cleflink (cleflink) wrote in roads_diverged, @ 2007-11-21 23:08:00 |
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12 July, 402
Early this morning, a ruling by military tribunal found
Sol’s response upon hearing of the verdict was, ‘well, shit’.
Sol’s commanding officer, Tseng Corel, has refused to comment.
-------
“You can’t let them do this to you!”
Alen’s black cloak snapped in the air as he whirled towards
Alen stared at him incredulously. “You’re going to die for crimes you didn’t commit!”
“Damn it,
Alen’s eyes widened in sudden understanding, and he cast a sharp glance at the gray-robed prison guard reclining outside
“Sorry,” he muttered to
Alen made a face at him and
“Really Alen,” he grinned. “It’s not that bad. All I have to do is show up and die when they tell me to. Nothing easier.”
“But you don’t deserve this!” Alen protested, slim fists clenching rhythmically at his sides. “None of this is your fault!”
“Look, Alen.”
Alen’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re willing to die like a criminal even though you’ve done nothing but follow orders?”
“Pretty much.”
“It’s just not fair,” Alen managed in a choked whisper and
“Hey, hey Alen,” he soothed, then lower, murmured against a furrowed brow, “Elena. Come on babe – don’t worry so much, okay? Things will work out in the end.”
He got a watery smile for that, suspiciously slim shoulders shrugging under his hands. “I told you not to call me that,” the Imperial army’s only female soldier admonished. A hint of tartness crept into her voice as she added, “Never thought I’d see the day when you were acting as the voice of reason,
“Bastard,” Elena sighed, though her voice lacked heat. She squared her shoulders resolutely as
“Thanks
------
The day of the execution dawned bright and clear, anticipation and fear stirring through the dry heat and weighing heavily on the shimmering air. A squad of six men came for
Which only made them more nervous, but
Once his hands had been securely tied, the squad hoisted
“Can’t see a damn thing out here,” he complained, ambling along casually as the soldiers marched him towards the artillery range. “I hope your firing squad comes equipped with sunglasses or we’re going to be here all day.”
A large crowd had assembled to witness the execution, stark looks of fear, relief and pity etched deeply into rows of nameless faces. If he squinted,
Not that it really mattered anymore, anyway.
They trussed him up against a rope-scarred beam along the far wall, gloved hands rough and ruthlessly efficient.
Then the regular soldiers stepped back and the leader of the firing squad stepped forward and
“Fuck, they’ve got you doing this?” he demanded, shaking his head in wonder. “Damn thorough bastards, aren’t they?”
Rude didn’t respond, face impassive as his firing squad filed in and took their positions opposite
“Do I pass inspection, partner?”
Rude just gave him a measuring look, the silence speaking for him. Then he held up a thin strip of dark blue cloth, head cocked patiently to the side.
Darkness fell across
Rude’s hands fell away and
There was a trickle of sweat curling down his neck, sliding under the collar of his shirt and making the damp fabric cling to his back. It seemed surprisingly hot suddenly.
“Present arms!” Rude barked, and
“Take aim!” Rude’s voice thundered and Reno found himself straining his ears, listening for the church bells that would signal the start of the day and, consequently, the end of his life.
He thought of the King in his box, watching unrepentantly as one of his men died for the sake of his regime, and couldn’t help a rueful head shake. Not exactly the sort of assignment he’d been expecting when he enlisted, that was for sure.
The air was still and heavy, the occasional rustle of someone’s cloak the only sound in the crowded courtyard. Then, from somewhere in the city, heavy bells began to ring, a steady, implacable thrum of wood on bronze that echoed through the breathless silence and shuddered right down into the floor.
And then he moved, the neatly cut ropes snapping and slithering to the floor around him as he lunged forward under the bead of the squad’s guns, blindfold still tight across his eyes and grin fixed firmly in place.
Someone swore and
Not trusting himself to aim blind,
And then someone grabbed him by the shoulder and he whirled, rifle driving upwards at his attacker’s face in a high, deadly arc.
A strong hand ripped the gun out of his grasp and
“Hey buddy,” he grinned, noting absently that more of the squad were down than he’d taken care of himself. “Can I have that back?”
Rude gave him a look. “Next time,
“Hey, you were the one who gave it to me, yo,”
“There was flair alright,” Rude muttered, laying into two men at once with his heavy fists. “Although I’m not really sure it was the good kind.”
“Treason!” he bellowed, easily audible over the continuing clang of distant church bells. “Traitors to the crown – you’ll both hang before the day is out!”
“Oh, I don’t think they will,” a low voice cut suddenly through the panic, the flash of silver that glinted against the King’s neck bright in the relative shade under the awning.
The King froze, eyes wide and panicked as the slim blade pressed against the bare skin above his collar, subtle and deadly.
“R-rufus?” he demanded, shock and not a little bit of panic colouring his otherwise righteously indignant tone.
A blond man in the white robes of the desert nomads stepped forward out of the shadows behind the throne. “Hello father,” Prince Rufus said politely, hand steady on the blade at the King’s neck even as the crowd began to stir with furious murmurs. “I’m afraid I’m not as dead as you’d hoped I might be.”
The King’s breath hitched suddenly and
Rufus was still deadly calm, eyes cold as a desert night as he added, “I intend to be more thorough with you, father.”
“Tseng!” the King called desperately, voice cracking with real fear. “Tseng!”
“Here, your Lordship,” Tseng said, resplendent in the black armour of the Turks as he stepped up at Rufus’ side. The King blinked, uncomprehending, and
Rufus stared evenly into his father’s horrified face, voice measured and pitched to carry. “I’m afraid you’ll find your men are ready to die for a new king now, father. One who doesn’t rule his own people with violence and doesn’t kill innocents to make them examples to the rest.” The muttering in the crowd grew louder, but the King could only stare at Rufus in shock.
“You dare to threaten me?” he demanded, the words ringing hollow and blusteringly empty.
The thin smile Rufus gave him in response was one of the most frightening things
Silver flashed in the air and the King staggered back in pain, shocked eyes bulging as blood gushed freely from the wound. He gasped, a rattling, wheezing noise, and crumpled to his knees, face growing pale as blood soaked heavily into his clothes. Rufus watched narrowly as his father thrashed on the floor, careless of the blood dripping off his dagger and staining the light weave of his white cloak.
Above them, under the carefully erected royal canopy, the King slumped forward with a final gurgling groan and lay still.
Rufus was moving before his father’s shallow death rattle had faded from the air, throwing off his hood and stepping forward towards the dumbstruck crowd, voice falling calm and reasonable into the shocked silence. Tseng remained still and supportive beside him, showing the people that the Turks, at least, would support this new regime with all their strength.
Forgotten in the messy business of rebuilding a kingdom,
“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?”
Rude’s mouth twitched in response, one large hand landing briefly on
A flash of blonde caught
He was probably in a large amount of trouble, but
“See?” he grinned at her, going for the direct approach and hoping she didn’t hurt him too badly. “Told you things would work out.”
He could see Elena gearing up to slap him for his impertinence, then her expression shifted into a grudging smile and she clapped him on the shoulder, just like Rude had. “Yeah, you did. I’ll beat you up for it later, but for right now I’m glad you’re not dead,
That was the best damn execution he’d ever had.
~owari