Interlude - The Last Battle
And now for something completely different...
Elika pursed her lips as she looked him over. Somehow, she wasn't surprised that he hadn't made even the slightest effort, as if it were just another day. The same dusty scarves flowed over his defiant eyes, the same long-laced boots shifted above his muscular legs. Perhaps the only change of note was the fresh cut on his chin and his odd, almost defensive stance...
Elika blinked and looked again, this time focusing on the tiny, innocuous details. His rakish hair fell cleanly behind his scarves, clearly freed of its normal load of grime, dust and sand. His normal stubble was gone, and the skin underneath gleamed in the desert sun shining in from the open window. She took a moment to appreciate the tiny glimpses of his preparation (and the whole package, of course), before he coughed and spoke.
"Well?" he asked shortly. "What do you think?"
She hid a smile, but she felt some of it escape to light up her eyes anyway. Not that it mattered. He was far too apprehensive today to pick up anything so subtle. Besides, she didn't really feel like hiding it out of anything more than the custom of trying not to be too obvious while laughing at his expense. After all, she wasn't the one about to risk her life today. No... she'd made the sacrifice once already. It was his turn, this time. His turn to look into the jaws of death and not turn away.
That thought, and a sudden sneaking suspicion only augmented by his defiant look, dimmed the growing laugh bubbling up in her throat and she frowned. At her change in expression, he shifted tensely. "Well?" "
The impatience in his tone confirmed it, and her eyes narrowed. "Did you sharpen your sword this morning?"
He gave up on trying to stand still and began pacing agitatedly, stopping at the end of the small room to throw a baleful look at her. "Of course," he snapped. "What do you take me for?"
Elika rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Just... stop pacing. You're making me nervous too."
He stopped almost immediately, instinctively, the cessation bring him to a halt right in front of her. For a moment, she saw every corded muscle in his arm, every fibre of tension locked up in him, and then he sighed and relaxed. "Sorry," he muttered. "It's just..."
He caught himself, and the accusing glare returned. "Hey, wait. Why am I apologising to you? You're the one who got me into this mess."
Oh, that was just asking for it. She lifted a perfectly curved eyebrow, leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. "Is that so? Then who was the one who released Ahriman? Who was the one who didn't kill when he got the chance? And who was the one who virtually blackmailed Ormazd to get him to agree to the conditions that you thought up?"
The Prince scowled. "Yeah, and who's the one about to enter the worst life-or-death battle he's ever fought? You could at least give me some sympathy."
It was probably the slight pout that did it, just the barest protrusion of his lip and the hurt look in his eyes. But then again, she'd known him for too long to fall for his tricks, so it had to have been her own mind that voluntarily set her fingers up to lightly brush his face. He looked away from her at the touch, the scar drawn livid against his skin shadowing his features, and she sighed.
"Come off it," she scolded gently, her hand following his movement to cup his cheek. He nestled into it almost absentmindedly even as he kept scowling, the gravity of the danger ahead all to clear by the storm on his brow. She reached up with her other hand and tried to stroke away the darkness with her thumb. "Who had the nerve to stay and fight? Who had the determination to stick it out to the end, chasing after a legend? Heck, who had the guts to bring me back and survive my wrath?"
Unbidden, he smiled into her palm, and she felt the movement of it slide across her skin like warm honey. He raised his ungauntleted hand to press against hers. "I did," he smirked, a trace of his normal cockiness sneaking back into his voice. "And don't you ever forget it."
She didn't hold back the laugh this time. Instead, she let it breathe out, soar into the air between them, and then fade away as she leaned forward to press a kiss against his forehead. "And with that ego, you could face down a thousand Ahrimans. Come on now, get going. We don't have much time left."
At the reminder of his impending doom, the Prince pulled back. The movement dropped their hands to their sides, and with that the shadow returned in his frown. "Yeah..." he muttered. "Don't want to make the thing angrier than it already is."
She glared at him. He smirked darkly back, happy to score points where he could. She rolled her eyes again and pushed him gently in the back. "Come on then."
He grudgingly began to move, his strides short and forced, his tread that of a prisoner going to his executioner. She felt her own nerves begin to overcome her. What would happen if their gamble failed? If he was right? If this really was the wrong way...
A few paces from the door he stopped and turned back to her, breaking into her thoughts. She blinked as he hesitated, and then took the plunge.
"You know, I really would feel more comfortable with you along." His fists clenched and unclenched nervously, and he attempted one of his rakish grins. "I mean, I've just gotten so used us fighting side by side now, and this is going to be one hell of a battle."
She wavered, just for a moment. Perhaps... but no. This really was his own battle. All she could do now was try to alleviate the nerves, so hopefully he didn't do anything stupid and get himself killed. Steeling herself for the role, she reclined back, opened her eyes innocently, and drew in an incredulous breath. "Why, is the new Prince of Persia scared?"
The look on his face was priceless. "No! No, uh, of course not. I just..." he cleared his throat and straightened, trying to look as regal as possible. "I just think it would be wiser if you came. You know, back-up. Strength in numbers and all that."
Inside her, something relented. For the life of her, she'd never seen him so shaken, so scared. Of course he was trying to hide it... he wouldn't be him otherwise. But from having fought by him, fought with him for so long now, she could tell how much he was affected by the prospect of what he was about to do. The prospect of his failure. The thought entangled her in a sudden surge of sympathy and she stepped forwards lightly, her blue magic swirling from her hand to touch him first before her skin did.
"Hey," she said softly. "I believe in you."
The words floated through the air, almost unreal in their simplicity. For a moment after they passed, there was an unreadable look in his eyes, almost a waver. And then she reached up and kissed him, and he cracked. Sweeping down, his gauntleted arm came around her tightly as he kissed her fiercely back, and for a moment there was nothing but them, their past, and the words left unspoken in their fire.
She pulled back first, the arbiter of necessity. He withdrew reluctantly, committing every inch of her to his memory as he pulled away. And then he smirked again, his normal cocky exterior slipping over his face like a mask, and he was gone.
It took a few seconds for her to comprehend again the enormity of what was about to happen, and suddenly the impulse to run after him, fight with him was irresistible. After all, she had the upper hand with both warring parties, she could...
She shook her head firmly. No, she couldn't think like that. After all, they'd planned it already. She'd done what she could, set up the groundwork so at least there would be no element of surprise. Now it was all up to him. Him, and what lay on the other side of the door.
She only hoped he came out alive.
The Prince moved quickly now, his feet carrying him ever closer to his doom. He put the thought firmly out of his mind as he strode down the corridors of the old Palace, focusing instead on the lingering taste of her on his lips. Elika.
Elika.
Elika. The impossibility made flesh - the person who'd seen death twice and still lived. Elika. The miracle made human - the flawed angel who he still wondered at, who he still couldn't believe was at his side. Elika, the incredible who he still couldn't believe had chosen him, after all this time... who deep inside, he still wasn't sure if he deserved...
The Prince shook his head, and tried to push his insecurities away. I shouldn't be thinking like this, it's not helping. Not now. Not just before... no. Not thinking about that either.
He took a deep breath and tried to re-direct his thoughts. Elika. The girl he fought for, the girl he fought with, the girl he'd damned the world for. The memories were almost comforting as he hastened towards the last battle. After all, they reminded him that she had been worth it. Was worth it. Was worth everything...
Even risking his neck like he was now. His pace slowed only marginally as he approached the set arena, his hand oh-so-very consciously moving down to brush his hip and the hilt of his newly-sharpened sword. Whatever you can fault me for, you can't say I'm not prepared. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths just before he crossed the threshold. Ormazd, if you're still out there watching over us...
The thought stopped in its tracks. Who was he kidding? He'd virtually asked for this. No, wait. He'd literally asked for this, this miracle-cum-nightmare. If he had to be honest with himself, he still had no clue where the idea had come from. But then, as they'd stood before Ormazd and he'd remembered the horrors that had accompanied the journey to him, the wounds they had inflicted on her, the thought had just come and he'd asked.
And the miracle had been granted.
And she had been shocked.
And then she had been surprised.
And then angry.
And then incontrovertibly grateful.
And now, he was very, very dead.
Oh well, no sense in delaying it. The Prince tilted his chin, readied his stance so he could pull out his sword at any time, and then stepped into the room.
There was a thunderous, thunderous silence.
The Prince coughed. Then he scuffed his boots. Then he became angry at himself, lifted his head, and settled back into defiantly glaring.
"Look," he started off abruptly. "I know we didn't get off to a very good start, but..."
The once Corrupted, once King of the Ahura, and still Elika's father met him glare for glare. "You prevented me from reaching my daughter, twisted her mind, and tried to kill me several times. And now you want to ask my permission for her hand?"
Oh, he was just asking for it. "I... we are not asking for permission." It almost came out as a snarl, but he remembered to temper it to a growl at the very last moment. "Hell, you should know. You really think Elika would consent to being just given away like a posy of flowers?"
If looks could kill, and then resurrect, the Prince knew he would be dead a hundred times over by now. "So yeah. We're not asking for your permission, we're asking for your blessing. Or your acceptance, at least. Because you know, it means a lot to her, and..."
He'd had to talk himself out of many situations before. Situations that normally involved him getting caught for something he shouldn't have gotten caught for, so it wasn't as if he were an amateur. In fact, he really considered himself quite the professional given the number of things he'd gotten away with. And so he knew from the King's black visage that he was losing his audience. Fast.
And so, like the professional he was, he bit his planned words back, considered the situation, and then threw caution to the winds.
"Actually, you know what?" he snorted. "Forget it. I don't know why I figured I could appeal to your better side. I mean, you pretty much started off all this. You know how miserable you made her? I can tell you, I was there and..."
The King's eyebrows pulled together. "You're not making your case very well," he rumbled ominously.
The Prince gritted his teeth. "Fine. The point I'm just trying to make is that we're both doing this to make her happy, aren't we? So let's do that. Make her happy."
For a moment, he thought he'd struck gold. The King's visage softened and blinked to guilt. But then the scowl came back, and the Prince sadly settled for silver. "You're a thief. A lowlife. Don't think that just because you're royal in name now that you have royal blood. And don't think I don't know some of the more sordid details of your past, besides the fact that you tried to kill me so many times. Why should I trust you with my daughter? My daughter, that I traded the world for? Why on earth should I believe that you will make her happy?"
The Prince opened his mouth.
And then stopped.
What part of it wasn't true? In the darkest depths of his mind, his heart, he'd thought some of them for a long time. From the moment they'd both finally managed to get past everything, to touch after dancing around each other for so long, awe had paired in himself with uncertainty. With worry.
He bowed his head as his swirling insecurities resurfaced. It wasn't just because she was a Princess. After all, after all they'd done, he was a Prince now. The honorary Prince of Persia. It was more that sometimes, he wondered just what he'd done. What miracle had led to this angel wrapping him in her arms. How he could possibly deserve to touch such light and not be burned.
Why indeed...
For a moment, he almost felt everything slip through his fingers like sand torn by the wind. His own doubts, uncertainties, fears... they came boiling up through his blood to howl in his ears. She was the first person he'd let get so close in such a long time. She was beauty. She was light. She was Elika. She...
She stayed. Throughout it all, she stayed. Even when I'd destroyed her world.
...
She stayed.
The Prince took a low, shuddering breath, and looked up. The King stood before him, an almost smug cast to his face as he looked down. So. He thought he'd won. Thought he'd delivered the killing blow, the parting shot, the coup de grace from which there was no return...
But he was wrong.
Why on earth should I believe that you will make her happy?
The echo rung in the Prince's mind, and with the words he smiled darkly, confidently. And then for the first time that day, he pulled himself up to his full height - strong, tall, utterly sure of himself. He had it now, he had it. And Elika's father would see just how much it took to make him go down.
Ahriman couldn't do it. Ormazd couldn't do it. And I'll be damned if you manage to.
"Why should you believe I'll make her happy?" he repeated slowly, drolly. The words dropped from his lips like the build-up to some great joke, or the feint just before the fatal stab. "Actually, I think the question should be completely different. Because at the end of the day, whatever you think of me, she chose me. Elika. The girl we both damned the world for."
The King's smugness froze into expressionlessness. The Prince's smirk deepened. "So the real question should be, just why are you standing in my way now? You're her father, you know how strong she is. How good she is. You out of everyone should know she has what it takes to make the hard decisions, and that applies to whoever she wants to spend her life with. I'm just the lucky, lucky bastard who... well, got lucky."
He took a breath, feeling the giddy truth of it rush through his bones. "So if you really had anything against her choice, you would have told her when she mentioned it to you. Straight then, to her face, you would have refused. So why are you so against it now?"
The King twitched. "You... you and I have met at the wrong ends of a blade far too many times for me to trust you. I..."
"Hey, none of that now," the Prince strode boldly forwards a few steps, his gauntleted hand curled around his hip. "You got your men to drop a rock on me first."
The King opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Then glared.
Then opened it again, and this time his voice carried no challenge, only a thinly veiled sense of disgust and surrender. "Well," he muttered. "She may be as you say, but she clearly has a terrible choice in men."
And like his daughter, the unsaid words said more than he ever could. The Prince's smirk dropped and turned into a grin - full, wide, and shining.
"Your Majesty," he bowed slightly, ironically. And when he straightened, the old King was nowhere to be seen.
The instant he came back through the door, she was up and flying across the room, moving at such a speed he was astonished she managed to stop short before him. "You're not dead. You're not dead!"
He tried to summon up a glare, but it dissolved into a grin. "Do you really have that little faith in my fighting abilities?"
She didn't deign to answer to that. Instead, she pulled back for a second and appraised him. "He's not dead either, right?" she asked suspiciously.
He thought about teasing her, remembered that part of the deal he'd struck with Ormazd meant that she still had enough power in her little finger to rip him to shreds, and reconsidered. "We were good," he said dryly. "I promise."
"Thank Ormazd," she breathed, and then remembered the reason behind their mission in the first place. "And... and what did he say?"
The Prince opened his arms and stepped forwards. She almost instinctively stepped forwards in response, her own hands going up to encircle around his shoulderblades. And as they cradled each other, two warriors who had just faced the last of their deadliest battles, he answered.
"I am the luckiest bastard in the world," he whispered into her hair. "The luckiest, luckiest bastard."
No more needed to be said. Elika froze for a moment, and then her face lit up into a radiant smile. And at the beauty of the sight, the confirmation, the acceptance, something finally broke within him.
And, at last, he believed in himself.
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A/N - Wow... this was meant to be just a short drabble while I suffered a week of tests, the flu, and writer's block with 'Of Magic Wands and Parlour Tricks'... but it ended up like this. Hope you enjoyed it anyway, despite the lack of planning!
And one more thing, my dear readers and reviewers - especially to those who I can't reply to since they're reviewing anonymously, I just want to let you know how much I appreciate each and every one of you. Thanks so much for taking the time to read and reply, to let me know what you think and where I can improve. You make it possible for me to sit down at my desk after a day of studying and hacking my throat out and want to write.
So yes. Thanks again to everyone for sticking with me. I'm honoured to be sharing this ride with you. :D
-Shadowhawke