Author's note: Sorry it's taken me so long to update, I've been so busy! Thank you if you haven't lost interest. I replied to my reviews because they made me terribly happy! But I'm not sure they sent correctly, so thank you to anyone that's given me even the slightest bit of encouragement… it means the world to me xx
That night, Roxas dreamt of war. He was outside The Castle, and it was raining blood. The sunset bathed the sky in fire, and the night's chill was creeping close as the light dimmed. His twin swords were comfortable in his hands. They cut through flesh and bone at a shattering pace, as much a part of him as arms, his hands, his eyes. He watched as The Kingdom's finest turned and ran, dropping weapons and trampling over their comrades in their haste to reach the safety of the castle's walls. Roxas' lip curled. He would show them there was nowhere to hide.
Plucking a sword from the mangled carcass of a fallen Soldier, he hurled it towards the retreating forces, roaring "COWARDS!" loud enough to tear the darkening sky apart. It struck home hard, sending a man crashing to the ground. Others looked back, faces pale, just in time to see a rain of needle thin daggers looming on the horizon. A moment passed, endless and complete… and a heartbeat later, the ground was thick with death and iron thorns.
A thin blonde woman came to stand beside her Captain, long black coat flaring out behind her. She reloaded her crossbow with a dangerous smile, and set glittering eyes on the high stone walls of the castle.
Roxas turned as his heightened senses crackled. A single soldier had somehow slipped past him, and stood knee deep in the bodies of his former comrades. He was young, possibly as young as Roxas himself. A new recruit, nothing but cannon fodder caught in the midst of the vicious onslaught. He stared with wide, terrified eyes at the fabled Captain of the Thirteenth, and raised his sword, mouth dry. Roxas had to commend him for standing his ground…. He would have made a good soldier, given time. His end was regrettable, but necessary. They were here to send a message, after all. People stolen by The Kingdom never saw their loved ones again. The Thirteenth would respond in kind.
Roxas smiled sadly and turned away. Metal sang through the air – a chakram's scream – and he felt the dull thud of the soldier's body hitting the ground behind him. A warm hand settled on his shoulder. He didn't need to turn to know who it was. Axel's presence was as familiar as his own shadow.
"Having second thoughts?" Bit late for that, but then Axel always had a thing for cut-throat irony.
The grip on his shoulder tightened. A subtle show of concern… Inconsequential to anyone else, but Roxas knew better. Axel was giving him an out. Roxas kept his eyes trained on the castle walls, watching for archers and stray enchantments. He could feel the others drawing near, combing through gory remains for the wounded, and those praying to be taken for dead.
"They took Zex. We have to get him back."
Axel grunted, and stepped in front of him. Green eyes blazing, he studied Roxas carefully, spiked hair standing out against the grey walls of the castle, as red as the dark blood drenching the battlefield.
"There's no going back after we pass through those walls, Rox. Nobody's ever tried anything like this. We don't know what will happen." His grip intensified. This was it.
Roxas looked hard at his closest friend, and asked simply "What if they had taken me?"
Axel cracked a wicked grin, and took up his usual place beside the captain. He focused on the grey stone walls and licked his lips, anticipation burning through his veins. "Let's burn them to the ground."
Roxas readied his swords, and the dark army of renegades gathered behind him.
Night set in, and as The Thirteenth blended into the darkness, Roxas found himself on the Library's floor, chains burning against his wrists, the smell of scorched flesh creeping through the empty hall. A searing pain shot behind his eyes, and he curled in on himself.
"NO!"
He clutched desperately at the dream slipping past his reach. Fingers curled into his hair, and nails scraped at his scalp. Colours began to blur, and painful frustration coursed through him. Tears welled in his eyes as shapes and faces drained away, and he felt, as ever, powerless against his silver chains.
He pulled at them viciously, so lost in his anger that he didn't hear the echo of footsteps racing towards him.
Zexion's hand was cool on his arm. Roxas blinked up at him, single tears slowly rolling down each cheek. A servant found resisting his bindings. Disobedience of the highest order. He waited for the inevitable punishment, welcomed it, almost… pathetic as he was. Unable to fight the enchantments set upon his mind, too weak to even hold onto keep a hold on his dreams. Baring his teeth he hissed "Come on then! Do it!"
Zexion's face was cold and unreadable. Crouched on the floor, he leaned closer. Brow furrowed, he watched Roxas' eyes very closely. They flickered.
"What do you remember?"
Roxas snarled, one hand still clutching at his head as if it would keep his thoughts intact. It was a useless struggle, no matter how close his memories seemed, how vivid and real they felt… they always faded away to nothing as the seconds trickled by. With a scream he curled his hand into a fist and slammed it into the cold stone floor. His knuckles throbbed, and the thin silver links chimed together mockingly.
Panting, he stared transfixed at the dark red blood swelling through the cracked skin of his knuckles. A single drop trailed past the edge of his hand, and fell towards grey stone.
Roxas stilled.
"You." His voice was dark, dangerous. With aching slowness, he flexed his hand, and reached towards Zexion's robes. He twisted the cloth in a vice like grip and dragged him down. Eyes level, teeth bared, he whispered "we came for you."
In his time behind enemy lines, Axel had earned himself a fierce reputation. Refusing to sit and rot quietly like a good little recruit, he devoted himself to raising his own brand of carefully planned anarchy throughout the castle.
His body might be bound chained to the kitchen's copper runes, but his mind was sharp, and his eyes were everywhere. Slowly and carefully he built up an intricate network of trusted allies. It started small. He watched those around him carefully, weighing up their strength… seeking out the few souls amongst the ghost like workers that had not completely lost who they used to be. Underneath the surface, buried beneath a façade of meek acceptance, there were those that had a core of pure steel. They were soldiers, husbands, wives at heart, and no amount of time or magic could scrape that away.
Not a week into his servitude, Axel began to send the first shivers of disquiet throughout the ranks, and by the sixth year of his captivity, he had mapped out the entire castle in his mind.
A blaring siren heralded the start of another day. Dragging a hand over his face, Axel wrenched himself from dreams of wild adventures, memories that made his heart sing. As the taste of freedom faded from his lips, he prepared to face another day of cold hard reality within the castle's stone walls.
Running a hand through his hair, he breathed in deeply and held it, sure he could almost remember what the wind felt like on his skin. A second signal echoed off the walls, and he felt adrenaline shoot through him. With a jerk, he sat up and punched the snoring lump beside him. Today was big.
"Yo. Leon. Rise and shine."
Muffled groans came from within the blankets, and Axel smiled. Nine years of servitude, and Leon still couldn't handle mornings. Axel liked to think of it as proof that the kingdom's mindless routines weren't guaranteed to scrub away your personality. Quiet and reserved, at first glance Leon appeared no different to the other broken souls bound to the castle. The Nobles didn't see the iron will behind his calm exterior, but Axel did. He learned early on that Leon would be an invaluable ally, with knowledge and contacts reaching far beyond his own, and a budding rebellion already threading through the castle's service quarters years before Axel had even been captured.
With a massive yawn, Axel rose to his feet, the day's plans slotting into place. He looked down as Leon mumbled incoherently, wobbling pathetically within his blankets.
"Don't make me kick you, Sunshine – you know I will – and if you don't get your ass in gear, you'll forfeit Mess Hall rights."
In a flash, he was standing. Bleary eyed and mused, but awake. Around them, others were beginning to stir. Axel span his knife and tucked it into the back of his belt.
His dangerous past had spread quickly throughout the castle's soldiers. His blood red hair and vicious smile still set the older soldier's nerves on edge. Veterans who had seen the Thirteenth fall, teeth and knives bared to the very end. They'd freeze when he entered a room, eyes wary, flinch when his name was mentioned. New recruits picked up on their fear, and Axel liked that. He could use it. Over the years, accounts of the Thirteenth's massacre had earned it's members a cult like status, living legends of such fury that even reduced to slavery, grown men were still scared to look them in the eye.
Axel doused his face in the frigid water of the servant's washroom, and stared at himself in the small, cracked mirror. His eyes were dark, his face haggard. They were right to be afraid.
He found Leon waiting by the Kitchen's main door, a vast wooden block inlaid with shining letters and symbols. A nod to Leon, and together they pressed their palms against the smooth wood. Runes flared, and they passed through the open door. It was time to play the part.
Picking up one of the heavy trays, He scanned the room for a familiar face. Sitting on a raised platform towards the front of the hall sat a lone figure strumming half heartedly on a worn sitar. Their eyes met, and the musician smiled. Axel grinned back. It must be good news, for a change.
It hadn't taken Axel long to decide the only good thing about Kitchen Duty was serving in The Mess Hall. After long missions, the Kingdom's soldiers were granted feasts in celebration of their spoils. Namely, how many so called rebels and threats they ripped from their homes in the name of the Kingdom's glory. From the looks on their faces, it had been a good raid.
He recalled meals at The Thirteenth's stronghold. The mismatched group clustered around the campfire, all smiles and camaraderie. They were dysfunctional and volatile, but there was a sense of family there, in the fire's glow.
He remembered how the rich light cast flickering shadows over everything. The feel of Roxas's hand resting next to his. Close, but not quite touching. The hidden smile when their fingers brushed together.
Here, soldiers sat in regiments, lining tables that split them into ranks. No exceptions, no freedom, just the same calculated control that ran through the rest of the castle's unforgiving stone.
He tossed a salute to Leon, who waved before moving silently towards the back of the room. The chances were slim, but Yuffie might have been out back taking stock of broken weaponry. Face set, Leon ignored the jeers and taunts of the soldiers, passing out their food with the same unassuming nature that had kept him invisible for so many years. He left Axel to take the limelight, moving in the shadows as the kingdom's men watched him with fear in their eyes.
Nearing the back of the room, he noticed a small gray note wedged underneath the far window. With a slight smile, he continued his duties.
Axel made sure his shirt fully covered his trusty knife. He was a soldier first and foremost, and some habits die hard. These were his enemies, and he would never go into their midst empty handed. Besides, as a local celebrity, it was best to keep some insurance against those that felt they had something to prove.
Axel slowly made his way along the tables, eyes watchful. He hadn't forgotten yesterday's outbreak, and if the tensed shoulders he passed by were anything to go by, they hadn't either. Word through the servant's quarters said a young soldier was in the Enchanter's ward, lips sealed. It was bad enough he was found in the Dining Hall, a room off limits to Kingdom Soldiers outside regimented meal times, if he implied a servant's involvement, he would be stripped of his rank, and thrown into the castle dungeons until The King decided his temper had cooled. Attacking servants was seen as unacceptable. Attacking the defenceless, an intolerable act of cruelty which could spark rebellion and disorder. Axel snorted – Defenceless. Control sold as kindness, order in The Kingdom's enlightened, golden castle. Axel knew better. He didn't want damaged goods.
Chaining souls and enforcing his will across the Kingdom, with no remorse for the shattered families left behind... that was peachy, but allowing scuffles within his own walls fell just short of his code of conduct.
Nearing the friends of yesterday's naive soldier, Axel smiled, making sure to show all his teeth. They shrank back in their chairs, eyes burning. Across the room, a flash of silver caught his attention. There, amongst the noise and revelry, a soldier sat perfectly still, staring him down. There was something there, in his eyes. Determination, a green fire that reminded him of days long past. The face he used to see in the mirror. Axel felt the rest of the world melt away, danger prickling along his skin. Those eyes wanted something, and the man behind them was confident. Confident enough to challenge The Thirteenth. Axel's fingers itched to reach towards his weapon. He could throw it. He was fast enough. He could be back to his rounds before anyone even knew what had happened.
It was a stupid plan. He knew, even as he shifted the weight of the tray to one hand, and reached slowly towards his back, that to strike now, in clear sight of the legions was suicide. He sensed Leon's approach, but he was still far away. He wouldn't make it in time.
The soldier's eyes didn't waver, but a small smile curved his lips. A slight nod, slow and measured, and silver hair fell to shadow his eyes. Axel narrowed his eyes, and watched as the soldier turned to his companions, talking easily, as though nothing had even happened. A hand on Axel's shoulder brought him back. Leon's voice was casual, but his grip was strong.
"Something wrong?"
Axel cracked his neck and pulled away, flashing a smile over his shoulder.
"Nah." His eyes slid towards the nearby soldiers who sat silently, listening intently. "Bit gray out, isn't it?"
"Yeah." Leon thumbed the small note tucked within a hidden seam in his pocket. "But we'll see the sun soon enough."
So Yuffie was still on board. Axel moved away, gears turning, silver hair scraping at the back of his mind. He'd have to watch his back, but what else was new.
Demyx looked worried, chewing vigorously on his lip as he hands idly danced over the strings, as second nature as breathing. As he saw his friend approaching, he stared intently in the opposite direction, muttering "Axchulll!" out the side of his mouth in a strained stage whisper. "Whut's guuing ooon?"
Axel chuckled to himself. "Subtle, Dems." Resting his tray on the stage, he tapped out the tune's rhythm on the hard wooden surface. "Nothing to worry about. Any gossip?"
A string twanged, but was quickly covered up by a new melody. Demyx closed his eyes, and whispered with a racing heart.
"You know, there's more people coming to hear me play, these days."
"Oh?" Axel kept his face neutral, slowly moving Demyx's plate onto the stage. They weren't alone then. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. Shame Xig can't see how much I've improved though."
"Yeah. He wouldn't believe his ears."
"Do you... you remember how he always used to make fun of me?" Demyx gazed out over the hall, distant memories playing across his mind. "You all did." He smiled, music lulling to a soft, melancholy hum in the background. "It wasn't so bad though, I always got him back on the night watch. He'd be working on his crossbows, and BAM! I'd jump out and he'd leap a mile high! Got him every time." Axel picked up his empty tray, and tried to keep a smug smile from stretching across his face. So Xigbar was working the night shift. In the armoury, most likely, if maintenance was involved.
"You're lucky he never shot you, you know."
Demyx shrugged. "Sometimes I think he always knew I was there... anyway, look after yourself, Axel." Demyx's stomach clenched as he watched his friend walk away. Attention turning back to his melodies, he murmured a desperate prayer under his breath, and tried to lose himself to the twisting notes, to fall into sound and movement and forget he was even real at all.