Post by thecurtain on Nov 4, 2011 12:44:41 GMT -5
It wasn’t unusual for the trainers who reached the Elite Four to look the worse for wear. By the time they had passed through Victory Road on their way to Indigo Plateau, they and their Pokemon were tired out, worn, beaten. Maybe it had taken them several tries to get here, turning back whenever things got too hard. Maybe they had found truth in the rumors that the Legendary Bird Moltres often roosted somewhere in this labyrinth, and in their foolish attempts at capturing it they had subjected their Pokemon partners to burns beyond any Blaine had inflicted upon them at his Cinnabar Gym. Maybe they had to be carried up on the backs of their companions when their own legs had failed them. There was a Pokemon Center there to greet them before their final challenge, and most took advantage of it, healing their Pokemon, resting up, getting themselves fed.
The ones who didn’t were those in whom the Elite Four took particular interest. They were not always the strongest, not always the smartest, but they were inevitably the ones with the most guts. And sometimes that was what it took to be offered the soon-to-be-empty position that their leader now occupied. Even for someone who made it all that way just to lose.
Lance’s knees hit the floor mere seconds after his Dragonite did, hair damp with sweat and grimy with the soil of Victory Road and the dust of the many, many floors of Indigo Tower falling in front of his face, heavy as his heart. Watching his long-time partner, the Pokemon he had raised from a Dratini at the beginning of his journey, settled just as heavily upon him as the knowledge that it was all for nothing, all their fighting and all their work invalidated by this single battle, at the very end of their journey.
“You fought well,” the voice of his victor boomed, from the figure who even now stood in shadows. “You should be proud. Why do you hang your head?”
For a while, Lance refrained from answering. He picked himself up and half-stumbled, half-walked to his unconscious Pokemon’s side. He would be fine, Lance knew, inherently. He always was, a tough, strong fighter, even when Lance himself felt like giving up. But his heart ached, seeing the Pokemon so still. He reached out and touched the pale golden forehead, still cold from the Ice Beam that had done him in.
“We lost,” he finally murmured, forcing the painful admission from his mouth. “Even though we worked so hard, fighting towards this goal…”
“What is a goal,” the voice said, “but that point in the distance, just out of reach?” He stepped forward, once, but still he remained bathed in darkness. Lance looked up at him with weary violet eyes. “A goal is not the road you walk or the shoes on your feet, or the companions by your side. It’s the wind at your back, pushing you onward, but the wind is ephemeral, fickle. It doesn’t always get you where you wish to go.
“But, it will always get you somewhere.” While Lance watched, confused, he kneeled down himself to apply a Max Revive to Lance’s Dragonite.
“What do you mean…?”
“You and your Dragonite make a good team,” he said. Conscious, now, the Pokemon stirred, releasing his quiet, mournful moan at barely audible decibels. “As you do with the rest of your Pokemon. You’ve trained your ranks well, and with deep care. That much is clear.” He patted the Dragonite’s strong neck twice. “It’s a rare trainer who makes it this far up the Tower at all. It’s no small feat, and took no small amount of talent or guts.”
“But we were so close,” Lance insisted, again, his assuredness getting lost in his confusion. “Why do you praise me as if I won…?!”
The leader chuckled, his amusement clear despite his obscured face. “You are not listening. Perhaps that is something you will learn in time.”
“I just don’t understand…!” Lance shifted closer to his Dragonite, a hand on his arm, and faced the leader, trying to make out his meaning.
“I am trying to say that perhaps you might like to consider a different path. I have been waiting a long time,” he said, “for a trainer to make it far enough to challenge me. You lost, but you are young. You have a lot of time to learn, and the heart to do so. Take your spot in this Tower, Lance--as the leader of the Elite Four. It is time I took my leave of this place.”
The trainer’s mouth gaped open, even wider than his eyes.
“I do not tease you with empty offers,” the leader said, rising to his feet. “The Pokemon League has been very quiet about trying to find my replacement, but it has been a long and fruitless search. Until now.”
Not trusting himself to stand, Lance could only stare up at the man, his mind simultaneously racing and blank. Did he accept…? Could he? Did he dare?
“Speak!”
“Sir, I…” His voice came out raspy. He swallowed, twice, trying to reign in his thoughts long enough to form coherent sentences. “I’m honored, Sir, I really am. But do you really think I’m cut out to lead the Elite Four…?”
“You doubt my judgment?” The man’s voice boomed, shaking the walls of the arena in which they had battled.
“N-n--…” Lance started, but cut himself off. It would have been a lie. “Yes, Sir.” The admission burned somewhere near the back of his throat.
“I suspect your doubt will soon vanish. Recall all the battles you have won--and lost--to get to this point. Recall what you’ve learned from each of them. Is it not true that we learn more from our failures than from our successes…?”
Lance nodded, hesitantly.
“Then learn this from your loss here today, Lance: There will always be someone in this world who is better than you. If not now, then someday. And someday that person will find you, and defeat you. I am confident that one day we will meet again, and I will be kneeling on the ground at your feet instead. Until then,” he said, “and against all else, you are the one who is the stronger. You are the one to beat, the one who stands at the goalposts of others. And you are the one who will defeat them, until the one person comes along who can best you.
“And then, after all this time, we will have a Champion again.”
The weight of the man’s words, if not their meaning, seemed to resonate within Lance’s chest. He closed his gaping mouth and blinked his wide eyes once, and nodded, deeply. “Sir, if you believe in me that much, then I…” Lance paused, in wonderment. “…I cannot refuse you. I will take your place.”
The former leader’s hands fell to sit, heavy as a sword blade, on Lance’s shoulders, for just a brief moment. “Then rise, Lance, leader of the Elite Four of the Indigo League of Kanto. And take your place in this glorious Tower, which is the shining goalpost of so many.”
---
The transition took some time, and Lance was not the same trainer, nor the same person, he had been when he had accepted this position. From the former master of Indigo Tower, he had learned much, and not just about battling. Long after the mysterious, shadowy figure had taken his leave, Lance kept his ways, his flair for the dramatic, the intriguing, the extraordinary way he battled and spoke. He swept up his hair like a Persian with an arched, bristling back, donned a cape that spoke of rank and honor, and kept his sword by his side, its hilt and scabbard glinting with glory. He reimagined his arena, building it out as a balcony alongside the Tower, with parapets and heavy, cold cobblestones and the wide, star-strewn sky stretched out above.
He appreciated the former leader for all he had given Lance and taught him, and often thought of him with pride and reverence. But Lance knew there was one mistake the man had made, that kept him pacing his empty arena until the day he retired. He never left.
Lance had not sought out his goal to remain in this Tower for eternity. He had craved the position and the glory and the power, because it meant that he could finally make a difference in this world. During his Pokemon journey he had seen much suffering, and suffered much himself. Cold winds were changing, blowing in from another direction. An evil, a dangerous organization, was slowly stretching its fingers across Kanto, and now as the closest thing to a Champion the region had, Lance would not allow it.
He owed it to the trainers who had come before him and those who would come after to rid his land of their presence. He owed it to himself, he thought, feeling a dull tightness stretch across his back, beneath the protection of his cape, to stop Team Rocket in its tracks, before it could grow any further.
From his balcony arena, he took off on Dragonite’s back, feeling the weight of the region counting on him as he covertly began seeking them out.
The ones who didn’t were those in whom the Elite Four took particular interest. They were not always the strongest, not always the smartest, but they were inevitably the ones with the most guts. And sometimes that was what it took to be offered the soon-to-be-empty position that their leader now occupied. Even for someone who made it all that way just to lose.
Lance’s knees hit the floor mere seconds after his Dragonite did, hair damp with sweat and grimy with the soil of Victory Road and the dust of the many, many floors of Indigo Tower falling in front of his face, heavy as his heart. Watching his long-time partner, the Pokemon he had raised from a Dratini at the beginning of his journey, settled just as heavily upon him as the knowledge that it was all for nothing, all their fighting and all their work invalidated by this single battle, at the very end of their journey.
“You fought well,” the voice of his victor boomed, from the figure who even now stood in shadows. “You should be proud. Why do you hang your head?”
For a while, Lance refrained from answering. He picked himself up and half-stumbled, half-walked to his unconscious Pokemon’s side. He would be fine, Lance knew, inherently. He always was, a tough, strong fighter, even when Lance himself felt like giving up. But his heart ached, seeing the Pokemon so still. He reached out and touched the pale golden forehead, still cold from the Ice Beam that had done him in.
“We lost,” he finally murmured, forcing the painful admission from his mouth. “Even though we worked so hard, fighting towards this goal…”
“What is a goal,” the voice said, “but that point in the distance, just out of reach?” He stepped forward, once, but still he remained bathed in darkness. Lance looked up at him with weary violet eyes. “A goal is not the road you walk or the shoes on your feet, or the companions by your side. It’s the wind at your back, pushing you onward, but the wind is ephemeral, fickle. It doesn’t always get you where you wish to go.
“But, it will always get you somewhere.” While Lance watched, confused, he kneeled down himself to apply a Max Revive to Lance’s Dragonite.
“What do you mean…?”
“You and your Dragonite make a good team,” he said. Conscious, now, the Pokemon stirred, releasing his quiet, mournful moan at barely audible decibels. “As you do with the rest of your Pokemon. You’ve trained your ranks well, and with deep care. That much is clear.” He patted the Dragonite’s strong neck twice. “It’s a rare trainer who makes it this far up the Tower at all. It’s no small feat, and took no small amount of talent or guts.”
“But we were so close,” Lance insisted, again, his assuredness getting lost in his confusion. “Why do you praise me as if I won…?!”
The leader chuckled, his amusement clear despite his obscured face. “You are not listening. Perhaps that is something you will learn in time.”
“I just don’t understand…!” Lance shifted closer to his Dragonite, a hand on his arm, and faced the leader, trying to make out his meaning.
“I am trying to say that perhaps you might like to consider a different path. I have been waiting a long time,” he said, “for a trainer to make it far enough to challenge me. You lost, but you are young. You have a lot of time to learn, and the heart to do so. Take your spot in this Tower, Lance--as the leader of the Elite Four. It is time I took my leave of this place.”
The trainer’s mouth gaped open, even wider than his eyes.
“I do not tease you with empty offers,” the leader said, rising to his feet. “The Pokemon League has been very quiet about trying to find my replacement, but it has been a long and fruitless search. Until now.”
Not trusting himself to stand, Lance could only stare up at the man, his mind simultaneously racing and blank. Did he accept…? Could he? Did he dare?
“Speak!”
“Sir, I…” His voice came out raspy. He swallowed, twice, trying to reign in his thoughts long enough to form coherent sentences. “I’m honored, Sir, I really am. But do you really think I’m cut out to lead the Elite Four…?”
“You doubt my judgment?” The man’s voice boomed, shaking the walls of the arena in which they had battled.
“N-n--…” Lance started, but cut himself off. It would have been a lie. “Yes, Sir.” The admission burned somewhere near the back of his throat.
“I suspect your doubt will soon vanish. Recall all the battles you have won--and lost--to get to this point. Recall what you’ve learned from each of them. Is it not true that we learn more from our failures than from our successes…?”
Lance nodded, hesitantly.
“Then learn this from your loss here today, Lance: There will always be someone in this world who is better than you. If not now, then someday. And someday that person will find you, and defeat you. I am confident that one day we will meet again, and I will be kneeling on the ground at your feet instead. Until then,” he said, “and against all else, you are the one who is the stronger. You are the one to beat, the one who stands at the goalposts of others. And you are the one who will defeat them, until the one person comes along who can best you.
“And then, after all this time, we will have a Champion again.”
The weight of the man’s words, if not their meaning, seemed to resonate within Lance’s chest. He closed his gaping mouth and blinked his wide eyes once, and nodded, deeply. “Sir, if you believe in me that much, then I…” Lance paused, in wonderment. “…I cannot refuse you. I will take your place.”
The former leader’s hands fell to sit, heavy as a sword blade, on Lance’s shoulders, for just a brief moment. “Then rise, Lance, leader of the Elite Four of the Indigo League of Kanto. And take your place in this glorious Tower, which is the shining goalpost of so many.”
---
The transition took some time, and Lance was not the same trainer, nor the same person, he had been when he had accepted this position. From the former master of Indigo Tower, he had learned much, and not just about battling. Long after the mysterious, shadowy figure had taken his leave, Lance kept his ways, his flair for the dramatic, the intriguing, the extraordinary way he battled and spoke. He swept up his hair like a Persian with an arched, bristling back, donned a cape that spoke of rank and honor, and kept his sword by his side, its hilt and scabbard glinting with glory. He reimagined his arena, building it out as a balcony alongside the Tower, with parapets and heavy, cold cobblestones and the wide, star-strewn sky stretched out above.
He appreciated the former leader for all he had given Lance and taught him, and often thought of him with pride and reverence. But Lance knew there was one mistake the man had made, that kept him pacing his empty arena until the day he retired. He never left.
Lance had not sought out his goal to remain in this Tower for eternity. He had craved the position and the glory and the power, because it meant that he could finally make a difference in this world. During his Pokemon journey he had seen much suffering, and suffered much himself. Cold winds were changing, blowing in from another direction. An evil, a dangerous organization, was slowly stretching its fingers across Kanto, and now as the closest thing to a Champion the region had, Lance would not allow it.
He owed it to the trainers who had come before him and those who would come after to rid his land of their presence. He owed it to himself, he thought, feeling a dull tightness stretch across his back, beneath the protection of his cape, to stop Team Rocket in its tracks, before it could grow any further.
From his balcony arena, he took off on Dragonite’s back, feeling the weight of the region counting on him as he covertly began seeking them out.