DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
It’d be a lie if he said some portion of this didn’t fill him with dread; an undulating apprehension starting in his soul, working its way down to his bones, to his marrow, and through his veins. Experience after experience had taught him exactly what he needed to be for this role: brawn, tactician, schemer, instructor, soldier, and a diligent, fortified, hardened cretin. Perhaps he was no longer suited though – based on the latest blunder and mistake, of trying so desperately to protect those willing to stay behind, that he’d inadvertently allowed one of his own to be mauled and destroyed. The beast had always been aware he couldn’t save everyone, but the ones lost, the ones perished, stuck with him for eternities, oblivions, and lives interwoven. How much was enough to say he was worthless? How much was enough to override any prowess he held? When did one glance upon him and deem him ineffectual, useless, and inept?He waited for it – every damned day. For others to realize he wasn’t enough to amount to anything, for them to connect the patterns, the pursuits, the faults, the flaws; and leave him to his own defects.
Still, Evie persisted, and he listened – to the notions of something big, steadying his gaze into hers with a sharp inhale, of chins held high and defiant to the world. How long would it take, what measures would be concocted, until the sedition was tired, exhausted, and worn?
Then his eyes went to her offered hand, and a sigh flickered through the Sword, just barely, a minuscule fire buried in his chest. Was it a mistake – to strive and try again? To make up for the haphazard plans that had destroyed the previous monarch? With finality, he reached forward, smothering the consternation, hoping for once he’d be enough for something other than failure in fortitude, hand grasping with hers. “Yes.”
