tw - blood, death and war are all featured in this chapter. be careful, and if you don't feel comfortable with these topics then this may not be the book for you.

And then there wasn't.

As soon as Tyrael started to regain consciousness, the overwhelming pain made him jolt up. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.

He was scared.

What was happening? Where was he?

He was breathing heavily, and that was all he knew. His heart was racing and his mind was as well. His eyes were wide open but he couldn't see anything, and he couldn't tell whether it was dark or he was imagining it. Did he even want to know?

Footsteps sounded, and there was light. Someone had brought light. At least, he thought they did. He still couldn't think. There were so many thoughts and they were too loud and he just couldn't understand them.

"Tyrael?" a familiar voice called, their face now close to Tyrael's. He tried to reply but his voice still wasn't working. "It's alright, I'm here. I'd hug you but-" Felamir cut themselves off, making a weird expression.

"Can you speak?"

He shook his head, eyes still darting all around. He was confused and he was lonely and he was so so so so scared.

"It's alright, we don't have to talk. We can just sit for a bit."

And they did.

They sat in silence, the only noise for each person being the other's breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It was nice, but at the same time it wasn't.

The silence continued for quite a while before Tyrael finally felt fully awake. Before his fuzzy mind started to clear, his breath started to slow, and his eyes finally stopped darting around like a madman's.

The elf asked his friend with a bit of a croak in his voice, "Where are we?"

Felamir took a harsh breath through their teeth.

"It's a bit of a long story but pretty much, after you... um, fell... I managed to kill the dragon, then I brought you here. It's the closest village to Ghoulcrest, plus it has some pretty good healers. They patched you up and did their thing, so here we are."

Tyrael opened his mouth to ask when he should pay them back, but decided against it. Felamir would probably be against it. Maybe he could pay them back without them noticing it? Like, in their future travels he could buy Felamir gifts. Then again, what would he get them? He didn't know what they liked. Well, maybe he could get something simple. Like a scarf, or a poncho.. Or maybe he could pay for their food? Or other things like that. Then again, weren't healers expensive? If Tyrael only did little things, it would take years to pay them back.

Oh, well. He'd find a way.

Probably.

...Hopefully.

Ignoring that particular issue, Tyrael continued. "If they healed me then why does it still hurt? Isn't that the whole point of healing? To make you not hurt and stuff?"

"They did heal you, but there's only so much they can do. You'll still be a bit sore for a while, they did what they could. I wish I could help, I seriously do..."

'A bit?' Tyrael internally groaned, prompting a short laugh from his friend.

"So, in terms of good news..." Felamir pulled their bag off of their shoulder and set it on their lap, ruffling through it for a bit. After a second or two they pulled out a dragon horn, at least the size of Tyrael's arm. "I got this."

Tyrael smiled, which he noted was occurring more often.

The doppelganger continued, "We can head off whenever you're ready. I've already bought some stuff for the trip. Although we could stop by the market if you want? Grab some trinkets?"

He thought about it for a moment, but decided against it. "I don't want to spend any money before we get the reward, but that'd be nice sometime. I think... yeah, let's come back here later."

The sun was slowly but surely rising, tinting the room a nice shade of blue that Tyrael had seen many times before but would never know how to describe. Felamir blew out the small candle they were holding, and put it down on the table next to Tyrael's bed. They replied with a quick "Makes sense." and walked over to brew some tea. The elf looked back over to the window, making the room brighter by the minute.

"Should we head out today?"

Felamir spit out their tea. "W-what? Isn't your back still sore?"

"Well, yeah, but the path to Ghoulcrest will take a while, it'd be better to leave soon. And I can just bandage it up can't I?"

Tyrael stared up at Felamir. Wasn't that how it worked? He could've sworn that people used to tell him that bandaging a wound would help it heal. Why else would bandages exist, if they didn't help?

"If you're sure about it then yeah, we could probably head off soon. You ready?"

The elf looked around the room, his eyes already adjusted to the almost nonexistent light. He spotted what he needed and made a beeline for it. He picked up his coat and then went back over to the table. On it lay a roll of cloth, evidently meant to be used to tie around wounds.

"Want some help with that?" Felamir offered, already reaching out to grab it. They excellently took off Tyrael's old dressing and wrapped the new one around his torso. It only took them a few seconds.

"Thank you." the elf smiled, nodding his head. "Have you done it before?"

The doppelganger replied, with no trace of a smile for once, "Yeah. I used to do it a lot, you could say that."

Tyrael put his coat on, then sat down on the floor in front of Felamir. He stared up eagerly, obviously anticipating the story behind it. They sighed, but still sat down on the bed and began to speak.

Their eyes were sadder than anything he had ever seen before as they asked Tyrael, "Have you ever heard of the wars?"

---

"Hey, Mira~!"

Felamir looked up to see Uratim leaning against the opening of their tent. He was looking at his nails, which were long and painted black as always. Trying to be a rebel of 'common fashion', as always. All he was missing was fingerless gloves, but he had those back in his own tent. He was probably just too lazy to put them on right now.

"Can't you see I'm trying to plan here?" they replied. He was really going to be the end of them. "Pretty much the whole valley is depending on if we can win this or not, so I'd advise you stop distracting me."

The figure walked behind them.

"Don't you dare." Felamir warned.

Their friend simply smirked.

"I'm going to have to place some guards in here because of you, aren't I."

Uratim grabbed them by the collar, lifting them up. He not-so-gently placed them on the table, his smirk only growing. "No use. Last time I just moved them, remember? Guess they respect their buddy more than the strategist."

No, but it would make sense for soldiers to respect the head of security. Which Uratim was. And missed no opportunity to say so.

Felamir ignored him, instead turning to jump off the table. Their muddy footprints now littered the important papers strewn upon the desk, and they weren't in the mood to rewrite all of them right now. Their and Uratim's boss wasn't exactly forgiving, so Felamir knew that if they didn't get them done before dawn, an earful would be the least of their problems. Even so, they just didn't have the energy.

The night air was crisp and refreshing, albeit eerily quiet. Felamir's footsteps were the only noise, the loud crunching of boots on sand practically echoing through the empty camp. The soldiers were all either sleeping or drinking but pretending to, and the birds never did like the smell of blood. Well, if you listened closely you could hear the wails of the injured, but even eternal silence was better than that.

Listening a bit closer, they noticed that another pair of footsteps followed them, trying to match the rhythm of their own. Trying not to be caught.

Felamir whipped out their sword, turning to face the apparent stalker. Their gray eyes met a semi familiar emerald green, but never calmed. Nor did their sword ever leave the air in front of the young soldier's throat. "Zari."

"I'm sorry! I was going to tell you I was here but everyone says you don't like being disturbed while you're on one of your walks-"

"That's because I don't."

"-but I was coming to tell you that the Commander needs you. He says we need a plan by dawn."

Felamir sheathed their sword.

"And how does he expect me to do that?"

The girl simply shrugged. "I'm just the messenger, I'm sorry, I don't have any say in this kind of stuff, I'm sorry-"

Felamir pinched the bridge of their nose, sighing. "No, no, its fine." They waved dismissively. "You can go, by the way."

She gladly nodded and skittered away, leaving the strategist alone to ponder.

What were they going to do? A plan by dawn? That was impossible. Hells, even something by tomorrow's nightfall would be impossible. Plans took time, careful thinking. They couldn't be rushed, or else the casualties would be far too great. And, given how long this last war had been going on, they couldn't afford any more.

It was honestly kind of funny, in a dark, completely humorless way. So many wars, so many deaths, shouldn't they have made some sort of system by now? Or at least gotten used to it? If some animals could evolve to fit different climates, and plants could evolve to need less water, why hadn't society evolved something to combat countless deaths? Maybe they had, and no one had cared. Felamir fought a snicker. Maybe that's what brains were for. Then again, most people didn't seem to have one of those.

On second thought, hardly any people used their brains. There were so many people who were stupid. Animalistic. Attacking others for their own sick entertainment.

Felamir's stomach felt all too heavy for a moment as they remembered that that was exactly what they were doing. Killing others, and for what? Resources? The Valley was bountiful, before all the wars at least. The only thing they could possibly need resources for in the first place was more wars. And if they didn't have those, then they'd be fine. So why not just stop it? The actions were the problem, and it was painfully obvious. Why was it still going on at all?

Then again, it couldn't be that simple. It had to be more complex than that. No one would be so stupid as to start wars for no good reason. Not even the most vengeful and idiotic of rulers.

The Valley had always been a place of war. Ghoulcrest wasn't named as it was for no good reason. Felamir knew this all too well. Everyone did. There hadn't been a year without war in almost two decades, but most were short. Simple. Ghoulcrest would send an army or two to a nearby area, hoping to conquer it. They didn't take prisoners, only new recruits. The rest were left in whatever wasteland the Valley had created of their previous home. That'd been the case for Felamir, and many of the others.

But this war had been different. The opponents had been preparing. Waiting for them to come. For the first few months of the war, almost everyone thought that, for the first time in history, the Valley would lose a war. But, as always, Ghoulcrest sent more troops to help with the apparent struggle. It was simply what they did. If they didn't have enough soldiers, they'd enlist some prisoners, or make the requirements more doable. In the first wars, only people of double their race's drinking age could put their names down, and no one with any criminal record could join either. Soldiers were sent back to camp with minor injuries, and painkillers were used more often than one breathed.

Oh, if only that was still the case.

If. Only.

Felamir thought for a moment of all the people they were sending. Children, most of them. They, at least, were in their early thirties when they were first signed up. Now, some people barely fifteen were strutting to the front lines and painting the grass red.

It was horrible.

But they'd gone this far. They couldn't go back now.

Finally arriving back at their tent, Felamir noticed the painful lack of Uratim. That was... strange, at the very least. He was normally there, even if just reading over their shoulder or pretending to read through papers he didn't understand. Must've gone to sleep after Felamir left for their walk, after getting bored of waiting. Something like that, at least. He did have quite a short attention span.

It was quiet, more so than before. The healers in the infirmary always put the injured to sleep in the day, so that they could follow the healthier soldiers to the battlefield. It was one of the things that Felamir had suggested that got them into this position in the first place, and they were quite proud of it.

Now to get to work...

What could they even do, at this point? This was the only army left, and Ghoulcrest couldn't possibly send more troops. They had already sent all the children they could make excuses to send, and they had also sent the elderly and the injured. There couldn't possibly be anyone else, and even if there was they wouldn't be of much use.

They had already exhausted each and every one of Felamir's ideas, the Commander had made sure of it. Every time they had suggested something, he would snatch it up on waste it that they could've gotten through with brute force alone. He acted like he was so much smarter than Felamir but if that was the case, why wasn't he the strategist?

There had always been something off about him. Mocking. Felamir had long suspected that he didn't like them, but it was something deeper than that. Maybe there was something wrong with him? Or maybe Felamir reminded him of someone? Then again, why would he make that their problem?

Either way, that didn't change the fact that they had grown tired of this far too long ago. As soon as this war was over, they'd decided to leave. Claim that the constant stress had gotten to them. Maybe bring Uratim with them, as a 'caretaker'. That'd be nice.

Felamir took a deep breath. Whether or not that would ever be possible, they had to get themselves and Uratim through this whole thing in one piece.

The troops were growing tired, and they were starting to run out of medicine. Well, they had run out months ago in fact. They didn't dare think what the healers were doing to get the injured to sleep every morning. The other camps hadn't been heard from in several weeks, and they were on their last legs. Despite all of this, the opposing side was somehow even worse. They had less troops than the Valley, and barely any healers, so soldiers were missing fingers at best and limbs at worst. It was pitiful, in a way. But neither party would cease fire, would admit defeat. Felamir felt genuinely bad. Neither side would truly win, not at this stage.

Felamir sighed, putting one of the dirty papers from earlier into the drawer they had allotted to the rubbish. Metal was too precious to be wasted on a bin, and whenever they found a box to use, some soldiers would empty it onto their desk and take it for themselves. No matter how many times they'd tried to tell them off, they'd just laugh in their face. Or throw paper at them. Or both, most of the time.

They knew that the Valley barely had enough troops to win this. They felt a fraction of a feeling they hadn't felt in months. Several, actually. Pity. Shame. Guilt. All of them bubbled up, creating an unpleasant taste in Felamir's mouth, so they took a quick drink of what they told themselves was water to wash it all down again.

Drinking to forget. No better than the soldiers.

But at least Felamir knew what they had to do.

They walked as quick as they could without running over to their friend's tent. They'd need support for what they were about to say.

---

"So you remember what you have to say, right?" Felamir questioned. They weren't about to mess this up.

"Yep." Their friend responded with an overly casual thumbs up and grin.

The pair were now in front of the tent. They'd probably look a bit funny to a stranger walking past, considering not only the height difference but their vast differences in attitudes, but everyone at the camp had grown used to them.

"You've got this, ok? I'm right behind ya." Uratim was trying to encourage them. Felamir offered a weak smile, and Uratim grinned in response.

They nodded at him and walked in.

The Commander's tent was far from luxurious, but it was still the closest one could get in the given circumstances. It was slightly larger than Felamir's tent, making it much larger than the tents the soldiers all huddled into. It was more like Uratim's tent, although much more empty. Hollow, if you will.

But he was somehow worse.

His one-eyed stare held Felamir by the throat and refused to let go. They brought a hand up to adjust their tie a bit, then cleared their throat.

"Sir."

The commander didn't acknowledge Felamir's presence, instead nodding at Uratim.

"I have a strategy, as you requested."

"It better not be to give up, because if one more soldier tells me they want to go home I think I'll strangle them."

"But you see-"

"Your men may respect you, Felamir, but I do not. Don't stretch my patience."

They took a deep breath.

"Our soldiers are tired, do you really think we have any chance of getting through this? We have barely any rations left, either. The soldiers are resorting to living off stolen ale and silent tears. We need to surrender, for everyone's sakes."

Felamir's head was pounding. Must've been the drinks they'd had earlier, coming back to haunt them. But they could deal with that later. Couldn't exactly walk away from a meeting, especially that they had called in the first place, because they made the horrible decision to have a quick drink. At least, not without taking what little was left of their dying reputation and throwing it into the nearest grave. So Felamir swallowed the unpleasant taste that was rising in their throat.

"And then? What next? The Valley is known for its battles and its fierceness. What would we do if there wasn't war? Make flower crowns and sing lullabies?" The commander's left eye, or at the very least where it should've been, was still burning from the acid that had been on it just hours before. It created an unpleasant smell that wafted through the air like a virus, everyone who smelt it getting an instant wave of sorrow and regret. He was one of the clearest reminders of what war could do to a person, voice croaky from being present for one too many explosions. Plus, he could barely walk. He'd lost one of his legs to one of the many said explosions, near the start of one of the earlier wars.

No one dared pity him, though. Only fear.

The strategist took another deep breath, glancing at their friend beside them. He shot a grin and an encouraging thumbs up. "We could be a place of peace, of trade. The Valley's in the center of many trade routes, so we'd thrive. Especially in future generations. All the war and bloodshed could be a thing of the past."

Him and Uratim exchanged a long stare.

"...Alright then. But it's up to you to do all of this. I won't bother with something I know will fail."

Felamir nodded. "Thank you sir. You won't regret it."

"Won't I?"

Felamir stared at the commander, and he stared back. What was that supposed to mean? Was he threatening them? Was he saying that they were an insufficient strategist? They weren't, they couldn't be. They were good at their job, weren't they?

Uratim grabbed Felamir's wrist, dragging them away from the unblinking stare of the commander.

"So, shall we make a plan?" the half-orc offered.

"We shall."

---

It was all going wrong.

It was all going terribly, horribly, massively wrong.

What had they done?

How many people had they just killed, like lambs to an eternal slaughter?

Felamir stared forward, face paler than a heavy mist.

They looked to their side to see the commander staring at them. Not frowning, just staring. If they ever got through this, they promised themselves that they would strangle them after this was over. Then they would drag Uratim by the hand to some small coastal town, and neither of them would ever be involved with Ghoulcrest or the Valley ever again. All of that would happen when this was over. It just had to. Weren't heroes supposed to get the good endings? Felamir knew that they were certainly no hero, but if Uratim wasn't then no one was.

How many of his men could he have left to die, but instead risked his life to save? How many letters had he taken the time to send to grieving families to assure them that their children, their partners, their friends were all remembered as heroes?

Felamir wasn't skilled with guns. They could only use bows and, if it was absolutely necessary, sometimes a sword. So that was all they were given. Uratim didn't have one either, as he was terrifyingly good with a mace. He was the only mace user in all of Ghoulcrest's forces, actually. Both of them were extremely proud of that.

So, useless against the enemies firing as fast as they could, Felamir reached into their pocket and pulled out something they wished had never had to have been invented. But, as people were almost never merciful without it, everyone had to carry them on their person at all times. Just in case.

A white flag.

Motioning for the remaining men to do the same, they started waving it. First cautiously and close to their torso, but when the shots continued, they began to rapidly flail it above their head. Maybe then the enemies would actually see it.

Shots were firing faster than a bee's wings flapped, echoing and making it almost unbearable. For some reason, one in particular seemed to be especially loud. They turned to their friend, about to make some joke about insanity, but the sarcasm died on their tongue.

Uratim stared at Felamir with all-too-wide eyes, tears automatically flowing down his cheeks as he hissed unintentionally. He was clutching his side.

He'd... he'd been shot.

"He-hey, um, it's fine Mira. I've had-It's fine. It's going to be fine."

Felamir stared up at him, shivering in horror.

"I'm gonna be fi-"

Another gunshot echoed far too close to them, making them automatically flinch. Their hands were already reaching into their pockets, searching for what few medical supplies they carried, but when they opened their eyes they froze again.

Uratim was staring at them, but it was all horribly wrong. He didn't usually have that stream of blood on his temple, did he?

His eyes were notably less shiny than usual, too.

Felamir reached forward, placing their hand on Uratim's cheek.

They could only watch as Uratim crumpled to the floor like a discarded sheet of paper. Like a puppet whose strings had been prematurely cut.

Oh.

They didn't even have time to say goodbye to him.

Felamir stared down at him. It was uncomfortable, like a great wrong had occurred. They weren't supposed to be looking down at Uratim. They were the short one. They were always much shorter than him, and they hated it, and he had always made fun of them for it. Even his bed was placed higher up than theirs, as a joke. Nothing like this was every supposed to happen, not in a million years.

Their head felt like it was going to explode.

A wave of nausea shot through them like a bullet. Like the bullet.

They were fine with corpses. They'd killed dozens themselves, one by hand. Why was this so different? If it was any other haircut, or hair color, or skin color, they would've been absolutely fine with it. Would've waved it off as another body to bury in the mass graves. If it was absolutely anything else. If he had a different nose, or if he didn't have that cute little scar on his neck. Or if he didn't blush such an obnoxious brownish red when he was angry, or didn't have such long fingernails, always painted black.

If even the smallest thing were different, they would be fine.

But it wasn't.

So they weren't.

Felamir, resisting the strong urge to puke, looked up from the sight and continued weakly waving the flag.

They had just killed the only person that they had ever loved, as well as hundreds more. They wished desperately that they could turn back time. Jump in front of him. Uratim had always had dozens of friends, and had had several partners in the past. He'd be just fine without them. Now Felamir had just ruined the lives of every single one of those friends and partners, as well as any he could've had in the future.

All they could do was wave the white flag, along with all the other survivors, praying to whichever god was listening that the enemy would notice them.

It wasn't meant to go like this.

The enemy was supposed to see the white flags and accept the surrender, ask for someone to negotiate the terms. They were supposed to honor the terms of war, that had been laid out by the gods so many generations before. Everyone was.

"But you didn't, so why should they?" a voice rung out somewhere, echoing with hidden but still evident fury.

Felamir was suddenly somewhere they didn't recognize. A red void spanned out before them, behind them, everywhere. They thought that it was far too similar to the blood that had been split all over their and everyone else's uniforms. They couldn't even see past it.

The voice scoffed mockingly. "Do you not even have the respect to bow before a god? You defy me in more ways than is acceptable, mortal."

The short figure fumbled, quickly kneeling and mumbling, "I- I don't understand."

"Why should you?"

That question was met with only silence.

"You, a strategist of a widely respected army, chose to flee like a coward when you could've easily had a good battle and won. You broke the sacred rules, so why shouldn't your opponents? Might as well try to teach you a lesson, even if you couldn't be bothered to learn anything. Maybe your loneliness'll teach you something I couldn't, who knows."

Felamir's eyes widened at that, breath becoming shallower with every word the supposed god uttered.

"Yeah, I killed your precious little friend. Why not? I was bored, and it helped me win a bet. Win-win in my eyes. Anyways,"

Tears dripped down Felamir's all-too-pale face as the god continued talking.

"You've heard of doppelgangers, right?"

---

Tyrael stared up at them.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's been a few centuries since then."

Felamir smiled, but their eyes were shining with tears that didn't dare to fall.

"Loss doesn't go away, but you learn to cope. Eventually." They turned away from Tyrael, and he knew from experience that they were wiping away tears. He didn't ask if they were alright, he already knew the answer. They'd gone through all of that...

A shiver went down the small elf's spine, making him flinch in pain.

"So that's how doppelgangers are created?" He was starting to like the gods less and less by the second.

"Yep." Felamir chuckled, but there wasn't any humor or happiness behind it. "So, should we head out?"

The sun was well and truly up by now, and the room was fully lit up. The doppelganger's tea was finished, so there was now nothing at all stopping either of them from leaving. Which, of course, meant that they should probably get going soon.

Tyrael took a deep breath. He felt like he should've been doing something with this information, but what in the world could he do? He wasn't the smartest when it came to the gods, but as far as he was aware, mortals couldn't really do anything to influence their decisions, thoughts, or anything like that. And he couldn't really tell other people about it, either. What if he got turned into a doppelganger? Or what if someone decided to kill him for saying bad things about the ones that they worshipped?

His dread only grew as he realized that the best thing he could do with all of this was to keep quiet.

But this was good. Or, at least, it could be good. Felamir was nice, and seemed to not hate Tyrael's company. He would dare to say they maybe actually liked him. And the feeling was entirely mutual, frankly, so maybe Tyrael could help cheer them up while he could? Then maybe his life wouldn't have been so pointless, and he wouldn't be quite as much of a waste of space anymore.

He could help someone, and maybe even help himself.

The elf smiled, standing up and beginning to walk to the door.

"Let's."

a/n
4831 words

i have been told by the two friends i have as my beta readers that i made this chapter sad, so i'm sorry about that in not-advance.

question 6: what should/would the ship name of Felamir and Uratim be? i haven't actually made one quite yet, so i would love to hear any suggestions anyone may have :>

so, more on mira's backstory. thoughts? i tried to add some foreshadowing for other things here that are technically canon but aren't specifically stated, so make sure to let me know if that worked at all. anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter!

see you next time!