The Gospel of Donald
"War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend."
- J.R.R. Tolkien
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Donald Duck, court wizard to King Mickey himself, had never once been afraid of the dark. Until the day came that Donald Duck, magician extraordinaire, discovered such a thing as darkness existed.
Rumors of war, for the first time Donald could ever remember, whispered through the gates of Disney Castle. They spoke of evil, of beings without hearts, of danger, of darkness. The rumors came from seemingly nowhere and spread far and wide, even to other worlds, to the stars twinkling unwittingly throughout Donald's sky. He worried little at first. How could such a thing as darkness exist within the king's domain? Donald had never wondered this until the day his king, his most trusted ally, vanished into thin air. Sooner than he knew he was vanishing too, off in search of a key and, unknowingly, a full-scale war.
Finding the war turned out to be easier than finding the key. What's more, finding out what to do with that key once they had it was the trickiest riddle of all. Puzzles and muddles, every bit of it. How could some magical hunk of metal be the answer to their problems, he wondered. How could it save anyone's heart? How could it save Goofy's, or Mickey's or Daisy's? How could it save his?
What Donald learned early on was that war could change even the best of ducks. It could take everything around you and turn it into white or black, this or that, all or nothing. Somebody or Nobody. There was so little room for compassion, for understanding, for the tragedy of creatures born without hearts of their own.
Donald knew better but tried not to see the details too closely, for what he found might swallow him whole. He knew that those beings he fought against weren't really people (or were they?), that they only appeared to be, and had no hearts...but sometimes he just didn't know what to do. He couldn't let himself think too far into things because, sometimes, he really began to wonder. How could things that could hate and loathe not love and cry and laugh as well? Donald tried not to seek answers, for he might not be able to come to terms with what he found.
Goofy was a more faithful fighter, all told. His shield never hesitated, his mind never thought that maybe, just maybe, they couldn't… shouldn't win. Not like this. He was such a hairbrained dog that it left Donald dumfounded. How could such an sap have such confidence in his path? Goofy was kind to a fault, and so unswervingly loyal to his king in this war. It gave Donald so much to think on. Why could he not see the edges of right and wrong that Goofy, Sora and the king all saw? What was wrong with him?
Perhaps, Donald considered, the darkness was pouring slowly into his heart, blurring all his conviction and strength with its poison. Sometimes Donald was truly convinced that he might wake up one morning and find himself fighting on the wrong side. Those thoughts frightened him most.
But even in the midst of the revolving door of chaos and peril, they were granted unexpected miracles.
Like being sucked into a black whole and landing in a small island that Sora called home. The trio blinked at first, confused, but the second the key bearer locked eyes on the shore and saw the sky, he knew where they were and cried, just cried right there on the ship. Cried, for he had not seen home in a long, long time and was so happy to be there again. Donald and Goofy cried as well, cried in happiness and in sadness - would they ever make it home again, to the castle? Secretly they both worried and doubted they ever would. After, they collected themselves, laughed and swam home.
It maybe wasn't their home, but it was Sora's. For once, that was enough.
It was a little strange, being happy again, if only momentarily. For Donald, seeing Sora reunited with his loved ones was a small happiness. When there was so much falling to ruin around them, it was a beautiful thing to see that love still existed somewhere. Their reunion was short lived, but Sora grinned like a fool for so many days following. That was the way of things for them, though. Always departing, always destined for new worlds and new battles and new nightmares. It became routine, leaving and leaving again.
During the next battle, all Donald could see was Sora and the faces of his family and friends, of Kairi. He saw their smiles and joy and love then the empty husks of their bodies, emptied of every last bit of their hearts, It was all he could hold onto as each incantation zapped and zipped from his wand. They'd seen it before, after all. Empty, lifeless bodies, drained of hearts and of every good thing.
Well. It was a war, not a fairytale. As he saw and understood this, those edges that Mickey and Goofy and Sora all seemed to so clearly see, sharpened a little.
In the end, Donald knew at least one thing through and through. There were no winners in war. There was only the beginning and end, and what was lost and gained in between. But no, there was nothing good. Sometimes Donald even wondered if what they gained in return was worth anything at all. But it was tiring work, assigning blame and playing mind games about ifs and whats and so on. No matter what he thought now, Donald had been a part of what happened and had come to understand the darkness within himself and others.
He was changed and so tired, but he would change nothing. No matter what anyone said about him, he would just as soon serve his kingdom again.
Not because he was a winner or victorious or good, but because he had everyday happiness. He had Daisy and his magic, his nephews and uncles, Sora and Kairi, his king. And those things were worth his life and more. Because they had been threatened and someone had to protect them, no matter what the cost.
And that was why Donald fought that impractical war, because he could not be silent. Sometimes things just happened, sometimes darkness came for the light and creatures came to steal hearts and life and goodness. He could done nothing to stop it, but there was weakness in silence and power in acting. Different sorts of power, of course, but Donald chose to believe that his was good, that it was light. How could it not be? How could something that wanted to harm his Daisy be right? How could he justify letting such an evil exist?
It all came back to that illusive concept: justice.
What it meant to him, to the darkness, to everyone and everything. Donald still could not define that word, not really. He could read off a meaning in one of the king's old chronicles, but he could place faith in words here. As if a mere sentence could contain all the tears he had cried over the past years, all the fears, all the battles, all the hurt. As if that definition could help anyone understand. Understand that both sides lost, that what he thought was right and worth living for was wrong and worthy dying for to someone else. As if anyone but God up above knew the real answers.
Well, at least he knew one thing: Daisy was alive, and she was safe.
Maybe he would never know if he was truly good or if Nobodies weren't completely evil. There were a lot of things he would never find the answers to - like how to stop the nightmares, the guilt, how to be strong again.
Perhaps, though, those weren't his answers to unearth. Perhaps he was meant to be there for those he loved and manage each day as it came, nothing more. For some days it seemed like it took everything within him just to face himself. But other days he knew he had done everything in his power to save the cosmos and, heavens, he wasn't just going to let them go without a fight. Those were some of his best days.
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Donald fell back into the grass, taking and releasing each breath slowly, matching and cherishing each sweet breath of Daisy beside him.
Today was better than yesterday and that seemed to be the way of things. Each day was easier than the last, each night filled with just a little more sleep and a few less nightmares. It was still complicated, but there was hope that someday things would be better. That spring would eventually return again and, with it, healing. Donald held onto that hope and saw it everywhere, saw it when he looked in the mirror, and saw it in the love of his friends. Saw it next to him as he reached out to take Daisy's hand in his.
No matter how grim things became, he had to remember that she was here, she was alive. It kept him going when nothing else did.
He didn't want to fight, didn't want to hurt anyone… but sometimes things just happened and so he had made a decision. To do what was right. Not for glory, fanfare or a story to tell hungry ears, but because there was no other way. The darkness started that confounded war and, by and by, someone had to finish it. So, he, a king, a dog and a boy played their parts in a war that was not as glorious as it might have seemed, not as heroic as it sounded to the ears of children who heard the story as sleep came.
Together they returned, a little more afraid of the dark and a little more knowing. But the important thing was this: they returned home. To open arms and love well-defended, lightness and hearts untouched, they returned home. It was not perfect in the end, but the day, the long and dark and arduous day, had been saved. And there they were, twinkling above him, all the stars in Donald's sky.
Strange thought it might seem, that was enough for him.
"Daisy," Donald said, breathing in. "I'm finally home."
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Note: for lattejazz. Check out the companion to this, Old Faithful. You know, if you want.
