KKM AU: Autumn's Monologue
Warnings: Wacky AU!fic, finished about five minutes ago, I totally didn't have tears in my eyes at work like a sap why do you ask. Title chosen hastily from a song that came on my iPod.
"Maou-heika!"
Robere let the stone window hold him upright, leaning his forehead against the glass as he looked out onto his city. If he didn't look too hard he might not see the ashen sadness of it, the burnt buildings where quarantine had been made, the way falling darkness killed the ruddy light of sunset.
"What is it," he said, tired of bad news. The plague was already being driven back, caution and a serum infused with maryoku slowly emerging the victor, but every day the toll rose further, more that he had failed to save in time.
"Maou-heika, the word has come from the sick rooms... The Great Sage has passed away."
He clenched his teeth against grief, frustration, but it twisted in his chest until he could almost cry of the pain. When his eyes shut he could see the willowy figure of his advisor, regal in his black and perfect in his grace. How many years? A hundred -- more. Gods. Did he even remember how to rule without the Sage in his shadow?
You made everything that was good about my kingdom.
His voice was admirably even when he asked, "Was it a good death?"
The guard hesitated for a long moment. "If you mean... The healers were able to numb the effects of the disease that would have caused him pain..."
"Was he at peace?"
"I believe so, sire. He was said to have been smiling after Lady Liane left him."
Liane again, Robere thought, a sigh unbending his shoulders slightly. How appropriate, that the last one to see the Sage alive would be not the king who had loved him more than life, but his niece, who had been spiteful and jealous with her every breath. But if she had made him smile... Perhaps this once, she found it in her heart to be kind to him.
The guard was standing, waiting for the expected orders -- bury? burn? quarantine? -- but he couldn't bear to make that decision right now. He couldn't even picture it.
"Leave me," he said softly.
Harsh footsteps stalked away from him, orders barked to the guards surrounding the chamber that Maou-heika wished not to be disturbed. They obeyed and scattered, fearful in this fearful time, when their families and betters died and their king, a young man, was little more than a cripple.
Robere pushed himself away from the window, wrapping his fingers carefully around the cane that he walked with. Looking at him, at the gray touching his chestnut hair and the stiff way that he moved, few would believe that he was still in the flush of two hundred years, expecting another two or three centuries before he began to falter. He liked to joke that he had broken his body quite thoroughly in the border disputes, but the truth made for a poor joke.
The perfect sense of accomplishment that he had known then was long gone from him now.
I hope that someday you find what you were looking for, Geika, he thought, covering his face with one hand.
"Uncle?"
Robere looked up, startled by the intrusion -- the guards should have kept everyone out. But of course it was Liane, gliding into the room on silent skirts, her long braid of dark hair still untouched by time, her pixieish face drawn in the candlelight. They would never think to stop her: the Maou's niece, the Shinou's voice.
She hovered uncertainly near him, not quite close enough to touch but enough to study his face and dart in if he needed her.
"You should be at the palace," he said gently. "It's not safe here. The plague..."
"I won't catch it," she insisted. "I'm strong. I have your blood in me, Uncle." Still so like a child in her attempts to comfort and connect, a hundred years after she should have grown up. "I'm immune the same way that you are."
"No one is immune to everything," he murmured.
Liane recognized what he meant and it was a mark of some obscure respect that she only frowned. "This is about him," she said.
Let us not fight over this now, Liane, I cannot bear it. Any other day he might have been willing to have the argument for the thousandth time -- he had the patient of a saint for her alone -- but with what felt like his entire soul bleeding he knew he would say something rash and offend her.
But for once she didn't seem inclined to press her point, to preach about how he was a fool to wrap his heart in the black Sage. Instead she looked sad, a strange thing for one who had surely cared no more for His Highness than she had cared for the parade horses.
"Uncle, there's something I need to tell you..." Liane brushed a lock of auburn hair over her shoulder as he slumped into a chair. The drawing room was strangely uncomfortable. "I hate seeing you like this, and I hate hurting you, but--"
"Just say it, Liane."
"He was never really here for you."
Why she thought this would be what he needed to hear in his already stifling grief... Perhaps she thought that, if he knew, he might recover faster from his loss, knowing that it could never have been. Still such a child, Liane.
Robere said mildly, "I know. I've always known." Her eyes, familiar crystal blue as his own, widen with surprise. "I'm not so unobservant as all that. I can tell when someone is looking at me... and when someone is merely looking through me."
Every time that shadowed gaze had turned to him and really seen him it had been a thrill, a triumph, an answer to some craving he hadn't known he possessed. But the vast majority of their contact had been Robere and the Sage and the Other, the mysterious third that always stood between them.
Liane was silent, unable to deny it. Robere told her gently, "You also look through me, you know."
"Uncle! How can you say that!" She looked genuinely horrified, which was sort of touching. "That's not true-- I love you so, I've only ever wanted what was best for you--"
"And him?"
Crestfallen, the girl only murmured, "Yes... but his only wish is for what is best for you."
"I know." Robere smiled at her, fondly. "That's why I can't mind." Not when you do it, and not when Geika does it-- Did.
"Uncle--"
"Please, Liane," he said.
She left him alone then. Robere sat at the table and stared into the distance, mourning the only way he knew how, with dignity. In his mind he ran over his memories of the Sage, as he ran his fingers over the delicate carvings in the cane, thinking of how far they had come and how constant they had been. They had seen one another broken and lifted one another up.
Can you hear me? When this body of mine is finished, the part of you that is me will be born again, and start a new life. So I can only look to you to remember what we have been through. Someday... I hope things can be different.
But he had no way of knowing if the Shinou who shared his soul listened to him at all. He was so very tired, the ache nearly unbearable in veins that had scarred over, boiled by maryoku. Robere sighed, sagging back into his chair, and promised himself that he would only close his eyes for a little while.
***
Lukas woke to the blue depths of night, eyes burning in the cool air. He was caught up in the grip of the memory he had dreamed, all emotion and no sensation, a time when he had known nothing but dark and distance and looking out of another man's eyes at his Sage, HIS Sage, with reverence and desire. With an agitated sound, he tossed in bed, slinging arms around Ken and burying his face in his lover's neck possessively.
You're here, you're here, with me, mine and only mine.
Ken made a sleepy noise of complaint as he was jostled, but once the sudden movement ended the dark Mazoku only sighed, nuzzling closer without waking notably. The faint breeze coming in the open window tickled the dusting of hair on Lukas's arms, and still the lean form curled into his chest kept him warm.
Being able to hear and feel and breathe did him a world of good, and Ken's presence was a balm to the parts of him still twisted in jealousy and sorrow. He didn't need to mourn, didn't need to envy: he was whole now and they were together. Things were different.
He thought, This time there will be no mistakes. I won't let there be.
It was true release, to be at peace with himself.
"Maou-heika!"
Robere let the stone window hold him upright, leaning his forehead against the glass as he looked out onto his city. If he didn't look too hard he might not see the ashen sadness of it, the burnt buildings where quarantine had been made, the way falling darkness killed the ruddy light of sunset.
"What is it," he said, tired of bad news. The plague was already being driven back, caution and a serum infused with maryoku slowly emerging the victor, but every day the toll rose further, more that he had failed to save in time.
"Maou-heika, the word has come from the sick rooms... The Great Sage has passed away."
He clenched his teeth against grief, frustration, but it twisted in his chest until he could almost cry of the pain. When his eyes shut he could see the willowy figure of his advisor, regal in his black and perfect in his grace. How many years? A hundred -- more. Gods. Did he even remember how to rule without the Sage in his shadow?
You made everything that was good about my kingdom.
His voice was admirably even when he asked, "Was it a good death?"
The guard hesitated for a long moment. "If you mean... The healers were able to numb the effects of the disease that would have caused him pain..."
"Was he at peace?"
"I believe so, sire. He was said to have been smiling after Lady Liane left him."
Liane again, Robere thought, a sigh unbending his shoulders slightly. How appropriate, that the last one to see the Sage alive would be not the king who had loved him more than life, but his niece, who had been spiteful and jealous with her every breath. But if she had made him smile... Perhaps this once, she found it in her heart to be kind to him.
The guard was standing, waiting for the expected orders -- bury? burn? quarantine? -- but he couldn't bear to make that decision right now. He couldn't even picture it.
"Leave me," he said softly.
Harsh footsteps stalked away from him, orders barked to the guards surrounding the chamber that Maou-heika wished not to be disturbed. They obeyed and scattered, fearful in this fearful time, when their families and betters died and their king, a young man, was little more than a cripple.
Robere pushed himself away from the window, wrapping his fingers carefully around the cane that he walked with. Looking at him, at the gray touching his chestnut hair and the stiff way that he moved, few would believe that he was still in the flush of two hundred years, expecting another two or three centuries before he began to falter. He liked to joke that he had broken his body quite thoroughly in the border disputes, but the truth made for a poor joke.
The perfect sense of accomplishment that he had known then was long gone from him now.
I hope that someday you find what you were looking for, Geika, he thought, covering his face with one hand.
"Uncle?"
Robere looked up, startled by the intrusion -- the guards should have kept everyone out. But of course it was Liane, gliding into the room on silent skirts, her long braid of dark hair still untouched by time, her pixieish face drawn in the candlelight. They would never think to stop her: the Maou's niece, the Shinou's voice.
She hovered uncertainly near him, not quite close enough to touch but enough to study his face and dart in if he needed her.
"You should be at the palace," he said gently. "It's not safe here. The plague..."
"I won't catch it," she insisted. "I'm strong. I have your blood in me, Uncle." Still so like a child in her attempts to comfort and connect, a hundred years after she should have grown up. "I'm immune the same way that you are."
"No one is immune to everything," he murmured.
Liane recognized what he meant and it was a mark of some obscure respect that she only frowned. "This is about him," she said.
Let us not fight over this now, Liane, I cannot bear it. Any other day he might have been willing to have the argument for the thousandth time -- he had the patient of a saint for her alone -- but with what felt like his entire soul bleeding he knew he would say something rash and offend her.
But for once she didn't seem inclined to press her point, to preach about how he was a fool to wrap his heart in the black Sage. Instead she looked sad, a strange thing for one who had surely cared no more for His Highness than she had cared for the parade horses.
"Uncle, there's something I need to tell you..." Liane brushed a lock of auburn hair over her shoulder as he slumped into a chair. The drawing room was strangely uncomfortable. "I hate seeing you like this, and I hate hurting you, but--"
"Just say it, Liane."
"He was never really here for you."
Why she thought this would be what he needed to hear in his already stifling grief... Perhaps she thought that, if he knew, he might recover faster from his loss, knowing that it could never have been. Still such a child, Liane.
Robere said mildly, "I know. I've always known." Her eyes, familiar crystal blue as his own, widen with surprise. "I'm not so unobservant as all that. I can tell when someone is looking at me... and when someone is merely looking through me."
Every time that shadowed gaze had turned to him and really seen him it had been a thrill, a triumph, an answer to some craving he hadn't known he possessed. But the vast majority of their contact had been Robere and the Sage and the Other, the mysterious third that always stood between them.
Liane was silent, unable to deny it. Robere told her gently, "You also look through me, you know."
"Uncle! How can you say that!" She looked genuinely horrified, which was sort of touching. "That's not true-- I love you so, I've only ever wanted what was best for you--"
"And him?"
Crestfallen, the girl only murmured, "Yes... but his only wish is for what is best for you."
"I know." Robere smiled at her, fondly. "That's why I can't mind." Not when you do it, and not when Geika does it-- Did.
"Uncle--"
"Please, Liane," he said.
She left him alone then. Robere sat at the table and stared into the distance, mourning the only way he knew how, with dignity. In his mind he ran over his memories of the Sage, as he ran his fingers over the delicate carvings in the cane, thinking of how far they had come and how constant they had been. They had seen one another broken and lifted one another up.
Can you hear me? When this body of mine is finished, the part of you that is me will be born again, and start a new life. So I can only look to you to remember what we have been through. Someday... I hope things can be different.
But he had no way of knowing if the Shinou who shared his soul listened to him at all. He was so very tired, the ache nearly unbearable in veins that had scarred over, boiled by maryoku. Robere sighed, sagging back into his chair, and promised himself that he would only close his eyes for a little while.
***
Lukas woke to the blue depths of night, eyes burning in the cool air. He was caught up in the grip of the memory he had dreamed, all emotion and no sensation, a time when he had known nothing but dark and distance and looking out of another man's eyes at his Sage, HIS Sage, with reverence and desire. With an agitated sound, he tossed in bed, slinging arms around Ken and burying his face in his lover's neck possessively.
You're here, you're here, with me, mine and only mine.
Ken made a sleepy noise of complaint as he was jostled, but once the sudden movement ended the dark Mazoku only sighed, nuzzling closer without waking notably. The faint breeze coming in the open window tickled the dusting of hair on Lukas's arms, and still the lean form curled into his chest kept him warm.
Being able to hear and feel and breathe did him a world of good, and Ken's presence was a balm to the parts of him still twisted in jealousy and sorrow. He didn't need to mourn, didn't need to envy: he was whole now and they were together. Things were different.
He thought, This time there will be no mistakes. I won't let there be.
It was true release, to be at peace with himself.