𝔗𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔦𝔢𝔰

@itslikethesun

Small, slender fingers SLIP slowly up, pushing ivory bangs away from lilac eyes. Sweat lingered lightly on his skin, the warmth of the afternoon sun the PRIMARY cause for it. But he hardly paid it any mind. He’s much more concerned with the quiet RUMBLES emanating from his stomach and the uncomfortably little weight of the coin pouch attached to his hip. He’d make a QUICK stop to eat, even if he could only afford something small, and then his best option would be to seek out work from any one of the locals. 

“Well, color me flattered.” 

The words are nothing short of a TEASE as they slip past lips already parted in a grin. He knows Inigo’s habits when it comes to young women – most everyone in the army aught to by now. But he wasn’t one to JUDGE about it. After all, his comrade always seemed to have his heart in the RIGHT place and besides that, who wouldn’t want to hear a slew of cute pick up lines? He’s certain he’ll get a laugh out of it at least.

@scriptedfates liked for a starter! 

@grimahearted liked for a starter! 

He couldn't take it. Everything suddenly hit him like a wave, CRASHING over his entire being, bent on TOPPLING him to the floor. He needed to get away. He needed to get out. He needed to breathe.

The way he ran from camp, his feet making soft THUDS on the dirt in the otherwise tranquil night, surely someone aught to have heard him. But the thought itself didn't even cross his mind. He was too focused on finding an ESCAPE. Outside the circle of Shepherds, past clusters of dense forest, he collapses only when he finds a clearing. His knees hit the ground, pain SPIKING through them, but he can barely register it over the BURNING of his lungs and the rapid drum of his heart POUNDING in his ears. His fingers curl, dragging into the earth as a weak wail passes through his lips. His vision is a blur from salty tears that won't stop flowing. He feels BARE without his cloak to hide inside, yet the cool, crisp air that brushed over his skin came SOOTHING against hot skin.

He'd woken that night in TERROR. Fear and guilt ate at him in ways he doesn't believe anyone else could ever imagine. His memories are still intact, in SPITE of what he'd told everyone else. He remembers being raised by a mother who held no love for him, but who he was still so unbearably EAGER to please. He remembers learning to fight, learning to KILL real live people and not only the Risen the others had faced. He remembers how he was never truly any of the other children's FRIEND. His father, his beloved father, who'd tried his best to stay in his life, to teach him against his mother's -- against Grima's -- view, he remembers just as well. It's only because of him that Morgan had any sense of genuine MORALITY at all. But what good was that worth when, in the end, he'd died and left Morgan with his fate.

What VALUE did his own life hold? He wasn't here for the reasons the rest of the future children were. He was here by his mother's request. He was here to take this past Robin's place if she, somehow, managed to escape Grima's hold. He was here to ensure the future was nothing but RUIN. He could do them all a favor by ENDING his existence. He knows that. He's known that. Yet still... Still, he's talked to them. He's BONDED with them, regardless of his initial intentions. He wants so badly to live, so badly to be HAPPY. But he can't. That's just not how his life is meant to be and this constant state of FRACTURE is tearing him apart.