Hikaru: More angst, just for you. Do not own.

Kill him.

The boy laid asleep, the rising and falling of the tiny chest rhythmic. His brow was smooth, small hands open and relaxed, his untidy mane of rich blood-red hair splayed across the luxurious pillows. In the shadows, by the locked door, stood a young teenager. He stood still as stone, cold eyes watching the child before him lay helpless, in peaceful sleep.

The entire manor was asleep, save for Pere, the gardener. He stayed awake to keep watch tonight, especially tonight.

The young man carefully, slowly drew his blade, the metal making a satisfyingly sharp sound as it left its sheath. For years he dreamed of this moment. After this, the servants, the maids, the guards, and then the wife. As he took slow steps toward the sleeping child, he raised his sword, moonlight sharply reflected off the blade. The child was helpless. He would have no time to scream, or even to realize what would happen.

If the ones you love are killed, you hate the murderer.

He stopped short right before the bed, knuckles bleached white. The child murmured something incoherent in his sleep, shifting slightly.

Crimes must be met with punishment.

The young man thrust his blade downward.

For a time he did nothing but hold on tightly to the sword hilt, hot tears streaming down his face. The child still breathed. Still lived, unscathed, save the thin cut running red on his face.

Weeping silently, the young man yanked his sword out of the feather mattress, sheathed it. He opened the door, walked outside into the courtyard where his good friend Pere stood watch.

"Did you do it?"

The youth meekly shook his head, no.

Pere nodded knowingly, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"At fourteen, you're too soft. Too soft."

Choking down his sobs, Guy steeled his resolve.

Next time, he would not fail.