Arthur was torn out of his thoughts by Pat's entrance. "Yes? What is it, sir?" he asked, standing up.
"I'm gonna say this right now so that we don't have any more problems. I don't like you. You have no sense of loyalty. You may have Alfred tied to strings, but you won't get me. If you endanger this revolution in any way, I'll have your head. Am I clear?"
"Crystal, sir." How strange. I thought he was a gentle giant. I suppose I was wrong.
"Good." Pat left. His footsteps were audible for some time.
Arthur sighed, wondering why it was him that always ended up in these horrible situations. What was it that he had done that made him suffer so? Why did the light shine so unfortunately upon him?
Questions that were impossible to answer. But they weren't the only futile questions Arthur had. The England Provincianer had more wonderings than trees had leaves.
Arthur decided to put his mind off of all these stressful thoughts by writing a report to Gilbert, but he quickly found that he had nothing to write about. No new information. The camp had blue uniforms to wear now, but that wasn't exactly important. No news of an attack, no rebels from other villages joining, nothing. Was he simply not digging deep enough?
It dawned on Arthur that he wasn't really hunting for information anymore. He was mostly worrying about keeping his cover and worrying about Alfred. Why was that so? He used to be so eager to root out secrets and be promoted. Where had that hidden beast gone? Where did his loyalties lie?
"Back to impossible questions," Arthur grumbled to himself. Perhaps Pat had reached a grain of truth. Arthur didn't know where his loyalties where anymore. That meant they weren't firmly with the Kingdom of Spades. He was disloyal.
One thing he did know, though, was that he was not with the rebellion. Whatever he was, Arthur was against this so-called revolution. If he had to pick a side, then he would pick his own.
If there was only one certainty, it was that Arthur Kirkland didn't need anyone.
Alfred's body was asleep. But his mind was very much awake, to his chagrin. He was dreaming. For Alfred, though, dreams were never pleasant.
LIke all of his dreams, he was in darkness made up of blues and purples. It always began so peacefully. There was a beam of light up ahead, spilling down from the unseen heavens. Alfred's body began to move towards it, despite his mental protests. Halfway to the light, he turned his head to see his footsteps were leaving a bloody trail. A quick glance at his hands confirmed that they were also covered in the crimson liquid.
He reached the light and closed his eyes, bathing in its glow. It was warm and soft, oozing down his arms. It was sticky and, pulsating, it covered him. He opened his eyes to find the light had turned into a waterfall of blood pouring from a giant beating heart above him.
That was when the fear began. Fear always engulfed him at this point, because he knew he had passed the point of no return. The blood pooling around his feet became a gruesome red mirror, reflecting his image back at him. He was a monstrous beast, a bird of prey with black feathers falling off his arms and clumped with blood, a cruel, jagged beak jutting out of his face where his nose should've been.
He tried to scream - he always tried to scream - but all that came out was the sound of a bird dying.
Looking up from the mirror, he found that he was surrounded by people with gory wounds on their necks and chests, spilling blood from them. They slowly shambled towards him, whispering horrors.
Death comes for us all...
Blood and souls and flesh and bones...
Stab it, slash it, kill it...
Take their life and take their gold...
You cannot kill death...
You cannot evade pain...
WE COME FOR YOU...
Alfred tried to back away, but the waterfall of blood became solid. He could not escape. the bodies stumbled forward.
The first one reached him and grabbed his arm, slamming it against the stone of blood and shattering his wrist. Another yanked at his other arm and did the same. More bodies surrounded him, pulling at his beak. Alfred screamed in pain - the scream more of a squawk than anything - as he felt the skin and muscles tear, ripping from his face. Slowly, always so slowly, the beak came away. The body that gripped it spat in Alfred's eye.
YOU WILL PAY.
The body stabbed Alfred with the beak, over and over, turning his chest into a bloody mess. The stabs were arranged in a crude replica of the Nighteagle's calling card. They were taunting him with his own demise.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Alfred knew it wasn't real. But it didn't feel fake. Awake, he could perfectly describe the sensation of having a beak torn out of his face. He could tell anyone exactly which muscles and tendons would rip first. Awake, he felt nothing. Asleep, he felt nothing but pain.
We got you...
We hurt you...
But you are not dead... You cheated death...
WE WILL RETURN...
Alfred's eyes shot open. He was awake. He escaped from the nightmare. He eluded the ghosts. He cheated death.
He did nothing for some time, just letting his lungs calm down, waiting for his breathing to return to normalcy and his heart to stop trying to beat its way out of his chest. Focusing on the lantern's light helped him calm. Alfred fed all of his fears into the flame, watched them burn in his mind's eye. He slipped softly into the void.
All was calm.
AN: Sorry this one's a shorty! The next one will be longer, I promise. Also, I can now with a certainty state that THERE WILL BE REPRIEVE FROM THIS ENDLESS DO-YOU-LIKE-ME-OR-DO-YOU-NOT IN THE NEAR FUTURE. I know this because I wrote the chapter already. Patience, my padawans.
Also, I was wrong about the number of easter eggs in this story. There are actually three more to find. Good luck, guys! (The third one is particularly difficult, so I'll give you a hint: Randland.) Anyone who finds all of the easter eggs gets a story! Now hunt!
Alright, back to Skyrim for me. Until next chapter!