Brothers

I am by no means perfect, although at times it seems that the world believes otherwise. I am no murderer, but I have killed. I am no coward, but I have fears. I am no criminal, but I am not a saint.

You do not believe me? I do not blame you - it seems that the name emblazoned on my sword has become the epitome of goodness and bravery. I am brave, I think, but often I am merely stupid. Or just not frightened.

I am the villain in this story, if an accidental one. But accidental is not the right word. Negligent, perhaps. Indeed, if I had attempted to do harm, likely far less would have occurred.

You are muttering among yourselves, I see. Or rather, hear. You say I am modest, that I take the blame upon myself, when it truly lies with...

I hear the way you spit out his name, with contempt, with malice. Your voices wish him an eternity in Hell.

For most people, I have always stood for the opposite of what he does, for all that is good and strong and right, and he is selfish and greedy and evil... but I have made him what he is.

Do not shrink from me. I will tell you.

He is my brother.

Now your faces are wondering, awestruck. You wish to know how the same family that gave me birth could spawn a monster like that.

Ah, my friends, you do not understand.

He was the younger, by two years, and the un-needed son. They had an heir, a golden boy, their first-born son. They had me. They had no need of another son.

And I encouraged it. First it was childish, practically harmless in your eyes. But it was never curbed. He was looked down on, scorned, and as I grew, I never learned to be gracious. He spent his life trailing after me, fettered, chained to a legacy he could never live up to.

He left, even before I did, and I washed my hands of him. He was an embarrassment, an imperfection, and I had no desire to be linked to a Parselmouth.

I never saw him again. Never mentioned him, never missed him. I forgot about him. Oh! How foolish I was then. Arrogant, thoughtless, thinking myself invincible.

I heard, years later, that he had changed his name, and I was relieved, if I cared at all. I didn't need him dragging my name around, creating awkward questions.

You are shocked. I am not proud, but it is the truth. In simple fact, I had no feeling for him, no love or even compassion. I do not believe that I ever saw him as a person.

Eventually, I came to the realization that the 'Serpent-tongue' who was achieving rather dubious fame was indeed my brother, and, in truth, I cringed. I was afraid that he would volunteer my name, would bring forth the truth - or what he considered the truth. I was sure it would be a warped account. But as you will be able to tell, it was my own account that was warped. However, if he was ever asked, he kept silent.

I was uneasy, though, disturbed by I knew not what. Did I have an inkling, even then, of what I had done? Of the monster I had created? Did I realize, somewhere deep inside, of the enormity of it all?

I think I did. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my brain, lurked the knowledge I sought so hard to avoid. Had I not been so determined to avoid the responsibility, I might have averted what came. But I did not.

When I met him once more, I did the one thing that could have pushed him past the point of no return: I denied him.

You are not my brother, I said. I do not know you. I have never known you.

He did not argue.

You may say: But his views were his own. His opinions were his own. How did you force them?

You may say: But he chose to hate, did he not? Why should he hate them, not you?

I will say this: If you are suppressed, and pushed under, so others can listen to someone else's views, their ideas, how can you become listened to? You become the radical, the one whose opinions oppose theirs. It was the only way for him to have an identity, an identity not linked to mine.

Every atrocity he has committed, every murder or slaughter, every heinous or despicable act he has sanctioned, they are my doing, my responsibility. I have caused them.

Ah. I see you believe me now. You are backing away.

You may leave. I am not angry. I will face my faults alone.

I will say this to him, though he cannot and will not hear me now: I beg your forgiveness, though I know I shall never receive it. I wish to you luck and happiness, no matter how high the cost to myself. May whatever Gods there are punish me on your behalf. And if you ever stand before me again, I will not deny you.

Salazar, my brother.