[Fic] Duty
Title: Duty
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crusade era
Notes: prompt #92 - Holiday
Duty
Red.
Shades of it seemed to be everywhere he looked. He stood slowly; squaring his shoulders as he jerked his sword out from the mass it was buried in, the blade slick with blood. It dribbled down towards the point and dripped in a steady staccato. It was splattered all over his uniform too; mixed with sweat, dirty snow and mud. He could hear his own blood rushing, the fast pulsating beat in his ears punctuated by the heaving breaths he drew to calm his nerves. The air was cold and stung his nose and lungs. His arms and back ached, muscles twitching with exhaustion; fingers he’d long lost feeling in were unwilling to loosen their grip around the hilt of his weapon. Sweat beaded his face, plastering his bangs to his forehead, droplets tickling as they trickled down his skin.
He raised his eyes to the horizon, squinting in the bright light of the setting sun. The sky was streaked in ribbons of pink and gold above the snowy field of shadowed corpses. Grabbing the tail of his coat, he wiped down his sword before he sheathed it; having it freeze to his scabbard wouldn’t do him any good. The wind rose, icy air biting into exposed skin as the gusts stiffened damp garments and swirled up bits of snow. His lips felt tight and rough but he fought the urge to lick them.
He glanced over the battlefield, estimating the Order’s losses for his report. Exhaling a shaky breath, his throat tightened as he gazed back to the cityscape. An out-of-the-way place like this was quiet, should have been off radar. Instead, the streets were littered with bodies, or what was left of them; broken and twisted, limbs scattered among their slimy entrails. The walls and buildings were a canvas for the carnage. The nearest regiment had been hours away when the alarms were raised. By the time troops arrived there wasn’t a soul alive. Several soldiers had to empty their stomachs at just the stench of all the slaughter, many more once they came upon the wreckage. His eyes grew unfocused, blurring everything to colorful smears.
He could run the numbers through his head again, sequence the scenario over and over, but the result would still be the same. Even if they had had the Order’s fastest airships at their disposal, they still wouldn’t have reached the area until long after the fact. Anger gnawed at him, bristling up his back and screwing his face into a snarl. The muscles in his abdomen began to grow taut as he clenched his jaw.
Someone coughed, snapping him back into reality. The sun barely crested the horizon now, throwing long shadows out as the first stars winked in the encroaching darkness. His joints felt stiff, the cold having long settled in and he trembled as he moved, his legs feeling unsteady. Off to his right, almost out of earshot, two soldiers were helping up a third man who was hacking rather violently. Even at a distance, he could spot the large scarlet stains on the man’s uniform. He adjusted his mental tally but still sent out a prayer before setting out for the base camp. After only a pace, however, he paused.
He could feel it; he was being watched again. Those red eyes were always following him, always observing. The way Sol could look so intently at him sent a new wave of shivers along his skin. He hadn’t even heard him approach, but given how numb he felt at the moment, he wasn’t too surprised. Slowly, he turned to face him.
Sol stood solidly amongst the carcasses strewn about. His uniform was also covered in various fluids, most of which had dried to a shade that resembled grimy rust. His hair whipped wildly about in the wind and the corners of his mouth twitched, too fast for him to catch the expression. Sol’s eyes were intense though, glowing with the recent hunger of adrenaline rush, predatory even. He was caught instantly.
Without breaking that hold, Sol stepped closer. He raised a hand to Ky’s face, cupping it. His hand felt incredibly warm, even through the fabric of his glove. Ky closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he leaned into it. He lingered like that, nostrils flared and drawing slow steady breaths. Sol smelt like battle-blood, sweat and slightly smoky, but right now, mingled with that little bit of warmth, it was enough. Enough to go by, to know that this was real and that they both wanted it. He felt Sol press his thumb to his cheek and drag it across to his jaw line. Then Sol withdrew his hand, brushed past him and continued towards the camp. Ky blinked, touching his fingers to the smear. It felt hot and sticky. Pulling his hand back, he stared at bloodstained fingertips.
A small smile cracked his lips. They had done what they could and the only thing left was to rest. If he had been able to indulge in a hot bath and hot meal, he would have, but under the conditions, he knew all that was waiting for him back at their base camp was an unforgiving cot in a drafty tent and the same tasteless soldier’s rations they had been fed all month. He rolled his shoulders, his uniform pulling painfully from any place it had adhered to his wounds. He’d sleep sore and wake feeling more sore, but that was to be expected and besides, he could take it.
He’d have to.
He turned and followed Sol.
----
Later, the event would be written about as the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. The entire population, some one thousand seven hundred and thirty-four individuals, had been completely wiped out. It was a devastating blow to the morale of the Order and to humanity. Rooting out the rest of the Gears in the vicinity as well as taking care of what happened in the city took weeks. The day became a somber holiday, red decorations displayed as a means to remember the fallen, both civilian and solider.
----
A/N: Many thanks to aphelion_orion for her help. C&C is appreciated.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crusade era
Notes: prompt #92 - Holiday
Duty
Red.
Shades of it seemed to be everywhere he looked. He stood slowly; squaring his shoulders as he jerked his sword out from the mass it was buried in, the blade slick with blood. It dribbled down towards the point and dripped in a steady staccato. It was splattered all over his uniform too; mixed with sweat, dirty snow and mud. He could hear his own blood rushing, the fast pulsating beat in his ears punctuated by the heaving breaths he drew to calm his nerves. The air was cold and stung his nose and lungs. His arms and back ached, muscles twitching with exhaustion; fingers he’d long lost feeling in were unwilling to loosen their grip around the hilt of his weapon. Sweat beaded his face, plastering his bangs to his forehead, droplets tickling as they trickled down his skin.
He raised his eyes to the horizon, squinting in the bright light of the setting sun. The sky was streaked in ribbons of pink and gold above the snowy field of shadowed corpses. Grabbing the tail of his coat, he wiped down his sword before he sheathed it; having it freeze to his scabbard wouldn’t do him any good. The wind rose, icy air biting into exposed skin as the gusts stiffened damp garments and swirled up bits of snow. His lips felt tight and rough but he fought the urge to lick them.
He glanced over the battlefield, estimating the Order’s losses for his report. Exhaling a shaky breath, his throat tightened as he gazed back to the cityscape. An out-of-the-way place like this was quiet, should have been off radar. Instead, the streets were littered with bodies, or what was left of them; broken and twisted, limbs scattered among their slimy entrails. The walls and buildings were a canvas for the carnage. The nearest regiment had been hours away when the alarms were raised. By the time troops arrived there wasn’t a soul alive. Several soldiers had to empty their stomachs at just the stench of all the slaughter, many more once they came upon the wreckage. His eyes grew unfocused, blurring everything to colorful smears.
He could run the numbers through his head again, sequence the scenario over and over, but the result would still be the same. Even if they had had the Order’s fastest airships at their disposal, they still wouldn’t have reached the area until long after the fact. Anger gnawed at him, bristling up his back and screwing his face into a snarl. The muscles in his abdomen began to grow taut as he clenched his jaw.
Someone coughed, snapping him back into reality. The sun barely crested the horizon now, throwing long shadows out as the first stars winked in the encroaching darkness. His joints felt stiff, the cold having long settled in and he trembled as he moved, his legs feeling unsteady. Off to his right, almost out of earshot, two soldiers were helping up a third man who was hacking rather violently. Even at a distance, he could spot the large scarlet stains on the man’s uniform. He adjusted his mental tally but still sent out a prayer before setting out for the base camp. After only a pace, however, he paused.
He could feel it; he was being watched again. Those red eyes were always following him, always observing. The way Sol could look so intently at him sent a new wave of shivers along his skin. He hadn’t even heard him approach, but given how numb he felt at the moment, he wasn’t too surprised. Slowly, he turned to face him.
Sol stood solidly amongst the carcasses strewn about. His uniform was also covered in various fluids, most of which had dried to a shade that resembled grimy rust. His hair whipped wildly about in the wind and the corners of his mouth twitched, too fast for him to catch the expression. Sol’s eyes were intense though, glowing with the recent hunger of adrenaline rush, predatory even. He was caught instantly.
Without breaking that hold, Sol stepped closer. He raised a hand to Ky’s face, cupping it. His hand felt incredibly warm, even through the fabric of his glove. Ky closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he leaned into it. He lingered like that, nostrils flared and drawing slow steady breaths. Sol smelt like battle-blood, sweat and slightly smoky, but right now, mingled with that little bit of warmth, it was enough. Enough to go by, to know that this was real and that they both wanted it. He felt Sol press his thumb to his cheek and drag it across to his jaw line. Then Sol withdrew his hand, brushed past him and continued towards the camp. Ky blinked, touching his fingers to the smear. It felt hot and sticky. Pulling his hand back, he stared at bloodstained fingertips.
A small smile cracked his lips. They had done what they could and the only thing left was to rest. If he had been able to indulge in a hot bath and hot meal, he would have, but under the conditions, he knew all that was waiting for him back at their base camp was an unforgiving cot in a drafty tent and the same tasteless soldier’s rations they had been fed all month. He rolled his shoulders, his uniform pulling painfully from any place it had adhered to his wounds. He’d sleep sore and wake feeling more sore, but that was to be expected and besides, he could take it.
He’d have to.
He turned and followed Sol.
----
Later, the event would be written about as the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. The entire population, some one thousand seven hundred and thirty-four individuals, had been completely wiped out. It was a devastating blow to the morale of the Order and to humanity. Rooting out the rest of the Gears in the vicinity as well as taking care of what happened in the city took weeks. The day became a somber holiday, red decorations displayed as a means to remember the fallen, both civilian and solider.
----
A/N: Many thanks to aphelion_orion for her help. C&C is appreciated.