What Might Have Been (A Songs of War Fanfiction)

Part Five, Promises. Chapter One

Help, help, help! (No, I'm not being murdered) I need a NAME for this part!!! I'm so stuck!

Edit: It's 'Promises'.

You finally get the Felden arc.

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Yeah, Lucan's having a great time. Really.

First, Marcus had released him from Riverstead prison. He had thought that would be the end of it, but noo. With Marcus there always had to be a hitch. Lucan still remembers how quickly that conversation had gone south.

You're being assigned to mining duty near the Basalt Coast.

If you wanted to kill me, we could have just gone with an execution!

Thinking back on it, his outburst had held some ring of truth. This had been the fifth time he had ended up at Riverstead, and he doubts Marcus enjoyed his presence in the cells. For some reason, Lucan unnerved people when he smiled.

His 'guard' at the mines, Eddy, he had known for about twenty minutes, in which he had introduced himself as a drunk and, strangely, the carrier of a poisonous potato. Not Lucan's ambition for when he grew up, but whatever. He hadn't even had time to give Eddy some advice, (like, stop drinking, it's bad for you) before the undead had flooded the mines, killing everyone inside, including Eddy himself. Lucan had been the only survivor, which had probably put a twist in Marcus's trousers.

But, obviously, the humiliation hadn't ended there. Apparently he still owed a debt to Felden and the officials had assigned him to look further into this so-called threat. Lucan doesn't see the big picture. So the mines had been attacked by festering old zombies wearing pieces of rusty chain-link armour, and there were rumours circling round about Necro-whatsits? Lucan doesn't buy it.

Well, technically, he hasn't ever bought anything, but that's a minor detail.

So here he is, alone in the woods, roasting scavenged food over a poorly-made campfire. Despite the past few years he had spent wandering around the wilderness of Felden, Lucan has never managed to make even a half-decent fire. Ironic, perhaps, but there had been more important things to think about at the time. Such as, well, how he would survive.

If Lucan closes his eyes and concentrates on certain things, like the warmth of the fire, the smell of cooking meat and his dog, Tulisa, at his feet, he can almost imagine that it's that first night once more. The worst night. The night he hadn't been able to sleep because of all the horrible thoughts circulating in his troubled mind. The night that he had felt more alone than ever before. The night he had accepted that he was going to have to rough it, going to have to learn to fend for himself and make a new life out of the ashes of his past.

You're hopeless, Luke. You'll never amount to anything in your pitiful little life, so there's no point trying.

Lucan hates that name – his birth name – the name his father had always called him. The name that had always been spoken with negative emotions: hate, scorn and pity only three of many he had come to be familiar with over time. Perhaps that was why he had begun to call himself Lucan. Luke was a boy of the past – an abused, broken person with no path, no choices available to him, no free will.

Luke is no more. He's Lucan now, a strong soul with an ever-changing path that he is able to decide for himself. And most of all, he answers to nothing and no one, not ever. He's had far more than his fair share of being controlled and manipulated. Now he's strong, a rebellious spirit who has learnt to fight back against his oppressors. He's Lucan now.