Chapter Text
“Darren Shan. The boy Prince. The one who killed the Lord of his enemies. Tell me, boy, what do you fear?” Darren gulped and held his head high. The lake surrounded him, and the water filled his ears. Steve had gone pale beside him.
“Nothing,” Darren thought mindlessly. He couldn’t speak in the godforsaken lake, couldn’t do anything but think. That was all he did.
He thought about Sam Grest and how he had died mercilessly at the hands of RV. How the childhood memories between him and Steve did nothing to save them in the end. He thought and thought until his mind went numb.
Desmond had fished him out a couple of times and asked him if he would behave. Darren spat at his feet each time. Back in he went. He felt Evanna’s pitying gaze wash over him as the water filled his ears and mouth, overflowed into his lungs and-
“Who knows how you would’ve turned out,” the jawless man said. He had white hair and striking blue eyes. He seemed familiar to Darren, but the Prince knew that they had never met. He would’ve remembered meeting a man whose tongue hung loose in the wind.
“He has a purpose for you,” the first man continued. “I would do my best to keep him from fulfilling it.”
The days turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years. Desmond came again, and again asked the same question. Same answer from Darren. Same cold plunge into the unforgiving lake, where Steve’s glare bored into him day and night.
He looked for Larten everywhere he could. He delved the deep until he could walk on the ocean floor. He thought about his former mentor, his ugly cropped carrot-colored hair and his mismatched red suit. He thought about the man whom he had not seen in decades. There was nothing. Darren felt bittersweet about the lack of presence. Larten deserved to move on. Deep down, he hoped that he and Alicia were together.
Gavner wasn’t down there either. A few generals Darren had appointed floated beside him from time to time. They tended to avoid him for the most part, creating their own little clique. For once in his life, he felt excluded by his own kind. No matter. He was a Prince, and they were generals. But, with a sinking feeling in his gut, he realized something- they were ALL dead. Rank didn’t matter in death.
He was dead. They were dead. There was nothing to compare-
He sputtered and gasped as air returned into his lungs. Once again, the duo were there.
“Are you willing to behave?” Desmond asked. The ticking noise that followed him grew louder in Darren’s silence.
Perhaps it was the boredom, or the exclusion, or the madness of seeing never-ending opalescent blue. Perhaps it was another thing entirely.
“Yes, father.”