Because Civil Wars are the bloodiest kind.
I was in a dark mood. You have been warned. My writing isn't always like this. I wanted to practise my scary/tragic writing, that's all.
There's blood, and upsetting themes, but not a lot else ratings-wise.
I don't hate Jason! He's awesome! It makes no sense at all, I know. Basically, Piper's having a nightmare, based on the Civil War. When I was little, I used have nightmares like that, where people I cared about either ended up dead, or evil. **shudders**
IT'S NOT REAL. Even in the story.
The characters are as safe as Rick wants them to be. Now there's a scary thought.
Anyway, please review, and I hope to get back onto Both Sides Now ASAP; this was just metaphorically gathering dust in my fanfiction folder, and I decided to post it.
"A war between brothers – sire fighting son .Only division where once there was one. War between brothers – son fighting sire. Kin laid with kin in the funeral pyre." ~Heather Dale, War Between Brothers.
She stumbled, her long skirt tangling around her ankles. Somebody offered her a hand, and she took it gratefully; it was warm and reassuring. "Thanks, Leo."
"That's alright," he gestured forwards, "come on, Piper. We're nearly there." Nearly where? But she didn't ask. The atmosphere was oppressive; the sky grey and menacing, as if it was closing in on them, trapping them in the valley. Piper's dress was torn, dirty and heavily bloodstained. Although she felt bruised and battered, she assumed that not all of it was hers. The air tasted metallic – like blood and gunpowder. Wrong. All wrong. The area around was a wasteland and, as details flickered to life around her, she screwed her eyes shut to block them out. She had no desire to see the corpses littered around her like fallen leaves; she swallowed, fighting down her growing queasiness. She opened her eyes and looked across at her best friend. "Leo?"
"Mmhmm?" He kept walking, but his tone invited her to continue.
"I- Something's wrong, Leo. We shouldn't be here." He stopped and laughed humourlessly. Even that was alien. Wrong.
"Does anything here feel right to you, Belleza? But somebody's got to do this and it might as well be us." Panic welled inside her, and she barely managed to keep it down. Even the way he spoke – that bitter, resigned manner – was horrible to hear.
"Do what?"
"You're kidding me."
"No. I'm not. Leo, stop it. You're scaring me. What's going on?" He didn't let go of her hand. There was something pleading in his voice.
"Come on, Pipes, don't do this to me. We've got to work together. Nearly there now." She gave up arguing, meekly allowing herself to be led across a battleground.
xXx
A raw, feral cry ripped through the lifeless valley, shattering the still air as if it were glass and igniting some deep, ancestral memory that made every nerve in Piper's body scream, run! The hunting cry of an eagle. She felt like a wood mouse caught in the open as a bird of prey swooped down upon her in a rush of ice-cold air, wings and talons. "Piper, go!" Leo yelled, letting go of her hand to shove her into a run. You have to split up, hissed a voice in her head (she wasn't sure whether it belonged to her or was some weird ancestral Greek-demigod memory), it can only chase one of you at once. She picked up her skirt – a long skirt? For battle? – and fled, reaching for a dagger that should have been there, but wasn't. Time and space shifted, nearly dragging her off her feet, and Leo was gone. "Leo?" She called, "Leo?"
"o"
"o"
"o"
"o"
The echoes seemed to come from the mouths of the dead. She shuddered and forced that thought firmly back down. She really couldn't afford to think like that. Once again, her feet went out from underneath her, as if the world had moved while she stayed chained to the spot; she only just managed to keep her balance and stay upright.
xXx
She wasn't alone; two familiar figures stood by. For a second, relief flooded over her, and she took a step towards the first. Leo grabbed her arm, stepping between her and the other. "Piper, what're you doing? He's-" He didn't even get the chance to finish the sentence. Piper didn't actually see what happened next. It was more like… an impression of red, spattered across her mind. She did her best to steady him as he fell, throwing an arm around his shoulders. She sank to her knees so they were side by side. "No," she sobbed.
"o"
"o"
"o," came the echoes' mocking replies.
"Pipes, get out of here," he said, his voice ragged. Piper shifted around so she could see his face.
There and then, nothing else mattered.
Her best friend was dying.
And there was absolutely nothing she could do.
"I'm not leaving you." He shrugged like he expected as much, and tried for a smile. The effect was macabre. Tears dripped unchecked on to her dress, darkening the bloodied fabric as his bright eyes glazed over.
Dull.
Lifeless.
Dead.
The brightest spark she'd ever known had been extinguished forever, and the awful impossibility left her feeling like she was the one lying dead.
xXx
She could've been sitting there for minutes, or hours; it was as if the world had stopped turning. And still those dead eyes stared into the sky. She closed them with shaking fingers, sweeping the dark hair from his brow, then stood unsteadily. The gut instinct that had warned her about the eagles – Roman eagles – told her that she had to move. She was alone in enemy territory, completely unarmed. She contemplated taking Leo's sword, but she didn't know how to use it. Leo with a sword? She didn't know why that seemed so strange. The back of her neck prickled, warning of her potentially fatal mistake; she wasn't alone. She turned, fear and dread burning in the pit of her stomach. The soldier standing over her – he'd always been tall – had cropped blond hair and clear blue eyes, cold and without mercy. Oddly beautiful. Wrong, all wrong! Her eyes drank in the small details, unable to handle the bigger picture. The familiar lettering on his sword hilt: IVLIVS. The surreal colouring of red blood on a golden blade. That little scar on his upper lip.
Her voice shook, "J-Jason?" He betrayed no sign of recognition. Suddenly, the knot of dread and grief inside her exploded into fury. "He's your best friend!" She cried, "how could you?" The Praetor stepped forwards, his legion armour glinting in the half-light. Her boldness deserted her as swiftly as it had come. She stared at the bloody blade that he raised above her head like an executioner's axe. "No," she murmured, "Jason, it's me, Piper! You said you loved me, you promised-" Suddenly disgusted by her own cowardice and helplessness, she closed her eyes as the sword came down.