Disclaimer: I swear we've already gone through this.
Author's Note: I know I should be working on Bonds, but I was struck with inspiration, and it had to get written down. Originally I wanted to write a happy fic about rain, because it's always portrayed in such a negative sense. However, as my muse took hold of me, it ended up turning out angsty after all. -sigh-
Dance of the Rain
Like the feet of a thousand faeries, the rain fell to Alwas, bringing with it a thick veil of mist, as if the clouds had suddenly decided on a tour of the ground. Standing at the edge of his pit with a hand stretched out to catch the falling drops, Pince Aikka hummed to himself. He had always loved the rain. There was something soothing about the way the water cascaded down, singing as it pattered against the surroundings. The rain never failed to wash away and cleanse the land. Even if the Crogs left great gashes in the earth, eventually the rain would smooth the soil down leaving nothing but an indent. The rain made the soil wield up green plants to cover the debris from the broken temples. And it was the rain that would aid him when it came time to decompose in the ground. Yes, it was the rain that made everything perfect.
The Prince's humming burst out into flowing words as he hit the refrain. These were the words of his people, sung in the native tongue, passed down for generations, yet it was not the words that would save him.
But that did not stop Aikka from singing them.
If anything, his voice grew greater with every passing moment, drunk with the pride for his people, sick with the pain of their sorrow, and fed by the intensity of his own desires. To him, it was the songs that kept the people alive. The Crogs could rape his cities, enslave his people, and even take his life or the lives of his parents and siblings, but they could never take his pride.
It was this and the wish for a better future that drove the young Prince onward. He would make a better future for the little children of his kingdom. He would free them from oppression. It mattered not how it was done, only that it would be done. He would stake his life on it, and slave until his bones were cracked and his flesh was dry with age. This determination clawed at his insides, and sent the words fresh and passionate from his throat. It reminded him he was alive.
The song thrilled on, accompanied by the steady tapping of the rain. Words and water danced as the two combined to form the ultimate music, and even with no instruments, the two were all that was needed to create beauty itself. It flew through the air, humming like it was another being in itself. This was hope.
But like a flower, the beauty slowly wilted as the last words escaped Aikka's mouth. His lips once again closed. He stared up at the rain, watching it's decent; its kin soon forming in his own eyes. He was strong, and with a quick motion, wiped it away, erasing all signs of despair. He was the wilted flower: the beauty and the hope still visible, still proud, but loosing life with every breath.
With the loss of its dance partner, the rain slowly faded, leaving the gift of freshness where it had stayed. Aikka took in this final gift, because in the end, it was all the rain could really give.