While you do here snoring lie,
Opened-eyed conspiracy
His time doth take.
If a life you keep a care,
Shake off slumber and beware.
Awake, awake!
(DISCLAIMER: This fic does contain gore! This is also set in an Alternate Universe in the future, there are guns! I do not own the Tempest or any of it's characters.)
Ariel, as a pure elemental being, usually did not extend their sympathies to humans. Humans were so fragile in their eyes. Yet it was so easy to forget what they were capable of. When Ariel arrived at the barren clearing, they had entirely expected the bunch, Antonio, Sebastian, Alonso, and Gonzalo, to be bumbling around and arguing. The area, bereft of any noises, conspired to not dare whisper the reassurance Ariel craved. An error, a miscalculation occurred. Instead of four, Ariel only caught sight of two.
They were still, unnaturally so: one lay on scattered leaves and the damp earth while the other was slumped against a tree. Ariel, with a growing sense of unease, inspected them, transfixed with morbid curiosity. Their garments were stained with dried blood: crimson. The ones responsible have surely left already. Desperately, Ariel checked to see the rise and fall of their chests, but to no avail. A putrid smell arose from their breathless bodies, completely masking the familiar scent of the cloven pines. The king, Alonso, seemed to have died peacefully; he almost appeared to be sleeping, if not for the bullet wound oozing with congealing blood. However…
Ariel felt cold, as if ice was traveling through their being with a burning ferocity. If they had skin, it would be crawling. The old advisor had received two bullets. One was along his torso, where his right lung was located. The other bullet had entered through his left eye socket. So much dark red had leaked out from the side of his face, some blood still blackening. Brain matter had exploded from the back of his skull and splattered on to the tree bark. Gonzalo's remaining blue eye, milky and clouded through death, held a look of horror. His gaze stared right at them, but not really. His mouth hung open, blood running dark on his now pallid skin. It was apparent the elderly man had met an excruciatingly painful end.
Shake off slumber, the spirits chanted, awake, awake!
Ariel, from all their years of existence, had never known death so personally. Mortals did not live very long; Ariel knew this when their fellow spirits had whispered soothing words concerning his enslavement because of Prospero. Prospero.
Their master would not be pleased. It had been so long since Ariel had met with failure, and one so astronomical would surely earn them a fitting punishment. They shuddered despairingly, any remaining thread of strength frayed before breaking. Ariel was so close to freedom, but they could already feel it slipping through their grasp again.
Too late, whispered the spirits, too late.
"What should I do," Ariel's voice broke. The spirits didn't respond.