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emmaekay · 6 years

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Kotonari II - Castle, part 3

AN: This is the final part of “Castle!” This fic is gonna be long as hell, based on the fact that I’m two chapters deep and already at 13k words. Reminder f you’re just tuning in, Kotonari is the sequel to Keiyaku - read that first or spoil that story for yourself - check the “vegebul au” tag on my blog for the Keiyaku master post. For the other parts of Kotonari, check the “vegebul au” or “kotonari” tags.

This chapter is explicit!

Chapter II - Castle, part 3

The boy stood atop the highest rampart of the tallest tower on the castle in Asket, and he looked at the land that could have been. That still could be. Vegetasei was still verdant, lush, alive. The rivers still ran clean and clear. The hills were unblasted, whole. The only thing that looked the same to him were the roads - hard beaten, red, winding, eternal.

This could have been home.

This should have been home.

The boy stood there, in the descending darkness, and he felt alone and afraid - yet hopeful and happy. If he was in time, he could go home to a home just like this one. If he was in time, he could meet his mother. If he was in time, he could go back and grow up with his sister. If he was in time, he could have his true father.

If he was in time, the boy would have a name.

If he was in time.

But for now, the boy stood on the battlement and wondered where to begin.

---

Vegeta held his head in his hands. What have I done? What have I done? What have I done? Again and again, some dark part of himself admonished him over and over and over again. What have I done? Murderer. Coward. Dishonorable one.

“I’m not!” Vegeta spoke aloud, head still in his hands, fighting against the darkness inside himself. “I’m not - I didn’t mean - I -”

You killed him. Not in combat. Not in a match. In anger. Murderer.

“He fought back - he was strong enough to defend himself - why wouldn’t he block my -”

You fought dirty. Coward! Just like when you froze, a helpless fool while your wife died and your children cried for her.

“BULMA’S NOT DEAD!”

You saw her. She’s dead and you might as well have killed her. You failed her. Coward.

Vegeta screamed in his agony, still clutching his head in his hands, crumpling to his knees on the ground. Why wouldn’t this voice just shut up, why wouldn’t it just go away? Only a day ago, only a day ago, he was happy with her. He was happy with his children. He was a Prince.

Now you’re just a madman. Murderer. Coward. Dishonorable one. Fool.

Over and through him, the darkness swelled, calling out every insecurity he had ever felt.

Everything good dies because of you. Tarble. Bulma. Everything you love dies because of you.

Vegeta remembered the night he realized what he felt for Bulma, and the scene surrounded him. He remembered the night that his mother declared the conditions of the antefasting battle, how desperate he’d been to protect Bulma. Through memory, he lifted away from himself on the ground and saw Bulma, featherlight and aloft in the silver clouds as he held her. He remembered the silken soft crook of her neck, as he’d buried his face against her. “Do you trust me with your life?” He asked her that, and she only begged – “Don’t drop me.”

“I will never let you go.” You lied.

“I will never, never allow anyone to hurt you.” You killed her.

“Nothing will hurt you. Nothing will hurt you, so long as I live.” You should pay for your betrayal in blood.

“Never, never, never,” he tried to tell the memory of her, tried to block out the blackness that tainted the memory of her. “Never, never, never,” he told her, kissing her flesh over and over again as she melted away from him in the moonlight. But instead of coming back to him, as she had that night, alive and on fire with her love, she slipped away - through his fingers like mist.

And in his mind’s eye, only the shadow remained. The darkest part of himself - the one who bathed in blood on planets unknown, the one who mercilessly killed in arena matches, the one who lead his father’s armies as the general of a hundred secret missions never acknowledged by open war, the one who consumed women like water and never loved anyone but himself. The worst part of his nature took shape before his eyes.

Murderer. Coward. Dishonorable one. Madman. Fool. Weakling.

Vegeta turned away from himself. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

The shadow swirled around him. Murderer. Coward. Dishonorable one. Madman. Fool. Weakling. Liar.

The darkness overtook him, filled his mind until it was the only thing that remained. His hands fell away from his face and he stood – but the man who stood was in no way the same man who had fallen to his knees in shame and grief just moments ago. Now, Vegeta stood with darkness filling his soul and ebony eyes dyed blood red.

If pain was all he had left, let it be spread.

If hate was all that remained, let it be shared

If the Princess was dead, let the Prince die, too.

No more peace. No more love. No more – for anyone.

---

Daiku’s boots hit the Prince’s estate lawn running, Dende bouncing frenetically under one arm. Daiku burst through the front door. “Beri!”

Beri’s head poked around a corner and she ran through the long dark hallway toward her husband. Dende ended up squashed between the two Saiyans in their furious embrace. 22 hours of separation wasn’t much, but the stress and indecision Daiku had been under had passed through the Keiyaku to Beri. The fear and sadness Beri had been feeling had passed through to Daiku. Both were desperate for the other’s presence and comfort – to be reunified with their mate, their battle partner, their destined one.

“Um-hellooo? Small man being suffocated.” Dende interrupted and the two came apart with a spring.

“Is this?” Beri asked her husband.

“The doctor.” Daiku nodded.

“Oh!” Beri snatched Dende’s little hands in her own. “Please, you must come now, please help her.”

“Y…es.” Dende thought about pointing out the fact that the only ones preventing him from doing so were Daiku and Beri, but thought better of it. Daiku hadn’t eaten for over a day and Dende was small – Elder only knows if Saiyans would eat Namekians, but Dende thought it best not to push it.

Beri half lead, half drug the healer down the hall and straight through the door to the bed chamber without knocking.

Queen Pea was sitting on the bed, aglow in her super Saiyan form, holding Bulma’s hand. The Queen still had the younger woman wrapped in her power, and Dende watched the Princess breath in the Queen’s same rhythm. Their lifeforces were linked, both their eyes closed. Bulma’s in the dreamless sleep of the dead – the Queen’s in the deep meditation of a spirit guide.

Dende recognized the scene – it had happened in Newnamek Village once. One of their people had been nearly killed when a house collapsed on top of him. It was only a few years after they had first gotten to Vegetasei and the dirt here made bad bricks when compared to their homes back on Namek. The poor man was crushed. Immediately, one of the Elders let all his ki flow at once into the dying man, while another man entered a meditative state and connected his ki with them both.

The first man kept the crushed one alive, and the second man went into the spirit world to shepherd his soul back into his body.

The man survived.

Dende pushed up his sleeves and headed toward the bed. He peeled back the blankets from Bulma, as Daiku and Beri stood in the doorway. Having assisted in quite a few complicated Saiyan births, Dende was no stranger to the parts involved – but there was always a husband or mate nearby, usually ready to rip Dende’s throat out for looking at his woman’s … parts.

Namekian births were just so much cleaner. Safer. Better in general, Dende thought. No one died in Namekian birth – just an egg and a hatching and a little water and sunlight: instant Namekian. Saiyan births were… honestly, Dende thought they were gross. All blood and goop and afterbirth and screaming and milk and ugh.

As Dende lifted the fabric of Bulma’s wrappings, Daiku and Beri both stepped forward a few feet into the room. “Here now!” “What are you looking –“

Dende turned around and shot them both a sardonic glance. “Namekians are sexless. I can’t fix her if I can’t see her injuries.”

Daiku glowered on the spot, but Beri was unconvinced. “Do you need… assistance?” I’m watching you, green bean.

Dende chuckled. “Yes, thank you. You’ll have to hold her legs.”

Beri regretted the offer, but there was nothing to be done now. She would have to safeguard her lady’s honor – up close and personal. Beri was taller than Dende anyway, so when he sat down on a stool at the edge of the bed, she loomed over top of him, one hand on each of Bulma’s knees as her peered in to look for an obvious wound.

“She’s still bleeding, so that will have to stop first. The placentas are still attached and her womb is ruptured. I can fix her womb, but the placenta has to come out first.”

Dende stood up, momentarily eliciting a growl from Daiku as Beri’s ample breasts topped his head and slid off.

“Daiku,” Dende admonished lightheartedly. “Sexless.” He pointed to himself.

Daiku rolled his eyes and clicked his teeth as Dende moved to the head of the bed. His hands glowed white and he stared down as he examined Bulma’s skull. “She had an aneurysm as well. That has to be healed first.” The glow of his hands changed, white light to softest gold. Dende’s eyes were closed now, and his breathing synced up with Bulma’s and the Queen’s. He hummed softly, a soothing tune, and swayed almost imperceptibly from side to side.

Beri and Daiku could only watch, as moments stretched into minutes that stretched on into an hour. Dende stood, swaying and humming and glowing – then stopped and fell straight to the floor.

Daiku rushed forward and hauled Dende up. “You alright?”

“She’s not Saiyan.” Dende blinked. “Close, but not Saiyan.”

“No. She’s not. She’s an Earthling,” Beri said, next to her husband in a flash. “Is that a problem, can you not heal her?”

“Oh, no, I fixed her brain. It was just… very different to a Saiyan brain. How long did it take me?”

“About an hour, I think,” Daiku told him.

“An hour! I’ve fixed worse injuries on a Saiyan in five minutes. No wonder I fell.”

“Do you need anything?” Beri asked, anxiously – the last thing she needed was another unconscious charge. “Some food?”

Daiku’s eyes lit up at the mention of food. He was starving. Dende, true to his story of his people’s ability to go without, requested only a large vessel of water, which Beri retrieved immediately. Dende drained the vessel completely, drinking it all down in one long gulp. “Can you fill this again?” he asked Beri, handing the vessel back to her.

When she returned with the vessel, Dende focused his ki over top of it, hands glowing that same golden light. The water changed from clear to a shimmering milky white. He handed the vessel back to Beri. “Take this vessel and pour the entire contents, little by little, into Bulma’s mouth. Make sure she swallows it. Tip up her head a little so she doesn’t drown.”

Beri’s hands shook as she took the Princess’s head in one hand and held the vessel in the other. Drown? I’m not a healing woman, I’m a house keeper and a dressing woman! Daiku crossed the room and took the vessel from his woman’s hands. “Hold her head. I will give her the drink.”

Beri tipped Bulma’s chin down and her mouth opened. “Yes, that’s about right,” Daiku assured her.

“Given a lot of unconscious people drink, Daiku?” Dende asked from the foot of the bed.

“I’m an arena fighter. People get knocked out all the time.”

“Don’t you have healing staff to do the healing?”

“I’m a nice guy.” He began tipping the drink into Bulma’s mouth. Bit by bit, Bulma swallowed down the drink, as Beri kept her head positioned just-so and Daiku poured in tiny measures. She never sputtered and after watching for just a little while, Dende was satisfied with their assistance and turned his attention to the Queen.

She was, to an outside view, just sitting with her eyes closed, breathing deeply and seeming peacefully. To Dende’s eyes, she was a storm of ki, a rapid flowing white water river in an endless loop through Bulma’s body and her own. The flow was still strong – it was actually incredible. In Namekians, it usually took two or three to do what the Queen was accomplishing on her own; one to heal the body, one to support the lifeforce, and one other to go into the spirt world to retrieve the injured person’s soul before it became completely disconnected from the body.

Dende wondered how long she’d been at it, and whether she’d been able to contact Bulma’s spirit yet.

---

Bulma was laying on her bed, in their bedroom. Silver moonlight poured through the windows and she could hear the shower running in the other room.

“Vegeta?” she called out, but there was no response from the bathing chamber.

Bulma rolled over and stood up in the bed. There was wine and cheese on the bedside table, her clothes all over the floor, Vegeta’s suit thrown over a chair.

Are those my clothes?

Is this my bedroom?

Bulma wandered over to the bedside table and picked up a wineglass as a cloud slid away from the moon and the silvery light intensified. Bulma looked up at the moon in a haze.

What night is this?

At the edge of Bulma’s mind, she remembered that moon. Remembered that sky. Remembered this wine. She took a sip and her mouth was flooded with the juicy, jammy oak and cherry taste, smoke on the finish that lingered like Vegeta’s kisses down her neck.

“I know what night this is,” she said aloud. She recognized the white gossamer dress on the floor now – her tea dress. The antefasting battle had been announced and Vegeta had flown her high up into the clouds, away from the castle and away from the truth that couldn’t be unuttered. He’d whispered love into her neck, kissed it into her chest, slid it into her with his hands and his manhood. She remembered how the clouds swirled around them, how she felt as she flew with him.

She remembered feeling fear – of tomorrow, of the battle, of this ferocious and undeniable love – and she remembered feeling free and as happy as she had ever been.

After he made love to her under the silver moon, they’d come home to find the King’s proclamation on their door, and he’d ripped it into bits before picking her up and carrying her to their bed. She remembered how his eyes looked – soft and sweet and longing. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, setting her down gently on the bed.

He left the room and came back with a tray in his hands and a bottle of wine. “Beri left this out for us, I thought you might want dinn-“

Bulma had shed her dress and stood naked under the open window, facing him. Alabaster skin shining as the moonlight flowed around her every curve and through the tiny opening between her thighs. She looked like Elatha herself had descended from her kingdom on the moon to choose a lover from mere mortals. Vegeta felt unworthy to stand before her, so he crossed the room and got down on his knees, kissing her belly and sliding his hands up her legs, up her thighs, around the sweet swell of her soft hips.

Bulma ran her hands through his hair as he bent his head lower and lifted one of her legs up over his shoulder. She leaned back on the windowsill, standing on one leg and supporting herself on her arms on the window’s little ledge. He buried his face in her, nuzzling her most sensitive spots, diving into her with his tongue and running his fingertips over and in and around her wetness. She shook and quivered under his insistent but tender ministration, soon tightening her grip in his hair and throwing back her head, crying out in ecstacy as her standing leg gave out.

Vegeta caught her in his strong arms and laid her down before him on the floor underneath the window, where the moonlight lit her brilliant eyes and crystalline hair, before covering her up with his own body, consuming her entirely in a kiss and in his love.

---

“Oh my.” Queen Pea snapped awake, muttering. “Oh dear. Oh my.” She was blushing hard and tried to hide her embarrassment from the rest of the room by covering her face with her hands. Daiku and Beri were on the bed, a little green man near its foot.

Wait a minute! Little green man!

“Are you the doctor?” Queen Pea cried out.

“Oh! You’re awake! Hello! Yes, I’m Dende.” The little green fellow smiled at the Queen. “Are you alright? You’re terribly flushed.”

“Ha ha,” the Queen laughed drily, “Yes I’m fine. The minds of the young are an… intense place. Who knew that the last time Bulma had had wine would have turned into that!”

“Into what?” Dende asked innocently.

“Nevermind that,” Daiku interrupted. “The Princess has consumed the drink, Dende.”

“Oh good. It should start to work very soon.” Dende turned again to the Queen. “Were you able to find her soul?” The Queen’s eyes widened and she raised a brow, regal but quizzical. “I know what you’re doing, of course.” Dende confirmed. “It’s a Namekian technique.”

The Queen’s face remained composed, a mask of indifference even though she felt caught out. Yes, it was a technique she’d learned from a few Namekian soldiers on a battlefield, long ago. But did he have to say it? Leave a Queen some mystery, thank you. “Yes, I have had contact with her soul several times, and the first physical tether was made just now.”

“Good! I have healed her brain injury and I will be removing the inflammation in her womb now before healing that area and the internal bleeding. She should be able to return to her body soon.”

Dende returned to the foot of the bed and to his work of making the Princess well again.

---

The boy decided to begin with his father’s likely first target: the King. He was already at the castle and the King should be within it. He was also likely to be the most difficult to convince of the reality of their situation. Might as well work from the top down! The boy thought to himself, jumping from the rampart down to the castle door.

“Stop, Stranger.” The guard at the castle door halted him almost immediately. “What is your business with the crown in this late hour?”

“I seek an audience with the King. I am an emissary from a foreign government with information crucial to the King.” Well, kind of.

“What information?” the guard grilled.

“Information for the king, not for the doorboy.” The boy stood a little taller and looked down his nose at the guard.

“Very well. I will escort you inside. If the King has retired for the evening, you will leave the grounds and return in the morning, unless Saiyan blood will be spilt between now and then if this information is not received.”

“It is possible. I really need to speak with the King.”

“Come.”

The boy followed the guard past the wrought iron gate and into the inner courtyard of the castle.

#kotonari #vegebul au #bulma #vegeta #fic #i wrote a thing

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