LIFE is not as balanced as we HOPE it will be.

LOVE is not as permanent as we WISH it will be.

REVENGE is not as sweet as we IMAGINE it will be.

The dark circles under his eyes were proof enough of his midnight vigil. His pacing beat a path into the stone floor, his mind racing and his feet being forced to follow. Disconnected thoughts drifted through his brain, horrific images leered from the back of his mind.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” he whispered, shaking from head to foot. A soft, warm hand touched his shoulder and he flinched away. His wife stared pleadingly at him with big blue eyes.

“Come to bed, darling,” she cried imploringly. “Staying up like this won’t help anything! They’ll find him by morning; I know they will, but sleep until then.”

He shook his head, moving away. “No. I can’t sleep, can’t rest. How can you think of sleeping right now?!”

“Staying up all night isn’t going to help us get Louis back!”

Zedanei stared darkly at the wall. The door burst open and in ran a red-faced soldier. “It was the elves, sire!” the mage panted. “We have captured them and brought them here with us.” His gaze then dropped to the floor; he refused to continue his report.

“And what of Prince Louis? Were you able to find him?” Zedanei asked anxiously, grimacing as he heard his voice cracking with emotion.

The soldier fidgeted, toying with the buttons on his sleeve. “Yes, we… found him.”

“Bring him to me, then!” Zedanei yelled. “Is he hurt? How is he?”

“…He was dead by the time we arrived. We brought back his corpse,” he murmured, motioning to the end of the hallway, where a lump the size of a young boy was concealed under a white cloth.

Zedanei’s eyes widened. “NO!” he screamed, the inhuman yell echoing through the halls. “No, no no… LIES!” he threw an accusing hand toward the trembling soldier. “LIES!” was the tortured shriek.

“Elves…” Iruna mumbled in disbelief, fainting. Zedanei caught her instinctively, sitting her against the wall. He bit back his tears, stomping down through the hall to where several soldiers knelt by the figure covered by the white cloth.

“SHOW ME!” he demanded, feeling his voice go hoarse from the combination of yelling and trying not to break down. The lump in his throat was inordinately large as the frightened mages pulled the fabric away, revealing the body beneath. Louis’ brown hair was mussed and sticky with blood. Purple bruises stood out on his white neck, red liquid stood starkly against his pasty white skin. His limbs stuck out oddly and there were places where his abdomen was sunken in, as if his ribs were broken.

Zedanei collapsed to the floor, sobs wracking his body. He drew the lifeless boy to his chest, cradling the broken corpse protectively. “Get the necromancers! NOW!”

He watched as they scampered off through tear-filled eyes. Rage filled his mind—when he got to those elves that had done this to his son… death would be a wish, a fevered dream. His grip on reality slackened; he smirked, pressing the cold body to his. “There will be retribution for this crime…”

He turned, hearing the soldiers approach with two necromancers in tow. He stood resolutely, facing them. He gestured to the dead boy in his arms, commanding icily, “Bring him back.”

The first necromancer, a tall, dark-haired man shook his head sadly as he glanced at Louis. “I’m sorry, sire. His body is too mutilated—he couldn’t sustain his life even if the resurrection was successful. It would be foolhardy to try.”

“I don’t care,” Zedanei said through gritted teeth. “You will make it work.”

The second, a small woman with strawberry blonde curls, stared brokenly at the mage king. “Sire, we aren’t gods. Even we aren’t powerful enough to restore your son.”

Zedanei struck quickly, his hands wrapping around the necromancer’s neck. He turned to her partner. “Do it now,” he said threateningly, tightening his grip so she gagged slightly.

The man’s eyes widened. “Fine,” he muttered decisively. “I assure you, sire, that you won’t like the results.” He knelt beside the body, brushing the boy’s bangs from his forehead sadly. He began chanting under his breath, the ancient incantations coming easily to his tongue. He took a vial from his pocket, sprinkling the contents over the corpse. The last few words spilled from his lips effortlessly and he stood, waiting.

He saw the boy’s skin began to warm and turned away, not wanting to see. “I’m sorry, dear prince,” he whispered in apology, walking to the king. “It is done,” he said solemnly.

Zedanei smiled, releasing the other necromancer. She dropped to the floor, coughing. Her lover pulled her gently to her feet and the two left the room, wanting to get away from what they knew would occur.

The king dropped to Louis’ side, placing a hand on his barely heated shoulder, a hand behind the boy’s head for support. Slowly, blue eyes opened and he looked around. “Daddy?” came the hoarse, pained whisper, sounding like dried bones rubbing together.

“I’m here,” he said gratefully, opening his arms.

Louis lurched forward, into his father’s arms. His movements were slow and mechanical and he hissed in pain at the contact. “It… hurts…” the boy choked, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Make… it stop… please… Daddy…”

“You’re going to be OK, Louis,” Zedanei said, more to reassure himself than his son. He let his energy seep into the boy’s body, waiting for it to heal him. If it just started working soon enough, he could save his son. His son would live and he could be happy and he could forget that his son ever had been dead. “You’ll be just fine!”

“Daddy… why’d they hurt me? What… did I do…to make them hate me?”

Zedanei shook his head, cradling the boy as tightly as he could. “They’re bad people. But don’t worry; they won’t hurt you ever again.”

Louis nodded, giving a sad smile. “They won’t hurt me… because I’ll be dead… Daddy… I’m dying…” Tears sprang to his eyes, mixing with the blood on his face as they trickled down his cheeks.

“No—no, you’re not dying. I’m going to make sure you live,” Zedanei said, staring in horror as blood began to collect in a pool at the boy’s feet. “Oh God, please don’t leave me!” he cried in desperation, clinging to the boy, running fingers through his chocolate hair, pressing kisses to his cheeks and forehead. “Don’t leave,” he gasped, sobbing, “Don’t die…”

Sobs wracked the prince’s small frame, draining the little strength he had left. “I’m sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry that… I’m dying… Forgive… me…” He pleaded. “I… lo… love… yo… you…” His body went unnervingly limp and within a few minutes all the newly created warmth was gone, leaving Zedanei to cradle a cold, lifeless shell once more.

The king wailed brokenly, not even noticing when Iruna joined him in mourning their dead son.

Zedanei’s sorrow had disappeared, that was certain—but he was not healed. The weeks of sobbing until he made himself sick had given way to ire. He stood before the prisoners who had been captured, surveying them with a smirk. “Insolent bastards,” he spat, glaring at the lot of them. These five elves had brutally murdered his son—snatched Louis away from him forever. They would feel pain beyond the imagination for their deeds, he would see to it.

They were all long-haired and beautiful, with wide, innocent eyes and young-looking faces. But he was not deceived—they were at least as old as he was, possibly much older. “Why?” he gritted angrily. “What reason have I ever given to be attacked like this?! Did I ever treat your kind the wrong way?! Did I ever disrespect you? What did I do to deserve this?”

All of them flinched; not one of them answered.

“And what kind of sick, heartless person would kill an innocent child, no matter what the reason?! Rotting in prison is too good for the likes of you! I will decide your punishment later,” he growled, stalking away. His mind raced—no punishment would satisfy him, and he knew it. Whatever pain he inflicted on them, it wouldn’t be enough to take away the pain he felt. He stepped across the threshold to the main part of the castle, the transition of stone to marble flooring evident by the new sound his shoes made.

He clicked down the hall, going as fast as he could. “Father?” came the question from behind him; he turned to meet inquisitive golden eyes. Before Louis had died, he had always been ‘Daddy’—to both Ailill and Louis. But after the boy’s death, something had changed. He didn’t know why it had happened—no explanation was given, nothing to say why it had happened. The distance he felt coming from his five-year old son broke his heart.

The wrath from before faded and he felt himself shatter. He kneeled down, attempting to smile, but he knew it was impossible. “What is it, Ailill?” he asked quietly.

“It’s mommy…” Ailill mumbled hoarsely; his eyes were streaked with tears—he had hardly stopped crying since his big brother had died. “She says… it’s… time?”

Eyes wide, Zedanei continued his way down the hall. “I didn’t realize… oh, God.”

“What? What is it time for?” Ailill asked, running alongside his father.

When they arrived it was already over and Iruna stared at the ceiling, a blank smile on her face. Zedanei squeezed her hand gently and she glanced at him. “Her name is Celia,” she murmured sleepily, offering the child.

He took the newborn into his arms, cradling her. “I’m sorry I missed it—you weren’t due for another two weeks, so I didn’t think—”

“Shh,” she whispered, putting a finger to his lips. “It’s fine.”

Ailill, confused, jumped up on the bed to sit next to his mother. “What’s going on, mommy?”

“You have a little sis—”

“I understand it now,” Zedanei muttered, staring at the child. “It all makes sense now…”

Iruna eyed him warily. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s your fault he’s dead, Iruna. God, I was so stupid not to see it before. The elves… they wanted Louis out of the way, and I’m sure they would have gone after Ailill next…”

“What are you talking about, darling?” she asked, worried.

“This isn’t my child,” he said bluntly.

Iruna’s blue eyes widened; her face flushed with anger. “How can you say a thing like that?!”

He pointed to the child’s pointed ears accusingly. “How do you explain that, then?! Admit it! You were having an affair with one of those elves and they want to get our children out of the way so this child—an elf’s child—would be my heir!”

There were angry tears in her eyes as she slapped him across the face. “You idiot! How can you accuse me like that?! I’ve been nothing but faithful to you! What reason have I given you that allows you do doubt me?!” Ailill quickly ran from the room.

He glared fiercely at her, pressing a hand to his throbbing cheek. “Then how do you explain her ears?!”

“I’m half-elf!” she cried desperately. “Look at her! She has your face, your eyes! How could she not be yours?”

Zedanei’s breath caught in his throat. He felt the rift in his happy family widening even more. This time it was his fault—his fault for jumping to conclusions. If he had taken the time to think, he would have realized that Iruna would never do anything like that. But it was too late to go back and he knew it. His daughter peered up at him through curious golden eyes. He turned away, placing her on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” the king whispered solemnly. “I love you.” Iruna stared at him, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and left, his boots clicking down the hall.

They had ruined his life. They took away his son and his wife. Iruna wouldn’t talk to him and he hadn’t seen Celia since that day. Ailill was caught in the middle, drifting from parent to parent and generally being very confused. He stood beside his father, staring quizzically at him.

“What’s going on, Daddy? Why don’t you and Mommy talk anymore?”

Zedanei shook his head distractedly. “It’s nothing, Ailill. I just did something stupid. Don’t trouble yourself.” He realized instantly as he entered the dungeon that Iruna was there; he hung back, hidden in the shadows at the entrance, to see what she was doing.

“How could you, Simon?! How could you kill my son?!”

“He stole you from us!” The elf hissed. “He took you away!”

Iruna glared fiercely at the elf. “Idiot brother… I married him because I loved him! There was no other reason!”

Zedanei’s breath caught in his throat. Loved. Past tense. He ground his teeth together, clenched his fists. They had accomplished their goal, then—Iruna would belong to him no more. But that was fine. If she didn’t love him, then he wouldn’t love her. It was simple.

He waited in the corner until she left the room, tears spilling across her cheeks. He bit back the familiar urge that welled up—the urge to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be all right. Even if he did it, it would be a lie. Nothing could be ‘all right’ anymore.

He strode into the room. The man sighed heavily—the stress was really getting to him. The mage king wished for nothing more than to go to sleep on a soft, warm bed… and never wake up. “I hate you,” he spat, but there was little force behind it. “I could torture the lot of you… but it wouldn’t make this any better. Louis would still be gone.” He turned away to hide the tears that crept into his eyes, distorting his vision. “You will all rot here. Never will you see the outside again. You elves, you enjoy the out-of-doors? Well, my son enjoyed being alive. Good day, all of you.” He made a move to leave, but then turned back to them, focusing on Simon. “You should be proud of yourselves, though. You accomplished your goal.”

“Good,” Simon declared, staring defiantly at him.

“Fool,” Zedanei choked out, running from the room as he felt a hot lump forming in his throat.

All five elves were found dead the next day—they had committed suicide. Not even the heavens cried for them. Only Iruna, torn between the love of her son and the love for her brother, managed a few tears.

“I’m sorry, Zedanei. In a way, it was my fault,” she whispered, embracing him. He was stiff-shouldered and wouldn’t return the hug. “Really.”

“It’s fine.”

She frowned slightly. “Zedanei… this is important, please listen,” Iruna said, letting go of him. “I still love you, darling. I’m sorry about earlier.”

The mage king nodded. “I love you too,” he said, knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference—that they had already been parted and nothing could change it. Not tears, not screams, not love. It was over.

And that was as final as death.

Finished 4/13/05

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Like it? Hate it? Did it make you depressed? Tee-hee. Poor Zee-man and Louis...

Dedicated to Louis XVII of France, because he was such a cute little boy and Simon what's-his-name was mean to him and killed him. And that makes me sad.