Work Text:
Daffodils, a divide of yellow amongst green.
The summer heat is a whirl, a blur of dazed warmth. With minimal breeze to sway the grass, it remains still. It's a stretch of same colour: that monotony. The yellow, a reminder of his fate.
D3rlord3, tiresome, allows his leaden body to rest, even if only for a period of time. Armor, a glistening gold in the height of the sun, it contrasts the organic environment. It's a sliver of something different; D3rlord3 is unnatural. He was never meant to be.
Even in the minute of faux solace, the thoughts are a persistent hum, yet distant in the disconnect from body and self. The infinity roots itself deep within, cruely inflicting itself upon him. His newfound knowledge: a twist of irony. Originally, his wit and his intelligence had both been saviours, yet now, it was a burden he was too weak to uphold. It was a test, a strife... soon to come to an abrupt close. Infinite knowledge, a splitting ailment on a mortal such as himself.
"D3rlord3?" a voice calls out, snapping the silence in half.
Avery, to accompany him. He rears closer, form hazy in the intense glow of sun. Avery sits next to the lethargic knight. He's naive, a balance to D3rlord3's wisdom. The silence settles over the two again, him being aware of D3rlord3's condition. It need not be said; it's clear. He's dying, being torn mentally.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes, as if a parting.
"It's fine," Avery reassures him, only staying by his side.
D3rlord3, a crumpled comparison to Avery, is almost unresponsive.
Avery talks, of his life, and of everything about it. It's comforting, distilling the heavy quiet. D3rlord3 doesn't reply, expression obscured. Yet, Avery continues. It uplifts the sorrow— even if only slightly.
In his last moments, perhaps D3rlord3 has a nature to protect. It's inherent; he is a knight. To serve his sovereign, but the people as well. To behave nobly; to behave with cause. To care.
"Whatever you do," a true, final remark, "don't turn left at the crossroads.
Avery pauses, only regarding the omen, then answers, "okay." It's small, uncertain.
It boils down to a solemn, end silence.
Avery stands, straightening himself. Laying among the grass, is a knight, a speck of metal along earth. He adorns him with a daffodil: yellow. The breeze picks up, gently swaying the nature surrounding.
D3rlord3 has fallen victim and, perhaps, in this last moment spent, he is contented. Letting it take a firm ahold of him, the thoughts no longer pry. It no longer pesters him. The turmoil no longer brews— in fact, there is nothing at all.
Only an ample quiet, and a means ended.