Hi. I’m back with more fanfiction. This time, it’s the start of what will hopefully be a decently long story about everything going a bit wrong. That was all the inspiration I had, so that’s all the description you’re getting.

~

The gathered rabbits stood, motionless, as the black rabbit made his desperate charge towards the alcove. Picket saw him lift his torch high, other hand on his heart in the old salute. Till the end of the world. The torch dropped.

Things seemed to happen in slow motion. The torch tumbled towards the ground, ready to blow up the dam and let the flood in. The first of the raptor kings chasing Helmer lunged forward, spotting the danger in a split second. As Picket watched, unbelieving, the bird caught the torch in his beak and plunged into the lake, emerging moments later to drop the extinguished torch. Helmer stood, and Picket could almost see the fear flicker into his eyes for an instant. Then it was gone, and Helmer drew his sword with a great cry, advancing on the raptor still hurtling towards him.

“No!” Picket cried, but his words were lost in the commotion of a hundred other cries. The rest of the Fowlers stood with Picket, horrified, as Helmer was forced back into the alcove. He had nowhere to go, no space to fight. Then the bird had him between his talons and was carrying him aloft, as Picket hurried to get catapults set off towards it in the vain hope that Helmer could be saved. It was too late, though. In triumph, and as flaming arrows shot towards him, the bird dropped Helmer.

He fell slowly towards the stones of First Warren, and landed in the square. Picket could imagine the sickening crunch, despite the commotion which made it impossible to hear. His heart ached, and he could feel the tears streaming down his face. Helmer was dead, and their last flicker of hope was gone too. The dam would never work now. Even as he thought, the birds were figuring out what Helmer had planned to do to it. Picket could see wolves swarming towards the alcove to defend it. It was too late. They had wasted their only chance at victory. They had no more clever plans. They were cornered in their own trap, with no way out and no way forward. Picket had to find Emma, had to help her to make yet another impossible decision.

His body and his soul protested as he hurried towards the palace. He wanted to mourn Helmer, to mourn all those who had been killed in the battle, but there was no time. He wanted a new plan, but there were none. He wished he did not have to burden Emma with this, but she was his queen and needed to know. Reluctantly, he made his way onto the balcony, where Emma stood with tears in her eyes and a hard look on her face. Whit stood with her, bow in his hands, looking stunned. Picket followed their gaze to the floor of the square, where he could make out a black form, bloody and crumpled, among the chaos. He fought the urge to break down and cry.

“We failed,” he said, quietly. “The dam didn’t work.” Emma turned to him, and Picket marvelled yet again at the control on her face. She had been so strong these past few months, and she still was. “I know, Picket.”

“Your Highness - Emma - what do we do?” he asked, trying to be logical about the situation.

She looked down. “I’m afraid - well, Picket, I’m not sure. There seems to be nothing that we can do.” “Either we die fighting,” said Whit, not looking at either of them, “or we try a retreat.” “Emma should leave,” said Picket. “Emma, listen to me. You know we’re all going to die. It’s not just a possibility any more, it’s a fact. We’re doomed. You need to get out of here, even if nobody else does. You’re the last hope of the cause. This isn’t about you anymore, it’s about all rabbitkind. Helmer died to save the cause, not to see the flame snuffed out like this.”

Picket stopped, not trusting his voice to continue.

“Picket is right,” said Whit. “If nobody else leaves here alive, you must. It’s not about winning now, it’s about losing in the least worst way.”

Emma looked down at her subjects, fighting in the square desperately against the wolves that swarmed towards the palace, as birds rained chaos down from the skies. She watched rabbits die. “I don’t like it, but I’m afraid you’re right. We can’t win. I’ve failed you all.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Picket said fiercely. “You’ve saved us. You never wanted to be a princess, but here you are leading us all. We were so close, you know that. You did all any rabbit could have done.” “It wasn’t enough,” Emma said quietly. She swallowed. “Is there any way out of here?”

“No,” said Picket. “Not a safe one, anyway. I suppose our best bet now is to organise a charge out of the gate. Perhaps some of us would survive.” “We could surrender,” Whit suggested, quietly. “It’s an awful solution, but it might result in the least death.” “Never,” said Emma. “We’ll try Picket’s idea. Picket, can you get the word out to the army that we’re making a last stand at the main gate, with a view to some of us escaping towards what used to be Harbone? If anybody survives, we’ll try to regroup there.” Picket saluted, his heart heavy. “Of course, your Highness.”

Whit started for the door. “I’ll find you an escort, your Highness,” he said, as he walked out. “Ten minutes,” said Picket. “I think that’s all we’ll have, if there’s any chance of this working.” “At the gate in ten minutes,” Emma said. “A heroic retreat, if you want to call it that. Heroic. As if we weren’t abandoning our homes and giving up more lives for nothing.” She trailed off, alone on the balcony, and surveyed the city. Her city. It was burning and destroyed, and rabbits were wounded and dying everywhere. She could not help any of them. Her heart burned for those in the hospital they would have to abandon, for those currently dying who would die without help. For all those to whom she had promised victory and had brought only death. She felt very little like a queen, in that moment - only like a scared doe making bad decisions and simply trying to stay alive.

~

Ten minutes passed far too quickly. A bedraggled army gathered behind the tattered banner of their cause, red and green diamonds fluttering in the wind as Picket waved it aloft. Beside him stood Cole, Jo, Kylen and Whit, having nominated themselves to lead the charge and most likely sacrifice everything in the hope that Emma might live. Behind them were the remnants of the free soldiers of Natalia, those of Terralain and of the citadels mingling together. At the heart of the group stood Princess Emma, hooded in an attempt to disguise her from their foes.

Picket turned to his friends at the head of the army. He missed Helmer’s presence desperately. “Ready?”

“I always dreamed of charging head-on at a huge army,” Jo said, somehow grinning. “It’s very dramatic. My worst fear was that I’d die doing something stupid, like falling down stairs.”

“This feels pretty stupid to me, don’t worry,” said Kylen.

Cole coughed. “Not really helping the heroic atmosphere there, you two.”

“Perhaps we should get on with it,” Whit agreed.

Picket smiled, love for all of his friends warming his broken heart and giving him the strength he needed. He raised the banner high. “Free rabbits of Natalia!” he yelled. There was silence. Even the wolves watched for a moment. The raptors circled overhead. Picket continued. “We are gathered here for a final charge. A last stand against the enemy. We will not surrender. We will go down fighting like our ancestors, so that the Green Ember may one day rise. My place beside you!”

The army joined him in the rest of the oath, voices mingling in defiance, in one final shout against the enemy as the raptors dived down once more and the wolves prepared to attack.

“Charge!” Picket shouted, and held the banner high as he led his army in a desperate run into the crowd of enemies.

Everything quickly became chaotic, as Picket was almost immediately engaged by a wolf captain. They fought, Picket using the banner he bore like a lance as he brought it crashing down on the head of the wolf. The captain crumpled, and Picket moved on, sword flashing as he kept up a steady run. The charge passed in flashes. Picket fought one wolf after another, felt their swords on his skin, felt the blood leaving his body. He felt almost unbeatable, with the idea of a last stand burning in his mind and every ounce of his strength concentrated on the task.

Even so, he saw, with a great wrench of his heart, Kyle crumpling beside him, too weak to defend himself from the wolf who brought his sword stabbing down into Kylen’s neck. He heard the dying cries of so many more, heard the screech of birds and the crash as they swept whole ranks of rabbits to the ground. He could have sworn he saw Morbin himself, crown glinting in the sunlight, watching the desperate retreat. He could have sworn the raptor was smiling.

They were losing. It was obvious that, despite all Picket could do, there was no hope of survival. They were surrounded, an isolated island of rabbits in a sea of wolves. Then, as if fate itself had stepped in, the wolves were leaving. Some remained, but suddenly Picket and the others found themselves fighting a skeleton force. For some reason, it seemed Morbin was letting the army go.

Not that it was much of an army. It was decimated, and those that were left were battered and dying, but the free rabbits of Natalia had survived in some form. There was still a battered seed of hope. They had not been pursued. Picket had heard Morbin give the order to let them go, and the shame of it seemed to burn him. It was obvious how little the Blackhawk thought of the resistance now. It was obvious he thought they were finished, that surrender would come any day. Picket hoped he was wrong.

Hours later, he collapsed on the grass outside the wreck of Harbone, too tired even to seek the princess. He was bleeding, too much. He was unsure whether he would survive, but he was happy too. He only wished he could see Emma before he died.

Then, somehow, he saw a familiar black doe running towards him. Weezie. She was safe.

“Picket!” she cried, fear in her eyes. “What happened? Stupid question, I know what happened. You need help.” “Weezie,” he smiled weakly. “I’m so glad you’re alive.” “It was you that saved us. You were unbeatable back there. They could barely touch you.” Picket grunted disbelievingly, looking at his wounds.

“Well, you’re alive,” Weezie said defensively. “That shouldn’t have been possible. They all wanted to kill you.” “Weezie,” Picket said, suddenly struck with the sorrow of it all, “I’m so sorry about your uncle. He was the best rabbit I ever knew. He will never be replaced.” Weezie shook her head. “No. But you can try. He trained you well, Picket. I know he did. You can save us.” Picket sighed. “I don’t know. I’m nothing compared to him.” “Shuffler!” a familiar voice cried. Picket looked up, heart skipping a beat, and found himself looking into Emma’s eyes.

“Emma,” he said, gratefully. Then, before he could add any more, he felt his head begin to spin and the world went black. He slipped into an unconsciousness untroubled by dreams or pain.