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Kell was fighting against four white London antari usurper men and women, who had somehow found a way to travel by ripping out an eye and doing some horribly cursed magic, and he knew he had to capture them, to put an stop to their plan before it even had a chance to be put in motion. He had been throwing spells non stop (almost to the point where he was dizzy from blood loss) and it was becoming harder to continue, to keep going. So much harder.
He was tired and he was in pain, and Kell sometimes wished... wished he wasn't himself, or he wished his life had been other.
He realised how lucky he'd been having been taken in by the royal family. He understood that he had luxuries that so many others could only dream of. Not just a good plate of food and shelter, but access to books, to training, to the most beautiful ballrooms and the chance to travel. He was a lucky man, wasn't he?
And yet... Kell wondered if he hadn't been taken in, if he had been a simple orphan in the streets like Lila, how different his life would have been. Yes, maybe he wouldn't have food secured and maybe he would be pressed to find somewhere to hide who he was - maybe he wouldn't really understand his magic, and that would haunt him. But on the other hand...
He wouldn't have this constant weight. This constant duty that the whole state of their kingdom and the life of the prince rested on his shoulders. And not just that, but the delicate matter of inter world relations also fell on him. If something went wrong there, if they fucked up with any of the other Londons (which was easy. Kings were easily offended creatures, and in the case of the White London also easily riled up) the consequences could be horrifying.
And it would be on him. It was always on him. Just like every major catastrophe that had plagued Arnes in the last few years was in some instance or another, his fault. It burned him - he was supposed to be this protector, this helper and he had been at the centre of so many deaths.
So he had to fix it, he had to make right. No matter how much it cost, no matter how much he had to endure. It was duty, it was his fault, it was... it was his life, for better or for worse, and he couldn't change it.
He had to fix it, he had to stop this, he had to....
And part of him honestly wanted to cry, to throw a tantrum, to scream that he was tired and that he wanted a life of his own. That he was tired of all the diplomatic missions, of all the foes,.of magic. He had tried to have something like that, with Lila on her ship... but it hadn't lasted too long.
Rhy had needed him for something, and then something else, and then there had been some threat seemingly coming from the white London even though how could it when they had no Antari left after what happened to Holland... And he had to stay. He had to help.
It was his duty not just as a prince and part of the Arnesian royal family, but as a brother too. Rhy was new to being a king and it was a big responsibility. And the man had just lost both his parents, inherited all this power and issues and crises while being practically alone. Kell had to be there, had to help.
Without considering how tired he was. How much he hurt. How.... he was barely seeing now, the reality in front of him blurry, but he kept fighting. Kept going up and against those myriad attacks, even when his knees buckled and he fell into the floor, hands tightly holding the ground as it seemed to spin endlessly. He had to continue.
It was his fault the frontier between worlds was now so dangerously thin. It was his fault so many people had died. It was his fault his own brother had died too, had been dead, even if he had come back. It was a weight he would always carry - that he couldn't let go.
Even if his knees were failing. Even if all the energy was spent. Even if his eyes were closing. He had to... he had to...
Some sort of blast hit him in the chest, and Kell fell to the floor, hardly on his back, his vision going completely black for a few seconds. The pain from having used all the magic was burning throughout his whole body, his limbs, his head (god, his head was on fire), his stomach, all of it was screaming, and Kell was so so tired, but he had to... he couldn't...
His limbs were so heavy but he needed to get up, he couldn't leave the castle desfenseless it was his duty... his life purpose... his brother and king...
Something came up his throat and he threw up to the side a bit. When he tried to get up his hands and arms shook too much and he kept falling. Kell was breaking down, collapsed by fatigue and all he could think was that he wasn't doing enough. That if something bad happened now, of somebody died, it would be on him.
He was still trying to get back up when someone else started for him, someone else that seemed to be winning. After some very blurry moments in which Kell kept coming in and out of consciousness, Kell felt himself be lifted in someone's arms, the rhythm of their steps under him soothing.
And before he could realise what was happening, he let go, his eyes closing for good this time.
*
When he woke up he was in his bed, and he was not alone.
After focusing his vision he realised that it was a tall figure next to him, making bubbles on the bed with some soap and rope contraption.
"It's enjoyable, you know? Doing it without magic, like someone in grey London would do. I like how different they come out each time."
Alucard Emery was laying next to him on his bed, making bubbles and getting soap all over his fancy shirt.
"What are you doing here?"
"Well, Rhy has me on Kell-sitting duty and why wait on an uncomfortable chair when this bed could fit like three people, right? And you haven't minded the past three days."
",Three days?"
Kell sat up suddenly, and his head complained. He felt better and not that dizzy, but the movement still hurt.
"Indeed, master Kell. You were nearly gone when I picked you up from that battle. Should probably know your limits better."
Kell huffed, looked away. He was still sore and confused and half asleep - he didn't need a lecture.
"Maybe if you let go of some of that insurmountable amount of guilt it would help think a bit more clearly, huh?"
Emery was right, and Kell hated when that happened. Annoyed him to no end.
But he was fucking right. He was putting everyone in danger and...
"Also it would be nice if you didn't almost die every now and then. People worry. Not just Rhy.... not just Bard."
Did this mean he was admitting to caring too?? Kell didn't know how to feel about that. As it was, he kwas mostly unsettled.
"Anyways, more self-care less guilt for next time, yes, Kell? Just a friendly piece of advice from your almost brother in law and Essen tasch winner."
"Keep resting. We'll keep the fort up."
And maybe this time, Kell would. He would rest.