Earn Me (Niam)

Twelve Years Earlier

Swords clang against each other as more armored bodies drop in metallic heaps. The four knights clad in black fight, swing and tackle their way to the throne room. Sir Zayn and Sir Harry spin and swing their blades in a deadly tornado, expertly finding the chinks in the armor and finding the small open patches of weak flesh. Sir Louis, with the lethal precision of a seasoned predator, circles his sword in wide arches. With each languid step forward, enemies left and right take their last startled breath of life before buckling their lifeless knees and stumbling to the floor. Sir Liam, however, fights through the waves of soldiers and pawns with something feral. Something primeval. Almost like he forgot all of his training as a knight. Because he knows what his mission is. There's no need to try to be civilized when he knows who he has to save. And now that he caught a glimpse - regardless of how fleeting - of the captured maiden, he is willing, more willing than the other knights, to risk his life to save him.

God, he's beautiful, Sir Liam thinks. The way the sunlight shines and reflects off of his pale porcelain skin so that it creates a halo. The innocence yet sharpness of emotions flooding in his sky blue eyes. The similarity of the blonde locks to the sight and feel of angel's wings.  How petite the maiden looks and how he would fit perfectly in the knight's arms. Underneath the dullness of mind and rationale as Sir Liam swings and swirls the silvery blade in a lethal dance around and across the weaknesses in the enemies' defenses, he still has the time to admire the ethereal - completely angelic - beauty and prettiness of the maiden. So there is the tanned brunette knight, brutishly stampeding through the waves of soldiers as his vision tunnels to one thing and one thing only: the large wooden doors just yards away.

He doesn't remember how long it takes, but Sir Liam suddenly finds himself standing right outside of the doors, the grandiose metallic swirling engravings almost making him dizzy as his eyes follow the intricate design and pattern. And in that moment, he is almost sorry. Almost. Because he honestly does feel bad for whoever designed this castle. It is rather a shame that all Liam will do is bust the door down with all of his strength, because he really does enjoy and appreciate the intricacy of the architecture. But he can't worry about that right now. Because soft blonde hair and innocent blue eyes flash across his mind and the warm mushy feeling comes back to his insides.

"Are you ready, Sir Liam?" a sort of gravelly voice chimes in behind him. He turns around and is surprised to see the raven-haired boy's amber eyes shine with something that he hasn't seen in a long time: sympathy. That doesn't necessarily mean a lot though. If Liam thinks about it, the knight is the maiden elder sibling, which means that the softer emotion shining through the color of golden honey could be from the anxiety of reuniting with the lost brother. But there is something different about Sir Zayn's expression. Something that Liam cannot pinpoint.

The four knights can't really remember anything after that. Blinding white and orange light hinders their sight. The booming roar of the wooden doors splintering deafens their hearing. The utter force of the explosion just makes everything on the four knights' bodies. Just the subsequent sounds of metal and wood clanging against the floor are clear indications that something abrupt and unexpected just happened.

And Sir Liam would protest the blurry image in front of him, but he doesn't for two reasons.

The first being he doesn't know if what he sees is really what he sees. And the second being the pain all over his body just sends him off into a sleepy void ...

The eleven year-old wakes up in a cold sweat, gasping as he jolts up from his pillow. His blurry and slightly pained vision slowly but surely clears up as he can recognize the sharp lines of color from his dresser, desk and sparring bag. He can't even think about what is going to happen later on today. All he can think about is his action-packed dream turned nightmare. Everything is a paradox now. Shivers rack his body as sweat continues to drip down his face. His mind and heart weigh down with the sadness of the image while the light happiness of pale sunshine barely beams through the glass of his window pane. Liam places his head in his damp palms as his fingers latch into his slightly greasy hair, creating vice grips on his short brown locks. He tries to think about what he just saw, memorize everything to make sure that he doesn't forget. But with every second of consciousness returning and breaking away each nerve and cell from sleep, he loses bits and pieces of the haunting details of the dream. But one thing is clear to Liam that he just doesn't like.