Variations on the theme of Paganini's A minor Caprice is a rather famous strings piece, though the original is incredibly hard and very, very long. It's been most notably re-rendered by my personal favorite American composer, Andrew Lloyd Webber (although John Williams is right up there too). He even played it on a cello for his 50 year celebration. I love the song.

Last chapter... There will most likely be another chapter after this, just as a closing/author's note and a thanks for all of you who've been reading.

Sol

He played selected variations on the theme of Paganini's A minor Caprice on the cello, his bo moving floridly back and forth over the taut strings in a graceful frenzy. He'd managed to find himself a naturally finished, brown instrument elegant enough for show, much simpler and less extravagant than the white and golden one Ishtar always pushed him to use.

Alexander didn't fancy himself in white.

At present he wore all black, finally thankful for the black attire Ishtar provided for him, discarding the much more lightly colored dress clothes he'd been given to wear for his performance. It didn't suit him, he thought, just as the overly ornate, expensive looking cello hadn't been his style. He didn't need those things, he didn't deserve those things... Just the minimum, and that would do, let the rest of the world take what it would.

It was funny, though, he thought, that he knew the two would be there. He needn't look up or open his eyes --he preferred playing with them closed anyway. Alexander could almost just sense them, walking down one of the back rows of the theater and finding obscure, empty seats to sit in... To wait in. He felt their eyes upon him, without much conviction towards any emotion. Just watching.

He felt Ishtar's eyes on him too, and he could picture her in his head, sitting in the box seat down that long, red carpeted hall, watching him intently with her dark, inarticulate eyes. Chung Hee was watching him too, from the side of the stage where no one else could see him, behind the curtains, waiting. But then, everyone was watching him, he thought. It was only logical, seeing as how he was in a theater, and the only one on stage.

There was only on set of eyes he cared about, though. Beautiful, Persian blue eyes, that could smile without the aid of lips, and yet gaze with such an intent, cold fire. He felt them now, upon him, as intent as ever, and he stood, bowing a little as the audience clapped. As he lifted his head he took a moment to look about the audience, catching a glimpse of flaming red hair in his peripheral vision.

His heart beat wildly, knots twisted in his stomach, his voice caught in his throat, his head felt light, and he walked slowly off the stage, his cello in hand, barely noticing the faint smile Serilda gave him as she entered the stage with a violin. It took a moment of numb confusion for him to realize he'd walked to the opposite side of the stage from where Chung Hee was standing, and he turned back to look just in time to see the tall young man disappear into the dark shadows backstage, no doubt walking around back to meet him as soon as possible.

But Alexander wasn't really sure he wanted Chung Hee's company... Not that he blamed him for the fact that he was being constantly followed around. It was all Ishtar's idea, he knew, though no one had really said a thing about it. It was just that... Something in his dream had scared him, regardless of the fact that he couldn't remember a single detail from it. He just wanted to be alone.

So he kept going, until he found a door on that side of the theater, behind a jumble of props and equipment, and slipped through it just as he heard the soft noise of Chung Hee's footsteps nearing. It wasn't a doorway he'd ever remembered seeing, not that he'd really ever looked, but he was reluctant to use the main stage door, fearing an encounter with the two Atlantans much like the last they'd had in that particular stairwell. This time, though, he had the feeling it wouldn't have ended so well.

The door simply led to yet another of the Citadel's obscure series of halls, and Alexander sighed, leaning his cello and bo against the wall by the stage door, and beginning his trek down them. After a while of walking, some things started to look vaguely familiar.

They'd made it just in time, again and of course, to catch the latter half of the young American's performance. Both seemed keen to watch, and neither seemed to want it to end, if not simply for the fact of what they'd have to do afterwards. Nicholas especially was fond of the performance, gazing at Alexander, noting that he was an exceptionally talented player who'd gotten better since they'd last seen him perform, but not paying a great deal of attention to the music at all. He was mostly just watching Alexander move, and the beauty of the gentle passion in his expression.

The song ended too soon, and Alexander stood, bowing with an endearing awkwardness at the applause. Nicholas and Marcel stood too as Alexander walked off the stage, neither saying a word but both acting in sync. Silently the two made their way towards the back stairwell, and sat for a while on the steps outside the stage door.

“I don't think he'd be stupid enough to come out through here again,” Marcel remarked after a while, standing up and walking down to the bottom of the flight. He didn't look up at Nicholas as he spoke. “Besides which, he left through the other side of the stage...”

Nicholas stood as well, and gave his now all-too-frequent grim laugh. “I was sort of hoping you wouldn't say anything...” he said with a sad smile, but his humor seemed lost on Marcel, who had just turned the other way, and was shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“Well, we should... Split up and go after him, then. One of us is perfectly capable of getting to him without the help of the other so...” Nicholas made no mention of the noticeable mark Marcel had gotten from his last one on one encounter with the green eyed boy. Marcel, it seemed, was reluctantly taking his role as being ‘in charge'.

“If you say so,” Nicholas said with a shrug. It was just as good as anything he'd be able to come up with. He took the steps down in doubles. “So... I'll just go back the way we came, then. Or you could-” They both stopped when they hear a door open from the floor upstairs, and footsteps coming down the hall right above.

“Fine, whatever,” Marcel said, pushing open the door on the other side of the room. “Let's just get this over with.” he added, looking back for a moment before turning away again and leaving. Nicholas watched the door close behind him, before making his way back into the dark theater, filled now with the sound of a violin.

It was a while before he figured out where the corridor was leading him. The only solace he got from his ultimate destination was that it would be empty. The great room, with the wall of glass and floor of gold, where he'd first entered the Citadel the night of the first attempt on his life was made... That's where the halls led.

Alexander wasn't quite sure why or how he would remember this. He'd never been to that room again since that night, nor any room around it, but somehow he remembered it all, though it was vague. For some reason, until that point he'd mostly put the place out of his mind. He remembered little about it, really, other than he'd passed out there, and what he could imagine of what it looked.

The images of grandeur he had about it were, strangely, he thought, put down when he actually entered the room. It was larger than he remembered it, more majestic, entirely covered in gold and bathed in candlelight. He continued walking, gazing in awe at the fixtures and sloping ceiling, until he reached the near center, and looked down.

There, plotted in the exact middle of the room as far as he could tell, was that large, golden sun that he only now remembered plaguing him in his dreams. It took him by such surprise that he simply stopped and stared at it thoughtless for a long moment, dreading its implications. When he thought about it, actually, he didn't really remember it being here...

No, he did seem to recall something. He turned his head, looking out the large glass wall to the waters of the Mediterranean. The sun would be setting soon... That was right, there'd been a sun rise here, in this room when he'd first arrived... He'd been standing but a few feet away, in the center of the room on that golden sun, holding the Kwan Dao Ishtar had given him, just before he fainted, from fatigue or shock or... What, he didn't know.

Suddenly, when he thought about it, he felt a need for the weapon, to hold the long, slick shaft in his hands, feel the weight of the blade on one end. It had been taken away from him around the time Chung Hee had been assigned to guard him, and Alexander, not much of a fighter, had not thought much about it until that point. He didn't think he'd ever long for a weapon.

His emerald eyes turned away from the window and gazed across the room, until they fell upon the unominous door at the far end. It was... The weaponry room, he remembered, where he'd first gone and received a weapon he'd never seen before, whose name he somehow seemed to know anyway. Perhaps it was there. He wouldn't do anything with it, he just wanted it, and he didn't know why.

But he hesitated before stepping forwards, wary of the large solar symbol at his feet. In his dreams, which now came back to him in vague, indescript flashes, he'd died there... Alexander gave a small smile, and shook his head with a quaint laugh before stepping forwards. “After all,” he said to himself. “It was just a dream.”

He couldn't help but notice, though, when a chill passed over his body as he crossed the golden sun.

Nicholas hadn't the faintest idea where he was going, though he assumed Marcel wasn't making out much better. The difference between himself and Marcel, though, was that Marcel liked to, as uncharacteristically as it sounded, study beforehand. The young Russian thought that if Marcel would actually take the time to apply himself to anything without bitching and brooding, he'd make a rather good assassin or the likes, because he liked to study the layouts of the buildings and hack into their phone lines and internet accounts.

He smiled. This all meant, of course, that he was screwed royally, because no doubt Marcel new exactly where to hide just in case. Nicholas hadn't the slightest idea, and his fingers twitched at his side. In his coat he'd hidden a pistol, the one he'd first shot at Alexander with, actually. He'd also, against everyone's advice he'd sought out, also brought his sais. They were much harder to conceal, he'd been told, and far, far more conspicuous than a firearm. But he felt more comfortable with them, so he'd taken them just the same.

When he thought about it, though, it seemed strange and uncanny how easily he and Marcel had gotten in. He thought part of it, perhaps, was the fact that all of Ishtar's more loyal minions were performing rather than guarding, and her current security staff was just hired hands. Still, it left him a bit uneasy. Especially taking into account the fact that they'd tried nearly the exact same thing during the last huge concert.

Well... That wasn't true. Last time they'd had the option of not killing anyone, and just taking Alexander whether he liked it or not. This time Angelus had been disturbingly clear about what he'd wanted. Nicholas' stomach turned. He still intended to save Alexander, and get him away from here, no matter what cost it was to himself. He only hoped he'd find Alexander first.

There was a noise behind him, distinct enough that he could tell they were footsteps, but not much else. Someone alone, he could make out, but no a size or gender. He fell against the wall and froze, grateful now that the monotonous halls had begun to get relatively dark as he'd gotten further and further from the theater. He ran his fingers through his hair once, and then he didn't dare let his hands stray from the sides of his coat, where he could grab the gun easily in case he needed to...

The footsteps stopped for a moment, and he tensed, until he heard them begin again. He nearly relaxed, until he realized they'd moved too far for the footsteps to be made by the same person... Or his mind was playing tricks on him. He pulled out his gun, fast as he dared, wary of making a sound.

Again the footsteps stopped, or died out, only to reappear but a moment later, closer each time, and each time harder to pinpoint the location of. About the fifth time, the footsteps were too close for him to feel comfortable with, and his grip on the gun tightened. He felt the weight of his sais at his said, and wished that moment that he'd grabbed them instead.

Then he felt something cold on the sides of his face, hands, perhaps... Feminine hands, ice cold. He froze. How could that have happened? How could anyone have come up behind him? He didn't even remember pushing off the wall and allowing anyone room... Why couldn't he move..? There was a whisper in his ear, accompanied by icy breath on his neck, after which Nicholas Romanov II no longer had any questions.

Alexander sat kneeling on the floor, closing the long, black case and picking up the thin black pole at his side. As he screwed the two sections of his Kwan Dao back together, he felt safer, and something else... Some feeling he hadn't known he didn't have, but nothing he could place. He stood again, gripping the weapon in his right hand in an underhand hold, his fingers pointing down while the blade pointed up. It felt natural there, and he felt relaxed for the first time in a while, gazing out across the room and through the glinting window panes.

The sun was setting now, and he watched it with a demurred awe, feeling strangely at peace with himself. He walked more towards the middle of the room, more towards the windows, just watching quietly as the water turned to fire beneath the setting sun... Red, like the color of blood, setting the land and sky aflame in its splendor.

To his left, the door opposite the armory opened. He turned to look, half surprised, and half expectant of the young man who stood there. And in a sudden moment, that moment of security he'd felt fled from him as he wished to flee now, leaving him feeling panicked and scared.

Nicholas stepped in to the room slowly, his icy blue eyes watching Alexander with a look Alexander had never seen in them before, and he stared back, frozen where he stood. The taller of the two said not a word, and simply continued to walk forwards Alexander, holding out his hand... Holding a gun.

“Nicholas don't! Wait!” But Nicholas fired, and it was only through luck and adrenaline powered reflexes that Alexander was able to pull up the blade of the Kwan Dao fast enough to deflect the bullet. His heart was racing. Why would Nicholas shoot at him..? How could he..? “Nicholas, why??”

He only fired again, and again, walking slowly ever closer to the frightened young American, who was backing up and franticly dodging and blocking all his shots, until he finally tripped over something. It was the weapons case... “Oh God, Nicholas, no, please..!” He couldn't even feel the tears falling down his cheeks as Nicholas leaned forwards, pressing the gun against his head. How could this happen..? He pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened, and Alexander let out a sob. Nicholas scowled, tossing the empty gun away from him, and pulling from his coat instead a shining pair of sais. Alexander only just managed to scramble to his knees and away before the points on the sais slammed into the marble where his head should have been.

Tears were still falling down his face as he stood, holding the Kwan Dao out before him in a defensive stance. Why Nicholas did anything he did was beyond him, as was made obvious. He nearly laughed because he'd thought perhaps, that if it had been Nicholas who was sent for him, he'd somehow end up okay... But never before had he seen such cold fire burning in anyone's gaze...

Nicholas lunged at him, far less graceful and more forceful than Alexander had expected him to fight, and it was all Alexander could do just to parry and block. He didn't think he'd be emotionally able to fight Nicholas, anyway. He just defended himself the best he could, trying just as hard not to hurt himself, hoping and waiting for someone, anyone, from the Citadel or the Castle, to show up and save him.

There was a moment, a split second, when their weapons locked, the crooks on Nicholas' sais caught around the handle of Alexander's bow, and they both pushed, trying to break away, bringing themselves closer together, until Nicholas kissed him. He actually leaned forwards, over their weapons, and kissed him. “Why wont you just die..?” he heard Nicholas whisper in his ear.

And that was all poor Alexander could take. He flung Nicholas away from himself, and flipped up the blade, attacking now with a fervor he'd never once felt in a fight. Nicholas only smiled, a smile Alexander never thought he'd be capable of, a wickedly playful smile. “That's right,” he called through the clashing noises of metal against metal. “You always liked to put up a good fight in the end, little angel.”

“Stop it!” Alexander cried back, sad, scared, and frustrated. This wasn't any Nicholas he'd ever known, any he could have guessed, though he scoffed at how he thought he knew the young man... “What's wrong with you, why are you-” He hadn't been paying enough attention. Had it been Nicholas' goal that time to psyche him out, and wait for him to give an opening..?

He stared up at the ceiling, the blood red light from the setting sun shifting in through the windows. He'd been so busy yelling, he'd given his grip up just little enough for Nicholas to wrap the sais around him and trap his Kwan Dao, twisting it from his hands while using the bottom end to pull under his leg and send Alexander crashing down to the floor on his back.

Nicholas held the Kwan Dao now, in just one hand, the other holding both sais. Alexander closed his eyes, and felt the cold of Nicholas slowly running the flat of the blade down his cheek, and then his neck, and leaving it to rest on his stomach. “I win,” he said, and that was all.

“Why..?” Alexander asked softly. He'd never asked for this. He'd never asked to become a martyr for a war he knew nothing of. All he'd wanted was to save his sister... His little baby sister, who would die if he died... “I'm sorry...” he whispered softly through tears. “I couldn't keep my promise of protecting you.. I'm so sorry...”

He opened his eyes again, slowly, and turned his head up, gazing at Nicholas with sad, green eyes. His hands reached out, and gripped around the Kwan Dao, though Nicholas' hold was to firm for him to move it even an inch. “Why, Nicholas? Why..? I... I thought maybe I...” he smiled, a sad, sad smile. How could he say it..? To the man who would kill him? He couldn't help it.. He felt it so, so strong that just not saying so would kill him... Even if saying so still would. “I love you.”

Nicholas' eyes changed, for a moment, and Alexander saw a glimmer of hope there. Those were Nicholas' eyes now, the beautiful persian blue that he'd always seen warmth in... Not the cold hatred that had attacked him... Not the malice with which he'd been pinned to the floor. “Alexander, I...”

The blade sunk clean into his stomach, and blood surged out from the wound before spilling in a steady flow onto the floor. Alexander gave a cry of pain. “N-no!” Nicholas stammered, his hands falling from the blade as he fell to his knees, and his Kwan Dao to the floor. “No, Alexander, I didn't... I didn't do it, I didn't...”

Behind him stood Marcel, pale and shaking, looking dumbfounded at his hands. Then there were shouts from out in the corridors of the Citadel, and numerous footsteps. “Nicholas we.. we have to go!” Marcel finally said, shaking himself out of his stupor.

“Alexander, Alexander!” Nicholas cried in quiet desperation, shaking the pale boy, who grew colder and colder by the moment. “Alexander no, don't... I love you too, please...” he sobbed softly, crying. What had just happened..? How had this gone so horribly wrong..? Alexander wasn't moving and... “Alexander, please, no... Not you, please...” He rested his head on Alexanders, and pulled him into his arms, covering himself with blood. “I'm so sorry, I love you, I love you, I wanted to save you, I...”

“Nicholas!” Marcel cried, pulling at his arm. “We have to go! We have to! It's finished, it's over! We killed him! He's dead! It's over.” He pulled Nicholas to his feet, who was as dazed as he'd been a moment before. “Come on, snap out of it, we have to go, and we have to go now!” he said, pulling Nicholas away with a lurch and dragging him from the room, leading him down the hall in a mad dash.

Alexander was pale, and cold, and covered with blood by the time anyone got to him. Near to the entire of the Citadel stood there in the doorway, even Ishtar, too shocked and confused to enter, just standing there staring at the pool of blood beneath the tragic young American. The blood spread in the ominous shape of wings, broken, tattered, and bloody.

Outside the sun cast one last ripple of blood over the water, before setting behind the horizon and leaving everything a cold, dark black.

End, Part I