Dak Territories Fic

[icarus_chained]

Title: If One Must Die
Rating: PG-13
Universe: The Dak Territories
Genre: Adventure/Fantasy
Characters/Pairings: Meruk, Beren, Aruk, Jung, Daes
Summary: They've reached the Shrine of Solinas. And if Aruk is to regain his divinity, one of them must die.
Wordcount: 1431
Prompt: No-win Situation
Warnings/Notes: Possibly slightly overblown. Follows directly from 'One Day More'
Claimer: All mine

If One Should Die

They stopped at the entrance to the Shrine, just before the white paved edge of the courtyard, all at once and purely by shared instinct, shared apprehension. Aruk tilted his chin up, proud and melancholy God of War. Beren moved to his side, a strange alliance, but the Guilder looked as natural at his enemy's side as if he'd been born there. Daes moved to stand beside him, honour guard and friend, but Meruk caught his arm, shook his head. The older soldier glared at him, furious that he would not even allow Beren a friend in death. Meruk said nothing, his command in his eyes, implacable, and Daes gave way with ill grace, taking up his place with Jung beside and slightly behind his God.

Beren and Aruk watched the little interplay, the God with a frown, a surprising degree of anger in his eyes. Aruk was as honourable as he was savage, and Meruk knew he disapproved. Beren, on the other hand, merely smiled obliquely, imperturbable as always. Meruk raised his head, hand resting calmly on his sword, staring him down until at last, with that same strange smile, the Guilder looked away, forward to the Shrine and his death.

Then, and only then, did Meruk move forward to stand at his side, shoulder to shoulder, not as a guard but as a brother, his sword arm positioned to act as Beren's shield.

The Guilder started, turning to look at him in genuine astonishment, and for a moment Meruk only looked blankly back. And then, for the first time in days, he found himself smiling, a swift, smug flash of teeth in the man's face. Beren stared, disbelieving, then there was a roar of laughter as Aruk reached around him to clap Meruk solidly on the shoulder, pride and rich approval in his eyes. Behind him, Meruk could see Daes' snarled grin, mixed love and exasperation, and even Jung watched with his pale, distant smile. Meruk grinned at them, his men, his God. And his friend. Beren was shaking his head, slowly, incredulously, but there was warmth in his eyes, and the faintest flicker of a smile over his weary mouth, and Meruk knew beyond doubt that he had done the right thing, made the right decision. Beren was one of his men, now, and would be defended as such.

And then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed, and once more they faced the Shrine, stiff and fearful, proud and unflinching. To a man. Meruk wondered if he had ever been so proud to be who he was, to serve who he did, to stand beside who he did. Maybe not. Maybe not. But he was now, and that was all that counted.

They moved forward into the temple together, the three Order soldiers a defensive ring around the God and the Guilder, Aruk himself slightly ahead of them, striding forward with all the arrogant surety of a God. But after the time with him as a mortal, there was not one of them that didn't see the fear in the line of his back, the courage in the set of his face. And there was not a one of them that would not serve him all the more gladly because of it.

They stopped at the base of the dais, all but Aruk, who moved to the altar itself, a bare stretch of golden marble, containing only three objects. A lamp. A bowl.

And a knife.

The War God stopped, standing over the stone, looking down at the blade, a strange, terrible expression on his face. Pain. Doubt. Need. He reached down, very slowly, almost fearfully, and picked up the knife, the blade fitting the way all blades fit in his hand, but this one he held with something like disgust, rather than appreciation. This one, he held as if it were cursed. And then, he looked up. Looked down at them. At one of them. They all followed his gaze, as if compelled, looking with trepidation and something close to pain at the Guilder. At Beren.

Who smiled his oblique little smile, straightened his shoulders, and walked with calm, steady steps to Aruk's side. He stopped at the edge of the altar, the knife between him and the God, his hand resting lightly on the yellow stone. It shook, that hand. But only barely.

Aruk stared at him, met his eyes, the God's face twisting with pain and self-disgust. Beren stared calmly back for a moment, silently, then tilted his head, a broad, genuine smile creasing his face, and reached out to rest his hand on Aruk's shoulder. The God blinked, stunned. Beren laughed a little, at that. "Gods can't die," he said, gently, and he took Aruk's hand, the one that held the knife, and raised it carefully to rest over his heart. "Did no-one ever tell you, my lord?"

Aruk stared, agonised, shaking his head, and his hand, his hand that had slain thousands, his hand that had been formed wrapped around a weapon, his hand that wrapped itself around countless enemy throats ... that hand shook as if with a palsy, feeble against the calm acceptance in the Guilder's eyes.

And Meruk couldn't bear it.

Striding forward in an instant, uncaring for maybe the first time in his life of his disrespect in the temple of a God, he stopped at Beren's side, glaring fiercely as the man blinked at him, and reached out to catch his Lord's wrist and pull the blade to his own heart. They stared at him, Aruk and Beren both, with stricken expressions.

"If any man here must die for his God, my Lord," he said simply, clear and proud. "It should be his Commander!"

There was utter stillness for a long moment, as if no dared breath, all staring at him in shock. Meruk felt vaguely proud of the effect, actually, almost relishing the shocked expressions. For a whole minute, he stood at the center of their little tableau, a noble and sacrificing figure, as if from one of the old paintings he'd admired as a child, and selfishly he rather enjoyed that minute.

Then Daes' snort of laughter ruined it, the old man wheezing with humour as he and Jung appeared at Meruk's side. He turned to glare at them, sharp words rising to the tip of his tongue, and falling away again as he took in his old friend's expression. Daes smiled at him, a father to a son, and it was an expression he had not seen in such a long time that he froze, uncomprehending. And then Daes gently reached forward to put his palm between the blade and Meruk's chest, and push him gently back from it.

"And if anyone here must die for his Commander," Jung commented lightly, his pale eyes warm and more present than they had ever been. "It should be his most loyal men." He paused, tilting his head with a wry smile, and added gently. "Sir."

Meruk stared at them, these two who had stood by him longest of all, these two who alone had survived the massacre of the Order to stand at his side as he helped his mortal God, these two who had worried that he might be too alone in a campsite on a mountain, these two who glared and laughed and loved him with all they had. And never, not in all his life, had he ever felt such a rich swell of love than he did in that moment, a swell that reached out to include Aruk's dark, pained eyes, Beren's strange, fathomless half-smile. These men. These four men. His. All of them.

"No." Aruk spoke suddenly, startling them all, and as one they turned to look at him. He looked at them, looked from face to face, to Jung's aloof innocence, Daes' ancient humour, Meruk's untarnished love, Beren's gentle confidence. He looked at all of them, then down at the blade in his hand, his only hope for a divinity, for a return to immortality. A blade that must be bathed in someone's lifeblood, before he had a chance. He looked at that knife for a long minute, then back to them with the strangest smile Meruk had ever seen on his cruel face.

And he cast then knife away.

"If any man here should die," Aruk said softly, proudly, the God of War in all his stern and martial glory. "It should be a God for his men."

In that instant, as if prompted by his words, the lamp on the altar went out, and a flood of shadow filled the Shrine.