(no subject)

[kingforboth]

Who: Kelson and Open
What:Backdated memory event
Where: Beach, shops, pretty much anywhere
When: 11/14-20, Happy Birthday/Coronation Day Kelson?
Warnings: death,murder, headless mutilated corpses, violence, rape, executions, poisoning, vomiting, impalement. I did mention Kelson’s canon is basically GoT right? Come for the headless corpses, stay for the Red Wedding?

Kelson can be found wandering the islands, looking at the beach or rocks over the cliffs, poking at objects in the stores, visiting friends or in the confines of his own apartment.


[OOC note: memories found in top levels in comments)

Comments

But Where Are Their Heads?

[kingforboth]

A fourteen year old Kelson had ridden out with several men as escort, seperating from the main Gwyneddian army. The view before them was grisley, and Kelson blanched white, not going further than what he could see as a distance even as some men rode closer for an inspection. Fifty or so men, now rotting and eaten by carrion birds, clad in the colors of blue, silver and red for Kierney and Cassan. Each had been impaled on a wooden stake, driven up into the body, the armor, flesh and bone covered in bird droppings and left in the sun to ripen.

One of his bishops called to him from the row of corpses. “Sire, would you come here a moment? This is very odd.”

Kelson held his ground, not exactly wanting to come closer, thank you very much. “Come look at dead men? I don’t need to see them closer. They’re dead, horribly murdered. Is that not enough?”

“No, I don’t think it is.” The older Bishop replied. “ I believe these men were dead before they were placed here-- and likely not from impaling. Perhaps they even died in battle. All of them have massive wounds, but there is very little blood.”

Kelson scurried toward the scene as he was bidden, watching wordlessly.

“Look at this. Many of the wounds don’t even match the blood and rents on their uniform. They might have even been changed to look better at a distance. For that matter, they might not even be--”

The man’s words were cut off in a startled gasp by all as the helmet he tore from one corpse came away empty in his hands. Instead of a head, all was left was a blackened stump of neck. The next helmet was removed. And the next, and the next. Now they’d never know who these men where. They had been their friends, comrades, left now mutilated and identityless.

Kelson looked to either side of him, at his generals and bishops, older men of more experience to gather his reaction, and took a breath, stealing himself for duty and tried to assuay the anger around him. This was going to be wonderful for morale, no doubt exactly the reaction intended. The message was clear and Kelson was not looking forward to having to face King Wencit of Torenth, or his army, whatever more he had planned for them. Had planned for him, a fourteen year old king only months on his murdered fathers throne. And what was more, they could not afford to lose. Gwynedd must not fall to the likes of Torenth. He made arrangements to get the men down and burned on a funeral pyre. There was not time to bury them individually, even if they found their names.

“If any of you should find any indication of the identities of the victims I--” Kelson’s voice cracked a little. “I should like to be informed. It is difficult, I know, without the heads...but…..” He looked away and shuddered at the grisly sight, trying not to breathe through his nose or vomit from the stench.

A little while later, they found the heads, spitted likewise on pikes, and eaten by carrion birds, mutilated beyond all recognition.

(cw: animal cruelty, hints at csa)

[outofthefire]

[the memory begins in a stable. it's full of horses of every variety, but Laura is standing before a specific one.

a brass nameplate on the door to the stall reads "Troy" and this is Laura's horse.

she got him when she was twelve years old, a gift from her father, or so she thought.

it turned out he was a gift from Benjamin Horne, the richest man in Twin Peaks. he'd always paid attention to Laura, ever since she was a little girl. he'd hold Laura on his lap and pay rapt attention to everything she said. he seemed to care for Laura even more than he did for his own daughter. part of Laura, a dark part, reveled in the fact that he seemed to care for her even more than his daughter.

it turned out that the reason why he paid such close attention to Laura was because he wanted to fuck her. she should have known better.

Laura loved Troy. she can't count the number of times she'd taken comfort in him, during the times when living a double life and BOB was tormenting her.

she didn't deserve him.

Laura opened the door to the stall and led Troy out. tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to cry. she was doing the right thing, she knew it.

she took Troy to the edge of the woods and steeled herself to do what she knew was right.

she didn't deserve Troy. she didn't deserve unconditional love.

she pulled her hand back and struck Troy on the rear end as hard as she could. once, twice, again and again until Troy went running into the woods.

she hoped that Troy understood why she did what she did. she didn't deserve him, she was corrupt inside and out and Troy deserved better than someone like her.

she didn't cry. she couldn't allow herself to cry, even as she watched her beloved horse run into the woods of Twin Peaks.

she hoped that he understood why she did what she did. he deserved his freedom, he deserved better than a corrupt soul like Laura's.

she didn't cry. she couldn't let herself cry as she watched her beloved horse run away.

and the memory fades]

[kingforboth]

[Kelson did not understand. Or rather, he understood what he saw, but had no idea why. Could the animal even survive on it's own like that? Looking at it, it was a good horse, and he hated to waste a good horse. But there was also a bond between a horse and it's rider, he knew that, felt that with his own and in her memory. She had thought she was doing the right thing. That she couldn't keep him. Didn't deserve to keep him.

Frankly, Kelson thought that was awfully stupid. He always clung to what he cherished when times were tough. He'd always been one to berate himself and sink into depression but normally there were those around him who knew how to keep him somewhat in check. He'd never succumbed to the horrors that Laura had experienced. He looked at her, trying to understand what he just experienced.]

....I think I just learned something about you that I don't quite understand.

[outofthefire]

[and Laura's feeling queasy after seeing and smelling the bodies. she's seen corpses, sure, but they were always embalmed and powdered and styled to be presentable in a coffin. not skewered with their heads chopped off and left to rot and fester in the sun.

and the condition of the heads! she finds herself choking back bile.

and uh-oh. what did he see?]

Yeah? What's that?

[she tries for a smile, but she's sure it's unconvincing]

cw: gore

[theweakhavepurpose]

In the memory Pratt is standing behind and off to the side of a tall man with a fringe of red hair. He's watching as the man very purposefully uncoils a stretch of razor wire and starts to coil it around the torso of a shirtless man tied to a cross. The man is still very much alive, and his screams fill the air, along with the acrid smell of blood. Some of it fresh, some months old and festering in the small wooden building.

"These Sinners. They think they're soldiers. They think they are heroes. But they're wrong. And we will show them the error of their ways." Blood splatters the older man's desert camo jacket, sprays across his face, but he doesn't seem to notice. Jacob Seed, the leader of the army for the Project at Eden's gate. A monster known for atrocities. He turns back to look at Pratt for the first time, a sinister half-smile on his face. "Isn't that right? Deputy."

The way he says it is clearly meant to be demeaning, an insult against Pratt who only shakes his head and looks like he's on the verge of being sick. Pratt looks a little different than he does now, even skinnier, the bones of his wrists are visible, blood smearing across his face from beneath his hair, and he's far more hunched in on himself. The scar that he has across his face is a fresh laceration here, his nose swollen and bloodied.

"And why do we do this?"

Pratt winces, looking away as if trying to find a path to escape.

"I didn't hear you Peaches."

"Because.." Pratt's voice is gruff and low, he coughs a bit before starting over again. "Because the weak must be culled."

"Very good." Humming to himself, Jacob checks his razor wire before tugging on a rope and turning the sacrifice before them into a human chandelier of sorts.

Pratt looks away and Jacob reaches back to harshly grab his head and force him to look at it.

"The weak have their purpose Deputy. You'll learn that in time."

[kingforboth]

Well that was a lovely image he just got from Pratt. Was it any wonder the man seemed to have issues with God? From the looks of it, he had been with a man similar to Edmund Loris, and Kelson knew the atrocities attributed to him. He'd only seen one brief glimpse of this Jacob, but it wasn't difficult to see the resemblance. Some of the things he saw were new, but underneath it all, the technique was the same. Whether it was razor wire or burnings or any other kind of torture, it was all the same.

No wonder Pratt seemed to have issues with God. Kelson looked over at the man. "I'm sorry." The least he could do is apologize for intruding.

[theweakhavepurpose]

Pratt stumbled back, nervous about accidentally touching him again and starting the whole cycle over. He rubbed his face, glancing away. "I am too. We shouldn't be able to see each other's thoughts. It's not right."

Not only did it make him feel vulnerable and exposed, he felt dirty having seen things other people didn't want shared.

"What did you see?" Resigned to his fate of it being something terrible. Very few people had seen any of his happier moments. The gods here were determined to make him suffer.

Red Wedding

[kingforboth]

Please, Lord, let it be peace between the two of us, as well as our lands. I don’t want to have to kill her people. I don’t want to have to kill anyone else. I want to create life, not death. Please, Lord…..

Kelson allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. The ceremony was almost over. This would work he knew it. There would be peace, he wouldn’t have to kill anyone. He braved a look at her, and she looked back. There it was, that spark, that slight smile. Had she felt it too? Kelson let himself hope, allowing himself to slip into the belief that he was in love with the girl, and she with him.That the hysterical tears she had shed weeks ago when he proposed had been wiped away not just by duty but by understanding and love, nevermind the fact that they had spent almost no time together up until today. This was absolutely going to work.

Archbishop Cardiel bounded their hands together, continuing the words of prayer and blessing that would seal the marriage vows they just made. Kelson relaxed, his head bowing in prayer as well, savoring the moment. It wasn’t until he heard Sidana gasp, felt her shift that Kelson raised his head and opened his eyes. Too late to do anything and bound to her still, he whirled futilely to try and stop the knife her brother produced and slashed across Sidana’s throat.

Everything seemed to move slowly to Kelson, from his companions running, to the blood fountaining from his bride’s throat, her face frozen in an expression of silent surprise or pain. Watching the light fade out of those beautiful brown eyes, he screamed, both physically and psychically.
Nonononononononono…….
Almost senseless and past functioning, he caught Sidana’s body in his arms, the blue dress as drenched with blood as the floor beneath her and Kelson himself. He wrenched his hand free and cradled her to him, a hand clamped against a wound that continued to pour out. He watched numbly as the boy was brought under control and his two closest friends fought to save his bride, not noticing the moment when Archbishop Cardiel shepherded witnesses and guests out of the bloody cathedral.

But all too soon it was over. They couldn’t save her. It was too easy. Marry the pretty princess and bring peace to the land. Nothing was that simple. She was never meant to live. Kelson kept it together for the few minutes that was needed, issuing orders and somehow keeping himself from killing her brother right there in the Cathedral. What kind of monster murders his own sister on her wedding day? Why had he let him be present? He should have known! He had fought this union so hard. But no, Kelson thought maybe he had accepted it, and Sidana had wanted him to be there, had wanted him in place of her father. Kelson had thought there could be no harm in it. It was almost laughable just how wrong he had been.

Kelson turned his grey Haldane eyes to the captive prince, still kneeling beside his dead queen.
“Why Sidana? Why didn’t you go for me? You had the chance.”
“Kill a Deryni? They would have stopped me, somehow,” the boy motioned toward Kelson’s companions. “And even if they hadn’t and I’d killed you, it wouldn’t have saved Sidana from a Haldane marriage. He would have been king after you,”the boy motioned toward Kelson’s uncle, “and he has three greedy little sons. I didn’t want my sister besmirched by Haldane hands…..Better she die than be queen to a curst Deryni king.”

Kelson almost went for him at that moment, angry and horrified. In end, it didn’t matter. A century of bloodshed and hatred could not be solved by marriage, or it seemed, wishful thinking. Like his father and grandfather and great-grandfather, he was going to have to march into Meara and kill. How many would he have to kill for this not to come back and rest on his son’s hands?

His close friends and family kept by him for a time, trying to issue words of comfort when they could obviously not know the depth of the sorrow and trauma that he had just experienced. What was it about the words ‘Leave me’ that they did not understand?

O God, they mean well, but how could they possibly understand? It was over before it even had a chance to begin. Sidana….Sidana, my silken princess. I would have tried to make you happy. You might have been…..

Eventually, they did leave. Gathering slightly outside the doors so Kelson was still within viewing, as he sobbed. He lifted up a lock of her hair beneath a finger, a small portion of her hair not covered with blood and lifted it to his own trembling, bloodstained lips. His body convulsed with the force of it, mourning shattered dreams, cradling the dead hope of peace in his arms.

[roseofthetyrells]

[she's in the Sept of Baelor, looking on in horror as her younger brother has had his name and title stripped from him and the wretched seven pointed star carved into his forehead.

a surge of anger flares in her as she turns to the High Sparrow. "You mutilated him. You gave me your word."

He plays the innocent and says "And I have kept my word. As soon as the Queen Mother's trial concludes, Brother Loras is free to leave."

leave? to do what? be a mindless slave of the Sparrows? and what of Cersei, surely she'd never miss this humiliation to the Tyrells. "And what of the Queen Mother?"

a Sparrow approaches the High Sparrow and tells him that Cersei's litter never left the Red Keep. the High Sparrow turns to Margaery with a smile and says "It appears the Queen Mother doesn't wish to attend her own trial." He turns to Lancel Lannister and says "Show her the way," and the wretch leaves the building.

Margaery is hardly satisfied. She's heard how Cersei had her pet beast rip the head off of a visiting Sparrow, does he truly think Cersei will come just because he had Lancel summon her?

and still time drags on with no sign of Cersei. a sense of foreboding enters Margaery's mind, first as a tickle of "what if?" then it settles low into her stomach. her eyes dart about her, searching for signs of similar doubt in others, to no avail. but she knows Cersei as well as anyone, knows what she's capable of. but will anyone listen?

she plasters a smile on her face and approaches the High Sparrow. "There's something wrong." "wrong" would be an understatement. the more time passes, the greater her foreboding grows.

the High Sparrow brushes her off. as was to be expected, the fool. "You have nothing to fear, Your Magesty. The trial will begin soon."

at that, anger burns along with foreboding. she can put no more plainly than this: "Cersei is not here. Tommen is not here. Why do you think they're not here?"

and again, he refuses to understand. "If the accused is not here, she will be tried regardless."

Margaery wants to scream at this wretched old man and his idiotic notions. He continues, "We cannot let her escape the judgement of the gods--"

but Margaery interrupts. she's done with him, done with these proceedings, done with Cersei and she knows, she knows that Cersei has some sort of trick up her sleeve, she simply doesn't know what. She just knows that it's necessary for all of them to be here, in this place, at this time. All of Cersei's enemies are present, from the High Sparrow himself, to Margaery and her Tyrell relations, even down to her Uncle Kevan who'd sought to have Cersei displaced from the Small Council. Rage surges inside her at the High Sparrow's smug little expression and his refusal to believe that anyone would deny his gods. Margaery denies his gods, now and for always.

"Forget about the bloody gods and listen to what I'm telling you! Cersei understands the consequences of her absence and is absent, anyway! Which means she does not intend to suffer the consequences. The trial can wait. We all need to leave."

but the High Sparrow only scoffs and does nothing. she could throttle the man where he stands. her hands itch to do so and she barely restrains herself.

she's given up on the old fool and calls out to the crowd as loudly as she could. "We all need to leave now!" finally, the crowd begins to stir, but she only has eyes for her brother, going up to him and cupping his chin in her hand, whispering "Loras. Stay with me." she puts her arm around him and begins towards the exit.

all of the crowd is now surging towards the doors now, but there's a ring of Sparrows between them and safety and the Sparrows have interlocked arms to prevent anyone from leaving. she tries to shove her way past them, anyway. "Let me through. Let me through! Let us through!"

it's to no avail. the Sparrows are too strong for her to overcome and she curses her own weakness.

failing to get past the ring of awful little Sparrows, she turns and faces the High Sparrow, accusing him with her eyes of murdering them all.

she hears a rumbling beneath her. a great rumbling as the floor surges beneath her feet.

she has no time and no will to be afraid, only enraged that no one would listen to her and it's come to this.

green surges through cracks in the floor. bright, poisonous green. she sees it for a moment, then sees nothing.

and the memory fades]

[kingforboth]

[Kelson took a few deep breaths. No matter how many times it happened, it was still strange. She wasn't Deryni, there was no rapport, no ritual, nothing. Just chance and a touch. He could imagine how unnerved others were. He was unnerved and he was used to sharing, granted, he was used to sharing a little more than this. He wasn't privy to her mind, her thoughts, it was....that memory. At least he understood why she didn't want to go back. If she even could. To people who did not listen, did not respect, who were too caught up in religious fervor to think of possible consequences. That at least, he did understand.

He took a few moments to center and breath, and move his hand a little further away, and took her memory and bury it inside himself, along side other memories no one else had any business sharing during rapport or ritual. Like Janniver's rape or his dreams of Rothana.]

I was not expecting that.

[He knew how she had died. He just...never expected to experience it.]

[bythewaves]

[ Memory begets memory, and Maglor too, has held his wife in his arms as she died.

The gates are mother-of-pearl, the walls white, or they would have been, once. Now they're blackened with soot and spattered with blood, and the stone quays beneath your feet are slick, the colorful mosaics damaged and smudged. The night is dark, moonless, lit by lurid flames, and voices are screaming and calling out, the clash of battle.

And in the chaos, Maglor whirls, not yet the deadly warrior he will become, but these are fishermen, not soldiers, that he fights (although a boathook is just as deadly as a sword, really).

Makalaure! A voice screams, and he turns, eyes wide and wild and unknowing, sword in hand, blood up, and in that moment it is already too late.

Makalaure... the woman whispers, eyes as grey as the sea, and blood on her lips and staining her silver hair and running down her dress.

Fal?! He gasps, and drops the sword to grab her, but it's already too late, buried as it is in her breast.

Fal, Fal, no, beloved, no, please! I didn't mean it, beloved please!

Makalaure... she breathes, trying to lift a hand to comfort him, and her lips shape a word, but the light is already gone from her eyes and her body is heavy in his arms.

Fal! he wails, and the sound is inhuman, digging into mind and soul like jagged slabs of ice, dropping those nearby in their tracks, ears bleeding.

Maglor reels back from Kelson with a gasp, pushing the memory down ]

[kingforboth]

[The first thing that struck Kelson was the emotions, first Maglor's own and then his own as he staggered from the memory. The second thing was that Maglor had a different name? Maybe it was a title? Well, Kelson had five names and multiple titles, so, he wasn't exactly one to judge.

The memory hit close to home, too similar to Sidana and he closedhis eyes briefly to deal with and push down the emotions. He had thought he had put them to rest. Perhaps there were some things that just hurt. He almost reached out a hand to grasp the elf and then stopped, not wanting to trigger it all over again.]

Are you alright?

I Want To See Four More Bodies On That Tree

[kingforboth]

A battered and bloody village in the middle of a warzone was no place to hold court, but one did what they needed too. Kelson was sitting in his camp chair, an array of enemy soldiers before him, his own men surrounding them. Two men before in front of him, the enemy soldiers peering and watching anxiously for some hint of their own fate. The men had been stripped to their undergarments, wrists bound behind them, and one of them had been gagged, having tried Kelson’s rather poor temper already.

“Brice of Trurill, step forward.” Kelson looked up expression matching his cold tone.

“Brice, Baron of Trurill, you have been found guilty of high treason. Not only have you broken faith with your sworn liege and king, giving allegiance to a suzeraine in unlawful rebellion against her rightful over-lord, but you have aided enemies of this realm and victimized its innocent subjects without mercy. Therefore, it is the sentence of this tribunal that you be hanged by the neck until dead--and be thankful that I do not have you drawn and quartered, as your ‘sovereign lady’ has done my bishop. Sergeant, take him to that tree across the clearing and carry out the sentence.”

The prisoner struggled in his bonds and the yet unsentenced one gasped in horror. Behind Kelson, his advisors quietly voiced their disapproval of their kings actions. Not only had they never seen Kelson in such a violent and bloodthirsty mood before, but they’d never seen him so unforgiving. And to not even grant the men a few minutes to prepare for death….

“I will not discuss it further. Sergeant, hang him.” As the guards and the sergeant grabbed a rope and dragged the man over to said tree, Kelson did his best to ignore the rumblings of the disapproving Dukes and council members behind him. But Kelson was not quite done yet.

“Ithel of Meara, step forward… I find you likewise guilty of high treason and assign the same sentence: death by hanging. ”

“But I’m a prince!” The boy about the same age as Kelson looked like he was about to cry. “You can’t just hang me like a common felon!”

Kelson wasn’t having any of it however, although he kept his voice even and level. “You are a common felon. By your heartless destruction of towns like Talacara and others too numerous to mention, your rape of defenseless women --”

The boy interrupted. “Rape? I had no part in rape! Ask my men, I was never even off my horse!”

Morgan, one of Kelson’s advisors and Generals, who had previously stated his disapproval, stepped forward. “I believe that His Majesty is referring to a certain abbey farther south of here, where you personally violated religious sanctuary and raped at least one of the women who had taken refuge there.”

And then, the boy’s face when white, realizing exactly how much Kelson knew and how he had gotten the information. Magic. Actually, he looked a little faint. “Who told you that lie?” Ithel grasped at straws, desperate.

“Is it a lie?” Kelson watched and waiting, standing now instead of sitting. “Shall I ask Duke Alaric to ascertain the truth?”

Poor Ithel turned even whiter and looked unsteady, as Kelson threatened the use of Deryni magic to read his mind. The boy probably thought it would corrupt his soul. Good. Let him be afraid. Kelson found it easier to use Alaric Morgan with dealings of magic. The men were already afraid of him, and Kelson’s heritage and use of magic, whether it was heretical or divine right, was still up for debate in some circles. Why tempt fate when it was so much easier to dangle the devil in front of them. So, Kelson used his Champion’s reputation well, Deryni magic was feared, and those fears fanned by the Church. There was even the rumor that Alaric had cloven hooves instead of feet.

“At least let me die by the sword! Please don’t hang me! You granted my brother---!”

Kelson interrupted again. “No.” His words were final, his voice stern, and his Champion looked at him, continuously surprised by boy’s words and actions. And ruthlessness. Kelson knew the man, who was as much a father to him as his own had been, was not happy with him. At the moment, he did not care.

“There is honor in death by the sword. Your brother, despite his crime of murder, truly believed he acted in honor, for the honor of his family. That is why I granted him an honorable death. Your acts had no honor, for yourself or your family:”
“But!”
“The verdict has been given. Sentence will now be carried out. Guards, take him away.”

Kelson’s gaze flicked to the tree where the other body was already twitching at the end of the rope, and the guards dragged the stumbling and hysterical boy away. Then he looked coldly at the remaining enemy soldiers.

“Now...what to do with you?”

[bloodburdened]

[she's in a temple at Ostagar. it's nighttime and it's cold.

Mariane had picked at her supper, too busy thinking about her parents and the encounter in the Korcori wilds and the Joining whatever that may be. she dallied as long as she could, surrounded by a pack of of older, surely more capable Grey Wardens, then finally dragged herself away to join Jory and Daveth.

she'd arrived in time to hear Jory complaining again and Daveth having none of it. Mariane is sick of his whining as well. "There's no use in complaining. We've come this far," not that that was a particularly comforting thought.

Jory and Daveth continue to argue, Jory seeming to have regrets about having agreed to become a Grey Warden in the first place, Daveth arguing the point that Grey Wardens were essential to end the Blight. Mariane sighs. she's had nothing but second thoughts ever since she was taken from her parents. she sees no use in entering their argument and so she stays silent, watching with a dull curiosity.

that is when Duncan finally joins them and says calmly, "At last, we have come to the Joining. The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight when humanity stood on the verge of anihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint"

a surge of alarm enters Mariane. drink the blood of darkspawn? wasn't that poisonous, a sure way to a slow and terrible death?

Jory protests again, "We're going to drink the blood of those--those creatures?"

Duncan remains as calm as ever, "As did the Grey Wardens before us. As we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory.

Alistair, the other Grey Warden interjects "Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon."

Mariane is hardly reassured. she's sixteen years old. barely! she can fight, it's true, she did better against the darkspawn than she thought she would, but surely there has to be somebody, anybody out there more suited for this than she is. but even if there were, Duncan had used the Rite of Conscription on her. there was no escape, no solace to be had.

Duncan continues, "We speak only a few words before the Joining, but these words have been said from the first. Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair bows his head slightly and says in a hushed tone, reverence clear in his voice, "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day, we shall join you."

Mariane swallows, a feeling of finality settling down on her, causing her to bow her head herself. she has little hope that she'll survive this Joining, believing that Duncan plucked her from her home for nothing.

Daveth is the first to be called forth. there seems to be no hesitation in his mien as he takes the chalice containing darkspawn blood to his lips and takes a swallow of its contents. at first, he seems fine. but then he staggers and falls to his knees, collapsing onto the ground. dead. Duncan apologizes, but Daveth is far past the point of hearing.

Duncan then calls Jory forth. but Jory rebels, pulling his sword on the other man, protests about his wife and child and his home on his lips and preparing to fight. Duncan tells Jory that there's no turning back, but Jory continues to protest. Duncan sets the chalice down on a nearby bench and pulls his dagger. there is a quick clashing of blades, but then Duncan's dagger finds its way past Jory's defenses, deep into his body. He apologizes. Jory collapses to the ground, dying.

Duncan takes the chalice back and says, slowly advancing on Mariane. "But the Joining is not yet complete. You are required to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good."

Mariane takes a single, involuntary step back, but then stills. she knows there's nothing she can do to save herself now and a sense of resignation fills her body. she reaches for the chalice, looking into it for a long moment, before bringing it to her lips and taking a deep swallow of the darkspawn blood.

it's disgusting, it's still warm somehow, and slimy. it tastes like she imagines desecration feels. but . . . unlike Daveth, she's able to hand the chalice back to Duncan on her own.

she looks up at the two Grey Wardens, eyes darting between them both, searching for a sign of--of something? hope, perhaps? but both men remain watchful, eyes giving away no emotion beyond that of acceptance of what has occured.

Duncan intones "From this day forth, you are a Grey Warden." the last thing Mariane wanted to be, yet she still feels--odd. disgusted by the blood, but not sick. were she to die as Daveth had, surely she'd be feeling the ill effects by now? part of her wants to laugh at the irony of the least qualified recruit being the only one to survive becoming a Grey Warden, the rest of her simply wants to weep.

but that's when she feels it. hears it. voices in her mind, a strange feeling settling over her body. she staggers slightly, cupping her forehead in her hand.

and then she sees it. a massive dragon--no, an Old God--no, an Archdemon appears in her mind's eye, a terrible screeching sound coming from its body.

she closes her eyes and collapses.

when she opens her eyes, both Duncan and Alistair are staring down at her with expressions that seem. slightly warmer than they had before. because she survived. because she's a Grey Warden.

Duncan says, "It is finished. Welcome."

and Mariane's eyes slip closed again and the memory fades]

[kingforboth]

[Idly Kelson wondered if that memory vault he had created had a capacity. Was it limitless or was he eventually going to run out if he kept putting memories in it. He supposed it must be limitless. He never got any inkling of anything else from Father Duncan, and he knew he must act as confessor to others besides himself. This woman he unintentionally bumped into--really he was going to have to watch where he was going, he did not know, although, he had witnessed what seemed like a monumental experience for her.

Actually, it reminded him a little of his own Haldane power ritual. Thankfully, he only found out later that they thought it could kill him. Not exactly something you wanted to tell a fourteen year old who had no choice in the matter and just might die anyway in the morning.

If he hadn't been king for four years, Kelson might not have masked his disgust so well, but he thought he did pretty good. She had drunk....demon blood? Or of some monster? Or dragon? Something. She had drunk something's blood. Good lord he was grateful that although blood was involved in his ritual, he didn't have to drink it.]

I suppose I should introduce myself. King Kelson of Gwynedd. [This wasn't awkward in the least. Meet someone knew, possibly find out some horrible and weird thing about them.]

cw: burning

[iron_beneath_beauty]

It was too overwhelming, not only to carry his emotions and see through his eyes, but to carry the burdens of her past and feel that same anger again. She watched the men, pleading as Kelson ordered their deaths, not bothering to see to the sentencing himself. She knew the manner her father handled such things, and while not all men were the same, this seemed so...callous and high minded. If he was going to punish these men, better he swing the sword. What was worse was that the pleading of the prince brought forward in full force memories of her father and brother, the words of what happened to him and how they were toyed with for sport.

'Did they scream? Did they plead and beg like this man?' She shook her head, shutting her eyes to the surroundings, as though it would push away these memories that were not her own. Her stomach churned painfully, lurching with every breath she took. All of this was too close to Westeros and for a moment, she could believe that the smell of burned flesh was heavy in the air.

"Please, no more. It's enough."

Re: cw: burning

[kingforboth]

Kelson was really going to have to start wearing gloves, or give people here a wide berth. He took a step back immediately, but still close enough to offer help if needed. He took a look at her as she shook her head, eyes closed as if in pain. He didn't recognize her. Was she knew? Or had he not been paying attention? He half reached out to try and steady her, but stopped himself, not wanting to transfer another memory.

"My apologies. That was unintentional. Are you alright?"

Whatever it was she saw, she was shaken by it he was sure. It most likely had not been a pleasant memory. But that could have been anything from one of the multiple wars to listening to one of Archbishop Loris' sermons. Kelson shuddered at the thought, and then remembered executing the man. That at least made him feel mildly better. But whatever that memory was she had witnessed, he was sure it as not fitting for female eyes. Nothing he could do about that now exactly.

He really did need to buy some gloves. Maybe Margaery could make some for him.

(tw: gore)

[ragnarsson]

Some might have found the scene repugnant or even horrifying. Ivar instead watched with fascination at this side of Kelson that he'd never seen before. Ivar himself had dispensed justice before, usually in a manner even more brutal than this. To know the king had some iron steel in him made Ivar respect him more than he'd been warranted to up to now.

In exchange, Kelson gets a memory of Ivar's, one of his favorite, though others would likely find it disturbing.

It is a cold, rainy day and the Ragnarssons look bloodied from battle. They stand (or in Ivar's case, lie) over a large pit. This is where Ragnar died. There is a disheveled fat man with scraggly black hair, an axe being held to his throat by Sigurd. He's not very impressive scared out of his wits like he is, but this is King Aelle, Ragnar's killer. He tries to bargain with Ragnar's sons in Old English, promising them gold, silver, anything that they want.

"You are mistaken," Ivar replies in the same tongue. "My father was worth far more than gold and silver." He turns to look at Aelle with fury and hatred in his eyes. "That is not the price that you must pay."

As day turns to night, the killing of King Aelle gets underway. They plan to blood-eagle him, a punishment so severe it's only been performed one other time in living memory. They nail his hands down and it begins. It is done by Bjorn, Ragnar's oldest son. Ivar would have liked the honor, but he can't stand long enough to get it done, and Bjorn has earned it more than him. He watches from the other side in fascination.

It starts with a red-hot knife cutting away the skin and muscle in Aelle's back. This is peeled back until two large strips are formed on either side of his body. Then an axe is taken out, hacking away at his ribs until they're broken. Ivar crawls towards him as the blood splatters through the air, equal parts fascination and delight on his face. He crawls right up to Aelle, wanting to see the very moment when the spark of life leaves his eyes. Aelle finally dies when his lungs are ripped out of his chest, dying from a combination of suffocating and shock. Ivar looks immensely satisfied.

By the next morning, they've hoisted Aelle's body up, and it is hanging from two poles, with the two flaps of skin serving as "wings", showing why the blood eagle is called such. His sons look on, Ivar on Floki's back, recalling their father's words. 'How the little piggies will grunt, when then hear how the old boar suffered.' He's gotten revenge for his father, just as Ragnar wanted him to. One king down. Another to go.

When the memory ended, Ivar was left looking at Kelson with a curious sort of half-smile on his face. "You've been holding out on me. You're much more vicious than you look."

[kingforboth]

Kelson had heard Ivar describe the Blood Eagle during their first encounter, when Kelson had initially arrived. He had never seen it however. He admitted, it seemed an awful lot like needless pain, but it wasn't as if drawing and quartering someone was any different. Or impaling. Each kingdom had their own culture and structure of punishment. It still made Kelson a little sick though. As was Ivar's expression and look of absolute delight.

He liked Ivar. He was intelligent, and asked interesting, well thought out questions, however, this was a side of him he wasn't comfortable with. Which was delightful considering the current living situation.

"From you, I'll take that as a compliment." Kelson knew being king wasn't all softness, venison and hot baths. His reign had involved a great deal of bloodshed, and he did not like it. Not that he had to like it, he just had to do it.

"What makes you say that?" Kelson took a breath. "You know, we once compared different punishments. You described what you called a Blood Eagle to me. I must admit, I never expected to see it." Or for you to enjoy it so much. But Kelson could not blame him exactly. He too had killed his fathers murderers. But it hadn't been so bloody. He tried to swallow, and hope the vaguely sick feeling would go away.

What does not kill you?

[kingforboth]

Kelson shifted his legs, eyes fluttering open as he moaned softly. Everything hurt.

“Kelson! Thank God!” He heard a voice and footsteps as they got closer, and fingertips on his forehead. “Kelson, are you alright? Can you hear me, Kel?” Kelson forced his eyes open. Where was the sky? Were they underground? He forced himself to focus on his blood brother’s face, his red hair and freckled face, who was bending over him rather anxiously.

“Where do you hurt worst? Can you tell me?”
“Thirsty--” Kelson’s lips were swollen but he was able to form the words. His head was killing him. Was it even the same size?
“You’re Thirsty. Yes, of course. Here, let me help you sit up a little.”
“So thirsty….” Kelson repeated, feeling like his head was underwater, and extremely tired.He felt Dhugal raise his head gently and tipped a flask to his lips. Kelson sipped the wine, taking five deep swallows before pushing it away.

“S good. God, it feels like a fire in m’stomach, though. Have we any food?”

“‘Afraid not. Not right now, at any rate. I was going to build us a fire, but I was afraid to leave you unconscious. If you think you’ll be all right alone for a few minutes, I’ll get some wood and see if I can get it started.”

“M not a baby,” Kelson replied, not quite able to form words well or think straight. “I’ll probably just go back to sleep.”

“Sorry, but I can’t let you do that. You were unconscious Kelson, I don’t know for how long, but you’ve got a concussion. I--don’t know how bad it is, but I want you to try and stay awake for a while. You were practically comatose.”

Kelson blinked, totally uncomprehending. “Comatose?”
“In a coma, unconscious.” The boy’s voice sounded wary suddenly. “Do you remember what happened?” Kelson shook his head, which made it hurt even more.
“I have the feeling I should know what you’re talking about, but I---” Kelson stopped suddenly and when completely white, his hand shooting up to grab Dhugal’s shirt. “Dear God, everything’s blurring. I can’t breathe! And my head---“

If Kelson hadn’t been battling against skull fractures and brain damage, he would have guessed it too. He would have recognized the bitter aftertaste and the telltale symptoms. As it was he heard clink of the flask being flung away, felt a fire growing larger in his stomach, hot coals making him want to wretch it up but unable. Practically blind physically and magically, his limbs fast losing sensation and movement and yet screaming out in pain, he tried to gasp for breath but was unable.

Kelson was yanked into a sitting position, fingers jammed down his throat while he gagged and wretched. Water forced down and repeated until Kelson hadn’t the strength anymore to resist and was limp in his blood brothers arms. His last moment of consciousness was feeling Dhugal ram past his already battered and pocketing shields, wanting to scream at the sensation but unable too, and then blissful unconsciousness as Dhugal seized control of his respiration centers and forced him to keep breathing.

[unphase]

[they've never met before, but he'll find her sitting on the edge of a high obelisk, stewing over the actions of a boy.

Where is he? She arose at the ungodly hour of four to sneak out of HQ and fly all the way to Washington. and if he slept in, she'll kill him. he's 47 minutes late. she counts off his crimes to the tick of the clock:

one: he's late.

two: he's already got a girlfriend.

three: he gives bad gifts. a cactus of all things--!

four: he's late.

five: he's already got a girlfriend.

six: --but that's when the object of her affections shows himself, a hangdog expression on his face as he says "I'm late."

despite herself, Tinya's thrilled to see him and she's probably doing a terrible job of showing it as she cries out "Ultra Boy!"

he manages to meet her eyes for a moment, embarrassment writ plain over his features as he replies "Please. Call me Jo."

but Tinya's had time to recover and she retorts "That's not all I'm going to call you! You're forty-eight minutes late!"

Jo's expression of embarrassment only gets worse as he looks down and says quietly, "I know. I'm sorry."

and there's a seventh crime: he's adorable.

she flies into his arms and says "Forget it. I'm glad you made it."

the expression on Jo's face clears and he gives her a little grin, something of that cocky Rimborian street-rat showing. "Me, too. Really glad."

and off the two of them fly, on their date. Tinya giggles to herself, smiles, and says "I got the cactus."

Jo grins in reply. "Oh, good. I hope you liked it."

Tinya shakes her head at him and smiles brightly. "I like roses."

Jo reaches up to scratch the back of his head and mutters "Right. Of course. A cactus, jeez. I don't know what I was thinking about."

despite her joy at seeing Jo again, Tinya feels a sinking feeling in her tummy at the thought of who else he might have been thinking about. "Me neither. Spider Girl, maybe?" his girlfriend. who was a few inches taller, a few inches bigger in the bust and smaller in the waist and surely the kind of girl who could handle a boy like Jo, rough and uncivilized, at least compared to Bgztlian standards.

Tinya didn't know what she was thinking, that a girl like her could be a match for a boy like him. all she'd known in life was comfort and privilege and all he'd known was deprivation and struggling to get by using his fists or his wits. how could she relate to that? and why should such a boy give her a second glance?

and the memory fades]

[kingforboth]

[Maybe he should just stay inside for a few days until this all passes. Then again, he's likely to get to know the inside of Ivar and Alfred's minds and memories more closely than either of them wanted. So, he was out and about, subjecting himself to the minds of friends and strangers when people weren't looking where they were going. Or reaching for the same item in one of the shops. No, sequestering himself was not the answer. Well it was one answer, but it wasn't the mature one.

And now Kelson could say he knew what it was like to be a teenage girl. And what ever was that boy wearing?? Was it supposed to be that tight?]

Um....

[Kelson puzzled over what to say. What was a cactus? Was it a plant like roses or some other kind of gift?]

What's a cactus?

Rape of St. Brigid's -- For Margaery

[kingforboth]

The smell and the sight coming from the convent of St. Brigid’s had been enough to make his younger cousin wretch. Ransacked was not the appropriate word. Desecrated, destroyed. The smell of vomit, shit and urine coming from the altar and various rooms was overpowering. Habit clad bodies were huddled together in various states of filth and undress. Bodies of a monk and five lay brothers, as well as some nuns were being taken care of and injuries tended. However, Kelson was interested in one in particular, a sister acting as self proclaimed protector of one of the attacked.

“I wish to bring the perpetrators of this deed to justice if I can. I will read her, Rothana. Stand aside.”
“Ah, then, do you mean to use physical force and overpower me? Does that serve your sense of honor?”
“What?”
“If that is your choice, there is nothing I can do to prevent it, of course. For you are two armed men , and I am only a woman, and as defenseless to stop you as she was.”
“My lady--” Kelson tried again.
“Go ahead and overpower me!” Rothana taunted. “For I swear that is the only way you shall touch her. And I doubt even the two of you would dare attempt any other force to overwhelm me. I do not know your training, but I know mine. Nor would you wish to risk what might be drawn down upon you!”

Kelson was amazed. He doubted Rothana really would wage full scale psychic warfare against him, but this was the first time he’d met a Deryni woman near his own age before. He was a bit in awe of her.

“My lady, please try to understand. If I can find out who, specifically, was responsible for what happened here, it will tell me a great deal about my enemy. And I shall find him--mark me. And when I do, I shall mete him the fate he deserves.”

“Shall you, then, my lord? And shall you then take your vengeance upon him? Will that restore what Janniver of any of the others have lost?”
“My lady--” Kelson was not getting anywhere with her.

“‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I will repay.’ The Lord of Hosts will do this, Your Majesty--not Kelson Haldane, Lord of Gwynedd!”

Kelson wasn’t sure if she wanted to kill her or what. She was completely maddening. Also, quite pretty. He balled his fists and tried again. “It is not vengeance I seek, my lady, but justice. ‘Oh Lord, with your judgement endow the King, and with your justice the King’s son.’ Do you think you are the only one who can quote scripture to support an argument?”

This time, Rothana’s mouth opened and shut again in astonishment and anger.

“You can turn your back on me, my lady, but you can’t turn your back on sacred writ--not if you have any respect for what that habit means!” Kelson was angry. ‘Let our strength be the law of the just. For that which is feeble is found to be nothing worth’. I want to bring him to justice under law, Rothana. I will not countenance this sort of behavior in my kingdom --and especially not in men formerly sworn to uphold my laws.”

“Then, take your hand off me, my lord.” Rothana was just as angry.”If you have any respect for the habit that I wear.”

The two argued back and forth for a time, until Kelson tried a different approach. “If you won’t let me read her directly, you do it. And then let me read the pertinent information from your mind.”

Rothana agreed and set herself down besides the girl, Kelson himself centering and preparing himself for his own rapport when she was ready. Then she reached out her hand, it was soft in contrast to the calluses on his own. He lowered his shields and allowed the two of them to be drawn together, to let her control.

And then all of a sudden he was in Janniver’s memory, feeling someone’s wet mouth work over skin, gauntleted fists hurting tender flesh and face, swordbelt unbuckling. The part of Kelson that was still king noted the coat of arms on the man’s surcoat, the face and hair coated with sweat. But most of Kelson was Janniver, shaking and shrinking with fear and pain, shame and embarrassment. The emotions, pain, the entire experiernce paralyzed Kelson, and he could not break the connection even if his life had depended on it.

It had only been a brief moment, a glimpse into what Janniver herself had experienced, but Kelson was absolutely drenched with sweat by the time it ended. His heart was pounding, he was panting, trying to catch his breath, his hand clutched so hard to Rothana’s he was amazed he had not broken it. He had to take several minutes of gasping air, absolutely panicking, his methods only helping a little.

“I’m not sorry for what I did,” Rothana whispered at him. “I had to make you understand what she felt. You’re a man. You can’t know what it means to be a woman, and to be --used that way. And Janniver had been so sheltered, so protected…..”

“You’re right,” Kelson finally managed to whisper. “I wouldn’t have had any idea. If you think it best to blur her memory, by all means, do it. I only wonder who will blur yours-- or mine. “

“One who gives oneself to a life of healing must expect to bear such burdens, my lord. Just as one who wears a crown must ever feel its weight.”

[roseofthetyrells]

[Kelson finds himself in a dirty, dank cell, not large enough to stretch out and sleep in. Margaery is in there, stripped of her finery, her flattering gowns and her perfectly kept hair.

it becomes clear that Margaery has been in there a long time. she's filthy, her hair is matted, and it's clear that she's been left to. . . make water and other things in a corner of the cell. she coughs, trying to get some of the damp and dank out of her lungs to no avail. she hears movements outside her door and fears that it is the Septa again, come to beat her about the head until she confesses to what--? to lying to protect her brother? to doing whatever she could to help him? she counts neither as sins in her mind.

instead, it's her goodmother, Cersei, entering the cell with a bowl of something covered in cloth. when the cell door closes behind her, Margaery is plunged back into complete darkness.

her goodmother speaks: "It's horrible. Unacceptable. Are they feeding you enough at least?" false concern lights every note of her voice and if Margaery were stronger, she'd rise up to throttle the life out of the other woman on the spot. but she's weak. she's so weak.

her goodmother puts a bowl on the floor and says "I brought you this. Venison. From last night. I had it myself. It's quite good," she continues "Tommen even went to the High Sept to confront the Sparrows, but I fear the Faith has left reason behind."

Margaery will have none of it, telling her oh so beloved mother in law "I know you did this."

Cersei simpers and says "We are making every effort on your behalf, I swear to you by all the Seven Gods," and she continues to lie "We did everything we could from the moment they took your brother." Yes, Loras. Imprisoned for the "crime" of loving other men. Something the Faith turned a blind eye to before Cersei empowered the Sparrows and set them loose on King's Landing.

Margaery replies weakly, but not without venom of her own "Lies come easily to you. Everyone knows that. But innocence, decency, concern? You're not very good at those, I'm afraid. Perhaps that's the reason why your son was so eager to cast you aside for me."

Cersei continues to simper, "You're upset. You're not thinking clearly. I'll visit you again when you've had a chance to calm down."

Margaery speaks as firmly, as queenly as she can, given the circumstances, "I don't want to see you again."

Cersei still keeps playing the innocent. it's not a role she was born to play and it's threadbare in the light of all that's happened, "I do hope you'll change your mind about that. I've been told that men often go mad in the Black Cells beneath the Red Keep. Though, I suppose your isolation will end as your trial begins."

Margaery summons her strength, such as it is. "Leave."

Cersei smiles smugly and says "Yes, I'm afraid I must. My son needs me more than ever."

At the mention of Tommen, Margaery's husband, the one who should be championing her innocence, but isn't, Margaery sees red, picks up the bowl Cersei left behind on the floor, and throws it at her, "Get out, you hateful bitch!"

At that, Cersei knocks on the door of Margaery's cell and is let out, leaving Margaery behind to continue to fester and ruminate in her cell, glaring death at Cersei all the while.

She knows that Cersei is behind this humiliation of her family and she's not about to let it pass without a fight of some kind. Though, what kind of fight Margaery can put up while locked in a cell, she's not entirely sure yet. but she will triumph]

[kingforboth]

[Kelson staggered, taking in the scene, feeling for the situation Margaery had been trapped it. She had played the game, but Cersei was a few steps ahead of her. And then, trapped, all she could do was bite and claw and desperately think. As for the cells, Kelson did not agree with them but it didn't mean he did not use them when necessary. He was quite sure that housing a queen, or nobility in one of them was out of the question though, even if the Church had been involved.

By this time, Kelson was almost getting used to the random memories. He sighed, grasping back at reality again.]

What this time? I saw you in a cell. It was most definitely not the place to house a queen, even a queen who may have done wrong. I'm sorry.