Newt imagines 2

The gladers

Based off season 1 episode 4

I walked out with breakfast a large cauldron of hot oats, Newt came over to help of course, but got kicked back again. I knew I was too harsh on the guy but he constantly tried to help, if I let him think I need help I'm no better than all those pathetic servants in the palace.
I placed the oats in the normal place, served each glader, they all tucked in apart form one. Minho he sat there mixing them round with a definite scowl. I went to say something but Newt cut me off. "Don't." He looked to his friend and then me, I saw the worry in his eyes like a brother's undying love. Newt sighed and tapped the spot on the bench next to him, I took my seat. "The Duke of Savoy's visit brings up bad memories." Newt sipped his drink pausing as he kept his eyes on me.

I watched Minho, I never thought that the King's affairs could inflict sorrow and fear into his soldiers.
"Why?" I prodded Newt to explain more.
Newt ate a spoonful as if we had all day to ourselves. "Years ago Minho was part of a squadron of gladers that were massacred in Savoy. Only two survived; him and another man who fled the bloody scene in minutes, leaving Minho with... god it must have been twenty or so dead gladers."
Minho's dark set eyes, flicked up maliciously at us, then settle back to attacking the porridge. I gulped and gripped Newt's arm. "Who killed them?" I whispered.
He patted my hand, also looking at Minho. "They never found out but don't worry, it was years ago and I doubt they are interested in killing cooks." I stuck my tongue out at him, he giggled, kissed my cheek and left dragging Minho with him.

They were off to be at the Kings side when the Duke of Savoy arrived, cause of image, judging and stuff. So much trouble all to sign a peace treaty arranged by the Duke's wife. The king's sister. I knew there was no point worrying, this must be their least dangerous mission so far. But I did. I worried for the sassy, keen-eyed shooter. Minho. Oh well at least there would be no need for me to be hauled into the chaos this time. So I busied myself, self teaching to load and clean a pistol. It could all go wrong very quickly....

There was a knock on the door, midway through me chopping the day before's carrots. Minho entered, walking very peculiar with another man at his side, one I haven't met. "Hiya y/n." Minho said, almost tugging the guy by his sleeve.
I put down the knife. "Hmm, can I help you Minho? And who's your friend?" I faced the man, his blond hair scruffy, in need of a good wash. He was strong, fit, a muscly neck. He was alright apart from his eyes.

Now, from where I grew up, I instantly learnt from a man's eyes that he had seen death, it had been in almost everyone's eyes at that place. Everyone but the masters.

This man, however, had clearly let death corrupt him, he looked so done, so pained. I felt sorry for the fella.
"This shank? Don't worry about him. I want.... Was hoping.. That you could keep an eye on him in here....?" Minho pulled the man over to a chair, fiddled around with the cuff of his sleeve and dragged the chair over to the corner. It screeched against the wooden planks.
Newt walked in that very moment, he didn't looked at all shocked by the stranger in my kitchen. "Thanks for this, y/n." He leant over pecked my cheek like a small bird, seeking for food.
I cocked an eyebrow. "What do you want in return? Eh, Newt?"
He smiled, ushering Minho out the room. "One of your usual, most delicious dinners." And he left bowing.
I turned to the stranger confused, shook my head and focuses back on the dinner. Never had the guys buttered up to me in such away. Something suspicious was going on and I can guess I wouldn't enjoy finding out what it is.

Several hours later, Newt and Minho returned. But not alone. They were pushed in through the door by Gally and Thomas, who were not at all impressed. I crossed my arms leaning on one leg. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
My foot beated away at the floor.
Newt and minho sat, sheepishly, with Gally and Thomas towering above them. Both scowling at the stranger sat in the far corner, all alone in his rickety chair, eyes hung low, away from the gladers.
"So? Who's to explain first? You, Newt? Eh?" I cocked my head at him, peering down on his red round face.
"That... Man, in the far corner of your kitchen happens to be the deserter at the massacre in Savoy." Gally pointed an accusing, aggressive finger at the man.