Based of Mordred's Lullaby, where Jamie is the child of a vengeful woman. He grows up training to fight his uncle and loathes all but her. The song is his lullaby. Violent, perhaps depressing themes. No spoilers that I know of.

Jamie wielded his sword – and at such a young age too, only six. He was born for a war, he was to start and end a war – victorious.

Impress Mother. He had to impress Mother.

"YAARGH!" He screamed.

Slice, slice, slice.

Only strips were left of the dummy, and he turned to his mother, grinning widely. She gave a nod back.

"Good, Jamie. Now you must rest, my supplanter. Get changed, son, and I shall come."

Hush, child,

The darkness will rise from the deep,

And carry you down into sleep.

Child, the darkness will rise from the deep,

And carry you down into sleep.

Her son was now ten, and had moved onto real people. Relentless and ruthless, he would kill them on the spot, uncaring of their families, their dreams or their position. To Jamie, they were just people – just victims.

And they were to die for a good cause.

He wore black gloves now, so the blood wouldn't stain his skin, and they dripped with blood. Not that he cared. He'd do anything for Mother.

He fought more, he fought hard, he became stronger, yet received no praise from his mother.

Only how to improve.

Guileless son,

I'll shape your belief,

And you'll always know that your father's a thief.

And you won't understand the cause of your grief,

But you'll always follow the voices beneath.

His father, oh Jamie did not know who he was. He felt odium toward him, whoever he was.

Still ten, he was 'born in grief, raised in hate and helpless to defy his fate', or so his mother's army's children called him. He cared not for them, they were just children; they did not have a role for them and them alone.

It was when he was ten, his mother told him a good leader cared.

"Make friends, however useless they may be. Your trust will certify their loyalty."

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, loyalty,

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty only to me.

And, only on his mother's demands, Jamie socialised. He dropped the weapons for once and approached the sticks and stones they played with.

"You don't know how to play One Four Seven?"

Jamie shook his head. "No, I do not."

"I'll teach ya." The boy, Lars, said, holding out three stones. "So these stones have names – Two, Five and Eight." He pointed to three other children. "And you have to throw them at them!" He threw one of the stones, Five, Jamie noted, at the girl in the middle. "She's Six, so you have to throw it at her."

"Oof!" She yelped as it hit her chest. "Ow!"

"If it hits her, and she yells in pain, you get a point. If she catches it, you lose a point and she gets it. If it hits them but they don't say ow, no one gets a point. So I get a point."

Jamie met the kids, who Lars called Three, Five and Nine.

Three, or Sour Cream, had light blonde hair and artic blue eyes with pale skin. He was the best at the game, almost always catching it, and never showing pain when it did. This infuriated Lars.

Five, or Jenny, had jade black hair, coal black eyes and dark skin. She was the worst at the game, almost never catching it and almost always yelling in pain. She was a target.

And Nine was Buck, and he had dark brown (umber brown) hair, hickory brown eyes and tanned skin. He wasn't the best at the game, but not the worst either.

"Why's it called One Four Seven?"

"Cause the first time it was played, the loser had one point, the person who came second had four and the winner," He gave a smug smile. "Had seven!"

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Want to play?"

"Uh, sure."

"I warn you though, I, the creator, am the highest scorer at 20 in nine rounds!"

After a few rounds (in which Jamie mostly scored 3, one for each child), they had a single round left.

Jamie had 18. So did Lars.

Lars threw the stones. Buck and Jenny yelled, "Ow!" Sour Cream was silent.

"20! You might as well give up, Princess, that's the highest score!"

Jamie gave a small smirk, though it was fake – he was accepting defeat. He threw the stone at Sour Cream's stomach, surprised to hear him yell in pain. He did the same to the others, and they all yelled in pain.

"…21…"

"JAMIE! IT'S TIME TO TRAIN!"

"Yes Mother!" Jamie didn't say a single goodbye as he ran off.

"I don't like that kid." Lars muttered.

"Only because he beat your high score." Buck smirked.

Lars grunted, only giving the other ten year olds (and the nine year old Sour Cream) confirmation that this was indeed the reason.

They watched Jamie train against the adults; kill those his mother found too weak. It was pretty horrible and weird – the boy that had just been playing with them happily was now a killing machine, ruthless and relentless.

But yet they trusted him. If he was that good already, they'd be protected.

Guileless son,

Your spirit will hate her,

The flower who married my brother the traitor.

And you will expose his puppeteer behaviour,

For you are the proof of how he betrayed her loyalty.

Sixteen. Jamie, Lars, Buck and Jenny were sixteen, Sour Cream fifteen.

They trained for the war with each other, the outcome being mild injuries.

"When a man is in misery and begging, children, you cut him down, relieve him. Even if he is your friend, kill him. For a brave man would face pain, and those who beg know death takes pain away. Reward the coward, but with a painful death. Make them wish they'd been brave."

They nodded. They had no other meaning but to fight against Jamie's uncle.

Training took up what used to be playtime. One Four Seven was but a game of the past, not that they abandoned it willingly, and now they trained nonstop.

In a way, they were fine with it. It was childish, too childish for them, and training was more important; Buck would have liked some more praise, if he was to be honest, but he didn't really mind; he liked being pushed to the edge so he got better, and it was the same with the other kids.

But then, in mid-training, they were attacked.

And there was a betrayal.

Marty betrayed them, and suddenly, it became a fight between another family.

Jamie and his mother against his uncle and his uncle's wife. Sour Cream's family against Sour Cream's father.

It broke their hearts, despite the tough, uncaring mien that surrounded them.

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, loyalty,

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty only to me.

Marty had broken such loyalty, and they were forced to kill him. He begged for death, and they gave him pain and death.

What scared them the most was the emotion on Sour Cream's face.

He smiled.

Hush, child,

The darkness will rise from the deep,

And carry you down into sleep.

Child, the darkness will rise from the deep,

And carry you down into sleep.

Nineteen.

A part of a war, a large one too.

Friends were sliced down, and One Four Seven came into Jamie's mind. He threw a stone, roughly the size of his palm, threw it at one of the enemy, and smirked as they fell to the ground. He ran up and drove his sword through their guts, hearing the screams.

Death came slowly to them.

Jamie stood, looked up…

Watched helplessly as a knight of the other side gouged Jenny's stomach, piercing through it. She gave a gasp and fell dead to the floor.

Eyes aflame, Jamie continued on, memories thick and heavy in his mind.

Unbeknown to him, he was fated to die.

Guileless son,

Each day you grow older,

Each moment I'm watching my vengeance unfold.

For the child of my body, the flesh of my soul,

Will die in returning the birth-right he stole.

"Uncle!" He screamed, moistness forcing the flames within his eyes to die. "Enough!"

His uncle, Jamie knew not his name, turned to him, eyes wide. "Is this how your mother has raised you? To be a killing machine, to allow many to die to win?"

"Don't comment on my culpability, for I do not care!" Jamie cried back, unsheathing his rapier and pointing it at his uncle.

His uncle only reached out. "Jamie, it's not too late to make a change! You and your friends can side with us! You will be free of the shackles your mother has raised you in – the shackles of war! You are but a boy, Jamie, not a war creator! Jamie, please!"

Moistness touched his eyes. He heard his, no, his mother's army fighting.

Decisions, decisions. He held up his arm, the one holding the weapon.

He dropped it, as a sign of agreement.

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty, loyalty,

Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty only to me.

He began to walk to his uncle, his friends noticed, they followed.

The bloodcurdling sound of a sword impaling skin rang through the air.

And the pain that came with it was let out in a cry.

Jamie's eyes widened, the pain making him screaming. Blood was now on the floor, and he fell as the sword was removed. His uncle rushed forward, cradled his nephew's head in his arms.

And as the sound of a sword meeting a friend rang throughout his ears…

Jamie watched the world become a pit of darkness, never to see light again – and he was used to it.

Hush, child,

The darkness will rise from the deep,

And carry you down into sleep.

Child, the darkness will rise from the deep,

And carry you down into sleep.

(Line break)

A/N: Well.

Uh, so yeah, that was that.

Please review. Please.