[Fic] A Hundred Lives, A Thousand More
A tale of a man and a sorcerer, loosely set in the Hetalia Fantasia universe.
A HUNDRED LIVES, A THOUSAND MORE
Will you listen to this tale?
There was once a world where magic was plenty, yet in other ways it was very similar to where you and I live now. People continued to be people, with the weak hurt and hunted by the strong and cruel. After all, human nature does not know the difference between worlds.
There was a man who, on seeing all that was going on around him, retired to a temple and became a monk. He spent his years learning the healing arts and magic to protect.
"If I am to live in this world," he thought, "Then I will be the shield of the weak. I will not be the one to hurt them. Too many have already done that, and I shall not join them."
One day, a group of travelers entered the temple that the man, after many years of learning and training, was now master of. Their leader, a brash young man with hair of gold and eyes like the sky after the rain, told him that they were on a quest, a magnificent and exciting adventure to save the world. He told the man that they needed a healer and asked him to join them, promising great treasures and fame when their adventure was complete.
But the man who was now a monk preferred isolation now, and refused. That night, one of the leader's companions came to his room. He kneeled on the floor next to him in silent compliance to the temple's customs, and spoke to the man quietly. This stranger too had hair of gold, but his eyes were the color of fresh grass in the spring. The man learned that he was a sorcerer, one who summoned mighty beasts. With some difficulty, the sorcerer told the man that for all their power combined the group could go no further if they did not have a healer, for it is difficult to continue down a path paved with nothing but blood and destruction, and they still had far to go before the end of their quest came to pass. The sorcerer neither begged nor pleaded, yet the man could see the quiet desperation in those eyes of green.
"If I am living in this world," he thought, "Then I will be the one to help. If I do not, my years of training here will be wasted."
So the man who was a monk left his temple and followed the adventurers on their quest. Along the way they met many people and learned many things, both of the world and of one another. Gradually, the man and the sorcerer grew close, so close that at the end of the adventure, when all of the promised fame and rewards had been received and the rest of the group had parted ways, the two clasped hands and promised to stay with each other until the end of their days.
The man decided to build a tower and retire there, a tall tower far away from everyone else, and pursue new paths of learning, for seeing the world had opened his eyes and his mind.
"If I am to continue to live in this world," he thought, "Then I must expand myself. Just being a shield is not enough any more. As the world changes, so must I."
The man gathered all the books, scrolls, and artifacts of power he could find and brought them all to the tower. Naturally, the sorcerer followed him and faithfully stayed by his side, sometimes helping, something cautioning and advising. The two started on their new journey of learning together, but as time passed and both the man's knowledge and power grew, their paths gradually begun to split. The sorcerer continued to pursue knowledge of magic beneficial to man, but the man who had started on the journey with him soon turned to magic that was dark and twisted.
"If I am living in this world," he thought, "Then there must be more that I can learn. The more power I have, the more discontent I become. The stronger I am, the weaker others must be."
Knowledge can heal, but it can corrupt as well. Soon, the man begun to look with distaste at the humans outside the tower. Once, a long time ago, he would often venture out of his home with the sorcerer to help the people nearby, but now he shut himself away from the world, refusing visitors, admitting only his faithful friend, who looked at him with worried eyes.
"If I am living in his world," he thought, "Then I must be the most powerful one now, with all of the knowledge that I have gained."
Slowly, the man's thoughts grew as dark and twisted as the magic he now wielded. He thought no more of helping, but filled his days with thoughts and plans of destruction and domination. Unable to continue seeing his friend walk down the path he had chosen, the sorcerer begged him to seek help, to abandon what he was doing and to return to the beginning with him. He promised to stay by his side, to help him through it all, if only he would stop and reconsider what he was doing. The man who was once a monk, but now had become something else entirely, was so tainted and corrupted and half-mad with all the magic and power he had gained, that he did not hear what his friend was saying, but instead grasped him by the arms and smiled at him.
"If we are living in this world," he said, "Then we must be the only ones left by now. You promised to stay with me, didn't you?"
The sorcerer, on seeing what his dearest friend had become, tore himself free of his grasp. He told the man that he would leave, but only for a short while, to bring someone to help him. He told the man to wait for him, but the man only heard that he was leaving. So blackened and enraged did he feel at the mere thought of his only companion abandoning him that he drew upon the massive power he had gained and pierced the sorcerer through.
Catching the sorcerer's body, his blood flowing through his fingers, the man realized that he had, with his own hands, destroyed the only thing in the world that really mattered to him. His madness abandoned him upon this revelation, leaving only despair.
"If I am to live in this world," he howled, as the tower fell to pieces around him, "Then I will do so forever, with him."
So the man laid a curse upon both himself and the dead sorcerer with the last of his power- that the two would be reborn, again and again, until the sorcerer was willing to forgive him for what he had done.
But it must not be so easy, said the last of his madness, and another curse was placed - that the man would keep his memories of this life and all of his future ones, but the sorcerer would not.
So the man who had once been a monk, who had traveled the world, who had found both darkness and companionship and lost them again, returned to being just a man and died, amongst the ruins of the tower he had built with his friend.
And that is how this tale ends.
*
"Well, that was an interesting story."
The man fell silent, and looked down at his hands. How many lives had he been through now? How many centuries had he walked? Here again was the sorcerer before him, and here again was him telling the same story. He was asking for forgiveness for something he couldn't to be forgiven for, looking for a friend who would die, again and again, before his eyes.
"The way you told it, I almost wanted to believe it was true."
How do you say that it was, it was true, every single word, every regret, every single thing that had really happened? But the man simply smiled sadly, as he always did, and said that it would be nice if it was, even as on the inside he wept for the fact that it really was true.
He ventured a question, one he had asked without hope a lifetime of times.
"If you were the sorcerer... Would you have forgiven him?"
And again the same reply.
"Yes, I believe I would."
"Why?"
The one who used to be the sorcerer, so many lifetimes ago, did not widen his eyes as his previous incarnations had, but simply crossed his arms and replied in a way that made the man's heart ache, it was exactly like how it had been so long ago.
"Well, I say I would have forgiven him, but now that I think about it, I think I would have waited a while first."
"Waited?" It was the man's turn to widen his eyes in surprise. "What for?"
Now he smiled, and the man's heart clutched painfully at how familiar it was.
"For him to forgive himself first. The way I see it, his friend would definitely have forgiven him, but he needed to forgive himself for making mistakes to begin with."
The absurdity of the mere thought of being forgiven in this way shook the man to his very soul, so much that he stood up and faced the one whom he had traveled time for, fists clenched, every single fiber of his being shaking at how close they finally were.
"He can't," said the man, his rage and grief barely controlled. "There is no reason, absolutely no reason for him to be forgiven. You understand, don't you?" he asked, sheer desperation in his voice. "He killed him. He killed him, his only friend, who had only been trying to help him. How could you possibly forgive something like that?"
The one who was once the sorcerer simply looked at him.
"People make mistakes, don't they?"
"But it shouldn't be so easy!"
"And it's not."
Tears flowed from the man as he sank back into the chair. The thought of having to forgive himself had never crossed his mind, not once. He didn't want to do it, for fear that if he did, he would lose the one link that remained between him and his friend, the one thing which gave him a reason to continue pursuing his friend across time like this. But he knew too, that there was truth in those words, that he had simply been running and pushing the blame to the sorcerer.
"I can't," he whispered, more to himself than to the other person in the room with him.
"More like you don't want to."
"I can't be forgiven, not like this, not so easily."
An exasperated sigh, and suddenly a sharp blow to the head that made the man look up in surprise.
"Idiot! Wake up and listen to me!"
It was a familiar phrase he had last heard while poring over ancient books, stone all around them, green eyes flashing angrily in the dark, concerned hands taking the tome from his hands and insisting that he stop and listen.
"You haven't changed, not one bit. You're still the same idiot from before, and I'm getting tired of this farce. Look at me! Listen! Don't you get it? Don't you see?"
It couldn't be, it shouldn't be. The one who was once the sorcerer stood before him, scowling, his fists clenched, eyes flashing in a familiar light. Then suddenly he was pulled forward and wrapped tightly in an embrace he had last felt a thousand lives ago, with blood on his hands and the world falling around him.
"You've been so caught up with yourself that you didn't hear what I was trying to tell you," The sorcerer's voice was muffled in his shoulder. "You weren't the only one with power back then. I was with you for so long, I gained some myself too. I didn't want to, but I couldn't leave you to face the darkness alone."
What the man didn't know was this: that as he had laid dying with the sorcerer amongst the ruins of the tower, the sorcerer had used the last of his own magic to cancel the last curse. And so he had walked with the man for centuries, knowing that his friend needed to forgive himself before they could move on again, waiting endlessly for him to realize such a simple truth.
"You made me wait for so long that I got tired. Do you know how many times I've had to be reborn before I could talk to you like this?"
The man finally found his voice.
"As many times as I have."
Then he held the sorcerer, his beloved friend, and finally released the words he had been holding in himself for so long.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"It's fine. It's fine. There's nothing to forgive, you stupid fool."
If I am living in this world, the man thought as they cried together for all the time they had wasted, then perhaps it is fine to do so simply, like this. With joy, with sorrow, and with friendship.
THE END
A HUNDRED LIVES, A THOUSAND MORE
Will you listen to this tale?
There was once a world where magic was plenty, yet in other ways it was very similar to where you and I live now. People continued to be people, with the weak hurt and hunted by the strong and cruel. After all, human nature does not know the difference between worlds.
There was a man who, on seeing all that was going on around him, retired to a temple and became a monk. He spent his years learning the healing arts and magic to protect.
"If I am to live in this world," he thought, "Then I will be the shield of the weak. I will not be the one to hurt them. Too many have already done that, and I shall not join them."
One day, a group of travelers entered the temple that the man, after many years of learning and training, was now master of. Their leader, a brash young man with hair of gold and eyes like the sky after the rain, told him that they were on a quest, a magnificent and exciting adventure to save the world. He told the man that they needed a healer and asked him to join them, promising great treasures and fame when their adventure was complete.
But the man who was now a monk preferred isolation now, and refused. That night, one of the leader's companions came to his room. He kneeled on the floor next to him in silent compliance to the temple's customs, and spoke to the man quietly. This stranger too had hair of gold, but his eyes were the color of fresh grass in the spring. The man learned that he was a sorcerer, one who summoned mighty beasts. With some difficulty, the sorcerer told the man that for all their power combined the group could go no further if they did not have a healer, for it is difficult to continue down a path paved with nothing but blood and destruction, and they still had far to go before the end of their quest came to pass. The sorcerer neither begged nor pleaded, yet the man could see the quiet desperation in those eyes of green.
"If I am living in this world," he thought, "Then I will be the one to help. If I do not, my years of training here will be wasted."
So the man who was a monk left his temple and followed the adventurers on their quest. Along the way they met many people and learned many things, both of the world and of one another. Gradually, the man and the sorcerer grew close, so close that at the end of the adventure, when all of the promised fame and rewards had been received and the rest of the group had parted ways, the two clasped hands and promised to stay with each other until the end of their days.
The man decided to build a tower and retire there, a tall tower far away from everyone else, and pursue new paths of learning, for seeing the world had opened his eyes and his mind.
"If I am to continue to live in this world," he thought, "Then I must expand myself. Just being a shield is not enough any more. As the world changes, so must I."
The man gathered all the books, scrolls, and artifacts of power he could find and brought them all to the tower. Naturally, the sorcerer followed him and faithfully stayed by his side, sometimes helping, something cautioning and advising. The two started on their new journey of learning together, but as time passed and both the man's knowledge and power grew, their paths gradually begun to split. The sorcerer continued to pursue knowledge of magic beneficial to man, but the man who had started on the journey with him soon turned to magic that was dark and twisted.
"If I am living in this world," he thought, "Then there must be more that I can learn. The more power I have, the more discontent I become. The stronger I am, the weaker others must be."
Knowledge can heal, but it can corrupt as well. Soon, the man begun to look with distaste at the humans outside the tower. Once, a long time ago, he would often venture out of his home with the sorcerer to help the people nearby, but now he shut himself away from the world, refusing visitors, admitting only his faithful friend, who looked at him with worried eyes.
"If I am living in his world," he thought, "Then I must be the most powerful one now, with all of the knowledge that I have gained."
Slowly, the man's thoughts grew as dark and twisted as the magic he now wielded. He thought no more of helping, but filled his days with thoughts and plans of destruction and domination. Unable to continue seeing his friend walk down the path he had chosen, the sorcerer begged him to seek help, to abandon what he was doing and to return to the beginning with him. He promised to stay by his side, to help him through it all, if only he would stop and reconsider what he was doing. The man who was once a monk, but now had become something else entirely, was so tainted and corrupted and half-mad with all the magic and power he had gained, that he did not hear what his friend was saying, but instead grasped him by the arms and smiled at him.
"If we are living in this world," he said, "Then we must be the only ones left by now. You promised to stay with me, didn't you?"
The sorcerer, on seeing what his dearest friend had become, tore himself free of his grasp. He told the man that he would leave, but only for a short while, to bring someone to help him. He told the man to wait for him, but the man only heard that he was leaving. So blackened and enraged did he feel at the mere thought of his only companion abandoning him that he drew upon the massive power he had gained and pierced the sorcerer through.
Catching the sorcerer's body, his blood flowing through his fingers, the man realized that he had, with his own hands, destroyed the only thing in the world that really mattered to him. His madness abandoned him upon this revelation, leaving only despair.
"If I am to live in this world," he howled, as the tower fell to pieces around him, "Then I will do so forever, with him."
So the man laid a curse upon both himself and the dead sorcerer with the last of his power- that the two would be reborn, again and again, until the sorcerer was willing to forgive him for what he had done.
But it must not be so easy, said the last of his madness, and another curse was placed - that the man would keep his memories of this life and all of his future ones, but the sorcerer would not.
So the man who had once been a monk, who had traveled the world, who had found both darkness and companionship and lost them again, returned to being just a man and died, amongst the ruins of the tower he had built with his friend.
And that is how this tale ends.
*
"Well, that was an interesting story."
The man fell silent, and looked down at his hands. How many lives had he been through now? How many centuries had he walked? Here again was the sorcerer before him, and here again was him telling the same story. He was asking for forgiveness for something he couldn't to be forgiven for, looking for a friend who would die, again and again, before his eyes.
"The way you told it, I almost wanted to believe it was true."
How do you say that it was, it was true, every single word, every regret, every single thing that had really happened? But the man simply smiled sadly, as he always did, and said that it would be nice if it was, even as on the inside he wept for the fact that it really was true.
He ventured a question, one he had asked without hope a lifetime of times.
"If you were the sorcerer... Would you have forgiven him?"
And again the same reply.
"Yes, I believe I would."
"Why?"
The one who used to be the sorcerer, so many lifetimes ago, did not widen his eyes as his previous incarnations had, but simply crossed his arms and replied in a way that made the man's heart ache, it was exactly like how it had been so long ago.
"Well, I say I would have forgiven him, but now that I think about it, I think I would have waited a while first."
"Waited?" It was the man's turn to widen his eyes in surprise. "What for?"
Now he smiled, and the man's heart clutched painfully at how familiar it was.
"For him to forgive himself first. The way I see it, his friend would definitely have forgiven him, but he needed to forgive himself for making mistakes to begin with."
The absurdity of the mere thought of being forgiven in this way shook the man to his very soul, so much that he stood up and faced the one whom he had traveled time for, fists clenched, every single fiber of his being shaking at how close they finally were.
"He can't," said the man, his rage and grief barely controlled. "There is no reason, absolutely no reason for him to be forgiven. You understand, don't you?" he asked, sheer desperation in his voice. "He killed him. He killed him, his only friend, who had only been trying to help him. How could you possibly forgive something like that?"
The one who was once the sorcerer simply looked at him.
"People make mistakes, don't they?"
"But it shouldn't be so easy!"
"And it's not."
Tears flowed from the man as he sank back into the chair. The thought of having to forgive himself had never crossed his mind, not once. He didn't want to do it, for fear that if he did, he would lose the one link that remained between him and his friend, the one thing which gave him a reason to continue pursuing his friend across time like this. But he knew too, that there was truth in those words, that he had simply been running and pushing the blame to the sorcerer.
"I can't," he whispered, more to himself than to the other person in the room with him.
"More like you don't want to."
"I can't be forgiven, not like this, not so easily."
An exasperated sigh, and suddenly a sharp blow to the head that made the man look up in surprise.
"Idiot! Wake up and listen to me!"
It was a familiar phrase he had last heard while poring over ancient books, stone all around them, green eyes flashing angrily in the dark, concerned hands taking the tome from his hands and insisting that he stop and listen.
"You haven't changed, not one bit. You're still the same idiot from before, and I'm getting tired of this farce. Look at me! Listen! Don't you get it? Don't you see?"
It couldn't be, it shouldn't be. The one who was once the sorcerer stood before him, scowling, his fists clenched, eyes flashing in a familiar light. Then suddenly he was pulled forward and wrapped tightly in an embrace he had last felt a thousand lives ago, with blood on his hands and the world falling around him.
"You've been so caught up with yourself that you didn't hear what I was trying to tell you," The sorcerer's voice was muffled in his shoulder. "You weren't the only one with power back then. I was with you for so long, I gained some myself too. I didn't want to, but I couldn't leave you to face the darkness alone."
What the man didn't know was this: that as he had laid dying with the sorcerer amongst the ruins of the tower, the sorcerer had used the last of his own magic to cancel the last curse. And so he had walked with the man for centuries, knowing that his friend needed to forgive himself before they could move on again, waiting endlessly for him to realize such a simple truth.
"You made me wait for so long that I got tired. Do you know how many times I've had to be reborn before I could talk to you like this?"
The man finally found his voice.
"As many times as I have."
Then he held the sorcerer, his beloved friend, and finally released the words he had been holding in himself for so long.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"It's fine. It's fine. There's nothing to forgive, you stupid fool."
If I am living in this world, the man thought as they cried together for all the time they had wasted, then perhaps it is fine to do so simply, like this. With joy, with sorrow, and with friendship.
THE END