Work Text:
Eret remembered the beginning.
He remembered when he first joined L’Manburg, remembered standing on the border and looking at the patchwork yellow and black barrier and thinking “I can do better.”
Wilbur may have ruled the nation, Tommy may have commanded the army, but the walls were Eret’s project. Each foundation dug, each brick placed was directed by him. He remembered the looks of shock and elation as he stepped out of the nether portal, dusty and bruised but laden with black bricks and a cocky smile.
He remembered the exhilaration of looking up at the walls finished, the feeling of pride welling up as people of L’Manburg cheered, as he raised his voice and sword with theirs.
He remembered Dream and his men silhouetted against the sky, weapons drawn and threats dealt and deals struck.
(He remembered after the war, after the betrayal, how glad he was that his walls had held.)
The walls were the final blow.
He stood by as Schlatt took to the podium, as he exiled Wilbur and Tommy not even a minute after gaining power.
He watched as weapons were drawn on L’Manburg land, heard Niki’s scream and the tremble in Tubbo’s quiet voice and frantic cries of “run, Tommy, RUN.”
He closed his eyes as Wilbur and Tommy recoiled from his outstretched hand, tried to pretend it didn’t hurt when they fled from his offer of help.
He flinched at the empty, heartbroken look in Tubbo’s eyes as he raised his axe to the signs, and further at Fundy’s unabashed glee as the order came to tear down the walls.
The sound of iron against stone rung through the air, and Eret made up his mind.
Niki’s flag burned bright against the dark sky. He held her as she sobbed into his shoulder, hands twisted in his cape and shaking with rage. Fundy’s promise echoed in his head. He had said it wouldn’t be pretty, but this… this was too far.
(It had gone too far when Schlatt had stepped foot back on server land. Dream never should have unbanned him.)
Eret took a flint and steel to the election podium, whispering over the crackle of flames even though there was no one to hear.
“This isn’t history, this is tyranny.”
He found himself sitting next to the thin line of blackstone bricks still standing, chipped and cracked from pickaxe strikes. It crumbled under his hand. His work, L’Manburg’s safety that was entrusted to him, torn down overnight.
Eret’s eyes, narrowed in anger, were hidden behind his sunglasses. His strides were even as he made his way back to his castle.
He had preparations to make.