Work Text:
The castle is on fire.
This is not the first time, it has been on fire before. That does not lessen the blow, it does not numb those watching it crumble. Independent soldier at where there should be gates, mourning lost respect.
Independent soldier eating breakfast alone. He dreamt of his death three times the night before. He will dream it all again. Repetition does not staunch the bleeding, it does not give kindness to flint. Killed with arrows, three times over. He could kill for some variety.
Lone watchman, counting his days. Drowning is reserved for tragedies, and he is not a tragedy. A matchstick, maybe, talked about only in the state before combustion. But never a tragedy. He will not let anyone trap him in a burning building again. To-be-burned, to-be-categorised; a lit fuse.
Beautiful, resplendent scarlet! Learn to live with it, through clenched teeth and weak hands. It isn't personal. Well, it was, but they didn't mean it, and get over it already, and you’re so sensitive, you know that?
Blame action on inaction.
Pay attention! The castle is on fire, and someone’s trying to put it out, and he’s filling in the holes with whatever he has in his hands but it spreads so fast and he’s choking on the smoke and what are you doing in the water? Get out! Water is not for you! All you have is hands at your shoulders and some grit in your eye and pull yourself together. There are people waiting.
There are people waiting and they’re dreaming about love, and all he can hear is pity cries. Love is the only truth, they say, and claim innocence in that. But he’s seen the way they watch the numbers dwindle. He’s seen the way they brand themselves victim. Some of them once put an arrow in his eye. Some of them once ran to his side. And all tied themselves together, one blade, one heart, one red-eyed bird.
They get to dream about love, and all he gets is cinders in his mouth? That isn’t fair.
Unfairness didn’t light the castle on fire, but it’s still burning, and what’s to be done with that?
He talks in his sleep, so he’s been told. Whatever. Unlike others, he has nothing to hide. Grievances and trusts worn plain to see. They won’t take him at face value, so they shoot him out of the sky and set his heart ablaze. Self-contained wildfire within stone walls, mourning lost goodwill.
Self-contained wildfire taking his shoes off by the door. He saw three people die today. He will watch them die again when he goes to sleep. Make a bed out of ashes and blink back bitterness. Not everything gets a burial, but eulogies come in ready supply. A few loving words for bodies going cold never hurt anyone.
Draw a line from him to you. Draw your bow and kill someone. There is blood in the sand. You put blood in the sand. Seize a sword out of a body of water, dress it in iron-rust, and send it to kill war. Pull the wool over someone’s eyes long enough to end the victor. Don’t you dare pull the knife from his back without the guts to commit.
This is a landscape of loyalties beaten down to doggedly live coals.
Independent soldier at splintered gates. Red eyes set their sights on an unstable target. So lights the funeral pyre.