Alexios Laskaris

WHY?

One word. One inquiring syllable.

How then can it hold such gravity? How can one sudden sentiment silence the cacophony blaring in his mind? How can one drop-like thought calm the agitated waves churning in his tempestuous head? One word. And yet, it is one word that perfectly captures the essence of sorrow that burns deeply within Alexios Laskaris.

Why did he permit it to come this far? Why didn't he end it back then, back when he had been rewarded with chance after chance to bury his blade in the other's chest? Why does the vivid picture of olive eyes that had shined with tears of hurt, anger and frustration threaten to eclipse his thoughts? Why does his heart continue to throb ever so painfully within his constricting chest as he attempts to glimpse those same bright green orbs that are now concealed by a mask he knows as thoroughly as his own name?

One word. One word truly holds so many excruciating questions.

A cry springs up from the Ottomans, but it isn't declared in their general's voice, a fact that genuinely annoys Alexios. His golden-brown gaze just watches the masked figure stand silently aside while his heart continues to rebel. Alexios' right hand spams into a fist, only to spring back and drop limply at his side.

"This shall be our final call." The voice booms into the empty air. "Surrender to us Istanbul and we shall spare most of your army." The words may be in Alexios' native tongue, but nonetheless, it is laced with a thick, foreign accent that his men have to struggle to decode the threatening message. Alexios, however, understands it perfectly since he had been hearing that accent speaking to him… every night… until his trysts had supposedly ended ten distressing days prior. He scorns himself for the wave of nostalgia that washes over his mind, once again sweetly attempting to pull him under and make him give in to weakness.

Focus! He rebukes himself inwardly. Now is not the time to reminisce in what has been had and what has been lost. Now is the time to ponder and fight for what we still have and what we must keep. Do not be weak. Mourn later, when the dust has settled. But until then, you must find the strength to use you sword. Concentrate.

"Our empire has thoroughly surrounded your walls." The voice continues, its tone increasing in volume, but also taking on a more ominous depth. "Give up now, or die defying the inevitable!"

When the echoes have died down, Alexios breathes out a sigh and chokes back a sob. He does not whisper a prayer to heaven the way he normally would have – the way he had done in every battle he had fought before. He does not even bother to spare a fleeting glance at the crosses embroidered on many of his army's extensive banners. He shuns all his previous war traditions and rituals in favor of a different process.

He dons the helm previously cradled in the crook of his left arm, grimly satisfied when he hears the rustle of his men following in suit. He unhurriedly frees his sword from the scabbard at his hip, the movement so slow and stiff that he is more like to wood than man. He unties the leather sheath from his hip and lets it drop onto the dusty earth.

This day, he would either live or die with his weapons stained and unsheathed. He might as well get rid of the excess weight whilst he still has both hands intact.

Keeping his eyes on the enemy's widely spread ranks, Alexios raises the steel to his lips and presses a kiss to its cold surface before holding it out in hostility towards the Ottomans as he dips into a defensive stance.

Only one can own that kiss… and if he is to die by my blade, then at least the last kiss shall be mine alone, and not my sword's.

The tension stretches into a taut-rope like hush, pulling and fraying at the edges until it all but snaps.

A single breath. Another. One collective inhalation.

The exhale comes in the form of feral bellows and rumbling footfalls as the two conflicting sides rapidly converge in the center of the open plain… the lone expanse of land that lies between the Ottomans and Constantinople. The sound bursts forth with such ferocity that Alexios' heartbeat instinctively quickens as he is swept away by the tidal force of the radiating bloodlust. His voice instantly joins the war cry, effortlessly amalgamating with the savage screaming and at the same time being easily drowned out by the primal chorus.

It's as if the previous chaos within Alexios' mind had manifested and amplified itself exponentially into the frenzied scene unfolding before his stunned golden-brown glare.

So loud.

This sound. This hatred. This is the audible incarnation of humanity shedding all rational thought in favor of dark atrociousness. The sound is similar to Hell opening its wide maw to laugh and screech in smug defiance up at Heaven's face.

Amidst the thunderous roar of crashing flesh, flowing blood and grating steel, Alexios Laskaris, general of the withering Byzantine Empire, makes one final promise to himself before succumbing to the chant for blood and death.

I'll find him. The Ottoman general shall fall to my hands alone.

Sadik Adnan is mine.

A/N: Okay… so I made this as a birthday gift to my friend. It uses her OC, the Byzantine Empire, otherwise known as Alexios Laskaris. You can find more information as well as her design on deviantART. She goes by the name SPINNY-chair-hero. I'll try to update as soon as possible and any and all feedback is greatly welcomed. Thank you!