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Meliorate
Part One: The Sickness
The recent developments in the prince’s condition had been kept secret from everyone but his family and the royal doctor. The young prince had always suffered from an as of yet unidentified illness, but complications had arisen and the prince was now on the brink of death. He took several different types of medicines every day, but they would not keep him alive for much longer. He had three months to live, four if he was lucky.
However, the prince’s mien was just as it had been before he had slipped in the crack between death’s door and the floor. He was a cheerful youth with an unfaltering smile and whenever he was able to walk, there was a spring in his step, no matter how slight.
Mostly, though, the youth was confined to his room. Days and nights alike were spent in bed. He had not been told that he would soon die, although he likely had his suspicions. It was his body, after all.
“Meliore, wake up,” came the familiar voice of his nurse, and the gentle shaking of his shoulder.
He slowly drifted into consciousness, opening his eyes. He was met by Ilse, the young, pretty nurse who always attended to him. “Good morning, Miss Ilse,” he croaked, trying to force the happy notes through his dry throat.
Her brows knitted together with worry. “Drink,” she said, helping him to sit and holding a glass of water to his lips. When he had finished, and was lying with his head propped up against his pillows, she continued, “How do you feel this morning?”
“Oh, I feel wonderful,” he lied without sounding as if he was, but he knew that Ilse could see through him. “I’m a little cold, though.”
She leaned in, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. His warmth burned against her skin and she drew back. “You’ve got a terrible fever, Meliore!”
“I-I’m fine, really,” the prince said weakly.
“No, you’re not!” She cried, sticking a thermometer into his mouth. She rushed to the cabinet full of medicines that stood across the room. She took out the fever medicine and arrived back at the prince’s side just as the thermometer began beeping.
She took it, squinting to make out the numbers on the stick. Her eyes widened. “103!” She hastily poured the medication into a cup, pressing it against his lips and tilting it at an angle so the medicine oozed down his throat. He swallowed and she gave him his water once again, smiling tiredly.
“I’m sorry I cause you so much trouble,” he mumbled as calm settled over her once more.
“Oh, Meliore… don’t apologize,” she whispered, holding him close. She ran her fingers comfortingly through his hair, whispering reassurances. “It’s not your fault.”
“You seem so sad, though,” he spoke, closing his eyes and concentrating on the rhythmic way her hand passed over his bangs.
“I’m only sad because you’re always in pain.”
He gave her a brave smile. “Don’t be sad. I’m not suffering as much as you think I am.”
Ilse squeezed him tighter, all the while knowing that it wasn’t true.
“Ilse, can I go take a walk in the garden today?” he asked, an almost imperceptible note of desperation in his voice.
She sighed sadly. “If your fever breaks,” she said, knowing it wouldn’t. Today would be another day spent in bed, suffering with illness. The way most days were.
The king had been in a very important meeting with the king of the fire demons, and he would have been extremely angry if the interruption hadn’t been caused by such a crucial discovery. Instead, he stood immediately, hastily excused himself, and rushed into the hall, closing the door behind him.
“You’ve found the cure? Tell me you have!” Dáire said desperately.
“Well, I think I have…” the researcher said nervously. The two entered the study, locking the door behind them. It wouldn’t do for others to hear their plans. He pulled a large book from the table, flicking it open to about the middle, where a pretty red ribbon marked his place.
Dáire raised his eyebrows. Infula stuck his tongue out before continuing with his explanation. “When Aino was attacked by Firnel, he placed a curse on her—you remember, don’t you?”
Dáire nodded, wincing at the memory. “How could I forget?” Firnel was a powerful mage-demon hybrid who had gone insane after the murder of his wife in the war. Civilians were never supposed to be involved in the soldiers’ wars, but they always were and often, thousands would be wounded or killed. That was the way of war. Aino, Dáire’s wife at the time, had been pregnant with Meliore when she had been cursed and they had been so scared that the child would be harmed.
Apparently, their worst fears had come to pass.
“I researched the incantation—it’s a spell that gradually destroys life by attacking the body’s immune system,” Infula said, pushing his glasses up with his middle finger.
“…like AIDS?” Dáire asked, puzzled. “And if that’s true, then why hasn’t Meliore died before now?”
“Well, it’s a combination of things. Since then, Firnel had been in hiding, living as a hermit and studying his magic. Recently, though, he’s returned to society, more powerful than ever.” He paused to run a hand distractedly through his green hair. “Also, I believe that Aino had acted as a buffer, protecting him in part from the curse.”
“How so?”
“The two of them shared in the curse from the beginning, but Aino was a healer and a Guardian. She calmed the effects of the curse within him while she was here, but now that she’s gone, the curse is worse than it’s ever been. I’d say it’s making up for lost time.”
“…lost time?”
“Why, yes. The curse wasn’t meant for Aino, oh no. Or at least, it wasn’t meant to kill her. She was only to be a medium. The brunt of the blow was to be dealt to Meliore. He was supposed to die on his thirteenth birthday, but thanks to Aino, he’s been able to hang on an extra year. I imagine Firnel isn’t very happy about that…”
“So, then, wouldn’t he get better if Aino came back?” Dáire suggested, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Infula shook his head sadly. “It’s too far along. Maybe, if I had discovered this earlier… then, it might have worked… I’m sorry, sire.” He averted his eyes, staring at his boots.
“No, it’s all right. Don’t blame yourself, Infula. You have a solution now, and that’s all that matters. So what will get rid of the curse?”
“To undo the curse, Firnel must be killed.”
Dáire sighed sadly. He realized then the reason for the man’s previous nervousness. Firnel was much too powerful to be taken down—it was a widely accepted opinion that he was immortal, although no one had gotten close enough to him to find out whether it was true. “So, then… we can’t do anything?” Disappointment echoed in his voice.
“I’ve discovered some of his weaknesses, sire. We do have a chance, if only a very slight one—and we may have to deal with certain people who we don’t exactly want to associate with.”
“That’s fine. I don’t care who I have to work with, as long as Meliore gets better.”
“Good,” he smiled, patting the king on the back, “Always what I like to hear. Firnel is part mage and part fire demon. Naturally, an aquatic or arctic demon would have advantages against him. In theory, if his fire is extinguished, his strength will be taken from him.”
“Is he immortal or not?”
Infula looked down, so that the glare on his glasses hid his eyes. “That… that I don’t know, sire. This is a real long shot, I know, but it’s the only thing I’ve been able to find. We will have to kill Firnel some way or another.”
“…I’ve got someone in mind who I think could be persuaded to help us defeat Firnel…” Dáire said thoughtfully.
“Sae,” they said in unison.
“Sae Gaizka,” Dáire murmured. Sae was a well-known assassin, respected and envied (by other assassins, at least) for his talent at always getting the job done. Out of the twenty-seven missions that they knew about, all had been completed successfully and in a timely fashion; for the morning after Sae was commissioned, a head would appear on the doorstep. Of course, this often showed the government exactly who wanted the victim dead, but at least the job got done. A lot of assassins waited three or four weeks before killing someone, and that got irritating.
The real reason, though, was that Sae was a half-demon. His father had been a powerful ice demon before the war, but he had been killed by the mage king, Zedanei. However, Sae had inherited part of his father’s power. Logically, he would have control over water and ice and therefore, have a great advantage over Firnel’s fire-based powers. Of course, there was always the chance that Sae was too weak—but who else did they have? Sae’s was also part elf, and so Dáire could do what he wanted without getting other governments involved. The more people who knew about this, the worse it would be.
“So… how do you plan to get him?” Dáire asked. “We’ve never been able to catch him before.”
Infula grinned. “I know where he’s going. We’ll catch him while he’s asleep.” He winked.
“That’s a dirty trick. Hee-hee.” Dáire smiled. “All right. You’ve done very well, Infula. I’ll see to it that you get a bonus in your paycheck this month. And now I suppose I should get back to my meeting, before King Abuja becomes even more suspicious.”
“Yes, sire,” Infula said, saluting. “Thank you, sire.”
Half a dozen soldiers entered his room, walking as silently as they could to prevent his waking. If he regained consciousness, they would be hard-pressed to keep him from attacking them. Sae was a feisty one—he was to be avoided at all costs, but here they were, in his bedroom, about to try and capture him. It seemed a foolhardy idea, but King Dáire’s word was law. Besides, they trusted him enough to know that he had a reason for this.
“Go away!” came the yell from the bed. “That’s my garden! Get your camel outta my garden!”
The soldiers sweat-dropped. The bravest of them cautiously stepped forward, holding a syringe. It was filled with tranquilizer—if they could just get it in him before he woke up, everything would be fine. The man stood nervously next to the bed, hesitating; after a few moment’s worth of calming breathing, he darted out, plunging the needle into the unprotected flesh of the boy’s arm.
Golden eyes shot open; Sae leapt out of bed, lashing out at the soldier, who fell to the ground. The assassin looked around the room, at his infiltrators. He glared, grabbing the sword that sat beside him on the bed. He quickly unsheathed it, pointing it threateningly at the group. However, they could tell by his labored breathing that the serum was already doing its magic—in less than a minute, he would be out cold.
The question was, would they survive a whole minute? They drew their weapons, slipping into defensive stances. Dáire had expressly commanded that Sae be brought back alive, no matter what it cost. For the king to be so unconcerned about the lives of his soldiers, he must have been desperate. What he needed the assassin for, they neither knew nor questioned.
Sae growled, charging forward, his long hair streaming behind him. He landed right in front of one of them, hacking and slashing—thankfully, though, Dáire had seen to it that they were all provided with the best armor that money could buy, and Sae’s attacks barely nicked it.
His movements gradually slowed, and tense moments later, the boy collapsed onto the soldier he had been attacking, his sword falling from a nerveless grasp. The soldier, relieved, lifted the assassin into his arms. Everyone breathed an easy sigh—they were out of the woods, it seemed. Sae lived alone, and so there was no one else they would have to fight. Two of the soldiers helped their fallen comrade to his feet, helping him to walk.
“I’m glad that’s over.”
“In a fair fight, I don’t think any of us would have survived.”
“…wasn’t that tranquilizer supposed to put someone out of commission within three seconds?”
They laughed nervously and began their journey back to Dáire’s castle.
“Yes, sire,” they said in unison; the one carrying Sae looked around nervously. “Where should he go?”
“A guest room, oh… over here,” Dáire said, opening the door. His soldiers followed him, quizzical looks on their faces. The soldier placed the assassin gently on the couch, wondering just what was going on.
“You’re keeping him as a guest?”
“That’s none of your business, it it?”
“Well, no, sire, but…”
“No buts! There isn’t any reason to worry yourselves. I will be perfectly fine.”
“If you say so, King Dáire. If you need us, you only have to ask.”
Dáire waited until they exited, then erected glowing blue barriers at the corners of the room. The assassin could attack him, certainly—or at least, he could try. As predicted, Sae woke up about ten minutes later and the first thing he tried to do was attack. When this proved to be very, very futile, he gave up and sat on the couch, his smoldering gold eyes fixed on the elf king. “What do you want?” he hissed. “Why have you brought me here?”
The king smiled. “I need your help.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m not interested in helping you, so I suppose I’ll be on my way now,” he said smoothly, heading for the door. Dáire made no move to stop him, and Sae soon found out why. When he tried the knob, blue sparks shot out, sending shockwaves through his body. He turned angrily, yelling. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK YOU CAN HOLD ME HERE? I’M SAE GAIZKA, AND WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, YOU’LL WISH YOU HAD LET ME ALONE!”
Dáire rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Anyway, what do you say to killing the mage Firnel for me?”
“I’m not suicidal, sire,” he spat, glaring darkly. “Even I wouldn’t attempt it.”
“Either you help me or you spend the rest of your life rotting downstairs in the dungeon.”
“I’ll take the dungeon, then. A prison I can escape from eventually; certain death at the hands of the most powerful mage in existence would be much harder to evade.”
“Then I’ll have you executed,” Dáire said seriously. “No one would care. You’ve killed enough people that I should execute you whether you help me or not.”
“Hn,” Sae muttered, turning away. “So you’re giving me a choice between one quick whack to the neck and possible hours of torture before finally dying an intensely painful death?”
“Stop fixating on death, you idiot! Have you no pride?”
“Oh, I have pride. I just don’t suffer from hubris, that’s all.”
“We wouldn’t send you to kill him unless we thought you had a good chance of beating him. My researcher has gathered all the known facts about Firnel, and he has concluded that you are the person most likely capable of killing him.”
“Why me? There are lots of people out there who are stronger than me, and I bet at least one of them would be willing to risk their neck for you.”
“No, Sae. There’s only you.”
Sae growled, plopping down on the sofa tiredly. “All right. For a moment, I’ll pretend that I’m the only one who can do this for you. Why do you want me to do this, and why would I want to do this for you?”
“If you agree, you will be cleared of all your past crimes and your sister will be released from prison.”
Sae’s eyes widened slightly. He had wished for that since his sister had been sent there, almost three years ago. She had taken the blame for the first murder he had committed, and had been sentenced to death. Currently, she was still waiting, counting down the days until her execution. He knew then that he couldn’t say no, no matter what the king’s reasons for the mission were.
However, there was no harm in keeping up appearances. “But why do you want me to do this? Firnel is powerful, certainly, but what would you gain from his death?”
Dáire sighed, and Sae could see the melancholy flashing in his eyes. “Two months before Prince Meliore was born, Firnel placed a curse on his mother. That curse was transferred to my son, and now, fourteen years later, he is about to die from it. The nature of the curse is that it is only effective as long as the one who cast it lives.”
“So… you want me to kill Firnel in order to save your son?” came Sae’s quiet whisper.
“Yes,” Dáire answered. “Yes, that’s the reason.” Suddenly he dropped to his knees, his horizontal pointed ears, the characteristic of a high elf, drooping. “Please, Gaizka. I don’t want my son to die…”
Seeing the proud king reduced to the man currently groveling at his feet disturbed Sae. Either King Dáire deserved several Oscars for his acting skills, or this was genuine. All previous experiences would seem to point to the former, but Sae knew by the tears in his eyes that he must be telling the truth.
But still, there were a lot of risks involved. The things he would get by agreeing to Dáire’s terms were wonderful, but he was almost certain he would die at Firnel’s hands. And if he died, and he really was the only one, Prince Meliore would also die.
“Do I get time to prepare?”
Dáire looked up, his eyes shining hopefully. “You must stay at least a week, so that my researcher can teach you about Firnel and his weaknesses. You may also have a few days to say goodbye to your family in the improbable event of your death.”
“All right.”
“Meliore will die in three months, though. Remember that.”
Sae nodded. This was too much. “Then I accept. I will try my best to kill Firnel. I can’t make any promises, though. If I’m not the one… well, I hope you have a backup plan.”
“No, Sae. There is no backup plan.”
The assassin gave a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair. He grabbed a ponytail holder from his pocket, slowly pulling his hair up with it. “Am I allowed to meet this Prince Meliore who I am trying to save?” he asked.
“Of course,” Dáire consented. He turned, dispelling the barrier and opening the door. His prayers had been answered, and Sae had said yes. Unfortunately, something much more difficult lurked in the near future. How could they prepare Sae for his battle with Firnel?
AN: Mou? Like it? Hate it? This is only the beginning, obviously. There will be shounen-ai later on... Oh, and please review. Reviews will keep poor littleMeliore alive for four months instead of three.
