[Arthur, you were a soldier of Edoras, your heart torn by war, needless killing, and deaths of your allies. All you wanted was to be free of that life and live in peace. You found someone you could trust in Opal, you found people who accepted you—and yet your past chased you down. How utterly unfair that is, when you asked for so little.
As you remain blind to your surroundings, trapped within your own mind, scenes play out over and over again. The war, Throné dying to protect you. Being caught as a deserter in the village, watching Opal nearly die. Turning on her, and almost killing her yourself.
At the same time, other flashbacks take a hold of you, of another life. Your role in the house, and your years of isolation. Your parents' deaths; the time you had to pick which lives to save, and which ones to leave for dead because you couldn't help them all. Your weakness, and the people who've gotten hurt because of it.
These things play endlessly in your head. What is that you see, that you feel?]
[it's coming across his parent's bodies, again, at first. after all, that was the first time he'd really grasped what his selfishness would (had) cost. they'd tried to tell him, his entire life - what a pity that the lesson didn't sink in without such direct, horrible proof.
he remembers, later, coming across the news that four other people had died that night as well. he remembers the cold realization that he does not even have ownership of his own trauma, and that every single regret that wakes him up at night extends far beyond him. that his life no longer belongs to himself, but to the people around him, people who will never know him.
and he remembers that night at the river, the aching cold from the rushing water that set into his bones and the fact that he could barely swim but he didn't care, it didn't matter, because he had failed again. he thought he had learned, had improved, but when he dragged her barely breathing body onto the bank, struggled to keep her warm and stop her heart from failing, he knew that being someone different was a vain hope.
he does not think of the things that have been taken from him - rather, he thinks about the things he's taken from others. you are more than your failures, someone had told him once, but he never really believed that was true. he believes it even less here as all these moments of selfishness and cowardice play over and over again, reminding him exactly who he is.
he doesn't try to run from it - it feels right and correct. this is what he deserves.]
[This is what Arthur deserves, in his eyes. His mental prison shows him Opal—Opal, whom Arthur has hurt. Surely, he remembers what he's done to her, how he's wronged her.
Though in contrast to whatever memory Arthur is reliving, one of bitterness and grief, Opal's tone is oddly soft, gentle.]
[he almost doesn't answer. she would certainly be better off moving on, letting go, not knowing that the answer is yes. after a moment, though - there's still something he should say to her, he thinks.]
[Arthur apologizes, and for a moment, Opal looks cold. And then, perhaps surprisingly, her expression softens. In fact, she reaches out to stroke the top of his head.]
I'm sorry. I'm not the one you want to apologize to...
[Whether or not her words make sense to Arthur, she continues.]
I'm not who you want to talk to at all, but no one here is, so let's get you up, okay?
[In spite of everything, there is something warm and familiar in her voice—whether or not it's but a drop in the dam of his guilt.]
[This might seem completely baffling to Arthur, but Opal pulls out a cane, lightly hitting him on the head with it, before holding it out for him to take.]
I meant you have to wake up, silly! But you should really stop being on the ground, too.
[Wake up? Perhaps Opal is right, and this isn't the real world that he sees, playing his worst memories and regrets for him—but does he want to wake up? If he deserves to, or if the world out there is any kinder.]
[What good would it do, Arthur wonders. Opal looks surprised for a moment, and then contemplative. After a second or so of quiet, she responds, her tone firmer than before though not necessarily unkind.]
Are you actually asking me that question? Or are you just looking for ways to justify staying here like this? Even if I give you really good reasons, you're going to keep coming up with ways to tell me I'm wrong and that you should just stay here and suffer, right?
[Opal gently whacks Arthur with the cane again, apparently unimpressed.]
I'm telling you, I'm not the one you want to say these things to! There's a lot I have to say to you, but this isn't my conversation...!
[She looks a little like she wants to shake him, actually.]
If you won't listen to me, I'm going to have to start making things strange again...
[This probably does not quite make sense to Arthur, who might struggle to recall what she means by this, unless Opal does this kind of thing in canon. Does he want to find out, though...?]
[but - he's distracted by the sudden appearance. of course he is. there are two different lives worth of instincts, one to reach for a sword that isn't there, and one to create a weapon. can he do that here, or does the attempt fail?]
[Arthur acts on both instincts, and in this warped representation of his mind, both occur. Despite any despair he feels, the need to punish himself, he is what he is. He reaches for his sword, and he finds one there when it wasn't present before.
Meanwhile, Opal reacts.]
Woah—!!
[She gives a start—and then suddenly, a giant net drops over the Beast.]
[The Beast is caught in the net, but it has claws, and it's using those to tear through. Opal apparently didn't expect this, as she yells,]
Why is it so violent?! ... That one was me! [She points to the net.] The thingy isn't!
[Also, for reference, is Arthur standing? Either way, a bow and a quiver of arrows appear on Opal's person, before she readies a few and fires them at the Beast. Regardless of everything else, Arthur isn't alone here, isn't fighting in isolation as he has for so long. Someone has decided to stand by him.
Then, as this happens, a giant cake drops from sky, onto the Beast.]
this might as well happen. he's grabbing his sword and trying to stab at the thing before it can get out of the net, trying to ignore the cake. he glances at opal.]
[As the arrow strike the Beast, it roars in pain, continuing to do so when Arthur stabs at it. But then, it finally breaks free from the net, taking a swipe at Arthur with its claws—]
Ah—!!
[They never connect, though. Opal tackles Arthur, both of them tumbling to the ground as the Beast swipes air instead. As this happens, the earth rumbles, before a giant chasm splits the ground, separating the Beast from Arthur and Opal.
Did Arthur truly expect his company to listen to him?]
[well. as they go tumbling to the ground and everything gets split apart, his first instinct is to pull her further away from the edge so she doesn't fall in.]
[He can do that, though meanwhile, the mist is still here—and more monsters come flying from the chasm. They might be familiar to Arthur, as creatures of all kinds like those from myths and storybooks.
Though it doesn't seem he needs to fight them alone, as cakes start raining from the sky. Giant flaming cakes, setting the monsters on fire as they make impact, along with bowling balls that drop on their heads. None of them come close to where Arthur and Opal are, however.
As this happens, Opal sandwiches Arthur's face between her hands, her expression and tone deadly serious.]
I'm not Opal, so don't worry about me, okay? I can fight, but we don't have to! You don't have to. Stop tormenting yourself, Arthur Starling. If you have regrets, wake up and carry them, even if they're heavy. Don't you still have unfinished business?
[He does have regrets, doesn't he? So many of them—so many failures, so many things to feel guilty over. But at least here, remaining in this prison, he can be haunted by what's familiar.
Does he want to confront any unfinished business he has left, knowing it might only add to the wounds that cover his body and heart?]
[he's confused, but there's more important things going on here. some of them are cakes and bowling balls but some of them are also deep existential queries.
...well. it's not a secret that others matter more to him than himself. he's been wounded enough to try and keep other people safe, so it's an easy choice.
[Opal peers down the chasm, and if Arthur chooses to do the same—he'll see that, past the monsters trying to fly out and getting dunked by flaming cakes and bowling balls, a blue flame burns down there.
Despite what his instincts might tell him, he will know, somehow, that that's where he should go; to jump, alongside Opal. Speaking of which, she goes to the edge, holding her hand out to him.]
I'm sorry. I know that it hurts and it's really hard and lonely... But I'll hold your hand, okay? I won't let go until you're wide awake. Are you ready?
[Opal gives Arthur's hand a little squeeze, and then into the fire they go! The flames only lick gently at his skin, warming him like an embrace rather than burning him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ARTHUR
As you remain blind to your surroundings, trapped within your own mind, scenes play out over and over again. The war, Throné dying to protect you. Being caught as a deserter in the village, watching Opal nearly die. Turning on her, and almost killing her yourself.
At the same time, other flashbacks take a hold of you, of another life. Your role in the house, and your years of isolation. Your parents' deaths; the time you had to pick which lives to save, and which ones to leave for dead because you couldn't help them all. Your weakness, and the people who've gotten hurt because of it.
These things play endlessly in your head. What is that you see, that you feel?]
no subject
he remembers, later, coming across the news that four other people had died that night as well. he remembers the cold realization that he does not even have ownership of his own trauma, and that every single regret that wakes him up at night extends far beyond him. that his life no longer belongs to himself, but to the people around him, people who will never know him.
and he remembers that night at the river, the aching cold from the rushing water that set into his bones and the fact that he could barely swim but he didn't care, it didn't matter, because he had failed again. he thought he had learned, had improved, but when he dragged her barely breathing body onto the bank, struggled to keep her warm and stop her heart from failing, he knew that being someone different was a vain hope.
he does not think of the things that have been taken from him - rather, he thinks about the things he's taken from others. you are more than your failures, someone had told him once, but he never really believed that was true. he believes it even less here as all these moments of selfishness and cowardice play over and over again, reminding him exactly who he is.
he doesn't try to run from it - it feels right and correct. this is what he deserves.]
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Though in contrast to whatever memory Arthur is reliving, one of bitterness and grief, Opal's tone is oddly soft, gentle.]
... Can you hear me?
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I'm sorry.
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I'm sorry. I'm not the one you want to apologize to...
[Whether or not her words make sense to Arthur, she continues.]
I'm not who you want to talk to at all, but no one here is, so let's get you up, okay?
[In spite of everything, there is something warm and familiar in her voice—whether or not it's but a drop in the dam of his guilt.]
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Up? I... I can't.
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I meant you have to wake up, silly! But you should really stop being on the ground, too.
[Wake up? Perhaps Opal is right, and this isn't the real world that he sees, playing his worst memories and regrets for him—but does he want to wake up? If he deserves to, or if the world out there is any kinder.]
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[he glances at the cane, hesitating.]
Why?
[why does he have to? what good would it do?]
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Are you actually asking me that question? Or are you just looking for ways to justify staying here like this? Even if I give you really good reasons, you're going to keep coming up with ways to tell me I'm wrong and that you should just stay here and suffer, right?
[Well, Arthur?]
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You should be happier.
[that's what it's always, always come down to.]
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I'm telling you, I'm not the one you want to say these things to! There's a lot I have to say to you, but this isn't my conversation...!
[She looks a little like she wants to shake him, actually.]
If you won't listen to me, I'm going to have to start making things strange again...
[This probably does not quite make sense to Arthur, who might struggle to recall what she means by this, unless Opal does this kind of thing in canon. Does he want to find out, though...?]
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[confused, looking her way.]
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But then she turns back to him and points to her own face.]
To her! [Again, she is pointing to herself.] But also, I really think you should get up now...! If things become strange, I didn't do it!
[Meanwhile, the mist has risen, perhaps suddenly. And then, in the near distance, the Beast emerges: a wolf-like creature, familiar to Arthur.]
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[but - he's distracted by the sudden appearance. of course he is. there are two different lives worth of instincts, one to reach for a sword that isn't there, and one to create a weapon. can he do that here, or does the attempt fail?]
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Meanwhile, Opal reacts.]
Woah—!!
[She gives a start—and then suddenly, a giant net drops over the Beast.]
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[ah.]
What - was that you said about things becoming strange...?
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Why is it so violent?! ... That one was me! [She points to the net.] The thingy isn't!
[Also, for reference, is Arthur standing? Either way, a bow and a quiver of arrows appear on Opal's person, before she readies a few and fires them at the Beast. Regardless of everything else, Arthur isn't alone here, isn't fighting in isolation as he has for so long. Someone has decided to stand by him.
Then, as this happens, a giant cake drops from sky, onto the Beast.]
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this might as well happen. he's grabbing his sword and trying to stab at the thing before it can get out of the net, trying to ignore the cake. he glances at opal.]
Please - please go. You don't have to be here.
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Ah—!!
[They never connect, though. Opal tackles Arthur, both of them tumbling to the ground as the Beast swipes air instead. As this happens, the earth rumbles, before a giant chasm splits the ground, separating the Beast from Arthur and Opal.
Did Arthur truly expect his company to listen to him?]
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Though it doesn't seem he needs to fight them alone, as cakes start raining from the sky. Giant flaming cakes, setting the monsters on fire as they make impact, along with bowling balls that drop on their heads. None of them come close to where Arthur and Opal are, however.
As this happens, Opal sandwiches Arthur's face between her hands, her expression and tone deadly serious.]
I'm not Opal, so don't worry about me, okay? I can fight, but we don't have to! You don't have to. Stop tormenting yourself, Arthur Starling. If you have regrets, wake up and carry them, even if they're heavy. Don't you still have unfinished business?
[He does have regrets, doesn't he? So many of them—so many failures, so many things to feel guilty over. But at least here, remaining in this prison, he can be haunted by what's familiar.
Does he want to confront any unfinished business he has left, knowing it might only add to the wounds that cover his body and heart?]
no subject
[he's confused, but there's more important things going on here. some of them are cakes and bowling balls but some of them are also deep existential queries.
...well. it's not a secret that others matter more to him than himself. he's been wounded enough to try and keep other people safe, so it's an easy choice.
he'll return and face whatever he has to.]
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Despite what his instincts might tell him, he will know, somehow, that that's where he should go; to jump, alongside Opal. Speaking of which, she goes to the edge, holding her hand out to him.]
I'm sorry. I know that it hurts and it's really hard and lonely... But I'll hold your hand, okay? I won't let go until you're wide awake. Are you ready?
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but then he takes her hand and nods. he's ready, even if it kills him again.]
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[Opal gives Arthur's hand a little squeeze, and then into the fire they go! The flames only lick gently at his skin, warming him like an embrace rather than burning him.
And then—]