#i swear to the stars above i will fight for you MY KING CHARGE TOWARDS HELL TO FIGHT THE DEVILS

[philiponmycracker]

Random gifs of my fabulous king Tom Hulce, because i have very serious issues - Echo Park (dir. Robert Dornhelm, 1985)

[sleepyfan-blog]

Uh suggestion for a possible continuation of the story where the bad sanses caught Dream and brought him to nightmare- where they meet him again, and he is, like the complete opposite of what they expected him to be like, like they found them, and this tiny looking glorified swap sans doesn’t seem to be scared of nightmare- or if he is he has a fuck ton of bravery because he is actually telling off nightmare

Fandom: UTMV

Characters and pairing: Dust, Killer, Horror, Dream, Nightmare, past dreammare

Warnings: cursing, attempted manipulation, violence

Word count: 1,774

Tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi​ @therandomskelekey

"What are your questions regarding Dream?" Nightmare asked the three of them, observing them with a neutral expression on his face, his hands tucked behind his back, his tendrils waving a little.

"Well... How do you know him, boss? He seems so... Brightly colored? And from what we can tell, he's Ink's newest companion?" Hatchet responded, taking point on asking questions, as Dust and Killer had a tendency of putting thier feet in their mouths when trying to ask personal questions - which could result in boss trying to stab the fuck out of them if they didn't handle this well.

Nightmare sighs "Dream is the guardian of positivity. I am the king of negativity, and the two of us are natural opposites. We were created in the same timeline. He and I knew one another for a time, but after certain events, I left him in a stasis spell after gaining a significant amount of power. I was able to figure out how to leave our original timeline and began to expand my sphere of influence after destroying what was left of the rest of our timeline - those pathetic mortal fools did not deserve a shred of Mercy. Recently he escaped the stasis spell and I have been trying to recapture him, so that he doesn't cause more trouble than he already has since he has come back."

"Ah... Are you-" Dust began to ask, a couple of bones appearing around him, clearly about to ask whether or not they were going to kill the positive little shit, or if Boss wanted to try to turn him to their side first, when they heard something clang loudly. All four of them turned and noted that the doors to the throne room had been blown off their hinges and had fallen with a titanic thud to the floor. 

There in the doorway stood Dream, a longbow in hand. Dream charges towards the four of them, though his focus is on Nightmare alone. He moves with a surprising amount of speed as his bow turns into a short staff and he lands a good, solid hit on Nightmare "You asshole! You couldn't have tried to fight me, you had to have someone grab me while I was sleeping for the first time in half a millennium, didn't you? Then again it doesn't surprise me. What, afraid that I would have fought you? I didn't take kindly to the shackles, or the idiotic shades arguing about who I might be, which is what I woke up to."

"Dream, I-" Nightmare began, rubbing his cheek, sending a couple of tentacles after the two of them, clearly trying to grab the other.

Dream was startlingly fast, dodging Boss's tentacles with an ease that belied his tiny, cute looking exterior "Don't you even start! You trapped me in fucking stone for five hundred years! Do you have any idea what it's like to be frozen, but able to observe the world around you? I heard every agonized scream. Every plea for mercy. I heard your crazed laughter and the sound of their organs as you ripped them apart! And don't say that they were all guilty. you hunted down every last living being, from the smallest ant to the largest creature you could find, sentient or not! Then you leave our timeline a miserable, desolated wreck. Did you ever once think to check back on me? To at least see if I was conscious in my prison? Or did you not care?"

"I... I thought that you were asleep. I couldn't sense you." Nightmare responded, a small frown appearing on his face "Since when do you swear? And what the hell are you doing with that soulless bastard and the glitched swap?"

"They were the first living beings I found after I managed to escape the desolate waste that you made of our home, Nightmare." Dream's eye lights shine brightly, and there is a shade of madness in them "I spent... So long... So alone... With my thoughts... There is more I could have done to help you... Before you turned into this goopy plop fountain. I break out, desperate to try to find you and figure out what the hell happened... I ran into Blueberror first, he was trapped in a white void with determined human souls hanging over him in the area above. He had no idea who you were, but I... I know what it's like to be so achingly alone and wasn't going to abandon him in such a place, so I asked him to come with me. He agreed. We stumbled from timeline to timeline, trying to get him to his home, trying to find you. That's how we found out that you elected yourself supreme ruler of the edgelords. We found Ink battling Blue's jailor and decided to help. Ink was able to send us to Blue's timeline, but it was a desolate mess and we met-" Dream abruptly stopped talking, looking away from Nightmare.

Nightmare paused for a moment, his eye lights brightening "You met Core!Frisk, didn't you? You know how to get into the Omega timeline. Dream... My darling starlight... I have missed you dearly. It wasn't that I abandoned you, I simply... I simply couldn't face that desolate wasteland, with the memories that haunted me there. Of what the villagers did to me, and the sweet memories with you tinged with bitterness as I missed you..." The lord of negativity purred, voice low and sweet as he approached Dream. If Dream had contact with Core Frisk, it was likely that they had allowed Dream into the Omega timeline... And if Dream could allow him access to the Omega timeline - where no mercy timeline survivors, and survivors of destroyed timelines through other means would be...  It could be fertile hunting grounds for him. For both a feast of negativity, and people to recruit and use for his own purposes. He just had to win Dream over.

Dream growled, taking a couple of steps backwards, whacking the tentacle that he had outstretched to try to touch him with his staff "Don't you dare try to touch me! You lost the right to call me starlight the moment you attacked me. I was trying to help and you-"

"Who were you trying to help, Dream? The villagers, who had come with fire and pitchforks to kill us, because I was desperate and miserable and broken from their decades of abuse that you didn't notice what they were doing to me - too busy with their petty concerns and their sweet flattery." Nightmare countered, moving purposely closer to Dream, dodging the attack "Sunbeam, I have missed you dearly... and I can sense your loneliness and desire to be close again. I do as well. Come, join me, my mate."

The three of them had gone from stunned that this short, glorified swap sans would dare attack Nightmare to stunned. They hadn't begun to suspect that Dream, though apparently Nightmare's opposite in power set, was both either very brave or stupid or both... But that the two of them were mates. This didn't seem to be going very well - although for who, none of the three of them could tell. They were slowly backing off, wanting to let the two immortals deal with their... Marital spat without getting involved.

"Don't you even dare - I tried to get them to fucking stop tormenting you. I didn't know that they hurt you... Not for certain. If I refused them, they would target you worse, the moment I wasn't with you. Do you have any idea how much pressure they put on me to be the perfect fucking image of positivity that they wanted to see of me? I couldn't show any negative feelings or they would hurt you worse, assuming that it was your fault. If I wasn't with them from sun up to sunset they would whine and beg and come to us at night, pleading for me to help them with something that had come up. Eventually I gave up refusing them anything, knowing that it was pointless." Dream hisses, swiping at Nightmare again "Don't you dare try to fucking manipulate me, you... You're not the Nightmare I once knew... He never would have killed and tormented thousands... I've seen some of the timelines you rule over... They are... So miserable... Which of course, gives you even more power..." He shuddered a little, tears streaming down his face, shaking a little.

"I... Perhaps have been harsher on them than I otherwise might have been... But with you at my side, you can point out when I have gone too far. Show me how to rule with more kindness and civility." Nightmare murmurs "Starburst... Can you not sense how much I have missed you?"

Dream swallows a little and shifts a bit, a touch of a golden blush tinting his cheeks "I... I can sense that you certainly miss something about me... But you're far more likely trying to sweet talk me into siding with you, so that I don't become a thorn in your side - or talk Ink into actually doing something about the people within the timelines, rather than making sure that the AUs themselves are functional. And stop it with the petnames! The moment you attacked me at the base of The Tree you lost all rights to call me by those names. You're no longer the being I loved, and you... You haven't been for a long time, no matter how much your magic feels like him, and you sound like him..." With that, Dream blew a hole in the castle wall that extended through the hallways until they could see faded day light. Dream ran through the holes he had made with surprising speed, and Nightmare pursued - the three of them chasing after. Dream leapt from the battlements into a portal, their boss unsuccessfully trying to catch him with his tentacles and magic, falling stars only knew where. 

Nightmare stared at the spot that Dream had vanished through for a distressingly long period of time. "... I want you to find him and bring him back to me. He will be a huge threat to all we have built, and I will be able to convince him to join me sooner or later. I could sense the emotional conflict within him. And get someone competent to fix the holes he made in the walls, and assign more guards to this area."

"Yes boss!" the three of them responded, saluting the other as Nightmare stalked deeper into the castle, clearly in a very bad mood.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

The Ten Vows

He was never born. And he will never die.

There’s no way of knowing if the former is true, but he has certainly tested the latter, evident enough in the way his body is a crisscrossed road map of silver. He traces each one with a sort of fondness: at one intersection, a life saved; at another, a soul lost.

He would keep their memories closer to his heart if he had half the mind to, but the weight of blood and bone carries him down to a time when he crushed wailing spirits between his teeth, gnawing on their atrophy like a child with taffy.

It’s best to forget the good he has done. He will never be able to pay his debt in sorrow.

* * *

“I wish you weren’t like this,” she scolds, cutting his shirt away from his open shoulder blade.

He hisses, bearing his teeth as she begins to pour alcohol over the wound. What a shame to waste such an expensive thing on one as low as him. “Would you prefer it if I just let them take you, Miss?” he grins over his shoulder. “Let them suck the marrow from your bones? It must be delicious. I would love to try it for myself.”

Dark eyes framed in a darker face stare back at him, steady, and his breath catches in his throat. Her face shifts and changes - all of her pasts, all of her futures, all at once - and for a moment he knows what a curse was laid upon him when the gods had opened his Sight.

“Why do you talk about yourself like that?” she asks.

He closes his eye from the vision, shame stirring in his heart.

“Because it’s the truth.”

~ ~ ~

It’s hard to recall when the pact was sworn, a blood of oath and soul, but their spirits are intertwined. For him, she is steady as his heartbeat; for her, he is eternal as the earth she constantly returns to. His role as her protector, as a demon god formed from the ill will of men, meant to bear his teeth where she cannot, has been written in the stars since before the universe was born.

But he wouldn’t be what he is without standing against them in challenge. Every time, he swears he’ll never do it again. It shouldn’t be the place of those on the cusp of descending into the sixteen hells to walk the same road as those who are nearly liberated.

He manages a lifetime at first, maybe two. But she has become his compass; no matter which direction he goes, she is always his northbound star.

This time around, she burns particularly bright. She attracts more than just the ire of royalty.

So he calls down a warning, he lets it fly free:

To the red haired guest: Do not advance even one more step. Leave!

Even from here, he can feel the way her eyes scald him. It makes him want to offer his throat in repentance. 

She rips the arrow from centuries old stone and charges forward.

~ ~ ~

The rain pounds against dry earth, quickly soaking until it overflows. It’s truly a pleasure to see his blood mixing with it.

“You’re getting reckless,” Torou scolds, rending her skirt and gathering enough fabric to staunch the bleeding. “Just because she isn’t here to hold your reigns does not mean you should test them.”

He laughs, low in his chest. “You know what they say about curiosity and felines.” 

Torou makes a sound. She’s worried, but she also knows it is best not to look him in the eye.

“I know I’m no better when my Master is between the worlds,” she replies. “But when the time comes for her return, think of how many fewer years she will have if you are not there to protect her.”

Obi hums. “I wonder how many fewer times she would come back if I did not interfere in her life at all.”

Hands still, frozen like the still North.

“What a horrible thing to say.”

~ ~ ~

The only way to get close is to supplicant himself before another.

So he takes another Master. A soul who by all rights should use him to tear down their enemies.

He orders him not to show himself before her, instead.

It is the greatest relief to feel himself bound by such a law.

It is also a blessing to know that she has found herself such a protector in this life. One subject to mortal laws with mortal kings and a stage to rise her up upon when the time comes. He smothers the protesting nag in his chest; the one that rejects; the one that says Mine! when it has no right to.

It’s better this way. Really.

~ ~ ~

“Is it always the same?” she asks, toes dipping out from beneath silk and lace to feel the current of the river against skin. It is a challenge to hold himself still when she puts herself so close to danger.

“Is what the same, Mistress?”

“Me,” she replies, lavender eyes flickering to his. “You.”

He sighs heavily, the weight of the ages weighing heavy on his chest. 

“Some things yes,” he replies. “Some things no.”

She hums. He knows that she is unsatisfied with his answer.

“You are always beautiful,” he grins, pleased when she lets a curtain of dark hair hide her blush. “But I do not shed my skin like you. What you see before you is what I am.”

She looks up at him, curious now. “And what are you?”

His grin falters and he looks beyond her to the opposite bank.

“I wish I knew.”

~ ~ ~

He runs, freer than he has felt in lifetimes, leaping from frosted tree to frozen stonework. The ease of joints and heart sing through his veins: how good it is that he’s found her; how good it is that he is kept away.

A protector. A potential companion. She has one. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes it.

She doesn’t need him this time. If he were to simply disappear into the ethers, she would be none the wiser.

But it is as if her soul has heard his, the way she appears before him, weighed down with a box that looks heavier than she is.

His feet become as solid as the stone beneath him.

Every incarnation is the same. Every incarnation is different. She still pulls him, an invisible string from his heart to her beckoning fingers. 

This form of hers lacks all the physical grace of her prior lifetimes, though. It makes him want to scold her when she sways under her own weight. It makes him want to tell her that she should not have hidden herself away so well before now. He would have at least taught her how to walk properly.

Don’t.

The box slips numbly from her grip, landing only a breath from her toes. His whole body twitches.

Don’t do it.

She picks the box back up, swaying violently, and her feet are no longer firm beneath her body and-

His heart moves towards hers, dragging his body with it before his mind can even garner a vote.

And just like that, he has her. One arm circling her waist, the other balancing a far too heavy box.

And just like that, his binds are newly formed.

He pulls her up to her feet and looks away. It’s all he can do to hide his exhilaration; it’s all he can do to not fall to his knees in relief.

“…And I did it.”

~ ~ ~

His presses hard against her stomach, blood hot and sticky staining his hands. It’s not enough, it’s not enough. He’s not her. He only knows how to deal in death, not in life-

A palm, already cooling, rests upon his cheek and his head snaps up. She’s smiling, fond and loving in a way he doesn’t deserve, not when he couldn’t find her until now, not until his first sight of her was to be his last.

“Mistress,” he breathes. “Don’t leave. I just got you back.”

Her skin is paler than her hair, paler than the snow blowing in drifts around her. She opens her mouth, but only blood comes out, deep and red and thick, staining her lips, running down her chin.

“Please,” he begs.

Eyes the color of ice drift shut.

~ ~ ~

It’s a selfish dance his heart plays, drifting closer to her; holding himself back. But it is danger that resolves him.

“And so we have another problem,” Obi says, hands aching to have soft throat give way beneath them. That anyone would dare to take his Mistress-

“Mitsuhide,” Master says, and it’s like a slap to the face. "I leave the matter of Shirayuki’s escort to you.”

Obi stares at his Masters back.

That-

That is a step too far.

~ ~ ~

“I didn’t believe you when I was younger,” Mistress murmurs.

“Oh?” he grins, kneeling at her bedside to smooth the blankets down where she has kicked them up. “Do I have an untrustworthy face?”

She manages a breathy sort of laugh. “Yes.”

He smiles at the way her eyes glitter with her teasing. “What changed your mind?”

“You did,” she replies. “You and your magic tricks.”

“Ah, Mistress!” he mocks affront, palm to chest. “Such a thing to accuse me of!”

“You must have at least a few,” she smiles, reaching out and pressing her palm against his. The smile falls from his face, his body becoming one taut string of longing. “How else could I be so old and you still so beautiful?”

Her pulse falters through gossamer skin and already the madness of loneliness snaps at his heel. “You are still the most beautiful creation ever made,” he breathes, his heart swelling on his tongue.

She huffs, eyes closing. “Liar.”

He wants to argue, if only to keep her near for just a little while longer. She could never resist a good fight or for him to be right for more than a minute. But it would be wrong to let her sleep with an argument on her lips.

“I miss fresh air,” his Mistress murmurs after a time, and even that is too much effort for her cracking voice. Her thumb runs the line of his when he leans in closer to catch her failing breath. “And quiet. I’ll think it’s time to retire alone to the mountains.”

He closes his eyes and lets himself pretend that he has gone with her.

~ ~ ~

The stars stretch out like an endless blanket above him and he wonders yet again why they placed him at her side. His chest burns like his palm where he had held her for only a second longer than what was proper.

Not for him. Not for him. Why was that so hard for him to remember?

This place puts him on edge, and at the fringes of his senses, he can hear a million devils snarling at the boundaries he has placed. How foolish of him. He had been too flippant, too trusting of a mortal with her protection. It was only through appealing to Master’s own cravings that she had any sort of proper guard at all.

Ah, but how much easier it would have been if he had been able to come, too.

“Obi!”

He starts, blinking at the vision that she paints as she stands just an arm's length away. Her smile is kind and gentles even the moonlight. 

“Did I wake you?”

He forces a smile to his lips and shakes his head. “No, rather I was just longing for Master.”

Something in her softens and she blushes in a sweet sort of way. “Zen is probably lonely too.”

His heart squeezes. He wants to tell her. He craves her comfort in this, but he came too late in this lifetime. She wouldn’t understand. She would just be upset knowing of his isolation, how the years between companionship and desolation stretches out before him like a death sentence.

“After such a long time, anyone would go a little mad.”

[luther-rosewater]

Darfi awoke in a cold sweat after another night of poor rest. He had been having issues sleeping for a while. After the war, nothing seemed to be right with the world anymore. Darfi jostled when he woke and in turn disturbed his wife’s sleep.

“Trouble sleeping again? I’ve told you time and time again you need to go see the town cleric. There’s been darkness inside of you ever since the war. Your soul is heavy.”

“My soul has always been heavy Lorru. The war simply made me colder than you would like. The cleric can do nothing for me. My redemption left me long ago.”

“You’ve always been so pessimistic Darfi. You’re going to see the cleric today whether you like it or not.”

“You’re always trying to drag me off to some cleric or priest.”

“Well today I am going to succeed. Go see the cleric and don’t come back to this house until you do.”

Darfi was soon prey to the cold surrounding air of his room. The covers had been ripped from his body. Lorru was the culprit in this most heinous crime. With arms full of blankets and sheets she pushed him off of their bed.

Darfi grumbled and groaned. He soon stood and stretched his taut muscles and let out a sigh. He looked at his room surrounding him. Stone walls with paintings of the great king Tarfiyon.

Tarfiyon was the dwarven king. Held in high esteem by all except the tyrant king Ignar. Tarfiyon was the leading commander of the final siege of the Marsh War. He lead the charge of the siege of Ignar’s Palace. He was a courageous leader but an even better king.

The stone was covered in intricate carvings of Darfi’s great dwarven ancestors. The room was rather large with an outhouse through a door and corridor for convenient access during the cold season. Above his bed was a great steel axe that seemed far too large for him. This axe was shining with precious gems. Rubies caught the eye like dark dirt stained blood. Diamonds with a shine that the stars could hardly compare to. Emeralds the colour of the deepest forests, it was The Stonesplitter.

The Stonesplitter was an axe of legends. Hemrek The Great, the first king of Trikk Mudan, had The Stonesplitter made for him by a master blacksmith. Hemrek had it commissioned with the strongest steel he could obtain. The Stonesplitter was carried into the first Great War of the Races. Hemrek was a warrior the likes of which the world had never seen before. He would rush into battle with no armour or any protection, only The Stonesplitter. Hemrek would never fall in battle and his foes would run in fear as they saw piles of bodies beneath his mighty feet.

Darfi obtained this in the War of the Races. The opposing faction had taken it in the previous race war. This proved to be problematic during the second race war. A human man whose name was long forgotten carried it into battle, The Stonesplitter will only attune to dwarves of Trikk Mudan. Darfi, being the courageous warrior he is, rushed the offender. Darfi ran with his axe trailing behind him

Darfi sighed and thought about days of old. Days where the only thing that mattered was the survival of himself and the conquest of his enemies. Now he lives in a world of rules and regulations. Rules and regulations he never quite learned to follow. He finally dressed and left his house,

“Make sure you see the cleric today, see you later,”

“I’ll definitely go see the cleric,” Darfi said this with indignation and spite towards his spouse but inevitably at some point today he would see the cleric.

Before seeing the cleric Darfi went to the bar to see his oldest friend and comrade, Ferdo. Ferdo owned the pub in Mesgal. It wasn’t anything special, more like a dive than a proper bar or pub but they had hot food and drink and that's all that mattered to Darfi.

Darfi walked across the great stone city to the pub and was greeted by none other than Ferdo himself,

“Well how are you doing you big bastard?” exclaimed Ferdo on sight of Darfi,

“Well I came to see my best friend and perhaps get some ale you know,”

“That’s as good a reason as any my friend, come in, come in,”

Ferdo ushered Darfi in the pub through to the bar area.

“So what really brings you here friend?”

“I needed a moment to myself before I went to see the cleric, the wife demands that I see him today. Today of all days.”

Darfi had a tradition that every Sunsdee of every new month that he went to Scetsdun to make sure the guards of that town were properly armed and armoured. The town was prone to bandit attacks in the summer. The thought was that a town so small could never withstand the large bandit forces that were gathered over the winter. All of the bandits always perished without fail. Darfi decided that it was fine. The warriors were war veterans. Impartial to the taking of lives for a seemingly greater cause.

"Isn't today the day that you go and see how the forces of Scetsdun are doing? That's very important friend," Ferdo interrupted Darfis worry-some state of mind..

“No I can’t the wife is making me see the cleric and I don't fancy sleeping outside,”

“That’s quite fair,” Ferdo passed Darfi a drink.

Darfi drank this quickly and looked at Fardo,

“Well I’ll be off, Ferdo. Have a good day.”

Darfi left the pub and made his way to the cleric. The cleric that Darfi saw was the king’s personal cleric, therefore he stayed in the king’s court. The walk wasn’t overly far from the pub but it was a walk nonetheless.

The walk was faster than anticipated. The clerics office was always warm with candle light. The local cleric was not a dwarf, he was the only elf in the kingdom. A half elf actually, Walxiron was the only elf in the entire kingdom, most of them had been killed off in the marsh wars. Most elves were spellcasters which made them a high target for berserkers. Walxiron was one of the last of a dying breed. A good cleric, not so stable however.

“What brings you here today Darfi?”

“Oh you know Lorru, always saying something’s wrong with me,”

“Oh yes yes,” Walxrion moved to the next room. Banging and glass shatters surrounded the air around him echoing to the eardrums of Darfi. Walxiron came back out to the front room of the temple. Darfi got a good look at him this time. His skin was pale, eyes with bags that could travel across the sea. His pupils were small, his sclera bloodshot. His iris looked lighter than normal. It was obvious he had a rough few days. Darfi spoke on this,

“You look ill Walxrion, is everything alright?”

“Oh yes, I’ve just been quite tired lately.”

Darfi looked at him with concern in his eyes, the cleric seemed to be troubled,

“Just take this before bed and your sleeping troubles will fade away, your dreams will be more vivid and the quality of rest will improve.”

“And you’re sure it won’t make the nightmares worse?”

“Not at all, friend this is specially concocted for better rest and better quality rest. I promise.”

Darfi looked unimpressed but took the vial and put it in a black leather pouch hanging from his waist-belt. The pouch had other things like coins and luck trinkets. Small things to make him feel at home whenever he was away. The cleric sent Darfi off and went back to what he was doing before.

Darfi looked around the cleric shoppe for a second, he saw vials filled with various organs in embalming liquid, eyes that seemed to look at him from beyond the grave. Lungs black as coal next to several that were slowly turning pink in sequential rows to the left. Darfi was skeptical of the shop, it seemed more prone to necromancy rather healing light. Darfi left the shoppe and went back to his home.

Darfi walked through the town and saw the various races around the hustling city. It was around midday, the sun was blaring down on Mesgal. Darfi pushed through the crowds making sure to keep his hands on his pockets. He reached near the edge of the town where his house was.

Lorru greeted him with skeptical hostility,

“You know you’re not supposed to come into this house until you’ve seen the cleric,”

Darfi sighed and sat down in his cold stone chair. The rocky exterior was freezing against his skin, he could feel the gruff material against his skin but he sank into it nonetheless.

“I saw the cleric I swear, the elf boy near the castle,”

Darfi produced the small vial from his pouch. The vial contained a light purple liquid that swirled as Darfi snatched the vial from his bag,

“He said it would make me sleep better, have better dreams and be more well rested.”

“Fine fine. You won’t have to sleep in your smith tonight. Thank you Darfi,”

Darfi grumbled and leaned back in his chair,

“Did you do anything while I was out?”

“I tidied up a bit and went to market outside of town to pick up some fresh meat and vegetables for supper tonight. I’m making stew as we speak it’s on the fire,”

“I could smell it when I came in. It smells very good.”

Darfi went to his room, he passed the kitchen and the smell of fresh meat and vegetables drifted into his nose as he went by, the aroma made his stomach grumble.

Darfi changed into his night clothes pre-maturely. He planned to drink the vial after dinner so he could get to sleep earlier than normal. Dinner came and went, images of perfectly roasted beef and potatoes that melted in his mouth, the carrots steamed to perfection in a rich, warm broth fled through Darfi’s mind as he went to his room and hung up his earlier discarded clothing. He grabbed his belt with his waist bag and pulled his vial with the swirling purple liquid and popped the cork off the top. Darfi gulped the concoction down and laid down in his bed. His eyes became heavy and impossible to keep open. Darfi tried to fight the sleep that made him feel like he was dying but he could not. Sleep soon washed over him in a cool haze. Lorru came in the room after tending to the laundry and dishes and saw Darfi in a sleep that the dead would be jealous of,

“I told him he needed to see the cleric,” Lorru smiled and took her place in the bed beside Darfi.

The night came quicker than ever could be expected. Lorru tossed and turned in her sleep but Darfi did not, he dreamt of adventure and a big house when he finally decided to settle down from his travels. His dreams were as fleeting as the weather. He would never remember them in the morning anyways.

The night progressed, the nightbirds sang their songs of death while those animals that had the unfortunate coincidence of being born as easy targets screamed to their mothers. Their mothers would not do anything, rather run for their own lives. The tormented screams served as a warning call to the other vermin in the valley.

Darfi had dreams of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. Darfi started to toss and turn, this was not supposed to happen. He started sweating onto his bedsheet.

Darfi opened his eyes to a burned city, his wife screaming in the flames. Darfi saw his life burn down before his eyes. Darfi ran for his wife but couldn’t move forward. He sank into the earth and watched his vision fade before his eyes. He fell out of the earth into a cavern below him. The Tyrant King Ignar greeted him in the cavern with a shiv through Darfi’s back. Darfi flung around and removed the blade from his back. He was no stranger to wounds of battle but this one was different. Darfi started to walk towards Ignar with his intent to kill but his limbs would not move. His bones turned to lead. He sank once more into an ocean of green, a forest below him broke his relentless plummet from the sky. He reached the ground, with stiff dirt beneath him he pushed himself up.

[swanslieutenant]

If the Stars Align - Chapter X

Summary: The Musketeers AU. Danger lurks around every corner in the French court and as a Musketeer in service of the royal family, Killian’s duty is to protect them from any and all threats. As his relationship with Queen Emma develops into something more than just friendship, threats against the queen escalate and put everything they hold dear into jeopardy.

Rating: M

Content warning for the story: violence, mature themes, minor character death.

Art by @hook-and-star-ink​ , @acaptainswaneternity and @seastarved. Follow this to check all the pieces currently published and give them some love!  

Catch Up on tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3,  ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9

AO3: ch10

Hours later, Killian thinks it’s the morning sunlight that awakens him, streaming in through the tiny window, warm and welcoming. He lies there, listening to Emma’s even breath, the singing morning birds outside, and the rhythmic thumping from the hammering outside.

He frowns. The hammering sounds different this morning, and as his brain wakes up, he realizes it’s not the hammering at all.

It’s footsteps.

He lifts his head, looking out the door just as Robin comes around the corner. Robin’s eyes widen in shock, and he turns on his heel, his footsteps clattering down the stairs as quickly as he’d come up them.

Shit.

Emma is still asleep, lying on her stomach with her head on his chest, one hand curled possessively around his forearm. At some point in the night, the blanket slipped down to rest over her hips, her bare back covered only with her golden curls, and Killian swears again.

He shifts out from under her, easing her head onto his pillow. She stirs a bit, closing her hand around his arm in a vice grip. He pries her fingers away, loathe as he is to leave. He dresses quietly, pulling on his pants and shirt, and slips from the room, off to find Robin to do damage control.

He’s already retreated back to the small antechamber downstairs. He stares intently out a window, as if trying to burn a hole in the glass, and Killian strides up to him, scratching behind his ear.

“Robin, about what you just saw –”

“I didn’t see anything. I was asleep all night, and you came to me in the morning to change shifts. Right?”

Killian swallows, and nods. “Right, of course –”

“You slept with the queen?!”

Well, that hadn’t lasted long.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Robin hisses, jabbing a finger into Killian’s chest, hard enough to push him backwards. “I warned you, Killian, I told you not to do anything stupid –”

“It was a one-time thing, it won’t happen –”

“It is treason!” Robin shouts, grabbing his arm and twisting it so Killian has no choice but to face him. “You clearly don’t care, but I do. If anyone discovers what happened, you will lose your head, I will lose mine for knowing about it, and the queen … the queen –”

“No one knows,” Killian says, his stomach flipping at Robin’s words. “Just you, and I sincerely doubt you’re going to go tattling to the king.”

Robin’s face twists, a muscle in his jaw clenching. “You’re an idiot, Killian. Queens have lost their heads for a whisper of adultery before. Any word of this and our queen will be in the same place as them.”

Killian clenches his hands into fists, and he glares furiously at Robin. “Don’t speak like that.”

“Don’t make me. I’ll pretend I know nothing, that to the best of my knowledge, you were on duty all night outside the queen’s room while she slept soundly and alone behind a closed door, and you will never, ever speak of this again. Do you understand me?”

Killian nods mutely, and Robin releases him, shoving him backwards again. Killian doesn’t stick around to be yelled at again, and he jogs back up the stairs.

Emma is awake now too, sitting on the edge of the bed. She changed back into the pink dress, and is braiding her hair into a long plait down her back. She looks over as Killian enters the room, fingers pausing on her hair. He leans against the doorframe, and they stare at each other for a long moment.

Emma breaks it first, and she indicates her head towards the stairwell. “I heard yelling. Who was that?”

Killian runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Robin. He – he came upstairs. He won’t say anything, and I won’t either –”

Emma stands up, coming close and her hand against his chest, fingers playing with the necklace around his neck.

“I know.”

He bends his head to rest their foreheads together. Robin’s words of treason and adultery are echoing through his head, and he realizes how foolish they were, how this could all come crashing down around them.

But who knows – they may die today after all.

They don’t say anything for a long time, until Emma sighs, stepping back from him to slip on her shoes.

“What’s going on down there? The hammering’s stopped.”

“I’m not sure. We can go down and see –”

There’s a boom from down below, the entire building shaking as a cannonball strikes it. Immediately, nuns and Musketeers alike start calling out to each other, their loud yells for help or weapons making it all the way up to the tower.

Killian is stunned. How had the bandits finished their scaffold so quickly? And where did they get a cannon?

Emma jumps into action, darting towards the door, but Killian grabs her arm and tugs her back into the bedroom.

“Wait, wait a second.”

“I am not staying here, Killian –”

“I know.”

He withdraws one of his pistols and a dagger from his belt. One of the sashes Mother Superior uses as a belt is around the room, so he picks it up and reaches around Emma to tie it around her waist. He gives her the dagger and tucks the pistol through the sash at the back of her dress, letting his hands linger on her waist.

“Now we can go.”

They fly down the stone stairs and towards the main entrance. The doors to the convent are wide open, doors broken and ripped from their hinges, the sound of clashing swords and screams flowing in from the courtyard.

A bandit, tall and imposing, steps into the convent, darkening the doorway. He’s brandishing a sharp sword that gleams in the outside light, and he looks directly at Emma and Killian at the other end of the hall.

“I found her!”

His heart beating a mile a minute, Killian grabs Emma and pulls her into the nearest room. Its an old storeroom, littered with old barrels and crates, and he slams the door shut.

“Find somewhere to hide –”

The door bursts open again, and the bandit enters the room, firing off a pistol that narrowly misses Emma. She ducks with a scream, and Killian charges at the bandit, hitting him hard under the chin with his elbow and knocking him backwards.

Killian draws his sword as the bandit rights himself, wiping away the blood from his mouth.

 “You’ll pay for that, Musketeer.”

They circle each other, and Killian makes the first move, the wind whistling as his sword cuts through the air. The bandit counters him expertly, much more expertly than Killian was expecting, and drives him backwards several steps.

He regains his footing, but the bandit takes advantage. He tosses his sword to his left hand and punches Killian in the stomach with his right. He groans as the wind is forced from his lungs, and he bends over, trying to regain his breath. The bandit hits him on the back with the hilt of his sword, sending Killian to his knees with a painful grunt, and then onto his back with another kick to his stomach.

Killian grimaces as the bandit looms over him, and squeezes his eyes shut. He tenses as he waits for the final blow he knows is coming, but it never does. Instead, the bandit lets out a grunt of pain, the shadow he sees through his eyelids disappearing, the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor vibrating through the floor next to him.

There’s silence for a moment, and Killian opens his eyes. Emma is standing above him now, holding up the dagger, the blade glittering with scarlet blood.

“I think I killed him.”  

Killian gapes at the dead bandit beside him, facedown with a bloody rip in the back of his jacket. He clambers back to his feet, wrapping his arms around Emma and pulling her as close as he can.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Emma replies, with a touch of amusement. “You’re the one who nearly got stabbed on the floor a minute ago.”

He releases her, shaking his head in awe. “You are bloody brilliant.”

She just shrugs, her jaw tightening and anger flashing in her eyes. “He was going to kill you. I had to stop him.”

He hugs her again, and they leave the bandit on the ground as they depart the storeroom. The fight is in the main courtyard now, and Killian and Emma run right out into the thick of it.

There are only a couple bandits on the grounds; Lancelot and Will are taking on two to three bandits each, the nuns hitting the others that get through them with the garden instruments.

Robin is up on the wall, slashing at bandits as they attempt to climb it from their scaffold. There’s a constant stream of bandits, and he’s struggling to keep up, bandits easily diving around him and down to the ground to meet with Will and Lancelot.

For a moment, both Emma and Killian take in the scene in front of them. Killian doesn’t know where to go – he doesn’t want to leave Emma’s side, but his fellow Musketeers desperately need him.

Tink, in the midst of whacking a bandit across the face with a shovel, notices Emma and Killian standing there in the doorway, and she makes the decision for Killian.

“Protect the queen!”

The ones who are not fighting obey her instantly, circling around Emma and unceremoniously shoving Killian into the thick of the fight. Emma’s eyes flash with annoyance, now surrounded by nuns with garden tools, but she nods encouragingly at Killian as he steps away. He sends her a smile, hoping it’s not the last time he’ll ever be able too, and jumps into action.

Instead of stopping beside Will and Lancelot, Killian runs towards Robin up on the wall, slashing out as bandits as he goes. He cuts himself a path to the meagre ladder someone’s propped up against the wall, clambering up to join Robin.

Right away, there’s a need for him. Robin is preoccupied with two bandits, and a third is rising up from the scaffold, a lethally curved knife in his hands. He hasn’t noticed Killian yet, his eyes focused totally on Robin, and Killian takes advantage.

He draws his pistol, aiming for only a second before pulling the trigger. The force from the bullet sends the bandit flying backwards, his scream of pain echoing back up to Killian as he loses his footing, falling right back the way he came.

The shot startles Robin and the two bandits, all of them looking around for the source.

“Need some help?” Killian asks cheekily, and Robin rolls his eyes. He punches one of the bandits in the face, kicking the other in the gut; both of them fall like the one Killian had shot, screams cut off with a heavy thud at the bottom.

Robin watches them fall with a grim grin, and smirks at Killian. “If you can keep up.”

Killian loses track of how many bandits he fights. No matter how many they manage to shove off the wall, another rises in his place, more furious than before. It’s a constant strain of muscles and swords, firing and reloading pistols, and his mind shuts off, nothing but the scent of battle permeating his thoughts.

He’s fighting a particularly nasty bandit, viciously and furiously, and the man swings out at him with his curved blade. Killian leans back in time to save his face, but he can’t get out of the way entirely, and the blade slices across his chest, just above his heart.

The cut sends hot, burning pain through him, and instantly Killian regrets not pulling on his jacket that morning. The wound spurts blood through his shirt, staining the white linen to scarlet, and he clutches at his chest. Rage courses through him as quick as the pain, and he pulls out his pistol. Before the man can even widen his eyes in fear, Killian dispatches the bandit with a shot to the stomach.

The bandit crumbles, and Killian clutches at his wounded chest. His shirt is becoming soaked with blood, and he presses a hand against the cut, trying to stop the bleeding.

A deep, low rumbling sound reaches him then, and he looks up in alarm. Emerging from the forest now are dozens of horses thundering up the path towards the convent, and at first, he’s afraid it is more bandits.

But as they get closer, to his immense surprise and relief, it’s the exact opposite. He can make out the blue of the Musketeer cloaks, the stampede of approaching soldiers more like an ocean wave riding towards them. David and Captain Humbert are leading the charge of countless soldiers, and Killian can’t help but smile.

He shoves another bandit off the scaffold before he can rise, and leans over the edge into the courtyard, shouting, “Open the gates! The reinforcements are here!”

The nuns scramble to the doors, and by the time they’ve managed to remove some of the barrels barricading the door, it’s not a moment too soon. The doors swing open, and horses thunder into the courtyard, both nuns and bandits scattering as the Musketeers swing off their saddles, charging at the bandits still in the courtyard.

With the large number of Musketeers now there, the bandits don’t stand a chance. The ones who remained on the outside of the convent are swiftly dispatched by the Musketeers who’d dropped from their horses out there, while other Musketeers hack away at the scaffold in an attempt to bring it down, sending the bandits on it screaming and careering onto the ground.

After a time, there’s no one else left to fight on the wall itself, leaving Killian to just watch the bandits fall with a sort of grim satisfaction when his eyes catch movement at the bottom of the hill.

He squints, and can just barely make out a magnificent black horse, a statuesque woman seated atop it.  

“Regina!”

Robin’s voice startles Killian enough he nearly slips right off the wall, and he whirls around to gape at him.

No – her?

Though it’s impossible she could have heard him from this distance, the woman reins her horse in, turning in her saddle to stare back up at the convent. Killian can’t see her features from this distance, but Robin pales and shouts out again.

“Regina, stop!”

But the woman kicks at her horse and takes off, disappearing into the thicket of trees. Robin sheathes his sword, looking ready to jump down onto the half-disassembled scaffold and after her, but Killian grabs his arm.

“You won’t catch her. She’s gone.” 

Robin’s eyes are wild, lost into the woods after Regina, and Killian’s not sure Robin even heard him. But then his head snaps over to look at him, and he shoves Killian away, scrambling down the ladder and marching across the courtyard to the convent.

Breathing hard, Killian glances back to the path, but Regina is truly gone now. He feels sick – she is involved in this too? – and he drops down the ladder himself after Robin, his legs nearly giving way after all the fighting.

The fight down here is over now too; the courtyard is littered with bodies and horses and nuns and Musketeers, more like a warzone than a peaceful garden. Killian grimaces as he picks his way through it. He’s intent on finding Emma – who he notices, with a quickening heartbeat, is not where he left her – but he comes across David first, poking one of the bandits’ bodies.

“I’ve never been so glad to see you, mate,” Killian says, pulling David into a hug. “How did you get here so fast?”

“Rode like the wind,” he says, still sounding winded. “Had to. You all needed me.”

He gestures to Killian’s shirt, stained with blood, and the courtyard around them. Killian grimaces; with the wound to his chest still smarting and bleeding, it’s easy to think it could easily be their bodies on the ground instead, nuns and Musketeers instead of bandits, and he shakes his head grimly.

“You’ve no idea.”

He leaves David then, picking his way through the courtyard to where he last saw Emma. A lot of the nuns who’d been around her are gone now too, and he pulls aside the only one he recognizes.

“Where’s the queen?”

She points inside the convent. “Sister Rose took her to the infirmary to clean her up.”

That doesn’t make Killian’s heartbeat slow any, and he hurries inside. In the infirmary, a small room with only two beds, there is a small partition around Aurora’s while Emma is seated on the other. Her dress is pushed off her shoulder and she’s holding a wad of cloth pressed against it, talking softly with Tink in front of her. Tink is washing fresh cloth in a basin, cloth that Killian notes is stained scarlet with blood.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Tink and Emma jump in surprise, Tink dropping the cloth and grabbing a garden hoe beside her. They relax when they recognize him, and Tink shakes her head.

“Don’t sneak up like that, Killian!”

He ignores her. “What happened, Emma?”

“It’s nothing. A bandit shot the convent behind us, and a piece of stone fell and cut my shoulder. I didn’t even get to fight and I got hurt.” She sounds a bit annoyed, but that fades as her eyes widen.

“What happened to you? You’re bleeding.”

He glances down, having forgotten the wound at his chest, and he grimaces. “Oh, that.”

Emma gets to her feet and peels away the linen stuck to the wound, making him hiss in pain. Emma’s eyes darken as she takes in the cut, which, Killian has to admit, is more serious than he thought. It’s more of a gash, really, stretching from his collarbone to his underarm and probably requiring stiches.

“This needs to be cleaned,” Emma says, pulling leading him to the bed she’d just risen from.

“No, your shoulder is worse –”

Emma shoots him a severe look over said injured shoulder, and Killian clamps his mouth shut.

She makes him take his shirt off to get better access to the wound, and that’s when Killian realizes how deep the cut really is. He grimaces as his muscles pull painfully as he pulls the shirt over his head, and Emma has to help him finish it as he can’t lift his left arm.

Tink raises her eyebrows as Emma tosses the shirt to the side, leaning across him to get a fresh cloth and resting her hand casually on his thigh as she does. She deposits an exasperated glance upon Killian, who feels his cheeks flush, and she picks up an extra basin with a sniff.

“I’ll go get some more water.”

The room is quiet without her, Emma dabbing at his chest in silence. Killian tries not to flinch or tense every time the cloth pulls away, both from the wound itself and the dried blood catching on his chest hair and pulling painfully.

“If only we had some rum,” Emma mutters, Killian’s laugh lost in another hiss of pain as she pulls the cloth away.

She leans over him again, wringing out the cloth in the basin, the water in the basin growing red. She orders him to take the swan necklace off as it too is covered in blood, and he obeys, placing it in her outstretched hand. Her fingers close over it, and Killian’s hand closes over hers too before she can pull away.

“It kept me safe, as you wished.”

 She smiles. “Good.” 

The thought of the swan pendant brings to mind the man who it didn’t keep safe, Monsieur Gillert. When she’s finished bandaging his chest, wrapping the cloth tightly around his upper torso to keep it in place, he grabs her hand again, pausing her.

“Emma, I need to tell you something. Before we left Paris, remember when we spoke about our suspect for Gillert’s murder?”

Her eyes darken. “Robin’s wife.”

“Yes. When I was up there on the wall with Robin, we spotted her at the bottom of the hill.”

Emma’s mouth drops open, and she gets to her feet in a rush, whirling around to stare out the single window. “You – she was here?”

“She disappeared into the forest. There was no way we could have caught her.”

She shakes her head, and clenches her hands into fists. “It’s all connected. Monsieur Gillert’s death, these bandits. I bet the guards at the Bastille too. They’re after me. She’s after me.”

Her voice breaks, whether from anger or fear, Killian’s not sure. He gets to his feet, wincing at the pull on his muscles, stepping forward and wrapping his good arm around Emma.

“We’ll keep you safe, Emma. I promise.”

She presses her face against the uninjured side of his face, and shakes her head. “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s everyone around me.”

He tightens his grip on her, pulling her closer and tucking her against his chest. “We’ll protect them too.”

They stay in each other’s embrace, even though it’s an awkward hug, neither of them capable of moving an arm due to their injuries. A few minutes later, someone clears their throat loudly from the doorway and they quickly pull apart, Emma turning away and wiping at her eyes.

Thankfully it’s Tink, pointedly up to the ceiling, sloshing basin of water in her arms.

“Can I come back in now please?”

Her exasperated tone breaks the dark mood, and both Emma and Killian laugh. Emma shifts further away from Killian as Tink sets the water basin down beside the bed, setting her hands on her hips and staring at Emma.

“Can I please fix your shoulder up now, Your Majesty? Mother Superior will wring my neck if she sees you like this.”

Emma nods, and with a fresh cloth in hand, Tink hip-checks Killian further away from the queen as she sits down between them. Killian rolls his eyes at her, pulling his shirt back on (with some difficulty) and ducks away to check on the others.

The immediate plan is to leave that afternoon, but the Musketeers and Emma don’t end up going. The convent is more seriously damaged than they realized and they’d be leaving an enormous task to the nuns. The Musketeers do what repairs they can and others sleep, trying to catch up on a night’s rest lost to riding hard.

Though Killian had gone to check on the others, Mother Superior spotted him leaving the infirmary, his chest already bleeding through the bandages, and she sent him right back where another nun sews the wound up.

When she’s finished, Killian never wishing for rum more than after that experience, and when Tink is finished bandaging Emma’s shoulder, they leave the infirmary together. They have both ended up with an injured arm pinned to their chests and they end up working together, each with one arm, to help out the others.

Though they’re doing nothing but helping out by dragging some wreckage away, when Robin sees them he turns a nasty shade of purple and orders Killian away to help with the repairs elsewhere.

Killian doesn’t see Emma at all after that. Everywhere he turns, Robin is there, watching him like a hawk and keeping him occupied with many mundane tasks. And though Killian is sure he’s doing it to make sure he stays away from Emma, Killian suspects having him to boss around is taking Robin’s mind off seeing Regina at the bottom of the hill too.

He hasn’t said a word about it since, and Killian doesn’t dare bring it up, not with the full squadron of Musketeers about who don’t know the entire story.

Robin’s hovering relents as night falls. With the repairs taking longer than expected, they’ve decided to spend one more night here, leaving in the morning, and Killian trudges off to bed while Robin retreats to guard Emma’s bedroom himself, clearly not trusting anyone else.

The next morning, some of the Musketeers elect to stay behind to finish up repairs, while Killian and his cohort get ready to leave to take Emma back to Paris. The nuns gather in the courtyard to say goodbye, and Killian pulls Tink into a hug.

“Keep out of trouble. Tink.”

She rolls her eyes. “Trouble follows you, not me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he replies with a cheeky grin. “We were ambushed outside your convent, so I’d say this trouble was following you.”

But she doesn’t laugh. Her eyes flicker over Killian’s shoulder, to where he knows Emma is saying goodbye to some of the other nuns, and she says, quietly, “You’ll be careful, right?”

He nods, though he can’t help the swoosh of trepidation in his stomach; they’ve survived this attack, and the potential consequences of the other night weigh are beginning to weight heavily on his shoulders.

He forces those thoughts away when they leave the convent behind, leaving what happened with Emma behind him there too. Though Emma was talking about their kiss when she said it, Killian knows a one time thing is truly what their night at the convent will have to be.

[theamazingworldoffandomfics]

I’m Not Useless

Warning: slight angst, if there’s others please let me know

Pairing: eventually Thorin x reader, the company, Gandalf

A/n: I’ve been working on this since I think december. I finally finished it hahaha My first Thorin fic, hope you all like it. Plus the tag lists are still open

Tag list: @douchepoolonsie @a-lonely-string @fandoms-writer @theoneandonlysaucymo @petlaufeyson @panic-angel3314 @feelmyroarrrr @nea90sweetie @mysaria @hymnofthevalkyries @idorkish @ladyjayelehnsherr @holding-on-to-francis @maxifuckoff @originalwinchestervamp @kylieisnotnormal @pureimagination01 

              Before Thorin had said anything about stopping for the night, you wondered off into the woods. You were shorter than Balin and you were as small as Ori, if not smaller. You thought none of the company wanted you with them. Thinking the only reason Thorin had let you come with them was because you were born in the halls of Erebor and you told him you wouldn’t take no for an answer. You would have followed them if he had denied you coming.

               Armed with your bow and sword, you searched the woods for something better than a crappy rabbit. Slowly making your way through the trees, you hear a faint sound of a large beast. Pulling an arrow out of your quiver, readied your bow, and made your way towards the beast. The beast was grazing on some grass as you let loose an arrow. The arrow embedding itself into its back which only caused it to get angry. You quickly slipped your bow over your shoulder while drawing your sword. The boar charged at you. Just before the boar lunged at you, you swiftly leaped onto its back and drove your blade into the back of its neck. The beast fell to the ground which only caused you to go flying off but landed on your knee.

               You stood up and smirked to yourself. You walked back to the dead beast and pulled your arrow from its hide along with your sword.

               “Now let’s see if any of the others will speak poorly of me now.” You chuckled as you began to drag the beast towards where you thought the company would camp for the night.

 *The Company*

                 Everyone started doing what they were assigned to do like always. Thorin was doing a head count only to realize he came up short. He walked about the area only to come see that you were nowhere in sight.

               “Has anyone seen (Y/n)?” Thorin’s voice boomed over the area which caused everyone to look at him confused. Everyone except Bilbo.

               “I haven’t seen her since earlier, before we stopped for the night.” Kili said as he was carrying some wood for the fire followed by Fili.

               “I swear she is damn near as useless as Ori at times.” Thorin rubbed his forehead with his hand.

               “Well, um, maybe she heard you talking earlier. She did seem a bit off before she wondered off into the trees.” Bilbo had seen you wonder into the woods. None of the others knew that you had overheard them and the look on Thorin’s face was proof. “She’s not as useless as you all think.”

               Just then a loud sound echoed through the trees. It took a moment before most of them realized that the sound came from a boar, a pretty large one at that. Kili looked at Fili shocked.

               “You don’t think that could have been?” Fili looked back at his brother shocked as well and shrugged. Bilbo stood there with a look of pride on his face, knowing damn well who just killed the boar that everyone just heard.

               You saw the light of the fire through the trees and you heard some of the others talking. They had been talking about you, from the sounds of it.

               “Do any of you know what (Y/n) did before embarking on this journey with all of us?” You heard Bilbo ask the others, to which you never expected none of them to answer.

               “She was, um, she was.” Thorin tried to think of what you did. Truth be told, none of them truly knew of what you did. In all your years in Erebor, you never once set foot in the mines themselves. All you mainly did was smithing. You never made weapons like a lot of the other males, like Thorin, you mainly work with gold silver and copper along with some gems that were to be laid in the metals. You had known Thorin’s mother who you had made several pieces for at her request, knowing that the metal would be prefect just the way she wanted it and better.

               “I was what most would call a jeweler. I worked with precious metals like gold and silver.” You walked out of the trees, dragging the boar towards the group. “In fact, Thorin’s mother had requested that I make a few pieces for her. Which most were beaded clasps for her and her family.” You looked at Thorin, seeing one of the beads you had made before Smaug invaded and took your home. “After Smaug attacked and after many had settled into Ered Luin, I didn’t pick up my skill. Instead I took up hunting and trained myself to fight.”

               “You took down that beast yourself?” Bofur was shocked to see someone as small as you dragging a boar that was as big as you were, if not bigger.

               “Yes I did.” You looked at Thorin straight in the face. “I’m not as useless as I look.” You walked past everyone, leaving the boar to the others to take care of. Oin had followed you, worried about you.

               “Let me check to see if you were hurt, Lass.”

               “I’m fine, Oin. The beast didn’t even touch me, let alone scratch me.”

               “I want to make sure.” You held up your hands and looked at the Dwarf in eyes.

               “Oin, I’m sure I’m fine. Mahal couldn’t take me down, not without a fight.” He shook his head and walked away. You only had a few moments to yourself before Thorin stalked over.

               “What in the name of Mahal did you think that you could take down that boar by yourself?” Thorin looked pissed and it didn’t bother you.

               “I heard what you guys have said about me. How I’m just as or more useless than Ori. Ori is a scribe you thick headed horse’s backside. You knew damn well what I did before that blasted dragon took our home. Yet you still had the nerve to say I’m as useless as a scribe, a scribe. Ori has proved that he has courage that you thought he didn’t have.”

               “Ori is different.”

               “No, Thorin, Ori is not different. The only thing that is different between me and Ori while on this quest is the thing between his legs. Yet our own burglar was the one who saw that I was not as useless as you tried to pin me as.” You pushed past Thorin, stopping next to him. “Now if you don’t mind, your majesty, I’m leaving this conversation before I get the urge to do something that would be regretted.” You continued past him and past the others without even a second glance at any of them.

               The others just stared at you as you walked away from the camp site and into the woods. None of them said a single word to you as you walked past them all. Bilbo was the only one who tried to talk to you and even the wizard Gandalf spoke to you when he was around. Even Gandalf had tried to tell the other males that you weren’t useless like they thought you were.

               You walked through the trees, lucky that you were light enough that no leaf crunched under your feet and there was almost no sound from your heavy boots. The quiet was like home for you, ever since settling in Ered Luin you had settled into a quiet area of the mountain. You didn’t have to listen to others talk about you, despite everyone had lost someone due to Smaug but you lost everyone close to you. You had lost you mother, father, uncle, and aunts, you had even lost a few friends but you didn’t want to burden anyone with your pain. The trees gave way to a small clearing. As you look behind you, you could still see the glow from the fire.

               You walked into the center of the clearing and sat down in the grass. Looking up at the sky, you decided to let yourself relax. Sliding off your quiver and bow, you laid back and just watched the sky. Missing how the stars looked as you looked from above the gates of Erebor, missing the heat from the furnaces of the forges, missing how when you were a youngling and being friends with Thorin and not caring at the time of titles or of the dragon that would take over. The memories of your family flashed before your eyes and a single tear slipped from your eyes, sliding slowly into your long semi-matted hair.

               You heard a twig snap from where you came and quickly sat up, swiftly grabbing your bow and an arrow then aiming it at the intruder. You would have thought Bilbo would come to talk with you but instead you find yourself aiming your bow at Thorin. You undrew your bow and set it back on the ground where you had it then laying back down on the grass, not caring if Thorin came or went. When the stubborn Dwarf didn’t leave you sat back up and looked at him.

               “What do you want, Thorin?” Your eyes looking up at the sky above you.

               “I have come to talk.”

               “I do not feel there is a need to talk.” You gently slid a hand down your face before you sat up completely. You grabbed your bow and quiver before standing up. Turning to face the Dwarf that you had known your whole life. “You have already said enough so far on this journey. I doubt that there is anymore that you can say. You had already deemed me as useless and yet I killed something for your company to eat.” You started to make your way back towards the others when Thorin grabbed your arm and stopped you from walking further.

               “Will you hear me out for a moment before walking off again?”

               “Why shall I give you the honor of calling me useless to my face or even try to tell me just how foolish I was to take on that boar myself.”

               “I am the leader of this company and the rightful king under the mountain.” His voice low and stern which sent chills down your spine but you were able to hide it.

               “Good for you Thorin. I honestly lost all hope of caring what title you held decades ago. I do not care if you are the ruler of all Middle-Earth, I deny you of saying what you have on your mind. You have called me useless when you thought that I couldn’t hear.” You felt the familiar pain in your chest that you had been getting since this whole thing started. “You may be the leader of this company, Thorin, but have clearly forgotten that you weren’t the only one who lost people in the attack. You can stand here and say you didn’t lose your father and your sister while others have lost everyone. You have your family, Thorin. I have nothing to live for back in Ered Luin and I will not be able to lay to rest my family who had fallen trying to escape Erebor.” You pulled your arm from his grip and turned to look at him, trying not to think of the family you had lost. “Now that I see I can’t be left alone. I’m going to set up my bedroll and go to sleep. Good night, your majesty.” You started to walk away from Thorin.

               “(Y/n)…”

               “I said good night.” You looked back at him, not realizing a single tear slipped past your lashes and streamed down your cheek. Turning around, you walked back to the camp and off to the far side away from everyone you set up your bedroll then readied yourself for bed. You faintly saw the expression on Bilbo’s face as you walked by everyone, you knew he would worry about you since he was the only one besides Gandalf who saw your worth. You grabbed your cloak and went to sleep.

               Bilbo looked from your now sleeping form to the others of the group. His mind was on how you made sure he was safe up until now. He released a sigh which didn’t go unnoticed by the others.

               “What’s troubling you, Bilbo?” Bofur looked at a concerned Bilbo.

               “(Y/n) has become like a sister to me. An older protective sister but a sister none the less. She had saved me many of times up till now.” He thought back to every time you fought fiercely when he became outnumbered or when he became slow.

               The others sat there as the boar cooked, not really knowing how to reply to what Bilbo said. He thought back to the conversation that the two of you had earlier that day.

               ~ “I’m leaving the company tomorrow before the sun rises in the sky.” Taking off the hood of your cloak. “I’m tired of being belittled by those who are supposed to have my back.”

               “You cannot leave the company, (Y/n). Who will keep me company and have an enjoying conversation with?”

               “I must leave, Bilbo.” You looked towards Thorin, not regretting the emotion that was showing in your eyes. “No one but you wants me here, you have heard them yourself.”

               “They are frustrated and this journey is getting to them.”

               “That does not give them any right to say what they have said. I have just as much right to be here, being born in those tunnels like Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, and a few of the others.”

               “How much younger that Thorin are you, if you don’t mind me questioning?”

               “Only a couple years.”

               “You look a lot younger than him, you look almost the same age as Fili.”

               “That is very kind of you, Bilbo.” You gave the Hobbit a small soft smile, one that hadn’t seen much light as of late. “It warms my heart that you think that. Mahal knows we all need a friend who sees our worth even when others don’t.”

               “Does that mean you will change your mind about leaving?” You shook your head at him.

               “No it doesn’t.” You started messing with the butt of your blade. “I can make it back to Rivendell in a few days, a week if that and I’ve heard that the forges there are descent but nothing like the forges of Erebor.” You smirked a little at the comment.

               “Whatever happens tonight, Bilbo, do not tell the others especially Thorin that I will make my way to Rivendell. Thorin holds a grudge with all Elven kin thanks to the Elven king Thranduil.” Bilbo nodded his head with a sad look on his face.

               “I will not tell them.”

               “Thank you, Bilbo.” ~

                 With dawn a few hours away, you woke up. Looking around at the camp and seeing that everyone was asleep. Quietly you packed up your bags and was about to take your leave when a voice made you stop.

               “Where do you think you’re going?” The voice was not of one of the dwarves or even Bilbo but of Gandalf.

               “I’m heading back to Rivendell.”

               “You don’t have to lie to me, (Y/n). You’re going to head towards Erebor. You lied to Bilbo, telling him you were going somewhere safe.”

               “He has enough to worry about with being with this company and all. If he knew where my path would truly take me, he would most definitely worry and try to keep me here.” You looked at Bilbo as he slept.

               “Then why go? He sees you as a sister.”

               “I know he does but I must take my leave before things are said that will be regretted.” You looked at Thorin and felt your heart hurt. The two of you used to be best friends when you were young and now it’s as if reclaiming Erebor is more important. “May the wind always be at your back.”

               Without waiting for a retort or even a response, you turned away from the wizard and left the company. You knew you would see them all again, you just didn’t know when.

[my-hand-in-your-pocket]

Bad Ending mwahahahah

Setup: Phaenna and her crew get captured by guardians.

Pallaxas had fought guardians during his service to the House of Kings. Individuals were easy enough to kill: picking them off with a wire rifle from afar, grabbing and lifting them overhead before hurling them off of a cliff, even hacking them apart with his shock swords. Facing down two coordinated and experienced fireteams, however, was altogether quite different.

Ether hissed from his many gaping wounds left by gunshots and knives. Three Hunters danced circles around him and stabbed at seemingly opportune moments only to be parried and given the occasional riposte. Moving like a whirlwind to fend off the lot of them was an increasingly difficult task as his movements slowed and his limbs grew heavier.

Phaenna and Beltane-5 occasionally blind-fired from behind cover and missed the guardians but were kept at bay by the Warlocks’ and Titans’ suppressing fire.

“We need to fall back!” Phaenna shouted.

“I’ll move first and take pot-shots. My frame can handle the heat!” Beltane-5 shouted back. “I go, then you go, we’ll split their attention!”

The doctor leapt out from behind cover, quickly took aim and fired, landing a perfect headshot on a Warlock manning the rooftops. The guardian fell, but in a blaze of solar energy, she arose and fired back. Beltane-5′s knee exploded in a spray of shards and wires and he collapsed with a thud.

Phaenna was already on the move and on seeing her companion fall, she hesitated and turned to face him.

And turned her back toward the Titan racing toward her. He tackled her to the ground and gripped her tightly by her neck. Only a wet gurgle escaped her lips. She stared up at his blank mask and armored fist. He said not a single word and punched her, and she fell limp.

Pallaxas caught the skirmish, saw his Exo companion crawling away on his belly, saw the Titan cuff Phaenna with manacles. His moment of distraction was all the Hunters needed; they charged him and slammed their daggers into his back, over and over. The Eliksni’s swords clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees, weakened limbs shuddering from ether-loss and body wracked with agony. At that moment, he knew that his time was upon him.

Looking up, he watched as another Warlock ascended into the air before him. Void energy sizzled around him and gathered between his hands, an orb of violet rage growing larger and larger. With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself to his feet. he sputtered in his native tongue. God of Light, save my people->

The Warlock hurled his Void Bomb and blasted Pallaxas into nothingness.

The Exo convicts screamed, cried, and pleaded. Their final minutes and last words fell on deaf ears as the New Monarchy officers fastened their straps and secured cranial devices to their heads.

Beltane-5 stared at the metallic floor of the expungement chamber and ignored the plaintive wailing around him. He remained still, quiet, and for the first time in his life - the fifth time? He felt exhausted. Numb. Relinquished to his fate.

“Commence the execution,” a senior officer announced. Her tone was clinical and indifferent. There was no asking of last words, no priest to deliver their final rites, no regard for their humanity. To her, they were little more than noisy machines, non-compliant robots that defied the City, aberrations that needed correcting.

Their headgear hummed to life and he felt his circuits pulse with intense energy. A sensation swept through his frame, a feeling not unlike being ripped apart and slowly falling asleep. His memories raced in a desperate bid to fight for his life: the patients that died in his arms. The victims of Fallen brutality and bandit savagery he failed to save. Phaenna looking soulfully at him as she confided in him her hopes and fears. Pallaxas attending to him quietly, an unyielding and loyal sentry.

Young Ana, brightly chattering about video games and waking in the night with tears, holding him until dawn as she cried.

Beltane-5 surrendered to apathy and his head slumped and everything fell to blackness.

The Exo’s visuals went online. He looked up, bewildered at his surroundings and his equally-confused fellow Exos beside him. Several officers garbed in red uniforms approached each of them and scanned them, and followed up with a series of questions.

“Hello,” the Exo said. “Uh, who are you? Why am I strapped down?”

His attending officer stared at him with complete disinterest and scanned him. “What is your name?” He asked.

“My name is Beltane... six. Beltane-6,” the Exo replied.

“Do you have an assigned job, education and skillset?”

“I've got primary and secondary education protocols and, uh, no job training,” Beltane-6 replied. “Where am I?”

“Who are your friends and legal next of kin?” The officer asked.

“I don’t have any friends. No next of kin.”

“What do you know about medicine?”

“Nothing,” he replied calmly.

The Exos were released and ushered single-file out of the expungement chamber. “You will enter orientation shortly and receive your new job and living assignments,” the senior officer announced dully.

I’m getting a job? Beltane-6 wondered. And a place to live? I wonder if I can make any friends...

As they departed, the next set of Exo convicts were secured in the expungement chamber with the efficiency of an assembly line. They screamed, cried, and pleaded, all complaints falling on deaf ears.

The crowd of thousands roared in triumph as Phaenna stepped out of the prisoner transport van. Officers secured restraining poles to her legcuffs, checked her manacles, and secured a restraining pole to the collar around her neck. Two Titans bearing the brilliant white-on-red logos of the New Monarchy attended to her entourage of guards and escorted her on her short walk - a walk that seemed as long as a league - to the stage that was erected in the City square.

“Thief!” The many voices shouted as she passed. “Dirty cunt! Murderer! Thieving whore! Traitor! Burn in hell!”

The Titans kept the angry crowd at bay but made little effort to shield the woman from the trash thrown her way. An empty bottle shattered at her feet and rotten, maggot-ridden vegetables were hurled and caught in her unwashed hair. The guards did not clean her off and when she stopped to shake the vermin-ridden garbage away, they shoved her forward.

Phaenna and her escort climbed the short staircase to the stage. A line of FOTC soldiers stared dispassionately at her, each one standing with rifles resting calmly at their sides. The Titans secured her to a post upstage center before moving to either side of the stage.

A New Monarchy Executor glared down at her from his podium nested on a balcony above and sneered. She could see his thoughts in his eyes: Lowlife. Traitorous scum. Living garbage.

“Phaenna Serov, aka ‘Kosma’,” he began. “You have been accused of the following crimes against humankind: grand theft, assault on guardians, conspiring with the Eliksni, abduction, smuggling, theft of classified Vanguard materials, interference with Vanguard operations. You were previously sentenced to exile in twenty-seven-oh-seven, but your actions have deemed you a traitor to humanity and an enemy of the state. You are sentenced to die by firing squad and your assets will be absorbed by the City, as you have no next-of-kin. Do you have any last words?”

Hot tears welled up in her eyes and her chest tightened. She opened her quivering mouth to speak but her words were drowned out by the roaring crowd. The gravity of her situation fully sank in and she lowered her head, her shoulders shaking along with her quiet sobbing.

“Let the execution commence,” the Executor said.

One of the Titans barked a command, loud and clear to the soldiers and they readied their rifles.

Phaenna looked up at the Traveler hanging above. The sky was clear blue and the sun was shining. Birds flew carefree and she felt a cool breeze waft over her body. The snow glistened on the mountains flanking the City. The sun shone brightly and warmed her face. The day seemed filled with life.

The Titan barked another command, and the soldiers took aim.

Phaenna thought of her lovers, dead or gone. Rotting in prison, cold in the ground, lost forever. She missed their warm, loving embraces, their soft kisses and whispered nothings. She missed fighting by their sides, watching the stars and telling tales over the campfire. She missed her respite from loneliness.

She missed her parents. The last she saw them, she had left New Boston on reaching adulthood and traveled to the Last City to become a Cryptarch. Her mother, Kosma, an adventurer who traveled the world and seized problems by the throat. Her soft-spoken father, who discouraged Phaenna from fighting, swearing, and running wild through the settlement. When she returned in exile from the City, New Boston had long since been razed to the ground by the Fallen. She never saw them again.

She thought of Beltane-5. He had always been dedicated to her, tending to her wounds and acting as her confidante and friend, her shoulder to lean on. She missed his peculiar friendliness coupled with his morbid violent streak, and his compassion for treating the many victims in the world. His cheerful voice. His steady reassurance that everything would turn out okay.

Pallaxas was dependable, loyal to a fault, and in many ways one of her closest friends yet something of a mystery. Even over the course of a decade she still found herself amazed at his tenacity in battle and his expert swordsmanship. She missed the soft music he played on his instrument, missed his temerity around loudness and his unusually soft nature.

And Ana... skin and bones and trembling with fear when they met - now a healthy young girl on the verge of womanhood. Her indecipherable chatter of esoteric technology, her screaming curse words at video games, her soft body shaking in her arms when she was wracked with an episode. Her unique way of looking at the world, of playing with problems and devising ingenious solutions, her disbelief in “impossible” and dedication to unlocking even the most arcane enigmas.

In their brief years together, Ana became more than her charge, more than her crew member. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry Ana,” she whispered to the Traveler. “I’m sorry... my wonderful daughter...”

The soldiers fired.

They were her heroes.

They were her heroes and she had spent her life looking up to them, the saviors of the Earth.

Two years ago, she watched her crew get cut down by two fireteams from the safety of the Kingswind. She saw Pallaxas disintegrate in a blast of Void energy, watched Phaenna get knocked out, watched Beltane-5 get dragged away in chains. She watched her heroes destroy her crew. Her family.

In her panic, she fled the skiff and lost herself in the wilderness. Days later, she was found by settlers and taken in.

Two years passed. Each day she looked at the sky and waited. Waited for Phaenna to arrive on the Kingswind with Beltane-5 at the helm. Every night she woke in a cold sweat and sought Beltane’s or Phaenna’s arms, and instead, found nothing but her stinking hayloft that was her new home. Each day she toiled on the farm and performed menial tasks throughout the settlement.

She never mentioned her vast knowledge of science and engineering to the villagers. To them, she was a transient with no family, an outsider, a young woman that worked as a laborer from dawn to dusk. And what was the point of her mentioning anything? They had no machines, no technology that was relevant to her field. She would not have been able to help them.

Each day she waited, and each day Phaenna did not come, and a growing sense of dread crept up on her: maybe she would never come back. Still, she watched the skies with diminishing hope and grieved for Pallaxas.

A Hunter passed through the settlement one day and for the first time in her life, Ana turned away in anger. She felt betrayed. She hated him. Leaving his presence was all she could do to keep herself from strangling the guardian. The image of their capturing her crew two years ago still felt fresh. Disgust heated her cheeks as she listened to the settlers croon over the Hunter, who bragged about his adventures. She wanted nothing more than to watch him die. She wanted her crew’s captors to die. She wanted them all to die.

Perhaps she had been a fool to have believed in them. When they killed Pallaxas and hauled away the remainder of her crew, the last of her meager hope fizzled. She remembered the sensation of hope dying. Every last dream she had of meeting them, of listening to their stories, making friends and watching them show off their powers shattered in an instant.

Perhaps Phaenna had been right all along. Perhaps they were never the heroes she thought they were.

Perhaps all guardians were monsters.

[dividedwerisetogetherwefall]

Chapter 1: Rise of Nations

Ever since the beginnings of civilization, a preeminent rivalry arose. Two nations were pitted against each other by the cruelest of fates. There was no rest, there was no peace. They lived for war, they thrived off war, and there was never enough of it. In a lush valley, long long ago, two civilizations formed, each on opposing hills. The kingdoms known only as red and blue loathed each other. Daily, the red and the blue would march their men to war. Both sides would meet eye to eye atop the hills, and they would charge down. Their soldiers met in the dip, and they would fight tirelessly. No retreat was ever called, for all that mattered was victory. The deceased were left to rot in the well of the valley, and the pile of bodies within it grew more and more massive, as the kings continued to send their soldiers into an unwinnable war. The Kings watched atop their high towers, the deaths of the soldiers only acting as a small morsel to the greedy demons within them that only howled for more bloodshed. Every day was the same. Assemble ranks, charge, die. The valley became more and more full with corpses and skeletons. Despite this, the kings pursued war-driven agenda and pushed on. Yet, both sides were dying from the inside, and everyone except the leaders knew of it. The people were starving, sick, broken, beaten, restless, yet the fighting went on. Every night was dark and cold. 

They howled at their nation’s rulers in their ivory towers, who were fat, and jolly; careless of the suffering of their people. They screamed, “Help us! Save us!” Their voices were silenced. They begged, “We will do anything for a bite to eat! Save us!” Their requests were ignored. Yet the fight went on, and the kings scoffed as they sent their pawns to their death again and again. Riots broke out, and rebellions formed. The citizens of the kingdoms found themselves caught in an endless free for all for survival. Brother against sister, sons against fathers; all that mattered was survival. Many feared for their lives and fled their nations, but others stayed and fought on, determined to rise to the top and survive. Their kingdoms had fallen, and only at this moment, the rulers finally opened their eyes and saw all the corruption in their kingdoms. Dread hung over them as they tried to reconcile. The Kings screamed, bargained, bribed, but it wasn’t enough. The barrier protecting him from the ravenous people had been broken. Splinters flew across the air as the people poured in, armed with clubs and rocks.

The kings sputtered, “Please… just let me live another day! I swear this will not happen again! I’ll make sure to- Hey get your hands off me! What are you-” The people grabbed the king and clasped their hands over his mouth. The Kings’ screams boomed across the entire valley, as the people of the valley slowly ended the tyrants who had brought only pain and suffering into their life. Their clubs bashed one at a time, each bash producing a heart-wrenching shriek. Slowly but surely, the wicked kings were put to rest. They looked across the valley filled to the brim with bodies of dead soldiers. At the opposing hill, they saw each other. For some reason, they felt a deep hate for each other. “They’re the enemy.” Said the people. “Who else is there to blame?” Ironically, the one thing the people had attempted to cease, simply ignited a hunger for the one thing sitting inside them all. Violence. The ravaged people stared at each other from the ivory towers. They hurled insults at each other from their high places. The red nation screamed, “You’ll pay for this! Criminals! Murderers!”   The blue nation exclaimed in reply, “Blasphemy! You brought this upon us!” “Disgusting, vile lies!” The red nation shouted back. They bickered back and forth, hurling childish insults at each other until their voices grew hoarse and they could scream no longer. The sun had already set by the time they stopped, so both sides stopped and retreated for the night. They lay hungry, sick, and bruised in the ramshackle remains of their kingdoms; yet this night was not sleepless. A beast had found shelter in these people, and it gave them satisfaction. They lay, staring at the stars, curious of what the next day would bring until sleep took them over swiftly like an assassin in the night. They awoke to the sounds of birds chirping, and screeching as they were quickly shot out of the air by rocks, thrown by the starving people of the land. The birds would make a soft thud on the grass as the ravaged people would proceed to rip their tiny guts up into little pieces to prepare them for cooking. Makeshift tents were set up, campfires were made, and the people of the valley enjoyed a meal of small bird meat. It was a pleasant moment of peace between both nations. How long would it last? After a meager breakfast, the people of the blue kingdom began planning, for they knew they that idleness would only bring strife. So they split and took a responsibility. The men went out and hunt, the women took care of the children, and the children waddled around and played little games with their mates. All was well for these people. They knew not of a better life. Survival was enough for the people of the blue kingdom. Every day was lived with a purpose, no idling, no breaks. In the morning they toiled: farming, building, hunting, then slept early and woke early for another day of more hard work. Years of monotonous work pass, and soon enough the people of the blue nation grew tireless. What had their lives become? Where have they gone? What is their purpose? Is this all life had to offer? “Surely there is so much left to discover in the world.” They thought. The people didn't know why they lived, and why they were there. For so long survival had been what their brains craved. Now that survival is easy, what now? What was left for them in life? These thoughts rushed through the brains of the people without end. They were haunted by these thoughts at every waking moment. The nagging voice in their heads caused them to become restless and insane. They lay awake some nights, trying to mute the voice inside them but, their attempts were unsuccessful. Many sleepless nights later, the people decided they’d had enough, so they planned a meeting so they could discuss their thoughts. At first, it was awkward and silent. The people sat around in a large circle around the circle just before sunset. Everyone stared at one another, waiting for someone to take initiative. The men fidget around, for they were not used to be part of such sedentary activity. The sun sets. More silence. Suddenly, a voice appeared from outside the circle. “Surely, there is more to life.” Said an old man with a faint, yet calming voice. Everyone’s eyes darted at the tent he was lying down in. He got up and sat up to face all the youth around him. He was a weak, pathetic being. He wore wrinkled skin and pale sunken eyes. He waved his finger towards them and said, “You are our future. Please. Explore, experiment, discover. I promise to you that there is so much more to life than survival. You just have to seek it.” The men stared at the old man and nodded obediently. They return to their awkward silence. The fire crackled quietly as the moon began to peek over the hill. A young man’s voice erupted suddenly, “Impossible. Simply impossible.” The crowd’s eyes shot towards the young man this time. “So what if we discover something never found before? How can we ensure these discoveries will bring good into our lives?” Whispering broke out amongst the other people at the camp. Their eyes would look at the young man, then they would shift them to the old man with an anxious look on their faces. The young man took a deep sigh and continued on. “If we are living our lives this way then it must be a reason.” He pointed at the sky. “Whoever is up there pulling the strings knows, but we don't. We can never be corrupt if we don't allow corrupt things in our lives, you see? Look! We have everything we need here! Water! Food! Shelter! Now what? Do we need more? To fulfill our selfish desires?” The people stared at the young man, who had gotten up from his place in the circle in excitement. The old man stared at the young man with his ominous glassy eyes and began to speak once more. “I could argue with you all day about this boy, but I want you to understand something. Life is gonna bore you to death if you go on this way. Work, sleep, work, sleep until the day you die. Is that what you want? Let me answer for you, no. Who cares about corruption? This is our destiny. We weren't made to stay in one place in life, we were made to go places. Come on my friend, let us go out and seek.” He reached his hand out to the young man. They shook hands, and they smiled. The moon shone brightly above them, so the people silently agreed to fall in for the night. For once their rest was not disturbed by the nagging voice, it vanished, and was never heard from again. The red kingdom was in complete disarray. Blood splattered on the ground; dirt and grime were everywhere. The body of their king was stabbed in a large spike in the ground for all to see. Small tents were set up around the perimeter of the city walls, and the open area in the center housed tens of men, fighting for who knows what. They hurled insults at each other as they dived and swung their fists at each other. “Weak!” One man said. Another man turned around and punched him square in the jaw. “Who are you callin weak?” Another fighter leaped into the air and drove his elbow into his face. “Fools! None of you are stronger than me!” Of course, this taunt caused other men to target this man. This pattern of hit, then get hit persisted throughout the whole fight. They fought on until the moon shone brightly in the air, and their bodies were numb with pain. They retreated to their tents, where they skipped all the nonsense like speaking to their wife and kids, and went straight to their cot for sleep. They awoke whenever they wanted to, and hunted whenever they wanted to. They would always travel in different directions, for competition for food was extremely high and doing so would reap the most benefits. The food was sacred in this kingdom. Food is what gave them energy, it's what gave them life. Their lives, along with the lives of their families depended on their hunting. Wives and children would awake to the screams of dying animals and sometimes a screech of a human. After all, a man’s gotta eat; even if it's at the cost of another man. Their lives were simple. Hunt, fight, sleep; their wives would take care of the rest. The people lived their regular lives in their kingdoms. The blue nation sought new destinies, whilst the red accepted theirs and lived according to it. All was quiet between them until one day, warriors from the red nation crossed the river crossed the river of bodies and they screamed at the blue nation, “Come! Send your greatest warriors to compete! Show us your strength!” The blue hesitated but came to the consensus that they should participate. They sent 3 of their hunters to battle the 3 men of the red nation. The red warriors laughed and booed at the blue hunters, as they were lead to the river of bodies, which they were abruptly shoved into. The blue people began to look pale, and they vomited in disgust. The red nation watched from their hill and the blue nation from their hill. The red nation hollered at the pathetic blue warriors, but they quickly recovered and prepared for the fight. The red nation carried great steel swords, while the blue nation carried small spears and bows. The red nation came charging in, swords in the air and their voices screaming. The blue team simply backed up and readied their bows for firing. They steadied themselves, pointed, then shot. Their arrows hit all three red soldiers in their foreheads, and they dropped dead in the river of bodies. The blue nation cheered from their side as their champions climbed out of the hole. Meanwhile, on the other side of the valley, the red nation hurled insults. “Unfair! Dishonorable!” The blue nation screamed to the red. “How about we have this battle once more next year! Then, we shall truly see who the victor is!” The red nation nodded in approval and they retreated back to their kingdom. This tournament went on annually, evolving every year. New rules, restrictions on weapons; it soon became an annual reunion of red and blue, where they can sit next to each other and relax while they watch the gladiators in the pit fight to the death. The tournament became known as Red Warfare. Named after the red nation’s warfare against the blue nation that one fateful day. Fast forward to the present, the year 2068. Both kingdoms expanded immensely. They were still divided by the valley of bodies, which acted as a border. It was buried in dirt, which is the closest thing to a burial that these people would get. At the center of the border of the two kingdoms, was the red warfare arena, where the annual red warfare match would be held. Nations would join together and watch people from their nation fight to the death. What fun. Both kingdoms still loathed each other deeply. Their kingdoms were also surrounded by high walls to keep the quote unquote “rebel scum” out. Sentry men were on watch 24/7, armed with sub machine guns with way too much ammunition. Mostly the nights were silent on both sides, the people knew better than to run in solo and be put at the mercy of their sworn enemies. Due to the new arena, the fights were brought elsewhere. From the barren deserts to the snowy mountains, the fighting refused to cease. Yet no progress was made, for it was an endless stalemate. No hope, no peace.