![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A story featuring characters and setting not of my own devising.
Cut for people who don't read Discworld/Slash/Fan-Fic (or any elements thereof).
The Devil Shall Be My Sargent
(A Fan-Fic of Terry Pratchett's Discworld)
There was a war, and the Zlobenians lost.
The men who survived to tell the tale tell it bitterly, of victory nearly gained and swiftly lost. But of the battle that turned the war, they tell a different story. The story of a vampire sargent who fought like a demon of the Abyss, beautiful and deadly in the slaughter, and whose eyes glowed like the blood of dying stars.
They say that the soldier saw his lieutenant take a sword stroke to the shoulder that carved across the chest leaving a livid red wound. They say that when the lieutenant fell, the sargent screamed as though he'd taken the blade himself, and the Beast roared in his eyes as, turning, he cut a swath of blood and death to were his lieutenant lay dying.
Whether from fear or awe or the sight of his anguish, the Zlobenian soldiers made space for him. He fell to his knees, they say, amid the mud and the gore, and with infinite tenderness, the tenderness of a mother or a lover, he lifted the lieutenant in his arms, and such was the terrible determination in the sargent's eyes, that the soldiers drew back and let them pass, unharmed, from the field of battle.
They never knew the end it, those soldiers of Zlobenia, for the sargent returned with empty arms and all of hell's vengeance in his eyes, and the Zlobenians were forced to flee the valley and the blood-spattered fiend who cut them down like grain.
They never saw the sawbones' tent, or the mountain surgeon who worked through the night, sweat beading on the stitches ‘round his brow. They never saw the vampire pray, with blood- tinged tears standing in his eyes, to any god who would hear or heed his plea.
They did not see his prayers answered.
They did not see the lieutenant stir, as the morning light flowed into the valley, or hear the name croaked from broken lips. But the sargent heard, and flew to the bedside with heaven's hope shining in his eyes. They did not see him take the lieutenant's hand, or stroke the golden hair, still matted with blood. They did not hear the whispered words:
"Oh, Pol... What would I have done if I'd lost you?"
Well?
Cut for people who don't read Discworld/Slash/Fan-Fic (or any elements thereof).
The Devil Shall Be My Sargent
(A Fan-Fic of Terry Pratchett's Discworld)
There was a war, and the Zlobenians lost.
The men who survived to tell the tale tell it bitterly, of victory nearly gained and swiftly lost. But of the battle that turned the war, they tell a different story. The story of a vampire sargent who fought like a demon of the Abyss, beautiful and deadly in the slaughter, and whose eyes glowed like the blood of dying stars.
They say that the soldier saw his lieutenant take a sword stroke to the shoulder that carved across the chest leaving a livid red wound. They say that when the lieutenant fell, the sargent screamed as though he'd taken the blade himself, and the Beast roared in his eyes as, turning, he cut a swath of blood and death to were his lieutenant lay dying.
Whether from fear or awe or the sight of his anguish, the Zlobenian soldiers made space for him. He fell to his knees, they say, amid the mud and the gore, and with infinite tenderness, the tenderness of a mother or a lover, he lifted the lieutenant in his arms, and such was the terrible determination in the sargent's eyes, that the soldiers drew back and let them pass, unharmed, from the field of battle.
They never knew the end it, those soldiers of Zlobenia, for the sargent returned with empty arms and all of hell's vengeance in his eyes, and the Zlobenians were forced to flee the valley and the blood-spattered fiend who cut them down like grain.
They never saw the sawbones' tent, or the mountain surgeon who worked through the night, sweat beading on the stitches ‘round his brow. They never saw the vampire pray, with blood- tinged tears standing in his eyes, to any god who would hear or heed his plea.
They did not see his prayers answered.
They did not see the lieutenant stir, as the morning light flowed into the valley, or hear the name croaked from broken lips. But the sargent heard, and flew to the bedside with heaven's hope shining in his eyes. They did not see him take the lieutenant's hand, or stroke the golden hair, still matted with blood. They did not hear the whispered words:
"Oh, Pol... What would I have done if I'd lost you?"
Well?
