Sol of Luna: Near and Far

Author: Gakusangi

Author's Notes and Acknowledgements:
RECAP - The children finally meet the Emerald Sage, who prefers to go by the name Watari. They share tea, and take a moment to themselves, recalling some of the events the led to their arrival. Mello finds it hard to sit still, regardless of his fatigue. Finally, Watari takes them to his abode, a crystal tower built upon a small island in the middle of the subterranean lake. Here Watari shares what knowledge he has concerning their predicament. It is revealed that Near is in possession of the soul of Luna, the spirit of dusk. L tells them that the Emperor, Near's father, has secretly plotted the Prince's assassination, since Near can override the terms the Shinigami pact, and can therefore kill the Emperor. The other's listen to all of this in shocked silence, until Mello storms out of the room. Later Mello and Watari talk, in order to stay Mello's turbulent emotions. He assures Mello that L has entrusted him with this important task because Mello is the one he feels strongly qualifies for the assignment. Mello thanks the old man, and then leaves. He ends up in Near's room, and though he appears hostile, he assures Near that he will stick with him until the end, and then returns the wolf fang token that he had pocketed.

This is a Death Note fan fiction. Many of the characters presented here are not mine, but the legal property of writer Tsugumi Ohba, and artist Takeshi Obata.

Chapter 24: Oaths Dreams

The boy awoke to the sounds of a crackling fire, staring up into desert's night skies, the stars looking - mockingly down upon him. He sat up slowly, every inch of his small battered body screaming in protest, but he chose to ignore this, as he had for the past several days, coming upright and letting the blanket that had been draped over him fall around his waist. He looked down at himself. His brow and injured eye had been bandaged, the bite wounds on his left arm as well. The makeshift splint he had fashioned for his shattered knee had been replaced with something that was still improvised, but looked a bit more stable, and was bound with real bandages, rather than being lashed together with bits of tattered cloth. Beneath the new and oversized shirt that he wore, he could feel that his torso had been tightly wrapped, to help stabilize his injured ribs.

"You're awake." The voice was pleasant, but unfamiliar.

The boy turned and spotted a man sitting across from him, on the other side of a campfire. He was tall, and broad, with warm eyes, and wore a long, faded duster, brown in color, or maybe a deep tan. His dark hair, which was thick and swooped back a little ways behind his ears, had faint lines of grey highlighting it, the early indicator of the approach of late-middle age. He also had a mustache that hid his top lip, and curled slightly at its edges, a faint shadow of stubble rested on his chin and neck. The man offered him a smile, which curled his mustache in an amusing sort of way.

It all happened within mere seconds, the boy's body and mind carefully honed for possible hostile situations, acting of their own accord. His eyes darted about for anything he could use to defend himself, catching the slight glint of steel from a nearby travel pack. His body tensed, his muscles preparing for action. He rolled out across the dry ground, kicking up a light cloud of dust, and over to the pack. His hand fell around the handle of knife, its grip seeming grimly familiar beneath his fingers and against his dried palm. He was up again in an instant, taking up a basic defensive stance with the blade held before him. From this position he could easily and quickly cross the gap between him the man, or if the man was armed with a ranged weapon, he could just as easily hurl the knife fast enough and accurately enough to make it count.

But the man did not advance. Instead, he held up his hands, showing that he was, in fact, unarmed, his eyes twinkling gently in the firelight.

"Relax." The man said in a gentle and even voice.

The man reached slowly behind his back. The boy flipped the knife over, reversing its position in his hand, ready to make his move. The man, seeing the peril he was in, quickly withdrew what he had been reaching for. It was a canteen, which sloshed loudly, full of fresh, cool water. The boy tilted his head, frowning as though confused.

"You must be thirsty." The man said. "Here."

He tossed the canteen, which landed within reach of the battered boy. The boy looked between the canteen and the man a few times, before cautiously reaching out with his freehand and grasping the strap connected to the container, and pulling it towards him. He popped the cap and began to chug down the canteen's contents, water sloshing over his cracked lips and running down his chin.

"Hold on!" The man said in alarm. "Your stomach's shrunk, you're-"

But the boy was already finding out. He turned suddenly, the canteen and knife both falling from his hands, and vomited up, quite violently, all the water he had just taken into his body. The man came over then, picking up the canteen as he did so. The boy was on all fours, dry heaving now, and his body quaking uncontrollably. The man took the boy into his arms, so pale, so thin, but so warm. He wasn't sure why he hadn't been prepared for the warmth. He tipped the boy's head up and poured in a few drops of water into his mouth, which he lapped at like a thirsty dog. When he was sure that he had given enough for the boy to safely hold, even though the boy desperately wanted more, he tipped the canteen and ceased the flow of water.

The boy felt all the fatigue set in at that moment. His uncovered eye became heavy, and exhaustion began to overpower him as he lay within the man's gentle, but strong embrace. Slowly the darkness crept in at the edges of his periphery, and a long awaited sleep began to overtake him…

No sleep!

It was Darius' voice, and though the boy was certain he had silenced it forever, it seemed that even death could not protect him from his longtime tormentor. The boy's eye shot open, and his hand found the knife he had dropped. He let out a growl, like some crazed animal, and kicked back, toppling the man who held him over onto his back. The boy was atop the man in an instant, the blade of the knife pressed against the man's throat, ready to open it, his cracked lips pulled back, his teeth bared. The man said nothing. He just looked up at the boy, his eyes calm, belying the fast paced beating of his heart, which the boy could feel through the man's torso beneath him. They stayed like that for a time.

The man had seemed kind, but kindness didn't mean innocence, and boy was all too familiar with that. But something in his face, which stirred up memories, stayed the boy's hand for briefest instant.

"You are injured, and dehydrated." The man explained calmly. "Without someone to clean your wounds and change your bandages, you won't last long on your own, even with supplies."

But that wasn't true. The boy was perfectly capable of mending himself. He had been trained to survive. But still, there was something…the man was so like 'her' father. He had been kind, and nurturing, almost fatherly. He had accepted him, even though he was supposed to be a mere slave, bought by the family to provide service and company. But still, he had more or less adopted him. This only led to more memories being called forward.

The boy began to remember the way 'she' had always smiled at him, and laughed at his odd behavior. She had trusted, and befriended him, without any real reason, simply because she had wanted to. And then there was how her face had looked in that last moment, so hurt, so sorrowful. The light had been stolen from her, her innocence lost. He had taken it. Though it was her hand, it might as well have been his own that drove the blade, which he himself had smuggled inside the compound, and pierced her compassionate, loving heart.

The man looked on in wonderment as the boy's rabid features softened. He saw the glimmering of tears in the boy's uncovered eye, and how his throat tightened with the sobs that wanted to escape. The boy slowly withdrew the knife, letting it slide from his hand and land off to the side. He placed his face into his hands, and let out a low moan, almost choked by the dryness of his throat. The man sat up now, and looked upon the small, pale boy, trembling and broken before him. The boy's hands came down, and the man could see that he was indeed crying, the precious water not completely dried out from his body, and the long, raven bangs unable to hide his face, so full of hurt.

It was instinct more than anything, a parental instinct that is present in most people, though they wouldn't know it, which made the man's arms come up, and draw the boy against him. He held the child, rocking him gently back and forth as he whimpered softly.

"I'm sorry." The boy choked, though he wasn't really saying it to the man who held him, but to 'her'.

"It's alright." The man replied gently.

The boy turned his face into the man's chest, the familiar scent of coffee beans, old books, and cinnamon filling his nostrils. Not his mother, but this man, this compassionate man, who had saved him because he had felt it the right thing to do. The man felt hot tears soak into the front of his shirt.

(XXX)

L stirred, and then his eyes fluttered open, dark, but surprisingly rested. He sat up, his thick, messy hair matted to one side by the feather pillows that adorned his bed. He threw off the blankets and hopped onto the floor, leaving the room and making his way down the hall.

(XXX)

Watari was sitting in the study, a steaming cup of tea resting on the table beside him while he frowned in deep thought. The news wasn't good, and he would have to tell L soon. But he had to think about how he was going to fit it in. He still had much to reveal, and time had become painfully short. But it seemed that fate was set on mocking him, watching him squirm, for L came wandering sleepily into the room just then, looking at him with a halfway warm smile, the was only evident because he was still groggy with sleep.

The crescents under the young man's eyes had lost a measure of their intensity, and his hair was matted to one side. But these were all good things, indicators that he had, in fact, gotten some much needed rest. The old man returned L's lazy, but pleasant smile with one of his own. But beneath it, he worried about how he was going to tell the guildsman of certain events that had just come to his attention, the new developments that would distract from ever important task at hand. It was complicated, and though Watari had certainly done his share of 'complicated', these were dire times, and he wasn't prepared to put everything in jeopardy. But sooner or later, he would have to tell him.

L crossed the room and poured himself a cup of tea, adding maybe six or seven sugar cubes to the brownish liquid, before stirring it and taking the first sip. Not quite sweet enough, he added another four cubes before his next sip. Watari only watched with silent amusement. But there was also sympathy. The coppery taste of blood was always present in L's mouth, and he sought to stay its tartness at any opportunity. It was a hard life, and very harsh and trying childhood. But he had persevered. Watari didn't pretend to understand anything about it. In all the time he and L had been together, the guildsman had only revealed tidbits of his shadowed past. And in all honesty…Watari was too afraid to probe any deeper.

"I dreamt about the time we first met." L said suddenly, catching the old man's full attention.

"That's funny," Watari answered, "I had a dream about the time me, Roger, and Nancy defended Danueve from the Bandit King."

"Oh." L replied, and the old man didn't miss the tension in the guildsman's shoulders at the mention of his old rival and most hated foe.

Finally satisfied with sugar contents of his drink, L squat himself in a chair just across from Watari, hot tea in hand. They sipped, and remained silent for a time, merely enjoying the other's company. It was just like old times. But there was something else now. A sense of urgency, and even the guildsman could feel it. The winds of destiny had been stirred while they rested, and new developments were underway. But how was the old man going to tell him? When would it be too late? He could only avoid the subject for so long. But there was something else, something far more important. The other would have to wait.

"I saw the threads of fate about the children, yesterday." Watari said, seeming oddly downcast.

"Oh?" L said, perking up from his tea.

"They're black, and tattered." The old man went on grimly. "I think, and this is only speculation…that one of them is going to die."

"That's not going to happen." L replied, and his tone was surprisingly firm.

"You would brave the fates to change this course?" Watari asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes." L said with all confidence. "I simply won't allow it."

"And what would you be willing to sacrifice, in order to spare them?" Watari asked.

L's dark eyes became darker, and his features seemed oddly sunken and weary.

(XXX)

Mello watched with childish awe as Roger twirled the six-shooter in his hand, its metallic surface gleaming in the sunlight, its ivory handle sparkling during the brief moments when the veteran guildsman's calloused fingers weren't clamped around it. He spun it forward and then back with just a whip of his wrist, then sideways, seeming to briefly defy the law of gravity, before righting it and locking back the hammer in one fluent and remarkably fast motion. The blonde boy laughed with youthful wonderment, as it was his right to. He was only eight after all. Roger grinned, that devilish grin of his. It was the very grin that had stolen many a heart of a young girl, and as a result, often landed him in heaps of trouble in the day of his youth. But those times were behind him now. Still, he could grin.

"Teach me!" Mello said excitedly, though it seemed more like a demand.

Roger blinked, as though surprised.

"Teach you?" Roger repeated.

"Yeah, come on!" Mello said. "I want to learn how to use a gun!"

"Oh..." Roger said, the smile creeping slowly to surface again. "So you want to learn this."

Roger twirled the gun a few times in rapid - stop, go, stop, go, stop - succession.

"Yeah!" Mello burst.

"And this?" Roger asked.

Roger flipped the gun, leaving it turning in midair, only to be caught quickly by his other hand, and held at ready.

"Yes, yes!" Mello beamed.

"And how about this?" Roger asked.

This time, he flipped the gun behind his back, letting pass over his head, where he caught it near his waist, pulling the hammer back and kneeling on one knee, taking aim off into the distance.

"Yeah, I do!" Mello said, nearly ready to explode from all the excitement.

"Well I'm not going to teach any of that." Roger said, his face and voice serious as funeral procession.

The wonderment vanished from Mello's eyes, and the excitement disappeared from his features, replaced by an almost comical expression of profound confusion.

"What?" Mello asked, and then he demanded, "Why?"

"Because none of that ever saved a man's life." Roger replied firmly.

Mello blinked. Roger holstered his pistol slowly.

"The only thing that ever saved a man's life," Roger said, "Was this!"

The Roger turned suddenly and gun flashed out at a speed that the young boy was certain to be impossible for anyone, especially an old man like Roger. The hammer was back even before it had cleared the thoroughly greased holster, and the trigger was being squeezed, even as he brought the barrel level with his waist. A shot rang out, like thunder. A tin can, set upon a large stump, shot into the air. But even before the can had begun to rise, just as the slug was breaking through its gleaming surface, the gun had already been holstered again, and the man wielding turned the face the awestruck cadet with deadly serious eyes.

"Speed, and accuracy." Roger said, the can clattering behind him. "The only two things a real gunfighter knows."

Roger removed his wide-brimmed hat, black as starless night sky, and dabbed his forehead with a kerchief. He then replaced the hat and looked down at the boy, whose eyes had wandered to the tin can that had just recently fallen from the sky after being launched by the veteran guildsman's bullet. The boy's surprised, even fearful eyes came back to him.

"I can teach you those things." Roger said in a voice that was serious, but now it was also gentle. "But you have to be ready to learn them…Are you ready to learn?"

Mello looked at him for a time. The older man could see the thought process behind his young, bluest of blue eyes. Finally Mello set himself, and nodded.

"Then the first lesson." Roger said, removing his pistol and holding it up in both hands for the boy to see. "This doesn't kill anyone…the hand pulling the trigger, doesn't kill anyone…you kill. You kill, or are killed. That is the first lesson."

Mello nodded, his face as serious as the man before him. Roger nodded, and took one of Mello's hands, small and soft within him own. He curled the boy's fingers around the pistol's grip, and helped him level it, bearing most of its weight.

"Don't aim with you weapon." Roger said quietly. "Aim with your eyes. Your shot should be lined up before it even clears the holster."

He moved Mello's thumb to the hammer, and helped him cock the stiffened mechanism back with loud, metallic click.

"Don't pull the trigger, squeeze it instead." Roger advised. "And remember, that you are not shooting with your weapon, you are shooting with your head. You have decided upon it, chosen it over all avenues, which could not be pursued, because this is the only choice you have. Remember that, Mello. Remember, that this is the last choice followed, but the first one made. Never draw a gun on someone, else you intend to shoot them. And never shoot someone, else you intend to kill them. Remember that."

Mello took in a slow breath, his finger curling over the trigger and slowly beginning to squeeze.

"Your weapon is not killing anyone." Roger whispered. "You are killing. You are taking the life. But you were already prepared for that. Remember."

The trigger click back, and the hammer snapped forward.

(XXX)

Mello's eyes flashed open. He could almost hear the gunshot echoing in his ears. But, no gun had been fire, there was no shot ringing out, and once more the blonde boy was reminded that the old gunman was dead. Shaken and bitter, Mello rolled out of his bed, retrieving his boots and gloves, and left the room.

(XXX)

Everyone had gathered in the study by the time Mello entered. He didn't offer any greetings as he crossed the room to get a cup of hot tea, and settle his nerves. He spared the slightest glance in Near's direction as he passed, noting the wolf fang dangling about the white haired boy's neck, right where he had left it. That meant something, but Mello wasn't entirely sure what. He poured himself a cup, and walked back over to the long sofa, setting himself beside Matt. Near sat on the other side of the redhead, with Linda right next to him. All eyes turned to Watari, to was sipping his tea and looking quite thoughtful.

"I believe floor is yours." L said quietly to the old man.

"Yes, I do believe it's time for the next part." Watari agreed, setting his cup down on the stand beside his chair.

The old man cleared his throat before beginning. It was almost ritualistic in its way.

"The soul of Luna," Watari started, "Is as one side of a coin. It requires the other side, another half to make it whole. This is natural balance of things. If scales are tipped one way or the other, it results in catastrophe."

The children all nodded in understanding. Natural balance was a philosophy they were all familiar with.

"So," Watari continued, "This means that if the Prince is the night, then there must also be a day, the balancing factor. That would be the person who is in possession of the spirit of dawn, Sol, the sun. But there is a problem."

"What problem?" Mello demanded.

"Sol hasn't awakened yet." L said calmly. "And we therefore have no way of finding him."

"So we have to wait until he wakes up?" Linda asked.

"One cannot exist without the other." Watari said. "Sol will awaken, and he will seek out his partner spirit. The one thing we have to do is insure that nothing befalls the Prince until that time."

"So, we have to protect Near." Mello said, almost bitterly.

"It's the one thing we 'can' do." Watari confirmed. "If nothing else, we must not allow any harm to befall Near."

Silence passed between them for a moment, like a cold breeze coiling through the air. Really it was nothing different, but knowing exactly what Near was, and precisely what that meant, added an odd kind of weight to it now. They weren't just looking out for a contract, or even a friend. Near was a god, and his existence was vital to the future of their world. That wasn't something to be taken lightly. To everyone's surprise, Mello suddenly rose from the sofa, and stood before the white haired boy.

"I'm in." Mello said evenly.

"Protecting a Prince is a big responsibility." Watari warned. "Protecting a god that will defend the world from encroaching evil is not something to just decide without considerable thought. Especially when you don't know all the perils involved."

"But I've decided." Mello said calmly without looking at the old man. "I swear an oath protection to Near."

Watari rose to his feet, his face looking both surprised and fearful.

"An oath is a heavy thing!" Watari said urgently.

"Then I'll help bear it." Matt said, rising from the sofa and standing next to the blonde boy, his best friend. "I too swear an oath to Near."

Linda was up now, coming up on Mello's other side.

"Me too." Linda said firmly. "I swear an oath to Near."

Watari looked pleadingly over at L, who only grinned with amusement.

"In old times," L said, as he got up and walked over to the children, "An oath needed to be sanctified, in order to have any potency."

The children all turned to the guildsman.

"I can sanctify this oath, but only if it's what you really want." The seriousness had returned to L when he spoke these words.

"We are prepared." Mello said confidently, his two comrades nodding in compliance.

"I certainly hope so." L said quietly.

L held out his hand, palm up. Mello placed his hand over it, Matt next, and then Linda. L looked down at Near.

"You too, my Prince." L said.

Near reached up and placed his hand atop the pile. L placed his other hand over theirs and held them firmly together.

"Then I hereby sanctify this oath," L said, his voice echoing clearly off the walls of the study, "A ward from harm. Let not those involved ever break this oath, but instead offer them strength to meet all obstacles, and fulfill it."

L turned and looked at the Watari, who stood in stunned silence.

"We need a witness." L said to the old man.

Watari blinked, and then shook himself out of his wonderment, giving a nod.

"I bear witness to this oath." Watari said clearly. "Let not it break, but be met."

Mello felt it, something passing through him and into Near, and from Near into him, L acting as the conduit, the bridge between. He was certain that the other two, maybe even Watari, also felt this energy that shot through them like gentle lightening. This was more than words. It was more than a contract, or a promise. This was real. This was an oath. And oaths were not to be taken lightly, lest misfortune befall those involved. Mello was beginning to wonder if he had made the right choice. But then again, he had already decided to go all in. He would meet this new challenge, as he had met all the others. He would not disappoint L. He would not allow Near to make him a failure.

(XXX)

The children had all left. Watari was sure that wherever they were, they were together, pondering on recent events. These were dark and serious matters, and they needed to prepare themselves for the journey ahead of them. L, who hadn't spoken a word since he had sanctified the children's oath of protection to the Prince, joined Watari on the balcony. It had been a foolish decision, but one that he had no influence over. This was their fight, not his. He was only a messenger, a Sage. That was all.

"I have some bad news." Watari said quietly.

"Yes?" L said, his voice seeming oddly deader than before.

He was still back in the study with the old man, talking about the grim fate that might befall one of the kids. This was terrible timing, but Watari was sure that he could put this next part off no longer.

"There's going to be a massive attack on at the frontline." Watari said. "A unified force of three different warlords."

"Aizawa and Naomi can handle it." L replied almost casually. "I have faith in them."

"I don't doubt that." Watari responded.

Here it is.

"But it's only a distraction." The old man said gravely. "They're planning on having the Imperials focus all their efforts at the front, while a small, but formidable force crosses the border in secret, and establish a foothold in the Empire."

L whirled on the old man, his unblinking eyes seeming somehow wider than usual.

"How did you hear this?" L asked, and though his tone seemed unchanged, Watari could detect the urgency in it.

"I have ears." The old man replied. "I listen to the winds that pass through here. Though wind whispers were always something more to you, Azure."

"How long?" L asked.

"Maybe a day." Watari replied.

"Where?" L pressed calmly.

"The Old Kingdom fort." Watari answered.

"The Crescent?" L asked.

Watari nodded.

"It'll take just as long to get there." L said grimly, though his voice was unwavering.

"I've prepared desert mounts for you and children already." Watari replied. "They'll get you there in half the time. I also took the liberty of sending word to your Guild Master. I hope you don't mind that I signed it as L."

"Thank you Watari." L responded. "We have to leave immediately."

"I understand." The old man said. "May the winds of destiny fill your sails."

"I don't know." L said turning to leave. "I can't hear them anymore."

To Be Continued…

Author's Notes

Well, this is more of a transition chapter, but there was some new stuff. Chapter 25 - Quiet Before the Storm is well on the way, and then finally the last, epic battle.