But, What Ends When the Symbols Shatter? (for shiroibara)
(Author, you seem to have used double line breaks for your paragraphs. I've left them as they are. If you want me to change them, please email me.)
For: shiroibara
Title: But, What Ends When the Symbols Shatter?
Pairing/characters: Troika-ish
Rating: R for violence, I'd say
Warning (if any): AU. Abuse of the word "and". Angst, blood, death, flashbacks, shameless theft of Death in June song title
Summary: Once upon a time, they thought they could make it work. Now they're at the brink of war, and only one person stands in the way of mutually assured destruction: this is the tale of the Prince, the Emperor, and the Sorcerer
Notes (if any): I really hope you enjoy this! I tried to fulfill as many of the requirements as I could, but in the end I think this story just ran away from me, and.. yeah, I'm semi-terrified you'll hate me for it, but give it a chance, please! ^^
The sun lay low across the valley, casting its last golden rays across the shimmering towers of Lassän, the fabled Eternal City once reknowned as the jewel of the empire, who had once outshone all others in the magnificence of its thousand spires; Lassän, last remnant of an age of powerful sorcery so far in the past the very origin of the city lay shrouded in mystery.
Yet now the exquisite architecture crumbled under the strain of time and the wars fought over her, and many of her towers stood empty, inhabited only by the ghosts of those who had sought to defend her, some said. Others said it was but the forlorn wind blowing from the desert that sang a wistful tune as it meandered through fallen archways and porticos, yet even they declined to spend the night in the city, retreating instead to the semi-permanent nomad encampment that had spread around the outside walls over the years.
Fires flickered between the erected tents of colourful cloth, and the smells of a hundred spices mingled as traders, merchants, explorers and other men of fortune settled down to enjoy their evening meal. Here and there bards and entertainers broke into songs, plucking the strings of complex wooden instruments, their voices rising above the howl of the wind; and the traditional songs were echoed by all, and all kept their backs to the silent city and the ghosts it withheld.
The streets of Lassän were all but deserted now as dusk gave way to night, and the robed figure made his way silently through the western gates, slipping past the guards with practiced ease. His long stride covered the cobblestoned alleys effortlessly, gliding past shuttered windows and boarded-up doors, most of which bore painted sigils warding against restless spirits. A soft sigh escaped his lips, and slender fingertips brushed against the still-fresh paint: he could remember a time when such protection would have been laughed at by the bold, brash population of the city, before it became a shadow of itself, before... He pursed his lips, straightening unconsciously before resuming his trek through the lonely avenues: the buildings there seemed weathered by more than time, as though a peculiar kind of melancholy had eroded the once beautiful facades.
Eventually he came to a garden, and in the center of the garden there stood a tower of pale blue marble, and the tower itself seemed to glow faintly as it bathed in the rays of moonlights descending from a cloudless sky. At the foot of the tower the entrance door stood open, and the hooded figure paused, staring uncertainly at the spiralling staircase for a moment before entering, and a peculiar expression crossed his features, a flickering of the eyes, a tilt of the head that might have been anger and might have been regret, and probably was a mixture of both.
Silently he made his way up the stairs, glancing outside through the intricate stained-glass windows that lined the curved walls and allowed views of the faded glory of the city, its overgrown gardens and rubble-filled alleyways, and beyond that the fragile layer of human life huddled around the ivy-covered walls, and beyond that the great sighing desert whose ivory dunes hid the legions of the Emperor, poised to strike at first light and vanquish once and for all eternal Lassän.
When at last he stood at the threshold of the chamber he paused, running his hands lightly over the carved wood inset with precious stones, sapphires and jades whose disposition hid complex runes designed to part unwary intruders from their mortal coils. He did not need to heighten his perception to the unseen planes to know than more than a few foolish souls had relinquished the hold on their souls at this very door. But he had been instrumental in deciphering the runes left behind by the mysterious founders of the city, and though he could not hope to replicate their prowess in the sorcerous arts, he had gained over the course of the years a deep understanding of their underlying principles.
Thus his fingers found themselves remembering the complex paths to follow, and his mind adjusted to the peculiar geometry of the now faintly pulsing runes, and with a rush he felt the old familiar power coursing through his body, probing and testing him until he was deemed worthy of entering, as though the city itself sought to defend her last precious child. With a faint creak, the doors reluctantly parted, leaving the sorcerer slightly dazed at the entrance of the Prince's quarters.
"At last, my liege..", he breathed, and his voice was but a whisper rippling through the still air of the silent room. His feet tread silenty on thick embroidered carpets, and on the walls hung dark tapestries of red and black and thread-of-gold and the curtains were pulled open, a thousand faraway stars casting their pale glow on the exquisitely carved furnishings. He passed by a small table on which lay a silver tray, the food on it untouched, coated in a thin layer of dust, as everything else in the room seemed to be; and this realization tugged at his heart in ways words could not describe, and he found himself almost running the last steps to the four-poster bed that stood by the tallest window.
A faint breeze blew from the open window, sending shivers through the fine veils obscuring the occupant of the bed. Stilling his wildly beating heart, the robed figure reached for the gossamer-like material and pulled it back slowly, and despite himself a gasp escaped his lips as he gazed at the man he believed he would never meet again. With skin of alabaster and raven tresses curling down the side of his narrow face, the Prince seemed to have aged not a day since they parted ways so many summers ago... Yet his unnatural pallor and stillness was enough to convince him the monarch of Lassän had suffered his share of trials over the years, albeit of a different nature than his own.
Gingerly he knelt by the bed, and the soft rustle of cloth was enough to stir the Prince from his slumber, as troubled, feverish eyes sought the source of the sound. His pupils dilated in the near darkness eve as he struggled to sit upright, and as recognition dawned on his features his eyes grew cold, but the sorcerer wasted no time in placing his hands on the Prince's temples, and his incantation was already well underway when the Prince placed his own hand atop his, his grip weakening as the spell took effect; confused, betrayed eyes sliding slowly shut. His body grew limp, and the sorcerer laid him back against the pillows carefully.
"Sleep, Seiichi.. Dream, remember, and perchance, hope to forget..", he whispered as he wiped a faint sheen of sweat from his brow.
And then, shifting slightly so that his back rested against Yukimura's bed, Renji closed his eyes and prepared for the long wait ahead. He could only hope his efforts wouldn't be in vain, that he wasn't wasting his energy on a hopeless endeavour. Withdrawing the Emperor's Seal from his pocket, he channelled all his knowledge of the dark arts and projected his mind out, past the boundaries of the mortal plane and into the shifting dimensions beyond, where he'd banished his friends' souls and spirits to. He didn't notice the faint trembling in his limbs as he sought them out, praying with all his might he had made the right decision.
+
He woke up on an unfamiliar shore where a black sea lapped at fragile dunes tinted red by the blood moon above; and yet for all the perpetual motion of the ocean he could hear no sound save for his own breathing and the frantic tattoo of his heart beating against his chest. Taking a moment to compose himself, he forced his clenched fists to relax and watched the fine grains of sand sift between his fingers, carried away by an unseen breeze. Sitting back on his heels he let his eyes drift shut for a moment, letting his senses open to encompass the alien world around him: he knew he could not hope to rival Renji when it came to sorcery, but his talents lay in fields not entirely unrelated to it. At the the thought of what had been done to him his concentration faltered as a wave of red hot anger swept though his lean frame. If the sorcerer had managed to send him here -and his perception of where 'here' was was getting harder to hang on to, as though his memories were being stolen away one by one, then he had to be around as well.
With a jolt he came to his feet, straggering slightly on the uneven terrain, and he noted absent-mindedly he was barefoot, and still clad in the loose silk pants and tunic he had been wearing when he had gone to bed. Perhaps he was sleeping now, he mused as he surveyed the silent expanse of white, red and black stretching to the starless sky. He'd been sick for so long... And then the world blinked, all colours washing away into an eternity of black, and whe he could see again he was there, his sword already drawn, the Empire's crest engraved on his silver armor.
The Emperor's eyes were unreadable as he lunged at the Prince, and the blade made no sound entering his body, and the white sand shone crimson before they felt themselves falling and everything faded to black once more .
+
There was pain, and then there was blissful oblivion, and after that there was light, so much light it burned the back of his eyelids orange, and warmth too, so he thought he might not be dead yet, although that thought left him perplexed even as it crossed his mind. Nothing made very much sense at the moment: he could sense another presence next to him, a brush of metal against his arm, yet he felt no alarm. For now he was floating, and he could feel the warm wind brushing locks of hair from his forehead, and distantly he could make out a chorus of bells and the hubbub of civilization somewhere down below.
So he opened his eyes to find himself back in Lassän, but Lassän was resplendent, as it had been so many years ago, and flowers grew on every balcony and every tower bore the flags of the ruling Houses, reds and yellows and blues adorned with eagles, dragons and other such noble creatures, and the streets were bursting with life everywhere, and he was in the midst of it all. He felt a rush of exhiliration as he swept through the streets, and for a while he was the wind itself, rushing and rising to play with fluttering curtains, sliding past the tall windows of an too familiar tower..
All too suddenly he was back, looking at the world through the eyes of his eight-year old self, and with a pang of rememberance he realized Renji was there too, a smile threatening to break out on his studious face as Yukimura made faces behind the old teacher's back. The walls was covered in ancient scroll depicting the world and its oceans and strange islands and Lassän in the middle of it all, and the old man was telling them about their history, the long heritage and the Borderlands always a step away from secession from the Empire, but his mind was elsewhere, on the sun shining outside and the friend he'd all but grown up with, and how Renji had promised to show him a new trick today from that spellbook he wasn't supposed to know how to decipher yet... He could hardly wait! He tossed his head to the side impatiently, and his soft curls caught the light, like the moon touching the depths of the ocean...
There was a sharp tugging sensation from deep within, and he caught a glimpse of another place -Asanth-, a city built of dark stone streaked with azure that melded into impossibly high cliffs towering over a raging ocean, and that city was full of life too, with armored troops assembling in the slanting streets underneath great statues worn smooth by buffeting winds, and there were women shouting from open windows, throwing tokens of affection to departing loved ones and somewhere deep within the city there was a boy with intense black eyes who refused to let tears show in his eyes as his father prepared to head the army heading inland. Around his neck hung the heavy chain entrusted to him, and the cold weight comforted and terrified him at the same time, and he cried out once at his retreating father's back, and overhead a great flock of black birds cawed ominously. He felt a dark pain wrapping around his heart then, as though the boy knew the mighty general was never to set foot in his city again, and behind him the council of chancellors watched grimly as the army set off, the clattering of a thousand booted feet echoing between the walls of the citadel..
Winter washed over them and everyday the boy waited at the top of the highest tower, hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning army, or even a messenger bearing news, and the blizzard bit cruelly at his skin, and his eyes grew hard with every passing day. Yukimura felt the cold seeping into his bones and everythin was so horribly unfamiliar, as though he was trapped in the wrong body and he sought to escape back to the desert and the oasis on which Lassän had been erected, away from the bitter wind...
Spring brought pale desert flowers blooming pink in the folds of the dunes encircling the city, and the old wives saw the rare occurrence as a good omen as the king returned victorious from his campaign, and beside him rode a boy with dark hair and cold black eyes, his head held high even in defeat, and his wounded pride was the price he'd paid to save his people.
"The chancellors made the right choice", the King said, not unkindly.
"It was my decision", the boy replied, and his eyes narrowed as he watched a lithe figure about his age running up to the king, his smile illuminating the world around him as he greeted his father, relief evident in his face. Then the boy turned curious eyes towards him, and his expression grew imperceptibly more shielded, but the King simply said: "This is Sanada. He will be staying with us now."
A few steps away a taller boy watched the scene unfold, and a pensive frown overcame his features.
There was a shift, and Yukimura was watching the scene from above now, and he could feel everything, and the rush of emotions was dizzying, resentment, anger, joy and sorrow, and something brushed against him again, the cool metal of the silver armor, and Sanada looked up from his younger self and said: "I was never your equal", and everything disappeared from under them as a great bolt of lightning ripped the world asunder.
+
They stood facing each other in the large room that spanned the top floor of the eastern wing, once upon a time a ballroom and now their sparring room of choice. Three great chandeliers hung from the ornately carved ceiling depicting scenes of love and war, woven in a triptych painted above their heads, and the soft light of a hundred candles cast shimmering shadows on the polished wooden floor. Both were clad in black, for they were mourning the death of a friend, and both had their swords drawn, for only Yukimura's eyes were red-rimmed and bright with unshed tears.
The afternoon light died at their feet as they circled around each other, no longer constricted by protocol and the fear of being overheard. Tension hung heavy in the air as they readied their battle stances, perfect forms poised to attack at the blink of an eye, several feet of space and several years of growing hate standing in the way of their bloodthirsty blades.
"Why?"
Yukimura was the first to break the silence, and his voice was thick with emotion even as he lunged forward, the needle sharp tip of his rapier glancing past Sanada's cheek, leaving a hair-thin trail of blood behind. He retreated back a few steps, parrying the counter attack with ease bred out of desperation to hear the answer to his anguished question.
But Sanada remained silent, lips set in a grim line as he launched his own attack, his blade cutting Yukimura's pleas short; he'd never been much of a talker, after all. He nicked the other man in the arm, and watched as the thin material of his shirt parted, soaking up the blood seeping from the shallow cut. Yukimura appeared incensed by this, and he brought his own blade up, stepping dangerously close to his opponent as he breathed the words through gritted teeth:
"He didn't.. have.. to die!"
Sanada's eyes widened slightly, and a smirk briefly crossed his features as he landed another blow, lower on the thigh this time, and his voice was laced with venom when he replied:
"Renji was poisoning your mind, brother."
And the younger Prince snarled, anger twisting his features in an unrecognizable mask as he avoided Sanada's attack, and the one after that, all the while drawing closer, scoring nicks and cuts over the taller man even as he received his own share in the process.
"Don't you.. ever.. say his name again!"
And with a howl of anguish he buried his blade deep into his brother's heart, and watched as he sank to the ground, words forming on his lips even as life drained out of him, and a corner of his mouth twitched as he rasped with his dying breath:
"He always said... you'd be the one left standing.. in the end. Are you satisfied now.. brother?"
The last word died in his throat as Yukimura fell to his knees, cradling Sanada's broken body and tears were flowing freely down his face now as he rocked back and forth, unseeing eyes oblivious to the grisly scene around him, blood pooling around them both, so much blood he thought he might drown in it...
+
He came to with a gasp, and a great shudder rippled through his body as he backed away frantically from the terrible memory, but it was wrong, so wrong, that had never happened, right? He looked down at his hands expecting to find them stained crimson with his blood, with their blood, and didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified when he realized they were clean. And now he could see Sanada wore a similar expression of shock etched on his features, and his hands were gripping his chest as though he was expecting to find a bloody gaping hole where his heart was, beating frantically against his chest.
There was a whisper then, so faint it almost sounded like the desert sighing, and both heard it and thought they recognized Renji's voice, and it was saying you only see what you want to see, and Sanada's eyes were haunted as he got to his feet, and only then did they realize they were back in Lassän, high atop the battlements encircling the city. He grimaced as though his earlier words had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and leaned back against the rough stone indentations.
"I guess", he started, and his voice was losing that edge of uncertainty, "you should be careful what you wish for."
And he turned his back to Yukimura and surveyed the nomad encampment below, now grown thrice its usual size for the summer festival that attracted visitors from the world over. From all corners of the horizon noblemen and commoners alike were gathering, heralds proclaiming high and wide the prowesses of their masters, ensuring many more feats to come during the upcoming jousts and tournaments: it was a time of truce within the Empire, and all were invited to display their skills at the civilized game of war, and they were there too, astride their mighty stallions, Yukimura with his helmet under his arm, letting the hot summer breeze dry the sweat beading on his forehead, and Sanada adjusting a strap on his armor and gazing towards the east where a cloud of dust signalled an incoming rider...
Once more they were back in and above their younger selves, innocent and jaded as they relived that fateful day ten years ago, and Yukimura's heart sank as he saw the messenger approaching, and he felt the smile slip from his face as the haggard rider reported in a hushed whisper, and his grip on the lance he was preparing to use in the upcoming tournament slackened, the training weapon all but forgotten as it clattered to the ground. And now Sanada was urging his horse forward, clearly taken aback by the conflicting emotions he could see warring on the Prince's face...
The emotions were just as sharp as they'd been then, even as he stood atop the battlements watching the scene unfold once more before his eyes, and what cruel game was Renji playing at?
"Enough!", he shouted to the heavens, and he mustered all his concentration to shatter this painstakingly accurate reproduction of his memory, and the illusion faltered for a moment, the bone-white beach flickering into existence briefly, and the blood-red moon illuminated Lassän like a terrible omen of things to come.
+
Several mental lightyears away the Sorcerer regained consciousness altogether too fast, and his labored breathing echoed in the silent room atop the highest tower of Lassän, and his eyes grew wide and concerned as he watched the Prince struggle against the powerfully woven spell, fighting every inch of the way to return to his mortal body, fragile as it was.
Pushing past the pain in his own weary limbs he lay a trembling hand on the Prince's feverish brow, sadness evident in his troubled gaze as he whispered empty reassurances, knowing all the same all would be for nothing if Yukimura and Sanada didn't complete their journey. His fingers tightened around the Prince's forehead and the familiar incantation was back on his lips before he could change his mind. They had to understand, there was no other way, before it was too late, before they destroyed each other and everything in their wake...
+
They were back in the not-quite-dream, but the edges seemed frayed somehow: time jumped in frantic bursts, leaving only afterimages burning on the back of their eyes, almost too fast to grasp, as though they were trying desperately to reach the end. Running to our deaths in slow motion, and again they thought they heard Renji's voice but they were too tired to fight the onslaught of memories rushing back at them.
The kingdom's army, hastily assembled and awaiting the Prince's orders outside the walls of Lassän, the banners for the forgotten festival still fluttering incongruously in the faint summer wind.
Cold sweat running down his back, underneath the leather jerkin. We will rescue the King. His voice projected confidence to bolster the courage of his soldiers, but fear gnawed at him deep inside. What if they were too late?
Sanada squeezing his hand, in a rare moment of privacy. The simple comfort of his firm fingers encircling his own, wondering how he never noticed how they molded into each other so well.
Renji on his grey war-horse, compiling information gathered from the scouting parties they'd sent ahead even as they marched towards Asanth, stealing glances at Sanada sometimes, one hand curled tight against the hilt of his sword, like he was imagining the suffering his people were going through. Some wounds just weren't meant to heal. And Yukimura lost in his own internal guilt, blaming himself for not having led this campaign to the borderlands, wondering over and over if he could have done anything different to prevent this.
There was an air of grim finality about them; harbingers of the end of an era, and the army following in their footsteps was unnaturally silent, the clinks of their weapons muted against the oppressive atmosphere.
Jagged edges of the not-dream pierced at their hearts and minds: Asanth, burning from a hundred fires stirred by the restless wind, and the invaders sullying her natural beauty, ugly masked things wielding hooked spears and curved daggers, their sorcerers laughing as they cast lethal bursts of lightning at the approaching army.
Sanada, breaking formation with a contingent of men, crying out at the sight of his city, and for a moment Yukimura didn't matter and neither did the King and all he cared about was the handful of memories buried deep within his heart being shredded to pieces under his eyes. His aura glowed white-hot with rage, and he carved a bloody passage to the city gates, not caring who stood in his way, a sea of blood left in his wake.
Renji but a few paces behind him, urging his steed forward desperately, his words lost in the din of the battle as the press of bodies grew thicker around them.
A flash of light, outlining the silhouettes fighting on the cliff, Asanth's natural barrier against invaders, and the battle cry of the ageing King sounding loud and clear in their ears as he raised his sword against his masked opponent...
The pounding of hooves, the incessant clattering of metal against armor, blades piercing flesh and the unbearable human agony as soldiers tread over fallen bodies, the wet sound of blood everywhere, and his sword taking part in the deadly dance, dodging and slaying mechanically, his eyes trailing back to the cliff face every chance he could to catch a glimpse of his father...
He did not see the spell cast in his direction, did not register the electricity charging in the air until it was too late, only felt his mount crumple underneath him and the searing burn travelling down his spine, molten nerve endings spreading fire through every fiber of his body until he thought he had died, but the battle was still going on, and he grit his teeth against the pain because he could not, would not give up now, and he called upon resources he did not know he possessed, disentangling himself from his fallen steed, forcing his knees to lock in place as he spotted a riderless horse a short distance away. Sanada and Renji were out of sight now, but he could still catch up to them...
His vision blurred. White light against the black rock, and his soldiers fighting in a protective circle around him while he led them through the winding streets of the unfamiliar city. Father.. A hot wetness sliding down his back, sticking his garment to his back uncomfortably, but the armor did a good job of hiding the damage done. Just hang on a little longer..
There was a flash, and Sanada's howl was at once terrifying and broken-sounding, his path littered with the bodies of his fallen enemies, and he reached the cliff in time to see the King thrust his sword up to its jewel-encrusted hilt in his opponent's chest even as he stumbled forward, blood seeping profusely from a large gash in his side. Too far, too deep, and the faceless commander tried to wrench free the sword buried in him, denying the King the satisfaction of victory as he pulled him down the cliff with him, and Sanada lunged forward to reach for the King's arm, admiration and loathing warring within him as he tried to rescue the man he had not managed to keep hating entirely.
But his grasp was slippery and the weight too great, and the King nodded once at him, seeking his gaze even as life fled from his eyes, and in that brief instant more passed between them than all the years they'd spent learning to live alongside each other. Forgiveness came at high a cost, though, and Sanada felt the King's hold slacken, and soon he was swallowed in the fog rising from down below, where the waves crashed relentlessly againt the black cliff...
He felt a strange kind of emotion grip his heart as he picked up the King's crown, discarded during the brutal fight. He had freed himself from the demons of his past, but had gained little peace of mind in the process...
"Where is he?"
Yukimura's voice, halting. Breathless, confused, angry. Eyes like steel boring into his, glancing sharply down at the circlet of gold still clutched in his bloody hands. Again, the question came, louder, laced with terror and something else creeping underneath, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing:
"What have you done?"
Renji reached up, tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but the Prince slapped it away. Lost in a world of pain, shadows dancing in front of clouded eyes and all he could see clearly was Sanada holding his father's crown, and he should have seen it coming, wasn't this what he'd wanted all along?
But before he could answer a great shadow rolled across the land, and from down below a second wave of attackers came, pouring through the narrow streets in a deadly torrent, intent on avenging their deadly commander. And Yukimura threw himself in the battle, forgetting about everything, the agony in his body overshadowed by the one raging in his mind, and the only thing that made sense was his blade, dancing for him, dancing with him and soon he lost sight of Sanada, and even Renji faded from view as his world narrowed to a sea of faceless attackers, and madness encroached upon him with every life he took.
He could feel tears running down his cheeks, and he didn't know if he was Sanada or Yukimura or Renji now, names didn't matter anymore, they were drowning in a sea of emotions that were theirs and not, alien and yet so familiar like they'd never really gotten to go beyond skin deep and the layers were shed at once, brutally, drawing fresh blood and letting all the bitterness and the resentment out in an angry torrent...
Time spasmed, hiccupped forward again, winter came and went and still the war raged. Multiple fronts keeping them apart, like they could still pretend it was all going to be alright. Increasing mistrust, opinions clashing loudly in strategic meetings: Sanada raising his voice, saying attack was the best form of defense, and Yukimura looking down at his wounded kingdom, thrust upon the throne too quick..
Fire poisoning him slowly from the inside, and he appeared a ghost, and the terrifying visions he conjured drove his beautiful Lassän to ruins, his weakened body a target for supernatural denizens inhabiting the higher realms of existence. Hungry ghosts lining up to get a bite of his soul, his spirit and still he fought on, and the fight left him drained, unable to lead his army to repel the masked invaders.
A turning point: Sanada reclaiming Asanth for his own, and the black fortress shone again, and the title of Emperor started to circulate on people's lips, and it wasn't long before the rumour became prophecy. The Sorcerer by his side, direly needed to fight this strange new enemy yet longing for peace and the promise of the Prince's safety. But he could not go back, not when Yukimura had made it clear he had chosen his side.. There never were any sides to begin with, can't you see this now?
Civil unrest spreading through the kingdom, and the army spread thin enough as it was: it was a logical decision in the end, though it cost him much to admit it. Unite the kingdom under his rule, else they must all perish... The Emperor had to defeat the Prince, once and for all.
+
Dawn peeked through the open curtains, the first rays of sunlight creeping alongside the smooth stone of the tower until eventually they fell upon the two still figures, coating them in pale golden light.
The Prince awoke first, wide startled eyes landing on the slumped form next to him, one hand reaching out tentatively to the Sorcerer whose eyes fluttered weakly as he felt the ghost of a touch on his cheek. His skin was ashen in the morning light, and deep shadows haunted his eyes, but still he managed to push himself to his feet, wavering for a moment before he caught himself on the edge of a table. The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, against all odds, and it held no regret, only sadness for the time they had not seen drift away from them.
"Now you see.. why I had to do it.. right?"
He smiled once more, and then crumpled soundlessly to the floor, eyelids drifting shut serenely even as Yukimura cried out, reaching out for Renji to hold him close, burying his face in the crook of his neck as the tears he'd been waiting to shed all these years finally found their release. He cradled the Sorcerer's body against his, rocking gently as though he could take back everything he'd said or done to push him away, to reclaim the last ten years of his life...
He did not know how long he stood there, but eventually he ran out of tears and he straightened up, wiping a hand across his face before gingerly laying Renji on top of his bed, arranging his hands carefully in his lip. He knew what he had to do now.
The sun was higher in the sky as he made his way down the many steps of the pale tower, and each step cost him dearly, for the sickness cast upon him so many years ago had taken its toll on his body, and the sword he held in his hand clattered against the stone steps when his grip weakened. He refused to let his mind wander back to the dark images he'd all but relived a few hours ago; figuring out when it had all gone to wrong was still too painful, even now.
His vision spun by the time he reached the ground floor, and he stepped outside and leaned against the tower, weary eyes wandering over the empty plazas and overgrown gardens. It was all too easy to pretend he could see Lassän as it had been, and forget anything had ever happened.. He yearned for the innocence of days long gone, futile a wish as that was, and was almost glad for the distraction from his somber thoughts when he spotted a familiar silhouette walking slowly towards him.
His breath caught in his throat, and the sword lay limply at his side, point scraping the stone tiles as he uttered his name: "Sanada." And for the first time in ten years, he said it without hate or malice, and there was a great sadness within him as he thought of all that Renji had done to make him realize that there never should have been.
And Sanada was framed in the light now, all sharp edges and every bit the Emperor the kingdom desperately needed, and he must have read Yukimura's thoughts, for he said simply: "I cannot do it without you", and it was all he'd ever wanted to hear, because when had Sanada ever needed him, when he had Renji by his side and they were acclaimed as the heroes defending the realm? And Yukimura could feel the strength flowing through Sanada, his quiet confidence filling him with enough resolve to push himself up against the wall, afraid he would collapse without its support.
The sword fell, useless, to the ground, and the Prince turned his gaze towards the Emperor, sudden horror filling his gaze as he remembered polished wooden floors and a spreading pool of blood, and the dark lifeless eyes staring in silent accusation even in death, and he knew just as well as Sanada did they were irrevocably part of each other, two sides of the same coin, and that was what Renji had been trying so hard to tell them all this time, when it had been in front of them all this time. And the Prince took the Emperor's hand in his, and it was a gesture of comfort and a peace offering and so much more, and his voice echoed the reviving embers in his heart as he replied:
"You won't ever need to."
+the end+
For: shiroibara
Title: But, What Ends When the Symbols Shatter?
Pairing/characters: Troika-ish
Rating: R for violence, I'd say
Warning (if any): AU. Abuse of the word "and". Angst, blood, death, flashbacks, shameless theft of Death in June song title
Summary: Once upon a time, they thought they could make it work. Now they're at the brink of war, and only one person stands in the way of mutually assured destruction: this is the tale of the Prince, the Emperor, and the Sorcerer
Notes (if any): I really hope you enjoy this! I tried to fulfill as many of the requirements as I could, but in the end I think this story just ran away from me, and.. yeah, I'm semi-terrified you'll hate me for it, but give it a chance, please! ^^
The sun lay low across the valley, casting its last golden rays across the shimmering towers of Lassän, the fabled Eternal City once reknowned as the jewel of the empire, who had once outshone all others in the magnificence of its thousand spires; Lassän, last remnant of an age of powerful sorcery so far in the past the very origin of the city lay shrouded in mystery.
Yet now the exquisite architecture crumbled under the strain of time and the wars fought over her, and many of her towers stood empty, inhabited only by the ghosts of those who had sought to defend her, some said. Others said it was but the forlorn wind blowing from the desert that sang a wistful tune as it meandered through fallen archways and porticos, yet even they declined to spend the night in the city, retreating instead to the semi-permanent nomad encampment that had spread around the outside walls over the years.
Fires flickered between the erected tents of colourful cloth, and the smells of a hundred spices mingled as traders, merchants, explorers and other men of fortune settled down to enjoy their evening meal. Here and there bards and entertainers broke into songs, plucking the strings of complex wooden instruments, their voices rising above the howl of the wind; and the traditional songs were echoed by all, and all kept their backs to the silent city and the ghosts it withheld.
The streets of Lassän were all but deserted now as dusk gave way to night, and the robed figure made his way silently through the western gates, slipping past the guards with practiced ease. His long stride covered the cobblestoned alleys effortlessly, gliding past shuttered windows and boarded-up doors, most of which bore painted sigils warding against restless spirits. A soft sigh escaped his lips, and slender fingertips brushed against the still-fresh paint: he could remember a time when such protection would have been laughed at by the bold, brash population of the city, before it became a shadow of itself, before... He pursed his lips, straightening unconsciously before resuming his trek through the lonely avenues: the buildings there seemed weathered by more than time, as though a peculiar kind of melancholy had eroded the once beautiful facades.
Eventually he came to a garden, and in the center of the garden there stood a tower of pale blue marble, and the tower itself seemed to glow faintly as it bathed in the rays of moonlights descending from a cloudless sky. At the foot of the tower the entrance door stood open, and the hooded figure paused, staring uncertainly at the spiralling staircase for a moment before entering, and a peculiar expression crossed his features, a flickering of the eyes, a tilt of the head that might have been anger and might have been regret, and probably was a mixture of both.
Silently he made his way up the stairs, glancing outside through the intricate stained-glass windows that lined the curved walls and allowed views of the faded glory of the city, its overgrown gardens and rubble-filled alleyways, and beyond that the fragile layer of human life huddled around the ivy-covered walls, and beyond that the great sighing desert whose ivory dunes hid the legions of the Emperor, poised to strike at first light and vanquish once and for all eternal Lassän.
When at last he stood at the threshold of the chamber he paused, running his hands lightly over the carved wood inset with precious stones, sapphires and jades whose disposition hid complex runes designed to part unwary intruders from their mortal coils. He did not need to heighten his perception to the unseen planes to know than more than a few foolish souls had relinquished the hold on their souls at this very door. But he had been instrumental in deciphering the runes left behind by the mysterious founders of the city, and though he could not hope to replicate their prowess in the sorcerous arts, he had gained over the course of the years a deep understanding of their underlying principles.
Thus his fingers found themselves remembering the complex paths to follow, and his mind adjusted to the peculiar geometry of the now faintly pulsing runes, and with a rush he felt the old familiar power coursing through his body, probing and testing him until he was deemed worthy of entering, as though the city itself sought to defend her last precious child. With a faint creak, the doors reluctantly parted, leaving the sorcerer slightly dazed at the entrance of the Prince's quarters.
"At last, my liege..", he breathed, and his voice was but a whisper rippling through the still air of the silent room. His feet tread silenty on thick embroidered carpets, and on the walls hung dark tapestries of red and black and thread-of-gold and the curtains were pulled open, a thousand faraway stars casting their pale glow on the exquisitely carved furnishings. He passed by a small table on which lay a silver tray, the food on it untouched, coated in a thin layer of dust, as everything else in the room seemed to be; and this realization tugged at his heart in ways words could not describe, and he found himself almost running the last steps to the four-poster bed that stood by the tallest window.
A faint breeze blew from the open window, sending shivers through the fine veils obscuring the occupant of the bed. Stilling his wildly beating heart, the robed figure reached for the gossamer-like material and pulled it back slowly, and despite himself a gasp escaped his lips as he gazed at the man he believed he would never meet again. With skin of alabaster and raven tresses curling down the side of his narrow face, the Prince seemed to have aged not a day since they parted ways so many summers ago... Yet his unnatural pallor and stillness was enough to convince him the monarch of Lassän had suffered his share of trials over the years, albeit of a different nature than his own.
Gingerly he knelt by the bed, and the soft rustle of cloth was enough to stir the Prince from his slumber, as troubled, feverish eyes sought the source of the sound. His pupils dilated in the near darkness eve as he struggled to sit upright, and as recognition dawned on his features his eyes grew cold, but the sorcerer wasted no time in placing his hands on the Prince's temples, and his incantation was already well underway when the Prince placed his own hand atop his, his grip weakening as the spell took effect; confused, betrayed eyes sliding slowly shut. His body grew limp, and the sorcerer laid him back against the pillows carefully.
"Sleep, Seiichi.. Dream, remember, and perchance, hope to forget..", he whispered as he wiped a faint sheen of sweat from his brow.
And then, shifting slightly so that his back rested against Yukimura's bed, Renji closed his eyes and prepared for the long wait ahead. He could only hope his efforts wouldn't be in vain, that he wasn't wasting his energy on a hopeless endeavour. Withdrawing the Emperor's Seal from his pocket, he channelled all his knowledge of the dark arts and projected his mind out, past the boundaries of the mortal plane and into the shifting dimensions beyond, where he'd banished his friends' souls and spirits to. He didn't notice the faint trembling in his limbs as he sought them out, praying with all his might he had made the right decision.
+
He woke up on an unfamiliar shore where a black sea lapped at fragile dunes tinted red by the blood moon above; and yet for all the perpetual motion of the ocean he could hear no sound save for his own breathing and the frantic tattoo of his heart beating against his chest. Taking a moment to compose himself, he forced his clenched fists to relax and watched the fine grains of sand sift between his fingers, carried away by an unseen breeze. Sitting back on his heels he let his eyes drift shut for a moment, letting his senses open to encompass the alien world around him: he knew he could not hope to rival Renji when it came to sorcery, but his talents lay in fields not entirely unrelated to it. At the the thought of what had been done to him his concentration faltered as a wave of red hot anger swept though his lean frame. If the sorcerer had managed to send him here -and his perception of where 'here' was was getting harder to hang on to, as though his memories were being stolen away one by one, then he had to be around as well.
With a jolt he came to his feet, straggering slightly on the uneven terrain, and he noted absent-mindedly he was barefoot, and still clad in the loose silk pants and tunic he had been wearing when he had gone to bed. Perhaps he was sleeping now, he mused as he surveyed the silent expanse of white, red and black stretching to the starless sky. He'd been sick for so long... And then the world blinked, all colours washing away into an eternity of black, and whe he could see again he was there, his sword already drawn, the Empire's crest engraved on his silver armor.
The Emperor's eyes were unreadable as he lunged at the Prince, and the blade made no sound entering his body, and the white sand shone crimson before they felt themselves falling and everything faded to black once more .
+
There was pain, and then there was blissful oblivion, and after that there was light, so much light it burned the back of his eyelids orange, and warmth too, so he thought he might not be dead yet, although that thought left him perplexed even as it crossed his mind. Nothing made very much sense at the moment: he could sense another presence next to him, a brush of metal against his arm, yet he felt no alarm. For now he was floating, and he could feel the warm wind brushing locks of hair from his forehead, and distantly he could make out a chorus of bells and the hubbub of civilization somewhere down below.
So he opened his eyes to find himself back in Lassän, but Lassän was resplendent, as it had been so many years ago, and flowers grew on every balcony and every tower bore the flags of the ruling Houses, reds and yellows and blues adorned with eagles, dragons and other such noble creatures, and the streets were bursting with life everywhere, and he was in the midst of it all. He felt a rush of exhiliration as he swept through the streets, and for a while he was the wind itself, rushing and rising to play with fluttering curtains, sliding past the tall windows of an too familiar tower..
All too suddenly he was back, looking at the world through the eyes of his eight-year old self, and with a pang of rememberance he realized Renji was there too, a smile threatening to break out on his studious face as Yukimura made faces behind the old teacher's back. The walls was covered in ancient scroll depicting the world and its oceans and strange islands and Lassän in the middle of it all, and the old man was telling them about their history, the long heritage and the Borderlands always a step away from secession from the Empire, but his mind was elsewhere, on the sun shining outside and the friend he'd all but grown up with, and how Renji had promised to show him a new trick today from that spellbook he wasn't supposed to know how to decipher yet... He could hardly wait! He tossed his head to the side impatiently, and his soft curls caught the light, like the moon touching the depths of the ocean...
There was a sharp tugging sensation from deep within, and he caught a glimpse of another place -Asanth-, a city built of dark stone streaked with azure that melded into impossibly high cliffs towering over a raging ocean, and that city was full of life too, with armored troops assembling in the slanting streets underneath great statues worn smooth by buffeting winds, and there were women shouting from open windows, throwing tokens of affection to departing loved ones and somewhere deep within the city there was a boy with intense black eyes who refused to let tears show in his eyes as his father prepared to head the army heading inland. Around his neck hung the heavy chain entrusted to him, and the cold weight comforted and terrified him at the same time, and he cried out once at his retreating father's back, and overhead a great flock of black birds cawed ominously. He felt a dark pain wrapping around his heart then, as though the boy knew the mighty general was never to set foot in his city again, and behind him the council of chancellors watched grimly as the army set off, the clattering of a thousand booted feet echoing between the walls of the citadel..
Winter washed over them and everyday the boy waited at the top of the highest tower, hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning army, or even a messenger bearing news, and the blizzard bit cruelly at his skin, and his eyes grew hard with every passing day. Yukimura felt the cold seeping into his bones and everythin was so horribly unfamiliar, as though he was trapped in the wrong body and he sought to escape back to the desert and the oasis on which Lassän had been erected, away from the bitter wind...
Spring brought pale desert flowers blooming pink in the folds of the dunes encircling the city, and the old wives saw the rare occurrence as a good omen as the king returned victorious from his campaign, and beside him rode a boy with dark hair and cold black eyes, his head held high even in defeat, and his wounded pride was the price he'd paid to save his people.
"The chancellors made the right choice", the King said, not unkindly.
"It was my decision", the boy replied, and his eyes narrowed as he watched a lithe figure about his age running up to the king, his smile illuminating the world around him as he greeted his father, relief evident in his face. Then the boy turned curious eyes towards him, and his expression grew imperceptibly more shielded, but the King simply said: "This is Sanada. He will be staying with us now."
A few steps away a taller boy watched the scene unfold, and a pensive frown overcame his features.
There was a shift, and Yukimura was watching the scene from above now, and he could feel everything, and the rush of emotions was dizzying, resentment, anger, joy and sorrow, and something brushed against him again, the cool metal of the silver armor, and Sanada looked up from his younger self and said: "I was never your equal", and everything disappeared from under them as a great bolt of lightning ripped the world asunder.
+
They stood facing each other in the large room that spanned the top floor of the eastern wing, once upon a time a ballroom and now their sparring room of choice. Three great chandeliers hung from the ornately carved ceiling depicting scenes of love and war, woven in a triptych painted above their heads, and the soft light of a hundred candles cast shimmering shadows on the polished wooden floor. Both were clad in black, for they were mourning the death of a friend, and both had their swords drawn, for only Yukimura's eyes were red-rimmed and bright with unshed tears.
The afternoon light died at their feet as they circled around each other, no longer constricted by protocol and the fear of being overheard. Tension hung heavy in the air as they readied their battle stances, perfect forms poised to attack at the blink of an eye, several feet of space and several years of growing hate standing in the way of their bloodthirsty blades.
"Why?"
Yukimura was the first to break the silence, and his voice was thick with emotion even as he lunged forward, the needle sharp tip of his rapier glancing past Sanada's cheek, leaving a hair-thin trail of blood behind. He retreated back a few steps, parrying the counter attack with ease bred out of desperation to hear the answer to his anguished question.
But Sanada remained silent, lips set in a grim line as he launched his own attack, his blade cutting Yukimura's pleas short; he'd never been much of a talker, after all. He nicked the other man in the arm, and watched as the thin material of his shirt parted, soaking up the blood seeping from the shallow cut. Yukimura appeared incensed by this, and he brought his own blade up, stepping dangerously close to his opponent as he breathed the words through gritted teeth:
"He didn't.. have.. to die!"
Sanada's eyes widened slightly, and a smirk briefly crossed his features as he landed another blow, lower on the thigh this time, and his voice was laced with venom when he replied:
"Renji was poisoning your mind, brother."
And the younger Prince snarled, anger twisting his features in an unrecognizable mask as he avoided Sanada's attack, and the one after that, all the while drawing closer, scoring nicks and cuts over the taller man even as he received his own share in the process.
"Don't you.. ever.. say his name again!"
And with a howl of anguish he buried his blade deep into his brother's heart, and watched as he sank to the ground, words forming on his lips even as life drained out of him, and a corner of his mouth twitched as he rasped with his dying breath:
"He always said... you'd be the one left standing.. in the end. Are you satisfied now.. brother?"
The last word died in his throat as Yukimura fell to his knees, cradling Sanada's broken body and tears were flowing freely down his face now as he rocked back and forth, unseeing eyes oblivious to the grisly scene around him, blood pooling around them both, so much blood he thought he might drown in it...
+
He came to with a gasp, and a great shudder rippled through his body as he backed away frantically from the terrible memory, but it was wrong, so wrong, that had never happened, right? He looked down at his hands expecting to find them stained crimson with his blood, with their blood, and didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified when he realized they were clean. And now he could see Sanada wore a similar expression of shock etched on his features, and his hands were gripping his chest as though he was expecting to find a bloody gaping hole where his heart was, beating frantically against his chest.
There was a whisper then, so faint it almost sounded like the desert sighing, and both heard it and thought they recognized Renji's voice, and it was saying you only see what you want to see, and Sanada's eyes were haunted as he got to his feet, and only then did they realize they were back in Lassän, high atop the battlements encircling the city. He grimaced as though his earlier words had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and leaned back against the rough stone indentations.
"I guess", he started, and his voice was losing that edge of uncertainty, "you should be careful what you wish for."
And he turned his back to Yukimura and surveyed the nomad encampment below, now grown thrice its usual size for the summer festival that attracted visitors from the world over. From all corners of the horizon noblemen and commoners alike were gathering, heralds proclaiming high and wide the prowesses of their masters, ensuring many more feats to come during the upcoming jousts and tournaments: it was a time of truce within the Empire, and all were invited to display their skills at the civilized game of war, and they were there too, astride their mighty stallions, Yukimura with his helmet under his arm, letting the hot summer breeze dry the sweat beading on his forehead, and Sanada adjusting a strap on his armor and gazing towards the east where a cloud of dust signalled an incoming rider...
Once more they were back in and above their younger selves, innocent and jaded as they relived that fateful day ten years ago, and Yukimura's heart sank as he saw the messenger approaching, and he felt the smile slip from his face as the haggard rider reported in a hushed whisper, and his grip on the lance he was preparing to use in the upcoming tournament slackened, the training weapon all but forgotten as it clattered to the ground. And now Sanada was urging his horse forward, clearly taken aback by the conflicting emotions he could see warring on the Prince's face...
The emotions were just as sharp as they'd been then, even as he stood atop the battlements watching the scene unfold once more before his eyes, and what cruel game was Renji playing at?
"Enough!", he shouted to the heavens, and he mustered all his concentration to shatter this painstakingly accurate reproduction of his memory, and the illusion faltered for a moment, the bone-white beach flickering into existence briefly, and the blood-red moon illuminated Lassän like a terrible omen of things to come.
+
Several mental lightyears away the Sorcerer regained consciousness altogether too fast, and his labored breathing echoed in the silent room atop the highest tower of Lassän, and his eyes grew wide and concerned as he watched the Prince struggle against the powerfully woven spell, fighting every inch of the way to return to his mortal body, fragile as it was.
Pushing past the pain in his own weary limbs he lay a trembling hand on the Prince's feverish brow, sadness evident in his troubled gaze as he whispered empty reassurances, knowing all the same all would be for nothing if Yukimura and Sanada didn't complete their journey. His fingers tightened around the Prince's forehead and the familiar incantation was back on his lips before he could change his mind. They had to understand, there was no other way, before it was too late, before they destroyed each other and everything in their wake...
+
They were back in the not-quite-dream, but the edges seemed frayed somehow: time jumped in frantic bursts, leaving only afterimages burning on the back of their eyes, almost too fast to grasp, as though they were trying desperately to reach the end. Running to our deaths in slow motion, and again they thought they heard Renji's voice but they were too tired to fight the onslaught of memories rushing back at them.
The kingdom's army, hastily assembled and awaiting the Prince's orders outside the walls of Lassän, the banners for the forgotten festival still fluttering incongruously in the faint summer wind.
Cold sweat running down his back, underneath the leather jerkin. We will rescue the King. His voice projected confidence to bolster the courage of his soldiers, but fear gnawed at him deep inside. What if they were too late?
Sanada squeezing his hand, in a rare moment of privacy. The simple comfort of his firm fingers encircling his own, wondering how he never noticed how they molded into each other so well.
Renji on his grey war-horse, compiling information gathered from the scouting parties they'd sent ahead even as they marched towards Asanth, stealing glances at Sanada sometimes, one hand curled tight against the hilt of his sword, like he was imagining the suffering his people were going through. Some wounds just weren't meant to heal. And Yukimura lost in his own internal guilt, blaming himself for not having led this campaign to the borderlands, wondering over and over if he could have done anything different to prevent this.
There was an air of grim finality about them; harbingers of the end of an era, and the army following in their footsteps was unnaturally silent, the clinks of their weapons muted against the oppressive atmosphere.
Jagged edges of the not-dream pierced at their hearts and minds: Asanth, burning from a hundred fires stirred by the restless wind, and the invaders sullying her natural beauty, ugly masked things wielding hooked spears and curved daggers, their sorcerers laughing as they cast lethal bursts of lightning at the approaching army.
Sanada, breaking formation with a contingent of men, crying out at the sight of his city, and for a moment Yukimura didn't matter and neither did the King and all he cared about was the handful of memories buried deep within his heart being shredded to pieces under his eyes. His aura glowed white-hot with rage, and he carved a bloody passage to the city gates, not caring who stood in his way, a sea of blood left in his wake.
Renji but a few paces behind him, urging his steed forward desperately, his words lost in the din of the battle as the press of bodies grew thicker around them.
A flash of light, outlining the silhouettes fighting on the cliff, Asanth's natural barrier against invaders, and the battle cry of the ageing King sounding loud and clear in their ears as he raised his sword against his masked opponent...
The pounding of hooves, the incessant clattering of metal against armor, blades piercing flesh and the unbearable human agony as soldiers tread over fallen bodies, the wet sound of blood everywhere, and his sword taking part in the deadly dance, dodging and slaying mechanically, his eyes trailing back to the cliff face every chance he could to catch a glimpse of his father...
He did not see the spell cast in his direction, did not register the electricity charging in the air until it was too late, only felt his mount crumple underneath him and the searing burn travelling down his spine, molten nerve endings spreading fire through every fiber of his body until he thought he had died, but the battle was still going on, and he grit his teeth against the pain because he could not, would not give up now, and he called upon resources he did not know he possessed, disentangling himself from his fallen steed, forcing his knees to lock in place as he spotted a riderless horse a short distance away. Sanada and Renji were out of sight now, but he could still catch up to them...
His vision blurred. White light against the black rock, and his soldiers fighting in a protective circle around him while he led them through the winding streets of the unfamiliar city. Father.. A hot wetness sliding down his back, sticking his garment to his back uncomfortably, but the armor did a good job of hiding the damage done. Just hang on a little longer..
There was a flash, and Sanada's howl was at once terrifying and broken-sounding, his path littered with the bodies of his fallen enemies, and he reached the cliff in time to see the King thrust his sword up to its jewel-encrusted hilt in his opponent's chest even as he stumbled forward, blood seeping profusely from a large gash in his side. Too far, too deep, and the faceless commander tried to wrench free the sword buried in him, denying the King the satisfaction of victory as he pulled him down the cliff with him, and Sanada lunged forward to reach for the King's arm, admiration and loathing warring within him as he tried to rescue the man he had not managed to keep hating entirely.
But his grasp was slippery and the weight too great, and the King nodded once at him, seeking his gaze even as life fled from his eyes, and in that brief instant more passed between them than all the years they'd spent learning to live alongside each other. Forgiveness came at high a cost, though, and Sanada felt the King's hold slacken, and soon he was swallowed in the fog rising from down below, where the waves crashed relentlessly againt the black cliff...
He felt a strange kind of emotion grip his heart as he picked up the King's crown, discarded during the brutal fight. He had freed himself from the demons of his past, but had gained little peace of mind in the process...
"Where is he?"
Yukimura's voice, halting. Breathless, confused, angry. Eyes like steel boring into his, glancing sharply down at the circlet of gold still clutched in his bloody hands. Again, the question came, louder, laced with terror and something else creeping underneath, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing:
"What have you done?"
Renji reached up, tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but the Prince slapped it away. Lost in a world of pain, shadows dancing in front of clouded eyes and all he could see clearly was Sanada holding his father's crown, and he should have seen it coming, wasn't this what he'd wanted all along?
But before he could answer a great shadow rolled across the land, and from down below a second wave of attackers came, pouring through the narrow streets in a deadly torrent, intent on avenging their deadly commander. And Yukimura threw himself in the battle, forgetting about everything, the agony in his body overshadowed by the one raging in his mind, and the only thing that made sense was his blade, dancing for him, dancing with him and soon he lost sight of Sanada, and even Renji faded from view as his world narrowed to a sea of faceless attackers, and madness encroached upon him with every life he took.
He could feel tears running down his cheeks, and he didn't know if he was Sanada or Yukimura or Renji now, names didn't matter anymore, they were drowning in a sea of emotions that were theirs and not, alien and yet so familiar like they'd never really gotten to go beyond skin deep and the layers were shed at once, brutally, drawing fresh blood and letting all the bitterness and the resentment out in an angry torrent...
Time spasmed, hiccupped forward again, winter came and went and still the war raged. Multiple fronts keeping them apart, like they could still pretend it was all going to be alright. Increasing mistrust, opinions clashing loudly in strategic meetings: Sanada raising his voice, saying attack was the best form of defense, and Yukimura looking down at his wounded kingdom, thrust upon the throne too quick..
Fire poisoning him slowly from the inside, and he appeared a ghost, and the terrifying visions he conjured drove his beautiful Lassän to ruins, his weakened body a target for supernatural denizens inhabiting the higher realms of existence. Hungry ghosts lining up to get a bite of his soul, his spirit and still he fought on, and the fight left him drained, unable to lead his army to repel the masked invaders.
A turning point: Sanada reclaiming Asanth for his own, and the black fortress shone again, and the title of Emperor started to circulate on people's lips, and it wasn't long before the rumour became prophecy. The Sorcerer by his side, direly needed to fight this strange new enemy yet longing for peace and the promise of the Prince's safety. But he could not go back, not when Yukimura had made it clear he had chosen his side.. There never were any sides to begin with, can't you see this now?
Civil unrest spreading through the kingdom, and the army spread thin enough as it was: it was a logical decision in the end, though it cost him much to admit it. Unite the kingdom under his rule, else they must all perish... The Emperor had to defeat the Prince, once and for all.
+
Dawn peeked through the open curtains, the first rays of sunlight creeping alongside the smooth stone of the tower until eventually they fell upon the two still figures, coating them in pale golden light.
The Prince awoke first, wide startled eyes landing on the slumped form next to him, one hand reaching out tentatively to the Sorcerer whose eyes fluttered weakly as he felt the ghost of a touch on his cheek. His skin was ashen in the morning light, and deep shadows haunted his eyes, but still he managed to push himself to his feet, wavering for a moment before he caught himself on the edge of a table. The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, against all odds, and it held no regret, only sadness for the time they had not seen drift away from them.
"Now you see.. why I had to do it.. right?"
He smiled once more, and then crumpled soundlessly to the floor, eyelids drifting shut serenely even as Yukimura cried out, reaching out for Renji to hold him close, burying his face in the crook of his neck as the tears he'd been waiting to shed all these years finally found their release. He cradled the Sorcerer's body against his, rocking gently as though he could take back everything he'd said or done to push him away, to reclaim the last ten years of his life...
He did not know how long he stood there, but eventually he ran out of tears and he straightened up, wiping a hand across his face before gingerly laying Renji on top of his bed, arranging his hands carefully in his lip. He knew what he had to do now.
The sun was higher in the sky as he made his way down the many steps of the pale tower, and each step cost him dearly, for the sickness cast upon him so many years ago had taken its toll on his body, and the sword he held in his hand clattered against the stone steps when his grip weakened. He refused to let his mind wander back to the dark images he'd all but relived a few hours ago; figuring out when it had all gone to wrong was still too painful, even now.
His vision spun by the time he reached the ground floor, and he stepped outside and leaned against the tower, weary eyes wandering over the empty plazas and overgrown gardens. It was all too easy to pretend he could see Lassän as it had been, and forget anything had ever happened.. He yearned for the innocence of days long gone, futile a wish as that was, and was almost glad for the distraction from his somber thoughts when he spotted a familiar silhouette walking slowly towards him.
His breath caught in his throat, and the sword lay limply at his side, point scraping the stone tiles as he uttered his name: "Sanada." And for the first time in ten years, he said it without hate or malice, and there was a great sadness within him as he thought of all that Renji had done to make him realize that there never should have been.
And Sanada was framed in the light now, all sharp edges and every bit the Emperor the kingdom desperately needed, and he must have read Yukimura's thoughts, for he said simply: "I cannot do it without you", and it was all he'd ever wanted to hear, because when had Sanada ever needed him, when he had Renji by his side and they were acclaimed as the heroes defending the realm? And Yukimura could feel the strength flowing through Sanada, his quiet confidence filling him with enough resolve to push himself up against the wall, afraid he would collapse without its support.
The sword fell, useless, to the ground, and the Prince turned his gaze towards the Emperor, sudden horror filling his gaze as he remembered polished wooden floors and a spreading pool of blood, and the dark lifeless eyes staring in silent accusation even in death, and he knew just as well as Sanada did they were irrevocably part of each other, two sides of the same coin, and that was what Renji had been trying so hard to tell them all this time, when it had been in front of them all this time. And the Prince took the Emperor's hand in his, and it was a gesture of comfort and a peace offering and so much more, and his voice echoed the reviving embers in his heart as he replied:
"You won't ever need to."
+the end+