Author's Note: Still don't care for your opinions. But enjoy the tragedy in my head that never plays in order.
I own nothing by the way. Whatever.
The room is cavernous and dark, darker than usual. For the first time in what feels like an eternity the grand black doors to this room open and a solitary figure enters. The only source of light comes from the hall. Footsteps echo throughout the room and reverberate across ceilings and walls. Such a disturbance is unwelcome and unseemly. The room has been darkened out of respect for the man who once inhabited this room.
Onwards, deeper and deeper into this room the man treads, his purple robes sweeping across the floor as he reaches is objective.
The man approaches a chair sitting at the end of the black room in front of a large window that has been draped over with black cloth.
The chair itself is covered in a shroud as black as the abyss.
But this isn't an ordinary chair, nor is this an ordinary room. Nor are these ordinary circumstances.
This is the throne of the Dark Lord, and this is his throne room. His office of business in a way.
At least, it was.
The man turns his eyes to the curtain and pulls them down, allowing the light to flood the room once more. It is a dim light, a sickly light that seeks to gain entrance into this, the Dark Lord's sanctum.
The man then walks back to the throne and stares at it, eyeing it almost warily.
With a single, shaking hand the man reaches out, as if fearful that the throne shall leap up and bite him. Finding his courage the man grabs the black shroud and pulls it away, revealing that which it covered.
The throne of his late husband, Wesley Montgomery.
But it is not his throne anymore.
The Dark Lord is dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead?
A month has passed since the Dark Lord's demise, and still the thought of it is practically inconceivable. The end of an era, cut short far too soon. Even now, four weeks after his passing the pain is still fresh in the hearts and minds of many. The man's mind is filled with thoughts, memories and ideas.
It has all gone by so fast. When word had first gotten back to the Capital that their Lord had died, no one could, or indeed would believe it. The Dark Lord dead? It was inconceivable!
It wasn't possible.
He had been around so long. At least it had felt that way.
He seemed to be the only constant in the lives he was involved with day to day. Individual men and women came and went with the passing of time but Wesley had seemed eternal. He was the cornerstone upon which the New Order was built. He was our leader, our father, our savior. But to one person, he was his political equal, father of their children, his beloved husband, and most importantly his best friend.
And now he is gone. What now?
When the reality of the situation finally sank in and the truth became unavoidable, many an imperials asked themselves that question.
Some even sought to join their Lord in death, no longer seeing a point to living in a world where there was no Wesley. It was something even he, himself, considered.
He could never though. Weak fools the lot of them. His Wessers always detested those who went to pieces in a crisis. Even if he knew if it was a personal matter that he would turn into a puddle. If he was still here he would berate them as fools. They still had a duty to the Empire that needed to be carried out whether he was alive or not.
The Empire, what will become of it now?
The Empire was their life's work. But, the Empire was the Wesley's legacy. Yet, he was the beating heart of the Empire. He breathed life into it and gave it purpose and direction.
But now that beating heart is still. Even if his love's heart felt like his own heart had stopped.
The Rebels did this. They took him from them. And now everything that they had built together was coming apart.
Without Wesley's unifying presence the world had begun to secede with impunity. The military is in chaos. No one knows who is in charge. Was is Kurt? Was it their children? Was it to fall to Sebastian? Governors and Generals have been declaring themselves the new lords of their own personal fiefdoms, carving up the Empire that they had sworn to protect.
The Dark Lord died without declaring an official heir, which only made sense if one gave the subject some thought. If the Dark Lord had declared an official successor outside of the immediate family than he would only have signed his own death warrant. Yet his children were still young and fairly naive, despite their parentage and would be all but slaughtered should either of them ascend to the thrown.
It is, after all, what he would have expected. It is, after all, what he would have done had he been in such a position.
Kurt was his closest confidante. They were each other's closest confidante. He could confide in each other almost anything at all, even the deepest and most arcane knowledge. After all, there was no potential harm in telling each other such dark secrets, there was that kind of trust.
One could even argue that Kurt was the only person who ever fully knew him.
Wesley was beholden to all but a few. In his life there seemed only one type of person or object; those who possessed potential usefulness to himself. Anything or anyone else who did not fit into this category was systematically dealt with. Kurt, in many ways, was the exception that surpassed all exceptions. Mostly because the two could of passed for a single person on a bad day.
Kurt had been his husband, his angel of vengeance as it were. He swooped down behind the scenes and dealt with those who needed to be dealt with. Much like a surgeon's scalpel, effortlessly and subtly slicing away those appendages that posed a threat to the body politic. Sebastian was his enforcer. From the days when he was merely a friend to the present as his Lieutenant, putting a bit of stick about in order to keep the troops in line with official Imperial policy. Whenever there was a problem, be it an unruly Governor or a discontented Minister it was his job to streamline the process of governing and ensure that his lord's agenda got through come hell or high water.
Yet even his inner circle seemed to play the role of his guardian angel as well. They always seemed to believe it was their duty, or purpose to protect him from the outside world. Sebastian screened his calls, Quinn and Isabelle deflected all criticism away from his office, Kurt dealt with his rivals, Santana assassinated his enemies, Cooper stamped out sedition, and some even tasted his food for poison.
He valued their loyalty. Good, dependable help is so very often difficult to find. Yet Kurt was the only co-conspirator he ever recognized. In many ways the Empire that he created and maintained was the fruit of the group's labor just as much as it was his. Everyone liked to think that they were partners in a sense, unequal partners to be sure, but partners nonetheless.
The mutual share of a glorious vision of the future; a vision of order and power, a vision of a world indivisible, answerable only to one supreme authority, an authority that knew how to rule and how to keep the rabble in line.
Such a vision he shared with them early on in the quaintness of a shared dorm room when at school. It was an intoxicating vision, and it was then that they knew.
Had any other man spoke to them of such a vision most would have laughed at them then and there.
Overthrow the world's government? Kill a vast majority of the muggles and enslave the rest? Establish an Empire? Such ideas would surely be the signs of a delusional mad man! Many men had tried and failed before him.
But Wesley was different. Even now, so many years after that conversation took place I can remember it clear as could see in his eyes a coldness, a ruthless conviction that proclaimed to the universe that nothing could stop him. The same reflected in Kurt after the murder of his mother.
If any mortal creature could accomplish such a task those present were convinced in that moment that Wesley could. Both of them could. The Slytherins of his year joined his cause and pledged their life to his service.
He rewarded them well for their loyalty.
In their time together he achieved power beyond his wildest imaginings. Everything was at his beck and call. Nothing was impossible. Wesley had made it possible. Even still, Wesley made a point of creating extraordinary feats to romance him every single day.
They had much in common. Both had sought to court that woman they called power, with varying degrees of success. Both believed in the power of fear and the effectiveness of the truncheon. Both before us endless realms of opportunity, and decided that they would not be satisfied until they had achieved all that could be achieved.
Clearly both were intelligent men, above and beyond those insignificant vermin that populated the world and polluted it with their ignorance and impurity. Both were cut from a finer cloth. We saw the universe for what it was and we recognized the path that needed to be followed in order to achieve unlimited power.
In the end Kurt knew he was the closet thing to a true love he ever had. He never had much use for such foolish things, and frankly neither did Kurt. But there they were married just like Wesley had said once upon a time.
Above all though Kurt appreciated his truthfulness. What endeared him most to the cause of the Dark Lord was that, frankly put, he never tried to delude himself. Many a dictator has believed that they were creating a revolution to improve the lot of the people and that they were doing that which they did on purely selfless grounds that sought only to benefit all of sentientkind.
Wesley believed this only to a small extent. But this would merely be a trickle down side-effect of what he really wanted.
Wesley wanted power. He yearned for control and coveted order, an order imposed by himself and his husband. He sought to impose his will upon a meaningless creation and reorganize not only the government, but society and the very laws of nature and physics so that they would revolve around him. As a minor byproduct of this he believed that the world would finally know peace. Both of them used the truth selectively by taking things out context and presenting them from a different point of view, misleading those around him into believing anything that he wanted them to. Neither never told a lie. Both simply just omitted that which needed to be with held and manipulate the facts to suit their agenda.
The Dark Lord's first and primary goal was to further his own cause. He was loyal to no one other then his immediate family and held allegiance to no flag or nation. He was out for himself and he had the intellect and the tenacity to get what he wanted. Kurt admired his strength and skill. Kurt admired his glorious vision.
He was the architect who built the Empire from the ground up and reshaped the galaxy in the furnaces of war, molding the stars themselves in his own image. Their own image really. How could anyone not be drawn to such great power?
And now it is all coming apart. The Empire is tearing itself apart, disintegrating as the Rebels and the governors tug at the threads of Imperial strength, causing everything to unravel and disintegrate.
The Empire is dying of sorrow, their oldest child whose father died long before his time and leaving a husband without help to guide it through the troubled times with no direction, no inspiration, no shining light to guide us. Everyone was powerless in the face of such despair.
Without power, one dies.
His internal musings are interrupted by the sharp clacking of jackboots on the floor. The Lieutenant has just entered the room, his face contorted into a contemptuous scowl. It has become unofficial dogma to leave the Emperor's throne room empty with the window covered up and the throne covered in a shroud. Out of mourning for the great man whose loss has affected all. To have entered this room and removed the shroud to the throne is tantamount to heresy. He dispenses with any pleasantries and skips directly to the point.
"Hummel, the Rebels have launched a major offensive in the Southern Outer Rim. Command and control over all military forces in Oversector Outer are on the verge of collapse. If something isn't done to organize the fleet we will lose the whole of the Outer Rim Territories by the end of the year!"
Kurt stare at him for a moment, and then he does the unthinkable.
He lower himself into the throne and take his seat.
"That is Emperor to you, Smythe." He reply icily. It is no secret that they had grown apart over the years.
"Excuse me?!" he asks. His eyes bulge and flame with indignation. His lips curl into a snarl. He still hasn't dealt with the grief of the Dark Lord-his best friend's demise. To see this occur now must be like cold steel to his heart, yet truthfully inevitable. All he can do is give a melancholy and world weary sigh. It has been a long, tiring month.
"Nothing lasts forever. Even the longest, most glittering reign must come to an end someday."
He just stands there, his entire body quivering with rage and, perhaps, is that sorrow I detect?
"Wes' death has shaken us all Sebastian," Kurt use his first name, dropping titles in order to hopefully drive through the point. "But we must move on. The Empire needs a leader to rally behind. Every moment we spend wallowing in despair over the dead is a moment given to our enemies. The Empire is dying Sebastian. We have a vow to him to make sure that his dream, his-our Empire does not die shortly after him. We must do this Seb. It is what he would want. For Wes."
"For Wes." he whispers in response. Concern still was deep in his eyes. "What about you?"
"I have to move on. He would never wish for me to mourn this deeply for him for so long." The precursor to a tear is wiped away. Kurt straighten his robes and lean back in the throne. "Summon the war council and the generals at once, we must prioritize the Empire's defense and prepare for a counteroffensive."
At this point all the lieutenant is capable of is giving a curt nod of the head instead of the customary bow.
"At once, my lord." The last word comes out as if it was caught in his throat. It clearly pained him to have said that. Without a further word he turns around and leaves.
It will be difficult, but we must do that which needs to be done. The Empire is in her darkest hour, and he will not abandon it, for it is a shrine to his oldest friend and his only love's greatness that must be preserved. He would lead their Empire in his absence. He would prepare their children for their eventual transition to power. It is the least he could do for him.
A new Emperor, a new age, a symbol for potential peace and hope for the future, etc. etc. But he is just a man, a man without the charisma or the know how to lead. He is a creature of shadow like his Master before him, capable of governing and pulling strings in the dark, but he is ill suited for the light. He does not know how to garner the loyalty or the support of the masses. He will not last long. The seeds of his damnation have been sown for many a year and now they are starting to grow at a moment most inopportune. He is surrounded by those who covet the power he has come to possess, and he cannot instill in them the fear that kept them at bay when the Dark Lord held the throne. A system built upon greed, mistrust and violence cannot stand, for it is but a House of Cards, waiting for a gentle breeze to send it all tumbling down. All he could hope was that their children would be stronger and wiser with the best of the both of them. It was the only chance they had at survival.