It's a hill of corpses. Not like Gallipoli, bodies buried whenever possible, tucked into corners when not. Here, corpses create the hill itself; tens of thousands of dead covering the ground with barely an inch to spare. Men stabbed, riddled with arrows, skulls caved in with a mace. The air hums with flies, feasting on the rot. Buzzards are already starting to circle in anticipation.
And yet, the battle still rages. An armoured knight tears through the last few warriors remaining, and a regal figure with a shining sword waits to confront them. The figure has Mordred's face, but everything else β the hair, the outfit, even its very presence is different. Kingly. So when Mordred's voice booms from the furious knight instead of the king, it shouldn't come as a surprise.
"How's that?! How's that, King Arthur?! Your country ends here! It's finished! Regardless of who wins β everything is already in ruins! If you had just turned over the throne to me, it wouldn't have turned out like this...!"
Her voice is passionate, angry. The only answer she receives is the king's sword clashing with her own; Clarent meeting Excalibur in a shower of sparks. Both warriors at their limit. Both fighting for their lives, even as neither truly plan to walk away from this hill. They move straight through Ryuji, oblivious to his presence, reenacting a battle already fought. Mordred screaming words already spoken.
"Do you hate me?! Do you hate me that much?! Did you hate me for being Morgan's son?! Answer me... answer me, Arthur!"
He does. (It's just not what she wants to hear.)
"I have never once hated you. The reason I did not hand the throne over to you is because... you did not have the capacity to be a king."
Howling in fury, in pain, Mordred swings her sword one last time. But there's a lance in King Arthur's hands, now, and it impales her; the force sending cracks through her armour and breaking her helmet in two, exposing an identical face to the king's. Her sword, still in motion, cleaves half of Arthur's β her father's β face off, then falls to the ground. Right in front of Ryuji, Mordred reaches out with blood clouding her vision.
"Fa... therβ"
Fatally wounded, the king turns and walks away as Mordred collapses behind him. Her forgotten, lifeless corpse is the only company Ryuji has as the minutes tick by, until the dream finally ends. ]
[The dreamshare that's happening as a direct result of their contract at first startles Ryuji into a state of disarray. Is it something he should talk to her about? Is it better off buried into the fiber of their relationship, not meant to see the light of day? He doesn't know the answer to that. But this dream, it's a sordid sort of welcome upgrade from the dreams of Galipoli. The result of either batch of dreams is the same: waking in the middle of the night, clutching at a body part and sweating, as if he had just been back on the battlefield. His chest heaves, he rubs his eyes and reminds himself that he's still on BASE. That he's safe. None of his friends are about to die.
And in between the new nightmares and old nightmares, there are the ones that are always there. Ryuji's had the same one, time and time again throughout his childhood. The setting might be different, the age at which he's at, but the theme is always the same. One of the nights that Ryuji goes camping, decides to sleep out under the wilderness on the giant floating fish, he revisits it.
Ryuji's a kid, no more than 9, 10 years old. His parents are struggling to get by, but in the respite of time between his mother being home and his father coming home, he always feels the most calm. There's a small assortment of spherical styrofoam structures and a long plating of cardboard sheet splayed out onto the table. He's building a solar system for class, and it looks pretty damn cool, for what a 10 year old can accomplish on his own. He's painted neptune a bright blue, mars a rust-ridden brown-red, and there are splashes of what's supposed to be earth on the one he's holding in his hand.
And when the front door opens, the familiar sound of his father's drunken footsteps ring out onto the floor like a signal flare. It's a warning shot to hide in his room, lest he get in the middle of what he knows is going to come. He tries to finish up, to pack up the wet paint on the table, but he's not fast enough. Never was, really. His arm reaches over to an open pot of blue paint as it starts to spill out onto the table and he knows the bad times are about to come. He doesn't see Mordred watching onto this scene, doesn't feel any other presence but his mother's trying to stall his father at the entrance.
"What the fuck's for dinner."
The cursing always makes him cringe. It's said from a position of power, and the resultant nervous voice from the living room is beaten before the first punch is even sunk. Ryuji's got the planetarium clutched to his chest, the paint not yet dried on the spheres either, so his shirt's becoming a mess.
"What in the hell? Ryuji, the hell are you doing?!"
"His science project for school, dear, please."
"Is this why my kitchen is a fucking mess. This is what I have to come home to. Good for nothing wife, dumb as bricks so---- Ryuji, did you get paint on the table? I work so goddamn hard for this family and you can't even have respect for what we got, huh?"
Ryuji's eyes cast downward, his mom is trying to stand between them, but there's not much he, or she, can do against those large, overbearing arms as they come and grab his work straight out of his hands. He crushes Neptune with his fist, and pissed, now that he has paint on his own hand, starts into a fury.
"Fucking brat!"
The first hit connects against his mother, and Ryuji's shoulders slink down. How is this supposed to be a family? How can he love someone who does this to them? It's hard to see his father as anything but the alcoholism, but worse than that, he's not going to have anything to bring into school tomorrow. He bites his lip, he wants to start crying, but he knows that if he does, it means he's lost.
Instead, his fists clench into spheres of their own.
"What are you gonna do? Hit your old man? Don't be such an ungrateful little shit, Ryuji-kun"
It happens so quick he doesn't have a moment to react. Someone ten times the size of him, with those agile hands, that sarcastic, furious glare behind cheap glasses- he's swept up by the collar.
"Dad, stop! What the hell's wrong with you!? You just hit mom!"
"You have the nerve to talk back to me?"
And the next thing he knows, all the wind is swept up from inside him as a fist connects against his gut. Usually the abuse is always open palmed, a smack against the face, against his shoulders- he's never been punched before. And the force of it nearly collapses him over and upon himself. Ryuji's crying, trying to grab air through his lungs, when he barely sees his mother through blurred vision grabbing his little league bat and---
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
on base
It's a hill of corpses. Not like Gallipoli, bodies buried whenever possible, tucked into corners when not. Here, corpses create the hill itself; tens of thousands of dead covering the ground with barely an inch to spare. Men stabbed, riddled with arrows, skulls caved in with a mace. The air hums with flies, feasting on the rot. Buzzards are already starting to circle in anticipation.
And yet, the battle still rages. An armoured knight tears through the last few warriors remaining, and a regal figure with a shining sword waits to confront them. The figure has Mordred's face, but everything else β the hair, the outfit, even its very presence is different. Kingly. So when Mordred's voice booms from the furious knight instead of the king, it shouldn't come as a surprise.
"How's that?! How's that, King Arthur?! Your country ends here! It's finished! Regardless of who wins β everything is already in ruins! If you had just turned over the throne to me, it wouldn't have turned out like this...!"
Her voice is passionate, angry. The only answer she receives is the king's sword clashing with her own; Clarent meeting Excalibur in a shower of sparks. Both warriors at their limit. Both fighting for their lives, even as neither truly plan to walk away from this hill. They move straight through Ryuji, oblivious to his presence, reenacting a battle already fought. Mordred screaming words already spoken.
"Do you hate me?! Do you hate me that much?! Did you hate me for being Morgan's son?! Answer me... answer me, Arthur!"
He does. (It's just not what she wants to hear.)
"I have never once hated you. The reason I did not hand the throne over to you is because... you did not have the capacity to be a king."
Howling in fury, in pain, Mordred swings her sword one last time. But there's a lance in King Arthur's hands, now, and it impales her; the force sending cracks through her armour and breaking her helmet in two, exposing an identical face to the king's. Her sword, still in motion, cleaves half of Arthur's β her father's β face off, then falls to the ground. Right in front of Ryuji, Mordred reaches out with blood clouding her vision.
"Fa... therβ"
Fatally wounded, the king turns and walks away as Mordred collapses behind him. Her forgotten, lifeless corpse is the only company Ryuji has as the minutes tick by, until the dream finally ends. ]
no subject
And in between the new nightmares and old nightmares, there are the ones that are always there. Ryuji's had the same one, time and time again throughout his childhood. The setting might be different, the age at which he's at, but the theme is always the same. One of the nights that Ryuji goes camping, decides to sleep out under the wilderness on the giant floating fish, he revisits it.
Ryuji's a kid, no more than 9, 10 years old. His parents are struggling to get by, but in the respite of time between his mother being home and his father coming home, he always feels the most calm. There's a small assortment of spherical styrofoam structures and a long plating of cardboard sheet splayed out onto the table. He's building a solar system for class, and it looks pretty damn cool, for what a 10 year old can accomplish on his own. He's painted neptune a bright blue, mars a rust-ridden brown-red, and there are splashes of what's supposed to be earth on the one he's holding in his hand.
And when the front door opens, the familiar sound of his father's drunken footsteps ring out onto the floor like a signal flare. It's a warning shot to hide in his room, lest he get in the middle of what he knows is going to come. He tries to finish up, to pack up the wet paint on the table, but he's not fast enough. Never was, really. His arm reaches over to an open pot of blue paint as it starts to spill out onto the table and he knows the bad times are about to come. He doesn't see Mordred watching onto this scene, doesn't feel any other presence but his mother's trying to stall his father at the entrance.
"What the fuck's for dinner."
The cursing always makes him cringe. It's said from a position of power, and the resultant nervous voice from the living room is beaten before the first punch is even sunk. Ryuji's got the planetarium clutched to his chest, the paint not yet dried on the spheres either, so his shirt's becoming a mess.
"What in the hell? Ryuji, the hell are you doing?!"
"His science project for school, dear, please."
"Is this why my kitchen is a fucking mess. This is what I have to come home to. Good for nothing wife, dumb as bricks so---- Ryuji, did you get paint on the table? I work so goddamn hard for this family and you can't even have respect for what we got, huh?"
Ryuji's eyes cast downward, his mom is trying to stand between them, but there's not much he, or she, can do against those large, overbearing arms as they come and grab his work straight out of his hands. He crushes Neptune with his fist, and pissed, now that he has paint on his own hand, starts into a fury.
"Fucking brat!"
The first hit connects against his mother, and Ryuji's shoulders slink down. How is this supposed to be a family? How can he love someone who does this to them? It's hard to see his father as anything but the alcoholism, but worse than that, he's not going to have anything to bring into school tomorrow. He bites his lip, he wants to start crying, but he knows that if he does, it means he's lost.
Instead, his fists clench into spheres of their own.
"What are you gonna do? Hit your old man? Don't be such an ungrateful little shit, Ryuji-kun"
It happens so quick he doesn't have a moment to react. Someone ten times the size of him, with those agile hands, that sarcastic, furious glare behind cheap glasses- he's swept up by the collar.
"Dad, stop! What the hell's wrong with you!? You just hit mom!"
"You have the nerve to talk back to me?"
And the next thing he knows, all the wind is swept up from inside him as a fist connects against his gut. Usually the abuse is always open palmed, a smack against the face, against his shoulders- he's never been punched before. And the force of it nearly collapses him over and upon himself. Ryuji's crying, trying to grab air through his lungs, when he barely sees his mother through blurred vision grabbing his little league bat and---
That's it.]