Author's note: Dune/Luna, from the series Casshern Sins. Apparently this fandom is so niche there isn't even a category on FFN. :/ Opening quote is Rilke. The rest is head canon. lol.
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For him it is as though there
were a thousand bars, and behind
the thousand bars, no world.
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She brushes back his hair; he feels the pads of her fingertips softly tracing his skin. "Your eyes are green," Luna says. She smiles; she is beautiful when she smiles. "You always have them covered."
Dune forces his eyes down; hair falls over his face as he dutifully pulls away from her hand.
Luna frowns, then lets her hand fall at the crown of his head. "Please do not bow," Luna says. She stands in front of him; if Dune were to raise his eyes, he would find that he is at eye-level with her navel. But Dune does not raise his eyes; he keeps them chastely fixed at the rocks on the ground.
Something brushes his cheek. Dune's eyes focus back, sees the flower in Luna's hand.
"For all your hard work," Luna says.
Dune takes the flower, the stem cool and damp against his palm.
xXx
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He has loved her for as long as he could remember. His princess, dancing under moonlight and smiling with the stars. The other guards go about their duties in a cursory way; they politely flank her sides, sidestep her passing with only the briefest of glances. But not Dune. He knows her, just as he knows the rhythm of her breathing when she is asleep. He knows each thought, each furrowed brow, knows a forced smile from a genuine one. He can read her moods like the changing of the seasons, sunny autumn and saddest winter.
The others don't know her at all.
The other guards don't realize that Luna is feeling sad today; she goes about her business as usual, but Dune can see it in her eyes.
She doesn't startle when he approaches; Dune is silent, blending into the shadows. He lets his footsteps alert her to his presence. She turns, then tilts her head.
"Dune?" Luna's eyes widen for a moment. He waits; her face crumbles.
A bodyguard protects his charge from harm. It does not matter if it is a physical enemy. Silently, Dune stands watch while Luna wipes her eyes and sniffs miserably in front of the mirror. He does not touch her; to do so would be impertinent. He waits quietly as Luna wipes her eyes and forces herself to smile.
She is feeling better; Dune is glad. He rises and turns, but not before Luna catches his arm.
"Don't go," Luna says. Dune keeps his face a careful mask, but inside his heart jumps into his throat. He feels her fingers dig into the side of his bicep, the fabric of his coat bunching up under her hand. "Stay."
Dune's body is tense, as if waiting to spring for an attack. But he forces himself to straighten, lets himself be led to the chair opposite hers. Dune is not good enough to sit in her presence - only royalty, only those blessed with her grace - but Dune sits anyway, because he knows Luna wants him to.
Luna stands a moment, before kneeling beside him and burying her face into his chest.
Dune's eyes widen. He goes to move, but he feels Luna's insistent hands. "Please," Luna says. Her voice is choked. "I just...I just want someone to..."
Dune understands. Quietly, he shifts her close, holding her until she stops crying.
She feels so warm.
xXx
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The other guards, jealous, petty, and cruel, do not associate with him.
Dune does not mind - he has nothing to do with them. He stands watch, still and silent while the others give him a wide berth, whispering pointed nothings and watching him with slanted eyes.
"Do you get lonely?" Luna asks.
Dune kneels at the garden, his eyes dutifully fixed on the ground. The sky is blue and there is a soft breeze, and even Dune has to hold his breath at the sight: green grass bending and Luna's dress and hair fluttering prettily around her. "Dune?"
Dune raises his eyes. Luna is sitting on the grass. There is a wreath of flowers in her lap; she reaches over, then places the wreath on Dune's head.
Dune's eyes widen. The wreath of flowers slip; Luna giggles.
"Beautiful," Luna says, and it's as if Dune is bathed in sunlight. Luna giggles again and pulls away the wreath; she places it on her own head, and Dune can't help but feel pride swelling in his chest, that something he's touched is touching her, too.
"You always seem so lonely," Luna says, and Dune wants nothing more to protest, to tell her that so long as he's in her presence he can never feel lonely at all. She is his sunlight, his reason for being; all he wants is to keep her safe.
But there is the knowledge too that he is unworthy of her; that he would be happiest were she to find someone of equal worth, someone with whom she can illuminate the world.
Luna is quiet; she slips beside him, and to Dune's surprise presses her cheek against his shoulder. Dune closes his eyes. He can feel the warmth of her cheek from beneath the fabric of his shirt.
He will protect her. He will die protecting her. He will shield the beauty in this world.
xXx
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There are subjects who come up to Luna, children playing in the fields whom Luna blesses with her grace, and always Dune keeps his eyes forced away from her. He scans the periphery, hand on his sword.
When the attackers come, they break through the outer quarter of guards lined up around her; that's when Dune jumps in. He leaps; his sword cuts, once, twice, blood spattering his face as his enemies fall to the ground.
Luna is screaming. The last man falls dead; Dune rises, blood dripping from his hands.
He does nothing when the coterie of royal attendants rush to Luna's aid, does nothing when they whisk her off in her coach and seals her from his sight.
He is Dune, her death god. He brings darkness where she bestows light.
He hates that he has made her cry.
xXx
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It is dark outside when the door opens to Dune's bedroom; he rises, the shadows from the torchlight falling on the floor.
"Dune?" Luna holds the torch up; it falls at soft angles on her face.
Dune cannot speak; his words are stuck in his throat. Luna moves close, then sits beside him on the bed. His face flushes when he realizes he is shirtless, that his wicked body is only a finger's breadth away from hers.
Luna is not looking at him. Her eyes are fixed on his wounds, which are covered in bandages. She raises a hand, then softly touches his arm with her fingertips. It's only until Dune exhales that he realizes he has been holding his breath.
"Does it hurt?" Luna asks. Her eyes flick upward and Dune swallows and nods, feeling the touch of her fingers press deeper into his skin.
And then her head falls against his chest. Dune is stunned; she is hugging him. Slowly, he brings a shaking hand up and lets it rest against the crown of her head. Her small arms press against his waist, and he can feel her eyelashes move against his skin.
If this were a different world, he would kiss her. He would kiss her eyes and the side of her mouth, press small kisses to her lips and neck and gather her close. He would tell her he loves her, would whisper those words against her neck before tilting her head upward and kissing her mouth, open and full and his hands pressing against her back. He would feel her own hands flutter around his shoulders, the warmth and the softness of her body melting into his. And if he dared, if he had the courage, he would make love to her, kissing her deeply and pushing up inside her with slow, strong strokes.
But he has no courage. His body is stiff and straight as Luna curls against him, and it's a long, tortuous moment before she finally pulls upward, hair falling in loose tangles about her face.
"Thank you," Luna says, and Dune's chest tightens. "For all your hard work."
He watches the door close, and listens for her footsteps as she walks down the hall.
xXx
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People are screaming. Enemies pierce the castle walls; there is fire and chaos and guards fall around him like leaves.
Dune fights. Thrusts his sword wildly, perfectly, enemies scattering and bones shattering and blood spurting at his feet. He runs. Everyone is dead and he's the only one, the only one to protect her now, Luna is screaming and a sword slices through his back, he falls to his knees, and then...
And then he sees it: a perfect strike, spear knifing through Luna's breast.
"Luna!" Dune wrenches forward, but it's too late; her eyes are wide as her head falls back, body pitching backward with the force of the other man's strike. Dune's head whips upward as he sees her attacker's gaze, sharp and fixed to a fine point.
And the attacker flees, leaping out into the air.
xXx
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Luna is dying. Dune drags himself forward and yanks her up into his arms; her small body is limp and cold.
"Dune." Luna's voice is hoarse. Blood trickles down the corner of her mouth. "Dune. Do not cry."
Dune squeezes his eyes. His hands dig hard into her arms, hard enough to bruise.
The light in her eyes dim and Dune cries, howls with madness as if his soul were ripped into two.
xXx
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"Dune!" Luna runs up beside him. Dune begins to rise, but Luna catches his arm; she leans forward and presses a small kiss on his cheek.
"For all your hard work," Luna says, and Dune fights hard not to smile.