A/N: Um, okay, so it's been almost five years since I uploaded something onto this site. oTL Please don't expect my comeback to be anything wonderful. This one-shot was originally an assignment for my English Comp. class but somehow turned into my first fic in five years. This was written back in October, 2008. On the proverbial brightside, I got a good grade on this assignment. Oh! The gods in this fic, as much as they like to deny it, are not omnipotent thus explaing how they didn't know the end of this fic.
Dislcaimer: All the funny, witty, disclaimers are taken by better writers than I. I don't own anything but pencils to draw Squeenix fanart and sweet, sweet, AkuRoku lovin'.
Also! This fic, especially Axel's Thoughts in Itallic are heavily based on the Fanfic Tarot Musings by Jumesyn. .net/s/3350939/1/Tarot_Musings It's one of my favorite KH fics ever, and I read of lot of fics so that's saying something.
Enjoy, review, don't be to harsh on me, you might make me disappear from the fanfic world again. x'D -shot-
The Hanged Man
A lone figure trudges down a worn dirt path. He is not the first to walk it, nor will he be the last. Much like his predecessors, old chipped and scratched iron shackles make their home above his wrists, chafing the skin that was once praised for the pale beauty rarely seen on a man. His head is down cast, sending untamable spikes of red in all directions. Once piercing green eyes are hooded with dark lashes, resembling the mere shadow of an emerald. The twin black diamond tattoos beneath his eyes, a mark of royalty back in his homeland, give the illusion of eternal tears. By the crowd's standards, he may as well be weeping for the sins he's been accused of. This man, with his bent over lanky frame and sullen expression, has the disposition of someone ready to die.
'The name is Lae, commit it to memory.'
The crowd surrounding the gallows ranges from mere peasants to gods and royals. Some spoke loudly, others whispered, few relied on a telepathic link. All conversations, regardless of communication method were singing the same song, "our Sky is gone!" "He murdered him! "Another so soon!" "Who will be king now?!" "A life for a life!" Behind the nobles, and a respectable distance away from the gods, stood four figures darkly cloaked. Presumably the family of the criminal, too ashamed to show their faces, an invisible bubble forms around them as the audience separates to give them space. No one wishes to be mistaken as one of the murderer's supporters.
Upon the gallows, next to the official and behind the accused, stand the two most rigid members of the audience. The king, an elderly man with a face touched by time, kept his auburn eyes straight ahead, staring past the crowd and into a realm where no man can see. His golden eyebrows furrow in deep concentration, wrinkles caused by years of laughter turn to frown lines deeper than the great crevices of mother earth. The commoners stare at their darkly dressed monarch and feel a twinge of sorrow within their hearts, first his son and now his beloved nephew. Deaths too close together for an old heart to bare, no one speaks it but all hope that Ansem "the Wise" will not fall to insanity after this latest tragedy. Will his suffering never end! This man has been good to Radiant Garden, something that can not be said of his ancestors, he is a figure that will be engraved into his people's hearts even after his time, fetching in his youth, and spilling with handsome regality in old age.
'One will do well to remember, all the glitters is not gold."
Next to him stands his remaining child. The sight of such a grand man so tenderly holding the hand of a petite creature would almost be comical had it not been them. Had the situation not occurred. Namine, with her pail skin, cherubic face, sheer blonde hair, and azul orbs is the very picture of an angel come to earth. Today, this appearance is shattered by swollen red eyes and a blotchy pink face. Unfortunately, the princess is not one of those lucky girls that can retain her beauty in tears. Already timid and reserved Namine has gone dumb since news of her cousin's death has reached her, what made it worse is the fact that the acclaimed murderer was her brother's closest companion. The future looks grim for her, there's not much one can do with a mute princess, marrying her off will prove to be difficult. That is sure to be the case, whether or not another heir can be found. The crowd whispers of the blonde Strife boy living at the Leonhart fiefdom.
'Hey Nam', will you sing for us once more?'
The accused takes a quick step towards the noose as the official announces his crime. The crowd's outrage is inspired anew, fruit is thrown along with spiteful words and icy glares. The gods keep their composure, it's not their place to intervene in human affairs, regardless of how much they wish to. All expected great things of the deceased, the gods were no exception. His charming disposition and pure heart won them over. Having seen the great feats he would accomplished in his future, all were taken aback at his sudden death. For days after, the lands would quake most terrifyingly, occasionally ripping open as thunder roared and lighting descended from the sky. But not all Magickals were so eager to see the young man meet his face at the gallows. Pretty little Edym, the blonde water nymph, stands trembling and chocking back sobs in the middle of gods. All know of his allegiance to the criminal, even more are aware that he was once sweet on him. His every move is under close scrutiny by those around her, if he were to try something the heavens would be on her like a pack of wolves. His consort, the cloaked schemer and Right Hand of Death, Ienzo grabs his hand tenderly, offering silent support. One steely eye watches the noose with a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.
'You'd be upset, wouldn't you Rox?"
The executioner, none too gently, shoves the young man forward and adjusts the noose around his neck. "If I had my way, you'd get much worse, vermin." he venomously spits out the last word, the red head does not flinch and keeps a steady gaze forward. This large hardened man has sent many men to their graves, rarely did they ever inspire any kind of reaction from him. But then again, those men didn't murder the Heir Presumptive. The executioner shoves him once more, this time to check if the scaffold is working properly.
It was.
Incase that wasn't enough, he adds weights to his ankles to ensure strangulation, the floorboards shriek and moan in protest. None of this phases the man, not the forth coming of death, the hatred gleaming in the crowds eyes, nor the laughing blue eyes of his brother at the end of the crowd. No, it was the soft voice of the girl behind him, barely audible in the midst of all the chaos.
"Lae…how could you?….to Roxas and me…"
The mention of his dearest companion plays at his heartstrings. Memories bombard him one after the other, the long nights discussing being a prince, and the longer discussions of hating the positions, and the perpetual longing for freedom away from the court where love could take flight. He remembers the days Roxas, Nam', and his own little sister would spend in the flourishing courtyard, picking flowers, singing nursery rhymes, and mocking the silly stableman Wakka. One memory in particular jumps out at him, the day of Roxas' murder, when the blonde was painted red at the hands of his own father.
Only hours before Lae and the blonde were sitting at the edge of a castle wall, gazing at the night ornamented with stars. Thinking back on it, the drop would have been fatal if they were to slip, what had they been thinking? ('I always act so irrational when I'm with you, and I'm already irrational to begin with.') Roxas had spent the majority of the night visually tracing the stones beneath them, when he did speak it was only four words. "Would you miss me?" His words were left fading in the night. At the time, Lae hadn't thought too much of it, Rox was probably just having another angst outburst to release stress and would be over it in the morning. His uncharacteristic silence should have warned the red head, maybe Roxas had known all along of what was to be his fate.
(He doesn't recall touching him that night.)
The only witness to the crime would be himself, and even that was purely coincidental. He had backtracked to the blonde's room to pick up a ribbon he'd left for little Kairi during their discussion, only to steal a fleeting glance of the blonde hair that ran so strong in Namine and Roxas. The horrid sight of the boy, who was more than a brother to him ('more, more, more, so much more.'), slain almost sent him tumbling towards insanity. The red river flowed down his pale neck, gathering into a puddle on the floor, staining the satin sheets of the bed behind him. His eyes, once bluer than the sky, now were murky and cold. ('Did you use the family heirloom, o' wise Ansem? The one that hung so prettily in the dining room hall? The silver of the blade would compliment Roxy's skin so well, the rubies his red droplets…the studded sapphires his eyes...') But no one would see truth had he told them, this he knew. How could they? After all, why would their gentle monarch do such a thing to his own family? The future prince no less!
For the same reason every other main in the course of the Strife family history has murdered. For power. Roxas began to question his every move and motive more and more, acting in sheer defiance at times. No longer was he a naïve prince, no longer was he a useful pawn. But he could never be a successful king if he ignored his father! Ansem the Wise, they called him with good reason! He had seen war, and famine, disease and the death of his people in the cruelest of times. He had bare witness to all of this and more by the time the crown had finally been passed to him. What did Roxas know of the hardships of life? He was truly ignorant of the demands of a king! Ansem understood the blame partially rested on his shoulders, had he been more strict, allowed less freedom and doted less, then perhaps Roxas a king would be! He loved his children, for sure, nothing could be compared to the feeling of first seeing them walk, talk, or cry out for their father's arms. But his country's livelihood must always be a king's first priority. "Love thy land before thy self," those were the words his own father passed down to him, the very words he was sure Roxas wouldn't be able to live by. The boy longed to leave his royal station too much for that.
No…he couldn't be used any longer, Sora on the other hand…young naïve Sora …with the exception his messy chestnut hair he was Roxas' double. The kingdom would readily accept a god favored boy as prince, even more so if the boy's resemblance to their deceased prince was uncanny. Sora with his trusting and pure heart would never suspect his darker side, would never question his authority. He was too innocent for that, still unfailingly believing there was good in everyone, even in his own twisted uncle. The brunette already had a horde of followers, everyone who came in contact with the boy loved him and would follow him to the end of the world. This alone solidified Ansem's decision to make him the new king.
'What was I trying to do? I just wanted to see him again…'
Lae, at the time, was convinced Sora was involved in Roxas' murder. The timing was too perfect, Roxas dies, Sora's next in line for the throne. The pursuit of vengeance drove him to Radiant Garden to exact revenge, getting close was easy considering his sister was the prince's betrothed. But these type of things never go as planned, do they? Upon meeting the boy, it became clear this was not the case. At random intervals, it felt like being with Roxas again, the similarities were all there. Sky eyed, chubby face Sora was nowhere naïve as Ansem thought him to be. The awareness of being used was blatant, he knew his every wish was catered in order to keep him pleased…to keep him distracted at what went on beyond closed doors. He, much like Roxas, ('Too much like Roxas….you'd be upset wouldn't you?), also dreamed of freedom away from the court, of countries with mermaids and dragons and lions galore. He dream of spending lazy days with his two closest companions, Kairi ('Oh Kairi…forgive me.') and his silver haired knight. An impossible dream, for sure, considering his current status. As his last present for Rox, he'd make his cousin's dream come true. His life at court bound him like it had the blonde, the only way to remedy this was to end it. The next life would be kinder to the boy. The god's favored him after all.
The perfect plan was set out, noting could go wrong. Not when the flurry of dancing flames was involved. Sora's room burned reds and oranges that licked the strong contrast of the night, no corpse was ever found, everything lay in ashes. His only mistake in it all was informing his older brother of the plan. Foolishly he believed he'd understand, having witnessed Roxas internal suffering first hand and seeing it repeated in Sora. Reno, known for being a favored of the Cloaked Schemer, would abide to a little arson if it set a soul free. Right? Apparently, this was not the case either. The authorities were alerted before Lae could make his escape, catching the redhead with a torch in hand. The cold front Kairi put up stung him more than the punch of the silver knight from the house of Jenova.
'What have I been trying to do?'
Lae looks down at the thin outline of the trap door, ready to die. He deserves death, he knows, for killing a favored of the gods, the beloved boy too much like Roxas and not at all. He gives one last look into the crowd, the shock sends him a step backwards, the noose tightens. Standing to the side of his grinning brother, under the guise of cloaks, stand silver knight Riku smirking back at him and a solemn Kairi. Holding her hand…by god! Lae gives a bark of laughter as the hood steals his sight. The crowd murmurs insanity.
Beneath the hood Lae adorns a cheshire smile. Of course telling Reno the Trickster had been a good plan. An Excellent plan even. In the crowd the god Ienzo squeezes Edym's hand once more as he lets a tarot card be stolen by the wind. XII. The Hanged Man. Sacrifice, outcast, acceptance, a new point of view.
'Hey Roxas, let's meet again in the next life.'
Never will Lae forget the what he saw beneath the fourth cloak at the end of the crowd. The blue eyes of Sora, the same shade as Roxas.
The curtains close, the scene goes black, the floor gives way.