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Post: 88318361_16 created on Sun, 17 Nov 2013 05:18:41 +0000
Posted: Sun, 17 Nov 2013 05:18:41 +0000

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ჴ˗˗˗xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx °it x is x true x that x liberty x is x x*p r e c i o u sx ˖☈
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Val hadn’t expected the general to be so awake, so alert. He knew he was dealing with someone smarter than the average blundering bloke when he couldn’t see the bed before anyone on the bed could possibly see him. He had listened for the general’s breathing, trying to catch a hitch in volume, but nothing told him anything was off. So he drew his dagger and approached the bed. He wanted his pendant back. Acting on emotions and whim was never intelligent for an assassin, especially not now, but the fury he felt at losing it, the genuine despair, Val couldn’t hold it back.

Nichol had always been brave the way Val never was. He had been called Kieran when he was younger, born a rich council man’s son in the village. In the better times, Kieran had won his fair share of fights, and he more often than not came out top when competitions arose between the kids. But Nichol, the way he had stood up to the Giants when Kieran had been shivering in a cupboard was forever engraved in his mind. Just a few minutes more and the Giants would have found him. And if Kieran was more open about his feelings, he could readily admit that he’d always held Nichol in high regards, admired him, liked him. In every way a six year old could love someone, Kieran had loved his best friend.

Which was why Val would rather lose his life than the pendant.

He wasn’t entirely surprised when he was caught, disarmed before he realized it. “Give it back, the pendant you took from me!” Going hand to hand with a general who grew up in the battlefield wasn’t a smart idea. He had struggled, rather in vain to free himself. At the last second, when the dagger came bearing down on him, Val curled up his hand, twisting it so he caught the dagger with his hand rather than allowing it to nail his hand down. Pain blossomed, a brilliant red seeping through, soaking the bed sheet. Val ignored it. His own dagger laid nearby, forgotten.

“That’s horrifying. I’m shivering in my clothes. I don’t care where I go, or what you do to me! Give me back the pendant,” Val whispered. He could feel his pulse beating erratically against Loras’ hand, fluttering like a butterfly trying to break loose. He drove his unbloody hand up, aiming to drive his knuckles at the most sensitive nerves on the wrist of the hand holding onto his throat. He was about to draw the hidden blade in his mantle when the candle light flickering over Loras’ naked torso, catching on the tattoo. Val felt his eyes widen, a silent gasp escaping his mouth. Before he could think, he question, “Why do you have that tattoo on you? Where did you get it from? Why?”

He could feel the fight draining out of him, the pattern nearly engraved in his mind. How many times had he traced over the exact pattern with his fingers? Why was it on Glithamir's body. He couldn't peel his eyes away, captivated by the tattoo. Glithamir was too young to have raid their village, to learn of Nichol's family crest. Why...? The name tumbled past his lips before he could filter it, a low murmur of two syllables, "Nichol."

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Post: 88318361_17 created on Sun, 17 Nov 2013 18:32:07 +0000
Posted: Sun, 17 Nov 2013 18:32:07 +0000

♔↘↘

xxx

I'M GOIN' TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET / OH, DON'T YOU WORRY, I SAVED A SEAT FOR YOU

xxx

↙↙♥

Loras might have not gotten exactly what he'd wanted but he had his assailant injured and pinned beneath him. For now, he had the upper hand and he wasn't going to let it slip away. All that rage and rash action over the pendant that was his in the first place. Loras couldn't understand that. It almost made him back away but instinct kept him still, his form pinning down Valentine's legs to keep him from kicking out at him. It was baffling, really, to see such fierceness bottled up in someone over a trinket he must have stolen from a dead man's neck. He didn't care what happened to him, as long as he got it back? The confusion on Loras' expression was as clear as daylight in desert. And then there was pain, his fingers cramping up a little but hardly enough for him to lose control. His scars proved he'd rather have himself be injured than lose a fight and he wasn't going to lose that one, either. Pain was nothing compared to living. As long as he felt the pain, he knew he was alive.

"Why would I give you back something you've stolen," Loras hissed, and the fierceness in his own voice was something he was shocked to hear. It had been a long time since he'd gotten so emotional about anything and he'd nearly overlooked where the hand had been going before. Catching himself, he caught the wrist, pressing it down on the bed. He'd been just about to open his own mouth to insist that Valentine there had no right to ask any damned questions but he closed it, drawing his hand back from the redhead's throat in shock the moment the lowly spoken name had escaped him. He hadn't heard that name used around him in what... decades by now? He didn't even know for sure but it pained him to hear it more than any physical blow could have. His grip on the wrist he'd caught tightened into something bruising but the shock on his face lingered.

It took him a lost moment or two to regain his composure and stare down at the male pinned down on his bed. Why was it that he felt so damned familiar?! Why did he make him want to think back on those two children he remembered so distantly like they'd been a part of someone else's life? Loras didn't like that confusion. He did still remain crouching over the redhead, frowning down at him. "Kieran?" Loras made it a question, his expression tightening as he leaned closer to study the man's features, going as far as releasing the wrist he'd been desperately pinning to grasp the other's jaw and turn his face to catch a little more light.

That there was enough for him to straighten his back and back away as if he'd been bitten. "No. No, no, no-- where did you find out about my past?! Who told you?" No way was that guy the same kid he'd been running around with as a child. He wouldn't be there, trying to kill him. It couldn't be him. So, he was angry now. Angry because someone had given that guy the pendant, someone had told him his real name, the first he'd ever worn and someone had sent him there to dull his senses and finally kill him and the worst part was that it was working.

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Post: 88318361_18 created on Mon, 18 Nov 2013 03:34:46 +0000
Posted: Mon, 18 Nov 2013 03:34:46 +0000

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Stolen? What the bloody flying ******** did Glithamir mean, stolen? Nichol’s father had bestowed the pendant to him, after the entire village was convinced that the brave, brilliant man-child had passed away, probably tortured to death. Val himself held on to a thin silver of hope that Nichol was still alive, around. That was why he never let the pendant go, always keeping it close to heart. As close as Nichol had been. He struggled, inefficiently against gravity and Glithamir’s weight. It almost felt as though Glithamir was crushing his wrist, but he ignored it, lost in both his confusion and shock.

Why did a general from the enemy had Nichol’s family crest on his hip? If Glithamir was Nichol, why on earth was he fighting for the enemy? A small gasp escaped when Glithamir spoke that name, Val’s eyes widening. Before he could help it, he whispered, fiercely, “Don’t call me that!” Because Kieran was weak. Val wasn’t. Kieran was the past, buried and long forgotten. Val didn’t want to remember. Glithamir’s next words surprised him, building on the shock already cultivated. “What the hell do you mean your past?”

Once released, Val’s immediate instinct was to lunge forward, fight back, disable the other. His hand was still bleeding freely into the fur bedding, but he picked up his dagger regardless, leg sweeping out to curl around Glithamir’s and take the dagger to the general’s throat. But he couldn’t go on.

Finally, Val stopped, calming himself. It made no sense. Nothing made any sense, but he tried to make sense of the situation. If Nichol was still alive, in front of him. He could feel his heart leap in his chest, unbelieving. “Fifth birthday… I…you. Nichol…” God, the name felt so foreign spoke in the company of another person. But speaking the name felt like it was unknotting something inside him. “There was a wrestling match. Nichol won, but Kieran convinced all the witnesses to claim he won and so.... Do…you ?” Val wanted to ask if Glithamir remembered, but that seemed to be a stupid question. God hell damn. He was supposed to kill the general and kill the general he would. Didn't matter that the man somehow had Nichol's crest. Coincident, probably.

As he lunged again, this time fully intent on taking Glithamir's life, his mind momentarily flashed back to the moment. It had been a childish bickering match in the forest. Kieran had been jostling with Nichol, poking fun and teasing the other boy. In the end, they had gotten into a wrestling match, with a few friendly witnesses, namely four other young boys and girls. Nichol had easily beaten him, with Kieran laughing too hard to retaliate. But in the end, Kieran convinced everyone present to agree he won, much to Nichol’s chagrin. Nichol had ignored him for days afterward.

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Post: 88318361_19 created on Sat, 23 Nov 2013 15:56:02 +0000
Posted: Sat, 23 Nov 2013 15:56:02 +0000

♔↘↘

xxx

I'M GOIN' TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET / OH, DON'T YOU WORRY, I SAVED A SEAT FOR YOU

xxx

↙↙♥

This was impossible. However many times Loras had feared that his past would come back to haunt him, he'd never thought it would happen like this. Not in the shape of a redheaded savage who wanted to take his life and Loras knew he couldn't allow that. He'd fought too hard to survive all those years and he wasn't going to give it up. Not even now, not when his past was after his life; not when his past had come to punish him for all the blood that soaked his hands now. His own eyes widened just slightly because the name was clearly familiar to the redhead as well and if it was what he thought it was, just a way to make him drop his guards, the assassin had lived far too deep into his role. But the fact was that it pained him still. The merciless general he was now had been built over the remains of the little blond boy who'd just wanted to keep everyone else safe and now he was crumbling just a little.

The assassin carried on, speaking of things that he couldn't have known about unless he'd been there, but he remembered just one redhead from that time. Kieran, the dirty little liar he'd been sulking at for what felt like forever. Eventually just because he could because he couldn't have stayed angry at his best friend. His closest, dearest friend. Not that Loras had the time to think about it more. This time around, he found himself pressed down, the very tip of the blade digging into his skin and he was vaguely aware that it was drawing blood. It hurt, the moment he realized that, and he grunted, putting more strength into keeping the dagger away from himself and shifting to roll them both onto the hard ground, again struggling to disarm the man while trying his best to make sense of the memories and thoughts running through his head.

Eventually, he had to accept the possibility that maybe, just maybe, it was Kieran, trying to kill him for whatever reason there was. "You're still a dirty liar, aren't you?" After all, wasn't that what the little blond grump had told Kieran after everybody claimed that Nichol had lost? He'd stomped his feet, pouted, and looked like he'd been about to cry but he'd called Kieran just that. A dirty liar. His father had always held the truth in great honor, little jokes like that had hurt him more than they should have so he'd felt like he had every reason to sulk and ignore Kieran. "Let go of the dagger, Kieran. I've tried too damned hard to survive to let you kill me now. You owe me explanations." Too many of them, at that. About how his heirloom had ended up in Kieran's hands, about the past and about the reasoning why he was there, trying to kill him now.

"We've both spilled blood, it's enough for now. I won't call for the guards. If I can't handle you myself, I deserve to die, so stop for now and explain. Are you really Kieran? How did you get that pendant? Why the hell are you here?" Because damn it, he wasn't supposed to be there. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near there and he wasn't supposed to be trying to kill him. Especially not trying to kill him because Loras wasn't quite sure if he could kill Kieran. Sir Valentine Lyrennox? Sure. He wouldn't bat an eye when he lunged the blade into his heart but Kieran... there was still some sentimental value to Kieran. Maybe it was just a shred of humanity left beneath all the cruelty and bloodshed.

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Post: 88318361_20 created on Sun, 24 Nov 2013 07:38:16 +0000
Posted: Sun, 24 Nov 2013 07:38:16 +0000

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Val felt a brief smile flit over his features at Glithamir –Nichol’s?— words. Dirty liar. Yes, he’s always been a bit of a dirty liar. No, not a bit. A lot. After all, the truth was just all the words of the victor. But the words made him pause in the harsh attempt to claim Glithamir’s life. He wasn’t sure what to think. To think he would see Nichol in this kind of situation. Everyone thought the kid was dead, but even over the years, Val couldn’t forget his friend and the feelings he had that still wouldn’t go away no matter how many people he’d slept with over the years. Answering with the same words, “That truth is what the winner declares.”

He could hear Glithamir speaking, his old name tumbling from the general’s lips. His grip on the dagger fell lax, and he answered shortly, “I’m Val. Valentine. I’m not going to answer to Kieran. I was Kieran but I am not Kieran.” Nichol was a blond, but Glithamir’s hair was a few shades different, even though it was similar enough. Val could hear his heart beating violently inside his ribcage, almost threatening to break free. Nichol. Nichol. Nichol.

“Nichol’s father gave it to me because we all thought Nichol died and he didn’t want it buried with him. He said…to give to Nichol if I ever find him, I—" Val couldn’t bring himself to say ‘you’. He was here, quite obviously, to kill Glithamir. And it looked like he wasn’t going to be able to do so. Pushing himself up from where Glithamir had tumbled them both to the ground, Val took his dagger again. This time not to attack, but to do a trick with it.

Perfectly balanced in between 360 degree spins and an assortment of other twists and tricks, the dagger flitted and danced around his hand, flashing in the light. They were moves Kieran had practiced hundreds of time, with little success, using a chunky and unbalanced stone dagger they’d played with as children. Now, he was an expert at it, the much deadlier blade played to perfection. Finally, Val ended it, with the dagger balanced on one finger before it slid down, grasped in his palm. “Back then, I was lucky it was stone. This would have sliced me open several times over.”

A slant of lashes was all the warning Glithamir got before Val moved again. Definitely not aiming for injury, if the speed told Glithamir anything. Nichol and Kieran had practiced this offense and defensive-disarm technique when they were younger. It was a flashy, but ineffective combination that was fun to play out, but not practical. Val was merely mirroring the offense part of it, a feint to the right, before a complete turn of body that brought the dagger to aiming to plunge into the left side. After all, to Val, actions always spoke more than words. He couldn’t care less about what Glithamir, or even Nichol said, it was actions that could confirm everything. And he had zero time for doubts right now.

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Post: 88318361_21 created on Sun, 01 Dec 2013 04:35:39 +0000
Posted: Sun, 01 Dec 2013 04:35:39 +0000

♔↘↘

xxx

I'M GOIN' TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET / OH, DON'T YOU WORRY, I SAVED A SEAT FOR YOU

xxx

↙↙♥

When impossible situations were becoming a reality, the dark depths of the underworld must have been freezing over. The words shared had to have come from shared memories and no matter how much Loras wanted to deny the fact that his past had caught up with him, Kieran was there. In the flesh. Taller, older, stronger, so much stronger and so much crueler. Life had not been kind to either of them, which was why he couldn't reasonably insist that Kieran was Kieran if he wanted to be called Valentine. Not even Loras wanted his name spoken by the redhead but at the same time, he kept his heritage close to his heart. Once upon a time, he hadn't wanted to forget about it. He'd wanted to always remember why he'd ended up where he was and how much better he had been. Once, it had been about more than rash actions and following the orders of crazed kings.

Loras found no point in speaking the obvious. Nichol had been a crafty kid, of course he had survived. He'd adapted and he'd fought hard to survive because there had been a time when he'd wanted to make it back to his family, his friends, the friend he held dearest of them all. Time had changed a lot, of course. His heart was colder now, the innocent care and love of a child towards another child seemed unreasonable and rash and -- what if Kieran didn't care for all of that anymore? Which was why Loras' eyes were watching the dagger that was grasped again rather wearily. He could not cling to the past if there was the smallest of possibilities that all of it was being used against him. A general didn't become a general because he was a gentle man who liked to make decisions after weighing them for ages. Loras was one to react, quickly.

His eyes moved from the masterful play that Kieran - no, Valentine, he reminded himself - showed with the dagger and back onto the man's face. It wasn't rational to fall in place with the past combinations immediately. He let the blade pass him by, moving swiftly, but from the moment the practiced combination was recalled again, there was a tiny breath of a smile on his face that was there to stay. Kieran, always eager for actions. He let his fingers dance on the hand that had lunged out with the blade as he blocked it, twisted in that strange motion that had always reminded him more of dancing than an actual fight and swiftly knocked the blade out of Valentine's hand again. The motion wasn't as practiced as it had been before, maybe a little clumsy, but it was there. Naturally, Loras hadn't had a reason to practice something that could be so easily turned against him, something that left him with so many openings, when every move could have cost him his life.

It was the proximity to which the motion brought them that he'd never realized as a kid but it was the same proximity that he used to bring Valentine closer in a strange half-hug. Too tense to suggest that Loras had dropped his guard completely. "You were lucky that I-- we were children," he spoke quietly, letting his voice carry. "Now stop trying to kill me. I may deserve to die but I'm not going to make it easy for you or anyone else." The shedding of blood was to be repaid with the same. Those were the laws of the battle, weren't they? Loras wasn't caught in enough illusions to think that no one was trying to kill him. There were mild toxins he'd grown an immunity towards, more than enough scars on his body to suggest all that he'd survived and he wasn't going to throw all the suffering away, drop on his knees and die. Not yet.

"What happened to you, Kieran?" Calling the redhead Valentine felt about as off as calling him Kieran did, so he chose the lesser of the two evils. Chose the one he knew already despite of Valentine's objections. "You're too far away from home just to meet an old friend... I thought I made sure you wouldn't end up in a place like this? Didn't I?" He paused, hesitated for a fraction of a second and continued, "How are things back home?" Judged by the other's words, he suspected that his father must have been dead, or just too tired of waiting for Nichol to come home. Dead sounded more likely but he wondered if the place was the same as it had been when he'd been hauled off and in that same moment he wondered what a masochistic fool he was being to even think back on it all.

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Post: 88318361_22 created on Wed, 04 Dec 2013 03:21:05 +0000
Posted: Wed, 04 Dec 2013 03:21:05 +0000

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If there was doubt earlier, there wasn’t doubt now. The flickers of recognition as Val toyed with the dagger, the same way Glithamir caught the movement. There was honestly nothing effective about the feinting move, and to use it in an actual fight was pretty much a death sentence. But it was similar to twirling one’s partner in a dance, and the move was elegant, playful and it was something Val sometimes used to flirt with his targets. No one other Nichol really knew the actual reception to the move, but most people came up with something unique and sufficient.

The proximity of the move was something Val always noticed and secretly enjoyed. Back then, he thought it was nice and comfortable to be nearer to Nichol, but it was only years later, when the child-man had been long thought dead Val understood why he liked being close to Nichol. And even now, it hadn’t changed. Eighteen ******** years, dozens of conquests or flings and twenty actual lovers, wasn’t enough to rid himself of the immature childhood crush, apparently. And with the battle scars, thick muscles, dressed in nothing but breeches, Glithamir-Nichol looked far better than Val really had the right to think.

Val had a feeling Nichol would be horrified if he knew of the effect of his embrace and of the thoughts that ran rampant for a moment.

Glithamir’s initial words confused him. Lucky that they were children? But he dismissed it, knowing there was so much more to talk about. In a playful move that was more Kieran than Val, he hugged Glithamir back, noting just how incredibly foreign everything felt. And then there was the questions. “Your father passed away, leaving me with the pendant. I left soon after you did, couldn’t bear to stay. The Organization took me in, trained me. I’ve been doing full missions for them for the last six years. You were my assignment. I was going to take it slow, stay low and unsuspicious, but when you took …” Well, they both knew what happened then.

“The village’s been destroyed for years,” Val replied quietly. “There were raids and people left because it’s an unsafe border state. Then, there was a drought. Most people headed to the cities nearby or were otherwise slaughtered. The land is under Gyrdion control now, but no one’s bother re-establishing settlements there.”

Val moved back, regarding the general. He could still see some shadows of his former friend, the familiar angles, now sharper and far more mature, but nonetheless still there. “Why are you fighting for the enemy?” Then again, he’d grown jaded enough to not identify with anyone, any country, any nation. He was simply his own man, a skilled killer for hire. “How are you still alive? We all thought you died. Before the village was destroyed, they planted a tree in your honor. It might still be there.” Unable to help himself, he pulled himself closer, tightening his grip on the other, burying his face into Glithamir-Nichol’s neck. “Don’t go away again.”

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Post: 88318361_23 created on Sun, 08 Dec 2013 13:48:48 +0000
Posted: Sun, 08 Dec 2013 13:48:48 +0000

♔↘↘

xxx

I'M GOIN' TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET / OH, DON'T YOU WORRY, I SAVED A SEAT FOR YOU

xxx

↙↙♥

The ghost of his past was warm to the touch and oh-so-eager to return his hug, allowing him the comfort and a little certainty to wrap his other arm around the man as well and enjoy the proximity he rarely allowed himself. People to fool around were just that, someone who passed through his bed and was gone the next day, or even the same evening, should he decide to kick them out. He'd chosen to live in a way that was secluded, careful about who he trusted, generous and loyal towards the few he did. Mostly, he just didn't trust. Loras kept his men happy and they followed him and that was that. Anyone else had not earned the happiness.

The answers, as they came, were making it worse, making him feel bitter and unsure if he even should have bothered with asking. His father was dead, the friend who was one of the top reasons why he'd left voluntarily had marched off soon himself, throwing away his freedom, become an assassin, the village was gone, there was nothing. Everything he'd sacrificed himself for without even knowing the true meaning of sacrifice was gone. The innocent hope of a child was turned to dust for good, although if Loras faced the facts, he'd learned very soon that what he did was worth nothing. It was simply painful to hear it now, having something scratching at those old scars. He didn't know what to say in response to all that so he said nothing. Nothing at all.

Instead, he observed his old friend just the same when Kieran moved back and snorted at his question. "The enemy? I've made myself a name, Kieran, and the face is recognized. The enemy is who I am. Do you think people would welcome me with open arms if I got up and left? Do you think there'd be one single Gyrdian not after my head to take it back to the king on a silver platter? I've survived long enough to become the monster, Kieran. I don't call the place my home but it is one of the last places where I have something to go back to." Wasn't that what happened to everyone eventually? They either died and died a hero remembered by many or they lived to see themselves become the monster.

Loras shook his head and sighed, pausing for a long moment before offering an answer to the next question. Pausing for long enough to have the other man wrap his arms around him again, to feel his breath on his neck when he insisted on him staying. "Promise not to try to stab me again and I'll stay," Loras joked sheepishly, in a way that was probably more Nichol than it had ever been Loras. He did pry himself away, after a few more moments, grasping the hand he'd stabbed at and frowning down at it. "Clean this up, wounds rot real fast out here. I'll get you something," he insisted, moving to unlock a chest sitting in the corner and rummaging through it.

While he was searching for something fitting to clean and tie the wound since he preferred to have his own bandages away from anyone who could tamper them, he spoke up again, to explain a little of his life. "I lived because I did what I was told. I learned to fight, then I learned to fight better than other people and then I fought in my first battles. I don't deserve having any trees planted for me." Although he had loved climbing on them in his youth. "The first years it was all training," he continued quietly, keeping his voice hushed because he never knew where ears could be twitching, "Training and serving, training and serving, and when I could hold a sword without stumbling around with it, I was marched out with the rest of the slave army. I can't honestly tell you how I lived... I wanted to live, so I survived, I suppose. Makes you a little hollow on the inside to kill everyone on your path, doesn't it?" He asked, standing to offer clear strips of cloth over to the redhead before heading to his bed and fishing out the necklace he'd hidden there.

Loras watched it for a few moments, held the pendant in his hand and then turned to the redhead again, walking up to him to slip it back around his neck. "If my father gave this to you, you deserve it more than I would. Keep it safe for me."

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Post: 88318361_24 created on Tue, 17 Dec 2013 23:05:47 +0000
Posted: Tue, 17 Dec 2013 23:05:47 +0000

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And Val wasn’t noble enough to see the world differently, think that there were concepts such as bloodline enemy and friend when survival became a primal and bloody struggle rather than a leisure human right. He didn’t think Nichol a monster either. Or perhaps, he simply couldn’t think the other a monster. They really had grown. How many humans fell beneath his blade? How many fell beneath Nichol’s blade? The numbers were definitely not small.

Val gave a small laugh, internally rolling his eyes at how Glithamir-Nichol refused to call him anything but the dead childhood name. Maybe, deep inside whatever conscious was remaining, Glithamir did look back and held on to the past. He shrugged as he was released, deciding not to push matters with no answer in the first place. Wounds rot mainly when the blade was dirty, contaminated. The humid weather was bad for healing, but an infected wound was of low priority in his mind.

He wrapped up his wound after applying the appropriate salves and cleaning water. “You don’t say. The graduation trial of the Organization was to kill off all the trainees except three every year.” Then, assassins not proving their worth were sent on missions that would cost them their lives because if the Organization couldn’t make money off the assassin, then the assassin was of no further use outside of the money the Organization could collect from their death. Val glanced at the general as he spoke, finishing the last knot on the strips he had wrapped around his hand.

“He said it was for you. I’m used to its presence, probably more so than you are, but it’s yours. I don’t quite want to take it,” Val said. His own family heirloom, from his actual birth name, Asthogorus, was long lost among ashes and dust now, but he vowed to find it again one day. There weren’t too many places that the third largest emerald in the world could go before someone heard of it. If rumors were anything to go by, the emerald matched the same shade of the green eyes his family was known for. Finally, he offered one last tidbit of information that could be seen as useful by Glithamir. “Men from Fort Nesch are coming in to attack tonight about two hours from now. I also have a defense strategy planned out. I arranged for it as part of the ploy to climb ranks here.”

“They’re going to come in from the east, and some of their men are already assimilated into the war party I brought back. Those men will be opening the door for their allies. I had planned to have conveniently lead men to stop the attack at the door, after observantly noticing how one of the agents were acting off,” Here he offered a shrug. Was he apologetic? Not really. Like Glithamir, he was doing what he had to do. But now that Glithmir-Nichol was proving to be more than the enemy general, Val felts as though these games shouldn’t exist between them.

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Post: 88318361_25 created on Sun, 22 Dec 2013 18:35:23 +0000
Posted: Sun, 22 Dec 2013 18:35:23 +0000

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I'M GOIN' TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET / OH, DON'T YOU WORRY, I SAVED A SEAT FOR YOU

xxx

↙↙♥

They had both had it rough, that much was obvious. Loras couldn't help but feel just a little disappointed that the life he'd chosen hadn't gained anything for the rest of the village but that was life. He'd been far too innocent and blue-eyed to actually know what he'd been getting into. Play-fights were just playing, after all. He hadn't known what war really was until he'd been put into the first situation when he'd really understood that it was either kill or be killed. There was no middle ground that he'd been able to take and there was none now. All that was left was fighting, surviving and the distant hope that someday the fight and the battles would be over and he could go back, try to settle down and hope that there was something left in him that didn't live for the battlefield. Lately, he doubted it. The battle felt reviving, like he could live and breathe easier when someone else died. Maybe he should have been frightened of how callous he'd become but he hardly gave a damn.

On the subject of his pendant, though, he shook his head. When he'd taken it, he'd though that this Valentine was a filthy thief and he could have him whipped until there was nothing but raw flesh on his back before he killed him, eventually. Surely there would have been enough men to want to live out some aggression and frustration on the enemy. Now, though, that had changed. Kieran was his friend, had been anyway and as he attached the pendant back around Kieran's neck, he spoke his reasoning, "I've made sure my memories of the family I had stuck to me," he said, gesturing down to the dark ink over his hip, "You're not the thief, you will keep this safe for me. Safer than it is around my neck. Won't you?" Although Loras made it a question, there was force in his voice there, something protective, something demanding, something from a man who he had become; one used to getting exactly what he wanted and having no arguments in return. Frankly, he wouldn't want to start a fight over his pendant again.

As Kieran supplied him with more information, Loras' expression darkened and twisted into an almost cruel smirk. "Still like to make everything difficult for me," he commented dryly, "So much for a nostalgic reunion." Not that he was actually expecting for one. The idea of a battle was more inviting, less suffocating and confining because he still didn't know how to handle Kieran. Didn't know what he wanted to say, what he wanted to do or if he wanted to have anything to do with his past, really. He wanted to be practical, wanted to get rid of the first little spies Kieran had helped infiltrate his troops and be done with it.

Reaching out, he rested his hand on Kieran's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "You and I will have words, many of them," he stated, "After I've made sure I won't lose any of my troops. You can share your clever strategy while helping me get my armor on." It was a two man job, at minimal. Although Loras' armor was by far forged by the finest of smiths of the lightest and strongest metals possible, it still had to be attached properly and since he wasn't going to rush to call his page or any of the other possible people, Kieran would have to do. Rummaging around, he quickly found a linen shirt to draw over his bare torso that was topped by the chainmail he could manage to pull on on his own. There were dents even in that that hadn't been fixed properly yet. Signs of the time that Loras had personally spent in battle even recently.

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Post: 88318361_26 created on Fri, 27 Dec 2013 03:17:52 +0000
Posted: Fri, 27 Dec 2013 03:17:52 +0000

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Selfishly, Val was glad to have the pendant back. It was a comfortable weight against his chest and in an odd way, it was all too satisfying to have a part of the apparently alive Nichol’s item with him. He allowed Lora-Nichol to tie it together behind his back again, metal warm against his skin despite everything. “Hardly difficult. I planned to solve my own problems, you see. Just…reap in side benefits while I do so. I intended to, at least, but no point going for a sardine now that I caught the whale.” He could have said shark, but he still liked to tease his friend. Old habits died hard, and if they did, they were revived.

“Not complicated enough to be a strategy. More of a fun little play. I was going to patrol around in about thirty minute, conveniently catch one of the spies opening the door and call out for troops I already stationed around.” That was all there was to it. If things fell to plan, Val would have the recognition and honors as a fast-thinking strategist. In reality, he had carefully ensured that things would fall into place. The best way to predict the future was to create it yourself, after all. “I sabotaged two of the cooling areas, so men that just finished their patrol or will finish their patrol will no doubt head to the ice storage area and stream near the door to rest. That way, the men will be there when I call. I accidentally leaked to the spies about the east door, so I know that’s what they’ll be using to let their friends in.”

Of course, there were finer details Val hadn’t divulged, like how he fished out the spy, pretended to be drunk and “accidentally” told the secret, so on. Funny thing was, spy was never suspicious why Val knew about the not-so-well-known and only lightly guarded side entrance. Val went over, aiding Loras-Nichol do his armor. He wasn’t as familiar as he could be with armors, chain and plate, but he knew how to do the armor up. It was heavy and difficult to maintain in place while he tied the knots together, but after some of the most frustrating moments in his life, he did it. This was honestly why Val intensely disliked armor. It helped in the messy battlefields, but it was unnecessarily frustrating and heavy.

“How about you let me proceed, though? Let’s admit it, I qualify on your little team of advisors and higher-council. All I really need is for this camp to know my name, which half of them already do,” Val suggested. He finished the last knot, the armor ready on his friend, but he saw no reason to not proceed with it. Unless Glithamir-Nichol had some better idea. Val knew who the spies were and being in the higher-council meant more time with Glithamir-Nichol, which Val liked. He wasn’t sure where he stood when it came to the war in general, and he’d rather not side with anyone, but he could definitely side with his friend.

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Post: 88318361_27 created on Mon, 30 Dec 2013 00:00:38 +0000
Posted: Mon, 30 Dec 2013 00:00:38 +0000

♔↘↘

xxx

I'M GOIN' TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET / OH, DON'T YOU WORRY, I SAVED A SEAT FOR YOU

xxx

↙↙♥

Things had changed since they'd been children. For one, Loras didn't let the little teasing shake him anymore. There was no reaction other than the little look of recognition crossing his expression. That was his Kieran alright, still trying to get under his skin the little rascal. He was no whale, no matter how you looked at it but that wasn't the point. There was an assault coming and there was no way that he wasn't going to be there, bleeding someone for no other reason than to show his men he could and would fight beside them; remind them that he was a skilled warrior, not just a young hothead who'd somehow managed to get a position above them.

"The east gate? And if the little sheep won't run the way the wolf chased them? What then? What if the word got around and they brought more men than the little patrols could handle?" Loras questioned, frowning at Valentine. He was risking his troops, over what? The expectation that a spy would do exactly as he wanted to? "If you think you can sell a thought that well, you could have done better as a merchant than an assassin, Kieran." The problem was that he'd been far too long out on the field. Everything and everyone was suspicious. Each and every possibility needed to be thought through and he'd be damned if he'd let his camp be attacked. That was his territory now; something he had shed blood for and fought to win. Loras was not going to believe that it would happen before he saw it happen and that was that. Whatever had happened to the boy who'd been eager to agree and not question how or why, he didn't know.

With the two of them, he did get his armor on, so that was something. A tiny bit of progress that made Loras feel a little better. If he'd died in an attack to his fort, he'd spend his last moments cursing whatever stupid thought would have made him run out without the armor. It might have been heavy but the weight of it was familiar. It didn't slow him down, either, and he'd trained hard and long for that. Actually, he was more than certain that it meant that without the armor, he could move even faster but that night wasn't the night to try that out. There would come a day when he'd get to do it anyway.

Clenching his jaw, he turned to Kieran with the dark frown lingering on his face. He wanted his friend there, he did. He wanted him near him, and at the same time, he wasn't sure he wanted to cling to the past so desperately anymore. He grabbed his hand, closed his own gloved one around it and drew their bound fists to his chest. "You have your thirty minutes but when they're over, I'm riding out. I'll say it's for scouting, cut off the escape for whoever is coming here and you'll get your chance of glory." That was it. One chance for Kieran to make his name and get a little closer to himself. "You're clever, Kiean, but I don't know, if I want you that close in the council. Don't get me wrong - you're tough, quick, good at what you do, and I loved you, old friend," he reached out with his other hand, brushing it through the redhead's hair and pulling him forward, pressing their foreheads together so he could stare him in the eye. "But a man who passes out from sharing a sip of wine with me after a battle, is a weak man." Loras grinned and maybe, just maybe, this time he was teasing. The general didn't know himself. Not for sure, anyway.

"Good luck, Kieran. You make sure you come back, understand?" His hand squeezed perhaps a little too tight when he said it. Not that he underestimated Kieran's skill. He didn't, he'd just struggled with him, but he wasn't sure if the man would stay if he let him go off; if he'd come back or if he'd run instead.

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Post: 88318361_28 created on Sat, 11 Jan 2014 04:47:49 +0000
Posted: Sat, 11 Jan 2014 04:47:49 +0000

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Val didn’t like his strategies underestimated. He was well aware that he could always be wrong, well aware that things wouldn’t happen the way he planned, but for most parts, he was careful and covered most of his bases. “Because of the mountain ranges that spans behind the east gate, the five scattered nomad tribes in the area and the terrain in general, I estimate with an over 70 out of 100 certainty there won’t be more than a hundred or two hundred man.” Besides, the other general was just as eager to risk their men in a raid tipped off by a barely trustworthy source.

It really didn’t matter if Loras-Nichol believed him or not. Men were coming to attack, and if Loras-Nichol allowed him nothing else, Val could always pick another opportunity. Maybe it was a bad idea to have been so straightforward, he thought. But it had felt sort of nice, to share ideas with someone. They were in the midst of the battlefield. Had to be more careful next time. Of course, he hadn’t shared everything either. As he already claimed, he solved his own problems. The east gate was also one of the easier gates to defend because of the downward slope that made it harder for invaders to lay siege to that side. As long as the gates weren’t opened, something Val would ensure himself, he could handle it.

Val nodded, leaning in when Loras-Nichol offered, simply enjoying. At least there was some kind of honesty. But Val wasn’t about to let Nichol deter him. Pride, really. However, he did give some pause on the casually thrown out usage of “loved,” the strict past tense in particular. What Loras-Nichol said afterwards, however, brought him back to a train of thought he’d been entertaining. “That’s something. I’m well aware of my body and what it can or cannot handle. Someone drugged the wine. I don’t know who or why, but I’m almost positive that’s the case.”

But those were all thoughts for another day. According to his schedule, he was already within thirty minutes to setting his plan in action, which to Val, translated as late. Though the rearranged schedule was 2 hours, they’d spent a good chunk of time getting Loras-Nichol’s armor on and chatting. Hugging his old friend-crush for a final time, Val exited the tent, flexing his wounded hand to make sure it wouldn’t give him too much trouble and prepared for the attack.

It proceed more or less to plan, as Val caught onto the spy opening the door, shooting him down with an arrow, then arousing the nearby patrol troop to prepare for defense after a show of interrogating the man. As the clock ticked closer, the Nesch men did attack as planned, quietly sneaking up toward the East gate. Trying to, anyway. Though, in a last minute turnabout, something that Val did not foresee, a few dozen men from Nesch were also laying siege to the left side, with the focus on the east.

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Post: 88318361_29 created on Thu, 16 Jan 2014 11:09:45 +0000
Posted: Thu, 16 Jan 2014 11:09:45 +0000

♔↘↘

xxx

I'M GOIN' TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET / OH, DON'T YOU WORRY, I SAVED A SEAT FOR YOU

xxx

↙↙♥

Loras was uncertain about it all. To agree with all that meant putting trust in Kieran and he wasn't sure if he had that much trust left in him. He was used to heated arguments in order to get his own word on top and make the final call, but he was not yet fully comprehending what had just happened. Kieran was back. They were both grown men and technically, they had just tried to kill each other. Trusting someone who wanted you dead was not smart. Worse yet, was trusting someone who came with all the past skeletons dancing tango behind him - but he had some faith in the man. A last little bit of the honest, sincere and hopeful kid he'd been when he'd been playing with stick-swords with Kieran. Perhaps he would have gone mad otherwise.

Like he'd said, Kieran had been a loved friend. Once upon a time they'd been friends. Now, Nichol was considered as dead as Kieran had claimed his own past dead and buried. Loras, however, was a general. He took no bullshit and accepted no mistakes. Even now, he knew that someone would die because of the mess Kieran had arranged and he felt no pity for whoever the sorry black lamb should be. Someone needed to be punished, someone had to suffer.

Although the idea of a drugged wine was concerning just the same, there was no time to discuss that at the moment. He'd drank more of it, himself, he always drank his wine and most of the men there knew that. Perhaps it was luck that kept him from not being the one who passed out himself. Perhaps it had been the wine goblet that had been drugged and he'd offered it to Kieran or perhaps the man was just telling him nothing but lies. Loras didn't know and at the moment, he had bigger problems. An assault was coming.

After the final hug was shared, uncomfortable and foreign and full of so many memories, Loras set to counting down the time he'd promised to Kieran. When it was over, he followed through as he'd said. He had his horse saddled, ordered a few men to come with him for a little patrol because something didn't feel right and as he found the guards outside his tent knocked out just the same, he had an even better excuse for it. Regardless, Loras didn't make too much of a fuss. His orders were quick and simple and most importantly effective. It wasn't until he and his little group of five were outside the gates when it became obvious that things weren't indeed going to go as planned. On his way of riding around the walls, he came across another group of men and his immediate thought was simple: he'd been fooled. That was what he got for giving in to emotion once. Naturally, he had no time to ponder on that, either. What he needed was to send one of his men to alert that there was an assault from another gate just the same and to do the least sane thing he could - ride to battle when they were clearly outnumbered. There was a message to pass - no one would survive.

There was no point in hiding away or backing up to expect for anyone else to get things done for him. Loras had gotten to his position because he didn't run away when things needed to be done and as back up arrived, he was already off of his saddle, back to back with three of his men, fighting, slashing and killing. The armor, as it turned out, was a good idea. Heavy but useful when it came to blocking bruising blows of weapons when he couldn't block them before they reached to him. However, as more men began to leak out of the gates, the Neschians were backing up from that direction, some shot down by archers, some chased and slaughtered before they made it too far. There was no doubt who would win. Loras had enough men in his little camp to wipe out a lot more than those few who arranged the attack of the last foolish attempt of resistance.

Loras offered no pity or grace to the bodies of the fallen. The heads were chopped off, gathered and staked further off beyond the walls as a bloody reminder that resistance was futile but Loras didn't stop there. As decided, he mounted his horse and rode to the Eastern gate, armor splattered with fresh blood, helmet lost somewhere and sword not yet wiped of his enemies' blood, a dozen horsemen following him to put an end to whatever was going on there. "Round them up and kill them all!" There wasn't even a need to send a "messenger" as far as he cared. The lack of men returning to Nesch would be loud and clear as it was.

ooc

Totally a filler post but yeah, it's something.

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Post: 88318361_30 created on Wed, 22 Jan 2014 05:04:57 +0000
Posted: Wed, 22 Jan 2014 05:04:57 +0000

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Val really didn’t think – he acted, calling on instincts to strategize, circling the men attempting to enter the fortress, cutting them down one by one. His blades flitted and flirted with the enemy’s throat in a deadly dance, going for the kill each and every time. That really was what he was: a killer. It was obvious by the way he fought he wasn’t used to tanking hits with armor and returning blows with strength. Val didn’t care by now. If Loras demanded him killed or captured, he’d show the general his other talents – namely in escaping handcuffs and jail cells. Besides, Nichol-Loras wouldn’t eliminate himself a valuable asset and fighter in the middle of the war anyway.

Val knew there was trouble brewing when he heard far more commotions than he planned (and later counter-planned). He didn’t let it affect his performance, still weaving through the crowds, killing whoever he saw wearing the enemy’s uniform. Battles were a lot different than missions, thrilling in an entirely different way. Val preferred the neat precision of missions, but he couldn’t deny that there was a certain pleasure to battles. Multiple targets. A bit like a mission gone wrong, setting off alarms.

He watched calmly as the last of the intruders were rounded up and offed, trying to explain and make sense of the situation now, in his mind. It wasn’t too long before the storm passed and they were in the calm again. As he’d expected his quick leadership earned him a few congratulatory remarks and gratitude, but he knew the real deal behind the scene – something messed up in the middle. Loras-Nichol knew as much, too.

It didn’t take long for Val to track down the general, with his bright armor and the troop of men around the general. Here, in public, Val would opt to act proper, giving the general a quick bow as he relayed, “The perimeter is cleared, General Glithamir. I sent a few men to scout the area and double check just in case. Are you alright, sir?” Now really was the awkward moment. First the drugged wine, now the leaked and half-failed speculations. Chances were, there really was a spy inside the fortress.

And as usual, protocol was to speak as little as possible and wait for your superior to call the shots. Val wasn’t about to break them as much as he really needed Loras-Nichol to work with him here. Though he kept his head bent low, hand gripped on his sword, he tried to signal that he’d like to resume the previous conversation. Preferably as soon as possible.

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