Post by Troubletcat on Jul 21, 2020 4:03:24 GMT 10
Threshold, 1019AC
Daedrius sits in the now-familiar meeting room, eyes glazed over, for a moment keenly aware of the stillness of his body. The tick of a pulse. The release of a bead of sweat. The subtle feeling of his guts doing their work - so rarely noticed. And now, like the other sensations, gone. He snaps back to the room. They're talking about... something? It won't work. He knows it won't work. Dmitri is looking at Darcei as a wild dog looks at a fresh carcass and not even trying to hide it. Asti, hovering by the windows, at least has the social grace to pretend towards a more subtle form of attention. Daedrius' hood is pulled low and his head slightly bowed, concealing the way his lips twist.
Bastards! She's mine! None of you are worthy, and I've-
Not without effort, he banishes the intrusive thoughts. Not intrusive as in unwanted. Intrusive as in not his. They leave behind the inexplicable sensation that a slug has crawled across the surface of his brain, leaving a trail of slime. He was not immune to jealousy, but he had never wanted to own her - doing so would have meant the end of the very things about her that inspired his love - and he felt no true resentment towards the other men. No, this impulse belonged to something he dare not name even in his own thoughts. It had gotten worse, recently. Was the old man watching? Impossible - not where he'd been sent. Unless-
He shakes his head a little. Forces himself to turn his attention back to the maps on the table, the plans being laid. He looks across the table at James, his old friend. He can see that Poque knows what he knows. The plan they are building is not going to end up as the kind of plan that succeeds. He looks at Darcei. She is not as easy to read. Surely she must know, too. But of course, what else could they possibly do? He has one idea that he hasn't chosen to share. He does not want to do it. He looks at the maps. He looks at James. He looks at Darcei.
He shakes his head a little. Forces himself to turn his attention back to the maps on the table, the plans being laid. He looks across the table at James, his old friend. He can see that Poque knows what he knows. The plan they are building is not going to end up as the kind of plan that succeeds. He looks at Darcei. She is not as easy to read. Surely she must know, too. But of course, what else could they possibly do? He has one idea that he hasn't chosen to share. He does not want to do it. He looks at the maps. He looks at James. He looks at Darcei.
He stands up, smoothes down the front of his robes, and speaks decisively.
"I'm going to go."
He feels like a bastard as he hurries out of the room before Darcei can ask where he's going, or how or why the hell he thinks he can just go. To explain would waste time, and, he tells himself, his mind is made up. If he started to explain, there would be a discussion first, and then an argument, and then... would she approve his actions? He had no way of knowing. In truth, the rapid exit was borne of cowardice, not confidence - he did not dare to face her with what he intended to do.
And at this point to explain seemed impossible. He had never once told her about his involvement with the old man, about what that quest had entailed, and how it had ended - it happened long before they became close, and he did not like to think of it. But he couldn't shake the feeling that it was connected somehow, that there was more at stake here. That beyond the dragons, in some sense, everything was coming to a head. If his gut was right, the danger represented by the affair that sat between those of them still sitting in the council chambers planning was beyond mortal peril. A true cataclysm waiting to happen.
And at this point to explain seemed impossible. He had never once told her about his involvement with the old man, about what that quest had entailed, and how it had ended - it happened long before they became close, and he did not like to think of it. But he couldn't shake the feeling that it was connected somehow, that there was more at stake here. That beyond the dragons, in some sense, everything was coming to a head. If his gut was right, the danger represented by the affair that sat between those of them still sitting in the council chambers planning was beyond mortal peril. A true cataclysm waiting to happen.
Under cover of night, he stole north of Threshold, not wanting to be seen by the guards at the main gates. Out past the settlement, and then up, and up into the mountains. He had made this particular ascent twice before. The first time, he had been promised that if he ever returned, he would be killed. Beyond killed. Ended. Erased. That was a much more challenging prospect now than it had been when the promise was made, but he did not doubt that She could still deliver. The second time, he had been summoned and, by virtue of the summons, been granted a stay of execution. That visit had ended with a reminder of the promise.
From the mouth of the cave, there's no sign of the illusion he had once battled to prove his worth. In fact, the moonlight pierces no more than a few yards, and then, even with his eyes, utter blackness. Unexpectedly - impossibly, he had thought, because of what he was and what he had seen - he felt afraid. Not the anxious worry of a confrontation that had induced him to exit the meeting with so much haste, but a deep and primal fear that threatened to overturn his resolve and send him running back the way he had come. But despite how foreign the emotion had become, he still remembered how to master it, and stepped into the darkness.
She's here.
From the mouth of the cave, there's no sign of the illusion he had once battled to prove his worth. In fact, the moonlight pierces no more than a few yards, and then, even with his eyes, utter blackness. Unexpectedly - impossibly, he had thought, because of what he was and what he had seen - he felt afraid. Not the anxious worry of a confrontation that had induced him to exit the meeting with so much haste, but a deep and primal fear that threatened to overturn his resolve and send him running back the way he had come. But despite how foreign the emotion had become, he still remembered how to master it, and stepped into the darkness.
She's here.
He knows immediately. There's a sound. A deep pulse. Breathy, but improbably low in pitch. Slow and even. In and out. And then a larger expulsion of air, a sigh? And he smells it, the putrid stench of decaying flesh mixed with the stink of sulfur. From the improbable darkness, a voice.
"I told you... what would happen if you ever disturbed me again..."
A new sound now. A great unseen unfurling. Thousands of pounds of ancient flesh and bone rising from a position of rest. By the sound, he traces her ascent in the pitch blackness. He had not realised she was so close - a titanic front paw settling slowly onto the stone some distance to his direct right, and then another an equal distance to his left. The stink of her breath is overpowering, and when she speaks again the deep voice, cracked from hundreds of years of use and resonating from a chest the size of a house, issues from just beside his head.
"So, Daedrius Saedin... why are you here, when the hour is so late? And..." her voice takes a playful edge, laced with cruelty "Where is the rest of you?"
"I told you... what would happen if you ever disturbed me again..."
A new sound now. A great unseen unfurling. Thousands of pounds of ancient flesh and bone rising from a position of rest. By the sound, he traces her ascent in the pitch blackness. He had not realised she was so close - a titanic front paw settling slowly onto the stone some distance to his direct right, and then another an equal distance to his left. The stink of her breath is overpowering, and when she speaks again the deep voice, cracked from hundreds of years of use and resonating from a chest the size of a house, issues from just beside his head.
"So, Daedrius Saedin... why are you here, when the hour is so late? And..." her voice takes a playful edge, laced with cruelty "Where is the rest of you?"