Out of reach
Pairing: Chanyeol/Kris
Fandom: EXO
Word count: 1.8k
Rating: PG
Warning: Character Death
A/N: Goddamned heartbreaking thing
An elephant. That’s what it was called; what Chanyeol had heard them called before and he and Yifan had just been forced to kill it. The enormous creature lay on its side, bloodied and still and it pains him to see it laid low. Chanyeol’s breath is coming hard and his shield arm aches from a blow taken during the struggle but at least he was still able to draw breath. Unlike this mighty elephant, whose trumpeting cries would never be heard again.
Chanyeol had been set against lions, bears and even tigers from his home land. He had faced them knowing that they were innocent creatures with no real wish to harm him except to preserve their own life. Each time he faced claws and teeth he felt sadness that these beautiful creatures were used for entertainment. He felt a kinship with them knowing that they had been kidnapped, tormented and forced to fight to live just he had been. It was all in the name of entertainment. Each day ended with him silently farewelling his wild opponent in his mind.
The pair of warriors were able to share a relieved look. Chanyeol grinned, suppressing a chuckle at their victory while Yifan’s customary grimace threatened to register the relief he felt.
Chanyeol rises from his knees first and offers a hand to help the former Captain of the Han legion up. Yifan shakes his head and drags his own body upright so that he is eye to eye with the ‘Thorn of Joy’. It’s a private nickname he has bestowed upon the ever smiling man. Chanyeol’s smile and optimism grates on his pragmatic view of the world, pricking him like a thorn and reminding him of all he has lost and freedom he dares never to wish for again.
At first Yifan thought that Chanyeol was addled. Maybe he was damaged during his capture either physically or psychologically. It wasn’t unheard of for slaves captured from their homelands to go mad. In fact it was quite common. Chanyeol however, hadn’t seemed witless. He had only possessed a completely alien set of rules for dealing with the world. It had taken their entire voyage, more than a year at sea, for Yifan to realise that it was simply his habit to smile, to always see the best in situations and people and to never give up hope for something better. He loved and hated it at the same time.
Reality intrudes as Yifan hears the next round being announced. His blood runs cold at what he hears. He glances quickly over to Chanyeol who still hasn’t understood. That idiot, he never did understand the foreign tongue of his captors. He was brilliant at swinging a sword or slinging an insult but he had never gotten the hang of the language that was almost sung here. Yifan on the other hand understood perfectly and it made him want to run. There was nowhere to run to of course, but he still wanted to take Chanyeol’s hand and drag him from this place even if it meant they were both struck down. The thought of dying hand in hand with the fool, his fool, had a melancholy appeal.
A plan. He needed a plan and he cast about desperately for something to bring him hope. The only options at this point left both or either of them dead. The announcement you see, was for a fight to the death between the survivors.
The dreaded moment had come. The moment that Yifan had known might come and had kept him awake at nights. He had long ago decided the outcome. It was a selfish decision in some ways because it was the one that made his heart hurt the least.
“Chanyeol. Did you hear?” Yifan calmly addresses his Thorn over the clamouring crowd.
“You know I can’t understand their jabbering. Are we done?” Chanyeol queries and Yifan shakes his head.
“No, they have called ‘Last Victor’ Chanyeol.” Yifan patiently waits for it to sink in. Chanyeol blinks in denial until he realises what Yifan means. He really isn’t stupid, just a little too hopeful some times.
“No…” Chanyeol doesn’t know what specifically he is rejecting, only that he wants nothing to do with any of this. He knows that running, throwing down his weapons and refusing to fight will all result in execution for both of them. He thinks that it wouldn’t be too bad to die alongside Yifan. Regret for their situation stains the sentiment of the sacrifice slightly but Chanyeol is desperate and he’ll take whatever he can get at this point.
Then he has a crazy idea. Yifan’s reflexes are superb. His fighting instincts are unmatched and it’s the reason that he and Chanyeol are still alive. One well aimed feint will provoke a deadly strike. Chanyeol thinks it’s the least he can do, to lay down his life for someone so strong and beautiful.
There is pain in their eyes as Yifan begins to circle and Chanyeol feels his nerve falter. He reminds himself that Yifan will strike quickly and his death will be mercifully quick. It’s not really the pain that he is afraid of, it’s that this will be his last glimpse of Yifan. He has had more than his share of one and not nearly enough of the other in his short life. In his heart he decides and after sending up a prayer for forgiveness he acts.
Chanyeol forces his sword arm up and out in a wild attack while dropping his shield to leave his flank unguarded. He yells and charges gamely. It’s uncontrolled and he telegraphs his intent like a novice. The awful clash and soft noise as the weapon carves through a weak point in armour and continues into yielding flesh is swallowed by the din from thousands of clamouring spectators. There is a sickening wrongness to the scene that Chanyeol’s brain rejects. Any opponent worth a metal sword would have been able to move to block such a poor strike. Yifan certainly should have been able to do that and more. He could have blocked and then countered with a strike of his own that would have Chanyeol spilling his life onto the dirt instead of him.
Why did he do that? Chanyeol wonders as he sees Yifan slowly crumple to the ground, red blood swelling up and dripping out of his armour.
A deafening cheer goes up from the stands tainted by the jeers of the spectacle ending so quickly. Onlookers react with the exuberant joy of the show or disgust at a lost bet. The gravity of the events unfolding in the centre of the arena is felt only by the two involved.
The roar brings the world crashing down on Chanyeol. His once fierce expression is replaced by desolation and pain. Chanyeol feels his soul torn in two, far more painful than any wound incurred in battle. It brings him to his knees and his shield is gone. He crawls over to shake Yifan and their eyes lock for a few desperate moments. The breath rattles in Yifan’s chest as he inhales. He tries to bring his hand up but his strength is failing. The sluggish heart beats that now mark their remaining time together can be counted on two hands.
“Chan-yeol… To the end,” sighs Yifan’s last breath. It’s meant to be an apology. It’s meant to be a confession. Yifan slips away and he can only hope that Chanyeol will understand one day. His last thought is for Clanyeol’s transparently poor attempt to provoke an attack and Yifan thinks it means he is loved in return.
“Yifan? Yifan wait!” Chanyeol searches his friend’s face for signs of recognition but there are only open staring eyes that fail to meet his.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it, don’t go please.” Chanyeol cradles Yifan in his arms. He can feel that the man is gone and all that is left behind is his flesh. Flesh that Chanyeol had only dreamed of touching before is now no different to ash under his hands. The splayed legs and dangling arms of the fallen slave move only in reaction to Chanyeol’s clutching grasp. All his former strength is gone, along with the beauty and all that remains is a cooling husk that bears a painful resemblance to the man Chanyeol has come to love.
Chanyeol curses the fates that decided the first time he held Yifan was too late for him to be held in return. Hot, angry, hopeless tears cut clean lines down his dust caked face. The blood from a head wound congeals in his eyebrow and more blood pours out as Chanyeol removes his own helmet. The hollow noise it makes at it crunches onto the dirt is an echo of himself.
“It was supposed to be me. Why didn’t you fight back?” The arena is unnaturally quiet and his sobs echo off his friend’s breastplate. Chanyeol pushes of Yifan’s helmet and drags him into his lap. He rocks, burying his face into Yifan’s neck and full of rage at the injustice.
Firm hands try to pry him away but he clings and eventually they give up. Chanyeol quiets and smooths the hair from Yifan’s face. Looking down at the features that so often shot him looks of irritation, frustration and annoyance, Chanyeol can now only see peace there. He remembers the rare moments of happiness and comradeship the two of them had shared and his heart aches for it.
Chanyeol knows that it will be his last look at Yifan. He presses his trembling lips to those now stilled forever. He locks up his heart to hold the proud Captain there forever.
Tears fill his eyes and the scene is blurred as he is walked to the podium to receive his laurel. It’s meaningless and beyond worthless. It’s all for show and will be taken from him as soon as he is ushered from view.
Later on, back in his cell, the others know what has happened and that one day it may be their fate to face one another. They stay quiet until one of them from Yifan’s home land raises their voice in a song of farewell to the fallen. The soldier’s voice is sad and sweet. Others join in haunting harmony. There will be no rites so Chanyeol closes his swollen eyes and imagines it. He imagines every detail of how it should be and he lays his friend to rest as it should have been after an honourable death.
In his mind there will always be a grave marked for Chanyeol to visit. The dirge ends, taking with it Chanyeol’s hope of ever setting foot on his own soil again and joy in another who felt like home.