Wings: Hello! I'm so glad Blades suggested a joint fic as this has come out really really well – well I think so anyway. Thanks for reading and I wish you enjoy our characters' journey as much as we do writing it. Cheesy yes, but true! Cannot wait for comments I hope we can pull this off.
Blades: Ano...Wings, you did read what we wrote, right? Just kidding, just kidding! This was very enjoyable to write, and it promises to be entertaining sinces Wings is better then I am with the comedy. I like the dark stuff way to much.
Enjoy!
The Cassandra Syndrome
Prologue
All she could think of was her vow.
As a priestess of Atlantis, she had promised many things.
It was in the Emperor's court she had broken most of them, to her self-despair. But out of everything she had promised, she had never believed that she would break the vow of protecting life. She stared at the sai in her hand, feeling the strangely comforting grip of it in her hand. Her vow no longer applied, she would take the Emperor's sin onto herself and save Gaea from the torment it had descended into.
The popping of the fire as it burned in the brazier behind her was comforting, and she welcomed the feeling of the blistering heat at her back, warming her pristine gi. It helped to take her mind off that sour feeling that churned in her stomach. Already her shoulders felt weighed down, as if she could feel that sacred burden already settling there. Closing her emerald eyes she tried not to think. She tried to banish his smoldering cinnamon eyes from her mind, tried to forget the wrinkled hands that had gratefully clasped hers the days she had taken her vows, tried to forget...
She swallowed. She refused to let herself think his name and ran her thumb along the keen edge of the sai, half wishing that it would draw her blood.
With all her attempts at focusing on the burden ahead of her, she could only remember with irony how she had come across the sai.
Her powers enabled her to feel the roughness of his fingers sliding over hers, curling both against the metal.
His breath against her neck, murmuring and gesturing how to use it, his chest pressed against her back. Never did she imagine she would be using a weapon in this manner. She could only hope that in sacrificing herself he would get the freedom he had fought for, the freedom Gaea deserved. The thought steeled her as she turned the corner and saw the generals leaving the throne room from their nightly grovelling. A flash of silver hair caught her eye, making her heart clench in fear at how entirely unplanned this was. Aware of how undeserving she was, she only asked Jichia that in punishment the silver-haired General would be merciful.
Her stomach plunged when he turned toward her, and for a moment she had a rather difficult time breathing. He broke away from the others to approach her, a rare smile on his face. Her answering smile was automatic, and she prayed that her nervousness didn't show.
His eyes were darker then usual, and she felt a pang, of guilt perhaps. It had been such a long time since she had seen his eyes so void of blood lust. She allowed him to lift her hand and tried not to flinch when his lips brushed her knuckles. His rust colored eyes searched her, and his brow drew together in concern.
"You are pale."
She only heard what felt like an echo of his words reach her. Her only thoughts were on the man behind the door and the knife that sang to obstruct his four humours. If it was found on her, there would be no respite.
"Treason…," she gasped, her hand shaking in the palm of his, unaware of his eyes widening in reverence and astonishment.
"Midoriiroko, have you seen something?" She felt his grip on her hand tighten and met his gaze worriedly. A prickling sensation crawled up her back at the connection her mind made between his query and her aspiration. She could only nod stiffly and respond as she attempted to pull her wrist out of his grasp.
"I must see the Emperor," she declared, praying to every watching spirit to stop her voice from wavering.
He nodded, and she fought hard not to tremble when his eyes brightened to the crimson curse of blood lust that was his birth right. Her nails digging half moons into her pale skin, she tried hard to keep herself from panicking.
He turned silently, giving her precious seconds to tuck the knife into the folds of her hakama, once again silently imploring those above. She felt something cool trickle down her palms and knew it was blood. It somehow brought her back to the situation at hand as she saw the stern profile of her friend, saddened by his thirst for carnage as he somehow associated treason with pleasure.
Would he be happy in performing the same rituals to her?
The threshold held more fear for her than the first time she had crossed it. Her silver-haired protector would soon get his righteous kill as she watched him roll back his shoulders almost languidly in anticipation to be dispatched. She seemed only capable of fear, of everything that would happen; and a tinge of hope, that the consequences would be worthy of her action. And remembrance, of his eyes. The eyes that had brought her soul back to her body and out of the Emperor's clutches. She wished for his happiness, not dwelling on what it would consist of, but that he would be free.
Her freedom belonged to the sai that would grant it. The doors were opened and she saw the General turn back to her, his gaze feasting on her as the provider of his joy. She looked over his shoulder, past the heavy vermillion curtains to where her future lay. The heavy wood enlaced behind her and Dilandau turned forward and pushed the curtains aside, holding it for her to join him and bow.
As she pulled her back straight and felt the cool metal press through the gi, she flinched.
For a moment she forgot to breathe, in that terrifying half a moment when those crimson cursed eyes slid over to look at her, his mouth forming a question.
A part of her was thinking, really, what a shame it was that he was the way he was because his lips actually looked quite nice. Not as good as— It was only through years of training that she was able to stop the blush that warmed her cheeks at the thoughts of him.
By Jichia, what was she doing thinking of that now?!
She raised the long sleeve of her gi on instinct, praying that it wasn't stained, to hide the flash of silver that would have surely caught his attention.
"Are," his eyes followed down the line of her throat to the collar of her gi when she swallowed rather thickly, and dread filled her at the way those crimson eyes narrowed, "you—"
Then there was a gasp and the frightening sound of metal against metal as his head whipped forward. His legs straightened out of the partial bow; his hand was at his hip, unsheathing his sword in a blur before she could even start to think to form a response to his unspoken question. Her vision swam as he darted from her side, and she didn't need to look up to see who else was in the room. She had grown used to his ki, an aura that comforted in a way she had never known. She didn't need to look up to recognize the mop of unruly hair or the body with the lean muscles that her fingers had run over countless times. She stumbled with a gasp, her heart pounding as the pain seared her head and the images assaulted her.
It stung her that this vision, unlike many previous, was sharp and clear as she watched distraught from her viewpoint in front of the throne as both men, one whose silvery hair was the by-product of his immense age, thrust their blades through him with differing strength. And yet it looked like a hand slicing through water, with such ease. But her focus reigned on the burgundy gaze that pierced her in the silence. One blade was hauled out of his body causing him to fall to his knees, his face shielded by his bangs, bangs she itched to comb back with her fingers.
A scream tore through the room, resonating up to the high ceiling, curling around the drapes of material.
She was astounded to see her own self dash towards the fallen body and pull it into her arms, as it lifelessly slumped against her.
She opened her eyes, hissing at the sounds of metal ringing as it hit its brother. Her hands clenched in anger she had never known, pulling herself off the ground from her knees. Her nails scraping against the floor as she bolted towards the destiny she would create.
For a brief moment she felt like she understood him. Her anger, her denial, at what she had just seen...she understood his bloodlust. She understood his hatred. She understood why the brief moments of comfort that she could offer would never be enough for the one called Escaflowne.
The oaths that had plagued her conscience so, no longer registered in her mind as she rushed forward, pulling the small, insufficient sai from her gi. Her zorii slapped against the marble floor and she heard her two boys pause. She met his smoldering cinnamon eyes, but she didn't have time to be hurt by the annoyance she saw there. She turned her attention to the other one, the one she had known since she was a child. Gathering every inch of her will, she turned it into adrenalin as she latched onto his arm.
"You will not!" she hissed as she slid her small dagger into that minute exposed strip of flesh on his belly. His hand gripped the white cotton of her gi, and his sword fell to the ground with a loud clang. Already she was twisting trying to find the Emperor, to locate Escaflowne once more. Her emerald eyes slid to the left and there she saw him.
His face was contorted in pain as his back slammed against the wall crashing over the lit brazier. Oil sloshed over its golden sides as it fell to the floor, the smallest of flames starting to lick at the polished wood. The Emperor gasped, a hand reached for his chest as he gulped in the air. Although she couldn't see it, she could see the insane gleam in his beady black eyes. His thinning, silvery hair swayed in a tight braid as he moved forward, his sword arm surprisingly steady.
For a brief moment she hoped that he would retreat, withdraw to a place that he would assume was of relative safety. Surely, even the Emperor wouldn't be foolish to approach a warrior that was so great that he was often called the God of War. Of course, the Emperor was many things. As the nature of his title indicated he was arrogant and a supreme tyrant. Despite his frail appearance there was something about his eyes that made him terrifying. There were a whole slew of words that could be used to describe the old man, and it appeared that fool could be added to that list.
A vice-like grip curled around the suddenly bare flesh of her right arm and she turned her head to look at the man her mother had always hoped that she would marry, a man she might have married if not for her vows.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" His crimson eyes had darkened slightly, to the more healthy, sane shade of rust.
She saw no anger or rage.
Just confusion. The same look of puzzled curiosity that he had given her when she slid her sai into his belly. Remembering her only weapon her eyes slid down and saw, indeed, the weapon was still stuck there.
"Why?" She bit the inside of her cheek and turned away from him. Her gaze falling further until it landed on his forgotten blade. She was distinctly aware of the Emperor muttering as he approached Escaflowne, but her eyes were riveted on the lone blade. The fingers on her shoulder tightened and her eyes flew back to meet the General's.
She placed her bleeding hand gently over his, hissing slightly when his flesh came in contact with her wound. Tears pricked at her eyes at the way the eyes of her oldest friend narrowed in concern.
"I'm sorry," She murmured, her emerald eyes soft, "But this can't go on. I can't allow more people to suffer, I just can't."
His brow drew closer together in further confusion. "But your vows..."
She gave him a sad smile, her eyes glossy with unshed tears, before bending down to pick up his sword.
"This is my burden." She whispered, and tore her arm free of his strong grip. She stumbled a bit as she adjusted her own grip on the sword's hilt. It was certainly a great deal heavier than the ceremonial bow that she was used to wielding. She stopped for a moment and tried to lift it up properly as she had seen Escaflowne often do, but a snarl had her freezing.
"No." She whispered when she saw the Emperor raise his sword high.
The desire to kill never reached her. It was to protect him that she stepped away from her bleeding friend to stave off her soul leaving her again. Amending her grip one final time she rushed towards the wall where the Emperor had his back to her, panting. She had to finish this before he reached Escaflowne and played out her vision. Destiny would change in her hands for her own selfishness and this time it was justified.
She held the tip of the sword so that it was inches away from the Emperor's shoulder blade. She wasn't terrified of the possibility that the Emperor would suddenly turn. Even if he did sense her and try to pull away it would do no good. Even if at the very worse that she was only able to wound him, it would be impossible for this tyrant to escape alive. For the briefest moment she locked eyes with Escaflowne as he stared up at her over the Emperor's shoulder, his eyes widening.
She heard the General's roar of denial, but she pushed the sword through what she could only pray was the Emperor's heart. There was a strange squelching, and the old man let out an odd gurgling sound that was unlike anything that she had ever heard before. It was only then, when her stolen sword was sticking through his chest that the Emperor seemed to be aware of her presence. He started to turn, and she panicked, pulling back on the sword so that it withdrew from his body with a sickeningly wet sound.
His lips were wet with blood, and the tip of his beard was stained scarlet.
They twisted as he opened his mouth to speak, spitting out blood as he did so. She could only glance down to see the blood that stained her hands and gi, and a blissful numbness took over as her lord spoke.
"A priestess isn't so innocent after all." His smile was bitter. "I always wondered when you would be foolish enough to—" He coughed and more blood splattered onto her gi. "You will suffer greatly, my dear."
Her eyes widened when she noticed that dark blood seeping through his golden cloak was a little higher then it should have been.
The Emperor's thin lips spread into a grimace."It seems you missed, my little priestess."
She felt incapable of saying anything as his knees shuddered with the loss of energy and he groaned as her blow had brought an end to it all. A disdainful smile spread across his lips as he heard her gasp painfully at what he fell against, his knees sinking to the ground.
Her vow shattered in her ringing ears as the Emperor fell to one side, freeing Gaea from his affliction. But she was no longer watching him, her hands allowing the sword to clatter to the ground by her feet, lost to her consciousness.
Her eyes locked with a cinnamon pair that showed agony that was physical, but neither paid attention to it, both concentrating on their emotional pain.
She was agonizingly aware of the scarlet blood that stained her fingers. It was warm and sticky, and just the thought of it made her ill, but she fought down the impending nausea and took a step forward, her hands reaching out for him.
His eyes left hers for a moment and flicked down to look at her hands. His lips twisted into…something. She had never quite seen an expression like that on Escaflowne's face before. Was he offended by the blood? But that didn't make sense. After all, how many times had he made his way to her room at the latest hours of the night after a long campaign to have her help scrub away the blood that crusted his fingers? Why was he looking at her like that?
Then the metal of his armor rattled as he slid down the wall to collapse on the floor and her unspoken questions didn't seem so important.
His eyes seemed to be fixated by the blood that streamed along the silver rivulets of his armour, equal to the shine of the rubies encrusted on the plates. She nearly tripped over her zorii in her rush to get to his side. She sank to her knees, her hand brushing over the segmented armor plates near the wound. Her fingers pressed against his bare skin almost painfully to try and stem the bleeding.
"Please…" she breathed, starting to pull in her ki to appease his heartbeat and lessen the flow. Her head ached from the vision's after effects and her trembling fingers slid against the laceration, causing her to lose concentration at who was in front of her. It was never easy trying to ease the wounded into the afterlife, but she could not let him die. She had broken her vow for him and in her own hands was the rebuke from the gods themselves.
She looked back up to his eyes, terrified of the moment when they would no longer be his, hearing his breathing start to struggle, his wound hissing each time he inhaled.
"PLEASE!" She screamed, feeling her own body start to struggle with the ki she was gathering inside herself and pushing towards him. He seemed to make no effort to help her.
"Don't you dare." Her voice cracked and a faint 'ping' reached her ears as her tears slipped down her cheeks and onto the polished silver of his breastplate. "You can't. You can't."
He looked as if he was about to say something, but if it was in protest or not she couldn't tell. He opened as mouth and it was then that she saw his teeth were stained with blood. It dribbled over his chin and splattered her gi as he tried to speak.
Her tears fell faster. "Save your strength." The blood on the fingers that she pressed to his lips was just beginning to crust over as it dried. Taking a deep, shaky breath she tried to summon as much energy as she could, tried to channel it into his pained form.
She could only vaguely recall the lessons the old priestess had given her about binding. It was used to bind the ki of a dying mind to hers until the healers could arrive. Her blood turned to ice at the realization.
There would be no healers here for him. A man who had tried to kill his emperor.
"No. No. No. No. No. No! No!" Her eyes were desperate as her other hand reached up to thread through his unruly locks. "No. No. No." She shook her head violently as she spoke, angling her body closer so that she could cradle his pained form. "You can't." She whispered harshly. "You can't."
She watched him cough, then wince at the pain he was suffering. Focusing more on keeping him alive than mourning — he wasn't dead yet — she fumbled along his side for the buckles and knots that held his armor in place. As she pulled one by one apart she felt the sensation of his breathing against her throat deteriorate. Her vision blurred from her tear stained eyelashes and she couldn't meet his gaze. Managing to rip off the breastplate she whimpered in horror at the dark stain that had spread down his red laced up tunic, the blood starting to gush from his wound, turning darker and thicker.
"Don't do this!" She whispered, her face pressed against the hollow of his neck, hoping her body's warmth would forestall the inevitable. Her breath matched his in shudders, but tears contorted hers, whereas his had been caused by her own hands. Pulling back slightly to see his face, she pressed her lips to his sweat-drenched forehead, his hair smelling slightly of the scented oil he had fallen in. She placed her hands under each of his ears, preventing his neck from slumping against the wall.
"Look at me." She pleaded, blinking rapidly to clear her tears so she could see him clearly. But he seemed only capable of staring at her dazedly, and in her state she was incapable of understanding what his gaze meant.
His cinnamon eyes were slightly glazed, a look she had only seen once or twice. Like the time he had gotten very drunk…
She fought the urge to crinkle her nose when his breath brushed her cheek. The scent of alcohol, an overpowering mixture of sake and vino, was rather repulsive.
Not that it mattered.
Hadn't she already told him she wasn't speaking to him?
Pressing her palms against his shoulders she shoved him away and glared at him, opening her mouth to give him her usual lecture about the sins of alcohol and also – how dare he call her a coquette!
Then his face crumpled in a decidedly uncharacteristic fashion, and his eyes became glossy with tears. Moving with the speed and grace of a seasoned warrior he wrapped his arms around her hard enough to mould her body to his. It was with great difficulty that she fought the way her skin tingled at the contact, and the rising blush that burned her cheeks.
It was also getting a little difficult to breathe.
"I'm sorry!" He sobbed, his tears soaking the collar of her gi, his fingers curling round her waist.
His fingers clasped her wrist that had moved from the side of his neck down to his elbow, jolting her out of her reverie.
She could feel the dried liquid that pressed between their palms, the blood on hers lighter and thinner. He took a shuddering breath and groaned in pain as the receding blood flow surged once more from the wound in his tunic that she had stolen so many times at night. But this time the blood didn't match the rubies on his armour or his tunic. The dense fluid was black.
"ESCAFLOWNE!" She wailed, her voice shaking the wispy drapes in the chamber, the rafters creaking as if in mourning with her.
His head tilted slightly, his gaze changing and she knew he was reprimanding her for not calling him what he had asked her to.
But she couldn't. The name he had told her to call him was meant for them, and them alone, in moments she could cherish and hold against the Emperor's coldness.
Not in this situation.
She had always been considered to be rather gifted when it came to reading other people. The old priestess had always said that it was an indispensable talent for their trade vocation.
Escaflowne was the only one who could ever keep his feelings hidden from her, even with her unique gifts. Whenever he got into a heated argument with the General, she always had such a hard time getting him to calm down. He just didn't respond to her gift like most people. It was, she supposed, a trait of his bloodline. Perhaps not that dissimilar from the way the General's bloodlust was a trait from his.
Her knuckles turned white as she clasped his hand, as if that action alone would bind him to her.
"What am I going to do?" She whispered, her voice cracking with the frustration of everything.
How could she apologize?
How could she tell him that she never meant for it to happen this way? How could she tell him that she was stupid, and sorry, and damn it they were supposed to fly into the sunset together (almost) like the characters in the silly books that the court ladies read. She lowered her head and pressed her lips to his — oh, how they were starting to get so cold — and fear lanced her heart when he didn't respond.
This wasn't right.
This…
Her entire body went rigid when she recognized the telltale noise of heavy boots against polished wood.
Tears fell in abundance and obscured her vision.
The footfalls stopped behind her as she pulled the warrior against her, running her fingers through his thick messy hair, damp from blood and her tears. She couldn't think about anything but the man in front of her, and how she had to keep him warm, waiting for the man behind to strike.
A hand fell on her shoulder, gripping it tightly and a hand was placed over her mouth. She took a shuddering breath, closing her eyes to wait for the end. Her oldest friend would show her compassion by breaking her neck swiftly it seemed, stopping the white hot pain that had started to spread through her body.
She turned slightly towards him, aiding his momentum for the coming action but was surprised when he bent down gently and pulled her up and against his chest. His arms wrapped round her body forcing her to release the weight of the now dead body of someone she had tried to save; the body that she still clung to in hope that the gods would perform a miracle.
For all the suffering she had endured, she wanted one thing only. Disregarding all of her vows and teachings she implored silently promising anything in return, just to have him restored to her.
"Let go." His voice was gentle, as he carefully lifted the lifeless body of his eternal rival out of her arms, placing him on the floor, showing him more kindness than he ever had when he was alive.
She rested against him limply, unable to stop crying, her breath erratic. She could barely register the fear in his tone as his other arm gripped her waist. A rogue thought pierced her…if her friend had held her like this at any other moment, he would have been beaten thoroughly, but her self-proclaimed protector was dead.
She went rigid as the realisation truly hit her.
"Keep quiet!" he pushed her aside and went to Escaflowne's side. She couldn't focus on anything but his unmoving gaze, not understanding why the General took the cursed sword she had dropped and placed it in her saviour's grasp. Then walking back to where he had pulled the sai from his own torso he threw it also by the side of the fallen warrior.
Her knees buckled and her hands took the brunt of the force of her fall. She was pulled upright again by her silver haired friend and marched to the door.
He let out a grunt of annoyance at how unaccommodating she was being as he tried to guide her forward.
"Stop being so difficult." He growled, and she hardly noticed that it lacked any real bite.
A part of her wondered at the tenderness that the General was treating her with, especially after her blatant act of treason. The larger part, the part that refused her to be anything but listless and numb muttered incoherently and did it really matter?
A naïve fool to the end.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She felt his crimson eyed gaze on her form and ignored it. She knew that her eyes were most likely glassy and dim, but she didn't care. It was hard to care now that she'd lost him.
He had been…well, her everything.
He made her question the dubious beliefs that the old priestess had engrained into her since she was a little girl. He opened her eyes, made her see the chaos and death that she had never noticed from her place at the Emperor's side. He made her see that the routine of her life, her clothing, and her rooms...they were nothing more than her gilded cage to keep her naïve and complacent.
The Emperor was so very, very clever, he had once told her. He had told her again and again that she didn't know her own worth. That she was foolish. She allowed the Emperor to keep her hidden from the people, to keep the one symbol that could mean everything to the people silenced and concealed.
So many times had her indomitable warrior called her foolish.
Her foolish hands had gripped cold steel, and driven that hated sword through the one who killed and slaughtered. She plunged through the one who had so much blood on his hands, yet still thought himself to be pure. Then she had plunged it through the one who held her foolish, foolish heart.
Gods, what she would give to hear that irritating word fall from his lips once more.
A whimper escaped her, unbidden, and the General tightened his grip on her arms.
"Stop it." He commanded harshly. "I know it hurts, but you need to hold it together. We have one chance. Once we get through this you can mourn Escaflowne all you want."
He muttered something that was too low for her to hear, and her vision blurred. She tried to block out the sound of his voice, tried to find that safe place in her thoughts that would cocoon her from the pain.
She could only watch him extend his arm and slide his fingers around the handle of the door. Of her heart's own cruel volition she stared at his dexterity and compared it to that of the warrior who had been so dexterous with her. His calloused hands could grip a sword and beat an entire legion of an opposing army and yet he was ever so gentle with her.
A sob escaped her throat as she recalled the one time he had left a bruise on her wrist during a particularly potent argument. She had been amazed in the few days after, how humble he had been towards her, almost afraid of touching her in case he would hurt her again. And yet he was the only one who truly saw her as a person.
Not a tool, an untouchable object, or a symbol of power. A person.
She felt the cold touch of a forehead rest against the back of her shoulder, causing her own shoulders to lock tensely as it was not the usual warm body she contentedly welcomed. This cold touch only mocked her further.
And then he spoke urgently, in a commanding tone.
"Listen to me. Agree with whatever I say and then you can leave. But you must not let anyone know what happened."
His words had no effect on her. She had lost everything.
Who was she to care about anything else? Despondency crashed her consciousness and she didn't see a point in responding to the General. She was minutely touched by his dedication to her, but it all surmounted to nothing. Death would be a more welcome friend than him.
He turned her limp figure round to face him and glared at her, his grip biting into the now sweat drenched arms of her gi, decorated with crimson stains.
"Please." He begged.
She looked at him and for one single instant she saw warm cinnamon eyes instead of his rust coloured ones, which she realised, were filled with anxiety; his pupils darting to the door and back to her. She nodded a fraction and was whirled back round to face the door.
She supposed that she could do this one final thing for him. Since she was never able to return the feelings that both of them had always pretended had never existed, she could try to find the will to get through this. When she moved next, it was of her own accord, with the General's hand guiding her as it pressed firmly against the small of her back. Raising her arm, it was she who reached for the iron wrought handle.
Her eyes were drawn to the splotches of blood that had stained nearly the entire length of her sleeves scarlet. She turned back to look at him, but for what she wasn't quite sure. Maybe that glimpse of Escaflowne's shadow that she had witnessed earlier, or maybe just a promise that she wasn't as damned as she knew she was.
Whatever it was that she had hoped to see in his eyes it certainly was not the reassurance that she saw in those rusty eyes. Taking a deep breath, she felt suddenly aware as she pushed the door open and stepped over the thresh hold. The scent of blood followed them as they entered the outer hall. She caught sight of a few servants peeking nervously around the corner. She imagined that the General must have given them quite a fiercesome glare with the way they disappeared, but not before curious eyes had fallen upon her blood- splattered robes.
Her heart ached as it reminded her of another time that he had chased away too-curious servants to save her reputation.
That blissful feeling of numbness was threatening to grip her conscious once more. Her steps became heavier. She hardly even heard the heavy footsteps of soldiers as they approached the throne room, undoubtedly drawn by servant gossip. The footsteps quickened and orders were shouted when the scent of blood became apparent.
"Just follow my lead." His voice ghosted over the shell of her ear, and despite her half numb state she couldn't stop the shiver. His hand fell away from her back and he took a step back, making sure to observe the proper distance that decorum demanded.
"General?" A lieutenant rushed forward the moment that he noticed the two and the state of array that their clothing was in. He gave her a brief bow that she hardly noticed, before snapping into a salute to the silver-haired man that now stood slightly in front of the Priestess. The Lieutenant's gray eyes trailed over her stained gi.
"So much blood." He murmured.
"Lieutenant!" The General's voice was harsh and commanding. "See to the mess in the throne room."
The Lieutenant raised a hand and motioned for the two soldiers flanking him to inspect the throne room. She felt those watery grey eyes on her, but she kept her gaze riveted to the floor, studying the individual grains.
"The Emperor?"
"Dead. By Escaflowne's own hand."
She drew in a sharp breath, unable to stop herself at the cruel words. She supposed it was to be expected. After all, the General had said that there was one chance for her to get out of this alive. Tears spilled onto her cheeks in fat drops, but she didn't care. Only the General would know why she cried.
Only he would know who she cried for.
The Lieutenant snarled,
"I knew he couldn't be trusted. What was the Emperor thinking? Giving someone like that a position of such power."
"He was getting old, and his judgement was starting to lapse."
"And he listened to the word of no one. Why is the Priestess so covered in blood?"
"She witnessed the entire thing. By the time I arrived Escaflowne had started to advance on the Priestess."
"You killed him, I trust."
"He died a traitor's death."
A low keening sound of acute pain pierced the hall and it was only when she felt their eyes on her that she realized that the sound was coming from her.
She fell to her knees as her sobs took over.
"I'm so sorry, Holy One." The watery-eyed Lieutenant knelt before her, placing his hand over hers.
"You served His Eminence so faithfully for so many years. To witness such a tragedy…"
"Thank you for your concern, Lieutenant." The General's hands were on her shoulder and he helped her stand up, his voice curt.
"I must see her ladyship to her rooms. This has been, as you said, a terrible ordeal and she needs her rest."
He led her to a hidden panel and slid it open, guiding her through. He was silent as he led her down the passage way to her rooms, lost in his own thoughts as her pain tore her throat ragged and sore.
Not long after the Emperor's death, the sacred Priestess took her own life.
Although many theorists suggest that many of the cult religions had engrained the belief of faith healing and the Priestess' actions were a result of her faith, many myths and legends have spoken of a forbidden love. Some believe it was her loyalty to an ailing, corrupt Emperor, but it is the stories of an illicit affair between either the Emperor's favored General Albatouor his proclaimed 'God of Death' Escaflowne that was most popular in the stories of that time.
Regardless of the true meaning, the people lost a very important symbol of power that day, and it was several decades before a leader was able to arise and fix the fractured remains of a once great empire.
―A History of Gaia, Abridged
Secondary Level
The Rise & Fall of the Zaibach Empire, Chapter 29
"If we take eternity to mean not infinite temporal duration but timelessness, then eternal life belongs to those who live in the present." Wittgenstein
Press the shiny button to review. Sa, you know you want to.
Wings & Blades
xx