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 Posted: Fri Mar 28, 2014 5:30 pm
 
Pierre walked the horse through the portal. Only Jaime and Sir William rode into the portal, the rest of the horses having been left behind. The portal was a cooling vortex of air and light. It swirled about him, giving him the weightless feeling of being underwater, but with the added plus that it was air, and thus breathable. They came through to the other side, standing outside of great, white marble walls. A young man in his mid to late teens bustled forward. "'Fraid there aren't horses 'lowed in the city. I'll take him." He offered his hands for the reigns. Pierre passed them over while he reached up to help Jaime dismount; he knew she was capable, but really just wanted the reason to have her in his arms again. Jaime reached for his upper arms and lifted herself out the saddle with his help, falling against him lightly, as she became independent of the saddle, just before touching the ground. She glanced up at him and beamed, shamelessly. "The portal was enticing," she breathed, barely audible, but she knew he could hear her.
He nodded to her with a faint smile. "I've encountered the like before. We had them to swim in at the palace - great pools of vortexes, but with no destination. You just float there and breath in the magic..." His eyes were sparkling; something in the portal changed him, stripped away some of his vampirism. It made him more human, and for once he felt and seemed like the young, optimistic prince of Rhodessa. This change was sudden and evoked mixed feelings within her. His grim demeanor had faded. Would he be ready to face what was to come? It made her wish she had not followed them here just to see him die. Her smile faded at this realization and she glanced toward her boots to prevent him from noticing, pretending to check if they were fastened correctly. Her resolve was dissolving. In the shining light, Pierre felt returned to his former self. In the light, he was human again. He knelt down and fixed her laces, looking up into her eyes, grinning brightly. He stood and pulled her close to him, smoothing the hair back from her face. "We'll be fine," he told her soothingly. "Whatever happens, we will deal with it as it comes."
The attention shook her and she trembled in his arms. "We better be," she uttered. Then turned bravely on her heel and, with Pierre's hand in hers, marched with the others into the sea of buildings. She found herself wanting to head into an odd direction and guessed that it was the summons of Tulvir. Before her feet grew a mind of their own, she pulled Pierre behind the corner of a building, out of sight from the others, and kissed him - a peck at first, as her own behaviour surprised her, and then she leaned in for a proper one. Pierre pressed her against the wall of the building, knotting his fingers in her hair and kissing her passionately, enthusiastically. He didn't want to pull away and prolonged the kiss for several minutes before the sounds of teenagers whistling at them and laughing brought him to his senses. He pulled away slowly, reluctantly, grinning like a madman. She giggled, blushing and looking down at her feet, fleetingly, before meeting his gaze. "I have to go - I promised Tulvir. Can we meet somewhere, if we have time?" He cupped her chin in his hand, lifting her eyes to meet his. "I'll find you," he told her, kissing her on the nose. He pulled away, letting her off the wall, and turned down the street to the right along the wall.
Worked out with m i s s Rieux via PM.
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Posted: Fri Mar 28, 2014 7:18 pm
Tulvir sat upon a wooden dais in the center, tables all around him, rails outlining it, save for the marble stairs. It was all inlaid with gold. He adjusted his glasses as he examined a large book. Upon approaching the draconian, she knocked twice on a nearby wooden surface to get his attention. "You summoned for me?" she greeted, politely as before.
He looked up and, without preamble, asked, "To your knowledge, are you an only child?"
"As far as I'm concerned, yes."
"Let me re-phrase, do you have knowledge of a sibling?"
"No, sir."
"Indeed," he replied quietly, then smiled. "Come, come. Can I interest you in something to eat or drink?"
"Perhaps a glass of water," she hesitated, taking a seat near him.
He thumped his cane on the ground twice and a girl a few years older than Jaime with snow white hair that shimmered appeared carrying a tray; it was laden with fruits that shimmered and glowed, cakes that came in all manner of pastel colors and floated in the air above the plate, and several clear goblets with silver dragons baring many liquids. He handed her a clear one that glittered. "Thank you," she received the glass with a sweet smile, thanking the girl as well while wondering where she had come from and, if she existed before she appeared, if she liked having herself summoned at random intervals. "Do you mean to tell me I have siblings?"
"Drink," he said, toasting her with a goblet of deep ruby that emitted dusty rose colored smoke. She did as instructed and drank from the glass. It was the most spectacular tasting water she had ever had - perfectly cool, refreshing and with a slightly sweetness upon meeting the tongue.
Worked out with m i s s Rieux via PM.
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Posted: Sun Mar 30, 2014 1:07 am
Jaime was taken aback by the proposal. "To me?" She looked at him in confusion. *What am I to do with her?* "As much as I would like to have with me a new friend, and a spectacular individual such as yourself, Miss Neona, we are on a rather messy journey, I've reason to believe. However, if you are up for it, we'd gladly have you." She smiled invitingly, but doubted the timid creature would agree.
Chel returned her gaze to the ground, her smile fading. She mouthed something else. "Neona," Tulvir chided. She spoke up. "Only uncle calls me Neona. Don't call me that. Call me Chel. And I'm not going with you; I'm not wanted there." The girl seemed a bit frustrated. Tulvir smiled sadly. "Don't you think you ought to tell Jaime and then let her decide if you're welcome or not?" Chel shook her head stubbornly. "You have to tell her sometime," he coaxed. She remained silent. He sighed and turned to Jaime. "Miss Jaime. Neoma... is your older sister."
"Half sister," Neoma mumbled.
"Please forgive me, Miss Chel," Jaime said softly, folding her hands on her lap. When she mentioned that they were related, a silence fell upon her that she could not break for a good while. Her mother failed to mention this. She wanted to ask on who's side, but she could not get herself to speak or look up at the girl. Instead, her eyes were nailed to the rim of the glass before her. *Older sister. Half sister. Yet, only by blood and not by heart - just as her mother had been even though they had taken to one another quite rapidly. However, that was due to a spell. There's no magic involved here.* Finally, she parted her lips to speak. "Why would you not be welcome with us?" The word "us" caused a strange sensation as it did not quite feel true. "You'd always be welcome with me," she added quietly, looking at her hands and pressing them to her ever so slightly.
"Why does she keep calling me Miss," she asked Tulvir, looking up at him. "I hate that. 'Miss.' Why did you bring her here? I've tried to send her dreams for years, but she kept sending them away. She doesn't really want me there. It's wrong to force me on her, uncle."
"And it's wrong to speak about someone as if they're not there."
"She can't understand me," Chel replied with a huff.
"She can, dear one. She can speak draconic."
Chel's eyes widened. "Forgive me," she mumbled, looking down again. Tulvir took the seat beside her and placed an arm around her shoulders. "Chel, you are naive about the world; all you know is here in Argyll. You need to find your own path. Your innocence can't be protected forever; you need to learn about the pain of the world. Learn and help." Chel nodded sadly.
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Posted: Sun Mar 30, 2014 1:11 am
Chel looked to Tulvir, who smiled kindly. "Make your father proud." Chel smiled a small, but bright smile and kissed him on the cheek. "Why don't you show Jaime to your room so you can pack? I'll wait here." Chel stood and awkwardly looked over her shoulder at a set of large, golden doors. "You... you want to see my room," she asked quietly, avoiding Jaime's gaze.
Jaime nodded and stood, following her half sister through the doors. "Pardon my asking, but which parent do we share?" Chel didn't answer for a while as she led her down a long service hall (kitchens, wash rooms, archives) bustling with workers and into a smaller, wooden door at the very end. On the other side was a beautiful courtyard filled with fruit trees, fountains, and flowers. Across this was a door. "Our father," she said, quietly picking a few flowers. "What do you know of him?"
"Only that he was a brave man and very much loved by my mother," she answered, lightly touching the petals of a few flowers near her with her fingertips. "Oh, and that he was a witch or warlock of some kind." Chel nodded, lost in thought. She stood and crossed the courtyard and through the door. They found themselves entering a beautiful entrance hall from the side. "This is my home," she said, smelling the flowers. "It's charming." Her comment was sincere even though the capitol in whole, and everything in it, felt like it would turn into a frightening scene of bloodshed and mayhem.
"Daddy! I'm home," she called out, placing the flowers in a chair. She lifted the hem of her dress off the ground and started to climb the stairs. Jaime froze in her tracks. *So this is the reason for my scepticism.* Anger welled up inside of her: all the pain Anna had to endure, searching for him while he hid here, comfortably, not notifying her of his existence at all. *This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come.* She took a step back, and then another. Chel turned around. "Where are you going? Don't you want to see my room," she wore the expression of a confused and hurt child. Balling her fists behind her back, she fixed her gait and strode forward, thinking how Chel seemed more like the younger between the two of them and anticipating the encounter with her father.
Her sadness seemed to ease somewhat, though she still looked wary, as if she expected Jaime to leave her. She crossed over to the left and wandered down a brightly lit hall, decorated in pastels and flowers. There was a small parlor on the left, and across from it on the right was a room filled with books, canvas, painting and craft materials. Beyond this were two more doors. She opened the door on the left and entered. It was bright, covered in floral prints and lace. She picked up a stuffed bear on the loveseat in front of her bed and held it to her chest as she wandered about the room, wondering what to pack. "Daddy's not home," she said quietly, stroking one of the bear's paws. "He's been gone for a long time. He always does that. He never stays home long. That's why Tulvir raised me." She ran fingers over the books on the shelves, looking for any that would be useful - maps, histories, guides mixed along the non-practical volumes.
Jaime sunk to her knees and buried her face in her hands, breaking out in hushed sobs. "He was alive all this time and he wasn't even there. She loved him so much and he wasn't even there to see the light fade from her eyes as her heart pumped outside her chest." Her head met with the floor as she folded into herself. A switch flipped in Chel. Her inner being came out. She knelt by Jaime on the floor, placing the bear in her sister's arms and stroking her hair as she held her in her lap, humming softly. After a while, she asked in a quiet - but different, stronger - voice, "Would you like to see your room?" Chel did not provide any answers, betraying the possibility that she was in much the same boat and, therefore, probably shared her yearning for connection. Jaime was hesitant to take the bear, but wasn't given much of a choice. She welcomed the soft fluff against her cheeks and eyelids as she pushed her face into its head, trying her best to swallow her tears. She nodded at Chel's suggestion. "I'm sorry," she said, drying her eyes.
"Don't be sorry for what you feel," she told her, smoothing back her hair. She took her sister's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Daddy always thought about you," she told her, "He kept a room for you and changed it every year as you grew. But... it's been a while since he was home..." She frowned slightly, her shoulders sagging. "So, I'm afraid he's a little behind on redecorating." She crossed the hall to the other door and pushed it open, standing to the side to allow Jaime to enter first, when she was ready. "He always knew you'd come home one day," she told her quietly, "He just never knew when. And as years passed, he came home less and less. And now..." She stopped there, sadness radiating from her.
"Home," Jaime echoed. "Home is wherever family are." She took Chel's hand and squeezed it without looking at her, sharing in her sorrow despite her mixed feelings about her father, and, at the same time, adding some positive energy in the form of hope based on the premises that they were together and nothing would change that. "This is my second room," she told her, failing against the urge to open up to her and tell her everything. "I had to share a room with around thirty other girls at the orphanage and my first room felt more like a glorified prison. That was, until the Prince freed me. Then it felt like a refuge where bathing in exotic fragrances and dressing in pretty things was a frequent practice. He said he would turn me, but I doubt that will happen with everything that has happened. If I hid in this room forever, it would not make a significant difference: I feel so useless to them." She took off her coat and flayed herself upon the soft beige rug, smiling foolishly at the sensation of homeliness it brought.
Chel sat beside Jaime on the rug. "We're our father's daughters. We're stronger than we seem," she told her. "Perhaps," she sighed. "Stronger in what sense?" She sat up, looking at her sister, curious. Chel wavered for a moment. "It's a secret," she said, conflicted. "But... you're my sister; sisters don't have secrets," she said, making up her mind. She led Jaime into the parlor and pulled out a table drawer. She reached into a secret compartment at the back and withdrew a piece of paper, placing it on top the table. It was glossy and writing sprawled before their eyes, creating a family tree. She pointed to a name and it stopped: Col. Henry Cosgrove. "He's our real father. Have you... heard of him?" Jaime touched the corner of the paper with her index finger. "No, I'm afraid I haven't," and then she added in a thoughtful whisper, "they are brothers." Her cheeks paled. "How about you?"
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Posted: Sun Mar 30, 2014 1:12 am
At this, she paused, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to Jaime, patting the seat beside her on the sofa. She took the cup and sipped, taking a seat next to Chel and listening intently.
"It was decided that they would test all the eligible sons on their strength, bravery, morality, heart, compassion, and leadership. Two brothers fought bitterly to the end, pushing for their sons to win. When the dust cleared, the victor was apparent. The victorious brother sent his son - our father - into the mortal realm, where he was given to two kind mortals; they raised him as their own. However, the brother that lost angrily plotted. He could not send his son into the mortal realm as his brother did; the gods would be watching the door. So, he used the dark arts to place his son in a body of flesh to be conceived; he hand-picked the mother - a sorceress - in the hopes that between the two of them, his child would inherit the power destroy his nephew and conquer the land. He wooed her, lied to her telling her that he was victorious and his son, once born from her womb, would save the world. She gave birth to a son and the god fled. As the son grew, it was apparent that he was not pure of heart; he was cruel and his powers rivaled her own, even at such a young age. In an attempt to stave off the inevitable, she sent for our father. Compassionate, he could not kill his own cousin. He instructed her to keep him in her tower at all costs, hoping he would not be tempted to do evil. They stayed this way for many years until the Moon Vampires broke away from the Sun Vampires. They used black magic to raise up their land and fly it away from Argyll in search of new lands; they had heard about the blessed prince of Rhodessa, anointed by our father as a holy prince who - once on the throne the day of his twenty-third birthday - would lead any land to victory over another. He was destined to be a conqueror and powerful king, capable of great things. They saw this as an opportunity. If they could capture and turn the prince before he sat on the throne, they could claim him as theirs; he would be their prince and conquer the world for them."
She paused, taking a sip of tea. "What they didn't count on was the prince's royal sorcerer. She knew of a prophecy; it said that the prince would be captured and turned, her powers would break, and her son would be freed - set upon the world to wrought evil. She took preventative measures, giving the prince's older, b*****d brother the power to protect him. Halfway into the siege, he was slaughtered. Determined to keep her son from being freed, she took his soul and trapped it in her lake, transferring the prince's brother to her own son's body. It took all her strength and a great deal of her power. And still, the brother failed. She cursed the land and reversed his age to that of a child for what she deemed was childlike cowardice on his part. Her remaining strength sapped, her powers withdrew and she was forced to flee or die at the hands of the vampires. Our father searched for her for many years, but was forced to give up hope. But the vampires didn't win. They captured him on his twenty-second birthday; they thought this was a victory and turned him. But he has stayed twenty-two ever since. He can't age as a vampire. Since then, father has been working to fight the vampires and restore Rhodessa."
She nodded across the room to his portrait. "That's him. Recently, he's led the war on the vampires for the last remaining door to the human realm. One of his soldiers became possessed by the sorcerer's son. He found a way to sacrifice this soldier rather than Lady Kira, his adopted son's future wife. However, the sorceress's son escaped and his adopted son has been captured in the Northern Kingdom of the ancient ones." She sighed. "He's been busy... and not been able to come home. He misses you greatly. You see, he never knew you... Your parents wanted a child but could not conceive, so they asked him... and he... helped." She looked at her cup awkwardly. "So, the man you thought was your father... isn't. Our father is Henry Cosgrove." She beamed with pride, looking into the eyes of his portrait.
Worked out with m i s s Rieux via PM.
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Posted: Sun Mar 30, 2014 1:13 am
"The sorceress," Chel replied. "She knew it was the only way to keep the prince's brother alive so that the prophecy would not come true. But it did." She pointed to a name on the family tree. "That's the one in her son's body. That's the prince's b*****d older brother, the one passed over for the throne." James River.
"So that's what he meant. Wait, what will happen to them, James and Pierre?" She grabbed onto Chel's arm, meeting her eyes with an earnestly fearful gaze. Chel tensed, eyes wide and frightened. "I'm sorry," Jaime released her, sipping from her tea once more as though everything was fine. "He will kill him, won't he?" she mumbled between sips. "What will happen to Rhodessa and its people if that happens? And what about Ravenheart? They aren't all that bad..."
Chel stared at her, confused as to what she was talking about. "Well, the sorceress has been living here ever since," she said slowly, "She will give the prince - Pierre - the means to be mortal again. Once he is mortal, he can age. He will sit on the throne in the ruins of his palace on his 23rd birthday. When he does, he will save the land. But if he is captured again, the Moon Vampires - or any kingdom, for that matter - can place him on their throne. Any kingdom that claims him as king on the day he is 23 will have him as their king, and he will conquer lands in their name. But if he sits in Rhodessa, that will be his kingdom. He will rebuild it and restore peace throughout the lands. James... I don't know what will become of him. The sorceress may try to remove him and re-capture her son's soul in his body to imprison him once more; but I don't know what will become of James if that happens..." She sipped her tea to calm her from the sudden shock.
Jaime stood and set down her tea. "Poor James. Poor Pierre. None of them have any control in their future. There has to be a way to help them." She glanced at the portrait as though it would give her an answer. "Do we hold any power, Chel?"
Chel smiled slyly, her eyes showing strength and power - a completely different person than her timid self. Her voice was low with excitement, "More than you know." Jaime smiled, hopeful.
"Would you teach me a few things?"
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2014 12:16 am
"Trial?" Jaime tensed, but did well to hide it behind a façade of general routine. "For the prince and his brother," she said calmly. "I don't know whether or not you have clothes for court, but you're welcome to mine." She turned and went back to her room, riffling through a large, wooden wardrobe. Jaime followed. "What does one wear to a trial?" Chel pulled a section of clothing and placed them gently upon the bed. "Any of these should fit you and be fine to wear."
"They're gorgeous, thank you," she smiled and inspected each one, assessing its colour, shape, material and accents. She decided upon one that seemed to be a faded green and of a material that fell delicately around the forms upon which it was placed. It seemed comfortable, practical and elegant with short, gently puffed sleeves, golden embroidery, a tail and a low back. "Where may I dress?"
"You may dress in your room, if you like, or in the bathing room; it's located in the parlor - a door at the back." Chel pulled a silver gown from her wardrobe, finally deciding; it was decorated with pearls on the criss-cross of fabric around the neckline, through which her bare skin would show. Reaching back into the bottom of the wardrobe, picked a pair of silvery satin slippers, decorated with pearls to go with it. She handed Jaime a pair of light green satin slippers decorated with golden thread and small topaz jewels. "Thank you," she received the slippers with both hands, the dress draped over her arms. Still in a haze, she wandered into her room to dress. The dress fit perfectly. It matched her gray eyes and contrasted with her auburn hair which had formed waves and tight curls at the ends from being left to dry on its own. This she pulled up half, loosely, to take most of the curls out of her face so that she could see clearly. The rest of it were left to fall down her partially exposed back, bouncing as she turned in front of the mirror. She caught herself wondering, briefly, if Pierre would find her pleasing to look at, and returned, chiding herself for her callous thoughts, to find Chel fully dressed. She was delicate and beautiful as though she would be on her way to have her portrait taken. "You put the Agryll sun to shame, dearest sister," she beamed, slowly emerging from her inner world.
Chel smiled shyly, sweeping her newly golden hair from her shoulders to cascade down her back. "And you are more beautiful than even the queen." The way she said it seemed to make it an immense compliment, indicating that the queen must be supremely beautiful. "Do you know of the queen," she asked curiously, leading the way back to the hall. Jaime blushed at the compliment. "Unfortunately, I don't," she replied, glancing at her and politely waiting to be informed. Chel remained silent while they descended the stairs. Once in the hall, picked up the bouquet of flowers she left and replied, "She used to be a star in the sky, daughter of the Mother Moon and Father Sun. Her daughter, also a star, is supposed to take the throne when she comes of age; it's prophesied that she will unite the Sun Vampires and the Moon Vampires."
A man in the red uniform of the household of Cosgrove entered the room, his polished shoes clicking on the floor. He bowed to the two. "The carriage has arrived madam," he informed Chel. She nodded her thanks; he opened the door for the two. Outside, a carriage waited, a driver in the seat, holding the reigns and a footman in a smart, blue waistcoat by the door, holding it ajar.
Blinking slowly, Jaime watched it play off as though being a spirit watching over them. Wake up. She boarded the carriage, still absent minded. It was not that she was preoccupied by her thoughts and worries, but rather distracted by a large blanket that covered these, which the picturesque environment of this new world reinforced, presenting her with only a sleepy blankness. In attempt to bring herself to the present, she slipped on a pair of cream coloured gloves that she had found in her drawer, or somewhere. They hugged her hands and forearms enough to make her conscious of her limbs. "Forgive me, Chel," she started. "I'm not all myself today." She glanced out the window with a sadness in her eyes and then, as though they were on their way to a picnic, she returned her attention to her sister with new-found enthusiasm. "We should make time to catch up. It's not every day that you discover you have a sister, and I'd very much like it if we would be friends. If it's not too much trouble, would you mind to share some of your tales some time?"
Chel smiled, staring out the window and allowing the false sun within the city to bathe her in a warm glow as they passed the rows and rows of trees along the neatly manicured lawns. "I would like that," she replied. All too soon, the carriage slowed, crossing through large golden gates into a cobbled circle. It stopped in front of a large castle of white marble, threaded with gold. The glass was clear with a blue tint and reflected off the light, throwing its color around the scene. The sun was in full view, high in the sky above the tallest spire; a burning, fluctuating ball of seemingly liquid light. It was white, with barely a blue-ish undertone; it burned, it dazzled, it sparked and flowed. Chel smiled at it and climbed out of the carriage.
She stared at her sister. She was beautiful. The sudden realization finally made itself known to her. Her gaze softened into a faint smile and she looked away toward the passing trees. The carriage halted and the two girls exited, one after the other. Jaime folded her hands before her and followed Chel, observing every detail of her surroundings: the fashion in which others were clothed, the vegetation that brought a freshness unmatched and the sun kissed every surface with a glow. The mental veil was lifted, somewhat, and she remembered that she owed an apology to a friend who might lose his mind before the day was over. "Chel, I've to find someone," she said softly with masked urgency. "Where are the brothers being held?"
"The prison," she replied softly, "But they should be ready to stand trial soon, so they'll be in the dungeons. Why," she asked in concern. "I need to see James River," she stated simply with all seriousness. Chel gave a small, uncertain smile. "Why would you need that? Can it not wait until after the trial?" She felt her heart thundering in her chest. "It won't be the same after the trail," her eyes lowered to the left, guilt-stricken. "Please?" She took her sister's hands and held them lightly in hers, meeting her eyes with a pleading gaze. "This is important to me."
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2014 12:17 am
Chel's heart hammered, her blood rushing to her ears. Her breath quickened with her pace. "Hurry," she whispered to Jaime. Once they reached the bottom of the staircase, she turned to the left and hurried down the corridor as fast as she could, her gown flowing behind her. She did as she was told and they practically flew down the corridor. At the end, there was a short set of stairs. She hesitated and took a deep breath. She descended the stairs slowly and calmly, coming to a stop in front of a wooden door. She knocked upon it sharply. A face appeared. "Yes," the man asked in a deep voice. "We request an audience with the prisoner James River." The man opened the door; his body was stout enough to fill the frame, muscular and imposing. He peered around. "And where is your escort?"
"Um..." Chel fell silent. "Here," came a man's voice behind them. Chel's face brightened instantly and she whipped around. "Father! You're here!"
"Sorry I'm late," Colonel Cosgrove told her fondly. He nodded to the guard who, though greatly surprised, stood aside to let them pass.
Jaime became rigid, but closed her eyes and followed, trying her best not to show her state of mind: overwhelmed with conflicting and confusing emotions. Deal with one thing at a time. It will all soon be over... And then what? This train of thought, too, was rapidly abandoned. Remain quiet and make yourself scarce. Maybe he didn't notice you.
The colonel led the two girls into the chamber beyond. The man closed the door and resumed his seat at the table, thumbing through some papers. Chel started forward, but her father put a hand on her shoulder, stilling her. "We will wait while Miss Knight makes her visit," he told her, giving a slight bow to Jaime.
She returned the gesture with a graceful curtsy and continued down the corridor with determination, checking every cell for a familiar face. Finally, she reached James' at the very end. The walls were made of stone with a small barred window at the back of the confined space. Separating them were iron bars. She stood there for a brief moment, collecting her thoughts. "James," she started before this process was complete. "Forgive me." A gloved hand flew to her lips and she did her best to bite back the tears as her memories flooded back. James didn't look up, but continued to listen to the water dripping from the ceiling into a puddle in the stone of the floor. He sat with his back against the left wall, one leg stretched out and the other bent, propping up his arm. "And what is it you want me to forgive you for," he asked, his voice frustrated. She fell silent and folded her hand to her chest, hurt, but knowing that she deserved it. "For betraying you; for taking your blood without your permission; for tricking you; for being bossy, mean and inappropriate; for leaving you." A rogue tear escaped and rolled down her cheek and her expression was of one expecting the worst punishment with a ready mind. She couldn't bare to look at him and stared at the floor instead, thinking that she would feel some relief even if he lectured her as he used to do, but decided that she should take her leave soon whether he spoke or not.
James looked up at her. "Save your tears for your prince. I don't want them." He stood quickly and turned his back, gripping the bars of the window and looking out at the city. It broke his heart to see her crying, but he refused to tell her. She was not his, and those tears shouldn't be for him. He continued to stand there, not knowing if she was still there or not, the tide of memories flooding into him all at once. He did his best to slow it, but he was still overwhelmed. He no longer saw them flash before his eyes, but they were simply there - as if they had been all along, ready for him to simply call them up and remember as clearly as yesterday. He swayed slightly, threatening to topple to the ground. He tightened his hold on the bars and remained upright. Go, he thought, Go before you rip out my heart.
"For that as well," she breathed. She stood staring at the back of his head before taking her leave. Good luck with today, James. I hope you know that, no matter what happens, you'll always have people that love you; you'll always have a home with us. It's us against the world, remember? She wished she could have said it aloud, but he would only hate her more. When she rejoined the others, she felt like a mess: red-eyed and shaking. "Thank you," she voiced, hanging her head and closing her eyes in attempt to conceal and recollect. I should visit Pierre as well... But I really don't have the strength. What should I do, mama? Where are you... The colonel reached out to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. From it, he imbibed her with a calming energy to relax her. "Is there someone else you want to see," he asked knowingly. She smiled, grateful, opened her eyes for the first time to meet his and nodded, careful not to say a word for James to overhear. She had done enough and he didn't have to know.
Worked out with m i s s Rieux via PM.
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2014 12:18 am
"We're here to see Prince du Bouvier," the colonel replied. Liam jumped in surprise and then shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you see... I'm not really supposed to. He's kind of... indisposed at the moment."
"In what way?"
"Well, sir, to be honest... He's kind of switching back from a polite, proper gent to a savage animal."
"Oh, please," Chel asked, "It's very important to my sister." Liam wavered and then caved. "Alright," he said, turning and unlocking the door, "But keep your distance, Miss," he told Jaime. The door swung inward. "Down the stairs, through the first door. It's the only cell in there. Can't miss it." Liam offered the free chair to the colonel and his own chair to Chel, who took it gratefully; the three began to converse politely.
Jaime expressed her thanks and ventured on. Soon enough, she came to a standstill in front of her fiance's cell. She heard faint grunting and saw red eyes flash inches before her face. It's just your imagination, Jaime. Relax. He won't hurt you. "Pierre?" Her voice was slightly hesitant, but no less warm and affectionate than their reunion earlier. "Yes," came the soft, exhausted reply that echoed around the dark chamber. "How are you?" She stepped closer in attempt to see him. He shrank back into the large cell, his chains rattling as they scraped across the ground. "Fine," he lied, "And you? Enjoying the sights?"
"I barely noticed them, to be honest," she commented, mildly cheerful, stalling. "When this is all over, would you like to meet my father? I've a sister here, too. Well, a half sister, but family." She trailed off, thinking fondly of her fantasies regarding their future family. "Pierre, may I please see you?"
"You've seen me before," he hedged. "You can't have forgotten what I look like."
She laughed voicelessly. "Perhaps not, but I'd still like to see you now. For comfort, if you will." She took off her gloves, placing them in a small purse that she carried with her, and extended her right arm through the bars, reaching to take his hand. "Just a little while wouldn't hurt, would it?" She gently coaxed. Slowly, he reached out and touched the tips of her fingers with the tips of his. "Be careful, my dear. I wouldn't want to get to close, if I were you. I've... seen better days."
"I'm not afraid of you, my love," she said and felt as her energy recharged from within her, with such affection that she believed her heart had unfurled and would pop if he would not relieve her of the burden. The touch of their finger tips soothed some of this, but not all, and she wondered if he could feel it too - perhaps through her fingers as her father had done earlier to calm her. She wished, almost desperately, for that to be true. Pierre slowly inched forward, intertwining their fingers until they were holding hands. He stepped forward into the light, revealing his loose white shirt hanging about him, covered in blood. His face, neck, and torso bore deep scratches. He smiled a half-smile. "It's been a rough few hours."
"Evidently," she smiled after having glanced him over with, breeding worry. "Thank you for the effort. I hope this is not how they've been treating you. If that is the case, I'll have a serious chat with... someone."
"No, my dear," he said with a wry laugh, "I did this to myself. I was trying to get loose." He grimaced. "Hmm, you shouldn't do that. It'll be over soon and then we'll do some sight-seeing, dine with some important personalities, and be on our way to save the world." He rolled his eyes. "I doubt they'll think much of my dining habits," he joked. He came closer reaching through the bars to hold her. She snaked her hands into his hair. "I hate these bars," she said tenderly as if her words were meant to tell him of her love for him. "We came to Argyll to become Sun Vampires, did we not? Or to be able to switch between the two."
"I came to be mortal again, so I could free my land." He kissed her forehead and held her waist. "After that, we can be whoever we want to be." The bars dug into the deep gashes on his torso. "I hate these bars, too. I wish we had the key."
"Careful," she gently pushed him away so the bars wouldn't hurt him. "When have you last fed?"
Pierre shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want to say it; he hoped she could read his mind. He sighed and said quietly, "James. When I killed him."
Worked out with m i s s Rieux via PM.
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2014 12:19 am
Chel peeked through the door at her sister, and upon seeing her embracing her fiance through the bars, waved her hands. The bars allowed Jaime to pass through them. Smiling, she withdrew. Jaime glanced at the door and caught a glimpse of golden hair before the door closed. She smiled, grateful and stepped as close to Pierre as she could without putting strain on his wounds, brushing her lips against his in a light kiss. "If I told you I want you to, would that make a difference?"
"No," he said, fighting to control the impulse to bite. "Not at all." He had to force himself to stop thinking about her blood, the taste of it, her heart pumping it through her veins... She frowned. "But you're not healing."
"I will," he assured her. He pulled her as close to him as she could get. "I still have a couple of hours before the trial. Will you stay with me?"
"As long as they will allow me," her face brightened. She pulled away, as though suddenly remembering something, and glanced at the dress. Fortunately, it was not yet stained with blood. "It's not mine," she explained, apologetically. He frowned, letting her go. "Perhaps you'd better stay back, then." He suddenly wished that he had a coat to give her. Seeing him frown and pull away tugged at her heartstrings. Stepping away to create room, she carefully pulled the gown over her head, revealing a linen corset and laced drawers that was, fortunately, not unsightly, folded it up neatly and placed it on top of her other things that she had sought a clean spot for. Once upright again, she gave a little shiver as the cold dungeon air met her now exposed skin. "There," she said turning around to him, innocently proud of coming up with a solution. Pierre watched her shiver; this, coupled with her being exposed, led him to pull her to him and hold her close, rubbing her arms. "You'll freeze," he told her reproachfully. "That's alright," she said blissfully and embraced him, cautious not to hurt him, resting her head on his chest. He stroked her hair gently, her scent intoxicating him. Hunger built within him. He fought to keep it under control, promising himself that if he made it through the trial, he would feed. "Pierre?" she asked, hesitating.
"Mmm?" He continued rubbing her arms gently to stave off the cold.
"I love you," she whispered, simply content, opening her hands onto his back and pressing herself a little closer. She wasn't cold anymore. "What will happen to us?"
"Whatever happens next," he said simply. He pulled her tight, even though it hurt. "Is something on your mind?"
"I don't want this to end, even if we're in a dungeon," she said softly, closing her eyes. His cologne was faintly distinguishable from the blood and the overall smells of the dungeon. Once she had caught a it, it was hard to focus on anything but him. Her world suddenly shrunk, becoming obsolete with only the two of them in it. Even her mind became blank and she wondered with ever there would be a language invented to express this. Her heart pounded, like a rhythmic machine, causing small vibrations in the organs around it and pumping warmth to her skin where it met with him. He groaned slightly, the agony of his hunger rising with her beating heart. He noticed her temperature rising and crossed his arms over her, trapping her against him playfully. But part of him wanted to keep her there, taste her blood... She looked up at him, placing her chin on his chest. "What's on your mind?"
His eyes darkened. "Your blood." He moved with impossible speed, he pressed a mechanism on the floor with his heel; the chains retracted, pinning his arms and legs to the wall as far out as they would stretch. His head fell forward to his chest as he let loose a frustrated snarl. Jaime fell to the floor with the sudden withdrawal. She sat there for a moment, trying to register what had happened. My blood. Her face fell. But it's not his fault... There was a click. She inspected the floor for a trap. Was it because of her that he was being torn in every direction? The thought made her cheeks pale. "But I told you you can have it," she said, her voice small and on the verge of breaking. Standing, she went to hold his left hand and to give it a kiss, keeping her distance from his head as not to provoke him. "I better go then, I suppose," she concluded. "No," he said, his voice a low growl with the strain. "Please. Stay."
She let go of his hand and walked to her things. After spending some time there, she returned to him, barefoot, and with one of her hands balled around something small enough to conceal entirely. "Don't go," he asked again, his voice pleading. "Please. I won't hurt you. Don't leave me again..."
Worked out with m i s s Rieux via PM.
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2014 12:22 am
"Stop me," he mumbled into her neck, supporting her weight. He knew he couldn't keep himself from doing it; if she didn't stop him, he was going to kill her like he killed James. Her knees buckled and she tried to push herself from him. "Please." By now her face was tear-stricken, black spots blotted her vision and her ears rang. "Please let go," she choked. He saw in his mind the image of her body laying lifeless on the stone floor, her neck covered in the remnants of her blood. With effort, he pulled himself away. She was weak. She needed to lay down, but he was pinned. With all his new-found strength, he ripped the chains from the stone wall, leaving great holes. Carefully, he lowered himself to his knees. She was cold from the lack of blood. He placed Jaime in his lap and removed his shirt, wrapping her in it and holding her close. "Please. Say something," he begged, tears stinging his eyes. "*We need help in here*," he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"It's alrigh..." she trailed off, but smiled faintly. Her breathing became more shallow. "In my puh..." Her eyes closed and her head threatened to flop into any direction that required the least effort. His tears fell onto her as footsteps rushed down the corridor. The guard struck him against his head, knocking him unconscious and clamping the chains with an iron to keep him at bay. The colonel took Jaime in his arms and carried her from the cell while Chel retrieved her things. "Father," she said, "We can't let her be seen like this." He nodded and she grabbed hold of his arm.
In a fraction of a second, they were back inside the manor. Chel opened the door to her sister's room, only it was completely different - redesigned for someone older. Chel smiled inwardly at the gesture as her father placed Jaime on the bed, cleaning and bandaging her wound before tucking her in. Gently, he kissed her forehead. "Sleep," he told her quietly. He stood and turned to Chel. "I need to have a word with a certain man," he said. Chel nodded. "I'll look after her." With that, the colonel promptly vanished.
Worked out with m i s s Rieux via PM.
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2014 12:24 am
"Pierre," she breathed. Her heart raced, fueling the dizziness, but, at the same time, making all her organs work harder. "In my purse, please," she croaked. Chel rushed to the other side of the bed where she'd placed Jaime's things. Quickly she located the purse and handed it to her. "What's wrong? What is it?" Jaime opened it with some effort and drew from it three tube-like vials of dark liquid. She propped herself on her elbow and downed the first, then hungrily opening a second and then the third. Licking the blood from her lips, she laid her head down and closed her eyes.
They were in the garden in front of an elaborate cottage. She was dancing with a dark-haired man, into the sunrise, laughing happily as neither of them knew the steps very well. Her white hair floated, gracefully, as though they were under water. The man started to sing to her an Irish song that made her laugh. The sensation was vivid. She looked down at her belly: it was swollen. "You'll give her an infatuation with the Irish if you're not careful," she joked. "That's alright, too," he said. "As long as she doesn't go looking for trouble in the bars." They laughed.
Jaime opened her eyes, slowly. The colour returned to her cheeks. After taking a few deep breaths, she sat upright. "Thank you," she said, smiling at her sister. "My mother would have liked you and you would have liked her. She lived in a different world, appreciating all the little moments. Those are the ones she recorded," she said, closing the vials and setting them down. "Chel? What did they do with Pierre? I hope they won't hurt him. Knocking him unconscious was really unnecessary - he was trying to help. They should be kinder to him. At least he'll heal now." She smiled and felt the wound at her neck. It has made a scar. She took another vial from her purse and drank half of it which faded any signs of it completely. "Oh, I placed your dress out of the way, because Pierre was awfully bloody and I didn't want it to go to ruins. Nothing happened," she blushed deeply. "And now everyone saw me," she continued to mumbled, flustered.
"Just father. Liam was wouldn't look," she said, blushing as she said his name. "I think you would have liked my mother," she said, staring into space dreamily, side stepping the question about Pierre. Jaime couldn't resist smiling at her sister's reaction to the mentioning of this man called Liam. She had noticed it before. "You like him, don't you?" she teased, poking her arm playfully. Chel covered her arm with a pillow blushing. "Maybe," she said. She clasped her hands together and giggled. "That's adorable! You must tell me all about him!" She tugged at her arm to pry it from her face. The tugging ceased. Jaime was up and picking out new underwear from a drawer to replace the bloodied ones she was wearing, seeming deeply troubled and somewhat rushed.
"Where are you going? You shouldn't be up..."
"I have to help him. They're going to hurt him. I can't let that happen." She stepped behind a screen and dressed as quickly as she could. "Please help me with the corset? I can't reach it."
"No," she said quietly, "Father will take care of everything, even postpone the trial. You must stay here..."
"And what if he doesn't take his side? Tulvir warned me against loving him - who knows what they'll do. I'm sorry, Chel, but... They need him alive. The prophecy needs him. He'll be alright." She relaxed, sitting on the bed next to Chel. "What is father like?" She stretched out onto the bed and tapped the space next to her.
Worked out with m i s s Rieux via PM.
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2014 3:59 am
"Nothing," Jaime said, looking up at the ceiling. *What is a father supposed to be like?*
Chel found this strange. "There isn't anything you're curious about?"
"I can't ask if there's nothing on basis of which to ask, if that makes sense. If you could tell me about him, I'd appreciate it, but as far as specific things go..." she trailed off and forgot to finish her sentence. Her mind was racing at such a pace that it seemed to be completely still, but still broke her focus.
Chel frowned in concentration. "Well, I suppose he's rather doting and he can be quite serious; I've never known him to be silly or tell a joke," she struggled to think of things to say, "He's very tidy, but also a little forgetful; when he's working he'll forget to eat his meals or he'll lose something in plain sight." She smiled at this, pausing for a moment to enjoy those memories. "He likes to dip his toast in his egg yolk and he taught me to fence and to ride." She looked up, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry; I'm not sure what else to say..."
"He sounds wonderful." A faint smile played on her lips, but her eyes were still aggrieved. "What about Liam?" She could listen to her sister talk all day. It was comforting.
Chel's face burned bright red at the direct question. She looked away, her hair tumbling over her shoulder to obscure her face. "What about Liam?"
"How did you meet?" she gently pressed, oblivious to her reaction.
"We met at the castle three years ago. Uncle Tulvir and I were invited as the queen's guests for her daughter's birthday; Liam was the server assigned to me." She smiled slightly at the memory, her stomach feeling just as nervous as that day. "He stood behind my chair, all through the banquet. It was my first formal dinner, and he could tell. He kept whispering instructions to me behind the water pitcher - when I was about to use the wrong fork, which dishes weren't very tasty." Her smile widened. "He was very kind. Throughout the ball, he kept walking by me with the platters to warn me which men were clumsy dancers and which were... inappropriate. Whenever he could, he'd whisper a joke or word of encouragement. We've been close friends ever since."
The smile shot up into her eyes. She pulled her legs up, flattening her back onto the bed. "I overheard you asking about his mother. Is she alright?"
Chel's smile went away. "She was taken ill with grief over the death of her eldest son. She's not been well this past month, especially since Liam took up his brother's post in the dungeon. That's where he was killed."
"Perhaps, when this is all over, they would come with us to Rhodessa and live there as comfortably as they wished?"
Chel shook her head. "They would not come. And... I don't think I'll stay. In Rhodessa, I mean. Argyll is all I've ever known. But Uncle Tulvir wants me to go. Father has a home in the Southern Isles, he even presides over one of the islands that's named after him. Uncle is determined that I should live in Rhodessa, or with father. And if I stay here, I'll be on my own. Uncle Tulvir is going back to his homeland, and father will stay in the Southern Isles. And you..." She trailed off sadly.
"I was actually thinking of going to my mother's after helping Pierre restore Rhodessa. She has left some books and more vials for me. She said if it pleased me I could live in the countryside of Argyll and take up her local cafe. It would be a stress free life; a simple life, but I'm not going there for that." She looked away. Why is it so easy to open up to her? "If Pierre becomes King of Rhodessa, I doubt I'll join him as he proposed I should. I know he's my fiance, but I'm not exactly... queen material." She thought of all the times she was told, discouragingly, that she knew nothing of the order of this world and that she had to prove herself, somehow. No matter how hard I try, it will never be enough; it will never be quite right.
"I think you're queen material," Chel said quietly. She stood. "I'd better change. I'll check in on you after." She retreated to her room, closing the door. She pushed a hidden panel and a section of the wall slid open to reveal a luxurious bathroom. [pic]
* * *
Chel undressed quickly as the tub filled with steamy water from an underground pump system her father had designed. She sank into its depths, her muscles relaxing. The bracelet she wore at all times clicked against the edge of the tub. It was an ornate silver chain with a jeweled lock. She resisted the urge to take it off and bundled a towel under her head, leaning back. She turned to look at herself in the mirror. Her other self raised an eyebrow. "Jaime? Here?"
"So," Chel replied defensively.
"Take the bracelet off. Show her the real you."
"I can't. Father told me not to. It reigns in my power."
"And it keeps you under control," her reflection added, sneering. "Take it off. This sweet innocent routine is getting old."
"It's not a routine!" "It is when it's not who you really are - who we really are. Take off the bracelet. Or are you afraid she won't like the real you?" Chel remained silent. "Oh, so that's it, is it," her reflection laughed in disbelief. "You know, one day, you're going to have to take it off - for good. And then it'll stop suppressing us. That's when you'll know who your real friends are."
Chel closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the ceiling. Who I am now may be a result of suppression magic, but at least Jaime still likes me. At least Liam is my friend. If this is what I have to be to keep them, so be it.
[[Worked out with Genrin619 via PM.]] 
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2014 4:24 am
The brown leather-bound bundle of pages and notes weighed soundly in her arms. The pages were thin and delicate, but not too fragile as to tear easily. She treated it with great care nonetheless. Her eye caught the word Rhodessa and, on another page, du Bouvier. Jaime frowned and stopped there. The writing was not the easiest to decipher, but it was legible and rather curious. Very curious. Is this a case study? She started with the first whole paragraph at the top of the page.
Of course, the King's sour disposition regarding his son's behavior was to be expected. However, the young prince took it in stride and managed to smooth things over; his protector and companion, James, was not so lucky. He wasn't seen for nearly a fortnight before he returned to the palace, looking the worse for wear. He seemed exhausted, almost as though he hadn't slept in days, and he bore the unmistakeable - though well masked - scent of blood. It appears I was the only one to notice; the queen merely commented on how nice it was to see him back. The king paid no mind as usual, and the Prince seemed to think that nothing was amiss. I was tempted to say something, but all through dinner noticed a pleasant disposition from the boy, so I will put it from my mind. Both boys continue to struggle with their history studies.
Sounds like their tutor. Who is this? She flipped the book to its first few pages to look for the author's name. Sir Geoffrey Lodbrok, VI.
Jaime returned to the page she was at, scanned through a few pages before that to see where this particular incident initiated, and started reading again.
Today marked the third day of the prince's absence. James was found in the far reaches of the Forbidden, soaked to the bone and barely conscious; he was stumbling about, looking for hope. After being roused with a small snort of whiskey, the boy was coherent enough to lead us to where the prince resided. It seems James had taken it upon himself to build Jean-Pierre a shelter and supply him with enough meat and vegetation to last the month. Evidently, James didn't know when he was to return. All foods were safe for consumption and the prince was quite well - cheerful, even.
Upon returning to the palace, James immediately took the blame, claiming he led the prince astray with the intent to explore. He then stated that he knew it was the Forbidden whereupon the guards stripped him to the waist and bound him to the post; he took fifty lashes. He bleed profusely.
I returned to the prince's quarters as he was being examined by the doctor. Here, he confessed to me that he forced James to accompany him to the Forbidden by telling him that he would go either way - and that James could not restrain a prince. He feared for James's health. I informed him of the punishment he had taken, as well as the story he told to the guards. This did not sit well with him. He took me to the King's study, where he confessed everything. (However the King raged, I knew it was too late for young James, who was by now in his father's hands.)
Jaime's gloved hand pressed to her lips and, with wide eyes, she continued reading, skipping over the paragraph that she has read first, which now seemed as though it was added as a footnote at a later time.
May 1st
Today was the opening for the tournament. Jean-Pierre inquired on whether I would compete in the joust. I told him that I had long ago given up waging a pretend war when I had taken up arms for real conflict. He pondered this for a long while; I must say, I was proud of him.
We took our seats for the joust, and the prince observed many a knight receiving handkerchiefs from the maidens; the knights then tied them to their arms or shields, some even simply grasping them. He took careful note but did not see that I was watching him. I believe he may have his eye on a girl. I cannot pretend I wasn't amused by this.
As we rode home, he asked a great deal of questions about knights and battles. Perhaps the most concerning of these questions was when he asked if I had ever killed anyone. I answered truthfully - that I had slain many men in battle. And then he did the unexpected - he asked me what it had felt like to take a life.
Naturally, once over the shock, I realized that it was only natural to be curious. I replied that at the moment you pierce a man with your blade, you feel nothing; the next few seconds are a potent cocktail of shock, grief, confusion, and relief. I told him that it got easier as time went on; you have to be able to move past that, or you will die wrapped up in your own emotions.
He was quiet for the rest of the day.
"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly and read on, moving towards the bed, slowly, and laying on her belly as she did so.
May 4th
The prince is ill.
May 5th
James seems to have difficulty focusing on his training; I believe he worries for Jean-Pierre. After sustaining a sharp rap on the head from the ash staff of one of the fighting instructors, he lost his temper. In his anger, he became a flurry of powerful strikes. This did not go unnoticed by all of the instructors and myself. It seems the key to focusing his attacks is anger. There was much discussion as to what was to be done. The most popular decision was not something I'm entirely pleased with; most fully trained, adult men cannot handle it, so why do they expect it of a nine-year-old boy? I was overruled.
In two days' time, on the eve of his tenth birthday, James will undergo the Trial.
Poor James. She continued a little faster as to come to the point about the Trial and finally to discover what it really was.
May 7th
Pierre is well again. He spends the day with his family, oblivious - under instruction - to the fact that James is to endure the Trial at midnight, when the moon waxes full.
As I sit with James, I'm forced to remember my Trial. We are forbidden to speak of it, but here I will do so and place enchantment upon it so that it may not be discovered until many centuries have passed...
When one is to undergo the Trial, they have no prior knowledge of it; anyone who knows is always forbidden to discuss it. When I was the age of twenty-six, I faced it with confidence, sure that I was skilled enough to deal with whatever monster they threw to me. I was mistaken. As the door of the great room sealed behind me, I was in complete darkness. This did not phase me as I had been trained to fight blind. At once I was met with a great pressure, pushing in on me from all sides. I stood my ground for what felt like an eternity until the pressure was so great, I could feel the bones in my arms start to fracture and my nose and ears bled. I dropped my sword and fell to my knees. The ground heated up. My palms blistered. I stood quickly and a layer of the flesh of my hands remained melted to the floor. My hands now bled as well, holes burnt in my clothes where they made contact. Now free of my sword and forced to stand, the air grew cold, oxygen scarce. I was sure that I heard the scuffling of beasts just out of range. I dared not retrieve the sword with my hands so bloody and raw - it would slip around and might do harm to myself. Instead, I stood fearfully, trying to orient myself to face an attack from the front. That's when the voices came in, telling me terrible things to come and jeering.
I dare not relay the rest of the more horrific details, but I will say that when they came for me, I was laying in the middle of the room - crying, mumbling crazed things, and barely alive. When I next remember, my superiors told me the room had deemed me worthy; it had not rejected me, and thus I was to become a member of the elite Rhodessa guards, charged with only the most important tasks of the royal family. At that point, in as much pain and shock as I was, I hardly cared anymore. It took weeks to regain my speech to say the oath.
As I write this, James stares ahead at the imposing iron door of the room, twice as tall and wide as any man, and three times as thick. And I can't even warn him.
She continued still, entranced, tears for her friend hazed over her eyes, blurring her vision so that she had to blink before reading on.
May 8th
"We should not have done this." This was the phrase most whispered by my colleges. It angers me that they realize this now, after the damage has been done, when they should have listened to me all along. Young James had to be carried out and revived. Though the room had miraculously accepted him, it had taken all he had to give; he perished.
Once he was revived by Nordak -the Minotaur sorcerer and shaman - he would not speak to anyone though he is able. He refuses meals and general company. He keeps his room dark.
At supper, we often remarked how unusual it was; when most come out, they are keen for company and light, as well as famished. Nordak had only one solemn and concerning thing to say on the matter tonight:
The room changes people, and until now it was the room accepting the seekers...
James has accepted the room.
[[Worked out with Genrin619 via PM.]]
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Posted: Wed Apr 02, 2014 4:50 am
May 10th
Jean-Pierre insisted on a party for James; I suspect he knew his friend would not have a birthday otherwise. Though there was cake, dancing, and a great deal of noisy games - and though it seemed the traumatic events of the previous day were behind, James didn't seem to enjoy himself. He smiled when it was expected, but he couldn't fool me or any of the instructors that had taken part in the ghastly deed. He was distant, divided from the rest.
After the party, James returned home. I walked with him, quiet at first. Observing. He seemed older, more serious and calculating. A before I could think of a thing to say, a haunt crossed our path. I drew my sword, but I was too slow. With all the swiftness of an expert hunter, James had taken the bow from his back and fitted an arrow; I didn't even see it done.
The haunt growled, shaking it's black fur. I could see now that it's eyes were a dark blue - female. He loosed the arrow, piercing it between the eyes. With a whimper, it fell to the ground. He hadn't so much as hesitated. He always hesitated, reluctant. Calmly, he retrieved his arrow. The haunt vanished into the black smoke that always followed its death. I assured him that he did the right thing, as I always did. "I know." Those words still chill me. The tone of his voice, the look in his eye. I confess that I feared in that moment.
I knew that something had changed in the boy. As instructed yesterday, I went to summon Nordak Warmaze. I stood at the crest of--
It continues on to the next page, which is suspiciously blank, as are the next few.
"It's gone!" Jaime stared at the few blank pages, squinting at them and trying to make out the smallest sign of writing. There was none. This unsettled her. The entire tale unsettled her. This must be why James was returned to his childhood by the sorceress - to reawaken his innocence, of sorts, in some way. Brave creature, how have you survived this state of mind? Or did you revel in it? She turned on her side and held the book aloft with her right hand, leafing over the faceless pages and continued reading in hope of even the faintest hint of happiness.
June 17th
Simon Maceforth returned this morning from the Southern Isles with Henry Cosgrove. Henry looks much younger than I would have expected - I was quite sure I was standing before a boy of seventeen! Maceforth informed me that he only ages a small fraction that mortals do; he was indeed twenty-five years. When I first met him, I was pleasantly surprised by his sharp wit and sense of humor. I rather enjoyed the young man's company. The more time I spent with him, the more we bonded. He is certainly wise. And who could expect less from a god?
I took him to see Jean-Pierre. The two conversed all morning about a variety of subjects. After the prince adjourned to his afternoon studies, I was quite taken aback by Henry's request to see James. I showed him out to the grounds where James was training in mounted combat. Henry asked me the age of the boy. When I revealed that he was only ten, Henry lapsed into thoughtful silence.
At dinner, he announced that he would take on James as well as Jean-Pierre. Of course, this excited the prince to have his friend taking another lesson with him. They promised to try their hardest and excel.
Yet, still the boys struggle with their history lessons.
A giggle escaped her. Some things never change, I suppose. Even in our lessons, Pierre, you never did indulge me in the history of your world. She hesitated to turn the page, fearing that the lessons would prove a feud between the two as there now seemed to exist. Yet, the involvement of her father, her bloodline intertwined with his in history, made her curious and this overruled it. She found herself daydreaming, briefly, of a scene where the three of them would have much fun together and that she should be indebted to thank her father for his efforts. The page was turned.
June 21st
Henry's influence over the royal family deepens; this is not a bad thing. I've noticed His Grace smiling more and spending more time with his son. The Queen, too, is changed. She seems healthier, stronger. Today, Henry has expressed his wishes to anoint the prince. By anointing the prince, he will bless him with the ability to conquer and unite lands, build prosperous cities, and perform great feats of leadership both from the throne and on the battlefield.
Henry confided to me privately that were it up to him, he would wait until later in the prince's life to do such a thing. He worries that it might create a conflict later on for control of the prince. I must say that I agree. However, it is out of our hands. The gods demand that Jean-Pierre be anointed this night under the solstice moon.
I will pray.
I'm much afeard your worries already dawned, once, and might make their return. Continue to pray, spirit of Sir Lodbrok that resides in this book. She proceeded, curious and grateful of Mr Cosgrove's appearance in the tale.
July 2nd
Tomorrow I deploy to the Northern Kingdom with a diplomatic party; the Dragons want to address using the northern ridge as a breeding ground this summer. The King will, of course, consent - but only under certain terms. They think it will be educational for the prince to join. Thus, I am to be accompanied by Simon Maceforth, Henry Cosgrove, and the two boys.
I've told them if they don't pass my history quizzes, I'll feed them to a Dragon. I don't think they believed me.
July 3rd
I've met with the High Lord Paralax Skeldergate. He agreed to the terms; everything was amiable. I've already sent ahead an envoy with my report.
The real news lies outside the official documents. Henry Cosgrove has been spending much time with Rowan Skeldergate, a half-human dragon. Her brother, a full blood Dragon by the name of Tulvir Skerldergate is most pleased. I've spied them sneaking off together during the celebratory feast and overheard just a moment ago (as they stood not too far from where I was emptying myself for the night), that Henry intends to return often; he further persuaded that their relationship will work well because their aging process is the same. One will never need fear growing far past the age of the other. This pleased her and she has instead agreed to journey with us and stay in Rhodessa for the summer.
As for the boys, only James has passed all of my history quizzes. Jean-Pierre seems to daydream through them. I wonder if it's the girl I first suspected he admired at the tournaments?
So, then he is their tutor, or rather instructor, and taught them history. I suppose documenting their progress may count as some sort of biography in that case. Or perhaps they really were subjects of interest. Either way, I am grateful, Sir, that you compiled these notes and hope to find an understanding of them in these passages. The book was placed, open, on her chest, vibrating with the regular thumping of her heart. Even James' memories enforced Pierre's playful nature when it came to the ladies. It makes me wonder...
Really, Jaime? Of all the things you've learned, you decide to doubt him?
Not doubt him, no. Perhaps a little. He did not return my sentiments. She remembered his first priority: her blood.
He was hungry and you tempted him. Will you hold that against him?
No.
Besides, he didn't kill you. He stopped, for you.
Is his humanity tied to his love for me?
How selfish and unfair of you. Dote upon something else. James...
Oh, how I've ruined...
You're hopeless. Thoroughly impossible. They have more pressing matters to attend to - know that and steer your efforts wisely. While you're at it, stop crying at everything. Do not even wince, remember?
Yes. She lightly felt at her wrist where the thread used to be. Why...? Selfish little girl.
[[Worked out with Genrin619 via PM.]]
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