Title: We All Fall Down
(part 1 of 2, possibly 3)
Genre: Angst. So much angst.
Characters: Mika Ver Leth. Mentions of Arra and Kurda.
Pairings: hints at unrequited past Mika/Arra but nothing really
Warnings: Mentions of character death, spoilers for book 6
Summary: He wishes he could be at their funeral but he knows not strong enough. Mika contemplates as he sits alone guarding the Stone of Blood. Basically a whole lot of drabbley angsty nothing. Lyrics are property of Toy Soldiers by Eminem

Step by step, heart to heart, left right left / We all fall down like toy soldiers / Bit by bit, torn apart, we never win / But the battle wages on for toy soldiers...

I'm supposed to be the soldier who never blows his composure / Even though I hold the weight of the whole world on my shoulders / I ain't never supposed to show it, my crew ain't supposed to know it

Mika had never truly liked being alone in the Hall of Princes. He'd held the title long enough to be reasonably comfortable with the momentous task of safeguarding the stone while his brethren had business to attend to; but sitting solitary in the massive dome had the tendency to make one feel very small.

You should be down there. He berated himself internally, fists clenching and unclenching around the arms of his throne. She'd be calling you a fool right now, hiding from your emotions up here.

He loathed every fiber of himself for being too weak to attend the cremations; for staying up here in this silent stone hall while his clan provided a fitting funeral for the men who'd died fighting on his orders. And the fierce, beautiful woman who'd been one of the more important pieces of his life.

He hadn't absorbed Arra's death yet. Truth be told, he still had trouble believing that young Darren Shan had actually bounced back from the dead to come bursting in on the investiture with a purpose. Everything that happened after that was just a fuzzy downward spiral which ultimately ended in the dark prince having to decide how he was going to spend this particular hour of his life: standing in front of a sizeable part of his clan, struggling to remain stonefaced while watching Arra's body burn, or holed up in this frigid dome, able to hear nothing but the sound of Kurda's dying screams echoing back and forth through his mind.

He alone had been the one to let go of the rope on the first drop. He remembered it vividly, standing firm on the platform overlooking the pit of stakes. The traitor blindfolded and lying on his back, trembling but silent. Looking out over the crowd, seeing Larten Crepsley's face. In that moment something had passed between the two of them, and he felt Crepsley's burning desire to be standing up here holding that rope himself, reaping atonement for the slaughter of his old mate. The prince stared back at the ex-general, steely eyes telling him; this is for her. Crepsley's curt nod told Mika he understood. He still felt the rough tug as the rope left his hands, the eerie silence that only lasted half a second, and finally the agonized screams as the traitor reached the end of his drop. It had taken 4 drops in total before the screams stopped. Arrow and Paris had taken over for the next two, and Mika finished the job as he'd started it. He'd presided over dozens upon dozens of executions, yet this would be the one to haunt him for the rest of his life. Despite his annoying philosophical speech habits and his rejection of tradition, there were times he'd considered the blonde pacifist as something of a friend.

And then suddenly the world was upside down and he had to kill him.

Life was so random and ugly and strange and Mika just couldn't wrap his head around it. Not today. He felt nauseous over it all, one minute he felt nothing but overwhelming hurt at the thought of Arra, and relished the memory of sending Kurda to his death. The next minute he was inundated with memories of a simpler time, when he'd apprenticed alongside the pacifist, among others. Kurda had been the youngest of the group, ever the precocious one. In his first year of training he'd followed Mika about like a puppy, eager to learn despite his complete incompetence when combat was concerned. The years passed and he spent time training outside of Vampire Mountain. He left as a wayward boy but returned as a man, armed with frightening wit, fierce ambition, and set of opinions that he defended with his life. And somehow that had led to this.

You didn't have to die, Smahlt. the prince thought bitterly, aching in body and mind and ready to be done with all of this. He pressed his forehead into his palm and closed his eyes, surrendering to the images of dead Kurda, dead Arra, dead Gavner… dead everyone. None of you did.

/ Even if it means goin' toe to toe with these things you know it don't matter / I'd never drag them in battles that I can handle unless I absolutely have to / I'm supposed to set an example...

TBC

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rxx