A/N: Hello! I promised an update, and here it is. I'm still working on the next Sherlock part, the research got a little stuck during holidays ^^
Thanks to everyone who favourted and followed, and special thanks to my reviewers! You are great, people :)
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't own *snif*
Warnings: it's rainy and depressing (family gatherings usually have this effect on me)
Not beta-ed, not brit-picked.
R&R. Enjoy! :)
Heavy rain fell on the dusty road, filling cracks in rocks and clay. The air suddenly became thick with invisible steam, difficult to breathe. The lonely figure darted to the nearby acacia tree to find shelter. The season of rainfalls wasn't the best time to travel, but the man who absently tangled wet locks around his fingers didn't have a place to stay over anymore.
Everyone believed him dead, after all.
#
Jo-Ham sighed and took a critical look at his work. His makeshift shelter built under the tree wouldn't protect him from wild animals or outlaws, but it would do against the weather. He squatted to fit under the roof of dry leaves and various branches, mindful not to break any of the pillars. He lay down on his only piece of woolen fabric, glad that he had brought it along. The rain continued its incessant and sometimes melodic clatter, soothing and healing the over-heated land.
#
The night had thrown its dark blanket over the country hours ago when the blue-eyed man stumbles out of his shelter. He nipped at a biscuit while examining his surroundings. The rain had stopped for a short breather, giving a perfect opportunity to stretch sour muscles. Taking a short walk, out of the blue he came to a halt over a seemingly normal patch of tall grass. With a surprised exclamation, he bent to have a better look, and finally a soft click announced the apparition of the postbox.
"Didn't expect to find it here" Jo-Ham muttered under his breath.
After a brief hesitation, he typed the code, trepidation rising in his gut. Nothing happened. A numb feeling of disappointment took over him, but he quickly discarded it by sheer force of long-term habit. He had sat on the muddy ground, thoughtlessly staring at the postbox, until the skies unleashed their fury once again.
#
The next morning, as the rain relented to an annoying drizzle, the ex-Emperor rummaged in his worn bag for writing tools. Somehow he managed to find a parchment and a charcoal. It would make a sketchy letter at best, but it actually was the best he had for now.
Dear Hol-Lock,
I didn't expect to write a letter again in this lifetime. It's been over two decades. I've been an Emperor, fancy that. I conquered lands, governed a country. It still feels so unreal to me. I've been looking for Black Spider among my friends and foes alike. I've even stopped some of them… I've sent spies looking for those crypts, but whatever they found, it was already in ruins. I tried to lay bases to the society which would stay stable, safe from the influence of an archaic terrorist organization. The rest is up to my son from this reincarnation and his heirs, I guess.
In the end, I just couldn't take it anymore. I left the throne, everything and followed travelling monks because there was nothing more I could do without losing myself. I still feel terrible about abandoning people who relied on me, but they're in good hands for now.
You know, I haven't really spoken with another person for nearly a year now. Those monks I travelled with, one of their vows is to always speak the truth. It is something I could appreciate, but my truth is so different from theirs. I didn't last long with them, though. I faked my death and now I'm free to go wherever I want. And isn't it a strange feeling! I dreamt of this privilege for years in my palace, surrounded by advisors and generals and – heaven forbid! – servants. And now I am honestly at a loss of what to do next. Well, sitting under a tree while waiting for the rain to stop is a fairly interesting option today.
I shall not annoy you with my ramblings anymore; we don't want you to take out your frustration on innocent bystanders, do we?
Till next time, my friend.
He gazed upon his scribbles. God knows what his friend would deduce from his writing and phrasing. Would he understand just how hollow he felt right now? So much possibilities but no strength or will to grasp any of them. He tried to persuade himself that he did more than enough for this lifetime. But it hadn't been enough to stop the threat. It hadn't been enough to save his wife either. Maybe the pain would go away. Maybe.
#
The sky kept on pouring crystal droplets of water over the land. Jo-Ham lay on his back and stared at grey clouds above. Lonely wasn't a word strong enough to define him right now.
A/N: Well. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but for once I managed to get the virtual self-imposed deadline ^^
I meddled with Maurya's story, by the way, by making him fake his death. But it's true that he left his trone and became a monk at the end of his life.
I'm working on the next part! See you soon :)