Stolen
Hearts Chapter Three
Vegeta's point of view
A face as fair as limestone, perfectly immobile-as though chiseled out of stone- but dark eyes roved aimlessly over the wild landscape. Always off to the side of everyone, shoulders hitched up and bent forward as if carrying a great weight. A slight wind washed over my face as I squinted in the glare of the intense afternoon sun. There was something sweet on the air, like strawberries and sand. As much as I hated it, my intrigue was as intense. Like a child trying to catch a rainbow, wanting so much to possess that sort of beauty, yet knowing that it is never possible. It was a jealous hate. A sharp call snapped me out of my reverie.
"Vegeta ya useless lackey! Wat the 'ell is wrong with ya? Didn't ya 'ear me ya li'le shit? Ya think ya betta then us now do ya? I'll show ya...I told you not ta bring 'im along Adrastus, e'll just fuck t'ings up like ta failure 'e is, yes 'e will."
"Keep you fat tongue in your mouth Chiron, before I lose my patience with your inanity and cut it off and feed it to the buzzards! You should know that every time you open your mouth you prove you're an idiot," I hissed at the unimaginably grotesque oaf in front of me.
"Now boys, can't we all just get along?" said the smooth voice of my sister Amata. I glanced quickly in her direction and scowled at the amused expressions on both my elder siblings faces. How I hated them. How I longed to hate them. I have never been a part of my family; I have been outside in the rain my whole life, waiting for the skies to clear, knowing they never will. My 'family' would only lower themselves to my presence if the was some need of my skill, and even then they could not keep the disgust and scorn out of their eyes. I am simply used as if I'm a hunting dog of sorts that you always keep hidden in the shed until needed for killing. For that is what I do best.
I never knew why I was such an outcast, and that may be the most maddening thing of all. I have never done anything to deserve their hate but yet they give it to me endlessly. By the gods I've done everything I could possibly do to please them, to be worthy to be a part of them, I've even sacrificed my soul, but it's never good enough. My accomplishments are all unnoticed. I am stronger, faster, smarter, more ruthless then the best of them, but it is all trivial compared to…to...my essence that makes them loathe me so. I must have been born with a sign that said, "Detest me and all that I am," written on my face. I am the youngest son of the most powerful Elf in wild country, and yet they treat me like some poor beggar.
I've done so much to try and find the truth to my hated existence, but all I know is that inside I'm bleeding. Every time I cry out, no one ever rescues me. I wish I could hide from everyone, run away from everything, I want out. There has to be someplace better to be. But I can't run. They are all I have, even if they do hate me. I am helplessly aware that I will spend the rest of my days hopelessly striving for their approval their acceptance, anything. To be a part of something, anything, and not so utterly alone is all I crave. All I am denied. I know that if I left I would lose what little sanity I have left. My life is a misery.
"Brother," he said the word with such contempt, it was more like a joke then a title, a private joke within my family that they found endlessly amusing, "Cool your nerves, you know Chiron is as strong as he is stupid, we need him if we are going to complete this job successfully and make father happy, don't you want that?" Adrastus said knowing full and well that the one thing I craved was to make my father happy, proud, and he knew that I will never achieve anything of the sort.
I growled seething with anger; the condescending tone is old to me even after twenty hard years.
"'EY!" Chiron protested gruffly, his monstrous face assuming an expression of dogged stupidity even more vacant then it usually was. It was a great insult to be put down in front of me, the lowest of the low.
"Hush Chiron, we have no time for self-importance. You know we wouldn't have brought him unless it was absolutely necessary. You just keeps getting weirder and weirder though, don't you Vegeta," Amata said with what seemed like pride at that accomplishment. They knew my exile from the family had done this and were very pleased with the outcome. They had created a monster. Amata brushed her short brown hair out of her eyes and flicked my chin upwards as if I were a pouting child.
"Come on, cheer up. You act surprised," she laughed, and that laugh burned my soul, though I would not let it be noticed. I had perfected my cold glare over the years, and if looks could kill she would be dead at me feet.
I am known for my reckless abandon that my life has introduced to me, and if anyone ever dared to cross me, I would have seen to that person's demise immediately. I wore sweat and blood proudly and did not know fear. People shuddered to hear my name, it was empowering and addicting. If I could not have their appreciation, at least I would have their fear. This was all of course excluding my dear family. As alienated as I was from their world I still clung desperately to it like a live preserver in a violent storm. I'll just keep trying blindly, closing my eyes to the truth so I can search forlornly for acceptance from the eyes of those who are supposed to be close, but remain so far.
"Whatever," I said, my despondent calm coming over me, "Let's just get this over with."
And so the four of us descended, and the doom of a small but profitable town at the outskirts of the forest came with us. It was well guarded but not enough to stop the four most elite soldiers of the growing Elf Empire. A mix of creatures lived there, but mostly the Fey people, our claimed nemesis, though I don't know why such peaceful airy creatures would be an enemy. But it is not questioned, just accepted.
We completed our mission quickly and without hindrance. In less then a half an hour we had cut our way to their treasury and taken all the contents. We killed all who tried to stop us, and the Fey leader as a tactical point. The carnage has ceased to turn my stomach. I knew too much about cruelty to be surprised by it, and I didn't like any of it but it could not be helped, I am naturally inclined to be bloodthirsty.
I had been brought up- perhaps through indifference, perhaps through cruelty- with an imperfect sense of right and wrong, though that was little excuse. I simply watch the innocent people run in horror and wonder how it has gotten to be this way. When did I become so heartlessly evil? But I was never given a chance. My own heart was taken away from me at such a young age, I do not have the strength nor will to reclaim it on my own, nor do I feel moved to be bothered for anything concerning the hearts of others.
I have become obsessed with morbidity, pain, and, most of all, death. I'm an intense person, and often allow myself to be consumed with giving voice to my suffering; I think of misery as poetic and regard my own unhappiness as the price of being intelligent and self-aware. Tempestuous and desolate is simply how I was meant to live, as tiring as that gets sometimes, there is no changing reality. It would be foolish to assume otherwise and not simply except ones fate.
And so it goes on, life has dealt me some terrible tribulations and I wait alone in the shadows. At the end of the day I'm just another day colder, one day closer to dying. I do as I always do. Fight, win, be strong, heartless, selflessly support the empire that does not support me. It seems like I'm living but I know I am not. I bleed but I do not feel. I try to pretend I don't need anyone, that I can survive just fine all alone, but the horrible emptiness won't go away. Everybody needs somebody, as trite and pathetic as that sounds, and I am doomed to have no one. I have to distance myself so that I may stay sane inside insanity. Being around people who are happy and loved is like putting a child in a candy store and telling him that he can never have any no matter how much he wishes it, and then eating it all in front of him with a mocking smile.
The others leave silently and quickly with the plunder, without any note of me, there is no need to pretend anymore now that the job is done, they can freely express their odium towards me. It fails to astonish me.
As I watched the blood run over my hands I wondered how many? How many times have you taken the life of another?
'Too many..to many..the blood will never be washed off your hands.'
I can't remember half..I shut it out...shut it out...
'That doesn't mean it didn't happen, that you didn't kill him.'
There is a thirst for blood in me - it is in my very flesh. Before an old wound can be healed there is fresh blood flowing.
The wind is howling, the trees are swaying, the clouds are floating gently across the sky. I close my eyes and there is no more. No wind...no trees..no clouds..just a silent barrenness. Only the fear of reality...only the terror in my heart. Nothing remains but the cry of my hate, the cries in the dark that nobody hears. Turn your heart black! This is all I have lived for! This is all I have known!
I couldn't have been older then six winters old. Already hard and cold, a frown already adorned upon my young features.
'There he is just an old man. What threat is he?'
I look to the harsh eyes that stare menacingly down. I've never seen those eyes smile at me, even for a moment, no matter how I tried, no matter how proficient and obedient I was. That was a joy not meant for me, and at the time my young heart could not bare nor understand this.
"Shoot."
Such a simple command I should have been able to follow it readily, but this was no rabbit or bird. Shoot, shoot, all you have to do is shoot. It is an easy thing. I can't do it deftly in a matter of seconds with just a movement of my arm on the bow. What is the difference between this and the wooden targets you have practiced on for so long? ….. except this target breathes.
I look at the stern eyes again, now filled with disappointment. I have to make him happy, to make him proud. Maybe this will be enough; maybe he will stay with me. I have to if there is even the slightest chance. It is just an old man I do not know who is at the edge of life anyway. Maybe...
The arrow shoots straight and true, and the man falls without a sound. An amused laugh comes from above, one of victory not of satisfaction towards me. What did I do wrong? My heart trembles with disillusionment.
"Now bring me his head and we shall post it outside your window as an honor to your first kill," he said handing me a large knife gleaming at the edges as if thirsty. I could see myself in its reflection, eyes wide with horror, knowing this was no joke.
"Wh.what?" I inquired feigning ignorance hoping somehow he would change his mind.
"Do not mock me boy, you heard what I said," he replied in anger.
No, don't be angry at me again father..I'll do anything..I knew he hated weakness. I would be a failure. I had to, and I did. I did it and it is etched on the back of my eyes even to this day. I had taken a hard turn that night and the darkness embraced me as my only friend. Now that I look back, I think my father knew well what he was doing that night. He was forming his toy, molding it into a ruthless, heartless killer. I was some sick experiment. His perfect warrior that he would need not waste any time on, nor any emotion. He was so successful I almost feel the urge to commend him, cheers to your remarkable success father.
Even the moon seems to be laughing at me, its pale face laughing down, for even though it is in the cold black sky, it still has thousands of bright stars at its side. Something I was destined to never know, even though it seemed every other creature was granted that simple joy, that right of existence.
Never to know the feeling of a hand on your face in love? The hate left scars tracing along my skin.
"You deserve every one of those scars and more, you've even put some there yourself because you know it."
I do..I do..that boy..he was so young, so full of life, and I took all that away with a flick of my wrist. It is a power no one should have, do commit such atrocities is unforgivable and the memory haunts me. I was sixteen... they were intent on having me execute it.. it seemed important for some reason. Those forked tongued devil lied to me, saying I would have their honor and acceptance if I were only to complete this. It was just another game to them. And although I caved to their desires once again, as I was already so immersed in darkness, His face haunts me still...in the night... all I can see is his face, and I have no one to blame but myself.
They had laughed, and it called up a rage in me like no other. How?! How could they laugh at this?! How could I have allowed myself to fall to doing this.. A crack opened in my callous core that day. I would never do it again I promised myself, not to make up for my sins, but I simply could not. I could not allow myself to be used like this. That day was one of my darkest, a full realization of my inevitable doom. As much as I pine for my family's credence I do pretend to believe that I feel no rancor towards them. I would never please them so I would not continue to subject myself so horribly to their unmerciful hearts.
Promises are hard to keep in this world.
I am ruined beyond repair. There is nothing for me but this, the power of my own self. I may yet struggle for my distant hearts desire, but I am far more distant. I hardly see any of them at all anymore. I think they may have begun to fear the evil entity I have become, with eyes colder then the depths of eternity. All things quail under their intensity, maybe they fear a back fire in their plan. That their own monster will turn against his master. If only I could…
A sigh escapes my broken lips. My mother, if it is possible, is even more distant then the rest of my family. She refused to touch me as a baby, so some misshapen nurse kept me just well enough to stay alive. I've wondered how my own mother, the giver of my life, could hate her own child so much as soon as it was born. Maybe not so much hate, as I am simply invisible to her. I think that is worse sometimes. She has not uttered more then five syllables to me in the entirety of my existence. Questions burn inside me and I will never have an answer, perhaps there is no answer. Perhaps only sometimes poison comes along that is so potent you can tell right off. I cannot help loving her. We give the best of our hearts uncritically, to those who hardly think about us in return.
Her name is Anaxarate, and she is beautiful in her wickedness. I have to admit she befits my monstrous father quite perfectly. A perfect dark queen who lusts for power as much as the best of them. Or shall I say worst. She can barely contain her disgust in my presence and often makes whispered comments to others that bring hateful laughs, her eyes burring with a crazed violence. I think if she had the chance, she would slit my throat in a second. Knowing this of your own mother is an unbelievable fate.
All of this was when I was younger. I do not subject myself to their presence any longer unless it is absolutely necessary or demanded. Sometimes a chance meeting occurs when I deliver the spoils I have won. I bring more to my father's throne then any other, not that it matters. I do it more out of habit now. It keeps me busy; for it is in the quite that my grief truly overwhelms me.
I do not understand the need to posses such riches. Some goes to building weapons and things of that sort, but most of the lot simply sits there. Yes, it is truly magnificent to look at but is it worth the blood that was spent to acquire it? I suppose it is the idea of it, the power it implies, and the glory it offers those who will be entranced by it's spell. It has never done so to me, I can think of many things far more precious and rare. A man knows nothing if he knows not that wealth oft begets a fool.
I am one for destruction; it brings me both pleasure and pain. To see people cower before me brings a great swelling of power and pride, I almost feel as though I am living. It means they respect me. Power demands respect. It is a drug to me, as sickening as it is at the same instant. If one deserves death, it is me. Often I wish they would rise up and strike me down and end it all, but that wish brings a recklessness that is near impossible to conquer. It is amazing the lengths you can go to when you care not for your own life. Some say that you shouldn't tempt fate, but I say fate should not tempt me.
Life's partner in crime, death, has always been a fast worker, but I go out of my way to find death before death finds me. I do rash, dangerous things just to see how my heart will react. But even death seems to be amused at my misery and refuses to grant me relief. I have done things that would have killed a number of others, and yet I remain standing. Life is my punishment, death is me reward.
I have no purpose..but still something stirs within me, defiantly raising its head, objects to losing any battle, even a battle with an unseen foe. I am always reaching but I fall, and the stars are black and cold, the night is closing in and I stare into the void, to the whirlpool of my sin. I long to escape from the world, a world that does not want me. There is nowhere I can turn There is no way to go on... Another story must begin.
Two pairs of eyes stared up into the endless sky. As different as day and night in appearance, but they hold the same sorrow. Happiness was like a shoe that didn't fit but they were still trying to cram their foot into a hopelessly small space. They were hammers walking around in a glass house, waiting for something to break.
A/N: Hmmm. some parallels? Now for the plot to start rolling. Please read and tell me what you think, Thanks!