Theatre Of Dreams
Prologue: The Curtains Are Drawn
Everything is dark. A soft darkness wrapping everything, a shiny silence dilating into nothingness.
A light coming from above is suddenly turned on, revealing a broad wooden stage and thick blood-red velvet curtains.
A rustle strokes the immobility of the scene and from behind the curtains someone appears wrapped in a green cloak.
"Huh? Oh, audience!"
The feminine silhouette says it with curiosity in her voice, her pale-green eyes glowing.
"Very well. Welcome to my Theatre Of Dreams!" she says, bowing into a fluid curtsey, and extends her arms in a wide gesture similar to a dancer's; and the curtains behind her are drawn with a longing sigh, disclosing an empty stage.
"Who am I? I am nobody. I am a God. I am only a dream," the creature says as she stands up, bowing her face a bit sideward and exposing to the single spotlight the line of her thin eyebrows, her high cheekbone, and her lips curled in a half-smile.
"I am the one who'll show you a play. A performance, if you will, of souls who on Earth have known both Paradise and Hell alike, chasing after each other, longing endlessly for each other."
The young creature turns abruptly, making her long curly copper-red hair whirl in the air.
"Come with me..."
The little bells tied to her ankles chime gently as her bare feet lightly touch the dark wooden floorboards, only to suddenly fall silent when the fairy stops in front of a locked double door in the background of the stage.
"Behind this door there's a lonely soul, torn apart between past and present. Whether its Dreams will be Shattered or Fulfilled... You'll see."
A light push, and the double door opens, revealing a room with stone walls lit up by candles, the floor of which is covered by a rug of soft green grass.
The Narrator crosses the threshold, sure she's being followed, and she stops beside the person crouched near a stone pool dug in the ground.
"He suffers," the guide says sadly, taking a little branch of holly off from behind one of her pointed ears and setting it in the man's blonde hair, without him noticing it or averting his gaze from the depths of the water he stares at.
"Look..." the Sidhe says, leaning over the young one's shoulder and pointing at the surface.
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A boy runs in zigzags in the forest like a chased deer, panting heavily, cheeks red from the effort and eyes watery with fear.
He doesn't seem to know where he's going; his only purpose is to run as far as he possibly can, his mind fogged by prey's terror.
He hears a threatening hiss behind him, but even recognizing it he doesn't have the time to react: the dagger drives itself into his right calf, making him fall and hit the ground with a pained scream.
Quick, he grabs the cutlass and draws it out, gritting his teeth as he tries not to let loose another cry, but it's useless: thanks to that (dirty) trick, his pursuer has already caught up with him even before he can try to stand up.
The two stay still like that, face to face: one on the ground, his messy blonde hair soiled with clay and blood, as much as his clothes are; the other with a giant battle axe by his side, his short blood-red hair similar to a demon's inflamed halo.
The only thing they have in common is a pair of deep green eyes: one pair full of fear and rage, the other full of sadistic pleasure and resolve.
"Wher're ye runnin' t', lil brother?" the redhead asks mockingly, looking at him from above thanks to his higher stature, as he clearly is many years older than the other.
"Fuck you, Alba." the blonde says venomously as he stands up slowly, the dagger dirtied with his blood now in his hand.
"Ye shouldnae talk like tha' t' someone who's older than ye, Albion." Every pretence of fake cordiality slips away from Alba's face, leaving place for a cruel smirk, and he raises his axe above his head with both hands, swinging it back down in a powerful strike at the younger boy.
He manages to avoid the strike by moving aside at the last moment, trying not to burden his injured leg, and while he does so, he throws a desperate magical counter-attack.
Even if Albion knows his older brother's both physical and magical endurance is frightening, an expression of astonishment appears on his face when he sees that his attack does not even have the slightest effect.
"Surprised, eh? Look at this beauty I 'ad th' Fae do fer me..." Alba says maliciously, noticing his surprise and lifting his weapon for another strike, and only then Albion notices, in anguish, the magical runes of protection carved deep into the metal.
He manages to avoid also this swing, but his injured leg betrays him at the worst possible moment making him stumble and giving the redhead the chance of a full back-hit right in his lower abdomen, throwing him backwards.
He lands on his back, and Alba is immediately towering over him, hitting him cruelly with the handle of his axe: there's no raving in his movements, which are instead slow and well-thought. Each one made to make him suffer most, to let Albion see them coming one after the other and realize he can't do a thing to stop it.
Many times the younger one tries to use his magic, obtaining the same failure each time, and he tries in vain to cover his face with his hands and roll away, but his brother is always there to stop him.
Hit at the ribcage. Crack. Some smashed ribs.
Hit to the right shoulder. Crack. Fractured collarbone.
Hit with the flat part of the axe at his side. Crack. Broken hip.
Hit with the edge of the axe at his right leg. Crack. Destroyed shinbone and fibula.
Alba stops, admiring his handiwork, and he bends over his bleeding brother, gloating.
"Did ye learn yer lesson, little brother? Ye wouldnae put a spoke in me wheel again when I decide t' take away yer lands, would ye?"
But the pain seems to have pushed Albion past the threshold of his sanity: reduced to less than an animal, his helpless anger demands that he at least takes his tormentor in the grave with him, so the blonde resorts to the dagger he still holds in his hand, and attempts a strike towards the other's neck.
Even catching him by surprise, suddenly his remaining strength leaves him, so instead of tearing Alba's throat open, he only manages to inflict a painful but superficial wound on his cheek and shoulder.
"Fuck you," he pants heavily, his bloodied lips stretched in a skull-grin, and he understands his life is forfeit when he sees his brother's eyes darkening until they seem to be almost completely black.
"Ye still 'ave t' learn 'bout th' respect ye owe me, I see," he says, and with a bolt-like move he snatches the knife from Albion's motionless hand, only to drive it into his palm, piercing it and plunging in into the ground.
A scream burns the blonde's throat like fire but he soon finds himself without his voice while hot tears smear his face and Alba proceeds with beating him to a bloody pulp in his fury.
A foot is set on his elbow, pressing until the sharp sound of the bone cracking is heard and the broken tips pierce muscles and skin; powerful kicks hit him where the axe had raged over him, while other strikes get to his chest and stomach, almost smashing his internal organs.
"Ye're weak. Ye're pathetic, and they say ye're me brother! Grovel on th' ground like th' worm ye are!" Another kick knocks him over on his belly, the arm nailed to the ground horribly bent under him, and again a strike falls over his back, breaking his spine.
A single "crack" is heard, and the blonde suddenly loses sensibility from his waist down, maybe even silently thanking his brother for that almost charitable act in his mind, although it is still fogged with the pain he feels.
"Stop, Alba. Stop, or I'll kill you." A new voice, trembling with rage, orders this as the redhead feels something hard and sharp pressing against his nape.
"Did ye come t' save this worthless waste o' nature, Cymru?"
The young newcomer, identical to Albion, strings his bow, a creaking sound coming from it, and keeps the arrow firmly pointed at his older brother's head.
"Don't give me another reason to do it, you don't know how much I'd love to. Drop the axe!" He orders, trembling from the obvious barely held back desire of avenging his twin right there and then.
"Ye cannae really kill me, ye kno'," Alba says with a bored tone, but drops his axe.
"No, but if you found yourself with an arrow in your head, your body would take weeks to regain even the slightest signs of life, and it'd hurt like hell. So now, walk away without turning back. Don't try any tricks: you know well how fast I am with a bow."
Alba casts a glance at the destroyed figure of Albion and smirks, his thoughts clear: he got what he wanted, so he does what Cymru told him and strides away from the blood-soaked grass, looking as if he is not in the least bit bothered by the arrow that is still pointed at his head and disappears among the trees with a barking laugh.
Cymru waits for a moment to be sure that the older one is really gone, and then he rushes to his twin's side.
He takes the dagger from his hand and gently turns Albion on his back, immediately realizing that the other is suffering way too much to hear him: he puts the blade in his belt, then slips an arm behind the other's broken back and the other under his knees, lifting him without effort.
Cymru makes a bitter grimace when he feels how his brother is slack like a ragdoll, but he holds him close to his chest and walks away, in the opposite direction to the one Alba chose.
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Arthur clenches his fists and grits his teeth.
Sometimes he wonders why the hell he uses the enchanted well to see his past, but something inside him knows that it's important.
By seeing himself fight, win and lose, as well as laugh and cry, he understands that life is all a game filled with bets and wild gambles. Although it's painful, he knows that defeats can teach as much as victories... Not that that could stop him from feeling a sullen pleasure at the thought of that, less than a thousand years after that event, he had managed to pay his brother Scotland back and reduce his lands up north to nothing more than an English colony.
Arthur growls as his slow and tiring recovery plays upon the water surface, and he feels a little guilty about arising against Wales, who stayed beside him during that painful time, helping him out and supporting him.
He remembers how his first conquer had been his younger brother's lands, and how not even their twin bonding could prevent war from sowing in their heart seeds of that dreadful hatred too often nations feel for each other.
But what about... Love? Could they feel love?
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"Everyone have secrets that cannot be revealed even to themselves," the Narrator says, watching the tormented youngling kneel beside her with sadness in her eyes.
"His heart has been wounded more times than you can ever imagine. You know what? He is suffering even now, silently, far from everyone else."
Brushing her red hair aside, the green fairy gently plants a kiss on the man's blonde hair, and once again he doesn't seem to notice.
"He doesn't have the strength to admit it even to himself, but even if he knows that he is loved, inside him he wonders why he is not able to love back."
The creature raises her arms, making the wide sleeves of her green vest flutter, and small lights appear around her.
"It is time for him to know that he can love."
And without warning, the Guide pushes the young man, making him fall into the water with a gasp of surprise.
"Let us move away now, and leave the stage for the other actors in this play."
A naughty and almost malicious smile seems to light up her face, and then everything slowly fades to black.
Let the show... begin.
Ok, some notes:
Sidhe: a powerful human-like fairy from the Faerie realm (what we mean nowadays by "elf")
Fae: Common name for "faerie folk", indicating the whole people of fairies and mythical creatures living in the world of Faerie.
Albion: ancient name for "England".
Alba: Gaelic name for "Scotland", which has been used by the Scottish since ancient times.
Cymru: Gaelic name for "Wales", which has been used by the Welsh since ancient times.
How much ancient... Well, you'll discover that soon!
Narrator: Do you want to steal my job? *raises eyebrow*
Me: Hey, you! Come back in the story! Shoo! Shoo! +makes gesture as to chase a cat away*
Narrator: it's your fault for giving me the power to do everything I want. And now I want to stay here to cheer the readers. u_u
Me: ... Oh, yeah, that's right. *thinks* well, would you like to give some hints to make the readers come back and read more? *deep study of marketing*+
Narrator: A chance to make mysterious hints to the story? Oh, spoiler, spoiler, spoiler! *delighted cry*
Me: Spoiler! Eh, don't exaggerate, poor excuses for a fairy! It took moths for me to thing about the plot, now you can't give it away like this! è_è
Narrator: Liar. You had the idea not even two days ago. ù_ù
Me: ... Let's skip that, will you? ^^' So, this hint? *sweatdrops*
Narrator: Hummm... *thinks about it* Ok! Number one: Britaincest. Number two: Britaincest. Number three...
Me: Heya! Don't fall into "Incest-maniac" mode! You'll scare the readers off! .
Narrator: ... You created me. Hence, you're the perverted one. U_U
Me: ... Point. Ok then, people! *smiles to the audience* Stay with us and you'll have the chance to see many Britaincest! Even though I won't tell you in which of his brothers' bed he'll end up... *grins evilly*
Narrator: I will! It's... *author shuts her up*
Me: So we'll see again in next chapter, guys! *carts away the struggling Narrator* And maybe I'll tell you who this bothersome fairy really is!