A/N: Since March is a time of many new arrivals (spring, longer days, flowers), I found it fitting to do something based around new arrivals for March. You know, try and match it all to a theme. Sadly, I once again deviated from my original idea. But on the bright side, we're also OFFICIALLY one percent of the way through!
Till next time,
D.L.D
March (Merry Madness)
Snow melts; Flowers bloom. Winter falls; Spring rises.
March had always been a time that Elizabeth loved. After the long winter months of stretched out darkness and killer frost, the kind rays of the sun and the newly awakened light was always welcomed pleasantly. To Elizabeth, March was time when all was returning back to normal. New arrivals meant new beginnings and new beginnings meant new experiences to go through and new sights to see. March was new. March was fresh. March was-
"Elizabeth?"
He prods her arm, the limb flopping limply to the side. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Her skin was too cool, her complexion too pale; she was bent at odd angles, crimson stained her wings. He knew what was wrong with her. Dammit, Meliodas knew. But he just didn't want to admit it. Not now. Not yet. Not ever.
He didn't ever want to admit that she was dead.
"Elizabeth!"
...
March quickly sprung into December, December sleepily shifted into May, May excitedly spun into June and June reluctantly rolled into October. Meliodas had been lost without her, lost in his perception of time and space. He no longer aged, no longer changed, no longer faded. He ached. He ached and ached and ached - and no matter how hard he tried, the ache would never go. Never numb. Never change. Like him, the ache was ever-lasting. Ever-present. It wouldn't ever let go.
"Do I...know you?"
A lapse. A reprieve. He sees her one day, as if sent from the heavens, her bright blue eyes narrowed with scrutiny.
She stares down at him, her silver hair naturally curled. In her hands was a spear, the animal skins she wore stretched taught over her skin. Unlike him, she had changed. Morphed. Aged - no, she didn't age. She was the same, the same but different. Oh so different. Right now, she was a warrior. A fighter. She looked nothing like the Elizabeth he knew - but at the same time she did. She did so much it hurt.
"I'm Meliodas," He blinks, beyond confused. She shares that confusion, that weird feeling of deja vu, but doesn't show it well. She hides it, a trait earned through a life spent with savages and death and suffering.
"Meliodas?" Elizabeth trails off, still awfully wary. Each syllable passes hesitantly on her lips, foreign and completely alien. As if voicing her fear of the unknown, her fingers remain tight around her spear.
This Meliodas was a stranger. A strange stranger. She was always told not to trust strangers. Nevertheless, she still took him back to the tribe - a repeat of their inevitable cycle.
...
October was when time returned. For a while, it ticked and ticked and ticked away like it always did. Days were no longer turbid and arid and dry; months were no longer stretching and distant and far. For the first time since she had gone, since he had held her lifeless form, time had returned to Meliodas. Time ticked normally. October turned into December, December ticked into January and January kicked into March. March...
"Elizabeth!"
It happened again. This time she was taken right in front of him.
"Meliodas!"
And again. A fire.
"You're a strange man, Meliodas. Never growing old."
And again. Like always, again and again and again. Never-ending, never-changing; just like him.
"I picked you flowers!"
Then, another reprieve. Another lapse. Like always, he was given hope, spoon-fed it through a slither of light. False optimism.
She came to him this time, a spy sent by an enemy kingdom. At first, she had been tenacious, a spitfire, but after a while he saw how she was the same as all the others: kind to a fault. But this Elizabeth, Liz, was a lot more different than usual. Like always she was kind, sympathetic, but she was also damaged and hardened. Desensitized. She wasn't afraid to put Meliodas in his place and deck him in the face. Half the time she didn't even apologise for what she did, believing firmly that he deserved it.
Liz was one of the longest so far. She was closest to being last - the final Elizabeth. Over the weeks and months, Meliodas found himself giving and learning more than he had in a very long time. He found himself growing comfortable, stable, and it was such a strange feeling. Such a strange experience. He didn't have to worry much. Didn't have to control those pesky pent up emotions of his. All he had to worry about was Liz and ending that curse.
But like always, like with all iterations of her, those unique traits of Liz were her faults. Her courage, her strength, was something that led to Meliodas losing her again. Again...
Rain. Blood. March.
"I'll see you again soon."
He watched the life flicker from her body and in his grief and rage Danafor was destroyed.
...
For the third time in three thousand years, time was normal for Meliodas. It began to tick in its usual tones, continued to be on his side, after the many catastrophes of the past. Perhaps it was because of her, perhaps it was because he had grown numb. Meliodas wasn't sure exactly what it was, but he was calm for once. Content. He felt like he had actually had control over his fate again - a chance to save Elizabeth from hers.
"You're going away again."
It's not a question. To her, it's a fact. She says it so somberly that it contrasts the way she looks, how young she is. If anything, she's tiny. Teeny. She's so small that Meliodas can say he's a giant and get away with it.
But tonight, Elizabeth is up late - way past bedtime - and stares up at him with bleary blue eyes. In her arms is a teddy bear, indicating that she'd sneaked her way to find him. A regular occurrence for the young princess it appeared.
"It won't be for long," The blonde reassures her with a trusty smile, already knowing that he'd have to escort her back to bed. She never slept well when he was away. Always worrying about Sir Meliodas. In reality, she didn't have much to worry about - he couldn't really die.
"You said that last time," She argues, hugging the bear close to her chest. "And you were gone for ages."
Huh. She kept track.
"Two weeks isn't ages, Ellie," Meliodas laughs a little, ruffling her hair. He crouches down, making direct eye contact with her. "But I promise this time won't be as long."
She blinks, "Really?"
"Really," The knight nods.
Little did he know that 'not long' would turn into ten tedious years.
...
For the next ten years, March continued to haunt him. Even though he knew that Elizabeth was safe and well in Liones, he couldn't help but feel that it was all wrong. That time was all wrong. Ten Marches passed, all of them containing the same grim reminder, and with each passing, Meliodas grew more standoffish.
Through his ten years of separation, the blonde gathered what his problem was: giving too much. He had met so many iterations of Elizabeth, loved each one, and by the time Elizabeth Liones came around he felt like he was giving too much. Feeling too much. He was giving too much of himself to each one and if he kept doing it, he'd eventually have nothing left. Nothing to rebuild. When he reached nothing, had nothing, he wondered what March would be like. He wondered what he would be like.
So this time, just to be safe, he won't give much. He'll give enough, but only enough. Even if it hurts her.
"If you know something, please tell me!" She appeals directly towards him, the pieces all there but not clicking. Never clicking. They can't without his confirmation. Not yet. But they are so close, so gathered, that Meliodas grows frightened of what she could learn, of what she could trigger. The only thing left is to deny, to protect.
She cannot learn the truth.
"Now, I have no idea what you're talking about." Lies. He knows exactly what she's talking about. She knows and he knows. But she just brushes her assumptions aside as ridiculous and silly, humours him, and the hidden hurt in her eyes makes him feel even worse.
...
"What are you thinking about?"
Soft and cool her palms cup each side of his face, a welcome distraction from the buzzing memories in his skull. Silver hair fans in the soft breeze and her blue eyes are wide with concern. It is rare when she initiates such closeness, such intimacy, but Meliodas was never one to complain about it. He was never one to audibly point out subtle differences - well, ones that weren't detrimental.
"Meliodas," She pokes his face, gently prodding for an answer.
He smiles, staring up at her, "Stuff."
Vague and mysterious as always. He never liked to give a straightforward answer. Round about answers were much more satisfying. Much more puzzling.
"What stuff?" Elizabeth raises a brow.
"Stuff stuff."
No words are needed. No further explanation. She only plants a kiss on his forehead, letting him know she is there for good. She is here to stay.
...
Snow melts; Flowers bloom. Hate falls; Love rises.
March.
