Memento Mori
It was all for the greater good, Tsar Lunar tells himself. And maybe one day he'll even be able to believe it. (Sequel to Broken Beliefs)
Author's Notes: I like the Man in the Moon, but I also think he's a bit of douche (at least, in the movie). But I also really like him in the books. So I'm going to try to be as non-biased as possible.
So, have my characterization of Manny, with some added sprinkles of mysterious power, time paradoxes, and an OC. Along with some of my own personal headcanon concerning the Golden Age, the power wielded by the Lunanoff Family, and other things. A lot shorter than the other stories.
Please read, review, and enjoy!
He watches his Guardians mourn on the screen connected to his telescope watching Earth, and he sighs. The guilt threatens to consume him some days, but he's good at holding it back.
He watches until he can bear it no longer, and turns the screen off. He leans back against his high-backed chair and sits in silence.
"Oh, poor things," A voice crooned from behind him, a woman's, tinged with mockery and a hint of a Cockney accent.
He sighed and turned around. Leaning against the moon rock all of Moon's labyrinthine underground rooms were carved from, was a woman dressed all in black. She was of an average height, with dark skin, no hair, and dark brown eyes, and her thin, unpainted lips were curved in a smirk.
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Mordred," he said.
She smirked. "Aw, but that's my bes' feature!"
"What do you want?"
The smile dropped from her face. "I went and visited them. They're doing well. Pitch has no idea."
"I hear a 'but' coming," Tsar Lunar said blandly. It wasn't like he hadn't been expecting some complications to arise from his audacious plans. Everything had been going too well so far.
"I don't think you remember what happened, did you? Did you ever think to question why she refused an offer to join the Guardians? Why he lost his temper and nearly murdered your newest Guardian?"
Tsar Lunar laughed dryly. "I always knew. I knew they would find each other again, even I couldn't prevent that. But there had to be sacrifices made to ensure the survival of that race. Because they are now Emperor and Priestess, their people will see an unprecedented glory and will not perish, as they have done in other universes, and will work to prevent the destruction of other races."
"You do realize the Guardians will have to go and see them, right? If they want to succeed against the forces Pitch will bring to bear…You've set the Guardians up for a good, hard mindfuck, darling, and I really, really doubt the Dragons will want to help the Guardians. Not with the pasts they share," Mordred said, draped over a chair.
"None of them will have a choice," Tsar Lunar said quietly, "if they want to prevent the destruction of either of their worlds.
Mordred sighed and stood. "Whatever. I've plenty o'work left to do. I did this favor for you, Lunar. I hope you aren't wrong."
She turned to leave.
"Mordred, my friend?"
She didn't turn around. "Hm?"
"Thank you."
She kept walking to the door, tossing a nonchalant wave in his direction. "Eh, whatever."
Just as she passed through the doorway, one could see, very faintly, the image of thousands of hourglasses sewn in translucent silver, embroidered on the edges and collar of the robes she wore.
He had seen his mother weep at the destruction of many races in Pitch's furious rampage across worlds and dimensions. His father had himself comforted the exhausted messengers who brought tales of woe, of slaughter, and of death, before they themselves collapsed, their minds, bodies, or both gone forever.
But both of them cried when the Dragons perished. The closest friends of the Lunanoff line for centuries upon centuries, keepers of knowledge and of magic, friends loyal to the last.
Not all of the Dragons had perished, of course. But the Golden Lineage had gone, and with them, the future of the Dragons.
The Ruling Family of the Dragons and Spirit world had been sealed in their home, the Spirit World, and Pitch's machinations had brought upon their horrible, bloody deaths at the hands of their own people after it became known that the Royal Keys had been lost – leading to a sterilization of the line. Anarchy had erupted, and so many lives were lost.
Tsar Lunar remembered the grief on his mother and father's faces when the news had been brought to them. Not even the destruction of the Pookas, that wise – if eccentric – race, had wrought such weary pain in their eyes.
So, many thousands of years later, he looked to the future and saw a world where Pitch ruled, holding the Keys in his hand after he'd ripped them from the chests of the humans in whom the Keys had been born. A world blackened and destroyed, with the screams of dying and terrified humans, circled by a darkened hunk of stone – what remained of the Moon.
The Keys had to be saved, to be sent back to the Dragons.
No matter the cost.
No matter the heartbreak.
Pitch had escaped his tomb he was dragged into by the nightMares in short order. After all, he was still the Dark General that had blotted out the Golden Age, even with his memories blotted by the sleep Nightlight had forced him into long after he had escaped the first time.
Tsar Lunar watched as the man brooded, one of his tiny moonbeams spies showing him everything.
"Do you know?" He asked Pitch, seeing the man as his moonbeam did. "Do you know where they are? Even if you do not remember, Kozmotis, that dark shard in your heart will show you, will beg you for revenge. Will I have to go through with my plans, or has your long slumber kept your mind from realizing? I protected them for so long, to have to sit aside and wait until their souls are free while you do what you will… Or have you learned the lessons my Guardians tried to teach you?"
"I will have my revenge," The Boogeyman snarled as he paced in his dark kingdom. "I will have my revenge on them all."
In the black sand swirling in his hands, he crafted outlines of all the Guardians…then two others.
Smiling, he slowly, painfully, crushed the black sand figures of the two humans in his hands, smiling as they let out tinny, perfectly accurate screams.
"Damn," Tsar Lunar said, letting his face rest in his hands as he recalled the moonbeam home. "Damn it all…"
Pitch would know if he interfered. If he took the souls of the humans in which rested the Keys and sent them into the Spirit World, Pitch would know, and would crush them. Pitch could never realize where the souls were until it was far too late to do anything about it.
But if he sent them into the Spirit World as it was now, it would be no help to either of them, and they would undoubtedly die very quickly, because in the absence of the Golden Line, it had descended into pure anarchy.
He sat up as an idea began to spin itself into being into his mind. Perhaps he could send the souls straight into the time the Dragons had been sealed in their own dimension! If children were born to the Golden Line, then there would be hope, at the very least.
It was a very, very long shot…but perhaps it could work. He would need help though, and asked a few moonbeams to visit a very old, and very dear friend who owed him a few favors. Death would also have to be…persuaded, though Tsar Lunar knew his old friend could do it easily, if he convinced her.
Tsar Lunar refused to let the world die. To let his home and all those he loved perish. Again.
He looked back at the screen, as Jack knelt to receive a hug from a boy with warm brown eyes and stepped back to join the other Guardians on the sleigh, as a little girl with dark blonde hair grabbed her brother's hand and waved enthusiastically.
He knew what lay in their futures. Pitch's revenge and the cruelty of Life itself would break them both, leaving scars that would last for lifetimes.
The last surviving member of the House of Lunanoff closed his eyes, remembered a world blackened by destruction and firmed his heart.
No matter what, he would save his home.
No matter what.
Tsar Lunar closed his eyes and felt the changes to time wash over him, over the world and everything beyond.
"It is done," he whispered. "Please let this work."
Though the Golden Age had been all but destroyed, the Dragons lived on, the Spirit World now a sanctuary for those chased from their homes by Pitch's rage.
The various creatures, spirits, humans, nobles, peasants, and every being in between lived free under the banner of the Golden Lineage. The Dragonkin prospered, for now and forevermore, secure in the fact that the Keys have been reborn to their ruling family.
On the day the children were born, one a year older than the other, raucous celebrations erupted across the country, beings of all races joining hands in the knowledge their home was safe, at least for another generation.
"Gods bless!" they sang. "Gods bless His Majesty, Prince Fakhir de Tameran! Gods bless Her Majesty, Princess Farzana de Tameran! Long may they ever live."
And things were peaceful in these lands.
For a while, at least.
Present Day
A General plotted in his underground kingdom, his mind dark and threaded with the whispers of an evil beyond the comprehension of humanity, an evil imprisoned outside the fabric of the Creation itself, an evil that crooned that he would rule over his Earth, an Earth of screams and terror and death, the Guardians and every person under his control, feeding him with nightmares. He would be King, but only if he would let the gates open and his benefactor free.
A King in his underground home on the Moon felt the darkness coming and knew fear in his heart, a fear that he did not understand consciously until a woman came to him in a cloak of black threaded with silver and told him what was coming. He closed his eyes and wondered if his Guardians were ready. It was time for them to ask the Dragonkin for help.
An Emperor in another world stood high above his armies and prepared for war. His armies roared their fury and obedience to him as he finished speaking and saluted him as one, as his heart ached with the scars of a lifetime past. He could feel the evil coming, but his mind was on the war here and now, and his power thrummed like lightning beneath the silvers bones in his human flesh.
A Priestess sat in a tree deep within the heart of a castle that towered into the sky and opened her eyes as her Goddess whispered a warning to her mind. They would have to be ready for the storm coming, for the evil that would seek to destroy them all again. She stepped from her tree-throne and walked out of the room, her other priestesses following at a respectful distance, only to be stopped by three young adults who laughed and threw themselves at her with cries of "Mama!" She held them close and prayed her brother would come home soon.
The Guardians went about their business as they always had, with pain in their heart. They did their jobs, but there would always be that sense of grief with each and every one of them. They did not realize what was coming, not even their warrior-like Pooka, so weak had their power become and so clouded by anguish their minds were.
The youngest Guardian wept at the grave of the first human who'd ever seen him, and the second being who'd ever given him a hug.
He closed his eyes and imagined he was resting against a warm body covered with scales, imagined words of love whispered in his ears and wept even harder.
"I miss you," he whispered, not to the grave, but to someone else, far, far away, as tears slipped down his face, shining crystal in the light of the Moon.