Note : There is a part where someone asks a time and is answered "on the nones hour" the Medieval time period had a different time system than us. Nones was roughly 3 o'clock back then. I'm not sure if this is how they would have used it so I apologize if I'm muddling any historical stuff. ^^"
Also, this is really quite the emotional piece (or er... I tried to make it an emotional piece at least) so read at your own discretion. =] More notes at the bottom.
The buzz of excitement that ran through the crowd was intoxicating. It was loud and he watched as all the people stood close together like a herded sheep. There were men, woman and children alike, all waiting in anticipation and with dwindling patience. You would think that they were waiting for a speech from the local lord or a visit from some other dignitary as opposed to the gruesome event that was minutes away from taking place.
It disgusted him.
Six months ago, he would have been just as excited as the many nameless faces were; six months ago, he would have enjoyed it.
That fact disgusted him even more.
Of course, six months ago, he would not have been in this emotional situation; he would not have been standing here, unable to watch and yet unable to look away.
Six months ago, Grimmjow hadn't been the same person.
"What time is the execution to take place?" a teenage girl asked his friend as they walked past him toward the crowd.
"At the nones hour." the second girl answered casually.
He clenched his fists together. It would only be another while. He closed his eyes a moment, trying to remember how it had started, how he had gotten here. It had been, ironically enough, his skills as an assassin. The lord of their city was a very powerful and respected- no, feared, man. His army was known to be powerful especially those members known as his ten blades. The ten blades consisted of ten soldiers who had proven themselves to deserve a place close to his lordship. Some were clever, others quick and precise; all were deadly.
Grimmjow had started as a foot soldier; a crafty foot soldier but a foot soldier nonetheless. It was his passion for fighting that had him moving up the ranks quickly. He learnt quickly (despite some of his superiors' quips at his intelligence) and was ruthless. Blood didn't faze him; nor did the sight of a man begging for mercy and pity before him. As time went on, his name began to bring fear to the hearts of those who served under him as well as some of those above.
It wasn't long before he caught the eye of Lord Aizen.
It wasn't much longer after that that Aizen collected him into his ten swords.
The crowd began to get rowdier, louder. And it broke what little concentration Grimmjow had. However he quickly realized why they had gotten louder. A flash of green eyes were looking straight at him from the platform as if they'd known exactly where he'd be. Piercing green eyes that he'd once hated.
But that had been a long time ago.
He wasn't sure when they had brought out their prisoner, all he knew was that as he watched him, all the pain that he'd kept at bay broke the floodgates and it, along with anger, spread through his very being. This shouldn't be happening. It was his fault. No! It... fuck, why couldn't he think straight? Why were his fists shaking? Why were the green eyes as dead and the man as stoic as ever? He was about to die, shouldn't he be a little more panicked?
He wasn't sure who started it, and perhaps thankfully because he would have killed the fucker had he known, but rotten vegetables began being tossed at the pale man. The man who was being sentenced and killed for, publicly, his personal preferences. Privately, Grimmjow knew it was something much worse. Aizen was a man who did not enjoy sharing his toys. His "ten swords" were to play nicely but not too nicely.
They had broken the rule and their "master" had been very displeased.
It took all of Grimmjow's will power not to go smashing through the crowds then and there, not to hurry up to the platform and steal him away.
He'd suggested it before, but the dark haired man had simply shaken his head. He would take his punishment. Just like that. His death seemed as insignificant to him as a lashing or a mere torture method.
He could still remember when they'd been found. The rumour was that the walls had eyes and so they'd been somewhat surprised (or perhaps it had only been Grimmjow) that their affair had lasted as long as it had. Aizen had played the scene out well. Pretending to be shocked and appalled when he was obviously so very tickled by the entire incident.
"This is an act against your god. I do not tolerate this in my personal army and you both knew this. You are both to be confined to your quarters where you shall await further information."
They'd been allowed one last moment together that day. They had been together when the punishment decision had been given to them.
"You, Grimmjow Jaegerjacques, will watch as your... partner is beheaded in a public beheading. You will not be allowed to die but instead will continue working for his lord Aizen. If you attempt to kill yourself, your sister will be quartered in a equally public fashion. The beheading will take place in two days. Until then, you two are confined to this room."
He was mind fucking them. There was no way he would kill his favourite sword, right? Killing Grimmjow would have made sense but the black haired man? Why would Aizen do that? It didn't bring him anything. It didn't make sense. They had been left alone then and Grimmjow had begun ranting.
"He won't go through with it. He'll make a switch at the last minute. He doesn't want to kill you. He can't kill you. God fucking damn it, he can't!" tan hands slammed against the wall as the blue haired man screamed in anger. "I won't fucking let him!" The angry words continued but he hadn't moved from his position. He stood, one fist against the wall, his forehead now leaning against it with closed eyes. He refused to let the other man see his frustration, his hurt.
"He will do what he feels must be done. Do not anger for me, it is a waste of time."
The man's voice was as stoic as ever. That had irritated Grimmjow even more.
"Waste of time? You know what's a waste of time? Serving assholes like our master, I mean Leader. Oh no wait, I actually meant master 'cause he treats us like his god damned slaves! How can you allow it?"
"My life belongs to him, as does yours. Do not forget that." the words were cold but the figure had taken a step toward Grimmjow's hunched figure and it was said too quietly to be a real threat.
"Fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck you for letting him do this to you." he whispered it in reply, his body shaking in anger and emotion. He could feel a strange sensation building in his eyes. Why were they suddenly wet? What he sick? It took him a moment to realize that they were tears. God damned tears! He was a man and men did not cry.
"Death is not something to be feared Grimmjow. You of all people should know this."
"Stop acting like this is nothing. Your life may not matter to you but it means everything to me!" he wasn't sure when he'd spun around nor was he aware of how much he'd just willingly admitted. He didn't care that he had wet trails down his eyes or that he was falling apart. All that mattered was that it was all real and it was the first time he'd ever seen shock on the other man's face.
"Grimmjow..." the sentence would never be finished. The blue haired man had spun around then and grabbed the other in front of him, smashing his lips against another pair. He was acting wildly, like an animal backed into a corner but he refused to give up.
It had been their last night together. The next morning, before the sun had even risen, when they had both been lying in bed, very little covering their bodies, guards had stormed in, taking hold of the blue haired man and ordering the dark haired one to clothe himself and follow them.
No one told him where they'd put him. Not even the other swords, some of whom looked at him with pity. Most looked at him with disgust.
Through all his reminiscence, Grimmjow held the green eyes in his blue ones and when he really couldn't take it anymore, charged forward, the platform as his destination. A hand on his shoulder, a strong one at that, stopped him and he turned to see that it belonged to Stark, another sword. Behind the lazy man was his assistant, the girl whose name he never could remember and Halibel.
"Stay here." he said in the same lazy drawl that he often had but there was a sense of urgency in it that was not usually there.
"Fuck that!" Grimmjow refused to let this man, even if he was his superior, stop him.
"Stay here." it was repeated and before he knew it, Halibel was the one holding his shoulder while the other two made their way to the platform. Once there, the crowd stopped, recognizing their Lord's henchman.
"This man is to have an honourable execution." Stark began with notable indifference.
"The next person to throw something will be the next one in line and shall receive the same fate." Lilynette, that had been her name, spoke next. Or rather, almost snarled.
The crowd was now uneasy. This was not how things were done. Humiliation was half the punishment before the death. Why was their lord taking this away from them?
Grimmjow tried once again to pull away from Halibel's grasp but, despite being a woman, she was somehow stronger than him.
"Let the fuck go."
"It would be unwise of you Grimmjow. Do not subject yourself to a fate worse than death. It is what he would have wanted."
What she couldn't understand was that this, watching him die, it was already worse than his own death. Because if he had been the one to die, he wouldn't be the one to live with it afterwards.
Yet he stood there silently, watching as Lilynette quickly removed the tomatoes and other splattered vegetables from the pale man's face. Grimmjow almost growled at seeing someone else touch him, even if it was in kindness. Perhaps that was what made it worse.
A sole drum began as the chained man was led to the block where an executioner stood. What the crowd didn't know was that this wasn't an executioner for peasants. The man had been summoned from other country and was known for his quick, swift kills. He was skilled and to be killed by him would mean a painless death. The swords knew that this was Aizen's last gift to his favourite toy.
It didn't make it any better.
Grimmjow watched as Ulquiorra kneeled down before the block and rested his head. He quickly realized that the other man was looking straight at him and that his eyed were no longer dead. In fact, they were filled with something for the first time, even if he couldn't name that something. He blinked away tears as the executioner raised the axe high in the air.
The spilling waves of the green sea reached for the azure skies once more - one last time before the sky and the ocean were separated eternally.
"Goodbye Ulquiorra..."
The crowd cheered as metal met wood.
AN : This was my entry for round two of the UlquiGrimm fan club FF Contest over on Deviantart.
This time the prompt was : Medieval. Oooo
A lot less fluff compared to the last one I wrote... It's actually quite dark in content matter (or at least in my opinion?) but there you go.
Some have been asking me what's going on with my multi chaptered Ulqui/Grimm story and all I can say is that... uh... it's 'a coming! ^^ In the meantime, I hope you'll accept these One shots as peace offerings.