[The Rose]: Chapter One

[koi_no_soshan]

Title: The Rose
 Fandom: W.I.T.C.H.
Summary: As he captured her within a rose, so she captures him.
Pairing(s): Elyon/Phobos
Warnings: incest


The Rose
Chapter One

-o-

The rose is not black.

That in itself is not too surprising; after all, black is hardly the color best suited to his sister. White would be more fitting, given her sickening purity and innocence. But no, the rose is not white, either. For a moment he is led to wonder if the flower is actually that of another, but no, only his sister has the power to affect such an enchantment, even with most of it stolen by him and her mortal life ended.

The rose is red.

Not a terribly bright red, and in some lights it can still be mistaken as pink, but in the shadows he prefers, red is the only name that can be put to it.

For a while he can put the mystery out of mind- there are still rebels to fight, and the Guardians grow to be cannier warriors as time wears on. But every once in a while the rose gains his attention again, and he wonders.

Perhaps he is growing sentimental- the palace isn't quite the same without his sister's saccharine presence. She was the first one to so much as sketch him without inciting his ire. She appreciated his gardens- or at least the gentle illusion of them which he allowed her to see.

But then, this is why he has allowed his dear sister to live. She would not have faded as queen until she bore an heir and transferred her powers to her, and now, as a rose in his garden, he will ensure that she never fades.

-o-

False flames run through the throne room, and the doors slam shut behind him. The Whisperers shriek; he ignores them.

"Incompetent fools!" Phobos paces, making sure not to crush any plants, and itches for something which he can in good conscience destroy. But his soldiers and servants have their uses, and he has run out of portraits of his mother.

This makes how many losses to the Guardians now? He shall ask Cedric later and watch him squirm.

The flames fade, and Phobos calls to the Whisperers, soothing them. They cling to his hair, their connections to him, and slowly calm. "Listen, and find those servants of mine who are working for the rebellion," he orders once again, and they are off.

They might be calmer, but he is not, and his pacing resumes. While doing so he casts a critical eye over his gardens, seeking out the areas which will require special attention once he is of the mind for it. The vines are starting to look peckish…

The rose catches his eye, a smattering of red against a forest of black. He pauses, examining it closely, and feels her spirit. "Hello, dear sister. I suppose you would be pleased to hear that those friends of yours are still causing me so much trouble."

Within the rose, her spirit flickers.

He smirks. "Unfortunately, you shall never know the joy of seeing me defeated. A shame that you shall never taste victory."

His sister's spirit burns, and, laughing, Phobos leaves her.

-o-

"Red. Tell me, dear sister, why this color? I would have expected white to be more to your liking." Phobos' hand lingers over the petals of the rose, but he maintains a breath of air between them. Their gardener of all people should know better than to ever touch them. "Or are you less pure than I had been led to believe?"

Increasingly he can feel her trapped spirit, and is surprised when his words fail to get a rise out of her.

"Rather young to be losing your innocence, aren't you? Still such a child."

Ah, embarrassment. That's his baby sister.

-o-

"I suppose I should hold another coronation soon," he muses, stroking the air just above the rose, teasing. "King Phobos. Hmm, it doesn't have quite the same ring, but sacrifices must be made." His sister's frustration is palpable, and he chuckles. "Now, now, you must learn patience."

The annoyance changes tint, and his fingers jerk as he sees the petals shift in color slightly. 'As if you're the model of patience,' he can almost hear her say, in the rough cadence afforded her by a childhood hidden on earth.

"I was patient enough in my ploy with you, baby sister," he replies after a moment, affecting calm.

Again the rose's hues shift, and he narrows his eyes.

"Curious. I've never seen anyone hold sway over their rose before. I suppose being an Escanor does count for something, even with your power stripped from you."

He is strangely tempted to touch the petals, to see if their texture has changed as well, but resists. The trap of his rose bushes is a threat even to him.

"Trust an Escanor to be able to tap into magic worked against her. Her, of course," he mutters. It seems the bitterness will never fade, no matter how he stomps on the traditions of his family.

Really, he should hate his sister more than he does.

-o-

It had only been one brush during a battle in the throne room, but it was a touch nonetheless. What was that expression of Elyon's? Waiting for the other shoe to drop? Ghastly earth phrase. Truly, he is waiting for the trap to spring. But his sister is no hunter, is she?

Sleep eludes him, so he focuses on his garden, repairing the damage done to it by the Guardian of Fire. The roses are the only things unable to run and hide themselves which are still untouched. He will ignore the reality that he has protected his sister's life, worthless though it may now be.

"Ah, so you're one of those villains."

Elyon's voice, conversational, and he cannot help but start. Turning around to face the roses, his eyes widen and then narrow. "How did you escape?"

Elyon ignores him. "What is it about plants that make you think they're so much better than people, anyway? They don't have to be reminded not to talk back?"

"I preferred you as a flower," Phobos murmurs, glaring.

"Yup, that's it. You're pretty predictable once a girl gets to know you."

Deciding to ignore her inane words, Phobos examines Elyon. She is still in her white gown from the coronation, but there are hints of leaves among it, and… From under her skirts, thorny vines trail, binding her to the rose bush.

"Only partial freedom, then?" he asks, better able now to mock her.

But Elyon only shrugs. "Hey, it's better than being stuck in a flower- I bet all your other plants really hate not being able to talk back."

"You're rather calm for a prisoner."

"I'll give you some advice," Elyon says, the first hint of anger creeping into her voice. "After a while, you get sick of raging. Keep that in mind for when I lock you up."

"An empty threat." Phobos approaches her cautiously- he cannot sense any significant power from her, but this is unprecedented. "Hmph. Trust one of you women to defy magical expectations."

"Sexist," she accuses, as if that should mean anything to him. "What does being a woman have to do with it?"

"The women of this family, baby sister. I have good reason to despise you all."

He reaches out a hand and touches her cheek. A small experiment. Nothing new appears to happen, however, and his senses only light on his sister. She stiffens at his touch, though, and color rises in her cheeks.

"Let go, Phobos."

"Now, dear sister, you're in no position to be giving orders. A princess should obey her elder brother." His hand slides down to her throat, stroking it lightly with the backs of his fingers. "You lost the war, so don't presume to hold authority over me."

"It would've been nice if we'd both known we were at war," she says petulantly.

"I think you can agree with me that it's preferable to have the odds slanted in one's favor," Phobos replies, tracing his hand along her collarbone and shoulder. She doesn't seem to be inclined to move from his touch- has she put down roots?

"Y-yeah…" His sister's voice catches. It is gratifying for his attentions to finally be met with fear as they should be.

"Always remember who is in favor, dear sister."

-o-

While she lasted a while longer, eventually Elyon's form faded, transforming back into the rose that traps her yet. Was her one moment of partial freedom a fluke, then, or a singular event? Phobos wonders just how foolish it would be to touch the rose again in order to find out.

He needn't bother. When he walks into the throne room again in the middle of the night, planning on scrying, Elyon is there.

"Can't sleep either?" Elyon asks conversationally.

Phobos ignores her mocking query. "Still trapped, I see."

His sister tugs at the thorny vines that stay her, grimacing. "It's an improvement, at least."

Phobos has always despised optimism.

He pours finely dusted gems on the floor, creating a looking glass which shows him events on earth. But for once the times are similar between the two worlds, and the Guardians are asleep.

"Weird."

He glances at Elyon when she mutters that, but, scowling back at him, she says nothing by way of explanation. Turning away from her, he continues, gleaning what he can find of the rebels' movements which are not protected from his sight. The mage again, he's sure. Having advised his mother for so many years, she seems to be trying to take up the dead woman's torch.

"Too bad you never taught me how to do that," Elyon says, sounding envious. "But I guess it would have been pretty dumb to teach me how to spy when you had so many secrets to keep from me." She smiles, and he is surprised by the nasty hint to it. It seems that two years trapped within his spell have been taking their toll on her. "But not anymore, since I'm useless now."

"Quite so." Phobos smirks at her, but she seems unbothered.

"Well, since I can't do anything about it…tell me? Your plans, I mean. It gets boring, just sitting around here and watching you pace and yell at your servants."

"Do you take me for a fool, sister? Imprisoned or not, I'm hardly going to offer information to an enemy."

"Then talk about something else. Magic, maybe. I'm stuck in here all the time with a bunch of plants. It gets so boring." That last said with the dragged out whine which he is sure Elyon picked up on earth.

"You should speak in a manner befitting your rank, sister," he scolds.

"What, a piece of gardening? Oh, but I'm a prince's piece of gardening, so sorry."

If Phobos finds her insolence amusing at times, it is of no matter.

-o-

"But my lord, the families of the Guardians are vulnerable!"

"I said no, Cedric; you do understand me, do you not? I have no interest in expanding the battle to earth."

"We have attacked the Guardians on earth before!" Cedric shouts, his voice more a snake's his than a man's yell.

"Cedric," Phobos says simply, quietly, and allows his power to flow through the room. Sometimes threats are most effective.

Cedric bows, hissing out apologies, but flees when Phobos's power flares again in warning.

Movement catches his eye, and he stares blankly at Elyon, who sits on the floor easily. She cocks her head, peering at him. "You're weird, you know that?"

The sentiment is returned. When did his predictable sister become so perplexing?

-o-

"Can I at least have my sketchbook? I can't do anything troublesome with that, can I?"

His sister actually seems to be in earnest, which he supposes is his answer as to why her rose refuses to turn black, though it has darkened slightly in the months since she first began speaking to him. Her appearance is changing, as if her transformed body is futilely attempting to make up for the growth it lost in the two, nearly three years since her imprisonment. She is a woman now, at least in appearance. Perhaps his old appellation of 'baby sister' has become a poor insult.

Rather than lecturing her on her ignorance of the art of subterfuge, Phobos ignores her. The next evening, however, he drops her sketchbook and a set of pencils by the rose bushes before going about his scrying.

"My old sketchbook…" There is a strange note of wonder in Elyon's voice. "You kept it?"

Phobos doesn't bother replying. It is disturbing to hear his sister speak to him in a tone not dissimilar to the one she used in her early days in Meridian, when she still believed his sweetened lies, happy to live in her gilded trap. Now that they are acknowledged enemies, shouldn't she hate him cleanly?

Phobos despises the world. Any affection which isn't false is foreign to him.

He decides that his sister is a strange being.

-o-

"Hey, what do you think?"

With his powers, Phobos catches the sketchbook that is thrown in the air at him, and allows it to levitate by him. "I despise it," he replies without looking at the page it is open to.

"If you want your lie to be convincing, you need to at least look at it." Elyon's voice is dry and amused; rather dissimilar to the starry-eyed young girl who first arrived in his palace. In a way it is satisfying to know that he took them from her, replacing them with the cynical eyes of a woman betrayed.

He looks away from those eyes and at the picture presented- a portrait of himself, braids wrapped about the Whisperers. "It is adequate, I suppose."

Elyon scowls at him, as if she is still expecting the praise he would have given while deceiving her. "Hmm. Well, at least you didn't find anything to insult."

His sister might be aggravating, but it seems that she is no longer a fool.

-o-

The hour is late, and Phobos has returned from battle. He is too tired to deflect his sister's odd questions effectively, which perhaps is why she chooses this night to place such a volatile question before him.

"Phobos…what were our parents like?"

He gazes at her idly, seeing the coolness in her. Betrayal has tempered her, and she no longer expects a pretty tale. Pity.

"We do not share the same father- mine passed on long before you were ever born."

"How long?"

"Over forty years."

His sister sputters. "Is that even possible? I thought women weren't, um, fertile that long."

"The Light of Meridian does not age as ordinary mortals do. She dies when she transfers her full power and position to her heir." His words are clipped and harsh, and his wounded arm stings. Bitter honesty seems to be all he can manage this night.

"She took her time about getting an heir, huh?"

"Her first attempt was a male- quite a disappointment." The sting is old enough that Phobos doesn't even feel the need to kill something for speaking of it.

"So our family's sexist? I know you're evil and probably the worst thing that ever happened to Meridian, but that's just you. It's not like evil is gender-based."

That surprises a laugh out of Phobos. "Oh, our dear mother would be so disappointed to hear you say that, sister. Male Escanors are worthless- men are not fit to nurture this land. I have certainly proven that true."

Elyon frowns at him, her expression thoughtful rather than angered. "You're saying you've spent an odd fifty years killing and making people miserable so you can get power, all to prove family tradition wrong in the worst possible way? Sheesh, who dropped you on the head as a kid?"

"I'm sure Mother is disappointed she didn't think to do so. It certainly would have made denying me the right to inherit easier for her."

"So you're not brain damaged, just insane," Elyon surmises dryly.

It is a mark of how exhausted he is that Phobos fails to devise any suitable return insult.

-o-

"How old are you, anyway? You said there were forty years between us…"

"Seventy."

Elyon's eyes widen. "You're older than Mrs. Lin!"

"Who?" Phobos asks uncaringly. But that name is familiar… "Ah, you refer to Yan Lin."

"You know her?"

"I faced her in battle during her time as a Guardian."

"Ohh. So…my brother is old enough to be my grandfather?" Elyon makes a face. "My life is too weird."

"I concur- you were raised in secrecy far from your home and you speak like an urchin. It's like one of those nauseating tales that nurses tell to their charges."

Elyon grins. "You had a nurse?"

Phobos laughs at her. "I may be effectively immortal due to my sorcery, and I may be 'evil' as you like to call me, but I was not born of the ether, baby sister."

This appears to be of some surprise to Elyon. "I'm trying to imagine baby Phobos, and it's not going well. Babies are all cute and squishy and helpless, and you're…"

"A predator?"

"You're a serpent. You manipulate and you tempt people, and then lead them into darkness." For a moment, Elyon's eyes are unfathomable.

"I have not led you into darkness, sister."

She smiles disconcertingly, nothing of the gullible child he once knew in her expression. "You wouldn't know, would you? You're too buried in darkness to see the difference."

-o-

When Phobos walks into the throne room, early this evening, he is met with a new sight. His sister kneels on the ground, her hair splayed out before her. No longer roughly bound with rose stems, he can see clearly how long it has grown. Lacking magic or anything else to care to it with, it has also grown incredibly tangled.

"Can I have a comb?" Elyon asks, looking down at the knotted mess plaintively. "Or some scissors? I think this needs cutting off."

Phobos can't bother to conceal his amusement. "Some trimming, perhaps, but that is all. No Escanor cuts their hair."

Expression wry, his sister turns to him. "You say it like it's a bad word."

In connection to either hair or gardens, it is. He had thought that obvious.

"How long does it take you to keep it like that, anyway?"

"Not very long. One of the many benefits of sorcery."

Elyon grimaces. "Don't remind me."

For a moment there is silence between them, his sister's countenance soured. She had taken to the magical arts naturally, so very eager to learn and use her powers; the loss of them must burn even now. Phobos decides not to stoke those embers back into flames.

He approaches her and kneels down, the gesture forcibly reminding him of the times he had knelt and embraced her during those months of deception. Now, though, he instead puts hand to the ends of her long hair, raising it and calling magic to soothe the knots. There are rose stems in her hair, but they react to his will obediently, smoothing off to the side and awaiting future use. His sister is flustered, staring studiously down at his hands on her hair, a blush suffusing her cheeks. It is an odd moment of power over her.

A braid behind her, wrapped in thorns, and two in front, framing her face and reaching to her waist. Rather than the silver loops of old, they are ended by thorny ones, small rosebuds growing on them. That is certainly new.

"There," he says finally, moving to her side and conjuring a mirror. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he looks with her. "Now your appearance befits a princess of Meridian once again."

Phobos has his own appreciation of beauty, and he is aware that his sister has been growing into quite the lovely young woman. Without him, her lifespan likely would have been short- no suitor would look past her outward power and looks to see the more dangerous power underneath, and she would have been with heir soon enough. Now there is a strange irony, that in ending her life he has prevented her death.

A hand rests over his suddenly, tentative and warm. "…Thank you."

Elyon's hand squeezes his, and she turns about to look up at him…

There is a clattering at the doors to the throne room, and Elyon startles like a rabbit, ducking out from under his touch and into the shelter of the rose bushes. Phobos rises and bids his soldiers enter, shoving questions of what just happened aside for another time.

Chapter Two