Pristine

Richard ran a finger along the surface of the piano before inspecting it. Clean, not a speck of dust on it. Just like the rest on the room, pristine and smelling heavy of lemon and chemicals.

He let out a soft sigh.

Normally, he cleaned this room every few days, to keep it tidy and well presented. But now he was cleaning for the sake of cleaning. It kept his mind off things. Things that weren't entirely too pleasant and made him wish he could just live in his room for the rest of his life and curl up under the blanket.

Hands twiddled with the newest ring wrapped around his finger.

He hasn't taken it off after the second brief meeting with his bro- no, stranger. He shrugged it off as simply liking the design, rather then pinning onto a off-chance that it was his brother- who isn't. Just wishful thinking.

Setting down on the piano stool, he tried to spot anything else out of place. Maybe he could paint the small decorations room back to its original colour, rather then the yellow it is now? Or, maybe there were other rooms to clean? Not everyone in this mansion left it tidy.

Right now, he could do with Giacinto messing up one thing or another for him, or Ig-

Huffing, he turned and decided to make good us of the piano, fingers gliding along the keys.

Edward sat quietly behind the drapes, watching in silence as the boy flit frantically around the room cleaning. He was surprised that Richard hadn't noticed him this whole time, especially as his cleaning regime was so vigorous.

It wasn't that he had followed him. He liked this room.

It reminded him of when he was growing up; led his thoughts to memories of women sweeping through in richly coloured silks like birds of paradise, and young men just as beautifully dressed, but more subtle, sleek lean figures, weaving throughout the crowed room.

Before he was swept away to dirt and drudgery and pain.

He could barely remember it now.

But Richard brought it all back in floods. He had tried to block it all out. For some reason, it was easier to be unhappy with no happy memories than to be unhappy and remember what you missed.

His eyes slid closed slowly as fingertips touched the keys. Even Richard's playing brought it back. They had both learned to play piano from a young age. All of his knowledge of the instrument had gone, but Richard had retained his precise, if slightly forced hand. The emotion in the piece seemed... out of place somehow. An angry touch where it should be gentle, a melancholy note where it should be blissful.

But it was beautiful. It was Richard's.

Richard continued to play. Like the cleaning it was to distract his mind, to turn it off. It was a mind dulling tune, one he had played over and over again until his fingers moved on their own according.

His fingers slowed and the tune stopped, the hall becoming silent.

It was the only piece he knew completely off by heart. He knew bits of others, but not enough to turn off his mind for a short moment.

His fingers stroked gently across the keys, not making a sound before turning and surveying the ball room again. It was still the same as before. Not like it will become suddenly cluttered or dirty.

But that drape was slightly out of place.

Normally, he would grumble about faffing about with little things out of place, but for once, he was not.

Pushing the drape aside he found himself against the vampire that has been causing him a headache over the last couple of weeks.

Mouth hanging open, it took a few second to register that his not-brother was standing behind the drape the whole time he been here.

Edward listened to the music slowly dying away as he flicked through the pages of his book idly, only half-reading the words.

He could see his brother's shadow slowly approaching from behind the thin fabric, but it didn't worry him. It wasn't as though he had anything to hide, after all.

The elder man gazed calmly up at the boy as the curtain was pulled back, expression barely flickering.

"Hello, brother."

"What are you doing in here?"

It took him a moment to find the words, almost shrieking them out.

He was quick to jump to conclusions, mind racing with one possibility of why he was sitting behind the curtain in the room he was cleaning for a couple of hours:

"Are you following me?" He hissed, eyebrows furrowing. "And I told you, stop calling me that."

Edward stood up, dusting himself down with an exasperated sigh. "You know, maybe you're right. You can't be my brother."

The vampire crossed the room to put the book back on the shelf, not looking back over his shoulder at the boy.

"The brother I remember was intelligent enough to realise that if someone is sat with an open book in their hand, they are most probably reading."

He surveyed the shelf absent-mindedly, picking up a copy of Wuthering Heights and looking through it thoughtfully.

There are a number of things that irritate him. One of them being his intelligence insulted.

He spluttered, trying to think of something intelligible to say to back up his intelligence.

"You have been sitting there the whole time. If you weren't following me, you would of made yourself known."

True, the vampire was sitting there with a book. But the smaller was too prideful to take back what he said.

He eyed his fake-brother.

Although, despite his own thoughts and words, he still felt a little put down on this vampire confirming the lack of blood between them. He still had a shred of hope buried inside him, no matter how much he ignored it or faced it with facts and chances.

"Idle chitchat isn't something I care to indulge in. There was no need to let myself be known, and I happened to be perfectly enjoying my book."

It was a half-truth. Truth be told, he hadn't revealed himself because he wanted to be near to his brother, and hadn't wanted him to react like... well, this.

But he hadn't followed him. That much was true, at least. He had just wanted to be alone, like he always had been, and the Ballroom was always empty. It was as simple as that.

He did not like being in the wrong. It was embarrassing. And he was still determined to fight from his corner over why exactly the other vampire was here - despite it not really being an argument.

"Still, out of politeness."

Not that he would of done so. But he kept it to himself. Hypercritical, yes, but it still backed him up.

"Besides, the library would of been better place to read."

"People."

He was an antisocial person and he had absolutely no intention of pretending otherwise. The only people he intended on spending any time with at the moment were himself and his brother.

And even now his brother was beginning to push his luck.

"At least that's a little more like the brother I remember." he continued, deliberately trying to annoy him this time. "Could not hold an arguement if his life depended on it, and too stubborn to give it up."

Everything about this vampire irritated him. Not just the fact he deluded himself that he is his brother, but also his attitude, the way he spoke, his gestures - everything.

The line between his brows deepened. He felt insulted and a little humiliated. The perfect ingredients to make his blood begin to boil.

"I can hold an argument." He hissed, glaring coldly at the vampire. The shorter male crossed his arms, a natural reaction of his to make him feel more intimidating.

Despite his words, he was stuck on what to say to back him up. His face twisted as he tried to rake up at least something. He half regretted saying it, now that he could not take it back-

And what annoyed him the most was that this vampire was right.

He chuckled, walking back towards him slowly. "You always were the same."

The man took his place back on the windowsill, one leg propped up in the alcove against the wall. His cold blue eyes, just like Richard's, surveyed him carefully, the boy's face reflected in them perfectly.

He lay back, eyes closing as his head rested against the glass panes.

"Do you not remember when we used to fight over Father's sword? I always used to reason that you were too young, that you would get hurt, but you wanted it. You would never have a good reason to have it, but you would kick up a fuss if you didn't."

Dick's face dropped in surprise and his stomach jumped a little in excitement and hope. He did remember that. Very clearly now that his memory was jogged.

They would often be cold mornings, just before their other lessons would start. Their sisters would be sewing while he would beg his Mother to let him watch his brother, only to then beg to actually practice with him. If he did, his brother was often right. He would hurt himself, and often from his own faults of tripping up because the sword was too heavy or swinging his arm incorrectly.

He had to stop the smile of familiarity and keep the frown firm on his face.

"Anyone can know that." There was doubt in his voice. Not 'anyone' could know that. The history books never really touched upon their day to day lives, and more on their Fathers life and their- his and his brother's disappearance.

One eye opened lazily, surveying him with a self-assured air.

"You know that's not true."

He stood up, pacing frantically as a hand swept through his hair, movements shaky and excitable, eyes wide as he was spurred on by the dawning realisation in his brother's eyes.

"How about this, then. The day before we were stolen, you dropped the sword during practise, and cut your hand open when you tried to catch it."

Edward could remember that day as clear as anything. His last day of freedom; the last day of his childhood.

"Show me the scar."

He remembered it. After a day of travelling, they practiced fighting, preparing his older brother for all the battles he would of won as king. It was exciting. London was almost in sight, the air was warm and he was clashing swords with his brother - only for it to be cut short when he slashed his hand. It burned and he cried, the party faffing around him until it was clean wrapped in a cloth.

Now he thinks back about it, he wouldn't be surprised if the males of the party made snide remarks about him, crying over a 'small cut'.

His thumb rubbed over where the scar was. A human could not see it, it had years to fade and heal. But a slither of the scar was still there.

Hesitating, he showed his shaking palm to the older male.

He did remember how the men of the Court had mocked his brother behind his back. How cruel it seemed now, to scold a child for crying. It had seemed wrong to him then.

But that had been a different time. Children were seen as the same as adults, and the child you were was to be the same as the adult you would become. People had whispered. A cowardly child would become a cowardly king in their eyes, and he himself had been forced to grow up before his time.

They were slightly more linient towards Richard, and he remembered envying him for being able to remain a child. But when Richard had cried that day... it was as though something had changed, and he didn't know what.

He bent to brush his lips over the scar on the boy's hand gently.

"Do you believe me now?"

Richard sucked in a shallow breath as lips brushed over his palm, leaving it tingerling.

He was torn. One side of his was telling him, no, that is not his brother. He died in the tower, you saw it yourself. Besides, he was older, and why would he make an appearance now?

The other side of him urged on that it was his brother. He aged himself, so why shouldn't the vampire in front of him? Besides, he had the ring and the locket, the memories. Why would someone go through all that effort just to impersonate a 'missing' prince, and have the off chance of meeting his 'missing' brother?

He licked his bottom lip.

The longer he stood here, the more louder the latter voice sounded.

The scared hand curled around the other males hand.

"I guess... your name is Edward, then?"

A hopeful, encouraging, yet a little smug smile flit across his haggard features.

"Yes, I'm Edward. Plantagenet, in case you wanted any further proof."

He gave the hand a playful squeeze, subconsciously stepping a fraction closer. His head was spinning with happiness. He had his brother back again. And it was Richard. Just as he remembered him. Older, but just as endearingly bratty. Just as stubborn.

He hadn't been broken by whoever had taken him. His brother was still the brother he remembered.

And he was all his.

His heart was racing. This was all so surreal. It was his brother. Standing right in front of him. Not dead.

Richard didn't take a step back, like he normally would if someone he'd just met stood in his personal bubble. It was nice and comforting, rather then unpleasant and intrusive - like the time when he reunited with his brother.

He gulped, now feeling slightly guilty over that meeting.

"I don't think I need anymore."

He intertwined their fingers, finding it a little difficult to look his brother in the eyes without his throat tightening.

"... What happened then?"

Curiosity was already biting him. In a normal situation, he would wait to ask such a thing. But with it being his brother, he should be okay with him pressing for such personal answers?

The smugness in his smile increased a little as fingers interlaced with his, feeling his heart jump a little from the contact.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him gently. For the last few hundred years of his life, the only physical contact he had received was violence, and people taking from him what he didn't want to give.

"I-"

His eyes slid closed, trying to block the images returning to his head. They opened again slowly, a wide, slightly mad smile forced onto his lips to cover the trace of pain.

"They choked me until I passed out and then took me away and sold me. I became a blood slave."

He stopped abruptly. That was enough. That told Richard all he needed to know.

As his brother told him his story, he finally glanced up into the piercing eyes.

That smile unnerved him, making his skin bump and stomach twist. But he kept a steady gaze and his stance firm.

Richard squeezed the interlaced hands, hoping that it was soothing or reassuring.

For the first time, his brother dying that night sounded a little better.

"How did you escape?"

He did not need to know details. Being kept locked away was nothing new to him. He did not need his brother's memories alongside his own, or have his brother relive them - despite how curiosity chewed at him.

"I pick-pocketed them. One of them had a matchbox. I set fire to the whole camp."

He hesitated for a moment, before pulling back the sleeve of his left arm. The skin was raw, blistered, the flesh tender, papery and wrinkled from the damage of the flames.

"I'd do it again if I could."

His eyes glinted, maddened, angered, but with a hint of vindicated satisfaction at the memory. He remembered striking match after match after match, not hesitating once as he watched the flames soar towards the sky.

Richard gently brushed his fingers up the scared flesh before smoothing over it. It was bumped and ridged, not all too pleasant to look at. Overall, it made he skin crawl, how dry it felt.

But it wasn't disgusting.

Nothing about his brother was disgusting.

He twined there fingers again, brows furrowed a little.

"But you won't, right? There is no need to."

Edward had not only burned down the tents that night, but he had started a spark within himself. Looking at the beauty, the destruction of the flames, knowing that he wielded such power and knowing... knowing that with a few steps he could end it for himself too if he chose.

He came close to it. But the thought of finding Richard had got him through somehow.

But he had never lost his fascination with fire. And maybe, just maybe, he would do it again.

He smiled as Richard wove their fingers together again, grasping his hand tightly.

"Not now."

His words were deliberately ambiguous. Not now that he had Richard, or just... not now. He didn't quite know himself.

The line between his brows deepened, but he left it at that. He trusted his brother won't go burning the place down,and even if he dd, he was sure he would have good reason too.

He was still curious, finding the need to to fill in the blanks between there childhood and now.

"And after? Before we met again?"

He still felt a guilty about their first meeting. He was only being cautious, and it was still a little hard to believe that his brother was standing here, breathing, as the same species.