Disclaimer: Sadface. Not mine.
Author's Note: Strange little fiction I conjured up, but for some reason, I adore it. As far as I know this is the only Jabberwocky fanfiction out there at the moment, unless someone tells me otherwise. Anyways, after seeing the movie again I started craving this pairing when I saw him come down and talk to the Sword. So, I wrote this. Tell me what you think!
Warning: Slash? Of the strangest sort.
'Tis not the End
Frigid waves pooled across the sandy shore, twisting and pushing the small moss covered rocks that dotted the inlet. The warm, pinkish gaze of midevening washed over everything; over the clouds, the rocks, the water, and even him.
He shifted from his place atop the large boulder, swinging his legs from their spot into the icy waters. He didn't mind the cold, simply for the fact that he couldn't really feel anymore. He was becoming more and more one with the sword, until, eventually, his now ghostly essence would fade and he would reside completely within the blade. It was a side-effect of being bonded to the sword, they'd told him.
It was temporary, but it still managed to frighten the youth.
He lifted the sword from his lap into his hands, turning it slowly in the warm light. The vorpal sword. It felt light in his hands, smooth, ready for whatever came its way.
As he gazed into it, a young man stared back at him, an awkward youth that he could always find fault with. Too much blonde hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. Too big green eyes that took up too much of his face. Too high cheekbones. Too long nose.
He stared at his reflection silently, and had the sudden urge to snap the sword in two, if only to never have to see that face again.
"Emanuel?" the pale apparition looked away from the sword with a scowl. Then he began to smile as the one person he cared for most lumbered into view.
The Jabberwocky crunched down the gravelly slope, hissing irritably as his claws shifted on the sand. Emanuel ran to meet him.
"Dracolyn!" he chirped, pressing his cheek against the smooth scales of the dragon's face. He felt a familiar warmth building beneath them, and he couldn't help but get the butterflies.
The dragon gently stuck its snout between them, and Emanuel reluctantly pulled his arms away from his love. He frowned, looking up at him.
The Jabberwock looked down at the sword with something akin to loathing. "I hear you have been bonded to the sword," he said quietly. Emanuel suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable.
"Yes," he admitted. Suddenly the blade felt awkward in his hands, all of a sudden too heavy for his thin arms.
Dracolyn nodded solemnly, pacing. "I see," he murmured, more to himself than to Emanuel. The apparition placed his hand on the dragon's snout consolingly, but his lover pushed him away and stepped back.
"We are a danger to one another now. It is my fate to always hate the Vorpal Sword, and we are continuously drawn to one another in battle. It is the rule of Underland." His expression was that of grim acceptance.
And when the dragon flicked his long tongue against his cheek worryingly, Emanuel laughed quietly and cupped his ghostly hands against the Jabberwocky's scaled head.
"Do not worry, my love," he whispered softly. "For our love is stronger forged than any blade."
Dracolyn had looked at him, then, mystified. "Do you really believe that?"
The apparition simply smiled and pressed his lips to his cheek. "I always have. And will."