The dream was now broken, though rudely awoken [closed]

[curruid_coinchenn]

Who: Diarmuid and Berserker
When: Early Deceuer
Where: Their apartment
What: Nightmare Dream sharing
Warnings: Trauma! Mentions of blood, mass slaughter, other fun stuff.


[ Sometimes it's difficult for Berserker to sleep. It's taken him months to get used to having a mortal body and limitations. Sleep doesn't come easily on most nights and, when it does, it's full of disturbing dreams. He runs himself to the point of exhaustion so when sleep finally comes, he's too tired to have the dreams. It's to keep him from inflicting his dreams on his Bonded (both of them). Diarmuid coming home to find him collapsed on the couch from running himself ragged made him change his sleep habits at least a little bit. He doesn't want to worry the one who stays by his side so faithfully.

So, on this night, he lets himself go to bed when he's tired. He lays alongside his Bonded, though not snuggled up with him. His familiar presence is enough to help ease him into sleep. The problem is, though, that the nightmares come again as he drifts off. A dreamless sleep would not happen tonight.

A cold, dark battlefield. The overwhelming stench of blood fills the air. Numerous dead already lay at Berserker's feet and he wrenches his spear from the body of another. Blood splatters stain his dark armor and bare skin, including his face. There's no emotion on his face as he continues to cut down person after person who opposes him. No motion of his spear are wasted, each strike either crippling or killing his target. He steps on the still struggling, screaming person he just cut down, armored foot on their head. ]

Please, I'm begging you, don't kill me! Spare my life and I'll never return here, just please let me live...

[ Their pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. ]

Die with some dignity.

[ A sickening crunch of bone and squelching of brain and blood fill the air as he stomps his foot down, grinding his boot into the mess. He steps over the now dead body before him; he feels nothing for the corpse and felt nothing more the living person it used to be.

Nothing behind him but corpses, nothing before him but living who would become corpses.

Even those strong enough to strike him are calmly killed. An opposing army to take down this one man war shows itself in the distance. Survival is all that matters. Anyone he can kill with just his spear are taken out, but the numbers get to be overwhelming. His expression doesn't change as he prepares to throw Gae Bolg. A horrifying tearing sound, bone and muscle separating in his chest and shoulder can be heard as he hurls the spear at the remnants of the army. It hurts, it hurts, but his face shows no expression. Runes glow on his body, the damage done repaired. The army is no more, leveled by the superior show of force. He collects his spear and continues forward.

It never ends. It never ends. It never ends.

Exhausted, he stops. A petite, pink-haired woman in white approaches him. A sense of unease and resentment comes from Berserker, though he does nothing against her. He continues to stare at her with the same indifference as anything else. She puts a hand on his bloodstained chest and smiles. ]

Perfect, my love, my Mad King. [ She reaches up to cup his equally bloodstained cheeks in her hands. ] I knew you were the perfect King for me. I love you!

[ It never ends.

With that vision of Medb, the dream ends. Berserker doesn't stir from his sleep, though he does shift around. It's background noise. He feels nothing seeing this dream, just the crushing apathy that used to make up his entire being. Protection is what it is.

If he were conscious, he'd only hope that Diarmuid didn't experience what he'd just dreamt. Of course he couldn't be that lucky. ]

Comments

[ua_duibhne]

[A battlefield. Even before Diarmuid becomes fully aware of the dream, the scent and sound of it, the feeling of it on his skin alone tells him where he is. Had he the presence of mind or willpower to linger in his own memories he might open his eyes and see the wars he fought as a knight instead. Gods, there are so many to pick from, but they blend into one in his dreams, a blur of blood and warcries and glory alike, dotted with recollections of specific heads taken under his lord's banner.

But this is different. The metallic taste and smell of viscera rests as heavily on his tongue as it does on the cape around Berserker's shoulders, now caked with grime, the dark fabric turned darker still with blood. Truthfully, he can't tell whether he's embodying the man himself or just a strange, unwilling voyeur but it doesn't matter; he still feels every step that Berserker takes, even ragged breath he breathes, every ache in his body. When he throws his spear, it tears him apart too and the burn of the runes is too unfamiliar to give any comfort.

But it's another kind of burden altogether that robs him of the last of his breath. Even at his most brutal and efficient as a knight, Diarmuid was never cold to his opponents' emotions; he felt regret in cutting down weaker, frightened men, pride in besting the bolder ones, picked his fights with care so as not to shame himself with mindless slaughter. This... this is unlike anything he's ever experienced. Berserker is relentless. The faces of those that fall by his spear are crystal clear, twisted in abject fear and pain, but leave no deeper impression. Endlessly, they fall at his feet- beneath them, even, trampled into the ground in a patchwork of corpses and still breathing, agonized foes.

Survive. Kill. Survive.

There's no reason to it. Even when the feather-like touch of the strange woman's hand, accompanied by a sweet trill of a voice, divulges no secret motivation behind all of this death and destruction. And he feels-

Nothing. There is nothing inside him at all and the impossible weight of it crushes him as easily as Berserker's heel had that soldier's skull. He bursts open and there's nothing.

Diarmuid gags- and when he awakens, suddenly and sharply, sweat beading on his brow and at the back of his neck, he's still gagging. Heart racing, he hauls himself upright and reaches clumsily for the water on his bedside table, too disturbed to turn on the lights or do much more than fumble in the darkness. When was the last time a dream made him shake so?]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Berserker is a light sleeper at the best of times, so the sudden jolt of Diarmuid sitting up stirs him from his sleep. It's too dark in their bedroom to make out more than the vague shape of his Bonded beside him. He doesn't sit up, just lifting his head up a little bit. He can feel the how disturbed he is through their connection, but it's easy to see even without that.

The dream...The dream was shared. Their Bond is strong enough that it doesn't surprise him at all. It was only a matter of time before the worst of his dreams were shared with the one he's grown so fond of. It never would have bothered him before. Now, though? Everything is different. An uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of his stomach.

What can he say? Nothing. He can say nothing that will help this situation. A lump forms in his throat and he swallows it down. Nothing will help, though something must be said. Berserker can't just leave that dream hanging over everything. ]

I never wanted anyone else to see that. [ That's what he manages to say. He still sounds tired as he reaches out for Diarmuid, his hand coming to rest on his leg. ] ...Especially not you.

[ The violence of his life is a fact. What else could have made him into the killing machine he is...was...used to be? The details should have been left for him and him alone to know, not made into a burden for anyone else to bear. ]

[ua_duibhne]

[Diarmuid's fingertips brush the flask on the side, at first knocking it onto its side before he manages to grasp the leather case and take a long, desperate drink from it. It does nothing for the sick feeling in his gut or the dryness on his lips. He's rattled enough that, when he feels a hand on his thigh, he can't help but stiffen and take in a sharp breath. It's Berserker. He knows it's Berserker and yet-

The truth of things is that as Celts- as heroes- their lives were short, savage and burned as brilliantly as the sunset. Pride and death and passion all concentrated into a full but limited existence. Violence doesn't frighten Diarmuid; though not as much as Berserker, it was a part of his own legend too. Crimson hands and the heads of enemies lined up in deference to his lord. No, violence isn't the issue here. It's the absence of anything else.

He licks his lips.]

... I...

[There are things he knows he should do and say. I'm glad that I can better understand you now or I would help you with any burden. Neither materialize on his tongue. Instead, the lancer sinks back against the pillows and puts a hand to his damp forehead.]

... please. [His voice is barely above a whisper.] Please don't go back. I don't want you to- I don't want that for you ever again. How did you endure it?

[It seems impossible for a man to be so broken, to have so many cracks and be so blackened by brutality, but still stand so strong. Perhaps every shattered piece simply lay in perfect balance with the other.]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Hearing Diarmuid's voice so small, so quiet hurts. It hurts him in a way he can't describe. It's not a pain he's used to -- it's the same pain he felt when he said Diarmuid could use him as he saw fit after that awful dream about Dorchacht. Why did it hurt so badly...? He can't understand. It's not his pain he's feeling, but his Bonded.

It hurts more when Berserker feels him tense beneath his hand. Involuntary as it might be, it still stings. He never wanted Diarmuid to feel afraid of him nor flinch away from him; the violence he's capable of will never be turned against the one he's come to love. He wants to pull the lancer into his arms to try to soothe him, but he feels like he hasn't earned that. It's his dream, his life that rattled him so badly. Comfort from him may only make it worse. The dragon withdraws his hand as he settles back into his pillows.

Tears sting his eyes, though he doesn't understand why. It's not the first time he's cried in this place nor is it for a much different reason: he's hurt his Bonded with the kind of person he is. Diarmuid likely knew this kind of thing would happen when they bonded; he knew the kind of person he was and the kind of life he'd led, at least to some degree. Berserker had given him the chance to leave, no questions asked. It would be safer for Diarmuid that way, to never have to think about this again. The tears fall silently as the pain in his chest and stomach grow worse in a way he's never experienced.

He sits in utter silence as he looks over his beloved Bonded. It's his fault this happened...He should've stayed awake to keep the dreams away. The silence sits between them as he tries to think of what to say. ]

...I had to survive. [ His voice sounds so loud in this small space, like a glass breaking suddenly. In reality, he, too, barely speaks above a whisper. ] I gave up everything in the name of strength...I could not have survived if I'd allowed myself to feel anything. I couldn't die, so I let myself break.

[ Berserker is grateful for the darkness right now. His mouth is so dry that he hesitates to continue. ]

I never want to go back to that...Not now that I know there's more beyond survival.

[ua_duibhne]

[Whatever Berserker's fears, they're not shared by Diarmuid. As soon as he feels the telltale- and uncharacteristic- spike of doubt and hurt through their bond, he closes the gap between them. Arms go around the dragon's shoulders, fingers lace through his hair, almost as though he wants to link himself as tightly to him as possible to keep him together. When he kisses his cheek and tastes salt, it comes with such a pang of shame- some knight he is, some lover- that he trips over his next words.]

I don't- I'm not- [He shakes his head to try and straighten out his thoughts. The ache in his chest won't go away no matter how he tries to push through it.] Forgive me- it's my own weak heart at fault here, not you.

[If he were stronger, maybe he could have borne it and saved him the pain. If only he were stronger. But no- this isn't about him. Lingering on his own deficiencies and flaws, though painfully exposed, can only damage this already delicate situation. With difficulty, Diarmuid swallows them down. The lump in his throat stays.]

Cú, I... [Another kiss, this one gentler still and pressed to his forehead.] ... talk to me. I want to understand you in your own words. All of you. It doesn't frighten me.

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Shame, followed by anger, comes in response to Diarmuid's feeling of shame. Showing such weakness is unthinkable...Should have been unthinkable. He can only stew in the shame he feels from being so weak and vulnerable. While he made the vow to hide nothing, some things are considerably more difficult to show. He feels like he doesn't deserve the warm, if desperate affection being given to him, but he doesn't fight it. Despite the deeply unpleasant torrent of emotions inside of him and the voice in the back of his head telling him to push the lancer away, Berserker melts into the embrace.

He wraps his arms around Diarmuid, refusing to let him get much further away. His familiar scent and warmth ground him. It eases the pain in his chest just a little bit. ]

You're a fool for staying, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, [ he says in a painfully shaky voice. He doesn't want to hurt him with those words, he simply can't understand why he stays with someone like him. He has everything to lose by staying by Berserker's side. Diarmuid could easily have anyone he likes with looks and charm like his and anyone would be lucky to have him as a Bondmate. ] ...But you're my fool.

[ That's not what Diarmuid wanted, though. He didn't want that outburst. It's another thing in a long list that he couldn't control right now. So much had slipped from his control...He shifts in their embrace to rest his forehead against his; his favored, if simple, form of affection. The gentle pressure is soothing. ]

... The woman you saw was Medb, Queen of Connacht. She is the one that made me who I am...The one whose selfish desires saw me broken and twisted into her perfect Mad King.

[ He hesitates to continue -- he barely knew where to start. The darkness benefits him again; he's unable to look Diarmuid in the eye with the shame he felt for his own weakness. ]

...What do you else do you want to hear? Do you want to know what finally broke me? Or how long it took? [ He hates the way his voice shakes, its usual strength gone. ] ...Why I turned into a mad beast looking for a place to die?

[ua_duibhne]

[How close can he hold him before it becomes too much? Diarmuid feels helpless to do anything but that but he himself knows what too needy and cloying a love can do and it makes him hesitate. And Gods, but he loves him. The instensity of it makes him ache to think about how little he can do for him now outside of staying strong at his side.]

Ar m'fhocal agus ar m'fhírinne, this changes nothing and if that makes me a fool, then so be it.

[The tremble in his voice gives way to the first of his own tears, which he's quick to blink away lest Berserker notice them. Instead, he reaffirms his affection in gentle but firm strokes, brushing his hair back and cupping his cheek in his palm. He doesn't want to hear any more, not if it tears him apart as cruelly as this, but maybe there's something to be said for piercing the wound and letting the infection out. Despite what his Bonded might think, it hasn't consumed him beyond all hope; he's proved as much over the time they've been together. It isn't Diarmuid's decision to make, though.]

I'm sorry. [He swallows again, grits his teeth for a moment to try and take back control of his emotions. It's successful only in that he manages to pretend.] It isn't about what I want, my love, it's about what you need and if I can give even a fraction of that then it's yours. Tell me what you need to- or don't if it's too much.

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Part of him wants to shove Diarmuid away and run. It's so hard to show this much vulnerability, even in front of someone who's earned it. It would be so much easier to shut himself off and let himself become a wild beast again. For someone who follows the path of least resistance, it's difficult for him to not just take it now.

Berserker kisses him, as if to reassure him of...something, anything. It's all he can think to do to ease this pain he can still feel in Diarmuid. He lets his breathing steady as he regains control of himself, forcing his own pain back. He nuzzles against his neck for a moment, savoring this tender moment for as long as he can.

Speaking the truth of who he is and what made him this way isn't easy. Few could understand what would make someone willingly break themselves the way he had. He backs away from the witch, though just far enough to make this conversation easier. His touch is so soothing, even when he's this bad off. His voice doesn't have the same quaver it had before, some of the strength returning. ]

...Your faith is all I need. [ It's an honest answer. ] It's more than I deserve.

[ He runs his fingers through Diarmuid's hair, a faint smile coming to his lips (not that anyone can see it). How long it's gotten...It suits him. It's another distraction from his own pain. He gently plays with a few strands as he starts to talk again. ]

I was forced to endure endless battles like the one you saw for days. Weeks. I lost track of how long it was. Despair set in and I started to grow weak...I had no time to rest, no time to recover. Everything around me started to crumble, but I couldn't die. If I died, Ulster would fall with me. Something snapped in me. I stopped feeling anything so I could survive...That's all that mattered. If I survived, so would Ulster.

[ It hurts to remember. It hurts to talk about it. The ache in his chest is impossible to ignore right now. ]

Nothing mattered but my own strength and survival. Any humanity I had left in me died when I killed my son. [ It's a weird, off-handed mention, but it's part of what broke him so thoroughly. He was already on the path to being completely broken when it happened, it was the last straw that shattered him so thoroughly. ] I should have died in those endless battles. I shouldn't have survived. The legend of the man I was supposed to be was short. I outlived him...to just be the one in search of a place to die. To find a battlefield worth dying on.

[ All of this because one selfish woman wanted him for her own. ]

So Medb used me for her own ends because I no longer felt anything. I felt nothing for her and let her use me as she see fit. What's replacing a king with a queen? What's becoming a Mad King for an ambitious queen I cared nothing for? None of it mattered...She made sure I was broken so completely so she could have me for her own.

[ The hand in Diarmuid's hair tightens into a fist for a moment before he relaxes. He strokes his dark hair fondly once again and presses a kiss to his forehead. ]

...I should thank you for giving some kind of meaning to my existence again.

[ For removing some of Medb's influence. ]

[ua_duibhne]

[This darkness, comforting as it is to know that his expression is hidden, ill suits the weight of their conversation. It takes a simple gesture for a dozen tiny balls of light to materialize above them, bobbing back and forth like lanterns on water and casting a warm glow across the room. This way he can look him in the eyes as he speaks- it's the very least such a raw confession deserves.

As much as it pains Diarmuid to hear it, it must be unbearable for Berserker himself. Every word feels like he's clawing at himself, grasping at the entrails of his own trauma to find some kind of greater meaning in it all. A selfish wish. Strange how that one decision blossomed into such a multitude of sorrows. Diarmuid thinks about war, about his own sons and daughter, wonders how long he himself would last under such devastation. The more Berserker continues, the harder it becomes for Diarmuid to keep his composure, anger tugging at the corner of his lips as his jaw tightens and a fresh round of tears pricks at his eyes.

Instead of letting them fall, though, he cuffs them away and sinks into Berserker's touch, desperate for the affirmation of his lips against his and his hands in his hair. Anything to make sure he knows just how deeply his feelings run.]

... you belong to no one, Ciaran Cú. You never will again.

[Never. He'd shed blood for that promise, as much as it took to see it maintained.]

But there's worth and meaning in all of you, in the broken parts and the ones that are whole. [Where's the honesty in papering over the cracks? In hiding them? They're as legitimate a facet of him as the literal scars over his body.] There always was. If you're going to credit me with anything, it should only be helping you find it again. The rest was all you.

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ The warm light reveals what's already known: he looks like hell. His cheeks are still wet from the tears that fell earlier, his eyes puffy and slightly swollen, the length of his hair a tangled mess. It only bothers him because the extent of his weakness is more visible than ever. He makes no attempt to hide the truth before Diarmuid, though.

That declaration fills him with an emotion he can't describe. Hope? Pride? Surprise? Berserker doesn't know exactly what it is except that it's warm. Having someone fighting for him, not just alongside him, is deeply unfamiliar. He still owes so much to Diarmuid, more than he can ever put into words. Words won't express the depth of what he feels, what's he's capable of feeling again. Berserker draws him into a tighter embrace, nuzzling against the side of his face. Gentle kisses pepper his temple in a desperate show of affection, unlike anything he's shown before.

After a moment, he releases the witch. ]

It's...it's that you were able to help me at all. That you saw something in me worth what you've been through. [ He kisses him, lingering for a moment. ] You've done more for me than I ever thought was possible...And for that and more, I love you.

[ A firm declaration. What he was sure he felt, what he'd expressed at the masquerade when he was drunk still held true. Something once impossible now possible. And he didn't hate it.

Strange. ]

[ua_duibhne]

[If it were at all possible, he melts into him further. The disparity between the depth of his convictions, the steadfast way he speaks and how gentle his body language becomes around Berserker is embarrassingly earnest, all too revealing. Diarmuid responds to each ministration in kind, murmuring soft words of encouragement and pressing his lips to his eyelids and lashes as if he could kiss the tears away permanently. Sentimental as ever. If he weren't so tired and emotionally spent he might even be embarrassed at himself for it.

"I love you."

Hearing him say it again, clearer, firmer, free from the taste of champagne- it spurs a fresh round of tears, though these are easily blinked back. He loves him. He loves him. There are so many questions he has and twice as many insecurities but, in the moment, all he can think is that it's his duty- no, his deepest wish- to make sure the man lying against him stays free.]

Worth what I've been through? I love you- I would endure anything for your sake.

[It's so breathlessly romantic as to almost sound trite but he means every word.]

It doesn't have to be your burden to bear alone anymore.

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ Diarmuid's sentimentality is endearing to him. Someone who feels so much so deeply attached to someone who can barely feel at all. Maybe that's why he was able to open Berserker up so much...Ah, he doesn't want to think on that anymore. He settles in closer to the witch, face pressed into his neck.

If those words had been spoken by anyone else, Berserker would have found them hollow. He knows Diarmuid's devotion and convictions are true and has no reason to doubt them. It would be unfair of him to doubt them when the Bonded has never given him reason to. He turns his head so he can speak clearly, though doesn't move away just yet. ]

I did vow that my burdens would be yours...And you've managed to impress me throughout all of this.

[ He shifts away a little bit, smoothing Diarmuid's hair back with a brief, if fond smile. ]

...Lay with me here until I fall asleep again. Your presence might...keep the dreams at bay.

[ He hoped, he truly hoped that would be the case. Sharing another one of his dreams would be unfair. ]

[ua_duibhne]

[Diarmuid nuzzles into Berserker's palm as he brushes his hair back, long lashes tickling his skin as he closes his eyes for just a few moments. He said that he's impressed, didn't he? Maybe he's getting close to being worthy of these feelings after all. But, while he's still reluctant to let go of him, he forces himself to move back towards his own side of the bed and give the dragon more room to settle in once more.]

I'll stay as long as you need me regardless.

[With another flick of the wrist, all but a few of the balls of light he had sent forth earlier extinguish themselves. The ones that remain continue to float lazily overhead, occasionally bumping into each other or the walls as they cross the room.]

You won't frighten me away, a rún. Not even in a dream.

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ The affirmation calms the last of his worries. He gives Diarmuid one more gentle kiss before settling back on his side of the bed. The warm glow of the remaining lights is appreciated, in some way. The darkness brings back the immediately painful memories of what just happened and he's not in the mood for dealing with that again.

His eyes slowly shut and his breathing becomes steady and even. It's rare he looks relaxed and comfortable, but this is certainly one of those times. As much as he questions the decision he made to take on this Bond with Diarmuid sometimes and if the changes it brought are truly worth it, it's moments like these that solidify it. He trust him completely and loves him as much as he's capable of and that's good enough, isn't it?

A few moments later and he's asleep again, hopefully with no more disturbing dreams of his own to share. ]

[ua_duibhne]

[Diarmuid doesn't crowd him, doesn't hold him tight in his arms like he wants to, but he stays close by, one hand draped loosely across his side. Only as he's drifting off might Berserker even notice that he's humming softly to him. Eventually even that falls quiet as Diarmuid follows suit.

Whether it's because the gates have already been opened or because of his own unsettled thoughts, another dream does manage to creep between them, silent and unexpected, though not in the same direction as the last.

When Berserker tips off the edge of sleep and into the world of dreaming, it won't be a battlefield that he sees but an ocean. Grey skies peppered with holes that let sunlight shine pour through in columns of golden light across the water, catching the wings of seabirds and rolling waves in flashes of white. The break of spring, perhaps. Wildflowers peek through the grass, greener than ever after what felt like years of snow, and dot the cliffsides. The air itself tastes fresh and salty, sweet and stinging all at the same time.

For all its unfamiliarity, though, there's one thing that Berserker will know with absolute certainty.

"Diarmuid, come and sit with me."

Why it's important to know the difference between a comhardadh slán and a comhardadh briste is beyond him- Cú? Diarmuid? Does it matter?- but he turns back towards the clearing. A man sits waiting with a book in his lap, a dog sleeping against his knee and a smile that creases eyes as bright as the newly breaking sun. Birds settle in the branches of trees over, as if eager to simply bask in his strange, beautiful presence.

A hand in curls, ruffling a loose strand free. The songs of their people are as ancient as the land itself, stretching back through countless ages of man and god. This one touched even the time of the Hound of Ulster, or so Aengus Óg claims, giving the stirring wolfdog a scratch behind the ears. Even a life as bloody as his must have been filled with melody. Had its own kind of lyrics. Erin is song, after all.

Ah, that's right.

Home. This is home.]

[curruid_coinchenn]

[ This is...both familiar and completely unfamiliar at the same time. Everything's more vibrant, more pleasant than the dream he forced on Diarmuid (at least for now -- you can't blame Berserker for being gun shy). It takes him a moment to realize this is a shared dream, a brief feeling of panic inspired in him because of the usual implication of shared dreams. Somehow...this isn't as bad.

It's warm, it's welcoming, and it's inspiring a strange longing in him he hasn't quite experienced before. It feels like something he shouldn't be seeing, an intimate moment meant only for the dreamer. He's not sure if these are his own feelings he's experiencing, either. Like the setting itself, the emotions in him are both familiar yet alien. He can't put a finger on what's his and what's Diarmuid's; maybe they're all one and the same.

What he does know and what he's sure of, though, is this is surely a vision of home, what truly used to be his home. To be given this glimpse of it again, even through his Bonded's eyes, means more to him than he could put into words. Without as much of Medb's influence and the corruption of the Grail weighing on him, he can actually appreciate what's being shown to him. Unlike his own dreams, this is one he doesn't want to wake from.

How strange. ]