Subject: [fic] Pawns of Power[3/4] Hi everybody, this is the third part of my WK/fantasy fic, and apparently, most people who likes fantasy thinks it's quite good. *Bow* You have my deepest thanks. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Warning: Youji's tragic past here is entirely of my own (perverted) imagination, it's not a spoiler to anything in the real story. If this doesn't give you a good idea of what kind of tragic past I wrote, oh well. *mutters* I have a feeling Youji fans are going to kill me over some of thing things I wrote... Aya! May I borrow your katana? Aya: I thought you bought a chinese sword two months ago. I lent it to my friend for her school's end-of-year performance! Please! I think I'm going to need self-defense... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author: Hayashi Azusa Email: wingdance@h... Title: Pawns of Power Type: Series, Alternative Universe Teaser: Weiss boys in a fantasy setting. (as in sci-fi/fantasy, not your own dream-world) Rating: Either PG-13 or somewhere higher Spoilers: Regarding the four members' pasts, if you know where to notice. (Personally, I don't think you can tell the spoilers from my own crap) Warnings: Strong Language, angst Keywords: Weiss, fantasy, angst ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Part III-Omi Manx came again the next morning. "Weiß, mission." Omi stared. But-had Persia considered their last one a failure, before they had a chance to prove themselves? Surely- "Hey, are you sure you didn't make a mistake?" Youji asked, tugging at his earring. "We haven't finished the last mission yet." "Consider it suspended," Manx replied in a tone that broached no argument, as she raised her hands to conjure up the instructions of their next mission. :Good morning, Weiß, this is your new target.: The mist cleared to reveal a dark-haired young man. :His name is Takatori Hirofumi. White hunters of the night, hunt the tomorrow of the dark beasts!: The mist brightened and disappeared. "That's all?" Ken was the first to exclaim. "No explanations at all?" Omi asked incredulously. Persia had never done that before. He had always explained what each target had done to warrant the attention. "What are we, hired killers?" Youji demanded. He might appear to be nonchalant and carefree, but Omi had seen Youji get mad before. Underneath that smooth exterior was a sense of pride enough to rival Aya's. "Of course not," Manx replied calmly. "All shall be revealed-after you accomplish it." "This is-" Youji's voice trailed off as he saw Aya stir from his seat. They might not be on very good terms, but even then, Youji acknowledged Aya as the leader. Aya went up to Manx. "How much is the pay?" Manx lifted one hand, palm up. A bag of gold and silver appeared. "I'm going." Omi, Ken, and Youji all stared at one another. Omi could see his own surprise and uncertainty reflected in Ken's brown eyes and Youji's green ones. Ken was the first to join Aya. Omi followed. Youji glanced at Aya sharply, but the redhead wasn't paying attention to him. Youji sighed and walked over. "I'm in," he said with resignation. Manx's eyes were unreadable. "Takatori Hirofumi is the elder son of the Duke of Takatori; Takatori Reiji." Youji whistled. "The elder brother of the King?" "Does that assure you of your skill in Persia's eyes?" "That, and how important we are as well." Manx ignored that comment, and turned to face the closest window. She was just about to shape-shift when somebody blocked her way. "What is it, Aya?" Aya glanced at them before speaking directly to Manx. "How is my sister?" There was something different in his voice; something that was almost below noticeable, but not quite. The cold indifference that customarily marked his voice was gone, replaced by hesitancy, and tinged with worry. It was, for perhaps the first time since he joined Weiß, a completely human voice. Omi felt his own heart ache in sympathy. This was how deep love within a family could be; brother and sister, parents and children- Manx was saying something to Aya; something soothing, probably. Omi didn't hear a word of it, as absorbed as he was in his own thoughts. He did notice when Youji pulled him out off the room. "Come on, instructions over. What do you say to a game or two, Omi?" "How does a simple 'no' strike you?" "Predictable." Youji steered him to his room, closing the door behind them. "Your past bothering you again?" "Lack of one might describe it better." Omi sat down on one of the cushions that lay all over the room, drawing his knees to his chest. "I-" He closed his eyes tightly. His parents…he could almost see them. Almost, but not quite. His family was around him, but too far for him to reach. So close…so distant…They were faceless…he was nameless… "Omi." He came back to himself finding Youji kneeling before him, the older youth's hands placed firmly on his shoulders. He was shaking uncontrollably, tears rolling back and forth in his eyes. "Omi," Youji repeated softly. There had always been a special sort of bond between the two of them. To Omi, Youji, five years older than he was, was an older brother, protecting him from things he could not face alone; like his problem with his amnesia-not even Ken knew how often Omi stayed up at night, wrapped up in uncertainty and self- doubt. Youji kept his secret well. To Youji, the youngest member of Weiß was a younger brother, bonded by a similar lack of family. Neither had one: Omi had no memory of what his life had been like before Persia rescued him from kidnappers and almost certain death; Youji spent his childhood in the harsh slums, a world where fear and hunger wrecked havoc, and he grew up a tough cynical street kid. In each other, they found the comfort of family. "Omi." "Youji-" he heard his own voice shake with barely suppressed pain. "I-I almost saw them, they were so close, yet so far-The memory is there, I just know it! It's barely out of my reach. I was so sure, that if I strained just a little more, I could reach it. But in the end-" he choked, the words sticking in his throat. "Nothing." Youji put his arms around him. Omi gave in at last, his tears streaming forth down his face, and drenching Youji's shirt. "Youji, everybody has a past, even you do. You know what happened to you all along; I don't-part of my life is missing: the crucial part of the puzzle-" Youji did not reply for a long while, letting him have a good cry. He could feel the older youth reinforcing the sound-resistance spell. How thoughtful. "How do you know that you'd really want to know that part of your life, after you knew it?" Youji spoke quietly. "If there's any way for me to forget my childhood, I would lay down my life for it. That's how terrible life can be for a young child. I'm not saying that that's how your childhood had been, but it could just be the way your memory's trying to protect you, you know. You are what you are, and your past plays no part in it, except in molding you. Treat it as something that might be good." "It's not." There had been nights when he could not sleep; like the one after the first mission with Aya. He had heard everything, he wanted to offer Aya his support and friendship, like Ken did-but he had been trembling uncontrollably, trapped in his own nightmare. Youji sighed. "Do you know what's it like growing up in the slums, Omi? As a young child, I learnt to survive on my own, depending on my wits and speed after stealing a bite of food. In those days, if somebody had offered me a warm fire, I would have died for him." "Youji-" he said uncomfortably. Youji had never told anyone of his past before becoming a spy, aside from the bare fact that he had been a street kid. If Youji had kept it within himself, there must have been a reason. "No, Omi. Listen. By the time I was eight, I was a grown-up, in a kid's body; and I mean grown-up in every sense of the word. I sold my first time for half a chunk of stale bread. The slum has its own set of rules, and the more vulnerable one is, the harsher the rules. I was young, starved, and weak-at the bottom of the hierarchy. For years, I did all sorts of things to keep myself alive. I learnt to be tough and controlled, never letting my emotions get the better of me; I learnt to be cynical and cold, never allowing myself the luxury of dreams." This was a Youji he had never seen: a Youji who was ruthlessly honest with himself, bringing up old wounds that had remained behind veils for years, facing the harsh memories that were labeled as "childhood" for him. "Considering the murky state of politics at that time-that was during the fight for the throne between the two Dukes-becoming a spy was as good as selling one's life. I became a professional spy. Do you know why?" Omi shook his head, shuddering at the way Youji's lips turned up without smiling. "I was hungry," the former-spy-formerly-street-kid said matter-of- factly. "That was after some of my customers nearly killed me with the number of times they took me-it was some sort of group-orgy- turned-competition. I was three quarters dead when they were done. I knew my pay wouldn't last long enough for me to recover; it was winter, I would die, by either starvation or freezing or both. I didn't want to die, and I had nothing to lose. Spying was only slightly less dangerous than being the first up the ladder during a siege, but it seemed like a good chance by comparison. At least a spy has a degree of control over his own life, and a spy has enough to eat." Youji stopped. Omi was staring at him in horror. "Youji-" His eyes fell on Youji's arms, still wrapped around him. "After all you've been through, how can you ever bear to let anybody close to you?" "It took a while," Youji admitted. "Do you see me in a different light, now that you know about my past?" Omi nodded slightly. "Am I different?" "No," he said at last. "See? Knowing about someone's past-even your own-might change your perceptions, but it can't change who you really are." Youji captured his eyes with his own. "Okay, Omi?" "Okay, Youji. Thanks.' Youji flashed him a grin, the same irrepressible grin that drove Aya mad every time. "See you later, Omi. I think Weiß is going out tonight." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Four cloaked figures rode through the night, towards the capital. Takatori Reiji, the Duke his father, had summoned Takatori Hirofumi to his city establishment. If their target had remained in his own country estate, they would have had more trouble. Again, they staked their horses outside and entered the city on foot. The Duke's residence was, incidentally, situated almost against the city wall, as far from the King's palace as possible. The Duke and his brother were not on the best of terms, after all. If the High King of the Twelve Kingdoms had not intervened, the fight over the throne so many years ago would have ended in a blood bath. "Remember, Youji and I go in, Aya and Ken guard our backs," Omi reminded the others as they spread out after entering the residence's gardens. That seemed to be the customary arrangement nowadays. If he went with Aya and Ken with Youji, it would be the two Unstable Elements together, and the two Stable ones. Not exactly balanced. If he went with Ken and left Aya and Youji together, the two would not prove a very good pairing. That was the weakest link in their team. So, whenever the need to split up arose, Aya went with Ken, and Omi with Youji. "Where do you think the target is?" Omi asked silently as he entered by way of an empty room. He wasn't unfamiliar with this kind of architecture, but the place, it was so damned big! "The study?" "Possible, since his father probably wants to talk to him," Youji replied. "But how many studies do you think there are in this place?" "Good point." Omi was about to leave the room for another when he saw a portrait hanging on the wall. A portrait of a blond little boy of perhaps five or six, smiling happily. There was a small table directly underneath the portrait, with a set of lit candles on it. It had been the light falling on the portrait that first drew Omi's attention to it. That boy- The same shade of blond hair, the same wide blue eyes of that aquamarine hue, the same sincere open smile-add ten years to the boy in the portrait, and the result would probably have been a perfect twin to Omi. The sound of a door opening startled him out of his reverie. Omi looked around, the room was almost completely bare, except for the portrait and the table with the set of candles. He slipped behind the door. A dark-haired man, dressed in an obviously rich suit, entered the room. His stride was quick and firm. The man walked right up to the portrait, tilting his head up slightly to gaze at it. "Mamoru," he said softly. "Otouto." He sounded sad, in a reflective sort of way. "How are you now? Are you well? I really miss you, otouto. It has been so long since I last saw you, Mamoru." "Do you remember the last time we played together, Mamoru? It was spring, and you were playing in the garden. I was studying when you came running in on short legs, laughing delightedly. You had found the first snowdrop, and you wanted to give it to me. I had hugged you then, and you hugged me back. You called me the nicest onii-chan in the world. You know what I was thinking then? I thought if anything ever happened to you, Mamoru, I'd do anything to save you." Omi felt a wave of sympathy for this man. He clearly missed his younger brother, Mamoru, very much. "That thought was almost a premonition, wasn't it? When I next came back form the Earl that father fostered me with, you were gone. Kidnapped, they told me, kidnapped and killed." The man bowed his head. "If I had been there, I might have done something. I might fail, yes, but at least I would have had a chance. Now I'd never know. They said, you were dead-I knew they were wrong. Father wanted to forget it, but I knew better. Somewhere, somehow, you are still alive. Ten years, ten long years. I've never given up that belief." The man looked up again. "Silly, isn't it? I know what you'd have said, Mamoru, onii-chan always knows best. I'm not so sure. Perhaps father was right and I've been clutching at shadows all these years, or perhaps not. You have to be alive, somewhere." His voice broke; it was so filled with tender love. "Mamoru, otouto-" The way he said it jerked a faint memory that had been out of reach all these years. That voice, that tone, that deep brotherly love- Omi gasped. "Onii-chan!" "What?" the dark-haired man cried as he swung around. He was young, in his late twenties, at most. His eyes widened in shocked recognition. "Mamoru? Is that really you?" he said in an almost wondering voice, one hand groping behind himself for the table's support. "It's impossible, I'm seeing things-" "Onii-chan!" "Otouto!" His brother ran towards him, his arms open in welcome as tears of joy flowed down his face. Omi rushed into his embrace. "Otouto, don't ever leave me again-" "I'll stay, onii-chan. I'll stay forever and ever-" Omi found himself crying as well, tears of happiness. He had found his family now. He had a family. He had a brother who loved him with all the love in the world. :Bombay!: Youji's voice yelled inside his mind. :Get away from that man! Now! He's our target!: Omi froze. "You really wouldn't leave me again?" Takatori Hirofumi asked, clutching him tightly. "Really, Mamoru? I'm not dreaming all this, am I?" "Ah, but you might as well be." A gust of wind, then they were here. The shorter of the two was probably somewhere younger than Omi, with black hair and large black eyes, wearing a neat blue suit and a stolid expression. The taller one, the one who had spoken in that half-mocking seductive purr- "You!" he exclaimed. His brother frowned. "Schuldig, what's the meaning of this?" The orange-haired man smiled chillingly. "Forget that I ever spoke, sir. I don't wish to disillusion you." "Speak! I command you, as the son of your employer, speak!" "Tsk, tsk," Schuldig sighed. "Do you know why your brother is here tonight? It's to kill you. It has been ten years since he was kidnapped, and he was not even seven then. Do you really think such a young child would even remember you, let alone recall you with any fondness as his older brother, his 'onii-chan'?" Schuldig feigned a yawn, exaggeratedly. "I think not." "You lie," Takatori Hirofumi said flatly. "Look at him, and you'll see the truth of my words," Schuldig said coolly. "Just look at him. Is he returning your embrace? Or is he trying to get away?" Hirofumi looked at Omi, his eyes filled with unanswered questions. Omi looked away. Hirofumi pushed him away, leaping to stand beside Schuldig and the handsome young boy watching everything silently. "Tell me, the truth, Mamoru, why are you here?" His older brother's voice was suspicious, wary, the voice of an experienced hunter. Omi found himself up against three, one of whom he knew was at least as good as he was, another was his brother. Schuldig's smirk spoke volumes. Decide, Bombay, Tsukiyono Omi, Takatori Mamoru. Decide. He took the four brisk steps that brought him to the window, feeling three pairs of extremely sharp eyes following his every move. The copper window grill felt comfortable in his hands. He squeezed harder. It was a fine spring night. "And by the way, it wouldn't do you much good to attempt to use magic," Schuldig added. "What do you think we are? Either Nagi or myself can counter anything you throw at us, though it would be more appropriate if Nagi does it. You are of the Element Air, aren't you? Nagi's Wind. Moving air." To Hirofumi, he continued, "I really regret to tell you this, sir, your brother is a mage-assassin." "Is it true, Mamoru?" "Yes." He clutched tighter. "He's not alone." A new voice remarked. Youji had gotten here. Finally. The older mage-assassin appeared out of nowhere, as he usually did, to stand beside Omi. "Who are you?" Hirofumi demanded. "An old friend," Schuldig smirked. "Acquaintances," Youji corrected coldly. "What a surprise to see you here." "Surprise?" Schuldig laughed. "Not really, we work for the Duke occasionally. Like right now. And thus we meet again. You are starting to interest us, Weiß." "Thank you--if it's a compliment." "Not exactly, but it's close enough. Well, guess we'll be off then, so long!" Schuldig turned to leave, pulling Hirofumi with him. "Detain them, Nagi." Whatever the black-haired Nagi did, it was not magery. The air around them literally froze, suspended in midair. Then Nagi left as well. "Can you move, Omi?" Youji asked. "I'm trying-" It wasn't easy, coaxing the Air Elements to go back to normal. How did the boy manage it without blinking an eye? "Soon. Just a little bit more-there. You can move now, Youji." Youji headed for the door at once. "Let's go. We might still get the target." "Youji-" he protested hesitantly. "No need. We got him." The door opened without any help from Youji, and there stood Aya, his katana drawn before him. Behind him stood Ken, a semi-conscious Takatori Hirofumi in his grasp. "We caught him alone out in the corridor. Schwarz has left; they don't seem to be staying here at night." "Are you going to finish the target?" Youji asked, glancing quickly at Omi. "After he answers a few questions, yes." Their red-haired leader's voice seemed even colder and harder than usual. "Takatori," he said, addressing the prone man Ken had thrown onto the floor. The door was bolted; it wouldn't stop people like Schwarz, but it ought to ensure privacy from normal people. "Remember the ruin of the Barony of Fujimiya?" Hirofumi opened his eyes slightly. His gaze was fixed upon Omi. Aya's katana came down, missing him by half an inch. "Answer me." "Yes." The fear in his brother's voice made Omi's heart lurch. He remained by the window, hand clutching the grill. "Who was behind it?" "I don't know," Hirofumi denied. "What were you doing there at that time, then?" "I-" The katana stopped half an inch above him this time. "Last chance, speak." "My father," Hirofumi confessed. "I was there to oversee the procedure." "you were there to-" Omi sprang around when he heard the mounting rage in Aya's voice, in time to see the blade coming down again, a smooth, clean cut through the air, aimed perfectly upon Hirofumi. "No! Aya, no!" He did not think about it. Instinct took over as he, with a strangled cry, leapt over and down, covering his brother's body with his own. The katana stopped, but barely in time. He could feel blood soaking his right shoulder. "Omi!" Ken cried. "What does this mean, Omi?" Aya's voice was cold again, with a menacing edge to it. He sheathed his katana. "He's-he's-" Omi tried to form the word, but his lips refused to move. A gloved hand pressed against his right shoulder expertly, applying just the right amount of pressure to stop the blood flow. A moment later, his flesh began knitting back again. Youji. And Ken. Healing was an intrinsic part of the Earth Element. "He's his brother," Youji said for him. There was a long silence. Ken pulled him up at last. "Aya left," the brown-haired young man said. "Let's go." Omi hesitated. The body of hi solder brother was still on the floor, unconscious. His newly found brother, Weiß's target- And his memory was coming back. He could remember everything now: his siblings, his parents, hi status, the family estates… "Omi, let's go." Youji this time. "Why? Why does Persia want my brother dead, Youji? Usually he explains things. This time, he told us nothing. What did my brother do?" "I really don't know, Omi. Let's go." The three of them left the Duke's mansion and exited the city. No one spoke much. Their minds were too occupied. Never before had such complication arose. "Youji, Ken, do you think Aya's truly angry with me?" Omi asked hesitantly. He knew Aya wanted to kill the target for both official and personal reasons. Omi had stopped him. How would Aya take it? Ken shrugged. Youji frowned thoughtfully. "Who knows what our icy Fire thinks? He's unpredictable." They got over the city wall and went back to their horses. Aya's horse was no longer staked with the rest. "I guess that's answer enough," Youji sighed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yours, Hayashi Azusa p.s. Comments are welcomed, protests about Youji-sama aren't.