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Ambrosius' golden armor shifts as he makes the motion to step beside the Director, and for the first time, it feels utterly weightless. As if the shimmering armor had went from being something that he had despised for years, a shiny piece of metal that the Institution had gifted him the first year he had enlisted in the program, something that he had passed hanging on his walls for almost two decades before today to a real piece of armor that he could take pride in, now finally worthy of being a real knight.
He beams at Bal, and his boyfriend tentatively smiles back as he kneels before the Queen. Ambrosius is positively swelling with joy and pride; he doesn't think he's ever felt this way before, ever. Bal has just come so far from being that scrawny, malnourished knight he had first met, anxious around everyone but especially him, to this amazing knight who deserves the whole world.
The Queen finally, finally taps both shoulders with Bal's sword, and — the crowd is radio silent, unsure of what to do or say. It only lasts for a moment, but it might as well be a year to Ambrosius before they erupt into resounding cheers and shouts and praises and he is so happy, so happy that his beautiful boyfriend is finally making his mark in the world's history. This might be the best day of his life.
Until Bal's sword suddenly out of nowhere makes a clicking motion, as if charging up, and—
He watches, motionless, as the bright-green beam shoots out from Ballister's sword and strikes the Queen flat in the chest.
Time seems to stop.
The crowd stops, the knights stop, and most of all Bal stops, heavy sword clanking to the floor the only sound that is coming from the stunned silent stadium. The Queen falls to the floor, eyes still wide in pure shock, and all that is running through Ambrosius' mind is that the peaceful ruler of them all is dead. The Queen is dead, her life has come to an end, and his sorrow-fueled mind slowly boots up and starts to run again, only now there's something wrong with the whole system like the gears have jammed in place and he is taken over by pure instinct rather than thoughts of his own accord. With bile thick on his tongue like he'll choke on what he's about to do, reflex takes his sword — it almost doesn't feel like him doing the action — and slices Ballister's right arm clean off.
The effect is immediate. Ballister's left arm — his only one left, a horrible part of his brain whispers — goes to protect his right side, crying out in pure agony and Ambrosius thinks that sound will haunt him forever until his grave because he caused that. He's the one responsible for the gut-wrenching pain his lover has to suffer through, and at this same moment Ballister looks up, still clutching his injury. Their eyes meet, and Ambrosius can do nothing but gape. What does he even say?
He stares at Ballister, and Ballister stares back, eyes a mix of conflicted emotions but most of all fear, and a small, traitorous part of Ambrosius thinks that this isn't right. This — this can't be how it happens. How could Ballister be the one who murdered the Queen? How could his beloved boyfriend commit treason, after he had worked so hard for all these years to get to the top? Before he can ask, the sword, which wasn't forgotten about in Ambrosius' internal debate, clatters to the floor and hits the Jumbotron. It shakes, and just as Ambrosius can move it starts to fall.
Before he can reach Ballister amidst the sparks falling, the man in question still motionless, the Dome crashes to the floor and sends them both and all the others in the stadium's floor.
His first instinct wasn't to protect the Director. It was to reach for Ballister.
—
Ambrosius gasps awake and his first action is immediately to reach to his right, his flesh and blood right hand instinctively outstretching for Ballister, and when he finds the other space empty his stomach starts to twist into horrible knot shapes. His heart is beating faster and faster, a light sheen of sweat resting on his forehead, and — you did this, his spiraling mind tells him, and it doesn't sound like him but he is too panicked to discrinfy who it is. You turned away from him. You cut off his arm, you permanently scarred him, you are responsible for all of his hurt and his pain and his grief that he has to go through. You did this, you did this, you did this.
Everything in his close vision is blurring, distorted by the filter of tears that is crowding Ambrosius' sight, and he cannot think clearly anymore. Someone distantly calls out to him, but it's far away and filtered; the sound is miles away, muffled. His pristine locks of hair are yanked through, his senses are crowded, everything is overwhelming him and he just wants this to be over, already —
"Ambrosius! Ambrosius, please!"
Through the haze of tears, Ambrosius manages to recognize Ballister's voice. He hears it, but it's so far away; how can he ever redeem himself? He committed an unforgivable deed. He hears his name again, and it is only when a single tear drips onto the blanket in front of him that he starts to emerge from the fog. Ballister is staring at him, wide-eyed and terrified, and — he flinches away, because how can his boyfriend look at him after what he did? His own body shakes with dry sobs, heaving, and he is too warm and too cold simultaneously. He had the sudden urge to throw the blankets off.
"Ambrosius? What happened?" Ballister tells him, hair messy from sleep, but big doe eyes focused on him and filled to the brim with sympathy for his boyfriend. "It's okay – "
"It's not," he desperately breathes out, his gaze focused solely on Ballister’s right metal arm, heart pounding with the sight. "It was my fault, Bal. I just, I – I wasn't thinking, and I—"
Ballister sucks in a sudden breath, his face going through several emotions before it lands on concern. "It's all right. I forgave you. I forgave you, okay? It — wasn't your fault, I still trust you."
Ambrosius has no words for a single moment, then he darts forward in a blur of blond and, the next thing Ballister knows, he's got his lover wrapped around his chest. "I thought you were dead," he sobs, heaving. "I thought – I thought I had killed you, Ballister. I could find you, anywhere. I didn't know if you were safe or if you had been captured if you were still alive, Bal! I should have been there, and it's – it's my biggest regret."
Ballister hugs him back without hesitation, knocking their foreheads together. "I know.
We're okay now, Amb."