Disclaimer (and other should-be obvious info): I own these characters not. The sky is usually blue. Marvel does. Snow falls from the sky. I just borrowed them to write a story. Grass is green, unless there's snow on it. So let's not sue me.
P.S. Don't eat yellow snow. And don't yell 'You eat yellow snow!' at anyone unless you really mean it. Them's fightin' words.
'All Along the Watchtower' is written by Bob Dylan. Performed at it's best by Jimi Hendrix. Oh, and once again,I make no money off this.
"There must be some kind of way out of here," said Iceman to Gambit as he swirled the dark distilled beverage around in his glass. The two sat at a small round table in the centre of the smoky barroom of Castle Hell. Their conversation was turned to a punctuated murmur by the low pitch of their voices and the music that drifted around the room from a harp and a young singer.
"I don't know how much more of all this I can take. Everyone wants something; they've got me running deals on everything from better wine to workable land. It's like the confusion is seeping into my brain, can't let my guard down for a second." He was especially bitter tonight. He always felt uncomfortable when out of his ice-form, and now he'd been undercover for four months, every second of every day encased in vulnerable human flesh. Robert Drake, a.k.a. the X-Man Iceman, was known to everyone in the room, save his tablemate, simply as Drake, the White Jester. He had infiltrated the Hellfire Club, a group of egocentric mutants playing at importance. They were strong enough not to escape Apocalypses notice, but not enough to gain his interest. For now. Their day would come, eventually, but Magneto had decided to choose that day for them, and turn it to his advantage.
Bobby had entered at the rank of pawn, but within days had challenged and attained the position of White Rook. Iceman snorted with disdain. All that with out even icing up. No wonder Poccy wasn't paying much attention to these losers. When he was White Rook he'd worked with painstaking care, he'd made connections and worked them. He'd charmed some people and stepped on the toes of others. And now he was a Jester. In a hierarchy based on a combination of chess pieces and the royal court he'd achieved what was perhaps the most powerful position of all, the most inside outsider. As Jester he could not be challenged, Jesters were appointed. An appointment made by the consensus of the high order players of one side of the board. He could only lose his position by death or another unanimous agreement. Jester was an integral role, he not only entertained the court, he had prerogatives others did not. He could say what no one else dared; he worked as a trusted liaison both between the opposing sides and between individuals within them. As a Jester he had to be able to get things. And this is how he 'met' Remy, a thief who had done some work for the Club.
"No reason to get excited," Gambit said with a smile, downing his own drink. He'd been in and out of Castle Hell for a month, working as a Thief. He'd made some connections, but his main purpose was to 'befriend' Drake the Jester, giving Bobby a link to the X-Men if and when he needed one.
"Almost everyone here knows they're playing, that sooner or later they're gonna fall. They just be gettin' the most they can while they can, but-" He broke off as a couple of pawns walked by the table, on their way to the stairs up to the battlements. Gambit leaned in closer. "But you and I know better, we're not goin' down wit them, so let's stop all this traitorous yammerin'. After all, the hour's gettin' late." He said the last part with a wink. Bobby's eyes widened. That phrase was the agreed upon code that Magnetos strike force was moving in. The words Iceman had been waiting four months to hear.
Above them, all along the castle ramparts the pawns, the castle princes, kept the watch. It was not a coveted duty. Bobby had done three nights of it before he'd risen above such guard work, and it had freaked the hell out of him. Standing so far apart you're practically alone, staring at the battered landscape: what's left of a forest, fields ravaged by nuclear winters, bleak craggy cliffs. The wind forever swirling and moaning around you. Singing out the reports. After four months he still shivered to hear the princes' call out 'All's well' or 'King returning' or whatever the news was, in singsong voices as they kept the view.
In the hall below, a chestnut haired woman came over and slid into Bobby's lap. He smiled at her and kissed her hard before lifting her off.
"Not right now, can't you see I'm busy with Mr. LeBeau?" Remy raised a hand in a jaunty salute as the woman gave a disappointed smile and swayed away.
"She's a cute one." Remy said with a smirk.
"Yeah," Bobby sighed and propped his chin up with his hand. "I knew there was some reason I was staying here." A barefooted human with chains around his hands and feet shuffled up to the table carrying a clay pitcher.
"Thank-you," Iceman said as the slave filled his glass. The man looked surprised and actually stared directly into the Jester's face before dropping his gaze again. From the whip marks visible through his tattered clothes and the by the fact that he didn't make some mumbling comment on how it was a pleasure to serve them, it was obvious this servant had a bit of a defiant streak. As he shuffled away Remy sighed with sympathy. This one was still rather young. Some of the slaves had been here so long they had actually been builders of the Castle.
Up in the watchtower another young man shuffled his feet back and forth. It had been a quiet night. He heard a whistle and squinted over to the next torch down the wall. The other watchman was waving. He could barely make out the hand signals from this distance, but finally caught on and turned in the correct direction to see what had excited the other man so.
In the safety of the castle walls all conversation stopped as a distant growl of a wildcat ripped through. Bobby smiled.
Outside on the tower the black pawn, Rusty Collins, looked into the cold distance and hesitantly sang out what he saw. The others quickly picked it up.
Two riders approaching.
Gambit and Iceman's quiet departure went unnoticed as people scrambled everywhere. There had been no horses in this area for two years. And there still weren't. If any of the telepaths thought to scan the horses, they would have found them nothing more then hard light projections.
And the wind began to howl.
Out on the watchtower, the watch song changed. Beware, it said.
Beware.
But it was too late, and all along the watchtower…