Dusk and Dunes

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG
IDW
Dai Atlas, Axe
spoilers for Drift series (d-do I need to warn for this?) mention of canon character death
edited because lol I'm a fuckup. Wheeee. 
for tf_speedwriting prompt 4

He knew Axe would come to him, the same way he knew the sun would rise and set and rise again.  Axe had always been loyal, in a way that went far beyond duty.  

The suns were setting, casting violet shadows along the sand, cutting the dunes into an intricate pattern of chiaroscuro.  Before him, the battlefield was churned, the peaceful, windswept symmetry of the desert’s dunes disrupted, marred, littered with bits of metal, clots of gore.

And he stood, surrounded by the very thing he’d tried so hard to avoid. And the suns were setting, roaring balls of fire silenced by distance, like an omen of an age passing.

Dai Atlas knew the others held back. He could feel it, see the strange hollowness in their optics, the look of faith that had been bruised.  Some blamed him for Wing’s death, for holding the city back from fighting for itself. 

He blamed himself, in part.

And in a way, he wanted to know what Axe thought. Axe wouldn’t lie to him.  It was the very core of their relationship, the brutal honesty, a trust deeper than trust.  And if nothing else, Dai Atlas knew how rare and precious that was: that they could speak the truth, however unpleasant, to each other, and sunder nothing.

Still, he felt a quiver of trepidation as he heard the heavy step of the other large mech behind him. 

“Dai Atlas.”

He cycled a vent of air, feeling it stir the sun-warmed sand at his feet.  He tried to think of words, but none came. He looked at his hands. He could still feel Wing’s Great Sword, the unique near-sentience of each blade. They spoke to him, as the Circle’s Master.  They all spoke to him, whispering of their Knights dreams and hopes and fears.  And their own, clustered memories.  The Swords knew war as Dai Atlas knew war: not as glory and honor but as death, loss, fear.  It was why the blades took such a high toll. It was why each Knight bore one: to remind him of the burden of war.

Wing's had spoken of pain, of honor, of a purity beyond understanding.

A hand on his shoulder, warm, companionable in the cooling air. “You are troubled.”

A statement, and a question both.

Dai Atlas felt his mouth shift, moving through shapes before he could finally make words. “They weren’t ready. Or I wasn’t.”

“No one is ready for war, Dai Atlas.”  Axe stepped closer, his grey and chromium armor catching the suns’ last rays.  “The best we can be—and we were—is ready to serve something larger than ourselves.”

“Wing.”

“Ah yes.”  A nod, from the other. “He made his choice, Dai Atlas.  He knew.”  The helm tilted toward him. “But you.”

“No one has died here,” Dai Atlas said, tightly.  It was one of the glories of Crystal City: no war, no conflict, no death. “For millennia.” He choked on a grim smile. “I’d forgotten what it felt like to watch a companion fall.”

“If you had not come,” Axe said, “We would all have fallen.”  The hand slid, over the shoulders, in something like a half-embrace. Offering comfort, if Dai Atlas wanted it.

He did want it; but it was something he could not let himself want. He had let his City down, failed his people, from his fear and small-mindedness. He deserved to suffer, and alone, for the fault was his and his alone.

“We…shall have to have a memorial.”  He could still see the body of Wing, still, charred, ruptured, and overlaid on top of that, the image he’d seen on the monitor: Wing, crying out in silent agony.  It had broken him, shattered his resolve. However brave a warrior is, he is always taken off guard by pain.  And Dai Atlas had felt with Wing every fading crackle of agony, felt the betrayal of the will by the body. 

He’d thought—wildly—of the Arenas before the war: how mechs would pay to watch the strife and pain of others. It had sickened him then; it devastated him now. 

“We will,” Axe agreed. “Though he’d want a celebration, not mourning.”

“You know best,” Dai Atlas said. Right now, he didn’t trust what he did know.

“And I know this, then, also,” Axe said.  The arm slipped from Dai Atlas’s shoulders as the smaller mech bent to scoop up a handful of the sun-gilded sand.   He held it out. “What is this I have?”

Another of his riddles—Dai Atlas felt a familiar flare of frustration. “Sand.” His voice was flat. He wanted to stay in that agony of memory: it felt like a second betrayal to be distracted from it.

“And is it worthless, then, lad? Because it looks like gold, but isn’t?”

“Nothing is worthless.” 

A canted nod, a wink of the optics, as though Dai Atlas had said something clever.   Axe opened his hand, letting the sand filter down in a shower of fine, glittery powder. “And is it just sand, now?”

“No. It’s a battlefield.”

“Sacred ground,” Axe murmured. “Because of the price paid here for ideals.”

“Yes.  Too high a price.” Dai Atlas frowned.

“It is never too high, if done willingly,” Axe chided. “You diminish Wing’s sacrifice to think otherwise.”

“It was…needless. My fault.” He’d held back, from fear.  He’d been unwilling to pay that price. He’d…failed.  Failed Wing, failed the City, failed himself.

“Standing true to your principles hurts, worse than any blade. I know that ideals collide with our wants. And I know a leader,” he turned, the twilight turning his face into a soft side-limned glow, “who has learned that harder and better than any of us.” 

“I didn’t stand true. I let fear rule me.”

“You let concern for consequences, yes. Not fear for yourself, Dai Atlas, but fear for our city.” Axe reached out, brushing the other’s upper arm.  “It is a heavy burden, my friend, to care for an entire city. More, the weight of the legacy of Cybertron. We may be all that our culture has left.” 

“I am unworthy.”

“We all are.  But I can think of none better. And why?”  A glimmer of a fond smile. “Because of moments like this. Because you doubt. Because you question.  You will never be Zeta, or Sentinel, Dai Atlas.”

Dai Atlas smiled bitterly. “I shouldn’t need you, Axe, to reassure me.”  

“I can think of no greater pleasure than to remind of a friend of his worth.”  He cocked his head, giving another wink. “Though I admit, it is thirsty work, best continued with high-grade.” He tugged on Dai Atlas’s arm, backwards, toward the city he’d been facing away from—afraid to face, he realized.

Dai Atlas let himself be turned, guided.  They needed each other, all of them.  It wasn’t—it shouldn’t be—a shame that he needed them too, at times. 

The twin suns cast their shadows in long lines before them as they walked, in silence, the shadows skipping like air over the windswept ground.  Their shadows mingled into one, that grew in the blooming twilight, and Dai Atlas didn’t know what he would do on the morrow, where he would take the city, but he had a discovered, in the dusk, in his friend, a sliver of golden hope.

Comments

[wind-on-wave.livejournal.com]

oh, Dai.( Will he somewhen forgive to himself Wing's death? (don't know why, but i think, that - no, never).
And i like Axe here (there are so small number of fics about him) *_*

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

it amazes me how you can write such wildly diverse characters who are still so very, very much themselves... Not merely keeping individual characters' voices distinct, but keeping different incarnations of those characters distinctly individual too! Inamorato Dai Atlas? I want to kill him with the fury of a thousand fiery suns... but IDW Dai Atlas... you engender such sympathy and empathy with his plight.

This is powerful stuff, madam, and, as usual, I am in awe.

[ladyofdragons.livejournal.com]

I was thinking the same. I envy the ability to do such distinct and true characterization. It's really a joy and a wonder.

[ultrarodimus.livejournal.com]

Aw, poor Dai Atlas... Don't beat yourself up too badly over it, big guy. You saved the other Knights, and the rest of the city, from the slavers.

>> Uhm... Axe is not an airframe... The artists who wrote the Drift comics confirmed that Axe is a groundframe, probably a tank of some kind.
http://alteride.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d3mb4tu Second page of comments
And I think Dai Atlas is a Triple Changer

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Lolwhoops Thanks for pointing that out. It's been a rough day for me and I got sloppy.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

I have edited the story. I did not have the comics in front of me and have been up all night. I thought writing this would cheer me up.

Now...I am distressed.

[ultrarodimus.livejournal.com]

*hugs* I'm sorry. That was not my intention. Just ignore me *slinks off to hide in the corner behind the largest piece of furniture I can find*

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

So where are you when other popular authors blatantly disregard canon? Jeebus.

[silaphet.livejournal.com]

bearing the burden of his world on his shoulders, Dai Atlas is lucky to have a friend like Axe, "I can think of no greater pleasure than to remind a friend of his worth." ;_;

[ladyofdragons.livejournal.com]

This was so lovely. It would be easy for someone to lay blame at Drift's feet again but Dai Atlas is better then that. I hope he finds the absolution he needs and am glad he has Axe to help him. They really balance each other. This is a beautiful moment that I did want to see, so thank you for writing it for us! I'm touched that you did. :3