more guilt than he'd began with, yet, as Osiris had hoped, also with better perspective on Anubis's sacrifice. When Horus would get into bed that night, he'd remind himself to show Anubis how thankful he was when he saw the elder god next.
Attempting to shrug the whole thing off, he offered a weak smile. With everything still so raw, he did not know how else to be what his father hoped for. The gesture, faint as it was, was all he could manage, before abruptly, he changed course.
"You really did great out there, Dad."
"I didn't get as much from it as I hoped," but Osiris wasn't going to elaborate, keeping his own troubles much closer to the chest and not wanting to add onto the weight of what Horus was going through, especially worrying if he hadn't made things worse. Leaning back against the wall tiredly, feeling as if he was missing something glaringly obvious and that he wasn't quite capable of making Horus understand what he meant, Osiris shook his head in defeat. "None of that helps you at all, does it?" he looked rather apologetic, wondering if he could take his leave soon and be alone for the rest of the evening.
"No, it did help." That wasn't a lie as far as Horus was concerned. Everything Osiris could contribute was help to Horus, and the latter took everything from the former like a man in times of drought might take drink. There was a pause before he added, "Guess it's not the kind of thing anyone can talk about."
Certainly, it didn't make for decent conversation by any stretch. "Time," he said, echoing what he'd told Bastet. "Best thing, probably."