Clamping her mouth shut, teeth grinding as a scream claws its way up her throat. Her body begins to shake as tears stream down her face. Standing on weak legs, she stumbles to the writing desk as quickly as she can. Yanking the quill out of its pot, spilling the ink, she begins to write. Her vision is blurry with tears as she swallows down the growing scream. With the last words scratched onto the parchment, she drops the quill. Clapping a hand over her mouth as a muffled sob leaves her.
Breathing deeply through her nose, she wipes her tear stained face before leaving the tent and entering the chilly night air. The sound of soldiers surrounds her as she makes her way through the camp. She fists her hands in her skirts, not to protect them from the mud, but to anchor herself as she focuses on keeping her jaw locked. Keeping her emerald eyes trained ahead and her chin held high, even as she feels like crumbling.
Soldiers, healers, cooks, all of them stop to watch her. They were weary of her, always jumpy when she entered the room. They believed she was bad luck, that one look would have death banging on their door. Yet, they all waited up every night for her to scream. To walk onto the battle field and create the call for the dead to follow, to lead them home. With mixed emotions in their eyes, the people of the camp make her a path every night and tonight is no different.
She tries, oh how she tries, to keep the tears from falling again. But it is no use. As the bodies around her begin to quieten, a sob breaks through her clenched teeth. A hand reaches out from the living armor, the fingers brushing her shoulder. More hands reach for her, comforting her as she continues down the path. The scream is getting harder to contain even with the comforting touches. A sob seizes her, almost causing her to release sound as she approaches the battlefield. The lights of the enemy camp lighting the sky in the distance.
Her heels sink into the mud as she steps onto the field. So much death will litter this place tomorrow, more then the last few days combined. Individual names swirl around her creating a roaring in her ears. Though one name is for tonight. One name and two heartbeats. As she approaches the spot she has stood every night, a cold begins to take her. Not the cold of the night, but one she has only ever felt when someone near her takes their last breath. This time though, it is not just a glimpse. No, this time the cold is stealing her warmth. Finally, her ever growing numb legs stop.
Lifting her head to the sky, closing her eyes as more tears stream down her face, she opens her mouth and screams. The sound tears from her, taking a piece of her soul with it. Her throat quickly turns raw, lungs seizing as her cry shatters the night. It seems like a life time before the sound stops and the world is thrown into silence.
Slowly she turns towards the camp. She recognizes the faces of a few of her loved ones among the crowd watching her. Allison. Jackson. Mason. She wishes she could speak, but her voice is no longer there. It is gone, a gift taken back by death himself.
She doesn't flinch when the whistle of an arrow sounds. No, not an arrow, that is too loud. Her shinning emerald eyes meet every one of her friends, her family. She watches as they scream her name, faces turning to terror, soldiers moving to restrain them as they launch towards her. She hears nothing but the whistle. Her only wish is that his face would have been among the crowd. Just so she could have looked into those honey-suckle eyes one last time. The spear pierces her through the back as it nails her to the soft ground.
Closing her eyes, blood pouring form her mouth, Lydia Martin takes one last gasping breath before greeting death.
Stiles' heart starts to race as the scream reaches his ears. He was suppose to be back before she entered the field. He spurs his horse on, willing it to go faster. The wolf next to him kept his pace. Though the glowing red eyes glance at him in question. He hadn't told Scott about the banshee in their ranks. Even when the alpha had sniffed him, crinkled his nose and told him he reeked of death.
Stiles had wanted to introduce his childhood friend to the woman who held his hear in person. Though that very woman is why he debated leaving camp at all. Lydia had only rolled her eyes, saying that he was the only one that could talk to the wolves to hopefully bring their alliance. He was the only one that was friends with one and knew where they liked to hide. He had only left when Allison, Warrior Queen of his people, had swore on her crown to keep Lydia safe. So he had left to recruit the wolves, and thankfully was able to convince Scott to come hear what Allison had to say.
The scream was something Lydia has done since this war has begun, but something about tonight was different. Something felt wrong. Stiles leads his horse through tents and people, only dismounting when the crowd grows too thick. Pushing through the crowd, Scott begins to snarl and growl causing people to make a path for them. Stiles is grateful for his friends ability to pick up on his distress. When the bodies clear, Stiles' world comes to a halt.
On the battlefield between the two camps a body is nailed to the ground. If the spear weren't there it would look as if the woman were kneeling in a strange prayer. His eyes snag on the long strawberry blonde locks, the delicate purple dress, and the blood leaving her.
He doesn't realize he was moving until strong arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Lydia's name crashes out of his mouth, over and over as he tries to reach her.
"Stiles, you go out there and you'll meet the same fate." Scott's voice breaks the veil of the roaring in his head.
Stiles' body sages in grief. He would have collapsed if Scott didn't have ahold of him. His eyes don't leave her. Tears streak down his face. His lips in constant motion.
Lydia. Lydia. Lydia.
"Why is she out there?" Scott barks.
"She always screams. Every night. She calls the dead home. This time was different. She was different. She always does this. She doesn't fight. She-she just screams for us." The soldiers voice is nothing but background voice.
His love. His future wife. His Lydia. Is gone.
"She's innocent." Stiles doesn't know who says it, but the truth rings out. Innocent blood has been spilled on the battlefield.
Stiles could feel the rumbling of a growl growing in Scott's chest. He was still holding him, still keeping him standing. When Scott's howl filled the air, it drowned out Lydia's scream in his head. The howl was a call and it didn't take long for it to be answered. Scott's pack was coming.
Scott lifted his head when he saw his second approach. He had slipped back into his fur once he was able to drag Stiles into his tent. The black wolf stopped in front of him, eyes glancing to the tent flaps behind him.
"Alpha."
"Derek."
"Your friend smells even more like death... and grief." Derek sniffed the air again, something in his cobalt eyes seemed troubled.
"His lover was murde-"
A shattered wail had both wolves racing through the flaps of the tent. Stiles is crumpled on the floor, pained sobs leaving him as angry fist pound the ground. Without a second thought, Scott worms his way under Stiles. Nuzzling the cold flesh, comforting the best way he knows how. Stiles tangles his fingers in the thick brown fur, burying his face in the nape of Scott's neck.
Scott's eyes catch on a piece of parchment with ink spilled on most of it. One look has his second easing over to read it to him.
"Stiles I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive me. Not only for leaving you, but-" Derek's eyes shoot up to them a whine leaving his lips.
"The rest of it, Derek." Scott growls softly.
"Not only for leaving you, but for taking our little one with me. I love you with all my heart, but it is my time to go. Forgive me." Derek whines again, pain clearly in his eyes.
Two innocent souls were lost tonight. Stiles was suppose to be a father. This war, those people had taken his future from him. Shifting to a better position, Scott throws his head back and howls. He allows the grief, pain, and promise of revenge to be heard as he sends a second call out. A call from the true alpha to all creatures, to come, to join them.
As his voice dies down, Stiles clings to him tighter, and Scott makes a vow to rip the enemies forces apart tomorrow. And when the battle is done, he'll take Stiles away from all this. Take him to his home and watch out for him. Until his broken soul is healed.
A/N: Might be a one-shot, might be a series of one-shots. Not sure yet. I guess it matters on the interest. Ya'll be safe this holiday. Enjoy your time with whoever you choose to spend it with. Thanks for reading. YOLO. Until Next Time.