fic: this time around (ficuary)

[csi_sanders1129]

Title: this time around
Chapters: 1/1
Author:csi_sanders1129
Genre: Drama.
Ratings: K+
Word Count:
Pairings/Characters: Diarmuid, The Mute, Geraldus, Cathal
Synopsis: In which Diarmuid snaps back to reality holding the relic in the middle of the forest.
Comments: Written for Ficuary 2021, Prompt: Sacrifice. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!

Diarmuid snaps back to reality in the eerie darkness of the forest. Cathal and Geraldus and the Mute are all standing around him holding torches, the only source of light in the moonless night. They watch in awe as he holds the relic in his hands, but Diarmuid promptly drops it as the nightmare images flash, too fresh and too vivid, in his head.

He'd seen…

No, he'd lived…

He gasps and staggers backwards, away from the rock. He can feel his breath coming too fast, too shallow. Feels a wave of nausea overwhelm him at the things he'd seen in that nightmare world. Was it some strange, waking dream? It had felt so real – fleeing from de Merville and his men, the bells in the bogs, the fight on the beach, standing on the boat. The fear and the loss and the anguish. How is this happening? How is he back here?

A hand lands on his shoulder, steadying him. The Mute, he knows without looking. He's alive. He pulls the man into a hug, desperately clings to him now that he has him back, now that he didn't walk away to sacrifice himself.

"What happened?" Geraldus demands.

The Mute looks over Diarmuid's hands, looking for some physical explanation for the reaction the stone had caused, but he finds no harm done, only that he's shaking with anxiety. The Mute catches his eyes, searching, and quickly works out that whatever happened, what Diarmuid needs from him right now is comfort. He holds tight, glares at Geraldus over the young monks shoulder, lets Diarmuid latch onto him as long as he needs to. An answer will come in time.

And it does.

A few minutes later and Diarmuid's worked out that he has no idea what happened. Only that the course of action they'd taken in that vision, premonition, warning, whatever it had been, they should most definitely not do that. But how does he explain that to the others? What do they do instead?

"We need to get away from here as fast as possible," Diarmuid finally decides. If they can get to the bogs before they're chased there, if they can hide their scent in the water so the dogs can't follow, if they can get to the boatsman before de Merville can work out which way they headed and get ahead of the tide, they can be far enough out to sea to avoid the fight and its casualties. "We can't stop for anything."

He reluctantly peels himself away from his mute friend and grabs the relic with more confidence, swiftly sliding it into his bag. He grabs his torch from Cathal and starts walking, the Mute close behind, the others bewildered but trailing after him.

"Boy," Geraldus calls out, once again irate with him. He grabs Diarmuid's arm, spins him around to face him, crowds in too close with his demands, "Tell me. What did you see?"

The Mute closes in, prepared, as always, to intervene on Diarmuid's behalf, but Diarmuid's not the same person who first touched that rock.

When he'd left the monastery, he'd known nothing of the world. It had been quick to teach him it's harsh lessons – treachery and violence and manipulation. First with the ambush in the hollows and Rua's death, then with the evidence of de Merville's organized betrayal and Ciaran's brutal slaying at the knight's hand. And now, he knows what's to come. He's seen Cathal's death in a futile attempt at escape. He's seen the Mute's brutal sacrifice on the bloody shoreline. He's seen Geradlus' death at his own hands, sinking to the bottom of the sea, the relic along with him. And he's seen himself in the aftermath – lost and alone and with nothing left.

He can't let it happen again, not if there's a chance he can change it.

"An ending," Diarmuid explains, determined to lead them to a different one.