Hey! This is the fanfic I wrote for the MÄR Fanfiction Incentive. It's... gen, surprisingly enough.
Thanks, everyone. I hope you enjoy this - and I'm looking forward the new stories.
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"This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper."
- T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men
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Kingdom Gone
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The cold bright dawn brings together a strong wind, and the body that lays in the ground lose its heat faster. Not even the sunlight wraps around it, and the blood that flows from the thorn pieces of flesh is as red as the end of the day.
The silence in the crowd makes it possible to hear the sound of breathing - until he throttles in his own blood and drowns.
Ginta dies.
Phantom holds a tiny smile of satisfaction in his lips, but his face looks as washed out as everybody else's in the crowd. He does not look happy. Never did, never would.
The grin does not fade away – it bleeds like paint that is not dry yet. It is exchanged for a laughter that comes from another's mouth. The King's. He is not there, he has no need to be. Without him, his message echoes in the same way. His hoarse voice crackles. Dry, empty. And even when the laughing stops, crumbling under the weight of the silence of the other voices, its memory stays in the mind of the people.
Trapped, trapped, it says, echoing in the back of their heads, the word repeating itself endlessly because there is no way out. It is an open space and there is nowhere to go. Inside their own world, they are being caged like birds.
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Jack dies trying to protect Dorothy from the Queen's wrath. Stupid, she says, wrapping her arms around his lifeless body, aware that her words do not reach him. You put up a good fight.
He did not even stood a chance.
She tries to pat the dirt away from her clothes. At least she wants to look respectable. She would have fought, of course, but there is no reason to fight. Ginta is dead. MÄR is gone. What is there left to save?
Jack's sacrifice was useless.
"I am here," Dorothy smiles at the Queen. Defying. Superior. "You know, I always thought I would be the one to kill you."
The Queen appears to hesitate, but Dorothy knows better. Dianna is her sister, after all. She is just waiting for her last words.
"This way isn't so bad, either," Dorothy says.
And then Dorothy is dead.
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Snow does not remember her name anymore. She does not remember how to move. But she has a throne all for herself and she sits there patiently, days and nights. The Queen brings in beautiful dresses and paint her white face with expensive makeup. The Queen combs her hair and says she is such a pretty doll.
When the Queen is lonely, she brushes Snow's skin with her fingertips and call Snow her daughter.
"What shall I name you?" she asks herself, not waiting for an answer. "I know. Dorothy."
"It is a pretty name," Dorothy answers, because now she isn't just a doll anymore.
"Call me 'mother'," the Queen orders.
"It is a pretty name, mom."
"I know, Dorothy. It suits you."
She is really a princess now. She is so happy. If only mom would let her go out. But the world is ugly, she says. So you better stay at this chair, Dorothy, or mother will be angry at you.
So she does. She loves mother so much. Mother forgets her sometimes. Mother still calls her a doll a lot. But when mother is lonely, she is always there for her.
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Alan and Nanashi rot in a prison cell, their hearts pierced by a ghost ÄRM made of machinery. It was an experiment that did not work.
Kappelmeister is still trying. Next time, he knows, the clockwork will finally accept the magic running through its gears. He will be able to destroy human emotions without destroying the heart they live in. Then, maybe, he will be able to save Phantom.
He does not bother to move Alan and Nanashi away. Still tied in shackles, their bodies are left there to turn into dust. Now and then, Kappelmeister picks one human or other to try again. He would have taken pleasure in knowing people never recognize the great MÄR heroes in their cell, but even he does not remember who those corpses belong to anymore.
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Alviss is waiting for the night, but it does not come. There is no difference now, their skies have been painted with a never-ending sunset. Fire raises up to heavens and he cannot sleep because it is always too bright, the night is always just as gold as twilight.
He has not slept ever since the fires begun. It is not as if he needs to, of course, the tattoo red tinting his skin as much as the red of the bonfires light the dark. But he still feels tired, his muscles tightened as knots in his back, a heavy burden on his shoulders. He wishes he could close his eyes forever, but as soon as he tries to, a jolt of pain runs through his body as he loses his breath. It feels like being buried alive over and over again.
Yet, he tries to sleep every night. But even if he could, the fires and the noise and the screams would not let him.
His whole being aches. There is eternity in front of him and he does not know what to do with it. He is left alone for the most part of the time, which is just long enough to make him start wondering if he should feel grateful for it. At first, when Phantom called him for his chambers, he was frightened and his head hurt with shame and anger. Alviss had learnt how to stop caring, though, mostly by the lack of meaning of it all than by Phantom's efforts on trying to teach him a lesson.
Soon enough, Phantom calls him no more.
Of course he can go out. He always did, in fact, even when Phantom still had some interest left in him. There is just not the need to do so. He is entirely sure there is nothing to be done – or rather, nothing that could be done – outside of this castle. Just as there is nothing to be done inside.
The only thing that brings him some comfort now is the balcony in his room. Alviss likes to sit there at night and pretend what he sees is the world he always knew. Eventually, he tries hard enough to start really believing in this made up fairy tale. This belief does not bring him comfort, though.
All he has left is the company of the stars, of the cool wind of the night, and a thousand screams.
But the screams stop too, and he is left with nothing.
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The end of the world is a busy deal for some, and Phantom spends the first months as a mediator between the King and His wasted lands. There is work to be done, after all. The villages surrender peacefully, but the Chess is not interested in peace.
It is Phantom's job to watch the clay and wood burn, and he does. The houses crumble down and he is careful not to let anyone run away.
At first, there was contempt, but this sickening feeling is soon gone.
He is growing tired, he realizes. He comes back to tasteless wine and dull food and Alviss, just as uninteresting as everything else. Defiance soon turned into conformity, but conformity still means Phantom is alone.
It takes less than a lifetime to realize that togetherness does not mean companionship, and Phantom wonders how eternity will feel like.
Phantom's heart does not wait for Kappelmeister ÄRM to grow cold and distant.
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The ocean is restless - just like her heart. She can see it from the horizon. She smells the salt in the air.
She feels the waves rocking her ship, lulling the men until they sleep. They are long gone, but their rest is dreamless. She is envious. She feels tired and her chest aches, but she knows she is not allowed to close her eyes.
Drawn to the deck, she watches the world burn around her. The sky is golden, but the water below her is black and cold, and just as alluring as the fire. The flames, though, are not enough to take this freezing pain away. There is a lump in her throat and she knows she is drowning.
This is not real, she thinks, but her body is not real either, and she is still in the deck of a forgotten ship, worrying that she lost her breath.
This cannot be.
But Alma knows that she failed.
They all failed.
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He is the only one that does not feel.
Slowly, the King consumes everything.
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