know them by this sign
begin again, sweetheart
Synopsis: evidence of revolution can come in all shapes and sizes, in the mundane and the extraordinary. the signs that register the deepest are the ones etched in time, in memory, in blood long-since spilled. Logan knows this, feels the weight of one such sign bearing down on his already burdened shoulders.
The old clock in the corner chimed, the discordant melody pulling Logan from the labyrinth of his thoughts. The thing needed to be fixed, had needed to be fixed since he was a boy, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. His father had loved the sound it made since acquiring it, broken or not. And really, in the end, Logan found himself to be too much of a sentimentalist to take away that little connection to his memories, despite how much it hurt.
Often he wondered, staring out from his perch on the throne he had come to despise, what Sparrow would say to him now. Harsh words for failing to protect all he had bled for? Or would the former gypsy king look upon him with the kind eyes and sad smile of a fellow man forced to bend until he broke?
He didn't know, and that hurt more than anything.
A soft knock at the door. "I've got your dinner, sire."
"Put it over there." Dear Avo was that ragged sound his voice?
The maid, a slight little thing barely older than he did as she was told, throwing him a worried glance. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting the warring emotions on her face.
"Sire, I know it's not my place-"She had paused by the door, a hand fisted in her apron. Clearly, worry had won out over fear. "But…you should really eat that. You don't look well, sire, and it's worrying, watching your king suffer from lack of sleep and a proper diet…"
"Your concern has been noted. Now, if you would, please leave. And close the door on your way out."
He waited until the soft click of the door signaled she had gone before releasing the bone-weary sigh her speech inspired. Touching, yes, but not pertinent. He had far larger concerns at hand. The beast in the blackness, Crawler, she had called it. It, and the children, the shades with hellfire eyes that had slaughtered his men, were coming. To destroy his home, consume his kingdom and all who dwelled there.
And he felt so damn helpless.
King of Albion he may be, but he was only one man. And there was only so much money he could funnel into a defensive. Sparrow had never believed in behaving like a proper king, never hoarding gold taken from the people, never tearing apart the land for a profit. And he and his kingdom had flourished, heralding him as the Great Hero King. Logan had strived for that, to live up to his father's status and become the next Great Hero King of Albion.
A pity he had failed so wonderfully.
Oh he had tried, to be sure. Grand adventures that lent him notoriety not born of being royalty. He'd eradicated trolls for Avo's sake, not an easy task. He'd stood side by side with his men in the muck, stared death in the ugly, earthy face and laughed, as he knew Sparrow would have. But that was an age ago, a dream he could barely grasp any longer. It had been replaced with a nightmare, of darkness and terror and an old woman that gazed at him with such eerie eyes and declared he must act, or all would be lost.
And he was doing a right shite job of it.
The people no longer cheered when they saw him, his staff threw him furtive glances, and Reaver smiled that smile of his that made him question his own judgment at every turn. And his sister…Walter had taken to training her, young though she was, in combat. His little sister, who he wanted so desperately to stay the sweet, innocent girl he'd grown up protecting. She was a feisty little sprite, far too much like their father to be the perfect little princess everyone wanted. And she had his eyes, just as fiery, just as cunning, and just as tainted by their father's unnamed sacrifice so many years previous. He'd known, had always known from the minute he laid eyes on her as a babe, and she had fixed those stunning irises on him.
She would be the Hero, not him.
Albion needed that, needed her, more than it had yet to realize. The blind seeres had come to him, but he knew even before she'd finished speaking that he was not the Savior she alluded to. It tore him up, the realization that his dreams had burned, turned ash in his hands and begun to slip through his fingers. It was maddening, the sea of emotions in his head, more so then the strings he could just barely see being pulled all around him. He'd wanted to be a king to live up to, as his father was, wanted his sister to have everything Sparrow had made sure they didn't take for granted, all the things he never had.
More than anything, he wanted her to have a normal, happy life. Free of the castle and the mundane, if extravagant life she lived now. Instead, she was being trained to be a killer, forged in the heat of strife and honed in the chaos of revolution.
Because there would be one, he could feel it in his gut, see it all around him.
He was trying, but it wasn't enough, he was pushing his people to their limit, becoming a tyrant in their eyes, and still he was losing the battle. Maybe revolution was what Albion needed, just as he knew they needed a Hero, not a man struggling to stand on his own two feet in the face of annihilation. And with Sparrow gone, that left only the little girl with crimson eyes, too young to yet bear the burden currently sitting on his shoulders.
Logan ran a finger over the crimson stitching of the garment occupying his lap. The coat, not an extraordinary thing in and of itself, heralded the coming of a storm far closer to home than the thing in Aurora. Under the cheap black dye and the grime of rough living, the message it spoke was just as clear now as it had been all those years previous: we are deserters, we are renegades, and we won't stop until we've turned Albion on its head.
Even though it seemed like the civil war that had torn the country apart was long ago, really it had been not quite a generation. And although he doubted any of the men donning the symbol painted in crimson were out of nappies when it truly meant something, Logan had little doubt they understood its impact.
"Revolution," His father had said, "is only what they called it after all was said and done. An uprising, a mutiny, all fancy words to say we burned the kingdom to the ground, and rebuilt it how we saw fit. People call us war heroes, but we aren't. We killed our kin, burned our land, and overthrew the crown over something that could have-should have been solved without the spilling of so much blood. Remember that, Logan. Just because I've lived a life of violence doesn't mean that's the way it should be. People like me, we're here to bear that burden so others don't have to. I hope you never have to become that person, but with the way of things…well; only time will tell."
From the time he was young he'd been told the story of his father's exploits, but only a few people had left out the puffed-up glamorous bits and told him the truth. And now all of them were dead, save one, and he wasn't the best of people to go to for advice. Reaver had always been straight with him, at least as far as his father was concerned, but without Sparrow there to rein him in so to speak, the deviant's solutions were barely tolerable, at best.
Logan sighed, running a hand over his weary eyes. Sleep had become scarce, now that the world was slowly falling down around him. And the old military coat in his lap guaranteed he wouldn't be catching any rest tonight. The symbol would haunt his dreams, the fierce red bird, the tattered sparrow painted in crimson.
Revolution would come, only it wouldn't be him following in his father's footsteps.
a/n: for clarification: my Sparrow(the one I used in the sergeant) has crimson eyes-a lingering effect from sacrificing his youth to the shadow court and having it given back for services rendered to the temple of light(something that can happen in game fyi, not just making shit up-you can have your youth returned, and the weird coloring stays). the shit i made up is the eye color being passed on to his Hero offspring. Now you know. ;D