Summary: Overwhelmed with his desire to see his true love again, Zeldris confronts Meliodas for the truth. Set just before chapter 258 of the manga.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I realized I haven't done a lot of Gelda/Zeldris content lately so I decided to write a oneshot. Please enjoy. Much thanks to EJR Horselady for the late night beta and to woundedowl for knowing exactly what my writing always needs.

Zeldris sat in the throne of Camelot, his eyes trained on the floor. He had sent Cusack away some time ago, needing some time to breathe, time to think. His hands gripped the arms of the throne, ignoring the ache of his knuckles as his fingertips dug into the carved wood. A splinter pierced his palm, but again he paid it no mind. His attention was on other, darker things.

The evening wore on, the castle echoing occasionally with a footstep or a breeze. It had been hours since his tutor had effectively rid the world of the king of Camelot. Where that witch had taken him he could wager a guess, but it did not matter. If he had somehow survived the holy sword through his body this long, it was just a question of when he would succumb to his injuries.

It should have filled him with elation. He should be rejoicing in the extermination of one more pesky but ultimately useless human. One less soul to conquer, one more step closer to the throne of the demon king. Yes, despite his brother's appearance and his unquestioned power, Zeldris still held onto the idea that he might be the one to succeed his father. It had been his goal for so long that it was hard to give it up so easily.

Instead, the emptiness of Camelot reflected the absurdity of the war. What had he won? A pile of stone? A deserted kingdom? It wasn't what he wanted. Even the rule of the demon clan wasn't what he wanted, simply another means to an end.

He knows. He knows he knows he knows heknows heknow—

Suddenly his arms were shaking, and Zeldris was overcome with the urge to move, to find what it is he came back to Britannia for, what every damn thing he had done up until this moment was for. Surging to his feet he nearly ran down the steps of the dais, his feet pounding on marble as he strode up one corridor after another, his hearts beating wildly as he searched for the one person who had answers.

The one person who knew his secret, and who could bring his deliverance.

When he found him, Meliodas was staring out the window of a meeting room. Zeldris noted that it faced north, where a faint glow could be seen in the far distance of the early evening. The sky had turned to shades of violet and navy, with only the Hydra visible, the stars of its two horns flickering brightly in the darkening shade. Zeldris felt a twinge of nostalgia to see his brother standing to observe the old constellations; the Hydra was a favorite of theirs, since it was a beast of the demon realm.

But those days had been gone a long time. "Meliodas," he said sternly. "A word."

Meliodas turned to glance over his shoulder. "It is never just a word with you, Zeldris," he quipped.

If it weren't for the eyes of black ink and the scowl of the demon prince, Zeldris might have thought he was telling a joke. "You still plan to do this? Even without them all?"

"Yes." Meliodas turned back to the window in dismissal.

There was a pause, and Zeldris clenched his fists. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It will work."

"But what if—"

"Zeldris." His name cut him off effectively as Meliodas slowly turned. The way he looked at him now was the way his brother had always looked, back then, before her. It was how he looked at everyone and anyone, whether it was a tutor, a servant, an enemy, a king. Yet Zeldris had never experienced the quiet warning of his glower before their most recent meeting. For him, Meliodas always had the tinge of amusement and the shimmer of pride in his expression.

"What is it you really want?" he asked, his tone hinting at his boredom with the topic already. "Surely you aren't that concerned about me."

Zeldris drew himself up, his chest rising and falling with a heavy breath. "You will be facing the king with only half the power you need. That's only if Estarossa returns with his prizes." He swallowed, readying himself for the argument to come. "It may not be enough. You've been gone for too long, perhaps you've forgotten the sheer magnitude of the king's strength. You cannot hope to defeat him with any possible surety."

"I will defeat him," Meliodas replied firmly.

"But how do you know?" Zeldris growled. He crossed the room to get closer, his jaw clenching in his agitation. "How can you be so sure?"

Meliodas gazed back at him, nothing revealed in his eyes. "Because I must."

Now he was truly annoyed, and Zeldris huffed in frustration. "Because of her? That goddess? You think that is enough to give you the power necessary to take the power of the king?"

"Yes," answered Meliodas, his chin lowering, his voice laced with a threat. "I believe that. It is the only way."

"The only way for you." The words tasted bitter in Zeldris' mouth. "I want the location you promised, before you do this. I can't leave my fate to chance."

His brother snorted. "This is hardly chance. I know what I'm doing—"

"But you don't know! You can't!" Only his rising panic would allow Zeldris to interrupt his brother in this state, and Meliodas raised his brows. But Zeldris continued on, "Nothing in this life is sure, I would think you to know that better than anyone. How many lives have you lived anyway? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? And yet you're still so naive. Such a fool."

Meliodas stayed infuriatingly even, so Zeldris shouted, "Well I won't be! I won't let my fate be dictated by another, not anymore. You will tell me that location, so if you die from taking in the decrees, or the king slices you in half, I can still get what I want. You owe me."

He could feel his demon mark burning, nearly pulsing, magic begging to be released from the careful, tight control of his resolve. Oh, what Zeldris would give to pull his sword and have his head, to watch it roll across the floor in a crimson wave and laugh as the dreams of his brother and his father died here, in the kingdom of humans. To finally be rid of the shadow that covered him, to be the only one left who would be heir, king, power itself. Surely by raising his voice his brother would lash out, throwing a punch or a kick that would allow him to unleash some retaliation and spend some of this anxiety through fighting and killing, the only thing he could ever do, the only reason for his existence.

When Meliodas smirked and turned back to the window, the shock of not being attacked jerked him from the dark fantasy. "I owe you," Meliodas murmured, as if tasting the words. "Owe you for what? Only allowing you to cut off one of my arms?"

With a growl Zeldris pushed in front of him, blocking his view of the window. "You owe me," he snapped, only inches from his face. "You promised me. You promised me you would help me."

Finally the veneer began to crack, and he saw anger starting to tint Meliodas' eyes. Good. "I will tell you where—"

"Not now, you bastard!" Zeldris shouted. "Then! When the king condemned them to death and I—"

He choked on the words as he stepped backwards until he hit the sill of the window. He was trembling again, drawing in one deep breath after another, the effort almost painful.

Meliodas' eyes narrowed on him. Was it possible he didn't remember? Their last conversation, the last time he had gone to his brother for advice, his mind and soul screaming with the task set on his shoulders. No one could refuse the king, no one. Zeldris' death would not save the vampire clan; since his revival he had thought on more than one occasion that death would have been preferable to this.

"I remember," said Meliodas.

A burning sensation rose in his throat. Zeldris was unsure if he would cry or scream or vomit at the confession, but he felt as though he could crumple to the floor, or slice through his brother where he stood.

"You remember," he said slowly. "You remember what you said?"

"Yes. I promised I would help you. And I didn't," Meliodas replied slowly.

"Because you left," Zeldris finished. "You left us for her."

He expected Meliodas to give an excuse, or even try a denial. Instead, he said, "I had to. The command he gave you was a warning for me."

"A warning for you," echoed Zeldris. Bile rose in his throat. "A warning for you. For you! For you and that vile woman, you mean. My pain, my sacrifice, was nothing more than a warning for you!?"

His voice pitched into a scream, his words punctuated as his fist banged on the glass window. It cracked, leaving pieces in his skin, and with a roar Zeldris swung. He did not dare to presume Meliodas would simply stand there and take the hit, and he was not disappointed. However, Meliodas only stepped to the side and did not retaliate, leaving Zeldris to fall to the ground with the sheer force of his swing.

Zeldris slammed his palm on the ground, cracking the floor this time, his body vibrating with the hate and the power that came from it. Meliodas stood over him, and he could not bear to look up into his brother's eyes. "Yes," the demon said. "It was a warning for me. You don't have to like it, or even accept it. But you know it was the truth."

"You loved her," whispered Zeldris. Something odd was happening to his vision, white spots in his eyes, the shape of the patterned tile underneath him going blurry. "You have seen her die. You might not love her now but you know what this is like."

"Get a hold of yourself," Meliodas hissed. "Gelda is alive."

Zeldris whirled around, stumbling to his feet and facing his brother with a snarl. "Don't say her name!" he shouted, cringing inside at how wild and out of control he sounded. Zeldris was an executioner, a role that required a steady head and a precise hand, a tight restraint on emotion and pride. It sickened him to behave like this, and his vision swam again, something blurring in front of his eyes.

Meliodas frowned. "You're crying."

It was impossible—Zeldris had only cried once in his life. He had always been stoic, cool, superior to all other demons save one. Not through the beatings from the tutors and the frightening rages from his father, the bloody screams of those crushed under the demons. Even later, with her, when something inside him broke open and awoke, he never cried. Not when she whispered his name, or when their lips brushed together, or when he held her as she trembled under the sounds of the demon army. Not even as he stood in the ruins of Edinburgh, staring into the crater in the earth, knowing he would never see her again.

Only once had he cried, the day he betrayed her.

His cheeks bloomed with his shame. Zeldris spun and stormed towards the door, but halted when Meliodas called out, "Wait."

Zeldris clenched his fists, waiting for a taunt. "I was wrong," he said over his shoulder. "I thought you would understand, but I can see that I was wrong."

There was a pause, and then Meliodas replied, "I do understand. Leave your decree and head east. Six miles past Edinburgh there is a valley between two hills. You'll find a cabin there."

Blinking rapidly, his breath caught in his throat. Meliodas simply turned and went back to the window, folding his arms and resuming his vigil over Britannia.

Zeldris was frozen. He stood several yards from the cabin, staring at the simple home.

A thin stream of smoke rose from the chimney, a little garden growing on the side, and he wondered: could this be true? His eyes trailed over the building, his hand clenching unconsciously as he thought of her here. The princess of vampires, here, in this place? They were surrounded by silence, not even a bird or a squirrel to be seen, not even the leaves rustling with a breeze. It was as if time itself had stopped.

He walked forward as if in a dream, the air feeling too hot and too thick, as though the pressure of this moment could be felt outside of him and all around him. The stillness was moving, perhaps responding to his energy? Adrenaline was now coursing through him, and he moved a bit faster, his boots quiet against the grass. Blood pounded in his ears as his pulse raced, the door getting closer and closer.

Zeldris stepped up to the door, wondering what to do. Should he knock? Should he call her name? What would he do if he found the home empty? Meliodas could have lied. He wanted his decree and the curse broken. Maybe if his brother could feel something he could be sure, but Zeldris was not convinced.

He stood there for several agonizing moments, rubbing his palms on his thighs. It was too tight, too real, all at once. The fear that she wasn't there was now replaced by the agony of her being there. What could he possibly say to her? What if she had moved on, forgotten him even? He closed his eyes, picturing her face, still perfect and detailed inside his imagination. He knew every shape and curve and color, could still hear her voice and feel her touch, still felt the twist in his stomach at the thought of having her, of belonging to her.

Fear gripped his chest. Zeldris never had deserved her, and still didn't. He decided to go, and wait, and leave her in his heart. That way neither of them could be hurt again. Believing she was alive and safe was enough.

Then the door opened. Blue eyes and blonde hair fell into his vision, the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, her expression going into shock. Neither could move, and then she said his name, and Zeldris had her in his arms as the tears began to fall.