a series of sbi oneshots

the chosen one(s)!

The man is huge. So big he probably has to duck through normal sized doors. Tommy stares up at him, gaping, his wooden practice sword slips through his fingers and clatters softly against a rock.

The man’s burning red eyes stare down at him, his black armor glistens in the light, spikes jutting sharply from every joint. He doesn’t have a sword, but he does have an axe. A really big axe. Not the sort of axe you use on trees.

The Dark Lord--because who the fuck else is this going to be?--tilts his head. “You?” he rumbles, “you are the one destined to defeat the Dark Lord?”

Tommy thinks about fate, and about gods. He thinks about all the lessons the elves have taught him. About strategy, about magic, all of the skills and tools they’ve given him.  He thinks about not having a choice in his future.

He thinks about all the innocent people in the villages beyond elven lands, struggling in the dirt. He thinks about the farm where he and Wilbur used to live and lay at the edge of the wheat field. He thinks about Wilbur, his brother, who came along with him on his journey because he loves Tommy so much.

He thinks about the things Wilbur whispers to him in the night. About the others destined to defeat the Dark Lord. The things that happened to them. He thinks about strategy, and he draws his breath, squares his shoulders, tightens his fists and says: “....no?”

The Dark Lord raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” Tommy says more confidently, “no uh, wrong--wrong person. Sorry….ser?” his eyes linger on the head of the axe. “Your….lord…ship?”

“You’re not the one the elves have said is destined to defeat me?” the Dark Lord asks.

“No. He’s uhhhh….he’s out. At the moment.” Tommy clasps his hands behind his back so the Dark Lord can’t see him fidgeting. Wilbur always said it was his fidgeting that gave away his lies. He offers what he hopes is a polite smile to the Dark Lord. “I can uh. Tell him you came by?”

“You’ll tell him I stopped by?” the Dark Lord asks.

“Yes,” Tommy nods firmly. “Would you….like to leave a message?”

The Dark Lord sets his axe on the ground. Tommy can’t help but shuffle a step back when he moves it, but he doesn’t chop Tommy in half with it so this is going well, he thinks. He hopes. The Dark Lord leans on the handle of the axe.

Tommy thinks its supposed to have a fancy name. Haft? The elves have been trying to teach him about weapons but Tommy doesn’t even like weapons. He just wanted to be a farmer, and raise cows and wheat so he and Wilbur could lie at the edge of the field and look at the clouds.

“You’ll bring him a message?” the Dark Lord asks.

Tommy wonders if the Dark Lord is hard of hearing, like the village elders. He has been around for like… ever, and that’s a lot older than the village elders.

“Yes!” Tommy says, making sure his voice is loud and clear. “Do You Have Something You’d Like To Say To Him? When He Gets Back?”

“I can hear you kid,” the Dark Lord says flatly.

“Oh,” Tommy says. “Sorry.”

The Dark Lord runs a hand over his face and mutters something Tommy can’t hear but it sounds like he’s saying something about somebody named Phil and killing. Maybe he thinks that’s the new Chosen One’s name?

“Phil will be back soon,” Tommy says, “and I’ll tell him you came by.”

“Oh Phil’s gonna be here, huh?” the Dark Lord says.