Title: Die Upon a Kiss
Genre: Romance / Angst
Rating: T
Pairing: Zanannza x Yuri
Spoilers: N/A
Summary: Men must make sacrifices for the women we love.
Word Count: 566 (drabble)
Warnings: Obviously slight alterations – I don't quite remember then scene 100%, but I'm fairly sure it didn't go down like this. But maybe it should have.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Quote is from a Julia Quinn novel.

A/N: Poor Zanannza…


It was hot, the sun searing, scorching down onto the Egyptian sand like a merciless wave of liquid fire. Tangible and heavy, pressing him down, deeper and deeper into the dirt. Zanannza wanted to move, tried to force his body to stand, but only his fingers twitched. The rest of him too hot, too heavy. He sank further into the sand.

It is alright. He chose this. It was worth it.

"Zanannza!"

Her voice is loud, broken with emotion. Emotion for him? The thought makes his heart lurch painfully in his chest. Or maybe that is just the arrow. Maybe it is just the blood loss making him lightheaded, maybe it is not the feel of Yuri's hands on his hands, her hands soothing his face, his hair. There are wide, bright eyes above him, looking down on him with… worry?

"Yu… ri…"

Her breath chokes on a sob.

"You must… leave…"

"No! I won't leave you!" She is frantic, wild, hands pulling at his clothing. "I can help you up – " She is tugging at him ineffectually.

He is dead weight. He is tired, it is pulling him into the desert landscape like quicksand. "No! Go! …" A cough, blood spattered and rattling. "Please! … Please…" He sees the moment she agrees, the resolution slamming over her eyes like a door. He forces himself to lift an arm, so heavy, so tired, to reach out to her face, to tangle his fingers in her hair, knuckles grazing her cheek. "I love… you…"

When the effort to lift his arm becomes too much, it starts to fall, but she grabs it, presses it to her cheek. There is a pause as she lays it on top of his chest, before she leans down to press her lips to his, a harsh press, salty and slick with tears, trembling with sorrow. Then she is gone.

Then she is gone. Gone where he cannot follow. And he is alone.

But the memory of those lips is all he needs. The pain melts away. There is no more sorrow, no more injury. Just Zanannza, here under the sun, with the taste of Yuri Ishtar on his lips. It is enough. It has to be enough. Because there is nothing else. Even had he lived there would have been no more for him. Yuri was not the woman meant to be his wife, though she owned his heart, his soul, his life.

He would not, could not, regret this choice that he had made. That he would die and she would live. She must live – there was no other choice, no other way. Gladly, Prince Zanannza always the sand to blow over him, does nothing to stop it from covering his legs, his chest, and, lastly, his face. He does nothing to brush the sand from his eyes.

The only move he makes is to reach up, slowly, so slowly, and press his hands to his lips. Remembering.

And it is enough.