a/n: music is definitely inspiration for a lot of these pieces lol. the song of choice is I See Fire by Ed Sheeran. this piece is inspired by the show Outlander.
pairings: none. male!oc Dalziel.
warnings: war.
divider by @firefly-graphics !
The earth, filled with darkness and mourning of her children, weeped and wallowed like thunder. Her tears were bullets as they pounded against the backs of mighty men, slid past the hair of mature trees, and sunk into her thick, green skin.
The sky, once a beautiful shade of blue, much like the ocean or his eyes, fell victim to the brutality of man. It’s cool complexion deepened and passed away. The sun, with a heart hardened by the transformation of her longtime companion, turned her face away swiftly, taking refuge behind the clouds she summoned to shield her.
Years were spent preparing for the moment where hellfire would rain relentlessly on the people of Scotland. Armor was put on the backs of young boys when they could crawl, helmets when they could walk, and swords when they could run. They were trained to become soldiers, mighty warriors and protectors of the motherland that provided a multitude of resources. They fought in loyalty to her.
The very day had been dreaded for generations. The day when the sworn enemies of their clan would rise up to slaughter the inhabitants. Told from parent to child for many years, it was an oral prophecy awaiting fulfillment. He’d hoped the day would never come. He lost hope.
His men, exhausted, starved, and hopeless. Few fell to their feet, mud and rocks seeping into the cuts and gashes at their knees. The blood transplanted into earth’s own body wasn’t a sacrifice great enough to reverse what had occurred.
Dalziel himself wanted to scream out to the gods, demanding they bring mercy upon their people. He could not let his emotions cloud his judgement, however. Too much was at stake to allow his heart to control his head.
“Grab the rope.” His voice was low, hardly heard through the crackling of fire over the mountain’s side. Yet, the rumble of his baritone captured the attention of his men. Their feet, bruised, battered, and bloodied, sloshes through pits of mud and water. Calloused hands gripped the tattered rope, waiting for another instruction.
Dalziel closed his eyes momentarily, his blue eyes hidden from all else. They couldn’t see the fear floating like leaves in the wind. The despair was etched into his face as the fate of his men pressed on his shoulders. One wrong move, one miscalculation would lead to the demise of his men, of his people.
“We’ve lost three hundred men,” he stated gruffly. His eyelids peeled open and he was met with the view he could not quite register. The lake in which he used to splash in as a young boy, was filled with the bodies of his very own--an act of revenge. The trees hunched over in agony at what they’d witnessed. Their leaves covered their bodies, trying to shield themselves from any more blows. Horses lay on their side, twitching and writhing as they gasped out their last breath.
“We’ve lost three hundred men. There are hardly sixty of us left. We are outnumbered in men, weaponry, and agility.
“I don’t know what will come out of this, but if we die, we die together, as one body, as a sacrifice to the ones that gave us life.”
Scattered agreements came from the men. Dalziel locked eyes with his right hand, the one who’d raised him from the time of his youth until adulthood, Graham. His silver hair stuck to his wrinkled forehead and his eyes were stern with authority.
Dalziel pulled a flask from the drenched pocket of his coat. “We drink the last of this together…as a brotherhood prepared to fight. Understood?”
“Aye!” a chorus of makeshift joy filled the depressed atmosphere. The horn shaped flask was passed around by men, chapped and cut lips wrapped around the edge.
“You did what you could, lad,” Graham said to Dalziel, who’s heart was right on his sleeve. No more could he deny the emotions running within him. “Werd is unavoidable. If we die, we die together, understand?”
“Understood.”
Dalziel looked upon the horizon, his enemies trampling toward them upon horseback and upon foot. He wiped his wine stained lips with the dampness of his sleeve. “Onward!”
It was an ugly thing—war. The destruction of man and his home was something he’d never wish on his worst enemy. It all happened so fast.
First, the enemy charged over the slippery slope, then, swords flew, arrows darted, and bodies collapsed. Never had he seen so much death. His skin crawled and vomit threatened to creep up his throat. The eyes of his men stared back at him, lone tears trailed down their cheeks.
Cries to God fell from their lips. “Father, oh, Father!”
Objects flew through the air—knives which pierced skin, arrows which penetrated limbs, and sticks of fire which landed upon their tents and small belongings. Another whoosh of flames went into the air, spreading to the mountainside, joining with the flames that had dwindled.
The sound of souls groaning filled his ears. What a horrid sound it was. Those awful sounds, how they were distracting. He lost balance. He lost focus. He lost speed and agility, aim and accuracy.
Dalziel’s vision blurred and his target was no longer in sight. His feet scraped the ground, and his ankles were trapped by the mud. His body heater quicker than hell as it all dawned upon him. The last one standing, the last to die.
Groans erupted from his chest as he collapsed against burnt grass. He tried to sit up, tried to regain his strength, but a boot against his chest kept him down. Soon, the edge of a sword pierced his chest.
His weak voice cried out in agony, his hand scraping to fight off his oppressor. No mercy was shown in the face of the enemy. His green eyes were full of flames, his lips twisted with a victorious smile.
Dalziel sputtered and coughed, blood bubbling between his teeth and dribbling down the side of his dirty face. It was no use. He was too weak; his worst nightmare had become a reality, and he had no choice but to watch as the fire engulfed all that he loved.
It became too much, and the last words he heard, he took to the grave with him. “Ye cuid ne'er win…”
