[Note: This was intended to be longer, but I hit a wall that suggested it go somewhere I'm not sure I want to go.]
OblivionBehind closed eyes he could almost believe everything was already gone. With his back to the glass and his head obscured under his cloak, his mind would reach out into the comfortable oblivion of darkness. The sensations of his thoughts were given to the rapid-fire pulses of war planning and politicking or, far less likely, the slow throb of memories.
Sometimes he dozed off from the strain of living a life made remarkable for being the firstborn son of an ungrateful king and finding the will to put an end to an entire world's suffering. His own suffering was not so remarkable, but cut so deep a cavern that it could only be echoed in the heart of a goddess. And why? Because pain and suffering was commonplace. Pain and suffering was even inflicted by fathers on their sons. Pain and suffering through negligence, fancy, playing favorites... through complicity.
It was an old saying that you could only hate those you once truly loved or trusted. It was a saying that implied betrayal. And who had not betrayed Dune? Had not his father betrayed him by favoring Van? Had his fey mother not betrayed him by allowing it? Had not Van, of all people, had the choice to refuse their father's unorthodox wishes and had he not betrayed him more deeply than all the others?
Van... Under the cloak, the corner of his mouth twitched toward a reflexive snarl. A hand, whose tattoos were hidden by black armor, twitched in a phantasm of crushing a throat or gripping a sword.
Van could have stopped everything with a simple refusal, but he had accepted the favoritism of their father for power. Even children were capable of betrayal when given a choice between power and solidarity. Van had called it duty, but Dune had seen it for greed it was. It was all the worse a blow for the warm feelings he'd had for Van.
Van couldn't forget the times Dune had spun him out in rapid circles by his hands and feet. Before Van could fly, Dune had shown him what it was like. The peals of childish laughter couldn't be quickly forgotten when the event was not far removed from such the betrayal. There had been times Van had ridden on Dune's shoulders as his elder brother sped to the top of a cliff in time for brilliant sunsets. No one would forget such profound beauty in a scant few years; they could only turn their back on them.
Just as he assumed his much younger brother could turn from brotherhood, kinship, and beauty, Dune found he could do the same. It was these very things, he understood at long last, that made suffering so acute. The deeper the joy, the harsher the pain. Dune never made it out of a debilitating depression that left him a numb and shivering wreck. Instead, Folken did.
Folken rose up out of a crucible so horrific and black that the only fitting scene for his ascent was the ashes of the country that spawned him. Fanelia and all her inhabitants were nothing to him, yet he spared them the suffering of life just as easily as he knew he would eventually spare himself. They deserved much worse than obliteration by sword and fire. It cost Folken very little; some sight, kin, trivial bits of humanity... flight.
Their father said he was not fit to rule, but how the people of Gaia flocked to his standard. It seemed obvious to Folken that his father was little more than a fool who had doomed his own country and favored child. Under the late king's nose, he became a rightful leader of men soon to be joined with a sorrowing goddess that would help him end all the suffering in the world. True, there were those who resisted, but no one could stand for long against the overwhelming strength of his will when catalyzed by a betrayal so primal. It was his fierceness and will that drew followers by the score. It was hard to resist joining the side of such incredible force of personality and absolute faith in purpose.
And Sora... he had her and her song behind him as well. He would end her suffering, too. It was the least he could do for such loyalty from one of her kind.
Reminded of Sora, he allowed her song to float through the outskirts of his nearly restful oblivion. Sometimes, when he dozed, he could not tell if his purpose was already fulfilled or not. At times like those, Sora's presence helped him orient his darkened edges.
Folken felt the palpable presence of Sora' song while he inhabited the edge of nothingness and was reminded his purpose was not yet fulfilled. Part of him observed that her voice was enchanting and more lovely a creation than Gaia had ever known, but none of him was actually moved by it. He was beyond things that could lead to suffering, for the suffering that was his genesis overlay all other pain.
"Where is she?" He murmured from under the heavy silk of his cloak. It was a forgone conclusion who he referred to.
Despite the low volume of his voice, the young woman heard and let her quiet song fade. Sora paused before answering, as if picking the right words to a song or to keep a dragon from treating her with the same impatience incompetence inspired in him. She had always been that way with her words: he thought little of it, though sometimes he imagined it amused him. "She is with him."
"That will change," he replied, voice steady with unfaltering confidence. "The Winged Goddess has already heard my call. She is just as weary as I. Together we will end the suffering of this world."
The ethereal woman looked sadly over to the window where Folken contemplated suffering and sleep. "Perhaps she will learn to overcome her suffering, Folken-sama."
He snorted quietly in dark amusement. "Yes, I think she will." He knew Sora was indicating a different outcome than what he had decided would be the fate of the world, but he was better served misinterpreting her disapproving comments. Despite her disapproval, she still stood with him, just as the Winged Goddess would.
Sora's voice was no less melodious for the soul-heavy sigh that escaped her. Folken did not know that she understood his purposeful misinterpretations were profoundly ironic.