Once upon a time there were two brothers who shared a face. The oldest, the first born and heir to his father’s vast lands, was short tempered, angry, and cruel. He was born with a fierce nature his parents could never explain or control. The younger brother was sweet, a loving and devoted son who brought his parents only joy. 

As the brothers aged the people embraced the younger son with his smiles and charming ways and shunned the older, who became more angry, more sullen, and quicker to boughts of rage.

As it happened as the boys grew into adulthood the neighboring kingdom attacked and all men of fighting age, the brothers included, were conscripted to fight the king’s war.

Many years passed while the brothers’ parents waited for word on their sons. At long last a single rider came, dust laden and weary to bring them the joyful news, their son was returning home. Which son they demanded even as another rider approached, more travel stained and wearier than his predecessor.

The news this rider carried answered the question of which son would be coming home. With somber eyes and sad voice, the rider told the old man and his lovely wife that their eldest son, the king’s champion, the greatest warrior of the land, had been slain even has he had secured victory for all. The messenger expressed his sorrow and sympathy for their grief, only to find there was none. They shed no tears at the news he carried, instead they hugged each other in joy because their youngest, their beloved, charming son, lived and was coming home.

They thanked both me, fed them well and sent them on their way. Then, filled with joy that their beloved son was returning, his parents turned their attentions to preparing for his triumphant return.

Many days and many nights passed before a lone rider was spotted approaching in the distance. The manor house came alive and excitement, prepared to welcome their beloved son, the new and rightful heir to the lands. The people rejoiced, for now they would be ruled upon the old lord’s death by his kind and generous second son, and not the angry, short tempered eldest, who had to their great joy, perished in the death of a hero.

Anwinn, beloved of the eldest brother was the only one who did not rejoice in his death and the deliverance of his youngest brother. Only she had loved Cuillen, only she had seen beneath the dark looks and angry eyes. Only she had been recipient of his tenderness, his kindness. She had loved him and had awaited his triumphant return so that they could be wed and she could become his wife. Now, her love was gone and his brother, a charming fool, was returning in his place.

She had no love for Carrick, though he carried his brother’s face. She had seen beneath his charm to the selfish boy who lived in leisure while his brother Cuillen, heir and unloved had been pushed and shaped into a weapon, into the perfect heir. She had seen how their parents had fawned upon Carrick because he was quick to smile and possessed a silver tongue. She had seen the bruises Cuillen carried because he did not smile and would not bend so easily to their father’s iron will. His shyness they had taken for sullenness, his innate sadness for angry and rage. They had silenced and imprisoned him in their beliefs and his anger had been unleashed. Yet it had been no greater than Carrick’s spoiled rants. Yet their view of him had been twisted since his birth, they had shaped him into a man to be feared. A man who did not smile and who only showed kindness to few. He had been all they created him to be and now he was no more. Her beloved was dead and she was now to wed his copy, the lesser version of himself with an arrogant smile and careless charm.

At last, the new heir arrived, a single ride dust laden and road weary. The man that swung down from his exhausted steed had no ready smile. Had no quick and charming words for his parents. He approached them; weariness evident in his every step. Bowing low he greeted them. “Your son has returned.”

A cry of joy went up as he was folded into the embrace of his loving parents. Only Anwinn wept tears of grief while many wept tears of joy.

Three days of rejoicing followed and none missed how the Carrick never smiled. The bright son had changed, and they whispered of how the horrors he had faced upon the battlefield had changed him, yet still they were happy he had returned. How much worse would have Cuillen been they reasoned, if Carrick was so stern, how much darkness which Cuillen had returned with? Glad were they that the younger son had been the one to return since war could change a man so much.

A month passed and Anwinn, beloved of Cuillen was now to wed his brother Carrick, now heir to his father’s lands and benefactor of all that had been his brother’s.

Duty bound she pledged herself before God and all mankind to be a devoted wife, yet when darkness fell and Anwinn found herself awaiting her new husband alone in their chamber she began to weep. She still loved Cuillen, and raged that it would not be he to which she gave up her maidenhead. To which she was now bound until death. She wept and did not hide her tears when the doors opened and her groom entered, bringing with him the raucous laughter of the revelers on the floor below.

The door closed behind him, closing them into silence, yet he did not approach. He stood just by the door, watching her, and defiant, even in her grief, she met those eyes and for a moment saw her beloved in the man standing before her. Her heart broke anew and she wept aloud at the cruelty of the fates.

“Why do you weep lady? Is it fear that washes your lovely eyes?” He asked, though he still did not approach and the room lay between them, empty and cold.

“I do not fear you.”

“Good. I am your husband; you have no need of fear when in my presence.”

Now he stepped closer and Anwinn could not prevent the new wave of grief from washing over her.

“Come lady, confess to me the cause of these tears.”

Anwinn looked up into the face so like her beloveds and confessed as he had demanded. “You are not the one to which I belong. You are not the one to whom my heart is bound. You are not him.”

To her surprise only laughter met her words. 

“Why do you laugh, sir? Do you mock my pain?”

“No, lady. I laugh because you, and only you, have wept for me. I laugh because it is all I do not to cry. The whole world has rejoiced at the deliverance of Carrick the bright. They have welcomed me with bright song and joy, all the while maligning the memory of who I truly am. It was not Cuillen that died alone upon the fields of battle. It was not Carrick who returned alone through the lands of his enemy. It was not Carrick to which you were wed this day, beloved. Cuillen did not die though his parents and people wished it. Cuillen overcame the blades of his enemies, earned favor in the eyes of the king and returned home a hero to carry the ill news that though he lived his twin had perished. It was Cuillen who returned and was embraced as his fallen brother. It was Cuillen who was told how pleased they were that Carrick had lived and Cuillen had died. And it was Cuillen who you married and who now stands before you.”

The truth of his words Anwinn never doubted. She knew that voice, knew those eyes and knew the soul that looked at her from the face of her beloved.

She rose from the bed and ran into his arms, a willing and joyful wife.

And so it was that Carrick the Bright was never mourned and Cuillen the Dark was never missed. Cuillen and Anwinn lived long, raised many children, and never shared the truth that Carrick the Bright had never returned to the village of his birth.

Author L Becker: This is how the end of the world shall be written….