Something about this picture is just *too* precious.
It’s like all these years, the determined Prince marched on into war after war, watching his once proud army bleed and fall; saving them from utter defeat so often, but always moving further and further away from the dream and realm of victory..
Until the Empire sent forth its finest general, a horrific injury keeping him off the battlefield, but his mind as sharp as ever. The Empire thought it was just getting rid of a non-soldier in armor; transferring him to a war-front that was almost certainly lost.
But… from the moment the Prince and the General first met, they recognized something in one another that they both desperately needed; a relentless hunger for victory.
The General, he devised strategies for harder battles, filled up gaps in the army that prevented them from defeating smaller/weaker opponents, came up with tactics for every situation, and pushed every single soldier towards the best that he could be.
The Prince, for the first time in too long, flanked on all sides by an army finally worthy of him, led forth his young charges into battle after battle. And, inspired by his steely eyed determination, battle after battle, they emerged victorious.
Together, the Prince and the General, they reined in the younger boys, transforming their anger and frustration into an indomitable spirit of conquest. And, soon, the news spread like wildfire.
The Reds were on the March.
And they were Invincible.
And so, these two, surrounded at last by the fine young soldiers that they themselves had created, marched on towards their common goal. For the first time in too long, both for the General as for the Prince, Victory awaited.
[So, this hug. After a difficult battle.
“Thank you.. for winning that.”, said the General to his Prince.
The Prince shook his fair head and smiled nobly in return, “No.. Thank you.”
And not so far away, a lonely Victory shivered beautifully in her tower of glass, even as the men who had abducted her all these years ago stood ready for the final onslaught.
“My Steven and Brendan will come”, she whispered. And even though the men holding her captive laughed and mocked her, you could hear the fear in their voices.
Because they too had heard of the men in that army. The unstoppable Suraez. The faster than lightening Sterling. The always on target Sturridge. The mage-like Coutinho. The frightening Skrtel. And a whole bunch of other soldiers who only got stronger and better and faster with every day.
An army of red, led by two determined men.
Victory was rightfully theirs.]