Fic: Three Times True
Jan. 31st, 2006 03:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brigdhTitle: Three Time True
Author: Brigdh
Fandom: Hero
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Three stories of Sky.
Disclaimer: Characters, events, and all dialogue is the property of Yimou Zhang, Miramax, and other people who are not me.
Notes: Hey, did you know I'd never posted this to LJ? I don't know why, I had it everywhere else. Good thing yuletide keeps stories on their website, or this could have been yet another victim of my computer's crash. Written for Yuletide '04.
***
"Does your majesty know Flying Snow and Broken Sword were lovers?"
"Yes, I do."
"And that they hadn't spoken for three years?"
"For three years? Why?"
"Flying Snow had an affair with Sky. Broken Sword never forgave her."
***
Sky's time with Flying Snow had been short enough, but memory made it briefer yet. He recalled moments instead of days, little isolated images bright and fleeting as sparks. They must have cooked and cleaned and spoken idly, for she had been with him many weeks, but he had forgotten those monotonies and knew instead how candlelight cast their twined shadows against the wall and reflected in her eyes like burning embers.
She had laughed when she fed him the berries she loved. They dripped juice on her fingers and he had captured her hands to lick them clean, though that had led quickly to more laughter and other things, and they were still half-sticky as she held his forearms. The sheets twisted around them like cool, delicate shackles, and pressed them tight together and even then she had spoken to him softly. Her words and moans were so low that he teased her.
What are you ashamed of? Who do you think will know?
Afterwards, she sucked her fingers clean, and they were very pale under the ruby-colored stain.
They practiced other skills too. She was a warrior to justify every rumor that whispered her name; a truth to put all boasts to shame. It was autumn, when she stayed with him, and the robes she wore outdid the brilliance of the maple leaves, but the body beneath was the true beauty. He had never known anyone to move so quickly and smoothly.
The battles they staged to test one another's skills were nothing to their real fights. Sky had never been slow to anger, and she was furious and sullen and clung to grudges. Such passion. Sky remembered the marks her nails left on his chest, the line of her throat when she shouted, the startling red of her lips against her white skin and black hair.
She returned to Broken Sword on an evening when the sunset spilled through the house in light as thick as blood. He shouted that he no longer loved her, and other foolish, senseless things, and almost meant them in his rage. She looked at him over her shoulder while the sky burned in the west, and said nothing. She never came back.
***
"You were not fast enough to defeat Sky. He died willingly under your sword."
***
The boy without a name was not much younger than Sky, but he was full of purpose, and spoke not a word more than was necessary. He had no family or distractions; there was nothing excess about him. Nameless had no life beyond the one skill he had mastered through many years.
Listening to him reminded Sky of the mad, who danced to songs no one else could hear. Nameless moved like he knew something beyond the reach of ordinary men and it drove him on, washed away all lesser things. Dedication hummed its secret tune in his body.
Sky was not so pure of heart. He had known love, and friendship, and respect; he had been drunk and had gambled over games and listened to music late into the night. He had wept to see his country fall to the progress of the King's armies, and had done what he could to fight against it. He had been like a gnat battering itself against the sapphire scales of a dragon; the King was as safe within his castle as if he could fly into the limitless blue sky.
But wisdom, perhaps, could not always be found in one answer, or one method, or even one existence. Sky would like to see new life spill across the land like rain.
Nameless's devotion was a challenge that demanded to be matched. He would be the weapon finally capable of piercing the King's heart; Sky would be the hand to bring him into range.
***
"Within ten paces, my sword strikes with surgical precision. If it enters at precise pressure points it will not cause any fatal injury. If one of you would take a blow before witnesses, we can fool the King."
"Such a blow is hardly child's play. How is Sky now?"
"Fully recovered."
***
The King still lived.
Sky had kept to hiding for weeks to preserve the illusion that he had died, but word had made it even to here in the far outreaches of the empire: there had been an assassination attempt, and it had failed.
There were other details, of the King's supposed bravery in facing the rebel unarmed, and how he had been moved to show him mercy- though his advisors had counseled him against it- but that was mere embellishment, likely added on the long journey to reach him. Sky heard other news too, from other channels, that Flying Snow and Broken Sword were dead. They had died together in that empty desert surrounding their hiding place, it was said, and many who knew speculated as to the cause, but none of the rumors held the bite of truth.
That was it, then. Their carefully laid plan had come to nothing, and the King was free to take all of the Six Kingdoms. There wasn't anyone left to stop him.
Sky wondered how close Nameless had gone, if he had made it within those important last ten paces. His side still hurt when it rained, though that was rare enough in this area. Nameless had kept his promise, and the wound had not been fatal, but the human body was not sand, to be pierced and healed with no trace. The scar looked like a bone, white and hard. Sky wondered if Nameless had died quickly, or if they had kept him alive to give to the torturers.
Nameless might have given up the knowledge that Sky still lived; there might be horsemen riding even now to capture him before he became part of yet another plot on the King's life. Well. Let them. Sky often felt old these days, as dry and tired as the barren stones that stretched for miles in every direction. There was no one left to plot with, and he no longer was foolhardy enough to go it alone.
It might be possible to kill the King, but the King had a family, and an heir. It wasn't possible to stand against history. Sky no longer hoped to see his country free.
***
"What did you use to defeat Sky?"
"The sword."
Author: Brigdh
Fandom: Hero
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Three stories of Sky.
Disclaimer: Characters, events, and all dialogue is the property of Yimou Zhang, Miramax, and other people who are not me.
Notes: Hey, did you know I'd never posted this to LJ? I don't know why, I had it everywhere else. Good thing yuletide keeps stories on their website, or this could have been yet another victim of my computer's crash. Written for Yuletide '04.
***
"Does your majesty know Flying Snow and Broken Sword were lovers?"
"Yes, I do."
"And that they hadn't spoken for three years?"
"For three years? Why?"
"Flying Snow had an affair with Sky. Broken Sword never forgave her."
***
Sky's time with Flying Snow had been short enough, but memory made it briefer yet. He recalled moments instead of days, little isolated images bright and fleeting as sparks. They must have cooked and cleaned and spoken idly, for she had been with him many weeks, but he had forgotten those monotonies and knew instead how candlelight cast their twined shadows against the wall and reflected in her eyes like burning embers.
She had laughed when she fed him the berries she loved. They dripped juice on her fingers and he had captured her hands to lick them clean, though that had led quickly to more laughter and other things, and they were still half-sticky as she held his forearms. The sheets twisted around them like cool, delicate shackles, and pressed them tight together and even then she had spoken to him softly. Her words and moans were so low that he teased her.
What are you ashamed of? Who do you think will know?
Afterwards, she sucked her fingers clean, and they were very pale under the ruby-colored stain.
They practiced other skills too. She was a warrior to justify every rumor that whispered her name; a truth to put all boasts to shame. It was autumn, when she stayed with him, and the robes she wore outdid the brilliance of the maple leaves, but the body beneath was the true beauty. He had never known anyone to move so quickly and smoothly.
The battles they staged to test one another's skills were nothing to their real fights. Sky had never been slow to anger, and she was furious and sullen and clung to grudges. Such passion. Sky remembered the marks her nails left on his chest, the line of her throat when she shouted, the startling red of her lips against her white skin and black hair.
She returned to Broken Sword on an evening when the sunset spilled through the house in light as thick as blood. He shouted that he no longer loved her, and other foolish, senseless things, and almost meant them in his rage. She looked at him over her shoulder while the sky burned in the west, and said nothing. She never came back.
***
"You were not fast enough to defeat Sky. He died willingly under your sword."
***
The boy without a name was not much younger than Sky, but he was full of purpose, and spoke not a word more than was necessary. He had no family or distractions; there was nothing excess about him. Nameless had no life beyond the one skill he had mastered through many years.
Listening to him reminded Sky of the mad, who danced to songs no one else could hear. Nameless moved like he knew something beyond the reach of ordinary men and it drove him on, washed away all lesser things. Dedication hummed its secret tune in his body.
Sky was not so pure of heart. He had known love, and friendship, and respect; he had been drunk and had gambled over games and listened to music late into the night. He had wept to see his country fall to the progress of the King's armies, and had done what he could to fight against it. He had been like a gnat battering itself against the sapphire scales of a dragon; the King was as safe within his castle as if he could fly into the limitless blue sky.
But wisdom, perhaps, could not always be found in one answer, or one method, or even one existence. Sky would like to see new life spill across the land like rain.
Nameless's devotion was a challenge that demanded to be matched. He would be the weapon finally capable of piercing the King's heart; Sky would be the hand to bring him into range.
***
"Within ten paces, my sword strikes with surgical precision. If it enters at precise pressure points it will not cause any fatal injury. If one of you would take a blow before witnesses, we can fool the King."
"Such a blow is hardly child's play. How is Sky now?"
"Fully recovered."
***
The King still lived.
Sky had kept to hiding for weeks to preserve the illusion that he had died, but word had made it even to here in the far outreaches of the empire: there had been an assassination attempt, and it had failed.
There were other details, of the King's supposed bravery in facing the rebel unarmed, and how he had been moved to show him mercy- though his advisors had counseled him against it- but that was mere embellishment, likely added on the long journey to reach him. Sky heard other news too, from other channels, that Flying Snow and Broken Sword were dead. They had died together in that empty desert surrounding their hiding place, it was said, and many who knew speculated as to the cause, but none of the rumors held the bite of truth.
That was it, then. Their carefully laid plan had come to nothing, and the King was free to take all of the Six Kingdoms. There wasn't anyone left to stop him.
Sky wondered how close Nameless had gone, if he had made it within those important last ten paces. His side still hurt when it rained, though that was rare enough in this area. Nameless had kept his promise, and the wound had not been fatal, but the human body was not sand, to be pierced and healed with no trace. The scar looked like a bone, white and hard. Sky wondered if Nameless had died quickly, or if they had kept him alive to give to the torturers.
Nameless might have given up the knowledge that Sky still lived; there might be horsemen riding even now to capture him before he became part of yet another plot on the King's life. Well. Let them. Sky often felt old these days, as dry and tired as the barren stones that stretched for miles in every direction. There was no one left to plot with, and he no longer was foolhardy enough to go it alone.
It might be possible to kill the King, but the King had a family, and an heir. It wasn't possible to stand against history. Sky no longer hoped to see his country free.
***
"What did you use to defeat Sky?"
"The sword."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-01-31 05:00 pm (UTC)Soooo goooood. *__*
**Wolf**
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Date: 2006-01-31 09:58 pm (UTC)