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Tragedy is one of many growing things in Verdania; planted and sown, nurtured and doted upon until it grows ravenous with want far beyond the sower's dreams. It takes time to set its roots, silent and insidious. But it grows all the same.
Tragedy first began with their meeting, the way tragedies begin, in the springtime of their youths. They had felt it when they met, a resonance which only grew: two notes plucked along their heartstrings as the two talked besides the crystal clear lake.
"You dance wondrous well," one remarks to the other, "with deadly timing."
"All the better," he replies, "to strike down those who dare approach our sacred green." He takes note of the approacher, one very like him in looks: a broader chest, perhaps, and longer antenna, maybe. Something about him—in spite or because of their similarity—seemed to draw them closer.
Sighing and speaking in response. "I dance as well, though not as well."
"You do yourself wrong to speak like that." He smiles and bows deeply, extending a claw. The first mistake. "By all means, I would be honored to dance together."
The charming tone of the two voices side by side resounded harmonious in the glade as the two clasped claws and danced their time away. A hypnotic twirl, a fall into a waiting arm, a toss into the air knowing with absolute certainty that the other would catch. The two danced beautifully together, and it wasn't long until they attracted a crowd of Verdanirs, all in reverence at their beauty.
Separate they stood tall and simple, but together they were one. Claw touches claw, shell touches shell, and eye meets glittering hypnotic immense and inundating eye. In that moment simple electricity passed between them, a jolt of an idea instilled; they would be together forever.
Dancing and dancing, their dance never waned until the crowd had left and they found themselves alone; there it began to lull, the two swaying in each other's arms until they lay down together on the field of clovers, one laying on the other's chest, claws wound tight around shell in the embrace of someone who had known the other for all his life.
"You dance wondrous well, too," he murmurs to his other half—to call him his lover would be presumptuous, he would have to stick with what he knew to be true. "It was my honor."
The other exhales and nestles tighter in the hold, reciprocating with claws of his own, weapons of war finding soft embrace. "I get the distinct impression that I will never dance alone again."
A holding of the breath; mere moments. The two lay embraced, somehow tighter with every passing second. "No," he agrees, "we shall never dance alone."
And an echo resounded then, in the beauty of Verdania, so faint it caught itself on the soft breathing of the two of them together and their perfectly synchronized hearbeats. It was a prophecy which echoed then. A prophecy and a curse.
"...Dance alone."
They cannot be apart. It pains them not to hold each other in their claws every second of every day, but exceptions must be made. Exceptions like hunting, hunting the great beast which eluded all before. If anyone could do it, said the echoes of Verdania, it was the lovers.
That was their title now: as maidens are maidens and mothers are mothers, the two of them were entwined together in one word, enmeshed forever: lovers. The two stand amidst a tract of forest seemingly identical to those around them, and one of them speaks.
He puts his claw on his lover's cheek before bringing it down to his shoulder, tracing the shell down to the arm and eventually into the comfortable ever-vigorous clasping of claws. He can't help himself. "The beast is near."
His lover attempts to affect a serious air, but still cannot help himself in tightening his grip on his lovers claw. "Then we must find it, no?"
"We must." A smile given, a smile returned. The two press their heads together in a moment of embrace; common for the lovers. And then, as quickly as they cleave together they cleave apart, though it pains them to do so, and begin moving.
Treading softly in the clovers, they move nimble through the stalks. Not a word exchanged, merely the following of feathery flecks of light until they see it drinking from a waterfall resolving into lake. They glance at each other, and within that glance they speak.
I love you.
I love you too.
It won't leave.
It will stay?
It wishes to settle. To rest.
We attack, then.
Find the best position.
We take the top of the waterfall.
I love you.
I love you too.
And they depart together, moving swift and soundless with the knowledge that their hearts beat perfectly together. Up a cliff thorny and steep, claws together through it all. Higher and higher they traveled in the cavern of Verdania until they crested upon its peak and looked down, where the Palestag nestled.
It was majestic, spreading its light upon the crystal clear water like a full moon as it stood divine. They would kill it, to end its pale touch upon their kingdom: a curse and blessing both at once. They had a chance like no other, and they seized upon it. With one look to confirm, the two dived off the cliff's edge together and began the chase in earnest.
It ran as it always did, gleaming and moving in flashes of light, but it wasn't enough. They were faster side-by-side, each one spurring the other on with their presence. They danced the Stag to death, claw by claw and slash by slash. It fought valiant, but died and out poured its pale blood into the green, growing it tenfold.
As they desecrated the pale corpse, they could feel the power coursing within them; it was princely power. They stood now, from lovers to Twin Princes.
"With this, Verdania shall live forever!" A lover-now-prince says to his lover-now-prince. "And we shall live forever, too."
The other lover smiles. "So we shall. Together, neverending."
"You and I, I and you..."
The joy at the prospect precluded words. They merely fell into each other and talked some more of their time away. The Green Princes of Verdania, lovely and true.
The prince's first night in their capital was love like all the rest of their nights, but distinguished itself unique. Now they stood high in the world, high enough that they knew they would have to think beyond their love and into the broader world. Tonight, though, would be the last of their singular love; perhaps that was their mistake.
They lay in their bed, woven together into so tight a tangle that only they knew where one ended and where the other began.
One murmurs to the other in a low rumble, inaudible to any listeners-in. "I love you."
"I love you too." It was how they began any conversation and it was how they ended any conversation; perfect clockwork.
"I love this place."
"I do too."
"I wish never to leave these happy days."
"Neither do I."
"I wish never to leave our sacred land."
"Not for the world?"
The words give him pause. "What world else?"
"I would like to see the world when it grows peaceful."
The words make him laugh. "Will it ever grow peaceful?"
"I believe it will."
The words overbound his heart with love. "For your sake, I'll believe it."
"We can make it peaceful, you and I."
"Our peace will be now. No use to think to the future. Even if it can be done, it will not be done tonight."
"Our peace..."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
In that love, a prince makes a silent vow. A vow as a prince, a lover, a dancer.
May we live entwined forever.
Who can say if the world listened?
Tragedy unfurls its petals in all their color one baleful day in Verdania where the Prince wakes up cold and alone. Instantly his world begins to shake with rage. He asks, he searches, he orders and beckons all his subjects—tired from their war with the Citadel—to search for his other half.
He has never been alone and what is worse than being alone is the stark feeling that he—your other half, your love, your life—decided to leave. It is a pit which opens up in the poor prince-now-lonely's stomach and one which widens and widens as he cannot be found.
A letter can be found. The prince-now-alone reads this letter again and again, trying to find any hidden meaning within its text. The connection he had once had was nowhere to help, only informing him that what lay in the letter was the truth unadorned.
The prince-now-lonely runs. He fights his way through the Citadel's walls, slamming through with blasts of wind and sharpened claws. Through the meaningless shrines and prisoners. Through the cages and through the gears and machines which sustain the world until he sees his lover, but his lover is nowhere to be found.
They are one; their hearts beat together, and the prince-now-lonely cannot tell whether its quickening is his own or his other half's. '
He moves and moves again. He fights like a madman, the pompous dance forgotten in his delirium until a chorus brings him his lover unbound but unmoving.
He looks into his lover's eyes—glittering and determined—and their words whirl inside their head.
I love you.
No. You can't leave.
For our peace.
Our peace? You're sacrificing yourself.
For our sacred lands. You love them so.
I'll fight them all. I'll win.
But Verdania would lose.
Please don't do this.
The prince-resigned-to-death bows his head, averting his eyes. I love you too.
An architect moves its many-jointed arm around the prince-resigned-to-death like a serpent and the prince-lonelier-than-ever cannot bear it.
He runs to his lover but his lover with a glance stops him in his track. He is like ice. He will think about this moment every waking second of his life from now on; that last glance, steel determination. What in it stopped him?
His heartbeat burned in his ear as he felt it quicken, sharp and clear. His heart now beats in cut time, the heart of an elder, burning with tragedy. What in his lover's gaze made him stop fighting?
He didn't know, though, as he sank to his knees. He saw it with his foresight, a gift or curse from the Palestag; the figures his lover would become. Dancers devoid of love, nothing more than guards.
He saw then, too, the fate of his sacred land.
He did not resist, as choirbugs took him away. He could have killed them, he could have shaken this cursed Citadel to its core. But what was the point?
His land would day. His other half was gone.
Green princes two, now one.
The Green Prince stood then, in his cell, replaying that final moment.
He wished he had said I love you one final time.
It was all he could think about.
The Green Prince is alone, standing over half of a mangled other half, freed by one who cares not for his plight and has no reason to. For who remembers Verdania?
He warbles that low thrumming warble with all the words he wishes he could have said in life.
I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I'm sorry I'm sorry I should have stopped you I should have stopped you What made you do it What made you do it Why did you think you could do it Why did you think you could do it I told you so I told you so I told you so I love you I love you I love you I love you I
He knows what the Red Maiden is here for. She's here for his heart.
He wraps himself in his smile, a heavy and cold mantle. At least someone may make use of it.
He sings as she enters his memory and he is allowed one final time to dream of Verdania.
He is allowed his happiness one final moment. One final rest in the glade. One final hunt.
One final dance with his other half.
I love you.
I love you too.