Ebony | Ivory

In every story, every world and universe, books, parchments, scrolls and tales -may they be whittled from the rings of ancient trees, or painted in swirling loops of fine ink- is the light and the dark, along with their never-ending web of stories. In the light there is life, love, and kindness, a father holding a child, cradled perfectly in the crook of a strong arm, like they were always meant to be together. Father and Child. While the darkness holds blood, power, and hatred like a drunkard clutching greedily to a flask of wine. Ebony and Ivory, two opposite ends of the Polaris, north and south, day and night. The sister-emotions would always battle to stay above the latter. But someone would always answer with a voice, ‘Is there not the grey?’  Ah yes, some would claim they stood blandly in a world where they never chose a side. Dear reader, do you believe that? Only a fool would, for even as they cry and lie like a snake that there sometimes are no sides, in their hearts -wicked little things- they have already chosen a side. May it be for a rest within the light, or a waltz in the cold depths of the dark. You must always choose a side. And that is what a certain man finds himself struggling to do, as he sits at a desk, papers flooding the wooden table.  With one hand a worn quill was straddled, like a warrior with his faithful sword he slashed it across the papers, he would pause sometimes, as if trying to find the right word to write down. In the other he ran a calloused hand through his wild black curls, sometimes grabbing it as if the stress might lead to him pulling it out. Weary lines crossed his face, wrinkles from worry and war scarred his sharp features. He stopped for a heartbeat, in his pen he held the fate of his entire kingdom, a peaceful city that had not seen the b****y discord of war in over two decades. An army was gathering right outside the supposedly impenetrable walls. And it was up to a single man to decide the life or death of thousands of lives.  The man, if he wished, could fight the enemy. The numbers are more than all the men in the surrounding country. The chances of winning were slim. But he would die a hero -no- a martyr, how poetic, no? Or he could forfeit his reign, live a cowardly life, hated by his own people. But at least they would be safe… No, they wouldn’t, would they? Thought the man, clenching his pen like a lifeline. If he knew exactly who was leading this army. He knew they wouldn’t stop until they had licked their chops of the final drops of his blood. There was a third option… But dear reader, what have we learned? The third and final option only leads back to the fork in the road. An endless cycle, never choosing the correct path, always in a circle. Back to ebony and ivory. This man had lived a good life. He was not a prideful creature, but in the end, vain creeped in. Like moths to a flame, Man was a simple creature.  The man was aroused from his stupor as a faint rapping sounded from the large ornately carved doors across the room. The man put the hand he had relentlessly been running through his hair down, some stray ringlets following, was that grey he saw in the black? Was the stress of one day aged him half a decade? Or had he been in such a peaceful slumber he had never noticed it beforehand? “Enter.” He was hoarsely able to say, already knowing who was entering before the wiry fellow had walked in. When the door closed, the tired man looked at the equally tired man across from him -no- he couldn’t call the tall slender blonde boy in front of him that, barely out of boyhood, at the young age of twenty. The attentive boy with bright green eyes always looked a moment away from flight, like an animal stuck between flight or fight. An endless turmoil of directions and decisions.  The man looked back down helplessly, speaking of decisions… “Cole.” The young man said, taking long strides, before resting his knuckles on the grained wood. “Enough of this. You can’t be penned in here forever.” The dark-haired man named Cole dared not look up as he scanned maps and calculated then recalculated again, decisions…decisions…decisions… “For the better of the country. Yes I must, Ruben.” He said gruffly.  “Cole.” The boy said again, firmly this time, sounding so much older than he was. Cole flinched, the blonde boy shouldn’t be here, by his side. He should be in college- or dating some sweetheart, anything but this. “When was the last time you slept?” Cole shrugged, not bothering to look up from his work. The man jumped as a fist slammed down, threatening to spill his ink pot. This time he glanced up at the boy, and immediately regretted it. The green fire glowed dimly, like an angry dragon writhing below, hidden within the young man’s eyes. “I know how much this means to you Cole, believe me, I know.” The boy snorted through his nose, “But you can’t just hold up in here, people need you.”  Cole waited, hoping the young man would say the words, the words he always wanted him to say. I need you. If Reuben had said those three words, would that have stopped him? Would he have not done what he was about to do? Cole started into the green eyes, his dark brown ones reflected in the icy flames of his friends’. I would’ve moved heaven and earth for you. He tried to say with his gaze.  But the fellow made no move to say those simple yet deep words.  Nothing. Just burning flames. That shook Cole deeply, and so he spoke, he spoke out of suppressed anger and frustration, not just to Reuben. But to the whole damned world. “I would prefer you to address as Your Highness, or Sir. And what I do. I do it for everyone! I do this to keep them… safe.” Reuben leaned back, his flaming gaze flickering down to a simmering smolder.  The boy soldier looked down at the weary king. Perhaps, in a different life, they were simple farmers. An older plump man with three happy children, and he would've been a boy with a hankering to help.  Potato farmers.  They would’ve happily farmed potatoes and not live on this hellish earth. What a happy daydream, what an impossibly simple sweet life that would never, ever happen. “Don’t do it.” “You have no idea what I’m doing.” The king spat. “I do. I know because I’ve been there.” The boy’s lip curled, he placed a hand to his own chest. “Don’t.” Cole leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. “Tell them nothing. They shouldn’t need to know why their Father left.” He expected an answer, a retort, maybe even a plea for him to stay, but silence answered him coldly. Reuben was as silent as ever, only adding to Cole’s growing frustration. “But don’t let them forget me.” Cole murmured, letting out the silent fear that had mercilessly plagued him for almost fifteen years. “Don’t let them forget who I was.” He finally opened his eyes, looking across the desk at his old friend. Cole must’ve looked ancient compared to Reuben, even after these many years, his friend was as young as ever. Though he would never age. Something he would never envy his blonde friend for, living forever sounded… lonely. What Reuben did next, surprised the king the most. The boy knelt before the tired and weak man. Reuben was not one to kneel, especially not in defeat. Was this out of respect? Or grief…? “I bow not to you, but to the legacy you once held.” The boy spoke softly, a growl faint in his voice. “And to the shadowy path you unfold to your children. While you are gone, I will not let them forget you. The real you. Not this disgusting cowardice before me. I bow to the children I will look over, like a brother to his own. They are my family now.” Reuben closed his eyes. Cole felt, for the first time in a while, even during the calming times with his family, peace. ========== Erron watched. Her reddish brown hair twisted into twin neat braids, draped across her shoulders. Her tan skin speckled with red freckles, collection ever growing. Especially now, in the heat of a growing summer, the June sun beaming calm but soon to be violent rays. Her brown eyes forever watching, despite being barely six, she was good at noticing even the smallest of things. Such as her nine year old brother plucking young yellow dandelions, bunches upon bunches held in his fists, his skin also dotted with freckles. The boy ran up to his older brother, handing him some of the golden treasures. His long black locks in the way of his brown eyes. “Aw, for me?” Their eldest brother chuckled, fourteen, his voice beginning to deepen and he was slowly starting to sprout up like a sunflower. He accepted his brother’s gift, and placed it in his equally dark locks, now falling down slightly past his chin. “Thank you, Rupert.” The younger brother beamed like the summer sun, then quickly returned to his picking. But Erron noticed other things,  like the pressing feeling, too many guards, why were there an extra ten? They usually had at most four, but found a way to ditch them. And even worse, she noticed the absence of two particular people.  Her father was missing, not that Erron wasn’t used to days without her father, but the silence that followed this was… different. It was like he had never existed. Not even the chatter of servants or soldiers speaking of her father.  Suddenly very cold, Erron edged out from underneath the large cottonwood. Suppressing a shudder she got to her feet and trotted over to her older brother. She found her arms wrapping around her brother’s waist and she snuggled closer to him. “Erron?” Her brother asked, concern creeping in as he patted his sister on the back, “You good?” “Where’s Reuben, Ascian?” Erron finally asked, “And Father?” She rarely voiced her worries, but this was ominous.  Ascian looked down at his sister in confusion. “What?” “Father. No one is talking about him, he wasn’t even there for breakfast! Neither was Reuben…” Ascian rolled his eyes, “You know Roo sulks off all the time. As for father… he probably fell asleep at his desk… again.” Erron’s fears did not subside, these were reasonable answers. But something still sat wrong with the young princess.  “I have a bad feeling about today.” She felt her brother stroke her head gently, but it brought no comfort.  “We’re fine I’m sure-.” Ascian didn’t get to finish, for one of the ten guards trotted up. Erron made note of the sweat on his face, as if he was nervous. “Your Highnesses,” the man bowed, “you have been requested in the throne room.” “By Father?” Erron asked, sitting up quickly. The soldier looked infinitely uncomfortable, which annoyed Erron quite a lot, how can someone look like that all the time? It must be exhausting. The guard shook his head, Erron almost didn’t catch it, the shake was so subtle and small. But Erron saw it. She never missed anything. Rupert came back over, golden petals dusted his hair, a crown of his own for the little prince. His wide smile seemed to add onto the weight of the moment. Erron heard Ascian breath in, a sharp intake before he sat up. Did he feel what she was? As they followed the soldiers towards the throne room, she grasped her brother's hand tighter, Rupert was on Ascian’s other side, oblivious of the cool dread in everyone's breath and stride.  As they walked into the yawning hall, a large marble throne room with a large wooden throne, engrained with gold and studded with gems. Erron looked up at the ceiling, painted beautifully were large murals of tales of the past, magic creatures bowing to a queen, a knight slaying a dragon, a king standing on a diamond throne, a bloodied scythe in one hand and a large white quill in the other. As the doors shut behind them and it was just Erron and her brothers, a shadowy figure stepped forward from behind the throne. “Roo?” Rupert asked, looking at the hunched yet still extremely tall man.  The look on the pale man’s face gave it away. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He ran his fingers through his short hair, a pained and tired expression permanently plastered on his young face.  His hands were red. Dark dried blood was stuck in his fingernails, painted on his knuckles, and glued to his fingers.  ========== Ascian stared at Reuben, the look on the paladin’s face made the boy’s blood turn cold. He knew the look on his face, he’d seen it before; when his favorite hunting hound had broken a leg, and had to be put down. Or whenever his nice old tutor passed away. And even though Erron might not remember, when their mother died giving birth to her. The plaguing look of death hung on Reuben’s face. Ascian felt his legs crumble as he shattered into little pieces on the floor, he felt a million miles away as grief overwhelmed him. He heard a scream, was it coming from his own mouth? Tears blinded him as he sobbed on the cold marble floor, the icy feeling painful he pressed his hand closer to it, he needed to feel something. He felt large strong arms wrap him in a warm embrace, rocking him back and forth and whispering apologies into his long curls. “He died… bravely.” Reuben assured him, but the hesitation would haunt Ascian forever.  Did his father fight until the end? Bravely? His father was a diplomatic leader, he never was a soldier. Reuben was holding something back, and Ascian wanted to know. He was barely aware of Rupert and Erron as they too hugged close to the two, he heard Rupe crying gently and Erron’s small sniffles.  But Ascian noticed something that snuffed out everything else. He noticed Reuben’s armor was coated in dried blood, a fight? Perhaps… but what if… What if Reuben killed him? ========== Ascian felt a tug on his sleeve, bleerly opened his eyes and saw the silhouette of his younger brother. Ascian knuckles at his eyes, “Rupe?” It had been a long day, and Ascian was nervous for tomorrow, the funeral.  “Ash… can I stay with you? Just for tonight?” Rupe was still clutching his older brother’s sleeve like a lifeline. Ascian reluctantly nodded his head, his bed wasn’t very large, and this was bound to not be the most comfortable sleepover. But then again… Ascian wasn’t planning on sleeping anyways. He bit his lip as Rupert scrambled into bed, accidentally kneeing him in the gut along the way, until finally he was nestled against Ascian. Ascian stared at the ceiling, “Did Erron kick you out?” Ascian asked, knowing for a fact Erron would do that.  “No…” Rupe started, revealing he had originally gone there, Ascian’s mouth twitched, “She wasn’t even there! I think…” The younger boy looked up at his brother, his curls tickling Ascian’s nose, “I think she went to stay with Roo.” Ascian stiffened, thinking of his theory on Reuben. But… would it make sense? Reuben had been the king’s right hand man for years, even before Ascian was born. But lately they hadn’t been getting along well, had Father and Reuben gotten in a fight? Did Reuben think he could use Ascian as a puppet? Use him? Did… Ascian shuddered, Reuben never mentioned how he died. Ascian hugged closer to his brother. Ascian would get to the bottom of this. ========== Ascian took stumbling strides forward, he wiped a hand across his face, erasing the tears from his face. He walked swiftly down the halls, away from the mourning bagpipes, away from the black clothes. Away from his father. He shouldn’t have left, even after they buried him. He should've stayed with his brother and sister, he had left them. How cowardly of him… if he was going to be king, he needed to stay strong.  But no one would blame him, right? He was just a child, on the eve of fifteen, no one would blame him for running away, then why did he feel so guilty? “Ascian.” Ascian flinched, but kept on walking. He didn't want to talk to him. “Ascian. Stop.” The authoritative rumble in the man’s voice caused the young prince to pause, Ascian tilted his head in the direction of the paladin. Reuben was clothed in a simple black tunic and trousers,  shoulder and leg armor plates tied tightly to his body and a sword sheathed to his side.  “What are you doing?” Reuben asked, stepping forward so he stood right behind the prince. Ascian realized with a jolt that he didn’t even reach his shoulder. Was he that tall? “Could’ve asked you the same thing.” Ascian retorted, lifting his chin defiantly. Reuben jerked back like he had been burned, his eyebrows knitting together, his fists began to ball up and the tall young man looked angry. Ascian looked up fearfully, would the soldier strike him? Do the same as he did Father..? Came the fleeting thought. But then… Reuben softened, and sighed long and low, the man knelt down so that Ascian was a little taller than him. The green and narrow eyes of Reuben stared into Ascian’s round and brown doe eyes. Ascian saw the grief and tears in the man’s eyes, and he couldn’t believe it.  “I know you are hurting Ash, I know you are irrational and frustrated, believe me I am too.” Reuben said, his voice thick with sorrow. “But you need to stay strong and level headed, not for me,” He added as Ascian opened his mouth, “But for your siblings. Erron and Rupert need their older brother.” “How did my father die?” Ascian murmured. “What?” Reuben asked, taken aback as the boy prince avoided the speech, the tall man leaned back, eyebrows raised. “I saw the blood on you. And- and you never- you never told us how he- how he- he died.” Ascian stuttered, his bottom lip trembling, he looked away from the paladin, he clenched his fists, “You… Did you do it? I know you’ve been fighting, and I know you can be rash.”  Reuben didn’t speak, he merely sighed and looked at the ground. Ascian didn’t stop the hot tears as he jerked away from the man, a gasp escaping his mouth morphing into a yell, “Murderer! YOU KILLED HIM!!!” He threw himself at Reuben, raising fists to punch him. But no blow landed as Reuben easily grabbed him and dragged Ascian towards a small door. Ascian struggled to get out of the soldier’s firm grasp, was this it? Was Reuben going to kill him too? Reuben roughly pushed the boy onto a stool, the young prince looked around at his surroundings, they were in a rather small supply closet, cleaning supplies draped everywhere and random objects piled on the ground. Reuben put his hands on Ascian’s shoulders. “Ash… Ash, listen closely.” The blonde’s eyes sparkled dangerously. “I did not kill Cole, what was going through your brain?” When the boy didn’t answer he continued, “I don’t know why you would think that- but your father… well he was like a brother to me, I was probably his oldest friend. I-” “Why was there blood on your hands?” Ascian said softly, he blinked several times to get the tears away. Reuben’s eyes widened partially, he leaned away from the boy as a sober expression crossed his face.  “Ascian..” He ran a calloused hand through his straw-colored hair. “I… I’m sorry I left you in the dark. I-”  His voice caught in his throat and he looked down. “We were on a walk, outside the borders… and someone, probably an assassin, shot him. I had to…” he looked at Ascian, his green eyes smoldered softly, “I had to carry him back. He was.. Covered in the nasty stuff, a mess.” Reuben looked down. Was this true? Ascian stared into Reuben’s daunting gaze, he couldn't see… he couldn’t tell, he was not like Erron, who could see the truth with a mere glance. He had to dig deeper. Maybe he would ask her later. Suddenly a hot bubbly feeling gurgled in the boy’s stomach. He bit his lip to stop the tears pooling in his eyes. Hot shame boiled in the pit of his stomach as he looked up at Reuben.  How stupid he was, to think Reuben would ever harm his father. The two were basically brothers… perhaps in his grief, he had thrown the blame? No. He thought, embarrassed. No excuses. “Reuben.” He leaned in and gave the soldier a hug. Reuben wrapped his strong arms around the boy. “I’m sorry.” “No- I am.” Reuben pulled the boy back at arm’s length, his green eyes flickering. “I should have told you sooner. No more secrets, I promise.” “Ok.” Ascian, for the first time in a while, smiled.  “But…” Reuben stooped his head down, “That goes both ways, Ascian. No secrets.” “Fine, fine.” Ascian agreed, now grinning. “Can we get out of this closet now? Thanks.”