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Actually I wrote this like last month and forgot to post it. It had the double-bonus of letting people at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
campfuckudie forget I was a fan of this series and also being weird because this was totally before I decided to app at all. \o/ hrrrrrr.
Absolute Loyalty
Sion (+ Gara and Akikage); volume 5 spoilers
2001 words
What sort of person, then, will your King be?
+++++
Absolute loyalty.
That is something that has been drilled into you for as long as you can remember--the unchanging, unyielding necessity of it. There will be a King that will appear--that perhaps already exists in this world with you--and you will swear yourself to him. It doesn't matter if he is a good person, or a kind one--whether he's a child or a gentleman or if he's nothing more than a slavering madman. He will appear and at that time, you will have to follow him. There is no other option.
At first you resent this idea. You throw things, you yell, you try to sneak out of your bed at night, when your guardian is supposedly asleep, and try to find your way down the long dirt road until you can find something familiar, something that will lead you home. You don't want to give your life to anyone but yourself; it's your life. You don't want to believe in any stranger who will command you heart and soul, no matter how you try to fight it. So you run, and yet your guardian always, always finds you. He never yells or scolds, but his hand is like iron when he takes yours and pulls you back, down the way you had fled, back to the house that you refuse to call your new home.
"Whether or not you'd want it, you were chosen for this," your guardian says. His face is gentle, his smile is kind. There is still steel to him, though, and that warmth in his smile does not quite reach his eyes. "This is the only reason for which you exist. You must not fail, when that time comes."
Once or twice, you cry--though that is a fierce embarrassment, and not something you want to admit, not to yourself, not to the other boy who has also been chosen and will walk the same path as you, parallel to your own journey. He seems to be taking it better, at least; he sleeps during lessons and complains, but he doesn't try to run away, and all of his protests seem to be more for show than any actual objection. You corner him about this one night, bristling with your own resentments: your hands in his shirt, his back to the wall, your faces just barely apart, and you ask him, Why? Why don't you hate this? Isn't this terrible?
But he just looks at you, and his eyes are calm--there is a stillness and a depth that you don't think you've ever noticed before. Where your own heart is a nervous fluttering thing, starting at shadows and maybes, he is quiet and solid around a core of faith that you have not yet managed to find. He says, without effort or even anger, Maybe it is, but I don't think crying is going to make it better. I'll find something good out of it, and I won't hate myself for things that couldn't happen.
You shake him, frustrated; he's not telling you the things you want to hear. We're going to die for people we don't know! you cry. We're giving our lives to people who could be horrible! What if they're bad people? What if they make us do terrible things? What if--
He puts his hands on yours. His fingers are very warm, where yours are always so cold. Even so, I don't think it's so bad, he says. If I can give myself over to a person and die for something greater than myself, even if it's awful, I don't think I can hate it.
When you cannot answer that, he pries at your fingers, and you let them fall open without effort. He doesn't bother to tug his shirt straight, he just walks away without looking at you. And though you were the one who had attacked him, it is your knees that go weak, so you slump down to the floor as he leaves you. You lean a shoulder against the wall and try to breathe. It's strange, it's painful, you don't understand. If this person you have to swear yourself to is a killer, a madman, any kind of horrible thing ...
Your guardian finds you there some time later. You don't know if your fellow trainee told him anything, but he doesn't say anything, just crouches beside you, hands on your knees. Your face feels stiff and hot. You've been crying again, and the shame of finally being caught is another dull ache on top of everything else that has been piling up. For the first time in years, you try to think of your home and the mother who left you behind in this place, and you find that her face has become distant and dim. It would make you cry again, you think, if you had the tears left for that.
A hand touches your hair: your guardian, his palm warm and callused, and for once, his eyes are as kind as the rest of his face. "Is it really that horrible for you?" he asks. "To know that this is waiting for you?"
You just stare at him. If he cannot understand that now, at last, you're not sure what words you have to explain. He smooths your hair back and says, "I thought that once, too. I thought how I didn't want anyone to offer me anything as terrible or heavy as a whole lifetime of loyalty. I didn't want any of it--I just wanted to live, and be left alone." Briefly his face darkens--then a heartbeat passes and it's gone, his expression now thoughtful. "I fought against it a lot. But in the end, he was the greatest friend I've ever had in my life. There was no one I trusted more, and no one I would have wanted by my side through everything. When he died, I wanted to join him."
But you didn't, you mutter, staring at him. His hand does not pause in its gentle motion.
"I didn't," he says. "Because he asked me to live. He wanted me to continue on, because as long as someone could remember him, there was no way he would really be dead." He shakes his head, and it is not quite trouble that sits on his face, but something from long ago and nearly sad. "It's been a long time, and I think about him every day. His memory is what keeps me going. That is the gift he gave me, along with his presence and his friendship. You will be that to someone, someday. No matter what else happens, there will be someone who loves you so completely that they would defy their own impulses of death for you. Just as you are bound to serve, so they are bound to honor, and to protect." He touches your cheek now, your chin, and tilts your face up. "And in the end, even if you fall, you will not be forgotten."
You lick your lips. You want to argue--that still sounds terrible, you'll still die for someone who might be a heartless idiot, but all you can do is look at the expression on your guardian's face, and wonder if, someday, your own King will look the same way, remembering you. You think that you don't want that; you don't want someone to have the guilt of your death as much as you don't want to have the burden of your life belonging to someone else. None of this comes out, though; you're left just watching as your guardian continues to stroke your hair, and long, long minutes pass without any words.
"If I'd had the choice," he says suddenly, "I would have brought him back to be with me now."
He gets up then, his knees creaking a little from the effort, and he holds out a hand to you. "We have lessons now," he says. "Come along."
For the first time--certainly the first in your memory--you reach back, and take his hand in yours. When he pulls you to your feet, you feel lightheaded, oddly weightless, as if you are no longer quite anchored in your body. He holds your hand the entire way leading down to the dojo, and you're actually a little glad for that, because you're not certain if you wouldn't just float away, without him to pull you back. You stare at your feet and at his, and you try to picture your King, and who must have been there at your guardian's side until the end of his own life. You can't see anyone, though--you try and all it does is make your head hurt.
The rest of the day passes in a haze. You don't apologize to the other boy, and he doesn't ask you to, but he watches you with those heavy eyes and you are jealous of him in a way that you never have been before: the two of you are the same age, taken from your families at the same time; even if he didn't have a mother who doted on his every action, he was still forever beyond the reach of normal family. He's loud and he's cantankerous and he doesn't clean up anything, preferring to leave it until he's yelled at--but there is a solidness to him that you cannot feel in yourself. Whoever his King will be, he already loves this person beyond any words you could summon. He looks ahead with clear eyes and any chains holding him back have long since turned to paper, ripping easily when he starts walking.
You, however--you're still stuck here, mired down by your own fears and insecurities. At night you lie awake and try to dream up different people, try to imagine kneeling to each fantasy and accept them as your King. It leaves you confused and unhappy, and you don't know if you'll go insane before that fated time comes. What if you're unfit, when you meet? What if you cannot give the absolute loyalty that is demanded of you--would you be discarded? Would your guardian look at you with his cold eyes and toss you aside, would your fellow snort and smirk at how, despite your better grades and neater half of the room, you are the one who is the actual failure?
"Your role will be one of protection and support, and of guidance. When the time comes, you will be the one to hold steadfast, even if your King is wavering. No matter what, you are his shield and you are his strength, and you must be what keeps him from falling. There is no telling what you'll face when the time comes, what sort of problems your King will have to overcome. Become the mantle that holds him solid, and the support that holds him upright. That is your duty. That is your purpose. You will understand, when you meet him."
But when would that be, you want to ask, and the words clash against your closed teeth. You swallow them back and they taste dry and bitter. You're not interested in some vague "in the future," you want to know when your life will no longer be your own--when you'll meet this person and supposedly be born anew, into something that only exists for a King that may or may not be a terrible person. When will that time come?
"When your King comes of age, that is the day you will meet."
The frustration in your veins is enough to leave you nearly clawing at your skin. There are no answers here, no matter how deeply you delve into your books, nothing that explains anything--there are only repetitions of the same thing you've heard so many times before, from your guardian, and now even from your fellow trainee, parroting the necessity of obedience, of complete and absolute loyalty.
campfuckudie forget I was a fan of this series and also being weird because this was totally before I decided to app at all. \o/ hrrrrrr.Absolute Loyalty
Sion (+ Gara and Akikage); volume 5 spoilers
2001 words
What sort of person, then, will your King be?
+++++
Absolute loyalty.
That is something that has been drilled into you for as long as you can remember--the unchanging, unyielding necessity of it. There will be a King that will appear--that perhaps already exists in this world with you--and you will swear yourself to him. It doesn't matter if he is a good person, or a kind one--whether he's a child or a gentleman or if he's nothing more than a slavering madman. He will appear and at that time, you will have to follow him. There is no other option.
At first you resent this idea. You throw things, you yell, you try to sneak out of your bed at night, when your guardian is supposedly asleep, and try to find your way down the long dirt road until you can find something familiar, something that will lead you home. You don't want to give your life to anyone but yourself; it's your life. You don't want to believe in any stranger who will command you heart and soul, no matter how you try to fight it. So you run, and yet your guardian always, always finds you. He never yells or scolds, but his hand is like iron when he takes yours and pulls you back, down the way you had fled, back to the house that you refuse to call your new home.
"Whether or not you'd want it, you were chosen for this," your guardian says. His face is gentle, his smile is kind. There is still steel to him, though, and that warmth in his smile does not quite reach his eyes. "This is the only reason for which you exist. You must not fail, when that time comes."
Once or twice, you cry--though that is a fierce embarrassment, and not something you want to admit, not to yourself, not to the other boy who has also been chosen and will walk the same path as you, parallel to your own journey. He seems to be taking it better, at least; he sleeps during lessons and complains, but he doesn't try to run away, and all of his protests seem to be more for show than any actual objection. You corner him about this one night, bristling with your own resentments: your hands in his shirt, his back to the wall, your faces just barely apart, and you ask him, Why? Why don't you hate this? Isn't this terrible?
But he just looks at you, and his eyes are calm--there is a stillness and a depth that you don't think you've ever noticed before. Where your own heart is a nervous fluttering thing, starting at shadows and maybes, he is quiet and solid around a core of faith that you have not yet managed to find. He says, without effort or even anger, Maybe it is, but I don't think crying is going to make it better. I'll find something good out of it, and I won't hate myself for things that couldn't happen.
You shake him, frustrated; he's not telling you the things you want to hear. We're going to die for people we don't know! you cry. We're giving our lives to people who could be horrible! What if they're bad people? What if they make us do terrible things? What if--
He puts his hands on yours. His fingers are very warm, where yours are always so cold. Even so, I don't think it's so bad, he says. If I can give myself over to a person and die for something greater than myself, even if it's awful, I don't think I can hate it.
When you cannot answer that, he pries at your fingers, and you let them fall open without effort. He doesn't bother to tug his shirt straight, he just walks away without looking at you. And though you were the one who had attacked him, it is your knees that go weak, so you slump down to the floor as he leaves you. You lean a shoulder against the wall and try to breathe. It's strange, it's painful, you don't understand. If this person you have to swear yourself to is a killer, a madman, any kind of horrible thing ...
Your guardian finds you there some time later. You don't know if your fellow trainee told him anything, but he doesn't say anything, just crouches beside you, hands on your knees. Your face feels stiff and hot. You've been crying again, and the shame of finally being caught is another dull ache on top of everything else that has been piling up. For the first time in years, you try to think of your home and the mother who left you behind in this place, and you find that her face has become distant and dim. It would make you cry again, you think, if you had the tears left for that.
A hand touches your hair: your guardian, his palm warm and callused, and for once, his eyes are as kind as the rest of his face. "Is it really that horrible for you?" he asks. "To know that this is waiting for you?"
You just stare at him. If he cannot understand that now, at last, you're not sure what words you have to explain. He smooths your hair back and says, "I thought that once, too. I thought how I didn't want anyone to offer me anything as terrible or heavy as a whole lifetime of loyalty. I didn't want any of it--I just wanted to live, and be left alone." Briefly his face darkens--then a heartbeat passes and it's gone, his expression now thoughtful. "I fought against it a lot. But in the end, he was the greatest friend I've ever had in my life. There was no one I trusted more, and no one I would have wanted by my side through everything. When he died, I wanted to join him."
But you didn't, you mutter, staring at him. His hand does not pause in its gentle motion.
"I didn't," he says. "Because he asked me to live. He wanted me to continue on, because as long as someone could remember him, there was no way he would really be dead." He shakes his head, and it is not quite trouble that sits on his face, but something from long ago and nearly sad. "It's been a long time, and I think about him every day. His memory is what keeps me going. That is the gift he gave me, along with his presence and his friendship. You will be that to someone, someday. No matter what else happens, there will be someone who loves you so completely that they would defy their own impulses of death for you. Just as you are bound to serve, so they are bound to honor, and to protect." He touches your cheek now, your chin, and tilts your face up. "And in the end, even if you fall, you will not be forgotten."
You lick your lips. You want to argue--that still sounds terrible, you'll still die for someone who might be a heartless idiot, but all you can do is look at the expression on your guardian's face, and wonder if, someday, your own King will look the same way, remembering you. You think that you don't want that; you don't want someone to have the guilt of your death as much as you don't want to have the burden of your life belonging to someone else. None of this comes out, though; you're left just watching as your guardian continues to stroke your hair, and long, long minutes pass without any words.
"If I'd had the choice," he says suddenly, "I would have brought him back to be with me now."
He gets up then, his knees creaking a little from the effort, and he holds out a hand to you. "We have lessons now," he says. "Come along."
For the first time--certainly the first in your memory--you reach back, and take his hand in yours. When he pulls you to your feet, you feel lightheaded, oddly weightless, as if you are no longer quite anchored in your body. He holds your hand the entire way leading down to the dojo, and you're actually a little glad for that, because you're not certain if you wouldn't just float away, without him to pull you back. You stare at your feet and at his, and you try to picture your King, and who must have been there at your guardian's side until the end of his own life. You can't see anyone, though--you try and all it does is make your head hurt.
The rest of the day passes in a haze. You don't apologize to the other boy, and he doesn't ask you to, but he watches you with those heavy eyes and you are jealous of him in a way that you never have been before: the two of you are the same age, taken from your families at the same time; even if he didn't have a mother who doted on his every action, he was still forever beyond the reach of normal family. He's loud and he's cantankerous and he doesn't clean up anything, preferring to leave it until he's yelled at--but there is a solidness to him that you cannot feel in yourself. Whoever his King will be, he already loves this person beyond any words you could summon. He looks ahead with clear eyes and any chains holding him back have long since turned to paper, ripping easily when he starts walking.
You, however--you're still stuck here, mired down by your own fears and insecurities. At night you lie awake and try to dream up different people, try to imagine kneeling to each fantasy and accept them as your King. It leaves you confused and unhappy, and you don't know if you'll go insane before that fated time comes. What if you're unfit, when you meet? What if you cannot give the absolute loyalty that is demanded of you--would you be discarded? Would your guardian look at you with his cold eyes and toss you aside, would your fellow snort and smirk at how, despite your better grades and neater half of the room, you are the one who is the actual failure?
"Your role will be one of protection and support, and of guidance. When the time comes, you will be the one to hold steadfast, even if your King is wavering. No matter what, you are his shield and you are his strength, and you must be what keeps him from falling. There is no telling what you'll face when the time comes, what sort of problems your King will have to overcome. Become the mantle that holds him solid, and the support that holds him upright. That is your duty. That is your purpose. You will understand, when you meet him."
But when would that be, you want to ask, and the words clash against your closed teeth. You swallow them back and they taste dry and bitter. You're not interested in some vague "in the future," you want to know when your life will no longer be your own--when you'll meet this person and supposedly be born anew, into something that only exists for a King that may or may not be a terrible person. When will that time come?
"When your King comes of age, that is the day you will meet."
The frustration in your veins is enough to leave you nearly clawing at your skin. There are no answers here, no matter how deeply you delve into your books, nothing that explains anything--there are only repetitions of the same thing you've heard so many times before, from your guardian, and now even from your fellow trainee, parroting the necessity of obedience, of complete and absolute loyalty.
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But I'm glad that you enjoyed it, even not knowing what's going on! Thank you for reading. ♥♥