Antony stiffened as the words hit him like a slap in the face.

Jonathan?

He wanted to deny it; he tried to. However, a closer look at the prisoner revealed that, even if he looked a bit older and rougher, this man, this murderer and enemy, was his older brother.

"How could you?" he found himself saying, each word short and clipped, anger in his face and in his words. Jonathan laughed sadistically.

"It is amazing," he said. "How easily one can disappear if they have the incentive."

Antony remained where he was, staring down at his brother, still in the exact place where the guards had forced him to his knees before the king.

"Wouldn't you like to know how I did it?" asked Jonathan silkily. "After all, you have your brother back now; what more could you want?"

Antony narrowed his eyes. "I was better off thinking that you were dead. After all, what man rejoices to find that his brother is a villain, a murderer?"

Jonathan smirked. "I've missed you so, Antony. Always so serious about things."

"What would make you do something like this, Jonathan? I looked up to you."

"Did you mourn?"

"Of course I did. You were my brother; I loved you."

"I was your brother?" Jonathan chuckled. "Your use of the past tense amuses me."

"Until a few moments ago, you were dead to me."

"You know," said Jonathan. "There was a part of me that regretted the day that I disappeared. Two ships met in the middle of the ocean and I transferred to the other, leaving my old life behind with the burning of my previous ship. I had been planning this, of course, but actually doing it..." He chuckled. "I was leaving behind the life of luxury I had known. My hate of the empire didn't extend to my own riches and kingship, you know. I always planned on coming back someday." He smirked, a cruel glint entering his eyes.

"Is that what this is? You believe you shall simply reenter the palace and retake the throne?"

"You cannot deny that I was king. I am the older brother, almost eleven years your senior." Jonathan paused, his face twisting in a look of false interest. "Besides, Antony...I seem to recall that you were...reluctant...to take the throne. If any of our discussions turned towards that topic, you gave me the impression that you had no desire to ever do so."

"If you are implying that I might be happy to hand over the throne to a maniac such as yourself, you are gravely mistaken."

"Do you believe that I will leave without a fight? Being on the throne would be highly advantageous for the position of myself and my men."

"I am High King of Astoria now, Jonathan," said Antony, firmly, holding his head high and looking down on his older brother. "You gave up that right the day you chose to give your allegiance to someone other than the people you took an oath to protect. Under that same oath, I cannot stand by and allow you to march into King's Palace and demand the crown."

Jonathan laughed darkly. "You have changed, dear brother," he said, shaking his head as though amused. "The boy I knew would have given me anything I wished."

"The boy you knew looked up to and admired his older brother. I am no longer that boy."

Jonathan stood, the guards immediately going to each take an arm, securing their prisoner. Antony watched as his brother attempted to make a move for the sword of the guard on his right, but the soldiers managed to subdue him.

"No," said Antony, drawing his own sword, glad now to have taken it with him. He took a few steps forward, until he was only a short distance away from his brother.

"Jonathan," he said. "I do not wish to fight you, but if this is what it has to come to, so be it."

"Well, well, well," said Jonathan, his voice low. "So be it."

"Landon," ordered Antony, gesturing to the captain of his army who was standing off to the side of the room.

"Yes, Sire?" said the captain, his voice somewhat hesitant, clearly unsure whether or not he should stop this fight.

"Remove Jonathan's restraints and guards. Give him your sword."

"Sire, are you sure that..."

"Do it, Landon!" snapped Antony, gesturing with his sword. Landon gave Antony one last hopeless glance before carrying out his orders.

"Now leave," he ordered.

"But..."

"Now!"

Landon gestured to his men and they left. Antony could hear him whisper to the guards that they would wait outside the door to the throne room in case they were needed.

The door banged shut and Antony faced Jonathan, holding his sword at his side. His brother grinned and took a step towards Antony, brandishing his sword, testing its weight in his hands. "A duel to the death, dear brother," he said. "The throne of Astoria is at stake."

"I don't want to fight you, Jonathan. You have, however, forced my hand."

Jonathan raised his sword. "You were always too soft, Antony." He drove forward, Antony parrying his blow, stepping sideways to avoid it and feinting, throwing Jonathan off balance. The elder soon recovered, turning easily to face Antony once more.

"You're rather skilled, I see," he said.

Antony ignored his brother, finding himself falling into the rhythm of the fight, each feint and twist and parry familiar to him from years of practice with the sword, working until it felt as though the weapon were just an extension of his arm.

The fight went on in this manner for some time until Jonathan stumbled, and Antony pulled back, allowing his brother to regain his balance.

"You might end up paying for your action of mercy, Antony," said Jonathan, spitting each word and, in between each, taking a sharp breath. He swiped his sweaty hair back from his face and advanced once more.

Everything in Antony cried out against this. To fight his brother like this hurt him deeply. Regret followed each swing of the sword. More and more sadness and grief invaded his thoughts as he saw the look in his brother's face as he fought Antony with everything in him. His brother was fighting to win. There was no longer any love for his younger brother. Perhaps there never was. His brother may have been found to be alive, but he still felt dead to the younger man who had grown up wishing that his older brother would notice him and care for him after his parents died.

Antony knew, after the fight had been going on for some time, that he was the better of the two. Jonathan had always preferred ships to the art of swordsmanship. Antony had more endurance and skill, and yet something held him back from bringing his brother down, from striking an injuring blow. He saw in Jonathan's eyes that his brother knew this.

Jonathan smirked, his breathing coming heavy. "You shouldn't hold back, brother," he said. Before Antony could register the action, Jonathan had managed to feint and then to jab his sword directly between the chainmail and the arm guard on Antony's right arm.

Pain.

That was all that Antony could feel; it consumed him, radiating from the wound like fire. Burning, searing. He didn't let go of his sword, but stumbled backwards, his left hand moving to cover the wound. He felt the sticky warmth of his own blood, seeping between his fingers, staining his hand. A wave of dizziness overcame him, but he forced it away.

"Admit defeat, Antony," said Jonathan, his eyes shining with malicious desire. "Hand over the crown."

Antony looked up, meeting his brother's gaze, his breath coming short and fast, each gasp of air only bringing more pain to his arm. "Never," he gasped, anger rising within him and beginning to numb him to the burning feeling from his wound. "You'll have to kill me first."

Jonathan simply laughed and raised his sword once more. "So be it," he said, and lunged forward.

Antony switched sword hands, blocking Jonathan's blow, the angry clash of metal on metal ringing throughout the high-ceilinged throne room.  Jonathan took a few steps back, his look momentarily incredulous before he returned his expression to a perfect mask of confidence.

"So you can fight with both hands," said Jonathan. "Very well-done, brother dear. However, you'll soon find that you can only stand so long when you're losing blood as quickly as you are."

Antony knew he was right. He didn't wait for Jonathan to finish, he went in for the attack, clashing swords with his brother, each move perfectly planned to disarm Jonathan.

After a few moments, Jonathan's sword clattered to the ground. He found himself pressed up against a wall. Antony stood, holding himself perfectly straight, his injured arm held close to his body and his uninjured arm trapping Jonathan with his sword, the point pressing into his brother's neck, its perfectly sharpened edge cutting into the skin, scarlet red blood staining the tip.

Jonathan fixed his gaze on the sword point pressing against him, the droplets of blood trailing down his neck. He seemed to realize that it would take only a slight increase of pressure to end his life forever. He slowly lifted his gaze to Antony's.

Antony was surprised, and somewhat afraid, of a part of him that suddenly desired to simply lean forward, ending his brother's life and, with him, all the hurt and pain that had been dredged up with his brother's reappearance in the palace. He knew exactly what he was doing, his sword point poised over Jonathan's jugular: poised to kill if Jonathan so much was moved.

"Are you going to kill me now, brother?" said Jonathan, a harsh laugh escaping him, his voice sounding somewhat shaken and fear written in his eyes. Antony could feel him shudder as he moved the sword tip slightly.

He glared at his brother, his gaze holding nothing but loathing for this traitor to the empire of Astoria. This man who had betrayed the meaning of what it means to be a brother.

"Jonathan, you are no longer my brother. You are no longer Jonathan of Westerholme. By the authority I possess as king, I hereby remove from you any rights to the throne. Your title of "prince" and your past title of "king" are revoked. Furthermore..." Antony felt his voice tremble slightly, grief at what he was doing choking him. "Furthermore, you will no longer be considered a member of the House of Westerholme or of the royal family, until such time as you choose to repent of your actions, nor will you be recognized as a citizen of Astoria. You have shown that you hold no respect for the empire and desire only to harm its citizens. You are hereby sentenced to prison for crimes as follows: treason, betrayal, murder, thievery, and plotting against the Empire of Astoria."

Jonathan's gaze remained hard and unflinching. Antony looked at the man he had called brother, sadness filling him.

"Landon!" he shouted. Aaron Landon and his men immediately entered the room once more.

"Take him into custody," he ordered, turning his back on Jonathan.

"Of course, Sire," said the captain.

Antony didn't turn until the doors slammed closed after the departing soldiers, separating him from Jonathan.

He stood, looking around the throne room, torch stands toppled and tapestries torn in the fight. He felt as though he himself might topple. He stumbled to the low step that led to the slightly raised platform on which was his throne.

He stared at the throne for a few moments, then lowered his head. Astoria may be safe from Jonathan's manic rule for now, but at what cost?

He sat down heavily on the step, his head bowed, salty tears making tracks down his face when he thought of his brother and the unanswered question that he still chased around within his mind. If it were really necessary, if it were the only way to protect the people I swore to protect, would I kill my own brother? I may have denounced him by word, but he will always be related to me by blood.

He pressed his face into his hands, ignoring the pain in his arm. He was afraid. Afraid of the fact that he had even considered ending his brother's life to end the threat he posed to the people of Astoria. Afraid of the questions that had been raised by this encounter. Afraid of the grief and anger that possessed him when he thought about the years Jonathan had let him think he was dead, the years that Jonathan had kept this secret from him. The years that Jonathan had been against everything their parents stood for and yet had pretended to be their son, taking the throne and acting as if he were a good, upstanding member of the House Westerholme.

More than anything, he wished he could go back to this morning and be free from all of this pain and all of these questions, oblivious to the fact that his brother survived.

***

Meredith left Nash's room after seeing that her little brother was safely tucked into bed. As she made her way down the hallway on her way downstairs to see Ramona, she became aware of a feeling that had invaded the palace. It seemed as though the entire place was holding its breath and that something had changed.

She quickened her steps, hurrying into the kitchen. She looked around for Ramona, feeling even more unsettled when the motherly cook was nowhere to be seen. Just as she turned to leave, Ramona entered, looking flustered.

"Ramona?" asked Meredith, the entire question asked in just one look, one moment of the cook meeting her gaze.

Meredith stepped aside as Ramona went past her and sat down heavily at the counter.

"It's...Jonathan."

"Jonathan?" asked Meredith in confusion. "The only Jonathan I've heard of is..."

Ramona looked up and met her gaze, nodding.

"But how?" gasped Meredith, incredulous. "He was...dead."

"They never found anyone after that shipwreck. Jonathan is alive. He's Nathan, the leader of the rebels and the man who harmed your little brother."

Meredith stood there, as if frozen, unable to comprehend what she was hearing, trying to take it all in.

Suddenly, a thought hit her.

"Ramona," she said, quietly. "Where is Antony?"

Ramona looked up, her gaze sad. She shrugged helplessly.

Meredith immediately turned and left the room. She didn't know where to look for Antony, but she felt as though she knew he would be hurting over the discovery that, not only was his brother alive, but he was a traitor to Astoria.

She ducked into the library, confirming that he wasn't there. His study was next. It looked as if he had left it, perhaps planning to come back, but it too was empty.

Where...

She pivoted and hurried down the stairs, turning at the bottom and making her way to the throne room. She held her breath as she opened the heavy door just a crack and looked inside.

The ground was littered with torn tapestries and fallen torch holders, and her stomach clenched at the stain on the polished floor of what appeared to be blood. Her gaze continued until it reached the throne.

Her heart clenched as she saw Antony, sitting, looking defeated, on the steps before the throne, his sword laying abandoned at his side and his right arm cradled against his chest.

She opened the door farther and slipped in, hurrying to his side. He looked up as she neared and attempted a smile, but his face crumpled and he looked down at the ground once more.

She knelt beside him, gently turning his face to hers. "Antony," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"You heard then," he said, simply, his voice breaking. She nodded and sat on the step above him, pulling him close, feeling his shoulders shaking as he broke.

"I fought him," he said, his words choked. "I denounced him... as my brother. I feel...so guilty. But Meredith, he tried to kill me! He wanted to kill me. I...didn't know what else to do. And...I was scared. Because...there was a part of me...a part of me that wanted to end him for everything that he did, coming back after all this time, harming the people I protect...I don't want to be that person, Meredith! That's who he is. And yet...at the time...I could almost see myself doing exactly what he would have if our...positions were...reversed. I just...I feel as if..."

"Shh," she said, gently, stroking his hair comfortingly, resting her forehead against his head. "It's over now. Astoria is safe. You've kept all of us safe. Jonathan will go to prison. You've proven yourself a better man than him, Antony."

His hand found hers and held it tightly, as if his living and breathing depended on her.

She suddenly noticed the sticky wetness on his forearm.

"Antony!" she exclaimed, worried, examining his arm. "You're...He's hurt you." Noting that the wound was still oozing blood, she looked at him. "You need to see the palace physician."

He shook his head. "I can't right now. I...can't."

"Antony..." she said. "You can't leave it like this..."

He was silent.

"At least...Let me take care of it," she said, softly. At his nod of consent, she set to work, removing his sword belt and gently pulling his chain mail shirt over his head. He didn't protest whatsoever, letting her care for him with no complaint, even when she brushed the armor against his wound when she was taking it off.

She gently took his arm, rolling the sleeve of his shirt up as carefully as possible. Even then, she heard him take a sharp intake of breath, letting it out slowly through gritted teeth.

Examining the wound, she found herself at a loss. The only injuries she had ever cared for were minor scrapes and burns. This was in a caliber far beyond that. The wound was deep, and still bleeding a little.

She rested her hand on his, meeting his gaze. "Stay here," she told him. "I won't get the physician yet if you don't wish it, but I'll need something to clean and bandage this. Alright?" He nodded and she hurried from the room.

She returned as quickly as possible with a basin of water, a few cloths, and fresh bandages.

He said nothing as she cleaned the wound as gently as possible. She felt him flinch slightly and, glancing up at his face, she saw him gritting his teeth, sweat standing out on his forehead.

"I'm sorry," she said, softly, and he nodded, one jerk of his head telling her to continue. She finished as soon as she could and took the bandages, wrapping them around the wound. Then she took an extra cloth and gently washed the blood from his hands.

She was wringing out the cloths when she heard him. One word.

"Meredith..." His voice was hardly a whisper.

She turned and went to him, sitting next to him and putting her arms around him, holding him tightly, trying to offer him what comfort she could with just her presence. He had comforted her before, but those times seemed nothing compared to this.

"What if I'm faced with this again?" he whispered. "What can I do against my own brother?"

"I know you'll make the right decision, Antony," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. He took her hand and held it.

"I can't kill him," he said, softly. "I won't." He laughed bitterly. "He'd call me weak."

"It's not weak, letting a man live when you hold his life in your hands."

He sighed and rested his head against hers, his grip on her hand gradually loosening.

"I think you should get to bed, Antony," she said, softly. "You're exhausted."

He didn't argue as she stood and helped him to his feet. She put her arm around his waist and walked with him out of the throne room and upstairs.

They met Fulton in the hallway. The butler immediately took in the half-asleep, drowsy state that Antony was in, as well as the rolled-up sleeve and and the bandage on his right arm.

"Sire!" he exclaimed. "What...happened?"

It occurred to Meredith that the rest of the palace was only just figuring out that Jonathan was alive, and that news of the battle between the two brothers must not have traveled yet.

"Jonathan," said Meredith, simply, glancing at Antony worriedly as he swayed slightly on his feet. "He needs rest."

"Of course," said Fulton, stepping forward and supporting Antony.

He fixed tired eyes on her.

"Good night, Antony," she said, softly. "I love you."

He smiled tiredly and she stepped forward and kissed him quickly, falling back and watching Fulton help him upstairs and into bed.

She turned and made her way downstairs.

***

This chapter is purposefully shorter, so DON'T WORRY! :D Honestly, my OCD is really crying out against adding this chapter when it isn't approximately uniform with the others, but the author in me feels that a lot has happened and this is a good time to stop. -__-

Side gif is Antony. It's sooo saddd!!! D':

Dedication goes to kat_attack13 for being an awesome loyal reader. :) (And I like your profile picture. :D TFIOS! :D)