Fic: The Longer Road
This had been written as an entry for The-Gamer-Harddrive group contest over at deviantART. The theme had been "Versus" - so I chose Warden and Archdemon as my two characters.
His soul was asleep, and in its sleep it was singing the most beautiful song of all. He had to know; god of beauty would never sing about anything ugly.
But his beautiful song called to those who were ugly, twisted and evil. He was rudely awakened from his peaceful slumber under mountains, by those uncaring about him. Being a god meant nothing to them. Or maybe it did, he was unsure about it, as pain took over his consciousness, twisting his body from its beautiful and elegant dragon form to something twisted. It’s still dragon form, but it’s missing the dragon elegance and sleekness. Gold of his scales is darkened to some unrecognizable shade of red. In the short time before his mind is overtaken by pain, he sent all remaining beauty in his soul towards his favourite flowers, roses, making all the bushes bloom especially beautifully the year he had been awakened.
And then he roared to the skies, hordes of his followers cheering to the sound.
The ones, who once stopped hailing his name, will suffer. He shall make sure of it.
It was long until he finally felt those who shared the dark stain on their souls, who weren’t his followers. ‘They call themselves Grey Wardens, master,’ whispers one of his Alphas to him. ‘They dared to drink our blood - those blasphemers!’
‘I want them dead,’ he responds, anger boiling in him. ‘Now!’
He starts to haunt their dreams, showing them what they will do to their bodies once they get them. And then! There is a new mind to speak to, young and untried, filled with deep sorrow and loss, a woman’s mind. The amount of sorrow almost stops him from showing up in her dreams with the same vengeance he does in dreams of other Greys.
She is not amongst those he gets in his claws that day, his mind singing a sad song to his followers. ‘Bring her to me, my children,’ he calls, ‘bring her to me!’
He feels her presence when she sleeps. Invading her dreams becomes a regular thing for him to do - he sees the woman smiling, laughing, crying - carrying bouquets of roses. Roses. His flowers; beautiful, red and sweetly smelling. He corrupts those dreams viciously. How does anyone dare to smile? How does anyone dare to carry his flowers?
Other nights, her mind is full of contentment and peace. He sinks into those, resting his troubled mind and wonders whether she knows about his presence, because her dream voice starts to sing lullabies about roses dreaming in the gardens and he lets himself be lulled to sleep, scaring his followers who are confused by the lack of songs from him.
He feels her presence when he shows to newest of his children in something the mortals call “The Deep Roads” but he can’t be really sure about that. There is so many of the same presence all around him that it’s difficult to pin one being out of the mass. But she is there somewhere and that night, he shows in her dreams as he was before his children found him; beautiful and elegant and golden.
Her dreams start to be disturbed afterwards, full of anticipation and tension. And then he sees a plan in her mind; fingers tracing map, pointing to places on the lower side of the parchment. He smiles as only dragons can smile; his next move will be a check to the game they play.
He and his child strike at unsuspecting city, its inhabitants running for their lives while he flies above it all and roars his victory. It comes as a surprise when she appears by the gates, butchering her way in.
Her presence here distracts him so much that he doesn’t notice one of her brethren sneaking upon him. Pain enfolds him, as a sword is stabbed into his back, tearing into his body. His song changes from victorious to the one of pain. Calling upon his emissaries he doesn’t pay attention to what exactly is happening as he lands upon the top of fortress standing above the city, until her presence is closer than ever before.
She is there, standing in front of him, singing her own song as her followers swarm around her.
They dance around each other, each singing their song, making their steps as the area around them clears. She is everything he always wanted in his believers; beautiful yet deadly and he feels deep sorrow that he must kill her now.
But then, he suddenly is weakened and she is running towards him with her sword drawn, cutting into his flash as he collapses on the stone floor. For an endless moment their voices join in a song and then her sword moves, piercing into his skull.
‘Shah mat,’ he thinks, as his soul is leaving his body. And he smiles, because she is there with him.
His soul was asleep, and in its sleep it was singing the most beautiful song of all. He had to know; god of beauty would never sing about anything ugly.
But his beautiful song called to those who were ugly, twisted and evil. He was rudely awakened from his peaceful slumber under mountains, by those uncaring about him. Being a god meant nothing to them. Or maybe it did, he was unsure about it, as pain took over his consciousness, twisting his body from its beautiful and elegant dragon form to something twisted. It’s still dragon form, but it’s missing the dragon elegance and sleekness. Gold of his scales is darkened to some unrecognizable shade of red. In the short time before his mind is overtaken by pain, he sent all remaining beauty in his soul towards his favourite flowers, roses, making all the bushes bloom especially beautifully the year he had been awakened.
And then he roared to the skies, hordes of his followers cheering to the sound.
The ones, who once stopped hailing his name, will suffer. He shall make sure of it.
It was long until he finally felt those who shared the dark stain on their souls, who weren’t his followers. ‘They call themselves Grey Wardens, master,’ whispers one of his Alphas to him. ‘They dared to drink our blood - those blasphemers!’
‘I want them dead,’ he responds, anger boiling in him. ‘Now!’
He starts to haunt their dreams, showing them what they will do to their bodies once they get them. And then! There is a new mind to speak to, young and untried, filled with deep sorrow and loss, a woman’s mind. The amount of sorrow almost stops him from showing up in her dreams with the same vengeance he does in dreams of other Greys.
She is not amongst those he gets in his claws that day, his mind singing a sad song to his followers. ‘Bring her to me, my children,’ he calls, ‘bring her to me!’
He feels her presence when she sleeps. Invading her dreams becomes a regular thing for him to do - he sees the woman smiling, laughing, crying - carrying bouquets of roses. Roses. His flowers; beautiful, red and sweetly smelling. He corrupts those dreams viciously. How does anyone dare to smile? How does anyone dare to carry his flowers?
Other nights, her mind is full of contentment and peace. He sinks into those, resting his troubled mind and wonders whether she knows about his presence, because her dream voice starts to sing lullabies about roses dreaming in the gardens and he lets himself be lulled to sleep, scaring his followers who are confused by the lack of songs from him.
He feels her presence when he shows to newest of his children in something the mortals call “The Deep Roads” but he can’t be really sure about that. There is so many of the same presence all around him that it’s difficult to pin one being out of the mass. But she is there somewhere and that night, he shows in her dreams as he was before his children found him; beautiful and elegant and golden.
Her dreams start to be disturbed afterwards, full of anticipation and tension. And then he sees a plan in her mind; fingers tracing map, pointing to places on the lower side of the parchment. He smiles as only dragons can smile; his next move will be a check to the game they play.
He and his child strike at unsuspecting city, its inhabitants running for their lives while he flies above it all and roars his victory. It comes as a surprise when she appears by the gates, butchering her way in.
Her presence here distracts him so much that he doesn’t notice one of her brethren sneaking upon him. Pain enfolds him, as a sword is stabbed into his back, tearing into his body. His song changes from victorious to the one of pain. Calling upon his emissaries he doesn’t pay attention to what exactly is happening as he lands upon the top of fortress standing above the city, until her presence is closer than ever before.
She is there, standing in front of him, singing her own song as her followers swarm around her.
They dance around each other, each singing their song, making their steps as the area around them clears. She is everything he always wanted in his believers; beautiful yet deadly and he feels deep sorrow that he must kill her now.
But then, he suddenly is weakened and she is running towards him with her sword drawn, cutting into his flash as he collapses on the stone floor. For an endless moment their voices join in a song and then her sword moves, piercing into his skull.
‘Shah mat,’ he thinks, as his soul is leaving his body. And he smiles, because she is there with him.