Twenty-Two
Author's Note:
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
This little idea just popped into my head while playing Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn the other day. It's going to be a two-shot, and the only official pairings are going to be Naesala x Leanne, but feel free to read it and ship them any way you want. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
It was the twenty-second morning.
It had been twenty-two whole days, barely more than three weeks since Naesala had made his decision. Twenty-two days and nights that Naesala had barely slept or eaten. Twenty-two nights where he dreaded the dawn, fearing the news he would receive as day broke. For twenty-two days he listened to the screams of his people, woke with their blood on his hands and the taste of it in his mouth.
It had been seventeen days since people had started to notice.
Nine days since outright panic had broken out.
Five days since the Kilvas diplomats had returned to their homes.
Two days since he had lost all hope, since he had finally given in and sent a messenger to Phoenicis, begging for aid.
Today was the day everything was going to end.
A steward, one of the few who had agreed to stay in the castle, approached him, but Naesala didn't need to look up to know what he was going to say.
Twenty-two more dead.
He sent the raven away with barely a twitch of his fingers. He couldn't bear to see anyone at the moment, not with the knowledge of what he was about to do. He hadn't taken supper the night before, couldn't stomach even the thought of food. He hadn't retired to his chambers either, instead spending the night perched upon the throne in his main hall. As the moon rose and fell, he stared at the high ceilings, cursing the crown that had been lain upon his head and trying desperately to think of some other way to save his people.
But dawn had finally come, and with it came the blood of his people. He could no longer deny what he had to do.
Rising from the throne, he returned to his chambers to acquire a new set of clothing. Changing quickly, he avoided looking at his arm at all costs. As he was usually a man who prized his vanity, he couldn't help but pause in front of a large mirror that hung on the wall.
The weeks had not been kind to him. He had always been pale, but he usually spent enough time outside that he didn't look quite as much like a ghost. Now, there was no trace of a tan to be found and his skin was as white as milk, a sharp contrast against the dark blue of his hair. The dark bags under his eyes lent him a haunted, unhealthy look, worsened only by the tight stretch of the skin across his face.
He had hardly been able to eat anything the past few weeks, and when he managed to, he often couldn't keep it down. Although he had always been lean, now he looked sickly thin. His high cheekbones jutted out prominently, giving his eyes even more of an unhealthy, sunken look. The bones in his wrists stuck out, the skin stretched painfully across them, and had he wanted to, he could have counted his ribs.
He supposed it didn't matter what he looked like now. Turning away, he walked over to a nearby dresser and hesitantly stared down at a simple, black-handled dagger that lay there. It had sat there for twenty-three days, but he hadn't looked twice at it since he had first put it there.
Until two days ago, when he finally decided what he was going to do with it.
It was a beorc weapon, not his usual choice, but it would do the job. He supposed it was fitting, in a way. There was no honour in what he was about to do. He no longer held any pride at being born a raven. Cursing his blood once more, he quickly grabbed the dagger, not wanting to think any more about it, lest he change his mind.
There was no one left to tell about his departure. He would not have taken any guards, even if there had still been some left in the castle. Most of the ravens that had lived there were gone now - whether to grieve their loved ones or spend their last moments with them, he did not know. Naesala had left instructions for whoever would take his place, in case he did not return. He took one last, long look at the place he had called home for so many years, but now seemed so empty. Then he turned, spread his wings and took off without a backwards glance.
In only a few hours, Naesala was landing in Phoenicis and walking towards the main hall. With every step, it was as though his legs grew heavier, the air seeming to grow thicker and harder to breathe. He could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He didn't dare look down to see if his hands were shaking.
Approaching the hall, he was sure he was going to either pass out or throw up, but he knew he could not do either. The huge, ornate doors slowly opened, revealing the hawk king, Tibarn. He wasn't seated on the ceremonial throne, choosing instead to stand on the steps leading up to it. The larger laguz looked as calm as ever, regarding Naesala with cool curiosity as he slowly approached. Reyson was nowhere in sight, but Tibarn's two shadows, the keen-eared Ulki and the all-seeing Janaff stood silently on either side of the hall.
"You look like hell, Naesala." The man said when the raven king was only a few paces away. From that distance, Naesala could clearly see the jagged scar on his cheek, the matching ones on his crossed arms, the spark in the taller man's eyes. It was very clear that Tibarn wasn't exactly pleased to see him.
The Hawk and Raven tribes had always been at odds, barely managing to keep their unsteady peace most of the time. They both had to be politically civil towards each other to maintain relations between their countries, but Naesala knew Tibarn only truly tolerated him because of Reyson and Leanne.
It was at that moment that Naesala was truly sure he was going to die.
"You try getting enough sleep when more of your people die every day. In fact, only a few hours ago I received the report that twenty-two of my people perished last night." Naesala said harshly. He tried to glance around the room discreetly, but his gaze quickly returned to the hawk king's. A bit of the hostility seemed to drain out of Tibarn, his gaze softening ever so slightly. The man may not have been all that fond of Naesala himself, but it gave him no joy to hear the news of innocent laguz dying.
"You're right. I apologize. I don't know what I can do for you, though. Do you have any idea what could be causing such a plague?" Tibarn asked.
It was at that moment that the hall doors opened once again. Turning, Naesala caught a glimpse of pure, snow-white wings just as Tibarn announced, "Ah, Reyson, you're here. Naesala's just arrived."
Reyson was as thin and delicate as always. The herons were now a rarity among the laguz, but they had always been prized for their perfect white wings and golden hair, and the prince was no exception. He had known the other man for nearly all of his life, and despite the many, many differences between them and the many times he had to deceive the heron, he had always considered Reyson one of his most precious friends.
Somehow, Reyson had found it in his heart to forgive Naesala after the escapade with Duke Tanas, much to his relief, and they had managed to repair their friendship a little in the many months since the end of the Mad King's War.
And now Naesala was here to destroy it once again.
Reyson was saying something as he approached, greeting him perhaps, but he could barely hear it past the blood that had began rushing in his ears. If he somehow managed to reply, he didn't know. His heart had jumped into his throat. Turning his back on Tibarn, he took a few steps towards his friend before he stopped, frozen in place, his feet feeling heavier than lead. Thankfully, Reyson didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, continuing to approach, and now he was nearly close enough to...
He knew what he had to do.
The dagger, hidden up his sleeve, slipped gently into his hand.
He had to move quickly; he couldn't afford to waste time. In a few seconds Tibarn would realize what was happening and then he would lose his chance. But his chest felt so tight that he could barely breathe, his body felt heavy and stiff.
Somehow, he managed to make himself move. The motions were forced and mechanical, and he could only watch as his arm came up and towards the heron. It was as if he was watching from afar as everything happened in slow motion.
No, I don't want to do this. No, stop!
But he couldn't make himself stop. He couldn't afford to stop. The blood of his people was already on his hands. What was one more life?
Reyson's smile was still on his face even as Naesala saw the shocked realization come into his eyes, but by then it was already too late for him to move away or avoid the attack. Naesala wished he could close his eyes, but he couldn't look away.
Reyson, forgive me...
The dagger was nearly at his throat now.
He hesitated for only a second, wanting to pull back, but he couldn't, so much blood was already on his hands and he had to do this. His arm continued with the force of his momentum and he didn't want this, oh goddess he didn't want to do this, but he couldn't stop.
His vision went white.
And then fire exploded in his hand.
What came next happened almost too quickly for Naesala's sharp eyes to follow. All he knew was that his wrist was burning and someone was yelling but he couldn't see anything past the blur of white and brown and suddenly he was being pressed hard into the stone wall of the hall, his ebony wings pinned behind him, and there was something so heavy on his chest that he could barely breathe.
The only thing his mind registered at that moment was that he was staring into the golden eyes of the Hawk King of Phoenicis.
He closed his eyes.
I'm going to die.
Surprisingly, the thought didn't bother him at all.
The blow didn't come.
As his head slowly stopped ringing, he began to take stock of his body. The weight on his chest was actually Tibarn's hand, pressing him against the wall. He realized that his wrist wasn't on fire, it was merely being crushed by hawk king's larger and much stronger hand, pinning it to the wall as well. He was certain that Tibarn had broken it, but he wasn't sure why he was still alive. Judging by the fierce anger burning in those golden eyes, Tibarn wasn't far from tearing him limb from limb. He had been certain that the hawk king was going to murder him as soon as he attacked Reyson. What was stopping him? He wasn't going to fight back. Death would be a welcome reprieve from the pain in his chest.
He hesitantly opened his eyes, wishing that the hawk would just get it over already.
"Tibarn, Tibarn stop." Called a voice from behind the larger man, but Naesala couldn't see who it was. It took a long moment for his mind to register that he knew that voice.
Reyson.
He was alive.
The thought made him so relieved that his knees nearly gave out. It was as if a weight was from his chest. He hadn't hurt him.
He failed.
The shock made him freeze. It was as though he had been hit with a bucket of ice and for a moment, he was sure he was going to be violently ill.
He failed, and now his only chance was gone.
Now nothing could save his people.
"Tibarn, I'm alright. Let him go." Reyson's voice came again.
"No!" Naesala shrieked, a fierce desperation gripping him. He began to struggle in Tibarn's grasp, trying to break free.
I can't watch any more of my people die.
"Are you trying to make me kill you, crow?" Tibarn's grip was unrelenting, but he couldn't give up now. He had been so close.
"No! Let me go! I have to do this! Let go of me, Tibarn!" He fought back with a ferocity he never knew he had, and this time it was the hawk king struggling to keep his grip. He couldn't transform, not while Tibarn was so close and his wings were pinned painfully behind him, but the dagger was still in his hand, even if he could barely feel his fingers past the pain in his wrist.
He could still finish the mission. He could still save his country.
Tibarn's physical skill and power was far greater than his own, but anger and desperation fuelled him. He brought his free arm up, digging his nails, like talons, into Tibarn's shoulder and pushing, trying to put space between them.
"Get off of me!" He roared, finding the strength to push back and, miraculously, he somehow forced Tibarn back a step. It just far enough for him to get his wings free, and they flared out behind him, black as night and beating angrily.
Struggling to wriggle completely out of the man's grip, he was almost free when the pain from his wrist increased tenfold. A pained shriek wrenched itself out of his throat - Tibarn had taken his broken wrist and squeezed so hard that he could feel the bones grinding against one another. The agony of the assault brought the raven king to his knees, allowing Tibarn the chance to wrap his other hand forcefully around his neck.
It was completely silent in the hall for many long moments. It seemed that even Reyson was shocked into silence. The only sound that could be heard was Naesala's wheezing as he gasped for breath, dizzy with pain. All of the strength had left him, and his body sagged, Tibarn's grip the only thing holding him upright. Unable to hold it with numb fingers, the dagger clattered loudly to the ground.
Seemingly defeated and no longer armed, Tibarn's grip on him loosened just enough that he could get proper air into his lungs again. The world tilted precariously again as Tibarn jerked his chin up, forcing him to look him in the eye. He could see Reyson behind him now, completely unhurt but closely surrounded by the stony-faced Janaff and Ulki. The hawk king quickly drew back his attention.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't rip your heart out right now," Tibarn hissed, his golden eyes filled with fire.
Naesala stared up at the man, but there was nothing he could think to say. "I don't have one." He admitted.
Another shocked silence fell over the hall. Even Tibarn appeared taken aback. Naesala knew that they had all expected him to beg or give some false reason to spare his life like a crow usually would, but he didn't have the energy. He couldn't lie, not anymore.
"Naesala... why?" Reyson's trembling voice came from behind Tibarn again, but he couldn't bear to look the Prince in the eye. This apparently made the hawk king find his voice again.
"Naesala, I've never liked you, but I trusted you, at least when it came to our common goal of protecting Reyson and Leanne. I can see I was wrong. But why?" He said, and Naesala met his gaze defiantly.
"It was necessary. I can't say why."
"You'll say, even if I have to force it out of you." Tibarn's grip tightened on his throat.
Naesala sighed. He supposed it didn't matter now, not when the curse had already been invoked and so many of his people lay dead. Turning his head back, he jerked his chin towards where the hawk still gripped his wrist. "Get your hands off me, and I'll tell you."
Tibarn stared hard at him for a moment, probably debating whether it was safe to comply or not, but he apparently decided that a single crow, broken and beaten on the floor of his hall, was no threat to three strong hawks. He kicked the dagger that had still been lying on the floor beside him and it skidded, end over end, all the way to the other end of the hall. Then, slowly, he released Naesala and took a single step back, careful to stay between the raven king and the heron prince.
"Talk."
Naesala nodded, leaning back on his legs and curling in on himself. Then, slowly, he began to roll the dark sleeve of his jacket back. It was difficult and he hissed in agony, but no one moved to help him. It took a few tense minutes, but he managed to pull the sleeve up far enough to show them.
The sight of the bones of his wrist jutting out grotesquely under his skin nearly made him sick, but on top of that, the dark brand was clear to see, black lines twisting and curling around his thin wrist.
"It's called a Blood Pact," He explained quickly, before anyone could ask.
"A blood pact?" Reyson questioned quietly, making him flinch.
"Yes. It appears after you've signed a Blood Contract. Once signed, the creator of the contract can ask the person who signed it to do anything, and they have to do it. If they don't..." He tried to go on, but the words turned to ashes in his mouth.
"And if they don't?" Tibarn asked harshly.
"If they don't, then the holder of the contract can invoke a curse. The next day, one person from the country of the contracted will die. The day after that, two will die. On the third day, three will die. And it will continue like that until the holder of the contract decides to end it," He stopped. Silence reigned again.
"Then, the plague on your people...?" Reyson asked tentatively.
Naesala could only nod in despair, his fists clenching despite the pain.
"How could you have been so stupid as to sign something like that? I thought you cared more about Kilvas than that." Tibarn accused.
The words cut like a knife, but they made an unexpected anger bubbled up inside him.
"I do! I never signed the bloody contract!" He cried, taking Tibarn aback. "The previous king of Kilvas signed it, and it was passed on to me."
"It passes on?"
"Yes," He said. "The previous king signed this contract with Begnion, and they must have asked him to do something. I never found out exactly what they asked, but he refused them, and they invoked the curse. For a hundred days, the people of Kilvas suffered. By the time Begnion ended the curse, half our nation had been wiped out, and I was next in line to the throne. On the day I was coronated, this bloody mark appeared on my arm, and all the king had left me was a letter explaining what it was. I've tried looking for a way to destroy it, but I haven't been able to find anything." He explained bitterly.
"So that's how you managed to become king, even though you were so far down the line. I always wondered." Tibarn commented.
"Yes."
"So what does this have to do with Reyson?" Tibarn questioned forcefully.
For a long moment, he couldn't say anything.
"Twenty-three days ago, Duke Lekain, the holder of the contract, came to me with a request. It wasn't entirely unusual. He had asked me to do things before, but none of the tasks had done much harm, so I did them, and Kilvas was left in peace. But this time..." Swallowing hard, he continued. "This time he asked me to kill Reyson." He heard their gasp, but couldn't raise his head, didn't want to see the looks on their faces, didn't want to see the horror - or, worse, pity.
"Me? Why?" Reyson asked.
"Hell if I know. The herons aren't like some of the other laguz tribes. Like with Kilvas, you have a line of succession, and you're next in line to the throne when Lorazieh passes. Lekain knows Lorazieh is too old and ill to do anything, but you could continue the line. I don't know why this is such a threat to him, but that's what he asked of me. Who knows? He knows we know each other. Maybe he wanted me to refuse so that he could wipe out Kilvas once and for all, it would be just his style." Naesala explained angrily.
"Damn those beorc..." Reyson murmured angrily, but Tibarn ignored the comment.
"And did you refuse?" He asked.
"Damn it, Tibarn, of course I did!" He cried, the anger sizzling back up into him. "You're crazy if you really think it would be that easy for me to agree to murder Reyson. Of course I said no. Even when he threatened to wipe out Kilvas, I told him where he could shove it. For the last twenty-two days, I've refused. But I can't do it any more. I would have gone on refusing, except..." He felt tears burn the back of his eyes, but he was too proud to let them fall.
He forced himself to continue. "For twenty-two days I bore it, until two days ago. The morning I sent you the messenger, I woke to silence. Most of the people in the castle had already left, and only a few remained. But that morning...I found Nealuchi. He had died in the night." He said bitterly, the sorrow coursing freshly through him.
"Oh, Naesala..." Reyson murmured sadly. Nealuchi had been a friend of the heron prince as well, not nearly as close as Naesala, but the news would surely grieve him none-the-less. The raven king merely he shook his head, trying to dispel the memories of empty eyes and icy skin.
"You hawks act all high and mighty, but you have no idea what it's like. You never knew if that night was going to be your last. I lost my entire family in the first plague - everyone except Nealuchi, who had been a close family friend. But the first time was different. I didn't know what was happening. This time, knowing that it was my fault... that the blood of my people was entirely on my hands..." It didn't matter what he admitted now. He no longer cared what they thought of him.
"I can't watch my people die anymore. I can't kill you, Reyson, but I can't have their blood on my hands either. I can't do it." He wasn't even sure what he was asking. All he knew was that the sting in his wrist was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.
"I can fix that."
His head had bowed, exhaustion blurring his vision, and he missed the movement. All he knew in that next second was a terrible, blinding agony erupting in his chest, just below his ribs.
His chin fell against his chest, wide eyes suddenly clear, his vision now filled with red rain, and the taste of copper on his tongue. Pressing his uninjured hand against the source of his torment, he watched as thick, crimson blood oozed out between his fingertips.
He couldn't hear Reyson crying out - the blood was rushing too loudly in his ears. His body, which had been so cold before, now felt filled with fire. He wanted to cry out, but his breath was caught in his throat and he was choking, drowning in ashes and agony.
He didn't feel his back hit the ground, and he didn't try to rise, merely letting the strength drain slowly out of his body as the blood slowly pooled around him.
The last thing he saw was a pair of golden eyes as he fell into the cold, peaceful darkness.