Title: Seventy (2)

Rating: R

Word Count: 917

Pairing: Team Underpants

Round/Fight: 1/A

Summary: Because there were two plot bunnies, and I couldn't choose. Seventy, noun: a set of this many (number) of things. (Warning; character death(s))

"Domitan of Masbolle, you have been brought before this court to be charged with the murder of Sir Iden of Vikison Lake in the first degree. To kill a Knight of the Realm in cold blood is a most heinous crime, and seventy individuals have witnessed you as doing such. With such evidence against you, knowing you will be punished to the fullest extent of the law, how do you plead?"

Dom looked up from his shackled wrists, seeming to crumple in on himself, and stared at the judge.

"I am guilty as charged."

"Lord Raoul! Lord Raoul!" The messenger ran into the Own's campground, flat out sprinting to the tent where a tactical map had been set up.

Dom placed his hands on the shoulders of the man. "Calm down; breath. What is the message?"

The messenger's eyes flicked back and forth between him and Raoul, unable to tell who to address, and settled for closing his eyes, drawing a breath, and announcing, "Evin Larse, Commander of the Queen's Riders, has been killed by friendly fire."

Dom's face lost all color, and he gaped at the messenger, mouth moving, before his knees gave out beneath him. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

The first few moments after he opened his eyes told Dom that he was in the healer's tent, and that it was evening. He was contemplating sitting up when memory crashed back down and held him, pinned and helpless, to the bed.

It was either the hysteria, the tears, or the sudden, violent bout of nausea that had the healer come running for his bed, and a cool yellow light suffused Dom's vision.

His stomach settled for the time being, Dom sat up, looking around.

"Excuse me, please, lie back down, " the healer urged, tugging on Dom's arm.

Unfazed, Dom shook him off. "Who did it?"

The healer attempted to push him back onto the bed, placing both hands on Dom's shoulders. "Please, if you would just lie down and relax—"

Dom stood. "Who did it?" he demanded.

The healer looked him over, before gently saying, "Rider Commander Larse was killed on the front lines by Sir Iden of Vikison Lake earlier—"

Dom brushed past the healer, ignoring the frantic complaints behind him.

The Mess tent was abuzz with noise, the sound ringing oddly in Dom's ears as he skirted the edge of the camp. He received a few odd looks as he half- ran towards the temporary paddock, but it wasn't until he was about to swing into the saddle that someone called out for him to stop.

"What?" he wheeled his mount, his voice clipped, as his eyes locked on Raoul's. Raoul flinched, taking in the chalk white of Dom's face and the way his blue eyes blazed above the black shadows.

"Dom, wait, you have to understand—"

"He's dead. What more is there to say?" Dom tugged his horse's head in the direction the messenger had come from.

"Please—Dom, wait, come back!" Raoul's protests were lost in the dust kicked up in Dom's wake.

Heads poked out of tents, peering waspishly into the bright morning sunlight as hoof beats pounded into the camp sprawled haphazardly next to a small stream. Recognizing the familiar blue of the King's Own, the tearstained, swollen faces ducked back inside the tents, leaving Dom to stalk the camp unhindered.

Spotting a tent decked in the coat of arms of Vikison Lake, Dom pushed through the tent flap to find Iden and his squire going over the intricacies of plate armor.

"Domitan?" Iden recognized him, craning his neck in order to see the soldier in his doorway. "Can I help you with something?"

Dom's fingers clenched. "A word?" he choked on the end of the sentence and settled for motioning towards the flap.

Iden's expression fell; he drew himself up and squared his shoulders. "Alright," he agreed as he let Dom go out first.

He still jumped, though, when Dom wheeled on him.

"You killed him. You killed Evin Larse."

Iden's wan face slowly drains of color, and there was a shake in his voice, but he nodded. "Yes, I—I killed Evin Larse. I'm sorry, it w—"

Dom cut him off. "Stop. Stop it. You don't understand." His hands were shaking like leaves in the wind. He glared at Iden, and his voice strangled him. "You don't understand—he's gone, gone…"

Understanding dawned in Iden's eyes, and his voice belayed his horror. "Oh, Mithros, I didn't know… I'm sorry, so sorry, I—"

"You've killed him," Dom closed in, hissing in Iden's face, "and it's killing me."

His dagger made no noise as Dom drew it and thrust it through the gap in Iden's plate armor and into the knight's side.

Iden's eyes flew wide, his pale face frightened as he realized what Dom had done. "—I'm, I'm so…sorry," he choked out, blood beginning to bubble at his mouth.

Dom shoved the man away from him, letting him fall before unclenching his hand from the blade and letting it fall into the grass. "Me too," he told the dying man, "but that changes nothing."

Someone shouted, crying out as they took in the scene—Iden, expiring on the packed dirt as Dom's legs slowly buckled.

Dom gave into the silent screams inside his head as more voices joined the first and he shattered into tiny pieces held together only by the keening of his own voice.